by S. K Munt
‘What’s the story again?’ He asked, trying to look interested, trying not to think about Callie.
‘The Princess And The Pea.’ Eva said, smiling up at him. ‘One of my favorites. And as my boyfriend, it’s now officially one of yours.’
‘Not yet,’ Hunter joked. ‘But it will be!’
Laughing, they walked inside together but as he crossed the threshold Hunter paused and turned, certain that he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. But there was no one there. He shrugged and stepped inside, but the shiver of being watched didn’t leave him.
*
Hunter was hooked on the entire concept and willing to worship at the feet of the director during the opening of the first act of The Princess And The Pea. He’d been to the theatre a few times in his life, but never had he seen anything like this! The red curtains had parted on a cheerful forest where the trees were actually people in shimmering green costumes adorned with branches. On the left proscenium arch sat a solitary girl, a harpist in a long white gown and her fingers were deftly plucking rapidly at the strings in a cheerful and repetitive tune Hunter knew well but couldn’t quite place. On the opposite arch was a band -a real one- and as a stunning blonde ballerina tip-toed out onto the stage, flanked by what looked like maids-in-waiting, the band launched into action, accompanying the harpist in the open beats of Spiderbait’s Calypso.
‘Sunshine…’ The ballerina sang sweetly, fluffing her gown, while her maids primped her hair. Then one snagged her dress as the song began to rock out and the girl’s disposition changed in the blink of the eye as she stomped after the girl, throwing a hissy fit.
By the end of the song, the ballerina was going off at the harpist and then turned on her heel and stomped off the stage, her ladies-in-waiting whirling after her. Some of the white light faded and the harpist jumped up from her stool, hoisting her dress in an un-ladylike fashion and stabbing a tiara hurriedly into her hair and immediately Hunter understood: They were sisters going somewhere important, but the latter didn’t care and was second tier to the first anyway.
Then the light became greenish-black, the forest creepy and foggy. The trees began to shift, one by one, hitting contorted poses that made Hunter wince. There was an orchestra in the pit at the front plucking out some screechy notes, but then the energy of the band shifted and to Hunter’s delight, a lone guitarist with an 8-string was playing the opening bars of Enter Sandman with spot-on accuracy. As he strummed out the first few repeated chords, each tree twisted to sneak up on a prince who had sauntered on from the wings. Each time, the prince would turn behind him and the tree just froze in yet another painful and gravity-defying angle. Hunter caught his breath, expecting one to stumble each time, but none did. The first four hits to the cymbal made Hunter’s palms smack against his knee in time, and his eyes kept sweeping between the band and the spectacle on stage, desperate to snatch an instrument and join in.
And then the second guitarist kicked in just as the drummer launched into the soft tempo and another dancer, a girl in a medieval looking ball gown, did a flying leap onto the stage and landed in the prince’s arms. The prince caught the woman easily, dipped and twisted her parallel to the floor, as though studying her from every angle, and then hauled her up again and sent her skittering back into the trees, still in time to the pace of the music. Enter Sandman had always excited Hunter, making him want to jump and celebrate life by punching or knocking over something and then falling himself and he felt doubly intoxicated now to see the graceful but fast and almost sexy movements of the dancers keep up with his rock anthem of choice.
Eva’s hand found hers and squeezed: ‘God I want to be up there!’ She whispered and Hunter nodded, not even able to look away long enough to grin at her in agreement. A few beats later, the exchange between the princess and another female dancer was repeated with a petite Asian girl in another elaborate dress. The fact that the prince was assessing each girl for a wife was clear.
‘Holy shit!’ Hunter hissed when he saw the girl spun like a basketball, and his hand was squeezed again, a silent: I told you so. And then the drummer went nuts on his kit and the room exploded into early applause as the prince, now alone on the centre of the stage, began to do a whip and whirling, leap and falling, twist and curling solo dance to the cacophony of sound. And then the most incredible thing happened- and the last thing Hunter had expected- the prince strode across the stage and began actually singing along to the song- pointing to the crowd as though addressing them directly. Hunter hadn’t seen the small microphone attached to the dancer’s jacket collar and now that he did he was convinced that it was a pantomime situation. No way could someone so graceful sing like that after such an exhaustive dance! His voice was raw and gruff and perfect for the scathing song.
