by Paddy Eger
Steve set down his spoon. “Not much else to tell. I’m twenty-one and an only child.”
“I’m an only child too.”
“Did you like it, or did you wish you had a big brother or sister?”
“I have my Mom and my dancing. That’s been enough.”
“Don’t you want anything else, like to go out, travel, have adventures?” He reached across the table and took her fingertips in his hands.
The electricity surged again, warming her entire body this time.
“Why don’t you want to date me, Marta? Haven’t I been a perfect gentlemen?”
“Not perfect, but a gentleman. It’s just that dancing is hard work. I’m exhausted by evening. Then I help Mrs. B. Right now I can’t handle much more.”
“I get it. School is demanding as well. Classes, projects, reading for hours, and preparing for tests. Then I work for my dad’s paper. But I still find time to go out.”
Marta looked down at their joined hands. “I’ve never dated.”
Steve smiled and squeezed her hands. “Promise me when you are ready to date I can be first in line? After all, I did buy you a cookie.”
She laughed and pulled her hand free. “Okay. But, for now I need to get home.”
At the boarding house curb, Steve reached for Marta’s hand again. She looked away as though the street held an interesting vista while she debated her next move. After a few seconds, she turned to face him.
“Thanks for the tour and the cookie,” she said. “You were a gentleman.”
“Does that mean I get a thank you kiss?” His eyebrows lifted as he waited for her reply.
“Do you ever give up?”
“Not when I meet an interesting young woman.” He hopped out and opened her car door. “Tomorrow at noon? Part two of the tour?”
Marta smiled, then hurried up the front steps. At the door she stopped, turned, and called back, “I’ll bring snacks.”
Sunday morning Marta slept in. At noon she sat in the porch swing, rocking back and forth, humming and rehearsing the corps movements in her head. Finding time to go places with Steve would be a welcome break from her dance routine. She’d complained about how her empty time dragged on. Maybe the time had come to start dating, and Steve would be a great way to begin.
A bubble of excitement jittered through her as she watched his car pull to the curb. Before she stood, he approached her, taking the porch steps two at a time and bowing. “Miss Fluff, part two of your tour is ready. May I have the pleasure of your company?”
“Yes, kind sir.” She curtsied, picked up a small cloth bag of snacks, and hurried down the steps.
They headed through town, away from the Rims, along a narrow road.
The sign read Lake Josephine Park. Two dozen ducks paddled around the grey-blue water and waddled in the mud before disappearing into the cattails and grass that grew along the sloped banks.
They parked and took a trail past the cattails and through a forest of spindly willows. Marta tugged Steve’s hand, urging him to walk faster. When he didn’t speed up, she broke away and ran around the bend in the trail and stopped on a rise. Below and in front of her a small river shimmered in the golden sunlight. “Is this the Yellowstone?”
Steve took his time catching up to her. Before he answered he reached for her hand. “Good guess. It’s the Clark Fork. Lewis and Clark named it when they came through here on their way home.”
“You’re a walking, talking history book, Steve.”
He bowed. “At your service.”
Marta picked up a twisted stick. She wrote her name in the mud and dug thin trails around Steve. “This is almost like playing in the sand at the ocean, except there are no giant waves.” She threw the stick into the river and watched it bobble away.
“Anything to amuse you. So, sounds like you miss the ocean.”
“I do. We live near a bay. That’s nice, but going to the big, wide ocean is a three hour drive from my home. I love the roar of the waves. When I walk along the shore, I feel their thundering pull through me. It calms my thinking.”
“Marta, you surprise me every time you speak. You have an unusual view of the world.”
She smiled and studied his face. ”How do you view the world?”
Steve laughed. “I don’t really think about it much. I take each day as it comes. If I’m going to spend time with you, I guess I need to figure that out, huh?”
“Maybe.”
They climbed the grassy bank of the river to eat their snacks: peanut butter sandwiches and apple wedges. Neither spoke for several minutes as they ate and absorbed the sunshine on their faces.
“I‘m lucky you interviewed me,” Marta said. “It’s fun getting to know Billings with you.”
“What about getting to know me in Billings?” He stretched his arms and reached for her hand.
”Uh-h. That too, maybe,” she said as she closed her eyes.
“Marta? Are you going to sleep?”
“No. Resting and thinking.”
“I’ve a confession,” he said. “The interview was no accident. When I saw you, I knew I had to meet you. You’re a beautiful young woman.”
“Hardly. I’m just me.”
His hand squeezed hers. The silence between them stretched on.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” he said. “Can you get me a ticket to the Classic Sampler? I’d like to see those costumes and pointy shoes at work.”
Marta shook her head and exhaled. “Pointy shoes? Really? It’s pointe shoes. P-o-i-n-t-e shoes.”
Steve’s serious look broke apart. He pointed his finger at her and started laughing. “Got you, Miss Fluff. You’re not the only one who can joke around.”
Marta pushed his pointing finger aside. “Are you ever serious?”
“Of course I am. But it’s fun to tease you.”
