Jade
18 months later
Milan.
I've been wanting to see her all my life, and today I'm here.
And I have to thank Ari for insisting I accompany her on her trip.
A few months ago, we met for a chat, and out of the blue she said,
"Do you want to come to Italy with me?"
I laughed, then realized she was serious.
"And what are we going there for?" I asked curiously. "Shopping? Local life? Latino male?"
She laughed too, but sighed theatrically.
"We're going there for work, sweetie. Hard work... but if we get a Latino male or have a fabulous evening, we're not going to turn it down, right?"
Then she told me that her father's agency, Atlas Superstar, is doing a European tour with some emerging artists, and she's part of it. They've joined a charity project with several countries, including Italy, as ambassadors to introduce young people to humanitarian projects through dance.
The problem is that a couple of dancers and the choreographer will be missing for the Italian date because they're also part of another team and had previous commitments. She found other staff, but while they're good, they don't have the required experience.
"So, I'm supposed to be a stopgap artist?"
"You could fill in for all of us, if you wanted. The problem is that you... how can I put it, sister? You're stubborn. Yes, that's the right word, you're stubborn. You've decided to put aside your degree in contemporary dance to become a choreographer. And that's fine, believe me, I'm proud of you, but I fear your talent is being wasted."
"So you're taking me to Italy to change my mind?"
"No, but because I desperately need help. If these aren't ready, you'll have to help me, otherwise my father will cut the budget."
"Fine, as long as I can see the city a bit."
"Of course, of course. And in exchange, I'll take you to some exhibitions or concerts. Are you up for it?"
I would have accepted right away, but I preferred to make her suffer a bit. I really like Ari, but she has that attitude typical of someone with a lot of money and who thinks everything is owed.
And so I arrived in the city, a private charter flight and the noisy performers on board. I really like them; they're creative and full of life, and they made the trip fun.
I looked at the choreography and it's very vivid, with complex figures representing the elements of nature. The sounds chosen, the composition of the steps, and the sumptuous costumes made me love it immediately.
The TAM in Milan is spectacular; we were welcomed by a staff of professionals who made us feel at ease. They are knowledgeable, friendly, and above all, speak perfect English.
I admit I have a weakness for the Italian language, with those rounded sounds that have always amazed me, like the fact that all the words end in a vowel.
I remember my mother watching Italian opera and ballet as a child, and being here has brought that back to mind.
I sigh as I check to make sure the new dancers have figured out their positions and glance at Ari, who is arguing with a girl.
Apparently, she's not doing the steps the way she wants, and that's pissing her off. She's been screaming for a few minutes, so I decide to go help the poor girl, who seems uncomfortable.
"Ari, take a moment while I help Susan figure out the cadence of her piece," I say, placing a hand on her arm.
She gives me a glare, then sighs, lowers her arms, and gives me "that look."
"No," I tell her, smiling, knowing she wants me to take Susan's place.
I said I won't dance, and so it will be.
As she walks away, I reassure the dancer who rolls her eyes.
"If she weren't the boss's daughter... she thinks she knows everything but she can't even dance," she grumbles, returning to her seat.
At that point, all my affection for her vanishes.
Ari may be fussy, but she's a hard-working girl, and I know that. I remember her determination, her courage at the talent show auditions, her effort to make it to the finals.
She doesn't deserve to be treated like this.
"Susan, change your attitude and apologize to Ari, otherwise I won't take another step," I tell her seriously.
She seems surprised, stops, looks at me, and then gives a cocky smile.
"You're her friend, why should I? You do it, you came here specifically to cheer her up, right?"
Anger rises inside me, and I think it's reflected on my face because as I walk toward her, she takes a step back.
"I don't think I quite understood," I growl through gritted teeth.
Everything around us stops, even the attendants seem to be holding their breath, the atmosphere has become so chilly.
"I didn't say anything everyone else doesn't think," she replies polemically, biting her hands.
I nod, glancing at the audience, and then challenge her.
"Let's do it this way: we dance the piece together. If I perform it better than you, go apologize to Ari and then go home. If you're better than me, I'll apologize to you."
She gives a wry smile and nods.
We stand a short distance from each other, they start the track, and I forget where I am.
Just the music.
Just my body melting.
Just me.
I get to the end without even breathing hard, I turn to the dancer, and she's frowning.
The others smile widely, and Ari, leaning against a wall, has an expression of pure triumph.
