Page 67 of A Shade of Myself
“Relationships? What are those?” Danika covered her feet with her tights, which were cut to bunch up into footless stockings or pull over the toes for full coverage. “We spend all our time here. She’s dated casually but the guys were nice enough.”
“What about her family relationships? Problems with parents or siblings?”
She adjusted the tights over her other foot. “She’s an only child. Kind of distant from her parents, but I get the sense that was to get away from all the pressure.”
“Has Giselle ever confided in you about a bad situation she was in?”
“No more so than regular shit dancers put up with. But not like you’re thinking.” Danika stood up, pointe shoes in hand. “Like I said, we’re always here and everyone is up in each other’s business. If anything had happened to her, I’d know. Anything else? I gotta bolt.”
“One more question. Did Giselle ever hurt any other dancer? Behave in a way that maybe ruined their shot at a role or something?” Maybe Tatiana was right, and I’d empathized so much with Giselle’s desire to know the truth that I’d tempered my natural suspicions.
Giselle’s distress might be due to guilt. The dance world was incredibly competitive. Had she sabotaged another dancer and blocked it out, possibly by magical means, only to have it gnawing at her subconscious now given all her good fortune?
Danika’s eyes narrowed. “No way. She’s too bighearted for her own good. Are we done?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
She tore out of the room, clearly annoyed that I’d disparaged her friend, but I was pleased that my assessment of Giselle’s character was spot-on. She was a good person.
I sought another angle. Dance people were like theater people. Sadie often hung out backstage with friends even when not rehearsing because that’s where they escaped to, and I knew from other moms over the years with competitive dance kids how much time they spent at the studio.
I had one more shot to confirm whether I was right about Giselle repressing something and that was by going to her old dance school and questioning her former instructors.
I texted Giselle after my chat with Danika and she provided the name of her old studio. Since she’d grown up in Riverdale in the Bronx, I consulted the handy subway map and hopped the number one bound for Van Cortlandt Park.
It was fun sightseeing as the train rattled along aboveground after Dyckman Street station. When I had a moment to myself, I was coming back to spend some time in NYC. It wasn’t so much the shopping that appealed to me, though I’d try to catch a show, but walking around various neighborhoods in big cities was one of my favorite parts of traveling.
The subway whooshed into the station at Van Cortlandt Park & 242nd Street in Riverdale, slowing to a stop with a high-pitched screech of brakes. There was barely anyone on the platform, so I didn’t have to fight my way to the exit, and I descended the long, covered stairway quickly, pleasantly surprised to see so much green space.
The studio wasn’t too far away, but I quickly wove my way through pedestrians worried that it would close before I got there. At one point, I heard a trumpet, and spun around certain that it was already sundown and that this was the angel Dumah blowing his horn to recall dybbuks to Gehenna, but it was just a busker.
I’d heard that trumpet only once, that first Saturday at dusk when I’d reclaimed my magic. However, even without the audible reminder, I was more attuned to the end of the Jewish Sabbath since then.
The sounds of traffic and honking fell away in the quiet foyer of the studio where I was greeted by a wall of photos showing dancers performing competitive numbers from jazz to contemporary and ballet. Some of the group production numbers looked to have budgets rivalling any off-Broadway staging. Just past the photos and before the office was a huge glass case filled with trophies. These kids were winners, excelling in solos, duos, and group numbers.
There were numerous first place trophies for G. Mueller in various ballet competitions, but what was more surprising to me were the occasional first and second place wins for an R. Mueller, in what appeared to be a lower level. Mueller wasn’t that common a surname. Did she have a cousin at this studio?
I knocked on the office door and the woman on the phone held up a finger for me to wait. She was surrounded by papers, while the ancient printer behind her slowly spit out more forms. Dust motes danced lazily through beams of sunlight.
After a heated argument about some student’s placement, she hung up. “Sorry, we’re registering for next year and parents are breathing down my neck.”
I gave her a rueful smile. “Hopefully I can change your mind on parent behavior. I’m new to the area and looking around for a good dance school for my daughter. Yours was recommended to me by Giselle Mueller.”
“Gigi is such a beautiful dancer.” The administrator handed me an application form that looked more detailed than the one I’d filled out for my mortgage. “She’s one of our biggest success stories.”
“I noticed another dancer with the last name Mueller, but I wasn’t aware that Giselle had a sibling.”
“Yes, her sister, Rory.”
I tightened my grip on the application. Sister? This had to be what Giselle’s subconscious was trying to remember. But why and how had she forgotten Rory in the first place? The woman was looking at me curiously, so I said the first thing that popped into my head. “She didn’t win as often.”
“No, but she worked very hard at her craft.” That wasn’t exactly the ringing endorsement that Giselle had gotten, but then the woman sighed. “That’s not fair. Rory had a ton of potential, but she was never given the chance to realize it as fully as Giselle was.”
“Why not?”
“Some kids are natural performers. Their talent just hits you from day one. Others have to grow into it, but if they’re encouraged and supported properly, they can end up becoming just as beautiful dancers.”
“I’m guessing Giselle was the former and Rory the latter. Why?”
