I've been in writers block for the last couple of months, and I've been doing a heck of a lot of research. I'm so excited for this story :D
Enjoy! And don't forget to comment and vote!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~CHAPTER FOUR~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Relax your shoulders! Tuck in your bottom! Do you really think that audiences appreciate seeing a large underside from a dancer?”
Miss Dawn’s voice echoes in the dancing hall as I try to ignore her whining, and perfect my poise. After a few moments she is silent, letting me glide through the practices and lessons with genuine pain and without relaxation. Points were painful for the most part when you first begin to wear them, but now, you become accustomed to them, either being used to the pain or your feet have genuinely changed their shape to fit the shoe perfectly.
My instructor had told me of her new production of Swan Lake which is due to be released towards the end of the summer, and she wishes me to portray the leading lady, Odette. At first I was thrilled, knowing that my mother would be proud of me for once, and then I realized that I was going to need more practice than I already had.
“It will be performed in less than twelve weeks! We need to cancel your daily lessons for practice for this production,” Miss Dawn explains exasperatedly. “I should like you to come in tomorrow for you to meet the chorus and your co-dancers.”
I nod, knowing that talking back will do me no good.
I leave the dance hall after that, spotting Henry, our driver, in his usual spot across the road, and begin to walk towards him. I’d not taken two steps before Elijah intercepts my path making me stop where I am.
“Hello, Ducky.”
The past week since our ‘date’ had sped by quickly and I was surprised it had taken him this long to find me again.
I laugh despite myself, the sweat beading up on my forehead and soaking my sandy blonde hair that had been pulled back into a tight bun. “You sure know how to stalk someone.”
“Maybe you’re just irresistible.” He grins. His eyes like oceans pierce into my chocolate eyes, and I can’t help but scold myself for catching my breath.
Instead, I give him my devil-may-care look, “Maybe I am,” and then I give him a soft smile. “But boy, can you pick the best times for finding me. Almost each time I’ve been at my worst for looks.”
“On the contrary, I find you quite attractive in any light.” Despite his teasing, a hint of affection flashes in his eyes.
“I can’t help but disagree. And by the way, those outstanding manners you are trying to uphold never suit your easy-going face value, and I can hardly seem to take them seriously.”
“I don’t know whether to be complimented or hurt by your words.”
I laugh. “You should never be something you’re not.”
He gives me a thoughtful look and smiles as well. “You’re right. It can’t be healthy to ones wellbeing.”
My smile grows faintly.
We both stand in silence again, but neither one of us seems uncomfortable by it. Both of us at ease in our own fondness.
“Do you want to go out tonight?” Elijah finally asks.
“Oh, so that’s the reason you so rudely stopped me.” I tease.
“Do I always have to have some ulterior motive just to see you?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem your character to be acting without there being some sort of reason.”
“Not true, each time it’s been because I do what I want.” He counters.
“That’s true, indeed,” I agree, “well, then, what day is it today?” I ask.
“Friday,” he answers.
“Well, then sure. As long as I won’t be out too late. Where do you plan on taking me?”
He smiles again. “Meet me at the Boyd Theater at eight o’clock.”
“We’re going to see a picture?” I exclaim excitedly, barely containing my glee.
“If that’s okay, then yes.”
“Of course it’s okay,” then my smile falters slightly, “that is if my mother will allow it.”
We exchange our farewells and I run to meet Henry, climbing into the back leather seat with an excited grin on my face, hoping that my mother will allow me out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve never been one for breaking out, and never have I ever even contemplated escaping from home for obnoxious boys. But lately it seems to that first times have been coming without resistance. Despite me being filthy rich, my mother hadn’t really ever been the kind for allowing us to do things out of her comfort zone. My father was more lenient, but as a cause for his absence, I was succumbed to my mother’s mediocre ordeals.
I had tried lying to my mother like I had my previous outing with Elijah, but this time, my mother seemed to be onto me. At dinner, Edmund, my brother of five, sat next to Aunt Josephine, who decided to come visit us for a few weeks. Being a war-widow with no children, Aunt Josephine had never found the need to re-marry, and only persisted on keeping contact with her sister and only niece and nephew. It was at this time that I politely broached the subject of my planned date for tonight.
“You’ve been spending too much time away from your duties in the company,” she exclaims.
“But, mama, its summer! Can’t I have a little more freedom to be with my friends?” I try and argue.
“If you wish to spend more time with this boy, you bring him home with you and introduce us to him. Otherwise I see no reason for you to go gallivanting around on some summer romance!”
