The Little Kiosk By The Sea

by Jennifer Bohnet

  The last three weeks had been a mixture of low-key exercises and RICE after that last sprain in Covent Garden. But now it was time to get back on the treadmill again: hours of gruelling dance practice, long rehearsals and the need to network and help publicise the next show. The first of the publicity stints was starting with this afternoon’s recording of a chat show at a TV studio.

  Appearing on chat shows was not something that she did routinely, but Malik had assured her that a) these days keeping her name in front of her audience was essential and b) she might even enjoy it. Could even lead to other things when she retired. There was that word again. Retired.

  She’d hoped that Malik would be back in Paris to escort her to the studios or at least meet her afterwards, but he was still down in Monaco. After tying things up there for the spring season he’d decided to stay on for a break. He’d asked her to join him but Suzette had said no, preferring to stay up here in town and get her ankle in tip-top condition before going down there to perform in a few weeks’ time.

  Malik had been her dance partner until three years ago when, after one injury too many, he retired and became a choreographer. His reputation these days was so good he could be selective and choose the ballet companies he wanted to work with. Suzette loved it when they worked together and was looking forward to their short season in Monaco.

  She missed dancing with Malik. They’d fitted together so well. Understood each other and picked up on each other’s vibes while on stage. Since he’d retired from dancing she hadn’t had a regular partner, dancing instead with one of the various top-flight male dancers contracted for the different ballets.

  Away from the theatre too she and Malik enjoyed a deep personal friendship. At one time everyone had expected their friendship to develop into something more, but it had never gone beyond the special friendship stage. He was still her best friend in the dance world though. In all her worlds actually. Outside of dancing there were precious few people she could consider friends these days.

  Sighing, she stood up and hung the towel on the heated rail to dry. Time to get dressed. The car the studio was sending for her would be here soon. Time to put on her public face and smile for the cameras.

  The other guests were already enjoying wine and nibbles when Suzette was shown into the Green Room at the studios. She recognised a well-known actor and one of France’s ageing rock ’n’ roll stars.

  The other female guest was a writer who, immediately after they were introduced, asked brusquely, ‘Read my latest?’

  Suzette shook her head. ‘Désolé. Murder mysteries aren’t my scene. Prefer a romance. I’m sure it will do well though.’ She smiled at the woman who tutted at her words and turned away.

  The show’s format meant that each guest was introduced individually until all five of them were sitting around a table laden with finger food the guest chef of the day had been coerced into providing. Bottles of wine were passed freely around in an effort to create an atmosphere of friends at lunch chatting intimately and enjoying themselves.

  Suzette had the actor on one side of her and a young wannabe star from a current talent show on the other. After initial hesitation, talk flowed between them as the experienced presenter drew them all in to the conversation. It was when the subject of hobbies came up that Suzette found herself in the spotlight.

  ‘Suzette, I know you are a keen photographer but you are also a very gifted needlewoman and accomplished embroiderer. Tell us how you got into that,’ the presenter said.

  ‘Like all good things, I learnt it at my mother’s knee,’ Suzette said. ‘I find it very relaxing and always have a piece in my dressing room to work on. It helps to pass the time when I’m not on stage.’

  ‘You were born and grew up here in Paris, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I grew up in Paris,’ Suzette said, ignoring the first part of the question. ‘I had a happy childhood here – although being at ballet school, it was also a very disciplined life.’ She went on to explain how her world had revolved around ballet since the age of nine. ‘The discipline I learnt there is ingrained in me now.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I wish I could just be me.’ Oh, maybe that was not the right thing to say on national TV.

  ‘Of course I love what I do and hope to continue for some time yet,’ she added quickly. ‘I’m really looking forward to my season here in Paris in the autumn.’ There. At least Malik would be pleased with her for getting their show mentioned. She was relieved when the presenter didn’t press her on the subject of what ‘being just me’ would entail and then, five minutes later, wound up ‘lunch’ and the show was over.

