Prima

Who needed Clara when I had a room full of dancers who stood ready to dance their asses off? I hoped they were thick-skinned because as talented as they thought they were, Yuri’s choreography was going to chew them up, spit them out, and then stomp on whatever regurgitated mess was left.

The fact a famous ballerina had been holed up in my city for the last few years had come as rather a shock. Her presence would likely still be unknown if it hadn’t been for a pitcher of beer and my good friend Nelson Baker. Baker had listened to me bitch and moan about how my life was ruined with the news it wasn’t one baby or even two… it was triplets.

“You aren’t the first man whose life’s plans were derailed by the news of impending fatherhood, but granted, you’re the only one I know who was hit by a triple-whammy,” Baker had said, chuckling as he lifted his mug. “Congratulations, Papa. Wow, who knew you had it in you?”

It had taken my fuzzy brain a moment before I reacted and actually spewed out the mouthful of lager I’d not yet swallowed. “Not me, you ass,” I said after wiping the foam from my lips. “I’m talking about Olivia, our principal ballerina. She’s having triplets, and her doctor has ordered her on bedrest until she delivers the little rug rats.”

“Ahhh, and you’ve now got a hole in your lineup,” he said and, when I nodded, he topped off our mugs and then proceeded to tell me about an interview he’d done a few months back. By the time he was done, my jaw had dropped, and all thoughts of drowning my sorrows had switched to figuring out a way to pull Clara out of hiding and into my ballet company.

The info Baker had given me wasn’t enough, hence, as soon as I’d left Clara’s house, I’d gone online to do a bit of research on her. I wanted to know what the massive issue was that was holding her back from what she’d been put on the earth to do. What had her exchanging the penthouse for some small saltbox house in Lincoln Square and designer couture for thrift store clothing? Though I truly understood the deep sense of responsibility to family, I felt she’d laid it on a bit too thick about the need to take care of her ailing grandmother. Love was a two-way street, and I was willing to bet her grandmother would rather her beloved granddaughter follow her dreams than fetch and carry for her. Hell, there were dozens of agencies willing to aid in homecare, individuals trained to do that very thing just as Clara had been trained to dance.

I was determined to discover what tidbits of this story I was missing.

Shit, it was ridiculous how much stories were often sensationalized and how deep you had to plow in to find out the truth. From doing a lot of digging around and wading through the bullshit, I eventually discovered the consensus was Clara had gotten into the grips of addiction, and it made her act recklessly. There were a lot of other reports suggesting some terrible things. There were countless pictures and gossip about her sleeping with just about every man who was anybody in New York City, but I didn’t know how much of it I believed until I clicked the Image button on my screen and pictures started popping up like crazy. Clara on the arm of some up-and-coming movie star standing on the red carpet. Clara perfectly coiffed and made-up beaming as she looked up at the pro football player who appeared capable of easily snapping her in two. I clicked through photo after photo and noticed she was seldom seen with the same man twice. Instead, it appeared she flitted from man to man like a bee to a flower.

Whoa.

A double click brought the next photo up in all its glory. Or perhaps gory might better describe what I was seeing. The beauty looked a bit beastly, her eyes wild, her hair disheveled, and her dress hiked up to her ass as she was caught outside some skyscraper on Central Park West bending over and relieving herself of whatever she’d put into her body, her “date” of the evening conveniently out of the frame except for the back of his head as he walked away.

Okay, the stories about wild parties and even wilder sex, I might be able to buy, even some drug and alcohol abuse wasn’t beyond belief, but I’d doubted the claims of Clara hanging with some notorious mob-related people. I thought it was all blown out of proportion because of who she was, and how famous she was becoming back then. Doubted the validity until another swipe of my finger brought the proof into stark relief.