‘Oh you’re kidding me?’ He was almost panting. ‘For real?’
‘The whole thing is live, Hunter. Incredible, isn’t it?’ Eva asked.
Hunter nodded dumbly and glanced at Ryan, whose dark eyes were practically falling out of his head. He was oblivious to the girl staring at his profile adoringly beside him, but he must have felt Hunter’s smile because he looked over and grinned back.
Hunter turned back to the stage, feeling a tightness in his chest and tears forming in his eyes; not only because he was so jealous of the dancer’s stage presence that he couldn’t see straight, but because it felt like everything good in the world had collided in an explosion in front of him and it was too much for his heart to take. He honestly felt that if he released the arms of the chair, he’d get to his feet, storm the stage and take the moment for his own- and if they’d had better seats, he might have! But they were halfway down the theatre and even though the ushers were almost all little old ladies, there were umbrellas in the stand behind them and Hunter didn’t want to go down that way considering he couldn’t actually dance.
The song faded out halfway through and the applause in reaction to the close of the scene was deafening. The princess from the first scene then rushed across the front of the stage, swirling and leaping, followed by her maids and then, the sound of lightning could be heard. Hunter saw the harpist stumble alone across the stage after her sister, stumble and then fall. Then, the scene blacked out. Hunter leaned over to Eva and whispered: ‘When will this come back?’
‘This show won’t. They’ve got one more here tomorrow night and then they go to Rockhampton and Brisbane before returning to Sydney. Then the cast will start reassembling for another production and hopefully, come back next Winter.’
The fact that he’d never get so it again hit him like true loss. ‘Is it always the same cast?’
But Eva shook her head. ‘I think I recognize the lead from a production they did two years ago, but he was only a supporting character then.’
A young girl who was probably twelve was in the seat in front of Hunter. She pivoted, gave him an annoyed look and then nodded back to the stage. Hunter immediately felt ignorant for daring to speak and settled back into his chair, abashed.
*
Though the next scene was set to the lowered tempo of Fastball’s The Way, Hunter thought it was almost more glorious than the first. The cast only seemed to consist of about sixteen dancers, and yet they managed to transform the stage into a ballroom in a spectacle of swirling skirts and powdered wigs and shocking, abstract gothic make-up which made them look like they were wearing masquerade marks. The blend of gothic and modern against rock and pop was just too stimulating and Hunter couldn’t keep the grin off his face. In this scene, the lead’s father, was the one who sang the vocals while his son and nagging mother went from woman to woman with sour expressions. The king looked unhappy by the way his son and wife dismissed the potential brides as he watched from his perch on the throne above. There was no dialogue, only musical numbers just like in other ballets, but Hunter loved how easy it was to follow the storyline anyway.
He looked over at Ryan again to see how he was enjoying it and then almost groaned audibly to
see that although his friend was facing the stage with a small smile on his lips, his focus had to be elsewhere, for sweet little Jo had her hand on Ryan’s lap, not-so-subtly stroking him! Hunter snorted, wondering if Eva knew what a tramp her BFF was!
The stage lights came up again on the third scene and Hunter was thrilled to hear the strains of yet another one of his favorite rock songs. The king and queen danced to Ugly Kid Joe’s Everything About You in the empty ballroom. It was an angry, passionate dance choreographed to demonstrate how the king who was almost as young and handsome and almost as talented as his son, did not like his wife. The entire audience was twitching in time to the music and Hunter himself alternating between tapping the drumbeats on his legs while his fingers mimed invisible guitar chords.
When that song came to an end, the blue lights illuminated the woods again, and spirit-like creatures now dashed through the trees doing what Hunter realized to be more classical ballet. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck, echoed in lights and sound effects and from a wailing like harmony from the orchestra in the front. Then, a synthesizer started up and the silhouette of a gothic castle- which had been pushed out by the stage crew during the blackout, lit from behind. Then a familiar, haunting tune began and suddenly, a solitary female figure in a tattered and very revealing white sheath dress suddenly stumbled onto the stage, falling to her hands and knees just as a boom of lightning struck. It was the harpist again- she bowed, hands above her head, fingers curling ever-so-slowly into claws of tension and fear.
