POV Akhyra

My smart watch beeps signaling the end of my workout. I get up and pick up my mat. Before stepping out of the balcony, I double-check to see where Carper is standing. Like a rigid lamppost, his bear frame clad in a suit is stationed by the corner of the living room. 

Satisfied by how far he is, I walk inside, leave my rolled mat by a potted plant, and grab the bottle of water that Carper has left for me on the glass table. A reminder from my watch informs me that at exactly 7:15 a.m., my team will be knocking on the door. That's in less than three minutes. 

I evaluate the distance between my loveseat and the sofa where they'll be seated. That's too close.

"Carper, move this near the windows."

He gets into action in silence, picks up the furniture by its armrest instead of dragging it across the floor, and positions it by the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a magnificent view of London city. 

One of the reasons why I particularly hate hotels aside from the fact that they are infested with people is because no matter how big the suite, it always leaves me with the impression of being trapped in a spacious cage.

I sit down with my bottle of water and right on cue there's a knock on the door. Carper goes to open it, letting the two members of the team inside. He indicates where they should stand.  

Hannah and Valentino know the rules by now, but I still extend my hand in front of me as a signal for them to stop walking. It's something that I do more for myself. My therapist's favorite catchphrase is: "If you can't touch them, they are not that close."

"Good morning everyone," I greet them. 

They both answer in the same strained voice and wear identical nervous expressions as if they were students about to take an unexpected quiz they haven't studied for. I have that effect.

"That's a lovely ensemble Hannah," I compliment my social media manager on her attire which makes her blush with pride. 

Hannah always dresses like a boarding school aristocrat who spends her days in dark libraries and might join a secret society given the right amount of coercion.

"Thank you Miss Morel."

"I suppose you took as much care choosing my outfits for this evening as you did getting ready?"

"Yes of course," she answers abruptly. "I mean, I did my absolute best for you as always." Her smile this time is tight as she flicks her bangs. I recognize her nervous tick.

"We'll see about that."

I gesture for them to sit down then motion for Carper to bring me the clothing rack that Hannah came with. He leaves it at a safe distance from me before returning quietly to his corner.

This evening after my show I will be attending a musical that I was invited to. I usually pass on such kinds of public affairs but being an artist of the classical world means you've got to have the right people on your side. Besides, I'll be watching from a private box so no risk of mingling with the crowd. 

I go over the rack to review the different gowns that Hannah has purchased with my card. "Mid, mid, garbage, maybe." None of these correspond to what I want for tonight.

There's one particular dress that has so much glitter on it, that my eyes almost hurt from a simple glance. I grab the ostentatious fabric to hold it in front of me. "Did a fairy vomit on this thing?"

"It was highly recommended," Hannah whispers with uncertainty.

I decide not to honor that with a response and continue to gauge the remaining gowns. 

One red outfit catches my attention. It reminds me of a Versace dress that BIake Lively once wore to the 2009 Emmys. 

"Now, this one's perfect." I turn to face Hannah. "You're excused now, do what you want with the rest." 

Her sigh of relief doesn't escape my attention when Carper brings the clothing rack to her. Once she's left I focus on Valentino. He's sitting so straight you'd think he's having tea with the queen herself. Just like Carper, Valentino always dresses with a suit and tie when meeting with me, but no matter how formal his clothes are his curly hair always make him look like a high school homecoming king when in fact he's in his late twenties.

"Give me good news Tino. What are they saying about me?"

He starts listing what the major British news outlets are saying about my ballet show. For my European tour I have only two spectacles in England, and the last one is tonight. It's important not only to begin with a good impression but also to leave with a good one. Valentino gives me a great breakdown of the overall opinion from the press.

"Oh and there was this thing too," he adds at the end of his presentation. "I don't think it's worth paying attention to, but people are talking about a secret lover."

"Say what now?" 

"Here's the article."

Valentino starts reading and the more he speaks, the harder it is to keep a straight face. Basically what they are saying is that I am rarely seen in public with male companions, except for my staff, but I do go out to dinner and reserve entire spaces. So they think I'm secretly dating some hotshot politician or business tycoon.

