by Shenda Paul
6
M iss Ingrid’s tap on my door wakes me. It’s nine-thirty when I glance at the clock, the first morning in months I’ve slept this late.
“Good Morning, Angelique; breakfast is on the table. You have to meet your parents in just over an hour,” she reminds me.
“I’ll be right there.” I throw my bedding back, and then, realizing what day it is, race over to hug her. “It’s opening night!”
“It is,” she chuckles. “And by tomorrow, you’ll be the toast of the town. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you; I couldn’t have done it without you. Were you this excited on the day of your first big performance?”
“I was. I made my debut on the very stage you will be performing on tonight. My advice is to enjoy every moment,” she says, and I silently vow to do just that.
My dressing room, yes, I have a dressing room; I’m still trying to get over that! Anyway, I arrived to find it filled with flowers. Mom and Peter sent a large basket of yellow roses with a lovely message, saying how proud they are and how much they both love me. And now, as I touch the deep-pink petals in the vase beside it, I notice the little bunch of clover tucked into the center. Shamrock, Daddy called it.
‘To our darling A Stór, we’re so very proud of you. We will always be with you. All our love, Mom and Dad,’ the card, written in Mom’s hand, reads. Dad used to say that throughout his illness; that he’d always be with us. I smile through my tears, and, lowering my head to the clover, whisper, “I love you, Daddy,” hoping he can hear me.
A large basket of creamy-white roses catches my eye next. Luke wrote, ‘To my beautiful leading lady, on and off stage,’ and signed off with several kisses. I smile as I lean in to sniff the gorgeous fragrance. There’s also a posy of edelweiss from Miss Ingrid, which I know is the national flower of Austria, where her family was originally from.
I turn to the ostentatiously large basket of red roses and feel positively sick when reading the card. ‘Angelique, you are glorious. I cannot wait to see your beauty unfurl like the fragile petals of these blooms. Dieter Quandt.’
The words may seem innocuous, but I can’t escape the disgust and feeling foreboding they rouse in me. I understand that he’s foreign and that his phrasing may be unusual, but, surely, even he could have found more appropriate words for one of his students?
Someone knocks on my door, and I shove the offensive display to the very back. I don’t want to acknowledge or even think about that man and his unwelcome overtures. I manage a smile as Mom and Peter enter with Miss Ingrid in tow.
“You have forty-five minutes to curtain call, so make sure you leave yourself enough time to get ready. I’ll check on you in fifteen minutes,” Miss Ingrid says, before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
“Sweetie, I’m so excited. How are you feeling?” Mom rushes over to embrace me.
“I’m good…strangely calm under the circumstances. I think all the rehearsals are responsible for that. And Mom, thank you for the flowers, all of them,” I say, feeling myself tear up once more. “He’s with you, Angel, and he’s so proud,” she replies, hugging me tighter, her voice wobbly like mine.
Peter wraps an arm around both of us. “Good luck, Angelique, although, I know you won’t need it. You’ll be simply fabulous, and we’ll be the proudest parents out there.” I smile at him gratefully. Peter can always be relied upon to pull Mom and me out of a funk.
Another knock sounds, and Peter answers. “I only have a few minutes, but I had to see you,” Luke says as he enters. Like me, he’s half-dressed and wearing a robe. Despite my parents’ presence, he cups my chin and plants a soft kiss on my mouth.
“Shouldn’t you be in your dressing room, young man?” Mr. Quandt’s icy voice rings out. Luke turns slowly to face him, keeping his arm around my waist and showing no signs of being intimidated.
“I know where I need to be, and what I’m able to do, Mr. …?” he answers coolly.
“Dieter Quandt, owner and director of the Quandt Ballet Institute,” he says haughtily. Luke looks at him, his gaze unflinching in what appears to be a silent, two-way conversation before he speaks.
“And I’m Luke Grantham from the Chelsea Dance Company—Angelique’s boyfriend.” I’m both shocked and elated by his statement.
“I was not aware you had a boyfriend?” Mr. Quandt turns to ask me, his voice and eyes glacial.