  On the way home, Suzette sank back into the seat of the limousine and remembered the way the words about just being herself had come out without her thinking about them. But when she retired and gave up her life of dance altogether that was exactly what she could be. Herself. Whoever she was. And what kind of life would she lead outside the world of dance? Could she even survive without dance in her life?

  Thank goodness Malik was due back tomorrow and she could talk to him. The one person left who knew her well – although even he, as close as they were, didn’t know everything about her.

  Her local kiosque on the corner of two streets just yards from her apartment was busy the following morning when Suzette went to pick up the current issue of Le Monde. A large photograph of the countryside on the side of the kiosk caught her attention as she stood in the queue. ‘Venez en Bretagne pour vos vacances.’

  She and her mother had gone to Brittany once for a holiday when she was, oh, about nine or ten. A long-ago memory of walking alongside a river watching boats and men fishing flashed into her mind. The countryside had been beautiful and she’d longed to stay for longer but, at the end of the holiday, she’d been dragged crying to the train station and they’d returned to Paris. Ballet school had taken over her life and her mother’s finances and there had been no more holidays.

  Since then, of course, she’d travelled all over the world but had never been back to Brittany. Maybe when she retired she’d take a holiday there – see if it was as beautiful as her childhood memories had painted it.

  Back in the apartment Suzette went through to the small room she laughingly referred to as ‘Le Boudoir’. Originally intended to be a guest bedroom, she’d had it converted years ago into a mini dance studio with a wooden floor, mirrored walls and an exercise barre running the length of the room. After pulling on her ballet shoes and tying the ribbons, she crossed over to the small table holding a CD player and a pile of CDs. Taking a compilation of slow piano pieces, she placed it into the player and pressed the button. Within seconds she was concentrating on the familiar plié exercise routine that had been a part of her daily life –injury time excepted – for as long as she could remember.

  Waiting for Malik later that day, Suzette picked up the white velvet evening cape she was personalising with some delicate embroidery beadwork. To celebrate his first evening back from the south of France they were due to go to the theatre and have supper afterwards in one of their favourite bistros.

  She glanced at her watch. Malik was typically late. She’d so wanted to talk to him before they left for the theatre but that clearly wasn’t going to be an option.

  Half an hour later than she’d expected him, Malik let himself into the apartment. ‘Désolé,’ he said. ‘I got held up in traffic. That’s looking good,’ he said, moving closer. ‘Stunning, in fact.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m really pleased with it,’ Suzette answered. ‘I decided I needed a cover-up to go with that dress I wore for the Cannes Film Festival last year. The one with no back, remember?’

  ‘The scarlet one that caused such a sensation?’ Malik said, smiling. ‘The one a certain film star was very jealous over?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Suzette said, carefully placing the material on the special cloth she wrapped her work in.

  Malik bent over to take a closer look. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, studying the intricate bu
tterfly, vine and flower layout Suzette was painstakingly creating.

  ‘It’s meant to be a tribute to Lesage – I adore his designs. I hope to finish it in time for Monaco. Talking of Monaco, how did it go?’

  Malik shrugged. ‘I would prefer to be using the Princess Grace Theatre but the Grimaldi Forum has everything we need.’ He glanced at her feet. ‘How’s the ankle?’

  ‘As good as it ever gets these days,’ Suzette said, glancing at him. ‘Can we talk? I need your advice.’

  ‘Over supper,’ Malik promised. ‘But now we need to get to the Champs Élysées or we will miss the first act.’

  ‘And whose fault would that be?’ Suzette gently grumbled at him.

  After the performance, it was nearly eleven o’clock before they were shown to a secluded table in the bistro and she was able to begin to voice her worries and fears to Malik about what the future might hold for her.

  ‘I can’t believe I said that line about just wanting to be me, on live TV,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s almost as bad as saying “I want to be alone”. Which I don’t,’ she said, laughing at the absurdity of it.

  Malik, when she looked at him, wasn’t laughing.

