Once I’d found a comfortable, low-key spot at the barre somewhere in the middle of the room, I felt more relaxed. I moved through the normal dancer’s routine of stretches and warm-up exercises while I waited for the class to start. Finally Peter walked into the studio, and my stomach did a little flip. I took a breath, got into first position, and started pliés with the rest of the dancers.
The class was anticlimactic in that it felt completely normal, just like all my other Peter classes over the years. Peter greeted me with a smile the first time he walked by my barre. After class, I was due to meet Peter and Rosemary in the ballet masters’ dressing room. I was happy that at least we were not meeting in Peter’s office, where I’d had so many unhappy conversations.
I waited outside the door while Peter and Rosemary talked; then they called me in. There was a bit of awkwardness as we all found a place to settle inside the small room, and then we looked at one another for a moment.
“Well, how are you?” Rosemary asked with a smile. I understood that this was my pitch to make, that the burden of convincing them fell completely on me.
I took a breath and thought back on all I’d been through in the year since I’d been fired. I looked at these two people who’d had so much control over how I thought and felt about myself. I’d given them the power over whether I loved or hated myself, but I realized that now I was free. I was no longer under their control but instead empowered as a Daughter of the Lord to use the gifts He had given me in whatever way He saw fit. I was sitting across from two regular people who happened to be experts at what they did, and were therefore in high positions, but if I chose to put myself back under their authority, they would be my bosses and nothing more. They would not determine how I felt about myself—not anymore.
So I exhaled and began.
“I’m good, really good. I’ve had an amazing year and have completely changed. I’ve obviously lost a lot of weight, and I’ve been dancing and feel strong and ready to perform again. I feel like I’ve conquered a lot of the things that were holding me back, and can move forward in a much better way. I know that I’m not all the way back to a perfect ballet weight, but I feel like I can only get there if I’m rehearsing and performing a full schedule again. I’m happy to do every demi-soloist role in Nutcracker for the entire six-week run if you want me to—I just want to come back and dance again. And I know you will be pleased with my progress.”
I finally stopped the rush of words, rather amazed by my own confidence, especially when I remembered all the other weepy meetings I’d had with Peter and Rosemary, where I’d mostly cried and agreed that I was failing. Rosemary and Peter also seemed a little stunned, staring at me in surprise for a moment or two. They looked at each other and then asked me to give them a moment while they discussed it between themselves.
I left the room and waited outside in the hallway, already feeling triumphant but not knowing what their decision would be. When James and I had discussed this day, he had encouraged me to try for City Ballet but reminded me that there were many great companies to dance in, and that if it didn’t happen with City Ballet, I could go somewhere else. He also wanted me to feel that I had closure at City Ballet and that I could leave my experience there with my chin up, not slinking away in defeat. Further, he was adamant that if City Ballet took me back, it would be a chance for me to assess whether I actually wanted to stay there; he suggested I try it for a season and then decide if dancing in this particular company with these particular people was something I really wanted to do.
All of these thoughts raced through my head as I waited. I prayed that God’s will would be done, even as I hoped that Peter and Rosemary would say yes. But I didn’t feel ashamed or worthless or apologetic. God had truly changed me in unbelievable ways. I already had conquered a great darkness in my life.
The door opened, and they invited me back inside.
“We see a lot of progress, and we’re very happy about that,” Peter said. “We would obviously be happy to have you back, but we’re thinking of hiring you on a temporary contract just to see how it goes. We will hire you for Nutcracker, just through to the beginning of January. What do you think of that?”
I took it. I was thrilled. I was stepping back into the dance world, but this time it would be on my own terms as a new and changed person.
—
It was strange to be back with the company again. Life there had continued in the same vein as always while I was returning as someone completely different on the inside. I fell easily back into the rhythm of things, all the while knowing that I might only be there for a month or two. I approached each rehearsal and class a little cautiously, feeling a bit precarious in my newfound confidence and convictions. What if something happened that set me going downhill again? On the other hand, I loved the jokey camaraderie with the other dancers and the feeling that I was doing something I was really good at. No one spoke to me about my “year away”; everyone just picked up where I’d left off. There was a new crop of apprentices I didn’t know, but everyone else there had been my coworkers and friends for seven years.
The day of my first performance back with the company arrived. It was the opening night of Nutcracker, and it was like every other opening day that I’d experienced since I first joined the company at age sixteen. I’d spent all day at the theater, setting up my dressing room, taking class, and then doing the stage rehearsals for the night’s performance. After the last rehearsal, I left the theater for some food and fresh air.
With my bag of food from the deli in my hands, I sat down outside the stage door for a couple of minutes. Perhaps it was the very sameness of all of these rituals that was making the day feel surreal to me. Here I was, about to perform at the New York State Theater again, when a year ago I thought I’d quit dancing forever. I was about to dance onstage, and instead of the feelings of dread I’d become accustomed to, I was excited about it.
