84 Ribbons: A Dancer's Journey

by Paddy Eger

  “No, I... You’re teasing me aren’t you? Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

  Snow crunched beneath their boots. He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer. “You know I’ve missed you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  His arm hugged her even closer against his body. He released her and stared. “Marta, have you lost weight?” He held her gaze and reached to interlock his fingers with hers. “Your face looks thinner.”

  “I’ve been on tour for two weeks, sleeping in strange beds, living out of a suitcase, and eating at odd hours. It’s been crazy. Now, let’s go for a walk, okay?”

  Steve pulled her along the snow-covered trail. “I care about you. A lot. You’re thinner, that’s all. I don’t want you to get sick. I worry that you’re working too hard.”

  “I’m fine.” She broke free and walked ahead toward the cat tails that glistened like icy sheaths.

  “Let’s start this conversation over.” He hurried to catch up to her and made a sweeping bow. “My dear Miss Fluff, you look ravishing today. May I walk with you and hold your hand?”

  “Yes, as long as we avoid icy streams or talk about my health.”

  Steve bowed. “Whatever it takes. You’re a successful ballerina and I am a lowly newspaperman. I want to be with you wherever and whenever possible.”

  She sauntered away, then began dancing toward the pond. When she heard no sound behind her, she stopped and turned. Steve leaned against a picnic table watching the lake. “Hey, ink boy! Why did you stop?”

  His taut face surprised her. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I always want you to be safe and happy, and have time left over for me.”

  “I promise.” A smile curved the edges of her mouth as she watched Steve’s face. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the shivers from her shoulders.

  “Are you cold?” he said.

  “A little. I didn’t know Billings would get so frigid.”

  “I can fix that.” He led her back to his car and bowed. “Your chariot, fair maiden.”

  In town he parked in front of Dalton’s Department Store. He turned off the ignition and started to get out of the car.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shopping for a Montana winter coat for you.” He climbed out, rounded the car, and opened her door.

  “Steve, I can’t. I don’t get paid until next week.”

  He took her hands and pulled her out of the car. “You need a coat. It can be a gift or a loan. When’s your birthday?”

  “December first, while we were on tour.”

  He stopped her on the sidewalk. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? We could have celebrated.”

  “On tour, remember? Besides, you don’t need to buy things for me. I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  “Can’t tell that from what you’re wearing today.” He took her elbow and steered her toward the store. “Consider this a late birthday present and an early Christmas gift. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, Miss Fluff.”

  Inside, the saleswoman persuaded her to try on a variety of coats. Marta liked a red coat as well as a pale blue one, but Steve turned them away saying they weren’t warm enough.

  Next, Marta tried on a long, soft gray coat. She stroked the sleeves and traced the large fabric-covered buttons and the sleek front panels.

  “We’ll take this one,” Steve said. “We also need warm gloves or mittens, a hat, and.…” He scanned the tables. “Add a scarf.”

  He stood back as Marta selected gray mittens, a gray slouch hat, and a red plaid scarf with fringe. He wrapped the scarf around her neck and kissed her nose. “We’ll take these, and she’ll wear them home.”

  The clerk rang up the sale. Steve wrote a check and grinned at Marta as she opened her new coat and fanned herself. “I’m melting!”

  “Good. Now you’ll be ready to go to the mountains for my New Year’s party.” He grabbed her old coat off the counter as they headed out.

  At the boarding house curb, they stood against his car, Steve sheltering her from the cold December afternoon. She buried her face against his coat.

  “I love my new coat. It’s perfect.”

  “No, you’re perfect.”

  “Hardly. I, ah, I have to tell you something. I hope you won’t be mad.”

  “I could never be mad at you.”

  “The reason I got so freaky when I fell into the water, is, ah, I can’t swim.”

  Steve pushed her back to arm’s length. “What? Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh, Marta, I am so sorry. You must have been frightened to death.”

  She nodded.

  Steve drew her into a long, tight hug. Neither spoke.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Marta, how can I be mad? I felt bad when it happened, but now.... You should have told me sooner.”

  “I felt embarrassed. Most people around Puget Sound learn to swim when they are in school. I left early those days to go to dance class, so I missed out.”

  “This summer I’ll teach you. It will be fun.” He kissed her forehead. “But right now it’s freezing and time for you to get inside.” He pulled her along the sidewalk and up the steps and into the boarding house.

  Suddenly she didn’t want Steve to leave. “Can you stay for dinner?”

  He shook his head. “Company tonight at my house. I’ll call you later.” He hugged her and kissed her forehead again.

  The empty boarding house ensured Marta of a few hours of quiet. Perhaps a nap or at least time to sit and begin embroidering a silk scarf. The next three weeks of rehearsals and performances promised little time for relaxation. The long New Year’s weekend at the cabin felt a lifetime away.

  The preparations for their hometown performances progressed smoothly. Marta and the rest of the corps knew the dances by memory and danced almost without thinking about the choreography or their assigned positions on the stage. Marta performed the role of Mother Ginger, stilts and all, without losing her balance. Plus, the local children didn’t pinch or push while hiding under the gigantic hoop skirt.