“We were, and that’s all that matters,” Peter steps in and pats Luke on the back. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s give these two young people time together before their big moment.” He kisses me on the cheek before stepping back to allow Mom to do the same. “You’re going to be wonderful. I love you, A Stór,” she says tearfully and hugs me. She kisses Luke on the cheek then, wishing him luck.
“Mr. Quandt?” Peter pointedly holds the door open.
“Time for you to become everything I intended, Angelique,” Mr. Quandt tells me, and, then, casting a meaningful glance at Luke, leaves.
“I don’t trust that man,” Luke says, wrapping me in an embrace. “And I sure as hell don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“I don’t either, but let’s forget about him tonight. Thank you for the flowers, they’re stunning.”
“Stunning flowers for a stunning woman,” he replies and kisses me till I’m breathless. “I’d better go—see you onstage,” he says, dazzling me with his smile and, with a last, soft kiss, returns to his dressing room.
It feels like a dream, being up here, taking my second solo curtain call as wave after wave of applause washes over me. The sound, already thunderous, lifts impossibly higher when Luke joins me onstage once more. Adriana and Nikolai enter, followed four young dancers, who hand us each a sheaf of flowers and then leave. We join hands and bow to yet more tumultuous clapping.
The rest of the company runs onstage then, and the audience, on its feet by now, show their appreciation. A beaming Master Gustav walks on to claim his rightful share in our triumph, and, as the cast takes a final bow, the curtain falls on my debut performance.
In the wings, it’s chaotic. The cast, chattering away like magpies, have gathered en masse to congratulate one another. Luke and I get separated in the crush. “Angelique,” he calls, raising an arm to gain my attention. “Your dressing room—after we’ve changed!” I wave back, signaling my acknowledgment.
The quiet in my dressing room is a welcome reprieve. Here, I can take a moment to let it all sink in. I lower myself into the chair in front of my mirror. I feel so, so happy… and satisfied. “I hope you were watching, Daddy,” I whisper, looking up.
“You’ve enthralled them, just like I knew you would,” that dreaded, unwelcome voice fills the air. “I want to take you out to celebrate,” he says. Shocked, I stare at his reflection in the mirror. He must have been standing behind my door, I realize, kicking myself for not being more vigilant. I wish now that I hadn’t left Luke’s side.
“Mr. Gustav’s arranged drinks in the foyer, then Luke and I are having dinner with our parents,” I manage to say, my voice remarkably calm, despite my palpitating heart.
His lips form a disapproving line, and his eyes spark with annoyance. “Angelique, you are obligated to have dinner with me. You owe me for your success,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. He cups my chin with the other, turning my neck, so I’m forced to look up at him. He lifts his hand from my shoulder and, with his index finger, repulses me by tracing a line from my jaw to my bottom lip, where he lingers. I try to move, but he holds me in place. “Soon, Angelique,” he tells me, his tone both a promise and a threat.
I expel a ragged breath when the door shuts and lean forward to rest my head on my folded arms. I don’t know how much time passes until I hear Miss Ingrid call my name.
“Are you all right?” she asks as I slowly raise my head. “It’s all been overwhelming, I know, but you were spectacular. I’m so proud of you.”
For a moment, I consider telling her, but she’s his employee, and I don’t want her
to lose her job. Besides, I’m an adult now; I can deal with this. I’m leaving the Institute anyway, so I decide to be more careful and stay out of his way. I’ll notify him and Miss Ingrid of my decision to leave as soon as we’re back in New York. Luke and I will find positions somewhere else, and I’ll be rid of Dieter Quandt for good.
“I’m fine, thanks, just overwhelmed, like you said,” I tell her, forcing a smile before bending to untie my pointes. She helps me out of my costume and into my dressing robe. When she leaves, I make sure to lock my door before removing my makeup. And then, like I did five years before, I scrub my face and neck, swearing that this will be the last time I do so because of Dieter Quandt.
“Here’s another!” Mom exclaims and, without waiting for a response, launches straight into the article.
