CHAPTER 1

Since she had started her first ballet class at seven Phoebehad thought of nothing but dancing. Like all little girls sheyearned to become a prima ballerina someday. But unlike most littlegirls, even though she went to school, she attended few parties, hadvery little outside fun. At her own insistence, everything revolvedaround dance.

She lived, breathed, ate, and thought dance, nothing else, whileher parents, Phyllis and Brent Fox, fretted about her. They thoughtdancing was all very good in its place, but Phoebe was much toointense. Even with excellent grades she had no interest in going tocollege, an idea her mother pushed all the time. Instead she wantedto go to New York City and study at the School of AmericanBallet.

Her teacher, Madame Popporov, who had defected from theSoviet Union while on tour with the Kirov Ballet some twenty-fiveyears before, had a real eye for talent and thought Phoebe hadan excellent chance. Madame ran the Natasha Popporov School ofDance and Theater Arts in Brookside, Connecticut, and Phoebehad long been her star pupil.

Phoebe was not a great beauty, but her high broad forehead,gray-green eyes, and small straight nose lightly dusted with freckles,was fresh and appealing. Her blond hair, which she usually worein a bun, was thick and shiny and fell to her shoulders in gracefulwaves when she let it down. And her shape, for a dancer, left little tobe desired. At five-feet-five she weighed 105 pounds and had whatwas known in ballet circles as a Ballanchine body, after the lategreat choreographer and founder of the School of American Balletin New York City. Her neat small head, long neck, slender torso,and well turned-out legs and feet fitted the master's ideal.

Her parents recognized her talent and were proud of her. Butthey thought it unhealthy for an eighteen-year-old girl, who hadjust graduated from high school, to have no life but dance. WhenPhoebe's older sister, Franny, had been home, the phone wasconstantly ringing and boys were always underfoot, a situationMrs. Fox considered both normal and desirable. Although as Mr.Fox pointed out, things hadn't turned out for Franny exactly asthey'd hope, either.

Nevertheless Mrs. Fox had given Phoebe an ultimatum. Shecould audition for the New York City School of American Ballet.But if she didn't make it that was it. She was to give up all thoughtsof dancing professionally and concentrate on getting into college.

The Foxes were far from poor, but three or four dance lessons aweek added up, not to mention the several pairs of toe shoes Phoebewent through in a month at forty or fifty dollars a pair. And eventhough Franny was on her own now, living in Colorado, the Foxesstill had to think of putting Jack and Alex, Phoebe's fourteen-year-oldtwin brothers, through college.

"So is it a deal?" Mrs. Fox had asked, holding out her hand.

"Deal," Phoebe replied, solemnly shaking.

For the next two months she was happier than she'd ever beenas she envisioned herself living and dancing in New York, going toclasses, studying with the greats of the ballet world. Maybe she'deven meet Peter Martins himself, the master-in-chief of the NewYork City Ballet, whom she idolized and whose life-size pictureposter dancing in the title role in Ballanchine's Apollo hung in herroom.

Madame Popporov, dearest Poppy, was almost as excited asshe was. "Fine, ver-ry good!" Poppy beamed as Phoebe executeda perfect adagio movement. "But why so gloomy, my lamb? Mustsmile, show judges you are having fine time. Do your toes hurt?Am I working you too hard?"

"No-o, never!" Phoebe shook her head. There was a sayingin ballet, "Talent is work," and she knew what that meant. If shewanted to really perfect her technique— possibly gain an edge overthe thousands of other young dancers, many just as talented andjust as dedicated as she—then she could never let up, never lose sightof her goal.

But if the truth were known, lately she was a little tired. Nowthat school was over she was taking two or three classes a day, sixdays a week, and her muscles were sore and aching. She had so littleenergy left, she could barely get out of bed in the morning. At nightshe was too exhausted to eat. She saw her parents looking at heralarmed and she knew she couldn't keep this pace up for long. Butthe thought of what lay ahead, the final pay-off, danced before hereyes like some great big shining star. All she had to do was reachout and grab it!

Then came the morning of the audition, August 15, 1992, themost anticipated day of her life. Dressed in a plain black leotard, asthe directions had stated, and with her hair tucked securely into abun so the teachers could see her neck and shoulders, she and hermother were driving to New York, her mother telling her not to betoo disappointed if she didn't make it.

"I'll make it."

Mrs. Fox sighed. "I'm sure you will, darling; I don't doubt itfor a moment. But it won't be the end of the world if you don't.Remember there're hundeds of girls trying out for this thing,probably all very gifted—and there're only so many places."

"Well, one of them will have my name on it. You'll see, Mom."

At the audition she was first seen with about twenty otherstudents in a class designed to show their proficiency and techniqueat the barre. These exercises included standard pliés, tendues, andrond de jambs that she had done so often, they were second nature,and she began to lose her nervousness. Even when they moved on tocenter floor for adagio, pirouettes, and small and large jumps, andone of the other girls deliberately tried to cut her off when she wasdoing combinations across the floor, she managed to keep her cool,keep smiling, and finished the class in good shape, even managingan especially nice pirouette before the three judges.

Then it was time for her solo variation. She had wanted to dothe White Swan variation from Swan Lake, but Poppy felt it wastoo ordinary. "You must do something different to catch their eye;no?"

"Oh, right. Absolutely," Phoebe agreed.

She knew the complete pas de deux from Le Corsaire, and sheand Poppy also considered La Bayadère from the first act variationfrom Giselle. Finally they settled on a solo from the pas de trios inSwan Lake's first act.

It was charming and not too difficult, and she had practicedit so often, she felt she could do it in her sleep. As the first notesof Tchaikovsky floated across the studio, she glanced again at theimpassive faces of the three judges, two men and a woman, who alsohappened to be the ballet mistress of the company, and knew shewas as ready as she'd ever be.

And her dancing seemed to bear that out. Whatever else she haddone in her dancing career, today's audition surely had to be thebest she'd ever performed. She was certain that Poppy had taughther well and nothing was wrong with her technique, the arch ofher back, the line of her body, the strength and delicacy of hermovements. She had no trouble on pointe, she had a good jump,and most of the time her balance was sensational. So what if herlegs felt a little mushy and she was painfully conscious of a blisterstarting on her right toe.

As the fiery strains of Tchaikovsky continued to flow across thestudio, she concentrated on allegro footwork with its many smallbeats, jumps, and turns, done at an ever increasing rate of motion.Her feet were skimming the floor like a hummingbird's wings andshe had...