by S. K Munt
‘Can we just glory in that performance for a little while though before it becomes all about you again?’ Thespia’s features were more classical than the other girls. She had wavy dark hair, unassuming, rather-plain eyes and an average build. However, Thespia was the most alluring of all the sister’s that Callie had met yet. She was enigmatic and passionate, not numbed like the other Muses because her gift demanded that she keep every emotion bubbling under the surface of her calm façade to be drawn upon at a moment’s notice. She was quick to anger and even quicker to get over it. When she laughed it was with abandon and when she cried it was with the melodrama of a soap actress. She was funny, never at a loss for anything to say and ridiculously sensitive about people’s perception of her.
She was an actress. Her face was never lax, but always expressive and almost never looked the same way twice. In this particular sliver of her life, Thespia had been posing as a drama teacher at a university in London until she’d heard that Callie was in need of her. So she’d ‘schooled’ Calliope on being a Muse by putting her right into the action; first as a student in London and now, as a star in a Sydney theatre company. Callie had met so many wonderful and talented humans along the way, and she was gladdened to see how her proximity to them all sharpened their natural skills. Gavin especially, who was playing opposite her in this production was one of her most favorite people. He’d been the best dancer she’d ever seen when she’d watched him at the auditions, and now he was probably one of the best in the world. The show was finishing early because he had an audition for The Boy From Oz in London, and Callie knew he was going to land the role and make a name for himself. And it would be because of her. Well not just her, for a few of the Muses had thrown their hats in on the production.
‘It’s brilliant Thespia. The crowd looked as delighted as I feel when I dance the role.’ Callie took another sip of water. ‘Did you hear how they screamed for Gavin?’
Thespia nodded in delight. ‘And you darling… it’s a shame that you always take a back seat to your gifts. If you stopped trying to influence people and just performed for them instead there wouldn’t be a show we couldn’t sell-out!’
Calliope smiled sadly. Another thing she’d learned; Muses very rarely ended up in the spotlight themselves. As a human, it was thrilling to her but apparently, when she was in her regular form, dancing or singing for crowds had stopped satisfying her a thousand years ago. As a Muse, Calliope was not the star, but the spotlight shining down upon them, or the atmosphere in the crowd. That was where she derived her pleasure from; creation.
But as a Muse locked in a human’s body, Callie was free to do as she wanted. She sighed and glanced down, knowing that she only had a few minutes left to get into her third costume. It depressed her to know that this was one of the last times that she’d get to live out this fantasy, for when the curtain fell in Brisbane, the show would be over, and would not go on- not for her. And the irony was that being this close to realizing a dream she’d not been ambitious enough to aspire to to a teenager, was actually making her feel like she belonged in the world at last and she had no idea what she’d receive in its place when all was said and done. Would she lose her way and perish, only to repeat the nightmare again? Or would she succeed, regain her memories and return exhausted to the sweet boy she’d met on Mt Helicon who she still thought about every day?
When she looked up at her sister, tears were pricking her eyes. ‘Thank you, for all of this.’
Thespia smiled lovingly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you Callie.’
‘I know.’ Callie said impishly. ‘But thank you for doing it with me, rather than against.’
‘You know that Marilyn Monroe once said those exact words to me?’
Callie giggled. She didn’t doubt it.
Just then the director’s daughter Shawna appeared, clutching her copy of Harry Potter to her chest, looking more angelic than usual in her pretty white dress. Shawna was definitely a daddy’s girl, and her constant presence was incredibly helpful to the production, even if there wasn’t any written dialogue. ‘They know.’ Shawna said, glancing at Thespia then back to her. ‘And you’ll be happy to know that Hunter walked out crying.’
Callie swallowed hard. ‘Really?’
‘Well,’ Imogen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe Calliope would have been thrilled to know- I keep forgetting what a wet blanket Callie Clay can be.’
‘Just get back out there and tell them that they’re wanted after the show, okay?’ Thespia asked, rolling her eyes.
