by Shenda Paul
Roll call ends, and, despite not knowing what it means, I’m happy that Luke and I are both still seated. Our group, now seven, include Adriana, Amelie Babineaux, Nikolai, Sebastian Hartman, Peter Landau, Luke, and me.
Miss Karlin leads the other, larger, group from the room, while Miss Ingrid turns to us. “You have been chosen to audition for the roles of Giselle, Myrtha, Albrecht, and Hilarion,” she says. “Take an hour’s break and return to this room at two o’clock. You will have half an hour to warm up before auditions start. Don’t be late, please.” She turns to me and inclines her head, letting me know she wants to speak to me. Before I can respond, Luke speaks.
“Would you like to join me for something to eat?” he asks. “There’s an excellent café just around the corner from here.”
“I can’t, my ballet mistress wants me,” I whisper, glancing quickly at Miss Ingrid, who’s watching with interest.
“Your ballet mistress?” Luke asks, puzzled.
“Yes, and my chaperone,” I say, and now he looks as if I’d just doused him with cold water.
“How old are you, Angelique?” He lets out an audible sigh; I can’t tell if it’s in disappointment or exasperation.
“Eighteen,” I answer uncertainly.
“Thank God,” he mutters. “Another time then,” he smiles, reaching over to touch my hand. “I’ll save your warm-up spot,” he adds and, with a devastating smile, walks away—backward, still clasping my hand, which he releases only when our arms are fully extended, fingertips barely touching.
“Angelique?” I turn to see Miss Ingrid’s amused face. “Come; I have an office.”
The room’s tiny, gloomy almost, the only bright spot provided by a vase of yellow roses. “Not what I’m used to, but I’m so happy to be here, I’d be satisfied with a broom closet—this almost qualifies,” she laughs at my surprise. “Eat,” she points to a tray holding two sandwiches and bottled water, “we don’t want you fainting during auditions.”
Gesturing for me to sit, she hands me a turkey and salad sandwich and a bottle before taking her place behind the desk. “So, you ‘ve made a new friend?” she asks, hand poised over her food. My cheeks flame, and I nod.
“He’s very handsome, no?” I raise the bottle to my lips, hoping to avoid answering, but she smiles, undeterred. “He likes you, Angelique, that is clear, and there is nothing wrong with that; you are no longer a child. You’re a young woman—have you had experience with boys?”
“Uh, no….” I stammer, practically choking on water.
“Young love can be beautiful, but you must be careful. Make sure he respects you, and don’t ever do things you do not want to do. Remember that, above all else.” Miss Ingrid’s grave tone surprises me because it feels more than general concern.
“Miss Ingrid, I’m not going to fall in love; I want to concentrate on my dancing,” I hastily assure her.
“Do you like him?” she asks, smiling at my red face.
“Umm… yes; but he makes me nervous—I don’t know what he wants—” I confess.
“Oh, Angelique, it is clear what he wants. He wants to know you, and he wants to make love to you. If you like him, and if you want him, don’t hold back. Learn to love and what it is to be love; just remember what I have said. Don’t do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, and, above all, be careful. You do not want to fall pregnant; that would be a disaster at your age.”
I look away, embarrassed by her frankness. It’s not that I’ve never discussed sex; the girls and I talk, and Mom’s covered the basics. I’m just not used to this level of familiarity with Miss Ingrid.
She leans forward to touch my arm. “I am here for you, Angelique. You may not want to, or be able to speak with your mother about such things, but I believe I have different sensibilities when it comes to matters of love and sex. I’m freer, I think.”
I stare at her wide-eyed, unable to believe she’s encouraging me to lose my virginity. “Yes,” she smiles wryly, “I know about sex, and sadly, I also know about being used and being too naive to be careful,” she says,
When I don’t immediately respond, she sits back and picks up her sandwich. “Enough of love. Let’s discuss the auditions.”
We’re silent as we move from the warm-up barre to our seats. Master Gustav, Miss Karlin, and Miss Ingrid sit in the front row; the stage, as it was before, is spotlighted.