  The fact that Madame complimented soloists but didn’t speak to Marta no longer bothered her. Madame only spoke to one corps dancer, Marguerite, her pet. Dancing well held a personal importance far beyond pleasing Madame. Marta performed the choreography with few errors, took Madame’s and Damien’s critiques with a smile, and left it at that.

  After Thursday’s final rehearsal before performances began, she stood inside the front entry waiting for Steve and watching Karl, the janitor, work. Karl kept his head down as he moved his mop back and forth, creeping closer to her feet. She moved out of his way when he approached.

  He stopped and leaned on the mop. “You can’t stay here much longer, Miss Marta. I need to lock up at five.”

  “I know. My ride’s coming any minute.” She re-crossed the entry to keep out of his way. “How long have you worked here, Karl?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I do.”

  He leaned on his mop again. “Started here in nineteen forty-seven; about ten years. Why?”

  “Just wondered. Have you always lived in Billings?”

  “Yep. Now, enough with the questions. I need to finish up.” Karl began whistling as he disappeared down the side hallway.

  Marta stepped outside. When Steve drove up and slid to a stop at the curb, she hopped in. “Here,” he said as he handed her a nosegay of blue pansies and an open newspaper. “The ballet review. Hot off the presses.”

  “Have you read it?”

  “Yeah. It’s good,” He put his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the bottom of the article. “Listen to this: ‘This year’s Intermountain Ballet Company presents the Nutcracker with exquisite beauty and energy. The audiences will
applaud the colorful costumes and the extraordinary talent of the guest artists, the principals, the corps, and the children.’ Great, huh?”

  Marta started to speak, but Steve took back the paper and scanned the article. “Wait. Down here it says, ‘Every person who enjoys a night of music will find something to cheer about in the Nutcracker, from the soldiers to Mother Ginger and the dances from Arabia to the waltzing flowers.’ You were mentioned, Marta. That’s great, isn’t it?”

  “Do you know your eyebrows wiggle when you’re excited?” Marta took the paper from his hands. “May I read it now?”

  Steve grabbed her hands, crushing the paper. “Susan Zane enjoyed the dress rehearsal. Now, can you get me tickets for all the performances?”

  “All of them? Isn’t that excessive for a guy who thinks ballet is fluff?”

  “I‘ve apologized for that twenty times since September. Anyway, my friends want to see you in action, I mean, dancing. I’ll stay around and drive you home afterward.”

  Marta straightened the paper and handed it back to Steve. “You can get tickets at the ticket booth.”

  “No, I can’t; that’s the point. The performances are sold out, and Dad forgot he’d promised me the newspaper’s tickets and gave them to one of his major advertisers and his wife.”

  “I promised my tickets to the boarders and Mrs. B.’s friends.”

  “Can Lynne give me hers or sell them to me?”

  “Steve! Take a breath! Lynne’s using hers, but Bartley might have spares.”

  “Great. Make her promise to save one for me. I’ll keep checking with the box office. Maybe single tickets will show up.” He smiled as he started the car and pulled away from the curb.

  Days before Christmas, Marta rushed up the boarding house steps with her plaid scarf flowing behind her. She removed her boots and brushed the snow off her coat and left both in the entry to avoid being late for dinner.

  A tall pine tree in the common room glowed with multi-colored bubble lights, sparkly glass ornaments, and tinsel, like back home. The laughter decorating the tree two days ago as well as hearing Perry Como sing holiday songs each evening eased her holiday loneliness and the distance from her mom. With a Christmas Eve Nutcracker performance, going home to Bremerton remained impossible, so a phone call would have to do.

  Marta dried the last of the dinner dishes and turned to Mrs. B. “I thought I’d bake Jul Kaga for Christmas. It’s a Swedish bread with candied fruit.”

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll pick up the ingredients, but do you have time?”

  “I’ll make the time. Jul Kaga is a family tradition I love. I’ll mix it up Christmas Eve after our performance, then finish it Christmas morning.”

  “I’d be happy to help you.”

  “Thanks, but I’d like to do it myself. It’s my job at home.”

  Marta sat in the common room watching the heated bubble lights on the Christmas tree release tiny bursts up each colored tube. She and her mom used to put up the same type of lights back home, and she loved to watch their light play off each piece of tinsel. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the overstuffed chair. How could something so beautiful cause her to ache with such loneliness?

  16

  The 1957 Christmas Eve performance ended with numerous curtain calls. Bartley, Lynne, and Marta stood side by side in the back row. They exchanged smiles after each bow. Now the final curtain closed, signaling the end of the Nutcracker for another year.

  As the stagehands dimmed the stage lights, Marta allowed tiredness to overtake her body. She walked slowly off the stage as she realized her truth: she was a professional dancer. People came to see the company perform; that included her. Madame gave her tough roles, and she’d done well dancing them. She belonged here.

  Lynne and Marta removed their headpieces as they walked to the dressing room. “I can’t believe it’s finally over,” Lynne said. “Want to come to my place to unwind?”

  “No,” Marta said. “All I want to do is sleep. We can save the unwind for Steve’s cabin next week. I wonder if Bartley plans to come with us. So far she’s avoided answering me. Where’s she gone?”

