Page 69

April's Fool

. Drive. Dedication. Desire. Determination. The four D's of the ballet world we had to live by. If Madame Z. had been tough on us before Christmas, now she clamped down on us such a heavy schedule of practice all we did was work. She lectured on how perfect The Royal Ballet was, strictly classical--but we were to do everything in our own unique American way, classical

. . but more beautiful and innovative. Julian was absolutely ruthless, even demonic. I began to really despise him! We were both wet with sweat and our hair hung in strings. My leotard was glued to my skin. Julian wore only a loin cloth. He yelled as if I were deaf, "Do it right this time, damn it! I don't want to be here all night!"

"Stop yelling at me, Julian! I can hear perfectly well!"

"Then do it right! First take three steps and then you kick, then jump for me to catch, and for God's sake this time lay back immediately! Don't stay upright and stiff, the moment I catch you fall backwards and go limp--if you can manage to do anything right or graceful today."

That was my trouble. I didn't trust him now. I was afraid he was going to try to hurt me. "Julian, you yell at me as if I'm deliberately doing everything wrong!"

"It seems to me you are! If you really wanted to do it right you could. All you have to do is take three steps, kick, then jump, and I lift and you fall back. Now see if you can get it right at least one time out of fifty tries!"

"Do you think I like this? Look at my armpits," I said as I lifted my arms to show him. "See how raw they are, how you've rubbed the skin off? And tomorrow I'll be black and blue all over from the bruises you make with your hard grasps!"

"Then do it right!" He raged not only with his voice, but with his jet eyes, and I was terribly afraid he was just waiting for the opportunity to let me fall--on purpose--for revenge. But I got up, and we did it again. And again I failed to fall back and fully trust him. This time he threw me to the floor where I lay panting, gasping, and wondering why the hell I kept this up.

"You're gasping for breath?" he asked

sarcastically, towering above me, his bare feet wide apart and straddling my legs. His bare chest glistened with perspiration that dripped down to fall on me. "I do all the hard work, and you lie there sprawled out and exhausted looking. What happened to you down there? Did you use all your energy making it with your doctor?"

"Shut up! I'm tired from twelve hours of continuous practice, that's all!"

"If you're tired, I'm ten times more so--so get up, and let's do it again--and get it right this time, goddamn you!"

"Don't you swear at me! Get yourself another partner! You tripped me up and made me fall so my knee hurt for three days afterward--so how can I run and jump into your arms--you're mean enough to cripple me permanently!"

"Even if I hated you, I wouldn't let you fall. And, Cathy, I don't hate you. Not yet."

After practicing over and over again to the piano music, counting, timing, repeating the same series of steps, at last I got it right, and even Julian could smile and congratulate me. Then came the final dress rehearsal and the performance of Romeo and Juliet.

It was the stunning sets and dazzling costumes that brought out the best in all of us when combined with a full orchestra. Now I could give to the role of Juliet all the little nuances that would make her real, and not some wooden stick that Yolanda appeared tonight, as she did her plies while her eyes seemed glassy, unfocused. Madame Z. came up to peer closely into her face, and then she sniffed Yolly's breath. "By God . you been smoking grass! No dancer of mine goes spaced out onto the stage and cheats my audience--get home and to bed. Catherine, get ready to play Juliet!"

Yolanda staggered past me, then tried to give me a savage kick as she hissed, "Why did you have to come back? Why didn't you stay down there where you belong?"

I didn't think of Yolanda and her threats as I stood on the flimsy balcony and gazed dreamily down into Julian's pale face that tilted upward to mine. He appeared so beautiful under the bluish lights, wearing white tights, with his dark hair gleaming, his jet eyes glittering along with the fake jewels on his medieval costume. He seemed to be my attic lover who would ever bound away from me, and never let me near enough to see the features of his face.

The applause thundered as the curtain lowered. And behind it, out of breath Julian sprang up to hug me close. "You were sensational tonight! How do you manage to frustrate me right up until the moment of performance?" The curtain rose for our bows--then he kissed me full on the lips. "Bravo," they cried, for this was the sort of drama and passion all balletomanes craved.

It was our night, the best yet, and drunk with success I dashed past photographers, and autograph hounds toward my dressing room, for there was a big bash afterward, a celebration before our company took off for London. Quickly I lathered on cold cream to take off the makeup, then I changed from my last act costume into a short formal of periwinkle blue. Madame Zolta rapped on my door and called out, "Catherine, a lady here says she has flown all the way from your home town to watch you dance. Come, open your door and we will hold up the party until you arrive."

A tall attractive woman entered. Dark-haired, dark- eyed, her clothes were expensive and flattering to her figure. For some strange reason, it seemed I'd met her before, or she reminded me of someone. She looked me over from head to toe, and only then did she turn to stare around the small dressing room filled with plastic bags jammed with all the costumes I was taking with me to England, each labeled with

my name and the name of the ballet the costumes were designed for. I waited impatiently for her to have her say, then go, so I could get on to putting on my coat.

"I don't think I know you," I said to hurry her up.

She smiled crookedly, then sat down uninvited to cross her nicely shaped legs. Rhythmically she swung one foot in a high-heeled black pump back and forth.

"Of course you don't know me, my dear child .. . but I know a great deal about you."

There was something in her sweet and toosmooth tongue to warn me, and I stiffened, prepared for whatever she'd come to deliver--and it would be bad. I could tell from the mean look that hid beneath the false sweet one.

"You're very pretty, maybe even beautiful." "Thank you."

"You dance exceptionally well--that surprised me. Though of course you would have to dance well to be with this company which I've heard is fast becoming an important one."

"Thank you again," I said, thinking she'd never come to the point.