Match Pointe

Decision

That night, Eloise couldn’t shift the unusual events of the day from her mind. Meeting with Caesar and his bizarre proposal. Her fortuitous albeit brief encounter with Liam. It was as though she had been cast out into the real world for the first time. Her tiny apartment didn’t feel quite so lonely and she was surprised that her appetite was back; even after the lunch at the Tate Modern, she was ravenous.

With that thought, she ordered some home delivery of tom yum soup and honey-steamed fish with Asian greens and completely tidied her messy apartment while awaiting the food’s arrival, something she hadn’t done for weeks while she’d been wallowing in misery.

With food in her stomach, and feeling more emotionally stable than she had for some time, she settled herself onto her bed to read the contents of the offer in detail.

Eight grand slams.

Two years. She could do that. If she was lucky the Russian dominance of ballet would have dissipated by then …

All accommodation and expenses included.

No problems with that, and she could save on London rent.

A three-bedroom apartment in Belgravia, fully transferred into your name at the completion of the contract.

That was really quite unbelievable. After her childhood in foster care, she had never imagined such luxury could be hers without the safety net of ballet. Actually, she hadn’t believed she would ever own her own place in London, so this was simply incredible. But as she’d said to Liam, what was the catch? She wondered …

An annual payment of £100,000, indexed to inflation for twenty years.

This sounded obscene! Only the best of the best dancers in the world could ever hope to aspire to such a salary, and that would be with endorsements. She wondered whether Caesar had more money than sense.

These two years would give her complete independence.

To realise her dream.

To follow her passion.

To dance!

On her terms …

For the rest of her life!

This was the reason she must seriously consider this outrageous offer – even if it was risky …

She suspected that Caesar had more information than he acknowledged about her career and life, and that she had played nicely into his hands. He seemed authentic enough on the surface, but she also sensed – as, she suspected, did many others – an underlying danger that meant the idea of signing a contract with Caesar should never be taken lightly. His influence in Great Britain, at least, was a sticky web entrenched both wide and deep in the business community and beyond. She had no doubt that he was adept at perfecting any number of masks during negotiations, to gain the outcome he desired.

But what did it matter when his offer was so generous? It would more than provide her with a cushioned transition from the secluded world of ballet into the upper echelons of society’s elite – so long as she remained locked in his genie bottle for two complete years, to be set free just after her twenty-fourth birthday.

She couldn’t deny the feeling that there was also something about his proposal that made her feel special, essentially ‘chosen’ above all others. Although she didn’t understand why Caesar wanted her and only her, there was something about being specifically sought after and needed that soothed her dented soul. More significantly, she would belong somewhere – however temporarily – and she needed that more than anything right now, while she felt like she was in freefall.

Eloise had a restless night tossing and turning, imagining the direction her life might take should she accept Caesar’s offer. Liam’s words continued to penetrate her dreams, intertwined with Caesar’s convincing monologue.

The most crystallising of these dreams occurred just before dawn.

The Répétiteur was casting his eagle eyes onstage as Eloise performed her first solo during the final dress rehearsal of Swan Lake. As she commenced her pirouettes, she felt like she could fly; the flow of the music had taken over her body and she was free from all anxiety as she continued en pointe. Around and around her body swirled, her eyes fixated on the small light she used to anchor her spins. Her execution was flawless.

This was why she danced; when she became the dance she was free from the world. Free from pain and hurt and abandonment, intrinsically connected to the music. Knowing that at last she belonged. Her body was awash with acceptance and love. She was, at long last, at peace with herself.

So absorbed was she in these feelings, feelings she had been searching for her entire life, that she hadn’t noticed that the ballet had spontaneously changed from Swan Lake to Manon and she was suddenly being torn between the wealthy Monsieur G.M. and her lover Des Grieux. She had forgotten the moves as her body was pulled and pushed by the two men fighting over her. She didn’t understand the dance, because this wasn’t the ballet she had rehearsed over and over for so many years. This dance was different and she had no way of predicting what would come next. She felt as if she were being torn in half by these characters, a pawn in their play. Her arms were stretched painfully in opposite directions as she oscillated between both men, the suddenly violent music tensing her movements as she was thrust into the air by the four strong hands controlling her body.