“We’ve hardly dated, mama! How can you call that a ‘summer romance’?”
“The fact that you’re latching onto this boy like he’s the next best thing in the world proves that you’re getting distracted from what you should be doing.”
“Oh and what’s that, mama? Dancing around all the time until my limbs break? Since when was that ever my choice?!”
“Young girls don’t deserve choices like this! You better bite that tongue of yours before your whole future is ruined all because you can’t keep your opinions to yourself! I didn’t spend seventeen years of my life raising a girl and giving her everything, including the best dance teacher this county’s ever seen, just so she can go gallivanting off on this worthless summer romance.”
“You were eager to get me to go out with him the other night. What made you change your perspective?” My voice came out insulting and angry, but I didn’t care.
“Since if he meant anything to you after that one date, and if you meant anything to him, then you would find some time away from being distracted from this next production.”
I’d let it slip that Miss Dawn wanted me to be in the next Swan Lake, and I don’t think to my mother that anything would step in my way of success.
“Diana,” my aunt’s voice broke our commotion, “maybe you’re being to harsh. Let her have her time being an adolescent. If this summer romance is what you make it out to be, then it won’t last long for either of them.”
I was glad that she was rooting for my views, but the idea of Elijah not lasting long made me sad. Despite his cocky attitude and teasing personality, I really did like spending my time with him.
“Josie,” my mother’s voice was cutting, “I don’t appreciate your judgment coming in the way of Charlotte’s success.”
“Yes, but why shouldn’t it? It’s not healthy for a young girl to live a life without freedom. And besides, a young boy would do a good distraction for the stress of the production.” She turns her head to me and gives me a wink, one that only I can see.
My mother looks flustered for a moment, contemplating arguing back, as she locks gazes with her sister. But slowly, slowly, her face begins to relax, and she lets out a sigh of defeat. Running her hands over her hair, flattening the frazzled hair that came out during our heated discussion.
“Fine.” She says finally, placing her hands in front of her.
My face lights up, trying hard not to yell out a ‘yes!’.
“But not tonight.” She says.
My face falls. “Why?”
“You have a big day tomorrow, and you need sleep instead of going out.” She finalizes, and a fix her with an angry glare, but she pretends not to notice.
After dinner, I excuse myself abruptly, saying that I’m tired and run up to my room in a storm. It was childish of me to have such a reaction as this, but I’d been so eager to having some time away from my busy schedule. I had always had some secret passion for dancing, loving the graceful movements and the way I can express myself – my anger and my happiness – through each glide and twirl. Yet, it was the way I was being forced into something, even when I don’t feel up to it, that’s what makes me so mad at my mother.
My father had written me again this week, and this time sending a package with it. It was an evening gown that he’d manage to get hand-made from Coco Chanel herself. In his letter he wrote how she was only one for wearing one decorative item only. I made a mental note to write to him tomorrow. The gown was a luscious liquid gold satin, loose-fitting and backless with a large bow at the small of my back, finishing into a fishtail. This kind of dress would have cost a fortune, but I wouldn’t put it past my father to find a way to do it. And what made me sick was to know that he was throwing it all away for me, who was alone and wallowing in my own grief about having no freedom.
I guess I was lucky compared to many other people. Looking around this house, the Victorian style patterned walls and furniture with the gold trimming and tremendous original paintings, made me see the complete luxury my father had brought for our family. My mother never allowed false original artworks into this house, and only rich fabrics and hand-stitching ones on our own furniture. Even our numerous automobiles were of the latest outlets; namely consisting of Rolls Royce and Bentley. We had more house workers than necessary, including hard laboring gardeners, butlers, maids, cooks and even drivers. Eighty-two rooms in the house, we have more than enough room for our staff.
Even our clothing was enough to mark us as wealthy. Along with the gown my father had sent me, fashionable fabrics and styles leave us seen by others as respectable, which can be good or bad, either way you look at it. That’s not to say that we are the only wealthy patrons in this town. We’re not. We’re merely one of the wealthier amongst a sea of millionaires. And sometimes, I hate it. I hate knowing that I could walk down the street and be robbed all because of my status in society. I hate being seen as someone higher than everyone else. Sometimes at school, people would fawn over me because of my money, or people would avoid me because I seem too out of their low class than deems approachable.