Hunter stiffened. It had been a long time since he’d seen a girl react to lightning like that and his mouth went dry at the memories that the dancer was breathing fresh life into within him. He heard Ryan clear his throat and shift his weight and he knew that his friend had imagined Callie too. The dancer’s terror was so convincing that Hunter had caught his breath. She curled up, protecting herself, and when the sound passed, she stretched rolled, extended and curled up into a ‘U’ position that hurt Hunter’s abs just to watch. She held it as soft drums pounded, making the atmosphere of the room reflect the mood of the dancer. She had dark hair and though it had been shaped into a ballerina’s bun earlier, it was coming apart now, tangled around her tiara on her head like weeds on a cemetery fence. Her body was muscular yet delicate and Hunter shifted his own weight, trying not to get too swept away by her black garters, torn stockings and literally heaving chest.
‘She’s spectacular!’ Eva swooned on Hunter’s shoulder. ‘Baby I wanna dance that role!’
Hunter nodded dumbly, unable to tear his eyes from the girl’s sensual presence. Still bent into a ‘V’, her breasts straining appealingly against the thin silk, her hands gracefully extending to hover parallel to her upraised knees, the girl looked to the sky and opened her mouth, gently singing: ‘You only see…’
Hunter let out his breath and wasn’t sure if he should take another. He didn’t want the slightest sound to come between his ears, and the girl’s melodic voice as she began Madonna’s Frozen. Hunter wanted to weep at the sheer perfection of her performance; every move she made was liquid, strong and awe-inspiring. Eve the slightest tilt of her toes was a sight to behold.
The chorus began and the ghostly dancers behind the trees backed the girl up as she swirled around the stage, portraying someone who was lost, scared and vulnerable. She went to the castle door and the queen opened it, stepping out onto the stoop, watching her dance as though begging permission to answer. But the queen slammed the door in the ruined princess’s face, who then fell to her knees and rolled in one movement, ending up on her back at the foot of the steps as though dying.
Hunter’s heart tugged unhappily and he leaned forward in his seat to watch the rest of the dance. Towards the end, the dancer began crawling to the front of the stage as she sang, entreating the audience to take pity on her and give her shelter from the rain and she looked so authentically heartbroken that Hunter wanted to go give her his jacket. The entire audience had leaned towards her like he had; spellbound, and Hunter could sense in his peripheral vision that Ryan was one of them.
The dancer beckoned to all/ But it was I who answered her call/ Limbs soft as whispers /Strong as steel/ I’d give my heart/ I’d give my will/ I’d give it all for her to feel….
But the lyrics taking shape in Hunter’s head were sucked out of him as though by an invisible retreating wind when the dancer lifted her face to the audience for the first time, as though in one final plea. Tears sparkled in her eyes as her hand extended to them; to Ryan.
Callie’s hand.
‘Hunter…!’ Ryan sounded like something cold and hot and burning had been plunged into the centre of his stomach and was now pulling the breath from him. Hunter knew that, because that was exactly how he was feeling.
‘I know,’ Hunter whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes as Callie collapsed in a heap and the castle door opened behind her. The king charged down the steps and flung a blanket around her prone figure, then helped her to her feet, a soundless invitation to follow him inside.
And the moment Callie rose to her feet, Hunter got to his own and shuffled out of his row, wiping the tears from his eyes just as the intermission house lights came on.
17.
Callie ran off the stage at intermission, accepted the towel from the girl beaming in adoration and wiped her face with it, panting a breathless: ‘Thanks’ before hurrying towards the stage door.
Thespia was there waiting for her, Callie could tell by the silhouette of the black beanie pulled tightly down over her sister’s golden-brown hair, which she’d donned to perform as the backstage crew. Suede-brown eyes were wild with demoniac-titillation when Callie drew near- the Muse of Comedy and Tragedy looked like she was on crack.
