Chapter 78 - The Charleston Show
The six performances had been sold out two months ago, even though the dancer’s identity was announced only three weeks ago. Between The Mayor’s publicity machine and the woman’s PR skills, the word had gotten out, literally around the world. Having Catherine Deneuve, the supreme cultural icon of France, and Mikhail Baryshnikov acting as sponsors, and having The Whosey’s name on the card, and listing choreography by LandkirkThorley, pretty much assured a lot of attention and interest. The woman played up the competition with Paul McCartney’s Oceans Kingdom to the max, and The Whosey told the team McCartney would be in attendance opening night. Somehow, to Gwen surprise, her conversation with the Secretary of State also had become public knowledge, and the press had had fun with that. Someone telling Hillary to fuck off wasn’t necessarily new, but it was news. The woman had heard rumors that Hillary was going to attend the performance also, but the team didn’t put much stock in that.
The opening night show when off without a hitch, and ended with a series of standing ovations. Catherine, McCartney, Baryshnikov, the Mayor, one Senator, and the president of the National Endowment for the Arts sat together in the front row on one side of the center aisle, while international ballet VIPS, managing directors, executive directors, boards of trustees, and other notables were on the other. The section reserved for the press was full, and included reporters from twenty international newspapers, as well as representatives from dance magazines, cultural websites, and video stations located in Europe, Asia, and South America. Hillary Clinton did show up, without a ticket, halfway through Act II, which shows she’s not one to hold a grudge. She appeared in the balcony, surrounded by three security dudes, none of whom had tickets, but who blustered their way inside using big gold badges and bulges under their black suit coats. Stirg and Nev were not in attendance, preferring to wait for the DVD. The Saint Petersburg Ministry of Cultural Affairs had sent an agent (who did purchase a ticket) equipped with a hidden video camera, who recorded the performance and transmitted it home by high security satellite uplink.
The music of Stravinsky astonished everyone. It was beautiful in its composition, and magnificent in its one-man performance by The Whosey. People closed their eyes and imagined a space age orchestra of a hundred. The program described the association between the paintings of Van Gogh, Cezanne, Matisse, and Picasso, and the composition by Stravinsky. They heard the stories of the paintings in the music, and saw the stories in the movements of the dancers. There were the gypsy children in the corn field, symbolized by the flock of crows. There were the workers in the stone quarry of southern France, pounding the rock into building blocks. The minimalist set design and costumes conveyed the atmosphere of a forest glade, ethereally populated by naked nymphs. And there were the bedraggled workers, leaving the Spanish factory at the end of a long, spiritually bludgeoning day. The synthesized music was astounding in its capacity to generate emotions in the audience, The Whosey playing with consummate mastery, his genius evident in act after act, stanza after stanza.
Selgey, Bart, and the Ps stood in one wing, watching the great Mariinsky dancers flow through the choreography effortlessly, like birds on the wing. They had been worried that three weeks was not enough time to learn the choreography and perfect the dancing, but the Mariinskyites were pros, and they found the Stravinsky music and the playing of The Whosey inspirational, far beyond anything they had experienced with a conventional orchestra. The principle dancers utterly commanded the stage and the audience, with the corps providing a fluidly rich texture and substance to the choreography and the space of the stage. Music and dancers, paintings and stories, audience and performers; the synergy was perfect and wonderful.
The remaining members of the team, Gwen, Roger, Henric, Helstof, Gale, and the woman, stood in the other wing. They did not have the experience of ballet that the others did, but they were mesmerized by the music and the dance. Gale let out an orgasmic squeal when, in the third act, the four principle male dancers appeared in her fig leaf costumes, and the woman had to clap a hand over her mouth. The audience, after comprehending what they were seeing, roared with approval, which is not normal at ballet performances.
The after-performance party was held there in The Hall. McCrady’s served fifty cases of champagne and a hundred trays of canapés. It seemed that half the audience stayed for the party, which was fine with the team, even Henric, who was paying to see all these strangers get drunk. Since he was paying for everything and everyone, he felt it was ok to bring his dog to the party, who had a great time running up and down the aisles, even though there were no children present. The McCrady’s waiters carrying trays quickly learned to watch out for this horse in the china shop. The team, plus McCartney, Catherine, and The B, sat in chairs on the stage, relaxing, chatting with the dancers and guests, luxuriating in success. The Ps held hands, the Junes held hands, and Catherine sat between The Whosey and The B, holding hands with both of them. Gale spent time backstage in the dressing room, making friends with one of the principle dancers who had worn her costume with the Mona Lisa smile on it. Again the woman wondered if she was getting too old for this. Helstof and Henric had to go out to the seats and corral their dog, who had tried to jump up on the Secretary of State, precipitating one of the security dudes to draw his weapon.
The party went on until 2am, when Gwen, knowing they had to do this again the next night, put an end to it. Peter and Pater, not a bit tired, were the last out. They bowed from the stage to the empty theater, turned off the lights, and locked the doors.
The Lost Ballet Page 78