Miss Karlin stands, clipboard in hand. “Welcome back,” she greets us. “This is how we will proceed. First, each danseur will perform Albrecht’s solo in Act One. Then, after a ten-minute break, you will dance his variation in Act Two. Stage left, please, gentlemen; you will go in alphabetical order. Hurry now; we start in ten minutes.”
Nikolai steps forward as the music starts. He dances magnificently, just as I expected he would. Luke’s up next, and he’s amazing too, but I can’t help feeling anxious for him. Sebastian follows, and then Peter. Master Gustav and Misses Karlin and Ingrid huddle, their heads bowed in discussion after each dance. I don’t participate in the whispered conversations going on around me; I offer up a silent prayer of support for Luke instead.
Miss Ingrid claps her hands, alerting the performers to prepare for their next dance. Soon after, the stirring music of Albrecht’s variation fills the air. Nikolai’s second performance is as good as his first, and my concern for Luke escalates. When he takes the stage, however, it seems that Luke’s found something extra.
His performance is spellbinding; one could hear a pin drop, and I’m convinced that everyone, like me, is holding their breath. Luke executes his adagio with sublime fluidity; the grace of his extensions makes his body seem almost otherworldly. Most impressive of all, to me, is the fact that he appears to be truly in the moment, lost in the character he’s portraying. He stills in his final pose, and I exhale a shuddering breath as he gracefully unfolds his body and leaves the stage. Our judges, true to form, make no comment, and, moments later, the music restarts, signaling the next performance.
The danseurs rejoin us, and the judges converse quietly once more. Luke returns to sit beside me, and, in an uncharacteristic act, I grasp his hand. “You… you were amazing—I have no words, Luke. You deserve that role.”
He kisses me, almost but not quite, on the mouth. My cheeks sizzle with heat. “Thank you,” he replies. “If I’m lucky enough to land the role, I’d want nothing more than for you to dance with me.” The way he looks at me makes my heart race and my stomach flip.
Miss Karlin’s voice, announcing, “Danseuses stage left, please,” drags me back to reality. “Same routine as before. You will each perform Giselle’s solo from Act One, and after a ten-minute break, we’ll move onto the routine where she first joins the Willis.” My heart beats erratically—for an entirely different reason now.
“Dance for me; don’t think of anyone else watching,” Luke whispers. “And remember, you are Giselle.” I smile at him; grateful for the support and confidence he’s trying to instill me. I glance over at Miss Ingrid as I make my way forward. She smiles, giving me a tiny nod of encouragement. Other than Mom, she and my friends have been my greatest supporters. Grateful as I am for Luke’s reassurances, I know I’ll be dancing for them—and for Daddy, who I just know is looking down on me today.
Adriana will perform first, then Amelie, and then me. We wish one another luck before turning to our preparation. When Adriana takes to the stage, Amelie chooses to watch, but I stay back. I’ve seen her dance; I know just how good she is, and I don’t want to be reminded of that right now. I close my eyes, instead, and listen to the music, visualizing myself dancing to it, planning every movement, mindful of Miss Ingrid’s instructions about where to inject light or shade.
I’m shocked when Adriana taps me on the elbow, signaling that Amelie’s dance has ended. I hadn’t even noticed Adriana finish her performance or Amelie dance. I smile, silently thanking her. I’ve yet to be properly introduced to the other dancers, but even in the short time I’ve spent with them, I’v
e realized that everyone’s here to perform in whatever capacity they can. Dancers, especially in situations like this, are by nature competitive, but I haven’t detected any signs of open rivalry—quite the opposite, in fact. Everyone appears genuine in their appreciation of others’ performances.
I take a deep, cleansing breath as I wait for my cue. For a fleeting moment, just as the music starts, and before I embody the character I’m about to portray, I think of Daddy and how proud he’d be of me now. I smile, whispering my love, and then I am Giselle, joyously entering the village square.
I hold my pose until the last strains of music fade away before returning to the wing for our ten-minute break. We girls huddle together to congratulate and wish one another luck once more before we retreat within ourselves.
