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and hated thighs. It was a tough type to find, but any female with an ounce of meat on her thighs didn’t stand a chance. Every company had its type.
    â€œIt’s a pretty good sex life when you get home from tour, from what I hear on my side of the hall.”
    â€œIf the sex weren’t so…”
    â€œStellar?”
    â€œIt can help you ignore other things,” she said. “That is something you should experience: Kharkov can be breathing down my neck all week, trying to crush me for the millionth time, and I think, Who cares? I’m going home to get fucked, wildly, unapologetically and furiously . And I know it pisses Kharkov off—royally.”
    â€œI hate you.”
    â€œEveryone needs an outlet. Looks like yours is going to be in Montreal. Anyway it’s not always perfect. What do you think hubby’s been doing for the past seven weeks while we’ve been taking Barnum and Bailey’s across the country?”
    â€œFraming houses?”
    â€œI don’t care what the fuck you say—men, gay, straight, when it comes to love they’re all assholes. With the exception of you two, my dear hearts.”
    â€œWho said anything about love?”
    â€œJust make sure you have a plan—a Plan B .”
    â€œPlan bs . I need retraining according to him.”
    â€œHim? I’m sure you’ve discovered something more apropos to call him .”
    â€œMonsieur Tremaine.”
    â€œOh, s’il vous plait.”
    â€œOkay, Daniel.”
    â€œDaniel. My sweetie. Mon amour .” She smooched into the air.
    â€œGreat lips for a blow job. No wonder hubby sticks around.”
    â€œYou pig. Cochon .”
    â€œSeriously. I can feel it—in my knees especially. Can’t you? The Company forces everything—arches, knees, ankles. I’m surprised I can still walk.”
    â€œThat’s ballet, for shit’s sake! I don’t believe a word of it. You’re just repeating a bunch of stuff he’s told you.”
    I looked at Peter, who just stared open-jawed. People get antsy when they see someone genuinely happy. He finally spoke. “Maybe you just don’t have a natural turnout.”
    â€œI think we’ve been down that road of me not having natural anything at this point, o perfect one.”
    â€œIf the ballet slipper fits…”
    â€œOf course Captain Bohunk here—and notice how I emphasize the hunk , dear—and his knees of steel from years of shumka-ing.”
    â€œYou’re just not as sturdy.”
    â€œTrue.” I had to somehow prop Peter up, as if I were betraying him, which was absurd: we were all in it for ourselves and no one else. “Now if only we could get you to keep your shoulders down when you turn.”
    â€œSo all of a sudden you’ve become Monsieur Tremaine’s secretary? My shoulders are just fine without your help.”
    â€œMaybe you should relocate your tension.”
    â€œTo my butt, like you?”
    â€œYou have such potential.”
    â€œMaybe Daniel is making you weak at the knees.” He sounded deflated now, and distant. I would miss him, no doubt about it.
    Rachelle picked up the slack. “Poor thing! You’re letting this Daniel brainwash you. When you stop hurting, your joints I mean, you’ve stopped being a dancer. When your nuts have stopped hurting, which I’m sure they haven’t since we got here, he’ll break your heart. Trust me. Peter, tell him I’m right.”
    â€œShe’ll say anything to keep you.”
    â€œOf course I will.”
    â€œHe sounds like a trophy, that’s about it,” Peter spoke, barely moving his lips.
    â€œYou’re saying he’s too good for me?”
    â€œGet him to un-blank that stare of yours, then we’ll talk.”
    â€œThat blank stare is called concentration. Maybe you should try it.”
    â€œYeah? Well you should be concentrating on your