“Angelique Bain made her debut in the challenging and coveted role as Giselle at Oper Leipzig last night. There can be no doubting this newcomer’s superb technique. Her triumph, however, lies in the combination of mesmerizing grace and emotional commitment she brings to her portrayal of Giselle.
The pairing of Luke Grantham’s Albrecht to Angelique’s Giselle is inspired. Their chemistry, in dance and emotionally, was palpable, and their final pas de deux, one of the most compelling I’ve witnessed. These two will go far, hopefully, as partners.
Angelique, what a fitting name—seeing her dance is like watching a celestial being in motion. Ms. Bain, a fledgling ballerina from New York, and Mr. Grantham, a talented dancer in his own right, currently with the Chelsea Dance Company, will, I predict, be lauded and sought after as principal dancers by companies around the globe,” she finishes proudly.
Unable to read the German papers, Mom resorted to searching online for English reviews and has been regaling Peter and me with her findings for nearly an hour. She also made Peter go out early this morning, at the crack of dawn, he says, to buy copies of the local newspaper. “Even if I can’t read what it says, I can look at the pictures. And so can our friends,” she insisted when challenged on what good it would serve. Mandi, Sammy, Bron, Rachel, and goodness only knows who else will, no doubt, be receiving a copy almost as soon as she lands.
Our opening performance had been an outstanding success, everything and more we’d all hoped for. The Company had been on an all time high last night, and Master Gustav smiled from ear to ear, a rare sight, indeed, as he encouraged everyone to enjoy a glass of champagne. Cast members, choreographers, dance mistresses and masters, wardrobe and props personnel—even parents and friends—gathered in the foyer, the air filled with laughter and animated chatter. Congratulations and praise flowed non-stop for over an hour before people started drifting away to enjoy private celebrations. Dieter Quandt, thankfully, didn’t make an appearance, and I can only hope he continues to stay away.
I met Luke’s parents, Keith and Penelope, and his younger sister, Lily, who, I learned, is studying music. They’re as charming as their son and brother. Mom, Peter, and I joined them for supper after drinks, and everyone got along really well. Luke and I are joining his family for a late lunch before returning to our respective apartments for a nap before leaving for the theater.
Mom and Peter fly out early tomorrow morning, so I’ll, sadly, be saying goodbye to them after tonight’s performance. Mom, predictably, insisted they were leaving too early for me to see them off. Luke and I haven’t spent much time on our own over the past week, but we’ve been so happy to have our families here. We’ve yet to confirm our relationship, but I feel good about where we are. Especially, given his declaration in my dressing room.
Our second night proved as successful as the first, with the company operating like a well-oiled machine. It seems that with opening night jitters out of the way, we’re even more settled into our roles. Luke’s parents left earlier today, and Miss Ingrid is out, so we decided to have a late lunch at my apartment before resting for tonight’s performance.
We’ve eaten and cleared up, and are, now, cuddled on my bed. Luke’s twined his long legs with mine and has an arm draped over my hip, his hand beneath my t-shirt, lazily tracing patterns on my back. I shudder at the delicious sensations his touch elicits.
“Are you cold?” he murmurs, his breath caressing my hypersensitive skin.
“No,” I say in spite of the tremor coursing through me.
“What then?”
“Nothing,” I answer, feeling myself blush.
“Angelique? Talk to me.” Luke leans back to tuck my hair behind my ear.
“It’s just the way you make me feel,” I confess.
“You affect me too; more than you know,” he says and, raising my chin, kisses me deeply. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body to his. With a little groan, he rolls me onto my back and, covering my body with his, rotates his hips until we’re both left gasping. He plants open-mouthed kisses along my neck and gently bites and then sucks on my earlobe. Of their own accord, my legs wrap around him, and the most delicious warmth spreads through my body when Luke moves, hitting a spot that leaves me breathless and needy.
“Luke…” I plead, not quite knowing what for. “That’s right, beautiful, let go,” he croons, his movements deepening, and soon, he’s panting too. Warmth turns to scorching heat, building low in my belly. I gasp as a feeling of unimaginable bliss takes hold.
“Angelique, uhh. … Bloody hell!” Luke groans, collapsing with his face buried in my neck.
