by Paddy Eger
Bartley smiled. “It’s the way I’ve always done things. But, I admit, I have a little help.”
“You mean those vitamins I see you taking all the time?”
Bartley pulled a bottle from her vanity case. “They’re not vitamins. They’re diet pills. They send me to the bathroom a lot, but I don’t need to worry about my energy or appetite. Take a few.”
Marta read the label on the bottle: ‘’Curb you appetite without losing any stamina. Drop unwanted pounds. Guaranteed to keep you active all day.”
“They do all that and more,” Bartley said as she flipped through her magazine.
“I’d better not.”
“They’re as safe as taking vitamins. My mother’s taken them for years.”
Marta turned the bottle upside down and dropped one pill onto her palm.
“Take more than that. I take two in the morning and two before performances. The Slim-eze brand works best for me.”
“But Bartley, you’re already slim.”
“I’d be big as a whale without these pills. Plus, they give me energy. If you need a boost, these will help.”
Marta shook out four more and placed them in her vanity case. She discarded the waxed bag on the sanitized bathroom glass, filled the glass with water, and swallowed one pill.
The mattress sagged as she stretched out, closed her eyes, and started to drift away. A nap would help her prepare for tonight.
Pop! Her eyes sprang open. Could the pills do that? “Bartley, do the pills make you jittery?”
Bartley put down her magazine. “They did when I started them. I can guarantee, you’ll have energy to dance, and you won’t be hungry until morning.”
Marta began pacing the room, forgetting her stiff ankle and her plan to ice it. Her body trembled with energy like she’d run a race. She drank several glasses of water, but the shaking persisted. Finally, she gave up, made a trip to the bathroom, and headed downstairs. As she left the hotel, she met Lynne entering.
“Hey, roomie! Thought you were tired.”
“I got my second wind. Want to go for a walk?”
“Sure,” Lynne said as she checked her watch. “There’s a great park by the river. Lots of swings. We’ve got time before the bus returns.”
They joked around as they walked to the park enjoying the crisp edge of the early December afternoon. Lynne ran ahead, hopped on the end swing, and started pumping. “You know, I always thought traveling would be fun. I’d see the world and dance to throngs of people with all expenses paid.”
Marta rocked her swing, using the balls of her feet to create motion. Her heart raced; a jittery buzz wandered through her body. She shook her head, hoping to clear away the ringing in her ears. “You got your wish. You just didn’t realize it would be on a bus in small towns with the likes of us.”
Lynne pumped her swing higher. “I like our company, but I wish we had a few more days off. At least our break is coming. Almost three weeks to sleep in.”
Marta stopped her swing and raised an imaginary wand toward Lynne. “I grant your every desire.”
Lynne huffed a laugh. “Right. Without pay. I won’t be able to do anything but sleep and beg for food. I can see it now. I’ll paint my face green, put on a heavy cape, and stand in front of the ballet company building with my hand outstretched. ‘Help the needy dancer buy food and pointe shoes.’ That will net me ten cents for a cup of coffee.”
The audience that evening sent the dancers back to their hotel with thunderous applause ringing in their ears. All evening Marta vibrated with energy. Her usual calmness with the children under her Mother Ginger skirt turned to frustration. She had to bite her lip to keep from sniping at them.
The fluttering from the diet pills faded away by bedtime, dropping her into a deep sleep. If she’d known about Bartley’s diet pills earlier in the season, she might have spared herself some of Madame’s criticism.
Holiday decorations brightened the edges of shop windows as they drove from Kalispell to Boise to Spokane. Christmas trees twinkled in every hotel reception area. The holiday spirit carried Marta home. How would her mom celebrate this year without her? How would she celebrate without her mom?
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Whap! Marta silenced the clock radio alarm with one swing of her hand. Seven-thirty. She stretched full length, then stood and walked to the hotel window.
Tiny snowflakes blew like milkweed on a windy day. Heavier snow covered the ground and the cars in the hotel parking lot. Her birthday had slipped by earlier in the week. She’d turned eighteen, officially an adult, but the tour kept her too busy to celebrate beyond buying cupcakes to share with Bartley and Lynne. Did she have cards waiting in Billings?
Today would be a great day to goof off in the snow, throw packed balls, and make snow angels. Back home she’d be holding hot cocoa, reading a magazine, and watching the snow while seated in Dad’s leatherette rocker. But, if she were there, she’d not be a professional dancer. Choices.
When she heard a rustling of bedcovers, she turned to see Lynne sitting on the bed, scratching her head and stretching her neck and arms. “Morning, Marta. Hm,m,m. A good sleep for a change. What town is this? What day is it?”
“This is Spokane and it’s Thursday, December fifth.”
“How do you remember all this stuff?”
“The sign on that low building next door reads ‘Spokane Plumbing,’ and today’s my mom’s birthday.”
Lynne laughed. “Ah. And all this time I thought you were clever.”
