84 Ribbons (14 page)

“Can I have my hand back, please?”

“May I kiss you first?” he said as he traced one hand down her cheek and inched closer.

She nodded.

He kissed her cheek, then her lips before he pulled back and turned on the dome light. He handed her a small, flat package wrapped in rose-colored paper. “I found this in the used book store. I thought you’d like it. The cover says it’s ballet without tears. I want you to always be happy and, well, uh, I … Open it.”

She undid the wrapping and lifted out a small tattered book entitled,
The Ballet Lover’s Pocket Book
. The dust cover flaked as she opened the book. “Thanks. This is wonderful, Steve.” Marta turned the pages and looked at each small line drawing. When she looked back at Steve, his grin made her smile. “Did you read it?”

“I thumbed through it,” he said. “The author knew a lot about ballet and costumes and scenery. She plays the guitar, so she can’t be all bad. Read the inscription I added.”

Marta read the words aloud. “You’ll always have me as your audience of one.” She closed the book and reached up with both hands, cupping Steve’s face. “You know, for a cowboy, you’re sweet.”

“I like being called a cowboy better than Mr. Fluff.”

They sat in Steve’s car, holding hands at the curb by the boarding house until Marta yawned and tapped the car clock. “I need to go. I plan to sleep in ‘til noon.”

“May I see you or call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, but not a second before noon, promise?”

“I promise. Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.”

They lingered in a hug. After a quick series of kisses, Marta unlocked the front door and said good night. From the common room window she watched Steve drive away. She tucked tonight away as a perfect remembrance. Her next encounter with Madame promised to be memorable, but she doubted it would be anything but continuous criticism.

11

D
read day: the first rehearsal after the opening performance of the Classic Sampler. Marta took special care to appear professional as she entered the large practice room. The usual banter and chatter among the corps was missing. Instead, everyone stood in silence; the floor held a sudden interest.

Madame thumped into the room and positioned herself next to the piano. “I imagine you read the reviews. The paper was too generous. Obviously they overlooked the numerous blunders, or the reviewer, Susan Zane, needs new glasses.”

Marta squirmed and looked around. No one met her glances.

“I am surprised at the lack of corps pride you displayed. After all our practices and rehearsals, you still acted like you were in pain. Your entries were ragged, your gracefulness rivaled a bunch of circus clowns.”

Madame swiveled to face Marta. “And you. What were you thinking? You almost fell onto the stage as Carabosse. I’ve seen better mime by a five year old.”

The shock of Madame’s attack weakened Marta’s knees. She lowered her eyes and curtsied. “I‘ll work harder, Madame.”

Madame thumped to stand inches from Marta. “I don’t want ‘harder.’ I want smarter with more believability.”

“Yes, Madame. Of course.” Marta felt tears gather in her eyes, but there was no way she’d let Madame see her cry. Not ever.

“Now, let’s start at the top. We have eleven performances ahead of us, and I won’t let you corps dancers make a fool of this ballet company.”

Hour after hour, practice after practice, Marta worked at a feverish level to impress Madame. Every free hour at the boarding house, she rehearsed Carabosse until she exhausted her reserves, dropping into bed without eating or showering. Both took too much energy.

“Marta,” Lynne said. “What’s happening to you this week? You look like Carabosse before you add any make-up.”

“I’m okay. I just need to find a way to reach deeper and dance her as a stronger character.”

“You’re doing fine. I worry you’re going to collapse on stage.”

Marta smiled. “It’s almost over. I can make it.” Though secretly she had the same fear.

Each performance Madame stood in the wings and stared at her as she exited the stage. Each performance the stares grew shorter. Had Madame given up on her, or had she reached a level of performance Madame could accept?

When the Classic Sampler performances ended in late October, Marta felt relieved. Now she could rejoin the boarding house meals and go back to spending her evenings more leisurely. She could also spend time with Steve. They could use the slower schedule to write their first shared article. The arts editor had suggested a list of the ten most famous ballets with short descriptions as their starting point.

One Saturday evening, Marta cleaned the basement practice space and set two chairs at the card table. She spent several minutes fussing with her hair before Steve arrived.