It was a frustrating way to live sometimes, always having things done for you, and never anything for you to do, sometimes. Except hang out with available friends or date unreasonably optimistic boys. I don’t know what it was about Elijah that made me like him. He was quite the opportunistic that made it disappointing if I didn’t accept him. Wealthy bachelors often were overly obnoxious to the point where they know that their money is more important that you yourself. Elijah doesn’t have much to offer me – other than a good time. He wasn’t obviously made for money, and nor was he open for possible grand futures. I don’t know what it was, but something about being simply near him made me happier than being amongst the prosperous and obnoxious bachelors. That and he was entirely too attractive.
Thinking of Elijah, I look up to my clock hanging on the wall. He had told me to meet him at eight o’clock, and if I was going to meet him, I would have almost fifteen minutes to get across town. Without thinking of what I was doing, I quickly jump to my closet, and pick out a dress at random. Throwing the gown I was in to the floor, I change quickly and, again without thinking, I step over to the window and quietly unlatch it. Again, I’d never been one for prison breaks or anything, but right now, I was wishing I’d been more of a criminal-type person. Having the extra knowledge would have helped me in this situation.
Swinging my leg over the ledge, I have a stinging sense that my mother would come bursting in at any moment, scolding me for thinking I could disobey her. Waiting a moment, I look towards the door, wondering if she’d figured out my plan. But then again, she’d never been one to check on me, especially since I said I was tired. She would probably think that I was catching up on some reading. Reluctantly, I turn my head back to what I was doing.
I was only on the second floor (the third being our staff’s rooms), but nevertheless, it was a long way down. And being in a dress made it that much more difficult. Searching along the wall for any kind of easy way down, I realize that the only way for me to get to the ground was for me to jump; except of course having one of our cars being parked directly below me. That would at least break my fall by a few feet. With a sigh of annoyance, I swing my other leg around, so that I am sitting on the ledge. Again, I look down in front of me, trying to get my bearings, and hope with all my will power that my arm strength is enough to hold me.
Slowly as ever, I begin to turn my body around, readying my hands to hold me up and lean my body against the ledge. Leaning my belly flat against the concrete, I slowly then allow my hands to lower me down, until I am holding myself up with my lower arms. It was a good thing I am light, but having all my strength in my lower body was the worst part. With enough willpower, I knew I would be able to hold myself – but for how long would be an entirely different matter.
Suddenly into my imagination came an image of my grip slipping on the ledge and me falling backwards, breaking my spine in a dozen different places when I hit the unforgiving hard ground.
Sometimes I hate having an imagination.
Shaking off the image, I yell at my conscience to get a grip – no pun intended. Then I also tell myself the most obvious piece of advice: Don’t look down. That was easier said than done, sometimes. Especially when you’re trying to figure out where you plan on landing.
Trying to clear my mind of all thoughts, I ease up my grip and try to slowly lower myself down. The muscles in my arms were bulging. My palms were as sweaty as my armpits. Regardless of the sweaty palms, my grip on the windowsill was firm, and I try and not think of the increasing strain on my arm muscles. Stretching my whole body, I try and feel with my feet for the top of the car. Hoping with all my might that no one was looking through the bottom window at this moment, I lower myself down even further, until all that was holding me was my fingers. Oh god, where was that car?
Forgetting my earlier advice of not looking down, I look below me. And I both regret it and curse it. As soon as my eyes wandered down, my stomach lurches, and I fear that this whole experience was a waste of time. The world spins below me, but not enough for me to make out how far I had to the car. At least a foot separated me from the roof. Damn it. All that means is that I have to let go of the sill and hope that I land. Come on, ballet skills; show me how to land gracefully.
Closing my eyes – which was probably a bad idea – I silently release the ledge, trying to keep all thoughts of breaking my back away and hold in my squeal. My stomach rises in my throat, but then I land with a graceful thud on the metal roof of the car. For a moment I fear that the whole household heard my landing, and were running out at this moment to catch me. But after a long moment of silence, I realize that my escapade went without notice. I smile evilly, and slowly jump down from the roof of the car. Noticing the Rolls Royce label, I hope that I haven’t left a scratch or a dint for Henry.
With a quick shrug, knowing that I was to meet Elijah, I scurry off towards the garage, where I leave my bicycle.
Twenty minutes later, riding down Chestnut street, I spot the bright lights from the Boyd Theater with the towering vertical sign. Like the carnival, I haven’t been to the pictures in a long time, and seeing the bright lights of show business made my heart beat faster in pace and my grin grow wider. Outside the ticket booth promenade stands Elijah, with an impatient grin on his face.
Quickly chaining my bike up, I rush over to him with an apologetic look. “Sorry I’m late. My mother wouldn’t let me out. So I escaped.” I give him an equally cheeky grin to his.