Adriana, Amelie, and I are back in the auditorium, where the atmosphere’s become even more charged. Luke greeted me with a hand extended in welcome, and I, surprising myself yet again, unhesitatingly placed my mine in his. He’s still holding it now as we wait for Master Gustav to speak.
“We’ve seen some excellent performances today, and I’m very proud to have every one of you as part of our company for the summer. Before we announce our decisions, I would like you each to know that you are very talented and that you have a great future ahead of you. If you have not succeeded in getting the role you wished for today, you will get there some day, sooner than most of you think.”
He glances down at the clipboard in his hand before continuing. “The role of Albrecht goes to Luke Grantham.” Soft applause breaks out, and I turn to Luke with a beaming smile. He lifts my hand and brushes his lips across my knuckles. Those around us appear amused by his response. Blushing deeply, and not quite knowing what to do, I reluctantly extricate my hand. Miss Ingrid, when I catch her eye, gives me a knowing smile.
“The role of Hilarion goes to Nikolai, and Peter, you will be Wilfrid,” Master Gustav says before he turns to, Sebastian, who, despite his obvious disappointment graciously congratulates the others. “Sebastian you will dance the role of Prince Courland.”
Master Gustav raises his hand to silence the murmurs that have broken out, “Just a few more moments, please.” It feels like an age before he raises his head from the clipboard this time. My heart feels like it’s about to thump its way right out of my chest when, at last, he opens his mouth to speak. “The role of Giselle goes to Angelique,” he says.
I’d convinced myself that the Adriana land the role, and I’d already turned to congratulate her, so I stare at her in shock. Despite the disappointment I know she must be feeling, her smile when she congratulates me, is sincere. I stutter my thanks before turning to Miss Ingrid for confirmation. She nods, her face a picture of delight. I can’t believe it. Master Gustav’s still speaking, and I barely register him announcing that Adriana will be dancing Myrtha, and Amelie, Princess Bathilde.
“I knew you’d do it,” Luke says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Have dinner with me to celebrate?” he asks hopefully.
Miss Ingrid, who’s just reached us, answers before I can. “Angelique needs to call her mother, and then she and I will be having an early dinner at home, Mr. Grantham. You may take her out for dessert after, but she has to be home by ten,” she adds, reminding Luke that we both have an early morning start. He eagerly agrees and, after making arrangements, lightly squeezes my hand and leaves.
I call Mom as soon as we get home. She’s so excited; she nearly bursts my eardrum when she squeals the news to Peter, who, apparently, is sitting right beside her. Goodness only knows what damage she may have caused to his hearing.
We talk for nearly an hour as, prompted by her throughout, I describe every detail about the auditions. Before we hang up, she tells me she and Peter will be here for opening night. When I protest the cost, Peter takes the phone and says nothing in the world would keep them from being present for my moment of glory. My heart swells with affection for my stepfather; he’s a good, kind man, and I thank the powers that be, once more, that Mom has someone to love and take care of her again.
Luke arrives promptly at eight, armed with a small bunch of multicolored freesias for Miss Ingrid. She practically blushes as she thanks him before excusing herself to find a vase. He greets me then, and kisses me, almost touching my mouth again. “You look lovely,” he says, his heated gaze turning my knees to rubber. Miss Ingrid, thankfully, returns because I’m yet to articulate a response.
“Don’t be late,” she warns Luke, her smile softening the words. I think, like me, she finds him hard to resist.
“Angelique will be home by ten. I hope to see a lot of her, and I’d hate to get on your wrong side,” he answers, gracing her with his devastating smile.
“Off with you two. Enjoy yourselves,” she smiles indulgently and kisses my cheek before making her way to her bedroom.
Luke’s brought me to Café Kandler, a place that serves the most decadent cakes and pastries he told me on the way here.
Now, as we peruse the menu, he explains the famous Leipziger Lerche, a pastry filled with a crushed almond mixture. When I ask, he tells me the name stems from the singing bird, a lark, in German, a lerche, which used to be roasted with herbs and eggs to form the filling of the original pastry. Hunting of larks was outlawed in the late eighteen hundreds, and that, I learn, led to the sweet version of the dish.