“This is cozy,” Steve said as he entered the basement room.

“It works. I thought if we worked here, we’d get away from the boarders. James and Shorty love to play cards in the evening.”

Steve nodded as he set his briefcase and his portable Smith Corona typewriter on the table. “Do you type?”

Marta shrugged. “A little.”

“How about you talk and I’ll type.”

Over the next two hours, Marta shared background ballet information and talked about her favorite ballets. Steve asked questions and recorded her answers for additional articles. Then, while he wrote, she used the time to exercise without music. When she looked toward Steve, he had stopped working to watch her. She smiled.

“Is that what you do every day?” he said.

“Pretty much. We warm all our muscles slowly so we don’t tear anything. Usually it’s done in leotards, not a skirt. Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.” He stood and walked toward her and handed her the article he’d typed. “Read this rough copy aloud, please. That way I can hear if it flows.”

Flows. They both used the same word for different careers. Marta cleared her throat and read:

The world of ballet is centuries old. Many of the world’s  favorite ballets were choreographed during the sixty years  between 1832 and 1891. Newer ballets, created between 1910 and the 1930s have also become favorites at our local Intermountain Ballet Company.

Madame Cosper and one of her new dancers, Marta Selbryth, shared their favorites. Madame Cosper’s top ballets include (Ask Madame for her list and comments and get her final approval for the article.)

Marta looked up. “You want me to talk to her about this?”

“No, I’ll have Susan share this with Madame. I need your top ballets so Madame will know what you said. Then we’ll see what happens. Keep reading.”

Miss Selbryth’s list includes: The Nutcracker, Coppélia, Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, La Sylphides, Firebird, Four Seasons, and Giselle. She said, “I’ve enjoyed their musical scores since I was a child. The composers create a wonderful flow of music, allowing us to present a variety of dances. Each tells a story.” (add Marta’s descriptions as space allows)

Intermountain Ballet Company presented excerpts from  Coppélia and Sleeping Beauty in their fall season opening. Next they will present full ballets for The Nutcracker, Giselle, and Serenade. The season ends with a Tribute to America and new choreography from local ballet master, Damien Black.

Contact Fox Theater box office for tickets to future performances.

“That made what I said sound really good,” Marta said as she handed the copy to Steve.

“Doin’ my job.” Steve put the article in his briefcase.” If there’s space, we can add the overview of each ballet that we’ve discussed. For now, we’re done. How about we get something to eat?”

“Let me fix something here. Then we can sit on the porch swing and—”

“Wait. I have my own ideas about what we can do sitting in the swing.”

Choreography for the Nutcracker had began even before the Classic Sampler performances ended, followed by auditions for parts. On tour and at home, guest dancers would perform Herr Drosselmeier and the Nutcracker-turned-Prince. The walk around parts of party scene members, soldiers, and children would be selected from the local dance schools and interested adults. Patrice Royal, as principal dancer, earned the choice of roles: the Snow Queen or the Sugar Plum Fairy. Corps dancers performed the Waltz of the Flowers and vied for short solos.

The demi-soloists would perform as snowflakes. That left company-wide auditions for Clara, the Chinese, Russian, Arabian, Spanish, and Flute dances, as well as Mother Ginger. True, they were small solos and required quick changes, but the dances were coveted. All except Mother Ginger, who danced on short stilts.

Over the past sixty years, choreographers had modified and restaged the various roles to meet their needs. Damien favored recreating the 1940s version as close as possible. All the dancers had to readjust their thinking and dancing; every rehearsal became crucial. Marta, Lynne, and Bartley practiced each evening in Marta’s basement studio.

The evening before auditions, the girls finished rehearsing and relaxed, seated against the basement walls with their feet stretched out in front of them. “Ah. This feels so-o good,” Lynne said.

Marta laughed. “That is one of my favorite things about having the space. Of course having you here is great as well. We’re like the three musketeers.”

“More like the three actresses we just saw in that old musketeers movie,” Lynne said. “Bartley, you’re Lana Turner, the beautiful countess. Marta is June Allyson, abducted by wicked Richelieu, and I’m the queen. I look like Angela Lansbury, don’t I?”