‘Sure.’ Imogen winked at Callie before turning away. ‘The sooner they do, the sooner my show starts, right?’
Callie looked down at her toe shoes, tempted for the millionth time to ask her sister what she’d done, but knowing she wouldn’t get an answer; because this was the one story Imogen had inspired that she wanted Callie to experience without words.
*
Hunter could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other during the intermission and had allowed Ryan to fend off their dates endless stream of questions: How had they known the dancer? How could they have been best friends if they didn’t even know what she was doing with her life, and the best one: ‘What do you MEAN you were detained for questioning over her rape and murder?!’ That screeched question had been embarrassing in the crowded lobby and Hunter had shot Eva a disgusted look before stomping outside for a smoke. A smoke he couldn’t light for three attempts because his hands were shaking, and a cloud of nicotine he couldn’t inhale because he couldn’t breathe deeply enough.
‘Why are we just standing here?’ Ryan ran his hand through his glossy hair and tugged on the ends, whirling around to press his fingers to the glass, looking down the darkened corridor that led to backstage which was not being used that night. ‘We should go and find her!’
‘No way.’ Hunter said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to blink for an hour, let alone attempt to confront Callie. ‘I’m already on thin ice with Eva for having gone speechless over seeing Cal, and the whole wrap-sheet thing, and if a single usher or security guard just heard what my darling girlfriend just screeched then I don’t think we’ll be getting within ten feet of the girl’s toilets- let alone the stage doors.’ He flicked his half-smoked butt onto the slate ground and pushed off the door, feeling comfortably numb as he clapped a hand down on Ryan’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go back in without looking too sinister, watch our friend dance and then find her afterwards…’ He jerked his head towards the foyer. ‘So we can wring her neck in private.’
Ryan smiled crookedly at him. ‘Just one thing- before we wring her neck?’
‘Yeah?’
Ryan grinned. ‘Let’s not discuss who gets to do it first in front of her this time huh?’
The laughter escaped Hunter and did not stop until the lights in the lobby dimmed. Not because Ryan was funny, but because he was borderline hysterical. Just like Hunter was.
Callie was in the first returning scene and Hunter’s eyes didn’t budge from the stage the entire time. It was set to a classical arrangement but Hunter barely noticed or cared. He watched as the king led Callie to the queen and prince, presenting her and in a dramatic ballet, Hunter watched as Callie was judged and rejected. The king appeared to lose hope and stormed off but the queen slid from her throne and waved her hand. A stack of mattresses, twice as tall as anyone of them was rolled out onto the stage on a portable set painted to look like a four-poster bed. While Callie’s back was turned, the queen made a big deal of inserting a tiny little pea under the lowest mattress; Callie was going to be tested for the delicacy a princess ought to have possessed.
The scene blacked out and when the lights came back on they were twilight colored, illuminating Callie asleep on the side of the bed. Then, the spotlight drifted across the floor and shone on the king, not the prince, as he entered the room. The band and orchestra joined in harmony top the song Hero by Enrique Iglesias as the king began to dance for Callie’s attention. He was incr
edibly good, perhaps not as good as the prince, Gavin, (Hunter had studied the program thoroughly) but more masculine and his voice was husky and sensual.
Then the spotlight shifted to Callie who was on her knees on the mattress, pantomiming desire as she clung to the post, swooned and, in a move that made Hunter’s breath catch, lifted one leg, toe-pointed, and slowly drew in up the side of her body until it was taut and stretched above her ear. Her skirt parted and gathered at her hips as she clasped her heel and in one quick movement- rolled, spinning straight as she fell from the bed like a yo-yo. The audience gasped in shock but then the king did a Jet֭e, landed at the base of the mattress and caught Callie effortlessly, immediately contracting her body into a bundle in his arms.