“I’m becoming a bad influence for you, aren’t I, Ducky?” Somehow, he looks bashful through his teasing. Then he smiles back. “Never mind, the picture’s about to start. You look beautiful by the way.”
I blush slightly, looking over what I had chosen. A simple green button up dress with a collar and butterfly sleeves. A matching waist belt completed the look, but I couldn’t say the same for my hair. When I’d gotten home after ballet, I’d quickly made myself a bath. But I hadn’t had enough time to do something with my hair, so quite unfashionably, is left in its natural curls.
He steers me in, and I oblige without complaint. Entering the theater was like entering into an exquisite palace or a vintage Victorian home. The whole layout was luxurious with art-deco style motifs and carpeted floors in the European style. Equipped with an brass etched glass-mirrored lobby and stunning chandeliers handing from the ceilings, I suddenly wondered how Elijah was able to afford a ticket to this place. But then again, I wouldn’t put it past him to know how.
I begin to ask him what we were meant to be seeing, but as soon as I enter the auditorium after he hands the usher our tickets, I am immediately silent, looking at the full-house around us. We both find our seats just as the house lights come down and the heavy red velvet curtains part showing bright images filling up the huge screen. A hush falls over the audience when the opening music begins.
As the picture slowly introduces the producers and main actors, The Wizard of Oz suddenly flashes across the silver screen and I vaguely remember seeing many great reviews in the newspapers about the film. Instantly my excitement escalates, heightening my senses, as figures dance across the screen in ways I’d never imagined.
Vibrant colors fill my imagination and the fairytale like environment grips me on the edge of my seat. I knew fair well that this was not the first amongst the color films, yet it was not exactly common – expenses far out of many directors ranges. I was not lucky enough to be one of those people to have seen those others in color. Again, my mother had always thought it was a waste of valuable time, when I could be doing something productive. I had seen a couple of silent films when I was younger, and I can’t help but realize that I do miss the way that the musicians of the orchestra pit improvised every night, and how I could fill in the parts not used with words but rather with my own imagination. Looking at the film now, I realized nearly all the thinking was done for you, but nevertheless, it was a step forward into our future, and was certainly something that I prefer over the silents.
I was intrigued to an extent that I’d never dreamed of. The idea of a magical world outside of our mediocre towns had me mesmerized. Looking amongst the audience, I find them each equally alight with excitement illuminated by the flashing screen. I catch Elijah’s eye at one point and we both share an eager grin. In awe by the amazement of the color film, I feel myself finding a new sense of imagination in a way that I’d never thought of; a possible way of showing one’s emotions through a subtle glance, through a twitch of the mouth, and then of course to highlight their beauty or fierceness through a single camera shot or light.
As the picture progresses, I find the audience begin to cheer and clap for Dorothy and her friends and then boo and stomp their feet for the Wicked Witch and her evil plans. I join in as well, and I too find myself laughing at the hilarity of the characters. The Cowardly Lion especially catches my attention through his juxtaposing personality and his nature. When the ending credits appear, the crowd stands and applauds, some yelling out words of brilliance, others simply content with cheering, and I had a to blink a few times to come back to the real world. I had a feeling that this was without a doubt a classic film that would live on for years to come. The reviews never did this film justice. I was hooked on the films.
As Elijah and I walk out, he almost automatically laces his hands through mine. And to my surprise, I leave it there, not minding the gesture of comfort. His citrus and sandalwood scent fills my nostrils, but I try not to make it look as though I am affected.
I unchain my bicycle, and walk along with it, happy to have Elijah walk me home in the darkness. It was warm tonight, not unusual for summer, but it was to the point where I knew if I tried to ride back home, it would be unbearable. Again, I was glad for Elijah as a console. And neither of us felt the need to fill in the night with meaningless small talk, both of us content in our own company.
When we get to the end of Chestnut Street, I decide that I did actually want someone to talk to.
“That was really fun.” I say, “Thanks for taking me.”
“This would count as our second date, no?”
I shake my head in exasperation. “I don’t think it makes a difference, does it?”
He laughs quietly.
I look up at him. “Do you go to the pictures often?”
He shrugs. “Every once and a while. I don’t do it as much anymore as I used to, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“I work. That and almost all of my friends from school have moved from the area.”
I think back to how many times he waved to people he knew or greeted them as they pass. I shake my head; he must be more popular than I thought.
“But when I was younger,” he continues, “when me and my friends were bored, we’d put together our money, enough to buy one ticket. We’d get one of us to buy the ticket, as a distraction, while the others would sneak in behind into the cinema,” he laughs at the past memory. “We weren’t the only ones who did it though. I remember countless times kids would claim that we snuck in, when really they were just trying to turn the attention off themselves.”