Back in front of the boarding house, Steve turned off the engine and helped Marta out of his car. They stood a breath apart on the porch. He pushed a stray hair off her face and tipped his head. His touch, his stare, and his closeness sent a warm anticipation through her.
“I need to go,” she said. “I enjoyed the weekend. Thanks, Steve.”
“Any time. Want a ride tomorrow morning?”
“That would be great.”
“Is it time for that first kiss yet?”
She looked away. “Yes.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and continued staring at her. She backed up one step. He drew her closer as he kissed her cheek, her nose and her forehead. She smiled and stepped forward. His thumb slid under her chin and kept her face toward him.
His kiss on her lips arrived with unexpected softness. She closed her eyes and let all thoughts float away. When she opened her eyes, he smiled, then backed down the porch steps and drove away.
Marta stood on the porch for several minutes reliving the kisses. Her body felt light as a feather. Odd. Her feet refused to move. It was as if they were nailed to the porch. When the sensation evaporated, she moved to the porch swing and sat rocking until Sunday dinner. It must have been the kiss.
Marta’s next day of rehearsing flew by. What had changed? Nothing except her interest in Steve. Madame actually smiled her direction during the Sleeping Beauty waltzes.
That night Steve called the boarding house. “You’ll never guess what the paper wants. We’re going to write a short series about the new corps dancers at the ballet company.”
“What? Why?”
I convinced my dad that it would be interesting for readers to learn about ballet through your eyes.”
“But Steve, you don’t know anything about ballet.”
“I know. We’ll be a team. I’ll talk with you and learn about ballet. Then I’ll write th
e rough copy. Susan, the arts editor, will refine it and add other information about the company. She wants to promote ballet. Isn’t it great? We can work together.”
“But Madame will never approve.”
“She already has. We’ll interview her as well. We can write our part between your shows, I mean performances. Madame Cosper asked to review the copy before it goes to press. Susan surprised me and agreed. So, what do you think?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you interview the other three new dancers?”
“I will. But you’ll be my primary contact. Susan thinks hearing from the new dancers may attract young people to the performing arts. As a side benefit, it will give us more time to get to know each other.”
Marta sat in her room thinking about the ballet articles. She liked the idea. Maybe it would put her back into Madame’s good graces. Plus, the thought of spending additional time with Steve sent a warm thrill through her.
10
The week before their first performance, the dancers moved from the company practice rooms to the Fox Theater, from spare work spaces to a velvet curtained stage with elaborate scenery. Brilliant stage lights added to the magic. Instead of a lone pianist, they danced to an entire orchestra. Now, their first performance, her first performance, began within the hour.
The ballet sampler they prepared divided into three distinct parts. Part One shared scenes from Coppélia. Assorted solos followed in Part Two, giving the corps dancers a chance to rest before returning to end the evening with scenes from Sleeping Beauty in Part Three.
That last segment worried Marta. It contained her fast change from light, festive fairy to angry, spiteful fairy, thanks to Madame’s assigning her the role of Carabosse.
“Half hour,” the stage manager called into the theater dressing rooms. A moment of panic froze Marta in place where she sat between Lynne and Bartley finishing her makeup. Their long table lay strewn with make-up pots, used tissues, combs, brushes, and open lipstick tubes. Dozens of small bare light bulbs lit the mirrors and whitened their faces.
Marta looked around at the other corps dancers. None returned her glances. She focused on darkening her eyebrows and adding deep blue eye shadow and true red lipstick. She smudged her lips together and touched the photo of her mom that she’d tucked along the edge of the mirror in front of her.
None of the friends spoke. Marta assumed Lynne and Bartley had drifted away to block out their nervousness. She certainly had. Could she find a word for the fluttery feeling zigzagging through her body? It felt different than stage fright, more mellow and expectant, yet intense. Her dance performance life began in less than thirty minutes.
She slipped on her leg warmers and a thin sweater as she moved to the stage for final warm-ups led by Damien. Lynne and Bartley joined her at a portable barre.
“Are you guys as jumpy as I am?” Marta asked. “It’s like someone poured live crickets down my throat.”
“Waiting is the toughest part,” Lynne said. “I feel like an imposter or a novice. Like I’m not supposed to be here.” She swiveled her neck from side to side and brushed back her hair.
“We’re supposed to be nervous,” Bartley said. “But we’ll be fine once we start dancing. We know our dances, so stop worrying.”
“Right,” Lynne said. “No need to worry. Forget about your tortured feet, the long hours, and the endless rehearsals. We’ll show them smiles and grace in spite of all that.”
All talking ended when Damien stepped forward to lead the dancers through pliés and stretches. Marta surveyed the stage. All the dancers had vacant faces, even the principals. They probably felt something similar to the crickets that jumped through her at breakneck speed.
“Fifteen minutes,” called the stage manager. The stage crew made final adjustments, removed the barres, swept the floor, and rechecked the lights. The dancers stood in the wings in throbbing stillness. Wardrobe staff checked the hooks and eyes on every costume, then positioned themselves backstage to assist with quick changes.
