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But then Katarina lifted her head and looked her right in the eyes, a clear tell that something weighty and serious was about to be said.
“You face the world full-on. No reservations, no pretenses. The courage to do so comes from a place of security, yes, but also from your sense of self. You are whole, my love. And you face the world whole. Giving it your all. Your talent. Your art. Your joy.”
Juliette drew the disheveled head back down to her shoulder, took the long-fingered hand in hers, holding it tightly, and they lay in silence for the longest moment. When she was certain the tears she had been fighting wouldn’t spill, ever mindful of not placing more guilt on Katarina, who’d surely feel sad for making her cry, Juliette kissed the relaxed hand in hers.
“You see me with the eyes of a lover. And I think you believe I’m immortal. But it’s the ovations that bestow immortality on people like us, you and I know this. It’s the love that makes us who we are. Please don’t take it away. And please be gentle. I’ve only ever given my all to the audiences and their faithful adoration. And I am giving you so much more than I have ever given ballet, Katarina.”
Her eyelids were growing heavy, and Juliette fought sleep for the chance to hear Katarina’s answer, but her lover was silent, the tender fingers still caressing her skin, lulling her deeper into slumber. Just before it claimed Juliette entirely, she thought she heard Katarina whisper, “Thank you.”
22
OF REVELATIONS & GRANDS JETÉS
Aballet is a series of steps. Most of them are taken way before a single note of the music has even been played. From baby bunheads enrolled by their doting parents, to dancing classes, to nonstop rehearsals leading to opening nights.
It’s positions, tendus, pliés. It’s toes torn to shreds and the mangled satin of pointe shoes. It’s the smell of resin and sweat. It’s a steady string of events all building up to one. It’s the raindrops, falling in sequence, building up to an entire deluge. A sea of steps, of emotions, of victories. A sea of falls, of tears, of failures.
In retrospect, Juliette should perhaps have applied herself to becoming a better swimmer. She wasn’t a terrible, but by no means could she handle the rogue wave coming her way. To her credit, she had recognized it once it covered her whole, but by that time it was too late. She was sinking, and there was no reaching shore from that point on.
The opening night ofThe Nutcrackerwas one that Juliette always looked forward to. The anticipation, the children milling about, the soaring of the music being rehearsed by the orchestra, the general excitement for Christmas—all the small and big details that made this one ballet production feel magical. Shehad loved it as a tiny little girl in the corps in London, she had adored it as Clara, dancing her first solo part as a fourteen-year-old, and she had the time of her life headlining the ballet as the Sugar Plum Fairy.
With her, Francesca always made the part much larger than it normally was danced, and the entire second act transformed into a production of Juliette showing off. Grand jeté after grand jeté, split after split. The children adored it. And Juliette reveled in both the adoration and the opportunity to showcase movements that she usually did not get as much time to perform, as very rarely did a show require her to jump as much or as high.
The day had begun with love. They always did with Katarina, even if this one felt a touch desperate, her partner demanding and reckless in their lovemaking. Lying back after a mind-blowing orgasm, Juliette had tried to calm her racing heart and runaway emotions.
The heart that was living outside of her body, her lover, had stood up too quickly and almost ran out of the room. Katarina disappeared into the bathroom without a word. Juliette had closed her eyes at thesnickof the lock shutting.
They’d talk. After tonight, they’d lay on the table all that had clearly been eating them from inside. Juliette had questions she had been so scared to ask. And clearly, by her behavior, Katarina had answers she was trying to avoid. But they would both do what they must. They were too precious. Like fragile, handspun glass. Juliette hugged it to her chest, afraid to break it, afraid to get cut by it to pieces.
But ballet went on. For as long as she remembered, Juliette had always watched the first act ofThe Nutcrackerfrom the wings. The Sugar Plum Fairy did not feature, but she used the time to get into the spirit and the magnificence of Tchaikovsky. The soft spot she had for the long-suffering, torn-up, gayRussian in her heart often made her wonder if it was the drama of him that made his gift soar so high. The parallels with Katarina did not escape her, tragedy unspooling like ribbons off her arms, dripping with talent and secrets.
Standing in the dark, Juliette soaked up the music and the performances. A member of the corps, a girl in her early twenties whom Juliette had seen a few times but would have been hard-pressed to place, touched her elbow with the guiltiest of expressions.
“Mademoiselle Lucian-Sorel…” She stumbled through the full name, and Juliette took pity on the girl.
“It’s Juliette. And you are?”
The girl gaped, stumbling even more, the two syllables of “Aimee” becoming six.
“What can I do for you, Aimee?”
The youngster blinked a few times, as if suddenly remembering that she was the one who had approached Juliette.
“Oh, Monsieur Foltin wants to see you.”
It was Juliette’s turn to be surprised.
“I’m about to go on stage after the intermission?—”
“He said now, Mademoiselle Lucian… Um, Juliette.”
Juliette rolled her eyes. She’d have to comply, since the girl was clearly terrified, and telling her to return to Foltin with any answer other than that Juliette was coming would cause her to faint.
“I’ll be right there. And why don’t you stay and enjoy the performance? They’re about to do the pas de deux, and it’s gorgeous.”
The girl’s face lit up like the Christmas tree from the set, and Juliette gave her a one-armed hug before making her way slowly behind the stage and to the stairs leading to the third floor.
Some things about the Palais Garnier she loved. The proximity of the studios and the offices to the main action was one of them. The way sound carried… was not.