Luke orders the lerche, but I choose a large slice of chocolate cake. I wouldn’t normally go for something quite so indulgent, but I feel the occasion warrants it. When our desserts arrive, he cuts into the lerche and offers me a piece on his fork. I feel my cheeks heat as I return his gaze, uncertain what to do.
“You can’t leave Leipzig without trying its most famous dessert,” he coaxes, bringing the fork to my mouth. Blushing lean forward to accept it.
“It is good,” I say after swallowing, and his intent expression, the one he’d adopted while watching me eat, the one that makes my stomach do strange things, slowly morphs into a brilliant smile. I offer him a piece of my cake, but he refuses. “I’m not much of a chocolate fan—in any case, I’d much rather watch you eat it,” he says, his voice low and husky.
My face heats despite my best efforts to appear unaffected. To deflect attention from me, I ask about his past visits to Leipzig. Luke tells me his first stint with the company was three years ago; he was nineteen and performed as a courtier in their production of Cinderella. There’s only a four-year gap in our ages, but I feel like a gauche child beside him. It’s become apparent, by his answers to my questions, that Luke has traveled extensively and that he comes from a wealthy family. He says the Grantham men have traditionally been surgeons. His father, he says when I ask which hospital he works at, has a practice in Harley Street and operates from a couple of private hospitals. He tells me he’s the odd man out, that his father, thankfully, got over his disappointment almost immediately to support him in his chosen career. His mother has always doted on him, he confesses.
In tell him about Mom and the girls, and, although I usually find it hard to talk to strangers about how deeply I feel the loss of Dad, I find myself admitting it to Luke. He comforts me by reaching for my hand and holds it across the table while I talk about Dad’s pride in being Irish. He asks how I came to be a ballerina, and I tell him, glossing over my encounters with Mr. Quandt. Luke senses my discomfort and presses for information. I shrug it off, saying I just don’t like the man, but that I’m grateful for the opportunity. I choose, instead, to talk about my relationship with Miss Ingrid.
He’s so easy to talk to, and the atmosphere in Café Kandler, so warm and inviting that I find myself feeling completely relaxed in conversation with someone I’ve only just met—and a male, at that.
Before we know it, it’s nine-thirty, and Luke reluctantly beckons a waitress to request the bill. I reach into my handbag, but he stops me, gently admonishing me and telling me we’re on a date, and that I’m not expected to pay. I insist on treating us the next time, and he grudgingly agrees.
His determined expression, however, tells me the argument is far from settled.
Our apartment is within walking distance, and it’s a pleasant night, so when asked whether I want to take a cab or walk, I say I’d like to familiarize myself with the area by walking. Luke pulls me close, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as he points out noteworthy sights and good places to eat. We reach the apartment sooner than I would have liked. He walks me up and, when we reach my door, waits patiently while I rustle around in my bag for the key. I’m about to insert it into the lock when he catches my hand.
“May I kiss you? Please?” he whispers close to my ear.
My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve never been properly kissed; the clumsy attempts I’ve endured before don’t count. Luke’s a man, and I sense he’s had experience, perhaps a lot, in being intimate. A combination of nerves and anticipation robs me of speech, so I nod.
My heart stutters as he leans in, watching me as if gauging my response. His mouth is warm and soft when it meets mine. The pressure he exerts is feather-light, but so, so, potent, it robs me of breath. Luke skims his tongue across my bottom lip, an unspoken question. And, for the first time, I open my mouth to receive a man’s kiss.
He strokes my tongue slowly with his and draws me closer by cupping my neck with one hand while encircling my waist with the other. My breath hitches at the new sensations, the feeling he elicits in me, the responses he draws from me. The strange, fluttering in my belly turns to heat as he molds my body to his. Then, with a soft groan, and as my body struggles to come to grips with the onslaught of these new and wonderful sensations, he pulls away.
“Goodnight, beautiful. See you at rehearsals,” he whispers, removing the key from my trembling fingers to unlock the door. With a soft, parting kiss on my lips, Luke waits till I enter before turning away. I shut the door; my senses completely addled as I stand with my back against it, my fingers touching my mouth where his lips had been.