  ‘It must be all this thinking about retiring getting to me.’ She sighed. ‘The truth please, Malik. Do you think my inevitable retirement from dancing is getting ever closer?’ she said as he poured their champagne.

  Carefully he put the bottle in the ice bucket, handed her a glass, picked up his own and took a sip before answering her.

  ‘You still dance beautifully and are rated as one of the top ballerinas in the world, but I think the injuries are mounting up, which will become more and more a problem for you.’

  Suzette sighed and waited. Malik was confirming what she already knew deep down.

  ‘After Monaco the only date you have is the short season here in town with me for Swan Lake at the Paris Opera, non?’

  Suzette nodded. ‘Not even been asked to do The Nutcracker this Christmas.’

  Malik reached across the table and took her hand in his. ‘I think, after Paris, ma chérie, you would be advised to think about taking a new direction. Perhaps teach? Choreography? Non! I forbid choreography.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘I do not need the competition.’

  ‘As if I would ever be as good as you,’ Suzette said.

  ‘Maybe I take you on as my assistant, that way you have a new career and I need not worry.’

  Suzette shook her head at him before taking a sip of her champagne. ‘So it seems Swan Lake will be my personal swansong. My life over.’

  ‘Non – you will have a new beginning,’ Malik said. ‘Look at me. I thought it was the end of my world when I had to retire but I’m fine. I love my new career. You will too. I will help you find a new career.’

  ‘Doing what, Malik? I honestly don’t think I want to go down the choreography route – not even as your assistant. And I’m not at all sure I’ve the patience for teaching – I still remember how horrible my friends and I were to our teachers.’ She drained her champagne glass before continuing. ‘As for dealing with all the pushy yummy mummies who are convinced their little darling is going to be the star of the decade.’ She shook her head. ‘Couldn’t do it.’

  She watched as the waiter placed a salad niçoise in front of her and steak and frites in front of Malik. ‘That’s another thing – one day I want to be able to eat what I fancy without worrying.’

  ‘If it will make you feel better, have a frite,’ Malik said, piercing one onto his fork and holding it out.

  ‘Thank you.’ Suzette chewed the frite slowly, making it last. ‘Life would be a lot simpler if only I had a family and a patient husband waiting in the wings to whisk me away to live a normal life.’

  ‘Pshaw!’ Malik said. ‘Who wants a normal life anyway? It would be boring. Something will turn up; you’ll see. Paris is months away yet. You’ve got plenty of time to think and make decisions.’

  Bleakly Suzette smiled at him. The trouble was, she realised with a pang, she was starting to yearn desperately for a husband and a normal family life – always had, really, but dancing had taken precedence over everything.

  ‘Have you truly never wanted to marry? Have a family?’ she asked.

  Malik shook his head. ‘Never been high on my agenda, no. I’ve told you before – my home life wasn’t that great. I didn’t see the need to re-create a stressful situation that I was happier without. But then, unlike you, I don’t have a biological clock ticking away.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Suzette said. ‘And you have at least been true to yourself. Whereas I …’ She paused. ‘I have danced my life away, never really listening to the ticking of that clock. Perhaps retiring at the end of the year will be a good thing. I’ll certainly have time to listen to, and maybe, if it’s not too late, do something about the ticking.’ She’d certainly have all the time in the world to just be herself, whether she liked it or not.

  She sighed. It was just that the word ‘retirement’ made her feel so old. So past it.

  ‘OK, guys. Let’s take a short break. Back in fifteen,’ Malik said. Suzette, along with the rest of the dancers, breathed a sigh of gratitude.

  The company had arrived in Monaco three days ago – days that had been filled with rehearsals and little else. Today was the final one before the dress rehearsal tomorrow. Opening night would be Friday with Prince Albert and Princess Charlene in the audience.

  Back in her dressing room in the Grimaldi Forum, Suzette poured herself some water and did a few stretching exercises to keep herself limbered up. Although initially she’d found Malik’s choreography challenging, she was enjoying dancing this modern ballet now she’d finally broken through and mastered its intricacies.