I grabbed my bag and went into the theater to my dressing room. Would I remember how to do stage makeup? I gave myself extra time, but it wasn’t necessary—apparently applying stage makeup is like riding a bike. I saw my made-up face in the mirror, unnaturally pale from the base makeup and powder, with dramatic eyes and huge eyelashes. That face was so familiar, but so foreign. Behind that makeup, any thought or feeling could be disguised, but I was hiding nothing now, and I felt great. Even beneath the makeup, with my frizzy hair slicked back into a bun and a giant flower on my head, I felt like myself.
The butterflies kicked in when I stood up to put on my warm-up clothes. I was dancing one of the two Demi Flowers, a part that I’d done more times than I could count, and normally it would not faze me. But this time was, of course, different. I put on sweatshirt, sweatpants, and leg warmers and went down to the stage level to warm up.
I’ve always preferred to warm up backstage so that I can look into the wings and watch what is happening on the stage. That night I followed my normal routine and entered the backstage area while the party scene was just ending. I found a spot at the barre and watched the dancers playing the Party Parents exit the stage, laughing softly with each other and heading briskly to their next costume change. The men would become Mice in the battle scene. The ladies would turn into Snowflakes.
As always, I stopped my barre work to peek through the wings and watch my favorite parts of the ballet. Our production of the Nutcracker is so magical, filled with moments that enchant watchers of every age. The first such moment is the transformation of our Christmas tree—as it rises to its towering height on the stage, it gets applause every time. The next moment is when the Nutcracker Prince changes, in the blink of an eye, into a real prince who then places a crown on little Marie’s head. Then the snow forest comes alive and the Snowflakes enter, bringing in the first extended dancing of the production. One of my best friends, Elizabeth, was always the first Snowflake onstage, and I took great joy in once again waving to her across
the wings before she entered and danced the brief solo that begins the dance of the Snowflakes.
My warm-up complete and intermission quickly approaching, I returned to my dressing room. This was the time for makeup and hair check, last bathroom break, quick taping of the toes with masking tape to prevent blisters, and getting into tights, trunks, and robe. Then I looked into the mirror once more, and a smile broke out on my face. I grabbed my pointe shoes and went down to the girls’ costume room offstage.
Just as my body remembered my old routines, so did my brain: What if I looked fat in my costume? What if everyone was looking at me in secret disgust? What if I looked different from everyone else? I shook my head and pushed the thoughts aside. I would not tolerate those thoughts anymore. I was here, I had changed, and I was proud of who I was. My body looked great, even if I did still hope to lose a couple more pounds. I had a right to be here and a right to dance. I felt great, and I’d been healed from so many things. I was a whole person now. And besides, I told myself, it wasn’t all about me! I needed to remember the bigger picture, stop focusing on myself, and be grateful I was here. God had given me a gift, not for myself, but to share with others in whatever way I could.
I changed into my costume, leaving my leg warmers on underneath. I carried my pointe shoes to the offstage workstation and did a last check to make sure no threads or elastics were loose. After they were securely and comfortably on my feet, I half-jogged onto the stage to get my heart rate up.
Dancers from the other divertissements were already there, the backstage area filled with living Hot Chocolates, Candy Canes, Teas, and Marzipans. Some were warming up, some were chatting and laughing with friends. I bounced around and joked with people, exchanging wishes of “merde.” Then the little girls playing the Angels appeared, signaling that it was almost time to start act 2. We moved offstage to prepare for our entrance.
I removed my leg warmers and felt another surge of butterflies, tensing up when the orchestra started playing. But I reminded myself that it was my choice to be back here, and that this was indeed something I loved. It was a miracle that I was again in this theater and able to perform on this stage. And I wasn’t going to waste time being nervous. I was going to enjoy this.
Finally it was time for the Waltz of the Flowers. I stood in the front wing and waved at Pascale Van Kipnis, my opposite Demi Flower for this performance. Our music began, and then suddenly we were taking two steps onto the stage and holding a brief arabesque balance. We ran to our first pose, and I got an initial glimpse of the audience, lit by the warm glow of the jewels that surround the rings of the theater. It looked like home. Then came four beats of the waltz, and suddenly we were really dancing. I felt a surge of joy. I was dancing, and I was free.
During that Nutcracker, I was cast in a busy schedule of Demi Flowers and Lead Spanish, just as I’d hoped. Slowly, over the course of the six-week run, I was able to get down to an acceptable ballet weight. The company offered me a full contract in January at my old rank of soloist, and I gradually returned to my old parts. In the spring of 1999 I was even cast in the lead role of the Waltz Girl in Serenade, a gift I’d never expected to receive. Dancing in that ballet again, after all that had passed, and with James dancing opposite me as the Dark Angel boy, was an experience I’ll always treasure.
I never returned to the almost-too-skinny weight of my late teens, but I was at a great dancing weight, fit and healthy and strong. I was thin, but I had thighs and a figure. My eating was normal, and, determined never again to succumb to disordered eating, I refused to go on strict diets. Therefore my weight did fluctuate, based on how much I was dancing; at the beginning of a rehearsal period after a layoff, I had a couple of pounds to lose. At the end of a very busy performance period, friends would tell me I was too thin. It was important for me to be normal in my outside life and stay away from the craziness of restrictive eating during layoffs, when I wasn’t as active as I was in performance seasons. I couldn’t constantly force myself into the ballet mold when I knew it would alter my priorities again toward a ballet-centric life, and eventually drive me crazy. I felt I could never sustain that kind of pressure on myself, so I strove for health and normalcy during every phase of the elliptical schedule of a dancer’s life. And it worked for me.