‘Incredible!’ Thespia dragged her towards the backstage doors, where they’d be alone. Her fingers were excitement-tight around Calliope’s wrist, her familiar scent, which was as rich as the velvet stage curtains and musky from too much time spent in dark, dusty spaces. After four years living with her sister, Calliope knew her fragrance better than she knew her own, which seemed mostly sweaty to her. But then again, what else would someone in Performing Arts smell like?
‘They’re here!’ Callie swallowed heavenly oxygen, needing it inside and out, especially against her sweat-wet skin. ‘I saw them near the end! And oh my God…’ She leaned against the white-concreted wall and sagged down to a crouch, closing her eyes and recreating Ryan’s bright, fixated expression when his eyes had found hers despite the darkness of the room. He’d always had very blue eyes, but with the eerie blue light illuminating her performance, they’d shone like the most valuable diamonds ever cut, almost aqua. ‘Oh wow…’ She groaned, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. ‘Ryan is even more beautiful than I remembered!’
‘The prince of darkness in row G?’ Thespia asked. ‘Oh yeah, I saw that one! Too bad he’s not ‘The One’ Callie he is exactly your type.’
‘That makes sense.’ Callie took a bottle of water from Thespia’s outstretched hand and took a delicate sip, reflecting on the days that Thespia had pulled up internet pictures of a seemingly endless string of men that Callie had passed time with as a Muse. The ones who had the best careers tended to resemble one another after a while; dark-haired, dark-eyed, darkly-dressed and with features chiseled like one of the garden statues back on Helicon. Ryan’s picture could have been tacked onto the end of that line without a beat being missed.
Callie had been beside herself to see the men, because she had been hero-worshiping every single one of them since she’d first learned how to change a record. It wasn’t until then that she’d felt cheated of her memories. And not just because she wanted to know exactly what it had been like to make love to some of the biggest names in music history- but because she wanted to know what they had been like.
And she now knew that she hadn’t been lovers to all, or even half. A Muse’s job wasn’t merely to seduce someone into a pliant little ball of consciousness, but to in
spire, and there were as many female names in her yet to be recalled portfolio as there were male. Some were even nameless, and had contributed by organizing a concert, or giving a bus fare to an out-of-work lyricist. There weren’t as many dancers as singers, but there were composers, directors, agents, label-owners and washed-up country singers as there were platinum artists, and now that Callie had a better idea of how she had been contributing to the world, she felt that she understood herself better.
And just as Callie hadn’t only spent her life jumping from one bourbon-scented hotel room to the other, she hadn’t always had the face Callie saw in the looking glass either. She’d been a one year old girl, tumbling out of a boat and to her death and leading the police officer on her case to pen a heart-wrenching song about how precious life was. She’d been an eighty year old woman, kissing her equally old husband on the cheek in a park and inspiring a timeless love song for a musician across the pond, who had been watching them while coming down from a cocaine high. The only similarity between each case was that Callie had known exactly who she was, and exactly what she was doing when she’d inspired everything she’d set out to do. She had been blonde, brunette, old, young, ugly, overweight and as skinny as a heroin addict. She’d been a hippie at a peace festival (and a thorn in Hendra’s side at the time as she’d been told) and Thespia had been able to show her pictures of some of Callie’s aliases, or painted likenesses of herself on so many album covers that her head had spun like she was in a maze of mirrors to see them.
But none of the memories had returned to her. It was like flipping through an album of grainy old baby photos. She could see herself, but the actual weight of the moment held no mental value.
But tonight, Callie would begin to create a memory as she always had in the past; intentionally, and with a specific victim in mind. A still golden-haired though slightly scruffier version of the guy she had once come dangerously close to giving herself to. This was going to be one of the occasions when she had to use her feminine wiles to get herself to where she needed to be- in the centre of Hunter Marks heart which was dangerous given how much she had once cared for him. But forewarned was forearmed, and she was counting on her attraction to Ryan to keep her alive a second time.