Marta shook out her arms and legs, then dipped the toes of her pointe shoes in the rosin box. No one, corps dancer or principal, ever underestimated the powdered rosin’s effect; slipping while dancing on stage could be disastrous.
“Orchestra to the pit,” came the next reminder.
From backstage Marta heard the pit fill with musicians. Music stands and chairs scraped across the floor. “A” sounded. Audience conversations hushed.
Marta inhaled, then released a long, cleansing breath. She shook out her hands again, then wrapped her arms around her waist in silence. Her heart pounded in her ears like a bass drum.
A slow crescendo of applause began, signaling the conductor’s arrival on the podium. Marta tossed her extra clothes into the basket already heaped with leg warmers, sweaters, shirts, and towels from other dancers. She pressed her hands down the sides of her lemony knee-length skirt and straightened the attached apron with its embroidered Central European motifs of arches, swirls, and flowers. All the female dancers shared that detail, creating a unifying stage presence. Male dancers carried the motif on their exaggerated sleeves and high-waisted belts.
“Places!” The corps moved on stage and posed. Jer stood nearby at the back of the stage. He smiled at her. She lifted her chin and nodded, hoping she looked calm despite the frantic jitters that shook her insides.
The narrator stepped in front of the curtain and read his lines. After a brief applause, the orchestra began the overture of Coppélia. Audiences around the world enjoyed the light-hearted music and story of Swanhilda, a young girl who becomes jealous over her betrothed’s fascination with a life-size doll. Thousands of dancers before her had performed the same steps on hundreds of stages around the world. Now Marta was joining their number.
She took another deep breath as the curtain opened. With her back muscles taut, she lifted her chin and strolled across the stage as if she’d done it hundreds of times.
The stage lights blinded her. She took another deep breath as she posed, waiting for her musical cue, a low, slow tremolo of violins. Her dance career began with simple nods and pantomime to those standing near her as the principal dancers entered the stage, joining the others in the village square.
Coppélia opened with a waltz. Like the other corps dancers, Marta executed continuous balances, exaggerated leans toward her partner, and twirls that blurred like a sea of spinning pastel parasols. Her arms opened and closed as she circled and moved across the stage in perfect alignment with her fellow corps members. Her headpiece ribbons flapped against her face as she turned, but she ignored them by focusing on her footwork, her arms, and keeping to her prescribed locations on the stage.
After a series of slow, lyrical balancés and turns that encircled the principal dancers, Marta moved to her place on the edge of the village scenery to become a background presence before the dance ended. She breathed through her mouth while keeping a gentle smile on her lips. If the audience saw her heaving breaths, it would break the magical spell of the story.
The excerpt from Act II of Coppélia opened in the mechanical doll shop. Lynne and Bartley danced the role of two girls who accompanied Swanhilda as she spied on the lovely doll, Coppélia. Marta watched from the wings as the girls wound up Coppélia and the other dolls to dance brief solos before flopping forward as though their springs had expired. The audience rewarded them with chuckles, murmurs, and well-deserved applause.
Back on stage for the final excerpt, Marta waited at the back of the stage as Swanhilda and her betrothed danced. She joined the festive dancing as the happy couple walked off to be married. She felt a happiness of her own. So far the performance had gone off without a hitch; much better than their dress rehearsal when Madame shrieked at the corps and had them repeat their movements over and over and over again.
Bows and curtain calls followed as Par
t One ended. Everyone smiled through semi-closed lips before exiting to the dressing rooms where they could lean over to inhale deeply and catch their breath. Madame stood in the wings with her arms crossed and a scowl plastered on her face. That didn’t bode well for their next rehearsal.
During the first intermission, stagehands cleared away the sets, leaving a blank canvas that the stage designer backlit with a profusion of pastel blues, greens, and yellows. The soloists showcased scenes from a variety of ballets: Greek gods and muses from Apollo, sylphs from La Sylphides, and comedic dances from Gala Performance.
Part Two exiled Marta and the other corps dancers to the dressing rooms to keep backstage clear. They took the opportunity to get drinks of water, change into their Sleeping Beauty costumes, and adjust their make-up to less vibrant tones.
Marta stood between her friends adjusting her hairdo while enjoying a quiet moment between dances. “I’m exhausted, but I think Coppélia went well. I did see Madame standing off stage. She looked disgusted. I don’t know what bothered her.”
“I didn’t see any major mess ups,” Lynne said. “Regardless, I can now say I’ve almost soloed.”
“It all happened so fast, almost like I dreamed it,” Bartley said as she adjusted her Sleeping Beauty headpiece. “Audiences love when the dolls get wound up. It’s hard not to laugh when I’m there beside them. Maybe Madame didn’t like the tempo. It was a little slow, but that’s not our fault.”
“Well, I think you two did a super job,” Marta said. “The audience loved it, and that’s what matters.”
Lynne tugged at her bodice. “Good. But what matters most to me right now is binding my breasts down to fit into this bodice. If I could breathe I’d feel better.”
“My being a stick of celery has advantages,” Bartley said. “For dancing, not attracting guys. Marta has the best of both worlds so far: ballet slender, yet curvy.”
