Chapter 12 - Complexions
Gwen and Roger sat in the sunroom the morning after the Complexions performance. Complexions is a modern ballet troupe out of New York City. The Junes always try to start their day together, chatting over coffee. No newspapers are allowed, until later. Both are morning people, their fertile minds are at their best early in the day, and sometimes they like to tease each other with verbal joisting.
Gwen said, “Those were some hardbody dudes last night. Very sexy. If I was in bed with one of them, I could start at his knees, climb up his legs, experience the abs and pecs, roam over his shoulders, and climb back down the other side. Wherever I went, there’d be something strong to hold on to. I’d be like one of those guys that climb the face of El Capitan out in Yosemite National Park, no ropes allowed.”
Roger said, “They were amazing. The tall white guy had an incredible body. I thought tall guys weren’t supposed to be able to dance that well. I liked everything except his shaved head. White guys can’t do shaved heads. They all look like dorks. Someone should tell the guy.”
“Now, the black guys, they can do the shaved head,” said Gwen. “I wonder why the difference? The one black guy was the best dancer out there. Too bad he wasn’t two inches taller. That would have made his presence on stage even stronger.”
“I wouldn’t mind going to bed with that redhead,” said Roger. “She was something, too. Very hot.”
“Dear, if you did get into bed with her, she’d cut you in half with those incredible legs. You couldn’t stand up to that. She’d be too much for you.”
Roger said, “I loved the whole performance, but especially the second and third acts. The U2 music was great, and I don’t even like them. If I see one more photo of their guitar player wearing that goofy skull cap, I’m gonna scream. He can play guitar, though, I’ll give him that.”
“I really loved it. We have to get tickets to the Spoleto dance shows. I wonder if those troupes will be different than Complexions.”
“In what way?” said Roger.
“Look, what was the outstanding characteristic of the entire performance last night?”
Roger blinked his eyes at his wife, the signal to go on.
“The male dancers were much better than the women. There was not one exciting female dancer on the stage, and there were, like, four or five exciting guy dancers.”
Roger smiled at this, always loving his wife’s perspicacity went it came to art and culture. “Yes, I agree. What’s up with that? The guys really had it, and not one woman did. How can they put together a troupe like that? When the guys were out front, it sizzled. My attention was all there. When the women were out front, I kept waiting for something interesting to happen. Waited all night. Never showed itself.”
“Remember the two black guys, dressed in red, doing the duo thing. That was one of the best dances. They were great. Can two guys do a pas de deux, or does it have to be a guy and a girl?” Gwen asked.
Roger shrugged.
“I’ll ask Selgey on Friday; we’re having lunch,” she said.
“Ask her if she agrees with us, that the guys were lots more interesting than the women. Ask her why that was. I can’t figure it out. Tell her we think she should come out of retirement, get up there with them, raise the talent level.”
Roger kept talking. “Did you notice the shape of the women’s legs? They’re not the same as the shape of classical ballet dancer’s legs. Those legs last night were more muscular.”
“What do you know about it?” Gwen said.
“I know we sat in the front row center both years Anna Ananiashvili came here for Spoleto, and her legs weren’t like those last night. Her legs are regal. Like they were sculpted by Donatello in 1575. Works of art.”
“So you think every ballerina’s legs should be exactly like Ananiashvili’s legs?”
“Wouldn’t hurt. World would be a better place. And I’ve seen pictures of Gelsey Kirkland, and her legs aren’t like those last night. They are muscular, but thin.”
Gwen sipped her coffee, hoping Roger would get off the subject. Sometimes he was a dork. She said, “Now that you mention Ananiashvili, her last performance here was kind of like last night. On stage, she was an adult among children. Remember how great she was, and how not-great all the rest of the dancers were. Same last night….the men so good, and the women, not-so-good.”
Roger said, “I didn’t watch any of the other dancers that night at Spoleto, just Anna. Mesmerizing.”
“She wasn’t on stage the whole time. What did you do when she was off stage?”
“I pretended she was there. I have a good imagination when it comes to dancing women.”
Roger wasn’t boasting. He did have a great imagination, which is one reason Gwen loved him.
She said, “Did you see the guy sitting behind us last night. He was about eighty-eight years old. When they played the U2 music really loud, he was grooving. Can you imagine, being that old, and liking rock and roll?”
“I saw him. I’ve seen him at the Gaillard before a couple times. I tried to say hello once, but he’s stone deaf. He wasn’t grooving to the music, he was just grooving at still being alive, still able to get out of the house, go to shows. Will you still love me when I’m like that; having to shout at me to wipe the drool off my chin?”
“Yes, dear, I’ll still love you.”
“It’s too bad an eighty-eight year old guy came, and so few college age people. I saw like, five or six. Why? Isn’t that what all the intense music was about, appealing to younger people? They didn’t come last night. Too bad. God, I loved the show.”
Gwen said, “There was one part I didn’t like so much. The “Amazing Grace” piece. I thought the choreography was all wrong. The singing of the tune was very slow, and the movements of the dancers were all fast, very herky-jerky. Frenetic. The music and the movement were not in sync.”
Roger said, “I thought that too. Maybe we just don’t understand something. Why don’t you ask Selgey about that, too, when you see her. Maybe she knows something about that particular choreography.”
“Ok.”
“I bet it’s lots harder to dance beautifully when the musical rhythm is very slow, than when it’s fast. Ask Selgey, ok?”
“Yes, dear.”
“You guys are gonna have fun at lunch, talking about this stuff, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Can I come?”
“No, dear, girls only.”
With that, the conversation lapsed. They both sipped coffee, and thought about the day ahead. Gwen noticed Roger staring down the front of his shirt, and wondered what he was thinking.
He was thinking about his wife saying she really liked the hardbody dancer guys from last night. Wanted to rock climb them like El Capitan, all those muscular handholds. He was staring at his stomach. Yes, there was something there, and it wasn’t muscle, like the guys from the performance had. It was the opposite. It was fat. He looked over at his beautiful wife, and got up.
“Where’re you going, babe?” she asked.
“I’m gonna go do some sit ups.”
“How many?”
“100.”
“Do 200, ok, dear,” and smiled at him.
The Lost Ballet Page 12