by Gina Sorell
“Thanks Antoine.”
“All right, people, we’re in New York City. Let’s celebrate!” he said, and we hurried offstage to get ready.
I changed as quickly as I could, peeling off my dance clothes and using baby wipes to wipe myself down. There were never showers at any of our venues, and we all did the best we could to wash in sinks with rough paper towels and cheap hand soap until we got back to our rooms and could bathe. Whoever brought perfume would pass it around, and we’d all spritz ourselves in whatever it was, whether it was intended for men or women. We laughed that we smelled like we all worked at the same cologne counter, and tonight I felt part of the laughter. I took my hair out of my bun, pulled a black slip that I wore as a dress over my head, and tied a scarf around my waist. A swipe of lipstick and I was out the door to meet Henri. My stomach must’ve done twenty flips from the change room to the lobby. A moment of ice-cold panic hit me as I wondered if Henri might have left. Surely something had to go wrong; the night had gone too well, and my mother had always taught me to be ready for the dark clouds that were on the edge of every blue sky.
I looked out into the crowd of proud parents and friends hugging the other dancers, arms full of flowers and faces full of pride, and tried to find the one face that I longed to see. Henri. He had stayed. He was leaning in the open doorway, his back to the crowd, smoking. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder or glancing at his watch. He was just taking long, slow drags off his cigarette and staring into the night.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, walking up next to him. I wanted to reach out and grab him. He was wearing all black, a thrift-store jacket and jeans and a button-down shirt that was opened low. His skin was tanned, and his dark gray eyes widened when he saw me.
“Thanks for the invite,” he said, tossing his cigarette into the street and handing me a single red rose. He leaned in close and kissed my neck, and I smelled red wine on him. His face was warm, and his stubble tickled my skin and gave me goosebumps. “Congratulations,” he said, picking his plastic glass of wine up from the front steps and raising it to me. “They’d only let me take one, so we’ll have to share.”
“I better not, not here,” I said, looking back at Madame Gitard.
“Ah, right. Of course,” he said, finishing half the glass.
“Did you want to meet the other dancers?” I asked, tugging at the scarf around my waist.
“Did you want me to?”
“No. I don’t know. I just.…” I had no idea what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t as awkward as this. I reached out and put my hand on his chest and was relieved when he wrapped his hands around my waist and buried his face in my hair.
“Elsie.”
I felt my whole body sigh as he said my name, and for the first time since seeing him, I felt completely sure of my decision to invite him. I squeezed him back, and when we pulled apart we were both smiling.
“Let me say goodbye to everyone,” I said, rushing inside.
“Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been keeping a secret,” said Antoine, sizing up Henri. Antoine pursed his lips and nodded appreciatively, making me blush.
“Oh, he’s just a really good friend.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why is he just a friend?”
My cheeks burned, and I heard myself start to stammer an explanation, but Antoine just laughed and threw his arm around my shoulder. I looked at the other dancers who stood around him, saw they were smiling at me too, and I relaxed. I was in on the joke. It was still a new feeling to me, to be included, and I liked it.
“Girl, I’m just teasing you. But I take it you’ve got your own celebration to attend to,” he said, and he started swiveling his hips, making everyone laugh as I playfully swatted his arm.
I looked back at Henri, who gave me a little wave and smiled seductively. He really was sexy. I’d always thought so, but it felt good to have everyone else see it too.
“Okay, okay, have a great night everyone,” I said, giving quick hugs and making my exit.
On my way out I promised Madame Gitard I would be back by curfew. The trip didn’t officially end until tomorrow, and tonight I was still obligated to abide by the tour’s rules. I saw Ramon on the pay phone, and knew I should ask about Arden but didn’t want to burst the bubble the evening had created. Besides, if I accepted Madame Gitard’s offer, it would be Arden’s place I’d be taking. As Madame had said, the spotlight wouldn’t accommodate everyone, and for each person who crowded to the center of its light, a few more would be pushed into the darkness. Arden was in the dark now, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell her.
I grabbed Henri’s hand and skipped down the steps with him and out into the Village. The air was thick and sticky, the night bringing no relief to the humid August heat. We’d been outside only moments and my dress was already sticking to my back and legs, outlining every inch of my body. Henri looked at me and smiled, and I felt naked and comfortable under his gaze. Dancing all summer and doing quick changes backstage in front of the other dancers had cured me of being self-conscious. Like every dancer, I was still critical of the way I looked, but my nakedness was much more matter-of-fact now than it had ever been, and it felt good to be in my body. There was also so little of my body to feel self-conscious about. I felt strong and light, and this newfound freedom from weight was dangerously intoxicating.
“You are at your happiest on that stage, aren’t you?” asked Henri.
“I am,” I admitted. “I am happiest when I am dancing, but you know that.”
“I do,” he said. “I got the letters.”