  Her partner, Zac, a young and up-and-coming Russian, was good and Suzette had rapidly felt confident in their onstage chemistry.

  A gentle knock on the door before Malik entered. He’d always been considerate – never assuming he could just barge in on her.

  ‘You ready for the last scene in act three?’

  Suzette nodded. It was a long, complicated piece with her doing several grand jetés in mid-air, before an emotional dance with Zac, which involved her jumping into his arms.

  ‘Think so. Bit worried about doing the splits in mid-air actually,’ she said. ‘My dancing repertoire hasn’t featured them much recently.’

  ‘Relax. You mastered them fine yesterday,’ Malik assured her.

  Back down in the theatre, Suzette went through her pre-dancing stretching exercises while Malik put the corps de ballet through their routine.

  Standing in the wings waiting for her introductory music to play, Suzette felt the shiver of nervous stage fright she always experienced before she danced on stage. This is what she lived for. How would she survive without a regular dose of ballet-filled adrenaline anticipation?

  Zac, in the opposite wing, smiled across at her, before striding onto the stage ready for the first of their pas de deux. Five seconds later, Suzette joined him and their bodies synchronised together in the flowing ballet movements and everything else faded away as they lost themselves in the evocative music.

  Suzette executed a final perfect allegro when disaster struck. Landing badly, she ended up in a crumpled heap on the wooden stage.

  ‘Stop the music!’ Malik shouted as he rushed to her side. ‘Get the doctor.’

  ‘No,’ Suzette said. ‘I don’t need the doctor. I’ll be fine. Just give me ten minutes and a cold compress. Help me up, please?’ She held out a hand to Malik.

  Even as Malik gently pulled her onto her feet before placing an arm around her shoulders to steady her before helping her off stage, Suzette knew she was in trouble. Real trouble. Experience told her that this injury was not going to heal overnight.

  After the cold compress had been applied, Malik insisted she take a cab back to the hotel. ‘You know it is impossible for you to dance again today, Suzette. Maybe with twenty-four hours rest and ice.’ He s
hrugged. ‘We’ll see.’

  Suzette could tell he was already mentally assessing the options he had.

  Once alone back in her hotel room, Suzette gave way to the tears that had been threatening from the second she’d fallen. She knew that final jump had been perfect. How could she have been so stupid as to mess up the landing? And ruin everything? Thank heavens it hadn’t happened on opening night in front of Prince Albert and Princess Charlene. Her shame would have been absolute.

  Malik arrived back early evening and insisted she order some food from Room Service before opening the bottle of champagne he’d brought with him.

  ‘I’m hardly celebrating,’ Suzette snapped at him.

  ‘This is medicinal –to make you feel better,’ Malik answered, handing her a glass. ‘Suzette, ma chérie, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to give the role to Donna,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Every understudy’s dream,’ Suzette said. ‘The show must go on.’ She took a long swig of champagne from her glass. ‘Maybe I should have retired like you after Manon at Covent Garden. That was a truly magical production, wasn’t it? Des Grieux was a perfect last role for you.’

  Malik smiled and nodded as she continued.

  ‘Whereas my acclaimed performance of one of the greatest female ballet roles ever is being overshadowed and all but forgotten by all the injuries since then.’ Suzette wiped an escaping tear off her cheek with her free hand. ‘All I’m going to be remembered for is being forced to retire due to injuries.’ She smiled wanly at him as she held out her empty glass for a refill.

  ‘Not true,’ Malik said, carefully pouring the champagne. ‘People still talk about it, us, and your wonderful interpretation of the role. You’ll always be remembered as one of the best.’

  He turned at the sound of a discreet knock and opened the door to Room Service.

  Watching in silence as the waiter placed the food on the small table, Suzette sensed the stress coming from Malik. Even as he urged her to sit and eat, she knew what he was preparing himself to say.