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“STOP MEDDLING,” I WHISPERED to Jaqui, standing in the doorway of the small dressing room reserved for the stars of the performance. It was the opening night of the Nutcracker, and the chattering in the stadium seating at the end of the hall was loud and obnoxious. Act I would soon be underway, and we had less than twenty minutes to take our places for the infamous Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.
She turned and looked at me, smoothing down the tight bun she had pulled her hair into. Her neck, ivory and dotted with the glitter that was common of her role, spoke to me. I wanted to trail kisses down it, I wanted to calm her fidgeting fingers with the delicate press of my lips.
The last three days had been torture. In the twelve years I had danced, I had touched, held, and lifted a hundred ballerinas. But why did Jaqui make me feel like an awkward first year student? Our lifts were strong, our moves accurate and synchronized, but after it was over, our connection shattered and I wanted nothing more than to hide.
Romance and ballet, it never worked, these two things. Jaqui was first and foremost my Mistress, not another dancer. Romance, or the idea of it, only landed me with the most horrid of circumstances, and I wouldn’t do that to Jaqui. Not when we had fought so hard to quash all remnants of my bad decisions.
“I’m nervous,” she batted her eyes slowly. She was caked in the white makeup, the fake eyelashes, the crimson red lips of her costume, an actor ready for her place on the stage, yet she couldn’t stop pulling on her tutu and adjusting the tight straps on her bodice. “It’s been four months since I danced for a crowd. And the last time ...”
I strode forward into the room finally, and took both her hands in mine. “I promised I wouldn’t let you fall.”
She searched my eyes. I wanted to kiss her, but Pytor would have our heads if her makeup was ruined. I didn’t want to complicate this any farther, not on the eve of the performance. I loved her, God help me, but this was making everything worse. I struggled to set my feelings aside, but the more we shared such a glance, the more they pushed to the surface.
“When did the magic of St. Petersburg break, Vasily?” she whispered, catching me off guard.
I didn’t know how to answer, but bit my tongue to tell her that at many moment, I knew she was fleeing back to Paris and I would lose her. Russia was struggling after the terrorist attack; I wasn’t a fool. If she chose to run, I could not follow her. I had neither the money, nor the passport, and she knew it.
In just a few weeks we had gone from her shaking at my touch to my terror of it. Each time we danced, I fell harder, faster for her. Worse still, when she looked at me, I knew she did, too. We were living in a dream, her and I, and any moment we would wake up and this would all be over. We lived in two different worlds, and the crossing was impossible. St. Petersburg haunted me all week as we tirelessly practiced. Every time I found her waist, every time she looked at me, I wanted to make good on my promise of flowers and a soft bed. It was getting hard to concentrate with her under my fingertips.
I pulled her to her feet. “We will always have the magic of St. Petersburg,” I pointed to the middle of her chest, a scant inch from actually touching her, “in here.” I lifted her hand and spun her delicately around, then back to face me.
“When this is over, I want...”
“What, Jaqui? What do you want?” We were equal height, her and I, and I looked at her. Say it, say you want me, I silently urged her, searching her green eyes for an answer.
“Act II Showtime,” one of the hired stage hands threw a solid knock against her open door, barking our order to take places on the sides of the grand stage.
The magic was broken, and I took her hand gently as we took our places.
***
EVEN THOUGH THE PAS de deux wasn’t until the end of Act III, Jaqui’s solo piece came much early on. We lined up, a dozen of us, to frame her in the background, alternating a male and female dancer in a half circle at the back of the stage. All the men, including myself, held ornamental spears. Much like the spears, our presence was simply to help the star shine.
And shine she did. Her pirouettes she had stressed over, due to her weak ankle, were tight and expertly performed, so the clapping roar of the crowd. With each plie and jete of the choreography, she landed them on her better foot. She danced with vigor, as if she had never been injured.
I had never loved her more than when she danced.
A final bow to more clapping, and she danced off right stage. The snowflake dancers swirled around us then, as the ornamental dancers exited stage left. The pas de deux was at the end of Act III, so we had a few minutes to compose ourselves before heading out. Across the stage I could see her, smoothing back her hair and fidgeting with her tutu again, just as she had in the dressing room. My hands ached to hold her, lift her in the air, and feel her close to me.
I felt a shiver shoot down my spine as I kept limber at the barre backstage. I had never been a star before. What if I dropped her? What if instead of applause, they just stared back at us? I wasn’t ready for this, I...
“Vasily,” It was Pytor, near the curtain. “Dance with her as if there is no audience. Show them what you showed me in the studio this week. Show me the chemistry!” He clapped softly to drum up the energy, as he always did during a performance. Strangely, instead of Misha he clapped for this time, it was me.
With Pytor’s rare encouragement, I knew I was ready. The scene finished, and the lights faded as Jaqui and I took our places. As I rushed onto the stage, I caught a glimpse of Mira by the curtain, talking to Pytor. Why was she there and not in the audience? She never missed front row at one of Igor’s performances, even if he was only a background dancer.
The bright lights flooded the stage, and I dismissed the odd meeting, focusing only on holding Jaqui’s hand for the beginning of our dance.
