by A.E. Moseley
Roses for Cassandra
A.E. Moseley
Cover by James at GoOnWrite.com
Copyright 2012 A. E. Moseley
Music danced around her and twirled into the audience. Cassandra Swan flowed effortlessly through her forms, leaps and pliés. Once again Victorian London had gathered around the feet of an extraordinary dancer.
But little did they know that it would be Miss Swan’s last performance.
Jason breathed heavily and eased into a walk. Time and time again he had run this route; the sweaty alleys, mangy cats, and infected beggars were all commonplace to him. He cleared his brow of sweat and straightened his cravat hoping to be presentable.
Jason had grown up in the theater. His father had been a stagehand and his mother had been a chorus girl in the many operas. The couple grew close during their talks after the numerous performances and eventually married. Soon they had a son and inspired him with the sounds of grand operas and visions of beautiful scenes.
And so Jason grew, as did his talents for set design and painting. He would never be renowned for the few paintings he created and sold on the streets in his spare time, but his skill was notable in its own right and he made good money off of it.
On a particularly uneventful day, Jason was putting the final touches on one of the opera sets. All throughout the day he heard the dancers giggling during their many practices. He was a little behind, but some of the dancers were truly talented and impossible not to watch.
One such individual was a woman around his age, who had just started her career as a ballerina. She was blond and tall, and elegant in the most simple of stretches. It was hard not to stare at her, and he certainly wasn’t the only one doing so. Even the younger ballerinas stood to the side and watched her. Once in a while the instructor would interrupt her stretches and pull the girl to the front of the group to help demonstrate a plié or other move. But eventually the girls were excused from their lessons and warm ups and three minute breaks for lunch.
Jason was currently enjoying the temporary quiet, focusing on his work, until a cluster of girls darted across the stage, and knocked over a can of paint. The girls screamed and darted away, hoping that they hadn’t ruined their clothes. As they exited one of the girls called out an apology.
He waved off the apology and grabbed a damp cloth he used for times like this.
“Excuse me.”
Startled, the young man looked up.
The person speaking was a young woman, one of the dancers. In fact, it was the dancer he had been watching earlier. “Do you need help?”
“Uh,” Jason struggled to remember her name, he felt as if he ought to at least know that for the sake of politeness.
Without waiting for the answer, she smiled and joined him in cleaning the paint up. “My name is Cassandra. Cassandra Swan. You’re Jason right, one of the stage hands?”
“Yes, that’s right, but-”
Cassandra smiled and knelt down to help, “One of the dancers has a brother who’s a stagehand, so she knows most of the names and I’ve learned them from her. Not to mention that you paint beautiful sets. That’s how I remember your name honestly.” She said blushing, not meeting his eyes. “I watch you sometimes when you paint. You get this look of concentration on your face, but it’s so relaxed, as if you’re enjoying the work.”
“Well I certainly do.” While Jason was certainly flattered by her attention he was surprised by it too. Usually dancers and stagehands didn’t mingle so close to the opening night of a performance, they were too busy getting ready to do so. “Um, if you have some place you need to be though,” he said after a pause, “I don’t mind finishing up by myself; this kind of thing has happened before.” He said not unkindly. It was peculiar to see a dancer help a stagehand, in fact Jason had never heard of such a thing.
Cassandra just smiled and shook her head “Oh I don’t mind. Besides, the theater is a family right? And a family helps one another.”
Seeing no reason to object, Jason let her help. After they cleaned the mess, Jason offered to buy her something for her dances, without thinking.
The ballerina laughed “No need to buy me anything, why don’t you paint a picture for me instead?”
“Certainly, what of?”
“Hmm, whatever you’d like. I’m sure I’ll be impressed, just surprise me.”
Jason took his time on the painting, wanting to make it as perfect as possible. On the opening night of the opera, he was struck with an idea as he watched the girls dance. A few weeks later he presented Cassandra with her gift.
