Annabel Joseph - Firebird

No, not Jackson. Blake.

God, she was fucked-up. She needed to go to bed.

Jackson got home just before noon. Prosper didn’t greet him; the house was quiet. He’d planned to surprise her, but she wasn’t here to be surprised. Out to lunch with a friend? No, her bag was on the counter. Still asleep? He knew she’d gone to a party the night before. He smiled and headed to the bedroom to wake her.

He pushed open the door. What he saw made his blood turn cold and his voice rise in a roar.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Prosper was asleep in his bed, and Blake was sprawled out beside her on top of the covers. At the sound of Jackson’s voice, he shot up, rubbing his eyes. Prosper jumped too, coming awake with a start. She took one bleary-eyed look at Jackson and ran to the bathroom with a hand pressed to her mouth.

Blake rolled off the other side of the bed, holding his arms out. “This is not what it looks like.”

“It better not fucking be what it looks like, because it looks like you were sleeping with Prosper in my fucking bed!”

“Something happened at the party last night.”

Jackson could hear the sound of Prosper being sick. He yelled at Blake on his way to the bathroom. “What? What happened at the party?”

“Prosper got sick. Someone drugged her. When I found her, she was half-undressed, but I don’t think they actually did anything—”

“You don’t think who did anything? What the fuck are you talking about?” He checked on Prosper, who was standing at the sink now, holding her head. God, she looked terrible. He tilted her head back and made her look at him, checking for color and alertness. She was alert but definitely green.

“Are you going to be sick again?”

“If you don’t let me lie back down, then probably yes.”

He wet a washcloth and slapped it on her forehead, then helped her back to the bed, where she curled up under the covers with a groan. He turned to Blake, who was still standing on the other side of the bed, and put his hands on his hips.

“Explain. All of it.”

Blake heaved a big sigh that almost made Jackson lose it. “Look, I don’t exactly know—”

“Explain everything, or I will beat you senseless.”

“Okay. I saw Prosper at the party. She was fine. About fifteen minutes later I saw her again, and she was nearly passed out, half-undressed—”

“Half-undressed? By who?”

“I’m pretty sure it was some guys Kristen invited.”

“Some guys ?”

“Jackson, just calm down. Nothing happened; I’m sure of it. I checked.”

“You checked?” Jackson felt his blood pounding in his ears. “You checked her?”

“I checked with the guys in the room. She never actually passed out. They didn’t do anything. I think she kicked one of them in the crotch. He was pretty pissed about it. Nothing else happened, okay? I brought her back here, and then I was worried about leaving her alone with the drugs in her system, so I stayed. That’s it, the whole story. I didn’t want her dying in her sleep or something.”

“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?”

“She said she didn’t want to go.”

“No hospital,” Prosper moaned, not even opening her eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

Jackson knelt beside the bed. “Prosper. Honey.” He stroked her cheek until her eyes cracked open and she focused on him. “What happened to you at the party? Do you remember?”

“Somebody… somebody took my shoes. Kristen’s friend.”

“Just took your shoes? That’s all he did?”

“He took my tights too. I kicked him in the nuts.”

“I told you,” said Blake. “They insisted nothing else happened. I chewed them out, and we left.”

“They insisted, and you just believed them? They drugged her! Did you call the police?”

“No police,” Prosper said in a weak voice from the bed.

Blake sighed. “I didn’t go to the police because—”

Jackson stood and spun on Blake. “Because it was your fucking friends! You didn’t want to get them in trouble! That bitch Kristen—”

“They weren’t my friends! It was some guys Kristen knew.”

“Somebody needs to pay for this!”

“At Prosper’s expense?”

Prosper clutched her head and groaned. Blake lowered his voice.

“You’re angry,” Blake said. “Yeah, I’m angry too. But parading her to the hospital and making her fill out police reports is the last thing she’s going to want to do!”

Jackson scowled at him. “And you just accept this? Dancers drugging other dancers, setting them up to be raped out of spite over a fucking part?”

“You don’t understand, in a small company like this, just how vicious the politics can be.”

“Politics? This isn’t politics; this is sociopathy!”

“Don’t yell at me, Jackson. Yeah, they drugged her. It was shitty and small-minded, and yeah, she almost got seriously hurt. I had no idea, and I sure as hell wasn’t in on it. I just wanted to get her someplace safe. And this is at least partly your fault! It’s your fault everyone hates her. And her health is shit. I can’t even partner her anymore without feeling like I’m going to break her. What the hell have you been doing to her? You’re wearing her down—”

“I haven’t even been in town!” No, he hadn’t been in town. He’d left her alone, left her to defend herself from the selfish narcissists who surrounded her. He pointed at Blake.

“You’re going to tell Lawrence. You’re going to go to him and tell him everything that happened—”

“Jackson—”

“I don’t care if it gets your little bitch girlfriend in trouble—”

“Jackson! Listen. I already did. I already called and told him what went on at the party. He’s going to ask Kristen to leave. She was going to leave anyway.”

Jackson stood and seethed. He wanted to throw in the towel on the whole thing— Firebird , the Townsend, all of it. He didn’t want Prosper to set one toe onstage with dancers who would even conceive of such evil plans. He looked over at her pallid face, her thin frame. Blake was right. She looked like death warmed over. Either he was going crazy, or she’d dropped five more pounds in the short time he’d been gone.

He looked back at Blake, mastering his temper. “Okay. I appreciate you getting her home and keeping an eye on her.”

“No problem. And I really didn’t have anything to do with it. I swear. You know I wouldn’t—There’s no way I could have—”

“Yeah, Blake. I know.”

Another moan from Prosper. “I’m thirsty again.”

“I’d better be going,” said Blake. Jackson showed him to the door on his way to get a bottle of water for Prosper. Blake took his arm before he left.

“Look, Jackson. You’ve got to let her go. I know you care about her, man, but you’ve made a world of trouble for her casting her in your ballet. She’s a wreck. She’s not star material; she’s just not. She has what it takes here ”—he pointed to his feet—“but she doesn’t have it here .” He pointed to his head. “You should have left her back in the corps. I’m saying that as Prosper’s friend. And you know what else?” He looked at Jackson with reproach. “You should have kept your dick in your pants.”

“Nice speech,” said Jackson. He listened to Blake’s words, and some part of him knew Blake was right. But another part of him thought that if Blake didn’t stop talking, he’d choke the life out of him with his bare, shaking hands.

“Jackson…” came Prosper’s weak voice from the bedroom.

“See you, Blake,” said Jackson, shutting the door in his face.