Marta turned away from the window. “I am clever; you’re my roommate. Besides, this is the last weekend on the road. How can you forget that?”
“Right. After Cody we’ll be home. No more shin splints from lousy floors, and no more bumpy bus rides. Best of all, I can sleep in my own bed.”
The girls completed their morning wake-up rituals and boarded the bus to breakfast, then to practice. Only two tour stops left, each with a workshop, a school program, and an evening performance followed by a mandatory appearance at a reception. They’d end the season with holiday performances in Billings, take a three week break, and return, ready to complete preparations for their next Billings performances: the full-length ballet, Giselle.
Marta sat on the bus sewing ribbons onto her newest pointe shoes. She bit off the thread and wrapped the ribbons around the arch of each shoe. A quick flex loosened their stiffness before she slid them into her tote and pulled out her torn pink tights. She found the tear in the heel and used her hand inside the tights to stretch out the material. One tiny stitch as a time, she worked her needle and pink thread around the hole to draw the fabric together. When she finished, she examined her work.
“Are those new tights?” Lynne asked.
“No, I just repaired them.
“Let me see.” Lynne grabbed the tights and scrutinized the repair. “How do you do this? I hate trying to repair mine. Makes my brain grind.”
Marta smiled. “It’s restful for me. Helps pass the time on the bus.”
Lynne rummaged through her bag and dragged out two pair of holey tights. “If you can repair these, I’ll buy you dinner every night for the next week.”
Marta took the tights and held them with two fingers. “Ugh. Do you ever wash these?”
“Not usually. It’s spendy, but I usually just throw them away once they get too bad to wear.”
Marta worked on Lynne’s tights for the next two hours. She took rest breaks when the bus passed through small towns. Their rows of houses nestled in the snow sparkled with holiday lights reminding her of glittery, homey Christmas cards.
Home, like the wintry weather, swirled in her mind, focusing on the boarding house and, less often, on the place where she grew up. She missed her mom, but would Marta still feel at home in Brem
erton after living on her own these past four months?
That triggered thoughts of Steve. She missed him. The invitation to his family’s cabin over New Year’s remained open. Relaxing in the mountain cabin with him and her friends made thinking about Christmas without her mother bearable.
Marta roused as the bus turned into the parking lot of the performance hall. She gathered her belongings and stood in the aisle waiting to exit the bus. Her head buzzed; she swayed and grabbed the back of a seat. Three diet pills were too many. They jumbled her thoughts. She needed to start moving and dancing to block the sounds circling inside her head.
A brisk wind swirled the snow, stealing her body heat before she entered the performance hall. Inside, preparations began: lights came on and hammers and drills echoed through the hall as a small crew of ballet company workers double-checked and secured the local theater scenery.
The pattern continued. Buildings where they practiced and performed stayed cold for at least an hour after their arrival, but rehearsals began within five minutes. Like the other dancers, she pulled on her dance clothes plus extra layers. She looked strange wearing two sweaters, her pajama bottoms, and a wool cap, but rehearsals didn’t wait.
Havidson Performance Hall sported a sleek wooden stage. No shin splints today. Almost as nice as the Fox Theater in Billings and a welcome surprise.
The day’s workshops and performances went well. The children hiding under the Mother Ginger skirt were the best behaved to date, giving neither Marta nor Madame reason for complaint.
When she returned to the hotel at eleven o’clock that night, she called home. “Happy birthday, Mom. How did you celebrate?”
“I went for dinner at the new Oyster Bay restaurant. The food is very good.”
“Did you go with Dorothy?”
“No, a new friend, Robert. I met him at Lily’s canasta party.”
“So, you’ve started dating?”
“We’ve gone out a few times. Nothing special. Just cards with friends and a few dinners. But, enough about me. Tell me about the tour.”
Mata rattled on about the tour, her character parts, especially Mother Ginger and how tiring the bus became day after day. She decided not to mention her renewed energy from Bartley’s pills. She doubted her mother would understand.
The activities in Cody were canceled due to a blizzard that closed the mountain pass. On the drive back to Billings, the driver hunched forward to navigate the icy mountain roads. He followed the same route Marta had traveled when she arrived in August, but the snow changed the scenery. The bus headlights felt more like flashlights scoping out the route than a pair of bright headlights traveling through the black and white world just beyond the bus.
Lynne tapped Marta on the arm. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah. Daydreaming.”
Lynne came around the seat and plopped down next to Marta. “I’m planning my two extra days. First I’ll sleep in. Then I need to Christmas shop before rehearsals begin on the eleventh. Are you buying Steve anything?”
Marta stretched and yawned. “Yes, but I kinda fell apart after falling in the stream, so I need to explain myself. He may not want to see me.”
“He’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t think he’d notice if you handed him a rock or the Hope diamond. That guy is ga-ga over you.”
“Ga-ga? What does that mean?”
“Where have you been, under a rock? Ga-ga means he’s so taken with you he blanks out when he looks at you. I’ll call you so we can shop together.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t sound sure. Stop fretting about Steve. He likes you, you like him. Leave it alone for now. Buy him a nice gift and buy me something fabulous and expensive.”