She unwrapped the small painting and gasped “Oh! It’s beautiful! Thank you Jason.” The picture was of Cassandra, dancing with swans. He had gotten a bit whimsical with gift, opting to make the setting more fantastical than realistic.
“So you like it?”
“Yes, I love it. Thank you.”
“Cassandra! Mrs. Duvet is looking for you.” a stagehand called.
“Oops, I have to go, sorry, but thank you so much.” She said kissing him on the cheek before dashing off.
The stagehand that had interrupted them sauntered over. “Cassandra huh?” he asked leaning against a post.
Jason rolled his eyes and snorted. “Go do something useful Anthony.”
“What ever do you mean? I am being useful, I’m being annoying.”
Jason looked at his friend. “Yes, you are being annoying, but being annoying and being useful aren’t the same things.”
“Oh, you’re just ticked because I interrupted your time with Cassandra.” Anthony smiled, “Aah, I see that blush! I know you’re sweet on her.” He looked across the stage to where the dancers were practicing a series of leaps. “But she is a fine dancer, and a fine person too. A real sweetheart. Did you know that yesterday when Charles fell down the steps again that she was the first one on the scene? I told her that the klutz did it all the time and that he’s never gotten hurt. But did that satisfy her? No, not in the slightest! She just said ‘The theater is like a family, and families help each other.’ I thought that was impressive, dancers usually aren’t like that.”
Jason smiled and nodded, remembering the time they first met. “Yes, she said that to me too. Now here, grab a brush and help me paint, these new sets won’t paint themselves.”
Soon it was commonplace to see Cassandra and Jason talking or laughing together. They watched each other as they worked and would always say something no mater when they passed. The couple did their best to keep their affections hidden from the others, but the rumors flew that the two were going to be together.
“They’re so cute!” one of the dancers said to her friend.
“Oh I know, and they’re both so talented, no wonder they fancy each other.”
“They’ll be married one of these days, I’d bet my socks on it.” Anthony said walking up with some other stagehands.
The two girls looked at him. “Eww, who would want your socks?”
“Not you apparently, but I’d bet most anything, especially my socks, that they’re going to be married.”
One of the stagehands playfully punched Anthony. “Honestly, the only reason you want to get rid of your socks is because they stink.”
“Well then why would I make a bet I know I’m going to win with them? I’m telling you, they’ll be married someday.
Now that day had come. It had been eight years since the couple had first met, and over the years Jason had worked long and hard to save money so that he could start a family with Cassandra. Standing in front of the back entrance to the theater, he tried to calm his stuttering heart, and straightened his cuff links. He checked his pockets and made sure the roses weren’t crushed. He was ready. He took a deep bre
ath and swung the door open.
The theater hadn’t changed. That was the beauty of it; despite the tinted lights that swayed the audience to feel one thing or another, the elaborate sets that placed the viewer into far away landscapes, and despite the countless costume changes and wigs and endless makeup application, the theater stood still, an ever-ready canvas for the players. Today was a quiet day in the theater. The pulley ropes swung gently with a draft, the paint cans were shoved into a pile and there was idle chatter coming from a far off dressing room.
Jason smiled and placed the roses down on a little table near a dusty sawhorse. Humming a song that Cassandra had taught him he headed towards the lighting section of the theater. He had spent countless hours dreaming of the exact lighting, and the exact set to use to propose, and now he would put those dreams to the test.
A scream ripped the silence.
“Cassandra!” Jason turned around and ran towards the dressing rooms. His heart beat heavily against his ribcage, anger and fear stirring inside him. If he had only run faster a different sight might have awaited him.
A muscular, tall man with a boxy face towered over her. He dropped her, just as Jason arrived.
“No…Cassandra…You bastard! What have you done?” he yelled trying to reach Cassandra.
The man shoved him back.
“Me? What have I done? I’ve just taken revenge that’s all. My family has supported this theater for generations. Generations I