  “I saw her rush off before we left the stage. Did she have a plane to catch or what?”

  “Beats me,” Marta said. “I—” Small wrapped packages sat at their places along the dressing room tables. Marta picked up hers and turned it over in her hands.

  “Guess that’s a ‘no’ for saying Merry Christmas to her,” Lynne said.

  Both girls ripped open their boxes and pulled out a silver chain with three tiny ballerinas dancing together. “Three dancers,” Marta said.

  “Three musketeers of dancing,” Lynne said as she fastened her necklace.

  The dressing room filled with noise as the corps dancers filtered in, changed out of costumes, and put on street clothes. After several minutes of hustle and bustle, it quieted as dancers disappeared down the hallway to the exit.

  Lynne slapped a drum roll on the make-up table, then stood and reached for her street clothes. “I’ll join you for Christmas breakfast. Then we’ll visit with my aunt before we…”

  Marta looked up when Lynne stopped mid-sentence. She gasped and leaped to her feet, overturning her chair. “Mom! You’re here!” She rushed to hug her.

  “Merry Christmas, honey. I didn’t want us to be apart on Christmas or miss seeing you dance your first professional Nutcracker.”

  Marta soaked up the feel of her mother’s arms around her. She slowed her breathing to match her mother’s and laid her head against her shoulder, relaxing in a shelter she didn’t know she’d missed. She had forfeited her traditional holiday time with her parents and relatives and traveled all the way to Billings to be with her. That made every day of hard work, of performances, of tiredness worthwhile.

  “I loved watching you dance. You moved so smoothly around the stage. Each dance looked perfect, even Mother Ginger. What a challenge! Performing with young children. And the atmosphere! The sets, the costumes, the staging, listening to a symphony orchestra–it was wonderful.”

  “It was exciting. I’m totally exhausted, but now you’re here…” Marta released her to make introductions. “Mom, I want you to meet my new best friend, Lynne.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lynne. Marta talks about you all the time.”

  “Hi,” Lynne said. “Boy, you surprised her.”

  “Good. Mrs. B. and I started to tell her numerous times.”

  Marta gasped. “Mrs. B. knows?”

  “Yes. We’ve gotten to be good friends on the phone. You ladies finish changing. I’m taking you out for a special dessert.”

  “Uh, Mom. Everything’s closed. It’s ten-thirty on Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh, I know a place that stays open late.”

  The special dessert materialized in Mrs. B.’s kitchen. They shared tins of homemade Christmas cookies while seated around the kitchen work table. Conversation circled faster than the cookies. All the while, Marta clung to her mom’s arm.

  “I mailed your gift, so I don’t have anything for you for Christmas,” Marta said.

  “Honey, you are all the present I need.”

  “How long can you stay? Where are you staying? How did you get here?”

  Mrs. B. laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Marta this excited.”

  “I know. This is a different person than the one I put on the bus last August. Anyway, I took the train. I’m staying here in the empty room until the twenty-eighth.”

  Marta stroked her mom’s arm. “I’m so glad you came. I wished for something like this, and now you’re here. Christmas is perfect.”

  “I agree, honey. We’ll have time to talk, and you’ll be able to get a good rest.”

  “Both sound wonderful.” Marta relaxed and let her
thoughts drift away from the conversation. She’d danced through two of the season’s five programs. Her endurance grew with each one. Soon she’d be ready to audition for solos. After all, if she didn’t try she’d never get a solo or a back up position. She needed both to progress in the company.

  Her mom’s hand on her shoulder brought Marta back to the table conversation. They’d moved on to stories of childhood Christmas gifts. Marta closed her eyes and half listened.

  Lynne’s laughter startled Marta awake. She turned to see Lynne stuff two cookies in her mouth, drink the last of her cocoa, and stand. “Cool surprise, Marta. Okay. Change of plans. I’ll spend the morning with my aunt and our family, then I’ll head over here in the late afternoon. Thanks for the cookies. Good night everyone, and Merry Christmas.’’

  Long after the others left, Marta and her mom sat in the common room wrapped in afghans. Marta’s resurgence of energy allowed her to stay alert and share random thoughts, stories from the dance company, and her time with friends.

  “Where are Bartley and Steve tonight?”

  “Bartley vanished. Guess she’s gone to Philadelphia. Steve left right after the ballet. He’s meeting his relatives on the late train.”

  “You mentioned that he comes to watch you dance every night. Sounds like it’s getting serious, honey.”

  Marta shrugged and smiled. “He’d like to be, but I’m not ready to get serious. Besides, we both have crazy schedules.”

  When tiredness overpowered Marta, she said good night and climbed the stairs to her room. Despite her fatigue, she picked up dirty clothes, straightened shelves, and put the room in order before her mom would see it in the morning.

  She lifted her window shade half way, allowing the full moon’s snowy blue light to flood her room while she sat and rocked. Christmas would be perfect now.

  Morning arrived too soon. Marta stretched but stayed snuggled in her warm bedcover cave, savoring the thought of the next days with her mom.