Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease by Tatiana March Read Free Book Online Page B

for her to step forward. Crimson studied the sea
of curious faces. All day yesterday, she had planned what to say.
Now all those smooth phrases jumbled in her mind. Was she dressed
all wrong? Nick had worn a suit yesterday. Now he was in threadbare
jeans. She’d gone out and bought a formal outfit, a Jones New York
suit in pale pink. Bright colors drained her fair hair and skin,
pastels lent her warmth. Was it a mistake to dress up?
    She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. Panic surged inside
her, blocking off her air. Breathe. Breathe. Where had she put her
inhaler? Damn. The big showroom was bound to be draughty and dusty,
just like the theaters and opera houses that had caused her health
problems to start with. Breathe. Breathe.
    “ Your need to turn on the mike.” Nick moved
to stand in front of her, shielding her from the crowd, giving her
a moment of privacy to recover. He made a production of fiddling
with the small microphone clipped to her collar, and checking the
lead that connected it to the transmitter hidden in her pocket.
“You’ll do fine,” he whispered. “Just be yourself.”
    Just be yourself.
    No lies. N o pretense. All her life, she’d worked hard to
blend in. To gain approval, first from the townspeople who looked
down on her family, and the teachers at Longwood Elementary and
High, and then from dance teachers and choreographers and artistic
directors who handed out jobs in ballet productions, and finally
from critics who might cause those jobs to be taken away
again.
    Just be yourself.
    “ I guess you are all wondering what I’m
doing here?” She paused to let the words sink in. “Well, you’re not
alone. I’m puzzled by it too. And so will be every business
journalist, every supplier, every potential customer who hears that
Constantine Motors is now run by a twenty-six year old ballet
dancer with no business experience.”
    As she calmed down , she started to focus on individual
faces. Some scowled. Some looked startled. A few smiles were
beginning to appear. She concentrated on those. “I have no idea why
Stephan Constantine chose me for this position. But I think I can
contribute to the running of the business. Look around you. Look at
those cars. What do you see?”
    People craned their necks to study the vehicles. Some made
comments to each other. A few shouted out suggestions. She
listened. Memorized. Waited for silence. “Right,” she said. “Class.
Tradition. Technology. Quality. Achievement. Engineering.
Design.”
    She spread her hands in a gesture that encompassed their
surroundings. “Dreams. That is what I see. Something to appeal, not
just to your brain that computes facts and figures, or to your eye
that sees the quality and beauty of the product, but something to
appeal to your heart. Something that meets the craving to own
something special, something that sets you apart, something that
satisfies the dreams you’ve had ever since you opened your first
birthday present, ever since you picked up your first toy. I
believe that we are selling, not just cars, but the fulfillment of
dreams. And ballet is all about dreams. That is why I believe I
have something to contribute.”
    Her hands were shaking , and blood pounded in her ears, but she
was breathing freely, air flowing into her lungs. “To help me with
those other things—engineering and design and facts and figures, I
have a team of great managers, and behind the scenes, Nick
Constantine has agreed to help me. He’ll have no paid position with
the company. He’ll work under me as an unpaid
consultant.”
    She turned to him . “Nick, would you like to say a few
words?”
    “ Sure.” He stepped forward, flashed a smile
at the crowd, and spoke in a loud voice that carried without the
help of a microphone. “You heard it. I’ll be working under Miss
Mills.” He winked at her. “I’ve always liked a woman on top.” He
turned back to the audience. “Since I don’t have a formal position,
you’ll not