The letters. I had shared so much with him through those letters, more than I’d ever told anyone. He knew about Arden and Ramon and the baby. He knew how upset I was that I was going to have to go back to Toronto and live with my mother. It was nice not to have to explain everything. He knew who I was, and even though our communication had been fairly one-sided, I felt like I knew him too.
“Madame Gitard offered me Arden’s spot in the company. I feel terrible for Arden, but I want it so badly.”
“It’s good to want something.”
“Even if it means that someone else loses something?”
“Isn’t that usually the way?” He looked at me sideways, and I immediately thought of kissing his father and how I had to admit to myself that I had wanted to so badly because it meant that it would be one less kiss that my mother would get from Philippe. My face flushed, and I was relieved that I was shielded by the night.
“Do you think I should do it?” I asked. I wanted him to say yes. I mean, it wasn’t as if I pushed Arden to break her ankle, and it certainly wasn’t my fault she had gotten pregnant. But wasn’t getting pregnant consequence enough? I told myself Arden would do the same thing if she had a chance. Opportunities like the one Madame had offered me didn’t come around often. Still, I wondered what she’d say when she found out I was the one replacing her. I couldn’t think about that.
“I think you are very talented and very lucky to have something you’re so good at. Most people don’t have that, but everybody wants to.”
I knew we were talking about him now. He had spent the year following around his father, who was sure he’d found his calling. But what was Henri’s calling?
“I think everyone has something they’re good at. It might just take them longer to find it,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
Henri stopped, tilted his head, and looked me straight in the eye.
“This is what you believe?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Some people lead, some people follow, some people are seekers, and some wander life aimlessly, never knowing what they should be doing.”
“I think that’s sad.”
“That’s because you have found something you love, and you’re good at it. And you should do it.” He held my chin up and looked at me. His eyes were framed with dark circles that I hadn’t seen before. “W
e should celebrate!” he said, slapping his hands so loudly that his whole body shook, and along with it, his somber mood.
“Okay.”
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“Anywhere. I’ve never been to New York.”
“Well, then it will be easy to impress you,” he said with a laugh, grabbing my hand.
I had no idea where we were walking, and I loved it. I thought of how only a few months ago, I had imagined exploring the city with Arden, and instead here I was with Henri. Nothing had happened how I pictured it, and I realized that I felt much older after a few months of being on the road. In truth I’d never really felt all that young. Philippe had been right when he called me an old soul. I may not have described myself that way, but I’d always felt that I looked at the world through older eyes. In my mind I wasn’t sixteen, or twenty, or thirty. I didn’t know what the correct age was to describe the weariness and caution with which I had always viewed my world, and it was always a shock to look in the mirror and see a young face staring back at me. Maybe it was because my mother had refused to mother me, or maybe it was because she had kept secrets and shared half-truths from the time I was young. Whatever it was, I always breathed easier around people who were at least a few years older than I was. Henri had eight years on me, and although he may have noticed it, I felt we were the same.
We found a table at a popular Indian restaurant. The place was tiny, maybe twenty tables, and all of them were occupied by couples sharing food and straining to see each other in the dim glow of twinkly lights and tea candles that lit up the place. The smells were wonderful, and the second we were seated I felt the bottom of my stomach open wide in anticipation. We ordered some naan bread and chutney right away and Henri had the waiter open the bottle of red wine that he’d bought at the corner store. Nobody here seemed to care that I was sixteen, and I wondered if that was because I didn’t look my age or if it was because they just assumed that I was the same age as Henri.
“To a great ending and an even better beginning,” he said, pouring us each a large water glass full of wine.
I smiled and sipped my wine, knowing how quickly alcohol went to my head these days. If I didn’t eat something soon, I’d be drunk halfway through the glass. It was nice to be a cheap drunk, but I wanted the night to last, and I wanted to remember it as it was happening. Once again, we were together on a night when my whole life was about to change. I didn’t know at the time that it would be the thing that would define us, these brief, intense encounters that would mark milestones that we would witness for each other. I noticed how much quieter Henri was without a crowd around to entertain. It was as if the Henri I had met that night, the life of the party, was a role he’d been playing. I had suspected as much that night he got into the cab, and later at my mother’s apartment, but I saw it again now that I was sober.
He ran one hand through his hair and slouched over his menu while the other hand absentmindedly made its way across the table and intertwined with mine. I smiled and hooked my hand through his and allowed myself to just stare at him. His fingers were stained yellow from nicotine, and his nails were rough and dry. He had shaved fairly recently, although a shadow of stubble made him look even sexier. Unlike his father, who was intense and crisp in his appearance, his posture perfect and his movements direct, Henri seemed rough around the edges, his shoulders stooped, his clothes always slightly rumpled, and he looked like he could use a shower. I knew this look; it was the result of having an obsessive, domineering parent. You either competed with them for attention or gave up. I had picked the latter. I’d been hiding in my mother’s shadow forever and had been lucky enough to find Henri there, although tonight I felt as if I had stepped out of her shadow and wasn’t going back. It wasn’t until the waiter arrived that either of us said anything, and when he did, I just told Henri to go ahead and order, as I was so hungry, I’d eat anything.