The precision and elegance of her dance, though I was just the partner, gave me the last boost of confidence I needed. As the music reached the crescendo and she headed away from me for the lift, I flashed her a brilliant smile as she ran towards me, and her face lit up under the soft lighting of the stage. The applause erupted, louder than her solo dance, as I caught her and lifted her to my shoulder, spinning delicately before I set her down.
Now it was my turn, a grand jete and then spun into perfectly executed 540, timed to match her pirouettes to the front of the stage. I landed on one knee harder than I should have, but kept my smile and reached out towards Jaqui. The audience was silent for a moment, then gasped communally at my move, and I could even hear Pytor’s elongated sigh from the sideline. It wasn’t part of the choreography, and I knew I would face his ire later, but it was a move I had practiced for years. It wasn’t until Jaqui I’d had the confidence to actually do it.
A standing ovation erupted throughout the stadium, followed by a few whoops and hollers at a classical move no one dared perform in modern ballet. I knew all eyes were on me this time, not Jaqui, and I welcomed it for the first time in my life.
I scrambled to my feet quickly as Jaqui danced the final part of the Act, and while I performed six turn-outs in a row, she danced straight into my arms for a dip and a flourish. A few more pirouettes away and then back towards me and I caught her folded body in my arms.
We paused for a moment, and I could feel her heart beat as fast as mine. She smiled up at me, that lip tucked in her teeth again, neither of us able to say a word. I set her up straight and we bowed, preparing to dance off stage, announcing the end of Act III.
To our surprise, the audience was on their feet yet again, this time throwing roses on the stage. A stage hand rushed out to gather them, as I lifted Jaqui’s hand in triumph and we bowed yet again for the ovation.
“You were beautiful,” I whispered to her over the music that amped up again and the fading roar of the crowd as we ran off stage.
“So were you,” she whispered back.
The assistant pressed the roses into Jaqui’s arms as we let the curtain fall behind us. She turned to me with glassy eyes and stood En pointe to whisper in my ear, “I love you, Vasily. I have never loved anyone as I love you.”
More shocked than anything, and still regaining my breath from our performance, I wanted more than anything to sweep her off her feet, take her back to my room, and show her how much I loved her, just as I wanted to do in her dressing room.
But the show must go on.
We danced in the finale shortly afterwards with the rest of the company, again bowing to not one, but two, ovations.
At the end of the first one, the audience called for Pytor, as we waited back stage for his signal to head out again.
Pytor dipped his head close to mine and barked in my ear: “Office, tomorrow morning,” he said, moving past us out onto the stage floor, in front of the audience of thousands to take his final bow.
“What was that?” Jaqui asked, overhearing his command. She gripped her bouquet of roses tighter, which had now significantly grown to over two dozen stems.
“I don’t know, but it’s bad, whatever it is.”
I reached for her hand. “We will face together.”
She smiled, but I saw her glassy eyes threatened tears. “I believe you.”
It was the greatest thing she could have said to me. We headed out for our second ovation, bowing repeatedly and lifting our held hands high. We left the stage as the roar of the crowd begged for another appearance, but Pytor had forbid it, as the curtains closed around the company.
When it was over, I sat in the locker room, trying to dress and running things over in my head. My day had started nearly eighteen hours ago. I was exhausted, and felt the strain in my arms and legs from the excursion of the dance. I wanted nothing more than to find Jaqui, a cup of coffee, or maybe a shot of Vodka, and fall asleep next to her. I didn’t even know if I had the energy to do anything else.
“Drink?” Igor asked, toweling his head from his recent shower. “Mira’s waiting outside the stage door for us.
I just stared at him, remembering how Mira had been backstage, but thinking none of it. “I think bed is more in order.”
Igor winked at me, slamming his locker. “Alone?”
“With any luck, no.”
Igor stared at me, blinking, but quickly recovered as he began to dress. “Little Vasily has grown up since she came here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Giving Pytor orders, giving us all orders, and snatching up the beautiful Mistress of the company.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Now you are respectable Russian man, finally.”
“No thanks to you,” I chuckled. I pulled my shirt over my head and slipped on my shoes. “Enjoy your drink, comrade.”
Jaqui was waiting for me outside the locker entrance, looking completely transformed in a simple full-sleeve dress and low heels that showed off her long, bare ballet legs. She was a vision, even dressed like this, and I had to convince myself to keep breathing normally.
“I invited him for a drink, but he turned me down,” Igor said, pushing through the door after me.
“I think we might stay in tonight,” Jaqui told him, but looked at me. Her hands were behind her back as she twisted wistfully.
I stared at her adoringly, as I found myself doing more and more. Often, she was a confusing mystery to me, though her meaning was clear this time. “Da, we stay in,” I told Igor. “Enjoy your drink.”
Igor wasted no time in clasping my hand, and pulling me close enough to whisper in my ear: “Finally, comrade, you have found your partner.”
I smiled at him, clapped him on the back, and sent him on his way.
“What are your thoughts, Jaqui?” I asked as we made our way out of the stadium and I hailed a cab to take us back to Tanets.
As the cap rolled up to the curb, she pulled the rose from behind her and handed it to me. “I couldn’t find strawberries,” she whispered.
“My bed isn’t all that soft,” I told her.
She answered me only with a kiss. A kiss that promised more, so much more, than I had ever thought possible.