Hunter exhaled and was about to lean back into his seat but then the king was dancing with Callie in his arms and despite all of the surprises of the evening, Hunter had not expected to see something so erotic play out. The king dipped Callie backwards, caught her dress and tore it down the middle. Then he spun her, caught each side of the ruined garment and pulled it off her shoulders. Before Hunter could actually stand up and holler at Callie to put her freaking clothes back on, she was flung into the air in skimpy lingerie and caught an inch from the ground. She was stretched into an arabesque, one knee bent beneath her waist, as the king began to kiss down her shoulders and spine. Then he flipped her, laid her on the ground beneath him and oh-so-slowly, miming desire so blatant that it could not possibly have been a ruse, he began to lower himself onto Hunter’s former best friend while guiding her long leg back up to extend above her ear.
Hunter had to bite back a moan as the king acted out one of Hunter’s favorite spank-bank fantasies and Callie undulated beneath him as she was ballet-screwed in front of the entire, silent audience. After a few feigned thrusts of the king’s hips Hunter couldn’t take it anymore. He turned his face to see that Ryan was now hanging on the back of the chair in front of him with unblinking eyes.
God how can you stand it? Hunter wanted to jump out of his body and run screaming from the room where he could angrily rub one out in private because yes, Callie’s now muscular and scantily clad body had him harder than he had ever been before. Beside Ryan, Jo looked sour, her arms crossed stiffly in front of her as she stared at her feet and next to Hunter, Eva was scowling at the stage unhappily.
‘Enjoying this?’ She whispered, not looking at him.
‘Not anymore.’ Hunter grumbled, and got to his feet. As he reached the stage door, he heard the audience break into a wild applause and raucous laughter. He turned to see that the king was hiding behind the mattress, clutching his shirt and crown to his bare and rippled torso, and Callie was back on the bed, her back arched with a hand pressed into it, miming pain as the queen and prince sidled on. Hunter understood the audience’s laughter then; the princess had not felt the pea- she’d almost been walked in on doing the king and had rushed back to bed and pretended to be uncomfortable to explain why she was sitting up instead of sleeping!
Hunter almost smiled in appreciation of the bit of black humor, but then his eyes went to back to Callie on the bed and it hit him; his best friend really was alive! She really was there! Relief and agony barged through his shock and he marched out of the auditorium and into the foyer where he could find somewhere to sit and weep alone.
*
Eva and Jo stormed off the moment the show was over. Hunter felt awful and wanted to chase after his girlfriend and explain and apologize and attempt to redeem himself, but he just couldn’t do it then and there and had promised to call her later instead and explain everything.
The little blonde who had shushed them during the first act of the show had turned out to be the director’s daughter, and apparently she’d turned to Ryan after Hunter had bailed and passed on an official, whispered invitation from the Prima Ballerina for her old friends to meet her afterwards. Ryan had come out with his mind made up, but Hunter was still contemplating running after Eva. Or, he was pretending to be. In actuality, his legs were moving twice as fast as Ryan’s to get backstage despite the scowl he’d been unable to wipe off his face since intermission. Neither boy said a word as they rounded the rear of the entertainment centre and double-timed it to the yawning roller door which had been left open. A girl, wearing a black beanie and a black leather bomber jacket was standing on the rear steps as they approached. She had a notebook in hand and didn’t look up as they skipped up the steps towards her.
‘Hunter Marks and Ryan Weaver?’ The girl asked in a bored voice, keeping her eyes averted.
‘Yes!’ Hunter practically cried, feeling the weird compulsion to grip Ryan’s hand for support, which he hid by punching his fist into the open palm of the other while cracking his knuckles back.
‘Miss Clay is still onstage,’ she said, turning away and motioning for them to follow her. ‘She said I’m to let you straight through.’ She glanced back at their shoes. ‘But don’t touch anything okay?’
