Wild Thing

“I’m not going.”

I took a cautious step back because Natalie—usually not a violent person—looked ready to slap me into next week. Her eyes were blazing.

“You are the only person on the entire planet who’d get invited to a party by a freaking rockstar and actually turn up your nose! Un-freaking-believable!

Now a safe distance from her, I shrugged and flopped onto my bed in a momentary lapse of perfect posture.

“You can still go, no one’s stopping you.”

“He asked for your name, not mine! He won’t even remember me!” Natalie whined edgily. “C’mon Anna-Claire!”

“I’m going to the studio tomorrow,” I said dismissively closing my eyes.

There was a silence so long I opened my eyes to see if Natalie had left. She was sitting in my computer chair, a conniving look on her face.

“What would it take to make you go to the party?”

“Something ridiculous.”

“How ridiculous?”

“Asinine.”

“What about Astineau? That ridiculous enough?”

I shot up in bed. “What are you talking about?”

She looked at the door wearily before closing it and crossing the room to sit next to me on the bed and lean in theatrically.

“You can’t tell anyone at the studio. No one.”

I nodded.

“One of my mom’s old friends is flying in from Moscow in a few weeks and she’s engaged to Jacques Astineau. They’re coming to stay with us.”

I was frozen on the bed. Jacques Astineau wasn’t just a ballet critic, he was a god among men. He was responsible for bringing some of the last decade’s best prima ballerinas to the world’s attention. He could smell talent miles away. He was the best. And he was going to be in this town, in just a few weeks.

“My mom doesn’t want anyone at the studio to know, Jacques doesn’t like mobs of people anymore.” I envied the casual way Natalie could refer to one of the greatest men of the ballet world by first name. “But she wouldn’t mind you, you could meet him…if you were to agree to a deal…?”

It took me one full minute of weighting and debating, a minute in which I saw clearly Jacques Astineau’s face in my mind. I was still imagining him complimenting my plié when the words escaped my mouth.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

An hour and a half later though, I was regretting the words. I’d let Natalie dress me, and she’d assured me she’d seen what plenty of girls wore out to the Cleveland clubs. I just couldn’t get the word out of my head.

“Ridiculous,” I muttered shaking my head. “I look completely ridiculous.”

No matter how many times I looked myself over in Natalie’s mirror, I couldn’t get used to my reflection.

“You look hot,” Natalie affirmed cheerfully as she continued spraying some product into her hair and making that stupid kissy duck face with her lips that girls spammed Instagram and Facebook with.

“I look slutty,” I said shaking my head. “Why can’t I wear a cami under this…?”

“I’m telling you, you’re supposed to wear a bando with that type of shirt,” she huffed impatiently. “And you’ll thank me when we get to Earth’s, it’ll be hot in there.”

“Great,” I grumbled. My hazel eyes looked darker in the transparent blue blouse Natalie had given me to borrow. My already long legs looked even longer in the black mini skirt she’d forced me into.
Fortunately, we weren’t the same shoe size and she’d had to resign to the black ballet flats I’d put on since nothing else in my closet was “club appropriate.” By the time she’d finished with my makeup, I looked like a Grade-A hooker.

“He’s not going to remember us,” I said trying to prepare Natalie for disappointment. “He probably gave that promo card to everyone at the Meet & Greet.”

“Maybe,” Natalie mused as she began pulling and brushing my auburn hair into odd loops and with her curling iron. “But then again, maybe not. You ready?”

I grabbed my keys, opting to avoid one last look in the mirror as Natalie squealed.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”