One day in the summer of 1999, James planned a whole day for us as a surprise for me. We were on our summer layoff from City Ballet, looking at twelve weeks away from work. James took me on a ferry to Fire Island for a day at the beach. Then he brought me home and told me to change and meet him at our midway point in Riverside Park. He promised me a bottle of wine and a beautiful sunset.
I met him on a quiet bench a little way uptown from the Boat Basin. We drank some wine from plastic cups and gazed at the sun setting over the New Jersey skyline. James got suddenly quiet. Then he set his wine on the ground and pulled a box out of his pocket. He somehow got halfway off the bench and then leaned close to my cheek and said in a slightly choked voice, “Will you . . .”
He didn’t seem to be able to finish. I quickly said, “Yes! Yes!” and we were engaged. I remember feeling so different that night with his ring on my finger. I’d known that he loved me, but it was altogether different to have a symbol on my hand that said that someone wanted me enough to tell anyone who looked at me that I was taken. He not only loved me, but he also wanted us to belong to each other for the rest of our lives. It was an extraordinary feeling.
Six months later, another January had come around, and I’d been back dancing with the company for a year. I’d just had a stage rehearsal for Jerome Robbins’s Fancy Free, a ballet about three sailors on leave in the big city, and was in my dressing room changing out of costume when I was called back to the stage over the intercom. I put on my terry-cloth bathrobe and fuzzy slippers and went backstage to find Peter waiting for me. He had a little smile on his face.
“So,” he said slowly, looking at me as if he had a secret. “I was thinking that it was time to promote you and make you a principal dancer.”
He watched my face while I digested the news. I hardly knew how to react. I was thrilled and surprised and in slight disbelief. I stammered out something like, “Wow, thank you,” and after we stood there for a moment we both simultaneously figured a hug was in order. The group of dancers rehearsing onstage seemed to have been in on the secret, and when they saw Peter and me hug, they broke out into applause and cheers.
After that everyone was just standing there and smiling at me, so after uttering more thanks and looking around idiotically for a bit, I escaped back to my dressing room.
It felt pretty unbelievable, even though I’d been doing major principal roles for the past season and was about to make my debut as Aurora in The Sleeping Beauty in a couple of weeks. To be promoted to principal, the highest rank a dancer could attain in the company, after all I’d been through, was astonishing and a testament to how far God had taken me in my life. I sat in my dressing room for a time, taking it all in and not quite sure how to handle the momentous news. I reminded myself that this was not where my true happiness lay, nor was it where my identity was stored. I said a prayer of thanks, and then went to call James and my family.
Chapter Seven
Intermission
I’ve been a professional dancer for almost twenty-five years now; the rules, rituals, and methods of this lifestyle are as comfortable to me as a favorite pair of shoes. But I realize that the ballet world is unique, and many of my daily routines probably seem exotic. Each dancer develops his or her own way of preparing for the stage, and that preparation is very detailed and time-consuming.
I’ve discovered that it generally takes me about two hours to prepare for a performance. Backstage, a sheet is posted on one of the many bulletin boards with the timings for each show. The sheet lists each ballet for the night and displays when that ballet starts, how long it is, and what time it will end. It also tells us if there are just three-minut
e pauses in between the ballets or full twenty-minute intermissions. When planning when I want to start getting ready for a performance, I go to the time sheet, find my ballet, and figure out what time it starts so that I can determine when I need to be in my dressing room to start my preperformance routines.
I enjoy getting ready for a show. I follow the same ritual almost every time, and the sameness is soothing. My dressing room is one of four located on the stage level. These are set aside for the more senior principal women, and each one houses two ballerinas. My dressing-room mate has been Maria Kowroski for over ten years and when we’re in the room together we’re likely to be chatting and laughing most of the time, unless one of us is feeling particularly tired or nervous. We almost always have music on, and I let Maria choose what we listen to, since I never want to force too much country music on my friends. But when I’m alone, I blast Willie and Dolly and the Dixie Chicks.
Upon arriving at the theater for a performance, I immediately change into some comfortable and baggy warm-up clothes and put fuzzy socks on my feet. If I’ve been rehearsing all day, I take a quick shower and have a snack before changing so that it almost feels like I’m starting a new day. Then I settle down in my chair at my dressing table to start my makeup.
The large mirror in front of my chair is surrounded by lightbulbs encased in metal safety cages. From the cages I hang a variety of objects such as a water squirt bottle, barrettes, safety pins, and even little shiny disco-ball ornaments for decoration. On the walls beside the mirror, I have pictures of my family, a schedule of the current performance season we’re dancing, and Post-it notes reminding me what I need to pick up at the drugstore. On the shelf on top of the mirror, I have boxes of various makeup and hair supplies as well as some paintings and pictures that I brought in to make my corner of the dressing room feel homey.
Dancing Through It: My Journey in the Ballet Page 18