Hunter nodded. He and Ryan had helped out with a few productions on that very stage during their first year at AVPAC, so they knew the drill. But Hunter had never been excited and nervous like this before, and he almost brained himself on one of the many air-lock doors that the girl pushed through on the path backstage. It was pitch black at first and Hunter could hear Ryan’s ragged breathing as they hurried to catch up to their tour guide. They were lead onto the black floor and past row after row of black felt curtains. Light peeked through each wing, and Hunter could hear the final strains of a very familiar song being played in a way he’d never heard it before, more gentle than sorrowful tears as a sweet female voice sang along: ‘Happy birthday Mr Director… Happy birthday to you…’
Hunter stepped onto the lit stage and blinked at the shock of so much light after so much darkness. The theatre had already emptied and row after row of red velvet seats seemed to extend to the sky. For a moment, there was nothing but Hunter on that stage and he knew that if he closed his eyes, he would see a crowd waiting for him to sing.
But then he felt her and he turned to see that Callie was back on the proscenium arch, seated at her harp, and that a small crowd had gathered around her, both on the arch and in the first few seats in that corner, watching with smiles on their overly made-up faces as an older man blushed in pleasure to Callie’s right; the director of course and the birthday boy Callie was singing for. There was a smattering of applause and a few of the people rushed forward to kiss or hug the director, whose hand Hunter would have liked to shake, but he was star-struck, crawling out of his skin and feeling guilty; he’d been so overcome by Callie’s sexy dancing that he hadn’t even finished watching the wonderful show.
And then Callie looked up and saw them and her radiant smile faltered for a moment, before stretching again. She rose like a flume of water and stepped around the stool, her hand lingering almost longingly on the harp strings before she released it and moved towards them. She wore a blue velvet corset over a white peasant top that had been laced to the contours of her waist. The skirt gathered at her hips and were bolstered behind her, and the material fell away from the front of her deeply bronzed legs but draped behind her over a barely-there white petticoat. A crown was perched on top of her head, a large gaudy gold thing inlaid with royal-blue paste diamonds, and her hair streamed to her backside, straight and as pitch black as a starless night.
Hunter’s heart didn’t just skip a beat; it dropped the sheet music and fumbled to pick up a few seconds later from memory with a bongo instead of a guitar. Seeing Callie look so fucking unbelievable contrasted with his last recollection of her; she’d looked unbelievable then too, of course, naked, febrile and vulnerable, but her eyes had been haunted and her movements static as she’d lurched away and out into the storm.
But there was nothing haunted about Callie now. She was blooming like a night-garden under a full moon and her bright eyes held his without budging until she reached out one hand. Hunter looked at that hand and wanted to slap it away. He
wanted to take her by the hair, jerk her face up to his and scream every obscene thought he’d ever had about her or towards her then and there in front of everyone and let the cast know that their darling harpist/ goddess was actually a game-playing, prick-teasing, heart-breaking, life-ruining demon. And once he’d effectively humiliated and shocked her, he wanted to drag her up to the tower of mattresses, bind her hands to the pole with the gold braided cord around her waist and fuck her for as long, and as hard, as he’d missed her. The bitch owed them; Big-time, and Hunter wanted to collect.
But before he could allow his gaze to frost over, Hunter’s eyes returned to the crown on Callie’s head and he realized how wrong she looked without his hat pulled down over her eyes. And then his heart broke at the memory of Happy Callie in his hat. Happy Callie teaching him how to read music. Eight year old, knock-kneed Callie leaping into prospective death in a running dive, determined to save the life of the mean-little boy who’d risked his own fool neck trying to assert his dominance over her.
And then he was pulling her into his arms and weeping onto her bare shoulder.
18.
Callie held Hunter for as long as she was able before Ryan’s warmth, Ryan’s own pain and joy and confusion became an entity beside them and then, she turned and curled around him, her eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears from falling. Everything inside her felt like it was dying and coming back to life simultaneously, but she couldn’t give in to her emotions by shedding tears, for each one weakened her resolve to deny them her affection. Callie was glad that Imogen had been hiding her face because in that moment, Callie could have sent her sister spiraling into Oblivion for having cursed her to fulfill a Muse’s purpose with a human’s heart. Callie had not been as obsessed with her memories as everyone expected her to be. She’d even feared them. All she had wanted to do was get back to her former life, heal the pain she had caused, and then hopefully, gotten Hunter and Ryan to where they deserved to be.