Some time later, I don’t know how long, it could be moments or hours, he cups my face in the palm of his hand. “Thank you, beautiful. Are you all right?” he asks, his look one of sweet concern.
“I’m perfect,” I say shyly, and he leans in to kiss me. “I’ll be right back, I have to clean up,” he tells me and, with another lingering kiss, leaves the bedroom.
I’ve just experienced my first orgasm! I’ve listened to the girls talk about it, of course, but I truly hadn’t expected that it would feel so good. No wonder they teased me about not knowing what I was missing! I’m glad I waited, though; I can’t think of anyone, other than Luke, that I’d rather have shared my first experience with.
Our performance that night is another resounding success. When, during his usual recap after the show, Master Gustav informs us that the rest of our season is almost fully booked, the company’s already great mood soars. Luke and I agree to join some of the cast for a quick, celebratory supper. After, he walks me to my door, where we share several deep kisses before he reluctantly takes his leave. “See you tomorrow,” he says with a last kiss before I enter and shut the door behind me.
Angry voices greet me. “I won’t let you do this, Dieter—not again!” Miss Ingrid snaps. Now that I know who it is, I don’t want to be seen. I stop in the hallway and press my back against the wall.
“You will stay out of it and mind your own business,” he replies acidly.
“She is my business. Her parents trust me to look out for her, and I will not let them down,” she says.
“By letting that young upstart fawn all over her? I caught him kissing her!” he practically roars, and I gasp. It’s me; they’re talking about me.
“They’re falling in love. It’s as it should be…they’re attractive and young, they share the same passion, and he loves her.” My mind only vaguely registers her comment about Luke’s affections. Right now, I’m too caught up in their argument to really take it in.
“I have plans for her, and I have waited too long to have them spoiled,” he says, and then someone moves, I’m not sure who, but I don’t want to be caught. I force my frozen limbs into action and make a hasty retreat, thanking my luck stars that they’re too preoccupied to hear me. I quietly shut my bedroom door, and, for the first time I can remember, I turn the key in the lock.
I remain on edge, mentally replaying what I’ve learned, until I hear the front door slam shut. Only then, after some time, do I manage to control my rising panic. It doesn’t matter that Mr. Quandt, it seems, has no intention of letting me leave the Institute
. He can’t stop me, I remind myself, and Miss Ingrid will understand, especially now, surely. She’ll support me, and Mom and Peter would never let anyone coerce me. With that comforting thought, I fall into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, I wake to an empty apartment. Miss Ingrid’s left a note on the kitchen table, telling me she’s out shopping and then meeting up with Miss Karlin. I feel relieved because I’d worried about what, if anything, I should say about overhearing their argument. But now, given this reprieve, I feeling more and more confident that I should just leave the whole Dieter Quandt issue until I’m back home, where I’ll have Mom and Peter’s support. With that decision made, I occupy myself by cleaning my room and doing laundry. Luke calls to invite me to a late lunch, and we make arrangements to meet at one of our favorite cafés.
“He greets me with a bone-melting smile and a warm, ‘hello,’ before engulfing me in an embrace. “How are you feeling?” he asks. He asked the same questions several times last night, and, each time, I reassured him that I was fine, that he hadn’t pushed me, or moved too fast.
“I’m good, really good,” I tell him now, feeling my face heat. He tightens his arms around my waist and kisses me lightly on the mouth.
“So am I,” he answers, his voice low and seductive. I blush even more deeply—not in embarrassment this time but in anticipation.
Our entire cast is onstage basking in the final, tumultuous ovation of the night. Given the response we’ve already received, one would think I’d be somewhat accustomed to this feeling of elation—but that’s not the case, not at all. Each night up here feels like the first; I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it or get enough of this feeling of euphoria.
We race off stage as soon as the curtain lowers, my hand still firmly clasped in Luke’s. And when Master Gustav’s finished his address, he leads me to my dressing room. Outside my door, he leans in for a kiss. “Spend the night with me,” he whisper-pleads. “No pressure, Angelique, I just want to hold you all night.” I stare into his eyes, and all I see is warmth and sincerity.