The food arrived quickly, a selection of curries, dahls, and chutneys, and I loaded up my plate. My hands shook as I stuffed forkful after forkful into my mouth, and it was a few minutes before I was able to take a deep breath, my blood sugar slowly returning to normal, my heart no longer racing.
“Sorry. I waited too long to eat,” I said, wiping up the mango chutney with a piece of hot naan and taking a bite.
“The whole summer, it looks like,” said Henri. “A few more weeks and you could’ve mailed yourself in a letter.”
I laughed and took a sip of my wine. I had nothing witty to say back; I was too flattered that he noticed. There was no way I wasn’t going to lose weight on the tour, dancing every day and rehearsing, but being in a leotard all day around other dancers had a way of resetting what was normal and what wasn’t. It was normal to push your body to the limit on little more than fruit and coffee and cigarettes. It was normal to stand in front of the mirror and measure yourself before a performance and then after. In our world we needed to be strong, but we also needed to be light, and nobody was going to judge you for not eating or taking laxatives or throwing up. I hadn’t done anything so far but skip meals and drink coffee when I was hungry, but it was working, and with each new bone that pushed a little closer to the surface of my skin, I’d receive a knowing nod of approval from one of the other dancers. I would have been lying to myself if I didn’t admit I liked the growing attention. Tonight I’d received more attention than I had the whole tour, and it felt good.
“I’m glad I could see you before I left,” said Henri.
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” he said, refilling his glass.
“To Paris?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t leave until the morning Elsie,” said Henri gently, laying his hand over mine.
I hadn’t meant for him to see my disappointment. I was surprised, and yet a part of me knew that I would see him for just this one night. “Does your father know?”
“No. But he will tonight when he gets the letter I left him.” He swirled his glass and smiled to himself, the smile of someone sticking it to someone else.
“Won’t he make you go back to school or get a real job?” I pushed my plate a little farther away and drank more wine.
“Not if he wants me to keep my mouth shut about…” he stopped himself and shook his head.
“My mother.”
“All the women,” he said, looking at his plate and avoiding my eyes.
Although I didn’t relish the idea of my mother being the mistress of a married man, I especially disliked the idea of her being just one of many.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked. It was a fair question: why now, if this had been their arrangement all along?
“Because…” he stopped, took a long drink of his wine, and sighed before reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Because although I can be and have been like him, I don’t want to actually be him when I get older. I don’t want to lie, and I don’t want to keep his secrets anymore.”
“You aren’t like him.” I squeezed his hand back with one hand, and with the other I reached across the table and touched his mouth, letting him kiss my fingers.
“He is a powerful man, and he has the potential to bring the Seekers a lot of money with his followers, but a lot of power for one man is a dangerous thing, no?”
“Yes.” I had never heard of my mother giving any money away, but then again, she wouldn’t tell me if she had. I’d always had a part-time babysitting job so I wouldn’t have to ask her for money when I needed it.
“What kind of money are you talking about?”
“The kind of money to travel around the world, dine in fine restaurants, and stay in nice hotels. It’s still pretty small-time, but it’s a good gig if you can get it.” He saw my face and could tell I didn’t find it very funny.
“What about the center?”
“Yes, the center. My father does believe in a center, with his name above the door, of course. He has that to live for.”
I fe
lt my chest tighten, the darkness of Henri’s mood taking my breath away.
“You have a lot to live for, too,” I said.
“I need to find that thing you have, Elsie,” he said, leaning in close, “that thing that makes me want to get up each day. That thing that gives me purpose, and passion!” He slammed his hand on the table for emphasis, and I could feel the other diners looking at us. He was shouting, and it was making me uncomfortable. “You have it. My father has it. If I don’t start looking, I may never have it. If I never find something of my own, I’m afraid I’ll just follow him around, charming people, living off others, and making promises I can’t keep.” He pressed his mouth into my hand as if to stop himself from saying more, and I left it there until I saw him calm down.
“Henri.…”
“Don’t worry. He really cares about your mother, maybe more than my own.” His eyes were sad, and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, What can you do?
“Why do your parents stay married?”
“Because the great prophet’s wife is Catholic, and she doesn’t believe in divorce!” He forced a laugh and emptied the bottle into his glass.
“I would have thought she was a member, too.”
“She is and she isn’t, like me. I mean, we say we are because that’s how he lives, but one has to actually be initiated to become a full member, and I don’t think she ever was.”
“Were you?”
“What are we doing talking about our parents? I mean, aren’t we here to get away from them?”