I find myself laughing. Normally, I would scold someone for breaking the law, but I realized that this was the way that Elijah had their fun while I was sorely learning the different feet positions and earning myself a nickname.
“Do you miss those days?” I ask without thinking.
He shrugs. “I miss being so innocent and being able to get away with much more than you would now. Back then you’d just get a belt to the backside. Now you’d be put in the cop shop. But I guess you’ve always gotta look forward to the future.”
“What do you plan on doing now that you’ve finished high school? College?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Didn’t save enough money for it. I’m actually training to be a junior officer in the army at the moment.”
“A fighter, huh?” I joke.
He smiles back. “I guess so.” He seems awkward for a moment, like as though revealing so much about himself was not something he did regularly. “It would be good training for the future. And I’ll be well paid for. Someone who doesn’t come with a full fortune behind them can’t afford to be picky.” He winks at me. “Besides, I think it could be fun.”
I laugh without humor but don’t exaggerate. We were silent again for a moment.
Then he asks, “So, what are you doing tomorrow?”
My turn to shrug. “Miss Dawn, my dancing instructor, has asked me to dance as the lead role in her next production.”
“Really? That’s great! Not that I’m any sort of fan of ballet, but I would really like to see you perform.”
I blush, and smile bashfully. “That would be nice.” I look down, trying to hide my blush.
He doesn’t seem to notice. “So, what ballet is it? Do I know of it?”
I laugh. “You don’t strike me as the type that knows an awful lot about ballet.”
He laughs also. “I’m not. I’m just trying to keep you talking.” He nudges me playfully.
I grin wider. “Okay, then. The production is supposed to be Swan Lake.”
“What’s it about?”
I try to explain in as small amount of words as possible, finally answering simply, “It’s about a girl who is turned into a swan. She needs love to break the spell, but her prince falls for the wrong girl. And, well, she kills herself.”
He lets out a breath. “God, that’s quite intense.”
“Tell me about it. It’s one of the most technically and emotionally challenging classical ballets. I’ve seen it performed many times but never have I ever performed in it before.”
“You’ll be amazing,” he says in a small voice.
I smile, though I was sure he hadn’t meant for me to hear. “Thank you.”
He pauses for a moment. “Do you ever get stage fright? Do you get nervous before you go on stage?”
I consider this. “Of course I get nervous. But never stage fright. Only have I been scared of going on stage and having my feet slip from under me. Or even something as simple as my tights splitting. But none of that has ever happened to me.”
“That’s good. Have you been in many productions before?”
“A few minor ones and only one other that was this big. But I was part of a chorus. It’s scary to know that everyone is going to come and see me perform. That it's going to be my face splashed over advertisments and newspapers, the face that everyone is counting on.”
“You’ll do them proud,” he gives me a reassuring smile, and for a moment, I forget that he was the annoying boy who would stop at nothing for what he wanted from me. His eyes assess me with more than affection, but also a hint of pride for me.
Then, as I look into his eyes, the world seems to fade from around me. I breathe in his scent again, and for a moment, as he seems to lean toward me, I wonder if he is about to kiss me. My heart picks up in pace and my stomach twirls with desire. I want him to kiss me. That sudden desire sweeps through me again and seems to grasp at my being, like as though everything that was once important seems miniscule compared to that kiss. I need him to kiss me – like that could be the only possible thing that can keep me on earth at that moment. He was only a few inches from me, if only he would close that distance that much more quickly. Oh, how I want – need – him to kiss me.
Suddenly, headlights swing onto the street we were walking on and land on us in our close intimacy. My breath catches, and Elijah and I jump apart as the automobile races down the road toward us. I hadn’t realized that we were standing in the middle of the road just then. Elijah pulls me off the road onto the sidewalk just as the car drives past. Elijah looks after the car, cursing under his breath as I begin to laugh at our stupidity. He catches my eye then and his grin matches my own, then he too begins to laugh.
We would have been a funny sight, both of us, hunched over, laughing until the sides of our ribs hurt, until tears are streaming down our face. I don’t think I’d ever laughed so hard in my life until this moment, and for some reason, letting out all my laughter right now, my senses become more vivid, and my eyes shine brightly around. My heart races and suddenly, I felt as though I could do anything. Or more so, that I wanted to do something – something daring and exciting. Elijah had sparked a new life thread in me and I wanted to explore it more than anything.