Time was momentarily frozen, allowing her to perfect her position mid-flight – her legs stretched into a grand jeté with her arms held beautifully in fifth position. Her training kept her mouth closed, as though no physical exertion were required to perform this move. Suddenly the music became ominous as she began her descent. Floating downwards in slow motion, which gave her time to glance towards the floor, she discovered to her horror that no one was there to catch her fall; she was once again alone onstage. She desperately flapped her swan-like wings, before crashing violently onto the floor, her body shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

The Répétiteur’s voice bellowed from the back of the auditorium. ‘Get someone from maintenance to clean up this mess and find me the understudy, now! Everyone prepare for the next act.’ And clapped his hands loudly.

Eloise watched from afar as the pieces of her broken body were efficiently swept up and discarded in the commercial waste bin in the back alley.

She woke in a panic, her sheets soaked in perspiration. The dream had been as foreboding as it had been nightmarish – and it had rocked her to the core.

She instantly knew she needed to distance herself from the ballet. Taking time for her decision to settle in her bones, she went for a brisk early morning walk before having a shower and eating a light breakfast. Content that her mind was made up, she collected herself and made two phone calls. One was to set up a meeting with a lawyer – Caesar had provided a comprehensive list – and the other was to Caesar himself. It went straight through to voicemail, so she left a message, verbally accepting his offer prior to written consent.

Her life would not be her own for the next two years – but she was forced to acknowledge that it never really had been.

Memories

With a week to prepare for her new life, Eloise gave notice on her studio apartment, accepted the unconditional leave of absence offered to her by the Royal Ballet by post – as she still couldn’t bring herself to walk through the doors – and packed up her entire life into a suitcase and two storage boxes. It was a weird sensation seeing all of her belongings crammed into such a small, neat space.

It was almost ten years to the day since Eloise had packed up her life as a child in Australia and moved to London. She’d been both nervous and excited back then, and now she was doing the same thing, but on Caesar’s terms. Other than becoming a ballerina, nothing much had changed; she still felt alone, and detached from the world.

As she had many times during her young life, she desperately wished she had someone close to confide in, to share the decision she was making, which would no doubt have a momentous impact on the course of her life. For a brief moment, she allowed her heart to yearn for the mother and father she never had, for the sense of belonging they might have provided, and which she’d never experienced. She opened the lid of her music box, and listened to the familiar melody as the memories of her past played in her mind …

There had barely been a night when the box hadn’t been by her bedside, inspiring her to continued greatness as a dancer, and reminding her of the only times when she felt free from the heaviness of her narrow life. Her music box was the only possession that had been with her since she was a baby, and it anchored her to the world. She had treasured it as she went from one foster home to another – until the day she discovered ballet.

From that point on, Eloise had focused on dancing above all else in her life; it was the only love she knew. Her dedication had finally been repaid when she was offered a place at the prestigious White Lodge, on the outskirts of London. The scholarship she was awarded gave her a real chance to pursue her dream of becoming a principal ballerina. She remembered walking up the grandiose stairs of the beautiful Georgian house in Richmond Park, at the tender age of twelve, and determinedly heading through the large glass doors, leaving her loveless childhood behind her and throwing herself into dance and academic training as a full-time boarder.

Since then, up until a few weeks ago, her life as a ballerina had followed a perfect trajectory. But now everything had changed. She knew she had to be strong; it was time to grow up and face the real world. It was the only way, for there was no one else to cushion her fall.

She remembered all the times she had gone to sleep listening to her music box as she watched the tiny, spinning ballerina with tears in her eyes. Reluctantly, she closed the lid, trapping the tiny dancer in darkness for the foreseeable future. For the first time ever, she was leaving the box behind, breaking the bonds of her past and starting life anew. As she packaged it up carefully, she couldn’t bring herself to place it in storage, so she decided to send it to Caesar with a brief note asking him to look after her most precious possession, hoping it might help make their connection to each other a little more personal than a business deal.