“Sounds good.”
“You’re not listening, Marta.”
The bus arrived in Billings at two in the morning. Lynne drove Marta home. Minutes later, she changed into pajamas and climbed under the covers. Light from the street lamp edged in around her curtain as she drifted into a dreamless sleep in her own bed.
When she awoke, it was snowing. She opened the curtain and sat down to rock, watching the snow accumulate on the rooftops across the street. When her eyes kept opening, she realized she’d dozed and gotten kinks in her neck, so she went back to bed and slept until noon.
Marta stood in the kitchen eating a mandarin orange from the well-stocked kitchen table. As a child she waited for Christmas for all the usual reasons, but also for the festive and seasonal red paper-wrapped mandarin oranges. She poured a glass of water and swallowed two diet pills before she went to unpack her suitcase and wash clothes.
The laundry room clotheslines remained full after her clothes were washed. Someone needed to get back down and take down their clothes. On closer inspection, the clothes belonged to a female. That meant Carol.
Marta left her own wet clothes in her laundry basket and returned to the kitchen. She assembled the ingredients for cinnamon rolls. For the next two hours she mixed, set dough to rise, punched it down, and set it to a second rise. When she rechecked the laundry room, the lines were still full, so she took down the now-dry clothes, folded them, and set them in tidy piles on the ironing board.
She’d just rolled the last of the dough when Mrs. B. returned from work.
She smiled and patted Marta’s back. “Welcome back. You’ve been missed. How was the tour?”
“Fine. But I’m glad to be home.” Yes, she thought, this is home.
The front door opened, followed by the tromp of feet upstairs, then down stairs and down to the basement. The noisy tromps approached the kitchen.
Carol walked toward Marta. “Did you take down my clothes?”
“I did. They felt dry and—“
“Don’t touch my clothes.”
“Carol, I needed the lines.”
Carol crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You should have waited.”
“I did. For several extra hours. I thought you’d appreciate their being folded for you.”
“I was taking a test. You’d not know about things like that since you don’t go to school.”
Marta’s body tightened at Carol’s rebuke. “At least I have manners. Why didn’t you tell me all those evenings when Steve called?”
Carol’s eyes widened; she looked away. “I must have forgotten. You were out some place with friends.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was in my room with ice on my ankle every evening.” Marta crossed her arms and lifted her chin.
“Ladies, please.” Mrs. B. stepped between them. “Carol, you know the rules better than Marta. If you take a call for someone, leave them a note or talk to them as soon as possible. And as for the clothes, it was kind of Marta to fold your things.”
Marta smiled.
“I also know I don’t like to have others touch my clothes,” Mrs. B. said. “I’ll string more lines to prevent future problems.”
This time it was Carol’s turn to smile before she flounced away.
Marta retreated to her room. Except for encounters with Carol, the boarding house presented a welcome change from the frantic days of the tour. Perhaps Carol would travel home for the holidays and give the boarding house a rest from her grumpy demeanor.
She crossed off the tour days on the December page of her calendar. The Billings performances started in three days. Hopefully the snow wouldn’t limit audience turnout. After all, this was Billings, and they were used to long weeks of snow-covered roads.
Her thoughts shifted to Steve. Should she wait a couple of days to see if he called, or should she call him? Girls did call guys these days. She walked to the phone in the alcove. As she reached for the receiver, the phone rang.
15
Disappointment. The call she answered was for Carol. Marta took a message after she check
ed and discovered Carol wasn’t in the house. She taped it to Carol’s door and headed to the bathroom scale.
The dial swung back and forth, then settled on one hundred pounds. Bartley didn’t lie; she’d not gained an ounce nor felt hungry since starting the diet pills. In fact, she’d lost a few pounds.
It was the next afternoon before Steve called, asking her to join him on a drive to Lake Josephine. Their early attempts at conversation faltered. Now they sat in the car at the lake, watching the snow fall around them.
“Steve? I was about to call you. I, ah...”
“Wait, Marta. Let me start. I should never have forced you to step into that icy water. Can you forgive me?”
“It wasn’t your fault. I loved the trip, but I’m suppose to be professional and take care of myself. I could have walked away, but I wanted to take your challenge. Unfortunately, I paid a price for my silliness.”
“But, Marta. How can you have any fun if you’re always worried about taking care of yourself. You got bruised, but you didn’t break any bones.”
“You didn’t have to deal with Madame.”
“That woman. Her demands are enough to drive a sane person crazy!”
“No. In a way I understand why she got angry. She’s protecting her investment in me. She can’t find a replacement this time of year and get her prepared to perform on short notice.”
“And who can replace you? I certainly can’t.” Steve pulled her close and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Plus, we have another article to write. Maybe New Year’s weekend we can slip away and work on it.”
She laughed. “So, all you care about is the article? I should have guessed as much.”
