Slippery Souls

There’s a stone trapped in Penny’s shoe. She takes it off; bashes it against the dressing room wall, probes inside with her fingers, but the stone won’t budge. Pain skewers the ball of her foot.

If the ballet shoes were hers, she’d have ripped out the insole, picked out the object, but they’re not hers, they’re Lucy’s, and Lucy is particular about her shoes. About everything.

Lucy hadn’t wanted to lend them. Penny suspects Lucy doesn’t want her to get the job. She’d not told Penny about the audition, but she must have known; she’s dating the director. He’s got a reputation, but Lucy says you can’t believe everything you hear and he’s so lovely to her.

A stage light dazzles. Penny’s eyes are watering, every step is agony, and even with her hand peaked across her forehead she can’t see the man speaking. She recognises the voice: resonant, gravelly. Her stomach clenches as she remembers the way he looked at her when she came to meet Lucy at the stage door. Jet eyes, without light. Soulless. Sucking her in. She shivers and reminds herself why she’s here.

‘I’m ready for you.’ Wolfish.

The music starts. As she spins and leaps the stone cuts deeper. She relishes the pain, enjoys it, uses it to lift her performance. Blood seeps through the pink satin of the shoe.

House lights on, the director stands, hands steepled, fingers stroking his bottom lip. A glimmer of crimson; his tongue darts across his lips.

‘I have my black swan, my Odile.’

Penny curtsies, eyes bound to his.