She reflected that she herself was just like the tiny ballerina, giving Caesar custody of her life for the next two years. She would reopen the box at the end of those two years, as her life began a new chapter – whatever that might be. The symbol of her past would be the bridge to her future.

Discipline had ensured that she overcame the feelings of grief that had threatened her over the years, and it would do the same today. She took three deep breaths, and forced herself to control her emotions. Finally she was brave enough to close the book on her childhood and embark on her journey into adulthood – or at least, the journey she had allowed Caesar to map out for her.

The black Mercedes was waiting for her on the kerb as she left her apartment for the last time. Without looking back, she politely acknowledged the chauffeur and stepped into the car that would transport her to Heathrow and thrust her into her new world. The practice run in her contract became effective from the moment the car door slammed shut.

Cognac

The past few months had provided Caesar with the perfect opportunity to implement his Number One Strategy. Sir Lloyd’s idea of appointing Xavier Gemmel, the exciting new choreographer, and allowing him to bring three ballet dancers with him – one of them being the widely acclaimed Russian Natalia Karsavina – was a random stroke of luck that played right into Caesar’s hands. Caesar had used his considerable powers to persuade the other Board members to endorse the proposal, then it had only taken a few phone calls to indirectly threaten the withdrawal of funding should Natalia not be offered the role of Principal in Manon. After all, it made sound artistic sense, given that Xavier and Natalia had worked together many times before. It would be far less risky for the Royal Ballet and provide for a smoother transition into the new season. Of course, Sir Lloyd and the Board concurred. The entire operation had been seamless and had taken very little effort to coordinate. Time well spent, from Caesar’s point of view.

The fact that Eloise had stormed out of the ballet, emotionally distraught after not having been given the role of Manon, had been no surprise to him whatsoever. After all, he had done his research on her life – or at least his people had – and it had become abundantly clear that she was an anchorless ship, cast into the vastness of the ocean with no land in sight. Presenting his offer had been like fishing with a scoop in a goldfish bowl. Some might have thought such a plan heartless and cruel, and perhaps it was, but after all, you don’t become rich in this world by caring about other people’s feelings.

As Caesar gazed at the music box that had just been delivered to his office, he wondered what the future might hold for Eloise – a young lady with such focus, yet so dependent on the approval of others. He did honestly hope she managed to find more meaning in her life over two years of being thrown into the volatile, competitive world of men’s tennis, where there was much to gain and everything to lose. But then again, he could almost say the same of himself, which was why he had the tiniest soft spot for the loneliness that pervaded her life. If he hadn’t had his father as such a strong presence, he could see his life might have turned out exactly like that of Eloise Lawrance.

Suddenly he hoped that she might find an anchor, a partner to love – something that he had never managed to secure. He had tried once, failed and been left heartbroken, and he never wanted to experience such pain again.

But if her affections didn’t align with his overall strategy, well, naturally there would be consequences. Her life was now in his hands, and as long as she played by his rules all would be well. He hadn’t achieved such success by being weaker than his opponents, and anyone who was contracted to him was on a tight leash until they proved they were worthy of his trust, particularly when the stakes were so high. The amount of money he had riding on this strategy was obscene, but it needed to be to make him feel personally vested and inherently alive. For other than the thrill of winning, not too much did these days!

Power and information were the only vices he allowed himself. He’d seen too many men destroy their lives and their fortunes because of their lack of control over their weaknesses – sex, booze, gambling or drugs. He enjoyed all of these, but only on his terms and only ever in moderation.

Reflecting on this, Caesar poured a modest portion of cognac into a crystal balloon and took a rare quiet moment to reflect on how the seeds of an idea had blossomed into this reality. He had shuffled all the cards, dealt his best hand and would now wait patiently to reap the rewards.

THE GRAND SLAMS

Round One

A Peak Performance Creed

If you think you are beaten, you are;

If you think you dare not, you don’t;

If you like to win but think you can’t, it’s almost a cinch you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost;

For out in the world we find success begins with a person’s will;

It’s all in the mind.

Life’s battles don’t always go to the stronger or the faster hand;

But sooner or later the person who wins is the one who thinks, I can.