I can't help but laugh at this bunch of nonsense. One thing about the press is they'll always find an aspect of your life to dissect to the bone with the vicious tenacity of a famished hyena. 

About two years ago, when I decided to stop feeding the public's expectations of what a ballerina's hair should look like and began wearing locs, arts conservatives all around the world had a collective stroke. They took sick pleasure in publishing long editorials about how I had no respect for the "classical image" of such an ancient art form.

It was around that time that I decided to hire someone who works in PR. In a relatively short time, Valentino had been able to build me the image of the unconventional ballerina from the Caribbean, whose global success is not only due to talent but also unwavering authenticity. 

"Do you want to release a statement about this?" His pointed inquiry suggests that he probably has a draft ready. Valentino is always a few steps ahead.

"Let them chew on that bone for a while to keep them occupied," I decide. "After all, a successful woman is only as interesting as her dating life. Ask Taylor Swift, she knows how that song goes."

After my prep with Valentino, I send him away to get ready to go to repetition. Half an hour later, Carper is driving me to Sadler's Wells Theatre where I will perform in front of fifteen hundred people tonight.

Younger me would've never thought this possible, but here I am. The first Haitian ballerina to be that successful across the globe. I have no intention of stopping there. The sky's the limit.

***

As soon as the curtains close I am able to breathe better. The applause of the audience is still reaching me as I make my way backstage and find my bodyguard waiting for me. Carper follows me to my lodge at a respectful distance.

I quickly freshen up and change my clothes before Valentino comes fetching me for the scheduled meet and greet. Taking pictures with the fans is the worst part of what I do, but when you're a public figure, you've got to be somewhat close to those who support you. 

"How many tonight?" I ask Tino who's standing by the door waiting for me.

"Just fourty," he answers with a wobbly smile.

"Let's cut it down by half." sure that nobody invades my personal space. He looks menacing enough that they wouldn't try it.

Inside the photo booth, the photographer greets me with a charming smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Akhyra Morel." He goes for a handshake, but Carper stops him.

"No contact," he says firmly.

To his credit, the photographer doesn't seem shocked. He keeps on his professional composure as he indicates where I should position myself, then the session begins. 

Time goes by at a tortuously slow pace as one fan succeeds the other. They are mostly little girls, and a few teenagers. I take pictures, sign stuff, and answer a few questions while Carper makes sure that they remain at a safe distance. 

When Valentino announces that the session is over the other fans waiting in line start complaining even after he tells them they'll be getting a refund. One girl starts bawling and her mother sends me a distressed look that I pretend not to see. I let Valentino handle them and follow Carper who guides me outside of the meet and greet area. 

I quicken my steps when we walk past the security ribbon behind which the unlucky fans stand defeated. Their arms reach toward my direction asking for a selfie or an autograph. 

I can't get out of here fast enough.

"Akhyra, wait!" a small girl yells. 

I turn around to see her running toward me, she must have slipped unnoticed by security. My heart begins to run its own marathon the closer she's getting to me. Even if I know Caper will get her before she reaches me, I extend my arm in front of my body to reassure myself. "If you can't touch them, they are not that close."

As predicted, Carper grabs the little girl who wails and kicks her feet in the air in true child rage. The mother comes to recuperate her and it takes a moment to calm the kid down.

If I had not been distracted by that scene I would've probably heard those little steps getting close to me but by the time I feel the presence of another person behind me I know that it's too late. 

When I turn around an adorable brunette, wearing a tutu and who's missing her front teeth, is grinning at me. This time I don't get the chance to evaluate the distance between us before she launches herself in my direction to trap me in a hug.

"Let go of me!" I cry out in panic.

My hands that were frozen a second ago move quickly to yank her body away from mine and I push her as far as I can.

There's a collective gasp all around me as the little brunette lands on her backside. Carper arrives right this instant to pick her up but the damage is already done.

I hear the sound of many cameras going off and when I glance around everyone has their phone out filming the scene.

My eyes meet Valentino who gapes at me speechless. I can already tell that no matter how good he is at his job he won't be able to spare me from getting hit by the media shit storm that I've just unintentionally awakened.