“Hardly. Would you ever want to be an actress?” Bartley asked.

“Naw. Too much work,” Lynne said. “I’d have to walk and talk. In ballet I just dance.”

“I think we’re ready, don’t you guys?” Marta said. “Wouldn’t it be great if we landed the best solos?”

“Marguerite would have a cow,” Lynne said. “Maybe she’ll get Clara. Suits her. Have you noticed how she imitates everything Patrice does?”

“Like Patrice’s footwork will rub off on her,” Marta said. “I have to admit she learns the choreography quickly.”

“Not as fast as Bartley. How do you do that?” Lynne said.

“I watch the movement patterns on the floor. Then I dance them and play the records every night before I go to bed.”

“I can’t do that,” Marta said. “I need to watch and count.”

Bartley stood and reached out to pull Marta to her feet. “Maybe that’s why Madame watches you. Sometimes you just stand there and look disinterested. Maybe you should try moving around more while you learn new sections,” Bartley said. “Then you’ll look more like you’re practicing.”

Marta nodded. Anything would be worth a try with Madame.

As the girls turned off the basement lights and started up the stairs, Bartley stopped them. “Remember what Jer overheard. When you read your dance assignments off the board, pretend you don’t care one way or the other. Madame watches, and she dreads the postings because corps members act whiny when they see their roles. Then they want to talk to her about why they weren’t selected, and that takes too much of her precious time.”

“Tomorrow we’ll know,” Marta said. “Pray that Mother Ginger goes to a community adult.”

It didn’t.

Madame and Damien posted their selections after the day’s auditions. Marta scanned the list. She’d dance with Bartley, Lynne, and Jer as Arabian dancers. Her friends would backup two other dances. Jer became a lead soldier and backup for Fritz. Clara would be played by a local dance student, leaving Marguerite free to dance as a flute and backup for other selections.

As Marta scanned the list further, her heart dropped to her stomach. Madame assigned her the dreaded role of Mother Ginger. She’d be staying late and learning to walk on stilts. She’d wear a hoopskirt large enough to shelter a handful of wiggly children before they burst out to perform their steps and then return under the skirt.

The girls dressed and met up outside the dancers’ door to discuss their roles.

“You’re the chosen one, Marta.” Lynne said. “You can do it.” She hung her arm over Marta’s shoulder as they walked to the parking area. The weight of Lynne’s arm didn’t compare to the weight of Marta’s anxiety. Even though Madame agreed with Marta’s top picks for ballets in the article and approved what was written, it didn’t appear to change her opinion of Marta. Or was this a test, a challenge to see if she could take on a difficult role and succeed?

“I’m glad we’re dancing the Arabian together,” Marta said. “Come over and we’ll practice all the character dances. That way we’ll be prepared for next year’s auditions.”

“Why does every dance company do the
Nutcracker
every year?” Lynne said. “I mean everyone knows it. Why not try something new?”

Bartley opened her purse and took out her car keys. “It’s tradition. I’ll bet even Steve knows the music.”

Rehearsals, costume fittings, more rehearsals. The
Nutcracker
began to solidify. They danced from early morning to late evening six days a week. The daily schedules and assignments changed hourly as dancers became injured and needed time to rest and recover. Tempers grew short, and dancers raced from one rehearsal room to another to learn additional solos and rehearse ensemble pieces. The scheduling remained so hectic the dancers carried around their schedules, afraid they’d miss a rehearsal and lose their favored part.

Marta’s calves and ankles ached from the short stilts strapped to her legs. It took days of practice before she could walk on them, more days of practice with the hoopskirt, and still more when she sheltered wiggly children. One boy pinched her, another knocked her foot aside, causing her to fall face first onto the floor, injuring her pride more than her body.

One late evening, she and her friends sat on the basement studio floor resting. They’d practiced their corps dances and decided to soak their feet before they left. They seated themselves around a low-sided container of hot water. Marta sprinkled on Epsom salts, and Lynne swirled them until the water cleared. The girls dunked their feet into the container and closed their eyes in relief.