"I'm waiting for your apology, Susan," she calls out, in her usual sarcastic tone.
The young woman takes it badly, turns her back on me, and leaves, without even saying goodbye.
Ari comes toward me, strutting like a queen, gloating.
"My Korean Jade is a real show-stopper," she whispers, hugging me.
Korean Jade.
A twinge in the middle of my chest that hurts.
It makes me think of...
No.
I don't have to.
I breathe in and drown my thoughts in Ari's embrace.
"Does that mean I have to dance?" I ask her with a hint of irony.
She lets go of me and tilts her head.
"All it took was for you not to show off how good you were."
She leaves with a wink, and I shake my head.
She won.
"Do you have a choreographer here?"
The question surprises us as we're gathering our things to head back to the hotel.
Everyone's eyes are on me as I straighten up and look at the man who asked the question.
He approaches me briskly, looking worried, and after examining me—or rather, vivisecting me—he shakes his head.
"Too young. I need someone more experienced."
He sighs and spreads his arms.
"What's the problem?" I ask, more out of curiosity than a desire to help.
He turns and looks at me with a dejected expression.
"Fashion Week, Miss. A real tragedy for all of us."
Fashion?
And what does that have to do with dance?
I shrug and pick up my bag, following the dancers who are heading for the exit.
There's a slight commotion and I see Ari coming towards me, out of breath.
"Jade! Jade, wait!"
I give her a questioning look.
"Would you like to take a look at the lineup for the Midas show?" He's a cutting-edge designer, with cutting-edge themes and accessories. He's chosen an Asian atmosphere, and you're the most experienced of us. His choreographer had food poisoning and was just taken to the hospital."
"But I..."
"It's nothing complicated, you'll just have to evaluate the music and the show schedule. Everything's ready, but the technicians are in chaos," Ari explains to me.
I nod and follow her to a building next to the theater, where there's absolute chaos.
People running, girls in slips or half-naked rushing to a seamstress or hairdresser to complete their look.
Wow, now I know what the hell of Fashion Week is like!
They lead me down a corridor and into a control room upstairs. There are consoles and lights, tape decks and various switches.
I shake my head; that's not my place.
"I need to see the catwalk; I'm of no use here," I assert, dropping my bag.
An assistant leads me into the room, a large hall filled with lights, plants, and columns, with a beige carpet forming a walkway.
They hand me a sheet of paper, and I notice the schedule of clothes, models, and music to be played.
The assistant hands me a headset with a microphone, and I contact the control room.
"Start the track," I say.
The music, soft and mellow, begins to circulate, filling the room.
"Send in the models," I order, raising a hand.
A long line of people begins to file out of the curtained door in front of me, some in bathrobes, some in skimpy or basic clothing, maintaining pace and elegance.
I barely notice their faces, concentrating more on their feet.
They are graceful as swans, slender and aristocratic, as they advance without even looking at me. They pass me by, avoiding me, the columns, and the plants, making their way back behind the curtains.
I nod, but find that there's nothing Eastern about them, except the holistic music.
"How boring," I mutter, taking off my earphones and handing them to the girl next to me.
"What exactly bores you?"
I gasp and find myself next to a tall, forty-something Asian man in a double-breasted suit, staring at me sullenly.
"That one," I point toward the carpet and curtain. "There's no harmony between the catwalk and the setting. Too static."
He touches his chin, looks at me, studies the setting, and then returns to me.
Two dark, magnetic eyes.
An interesting man, I dare say.
He says something in Korean, perhaps thinking I don't understand.
"What can a Western girl understand?"
I smile.
"Absolutely nothing about fashion. But about choreography... oh, I think much more than you do."
I grimace at him and turn to leave.
"Does he understand my language?" he asks, surprised.
I nod, reluctantly.
He reaches me and observes me carefully.
"Then he can do something for me."
I look at him and shake my head.
"No."
He seems surprised by my answer, raising his hands to stop me.
"I'm here to be a tourist, I'm not interested in whatever you want to propose," I reply, crossing my arms.
"I need your help with my main guest," he says, clasping his hands together as if in prayer.
"Should I be your interpreter?"
"No, your guide. Please, miss."
I raise an eyebrow and snort.
Things are getting out of hand here.
"And who am I supposed to babysit?"
"Me."
I turn at the sound of that voice I feel familiar with.
Seo Joon is staring at me with a beautiful smile.
"Hi, Noona. It's nice to see you again."
I gasp and gasp.
What the hell is he doing here?