“Hello, Herr Hamman. This is quite an event.”
“Now, now, you call me Rudi. Sponsoring tonight is just part of my new plan. Bring the best of the world to me, and I don’t have to travel so much. I have grandchildren here now. Can’t be jetting off to New York or Moscow to see every new production.”
Victoria sipped at her drink, the bubbles having already dissipated. “As long as you still come to visit me in Paris sometimes. Bring the grandchildren when they’re old enough.”
“Of course, of course. May I introduce my wife? She was a great fan of your dancing, Victoria, and she’s very keen to meet the woman who’s been causing such a storm in Paris.”
Victoria nodded, her smile tight. A storm would be one word for it. Almost quitting three times, constant berating in the French press, and a company on the brink of mutiny most weeks—that qualified as turbulent. Victoria hadn’t expected to miss New York, to miss those familiar modern hallways of the Metropolitan, but there had been times when they seemed the only refuge from the gilded cage of the Paris Opera ballet.
The conversation with rich old people flowed as most of them did, Victoria turning on the charm and soaking up their praises. Answering obscure questions to let them show off their knowledge and attendance at some of the finest performances, to flaunt their access and involvement. It was no great strain, and it eased away the last nervous minutes before the theater bells summoned them to their seats.
Grateful to be on the center aisle, Victoria lingered a moment before taking her seat. Her hosts were chattering quietly over the program that Mrs. Hamman held in her lap. Victoria felt the curious glances coming her way, knowing she was still a familiar face with all the coverage in the European press that had dogged her first season in Paris. A tap on her shoulder interrupted the rising nerves that had the champagne churning in her stomach.
“Vicky. You came all this way to cheer for me?”
Victoria turned to find Irina looming over her, dressed to kill in a navy-blue pantsuit, dark silky lapels offsetting the distinct lack of anything worn beneath the jacket. Diamonds trailing in a tasteful cascade from the bottom of her throat, shimmering raindrops that caught the light from every angle.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Victoria replied without any particular confirmation. “You’re watching from the house?”
“We can’t all prowl the wings like a caged tiger. Did you tell her you’re here?”
Victoria considered feigning ignorance for a moment, but she was painfully aware of how much time Anna had spent with her new artistic director, and the matching flash of a diamond on Irina’s ring finger confirmed that she had made things official with Anna’s sister, Jess. Life in New York had certainly been continuing apace without Victoria, and the thought gave her a fresh pang of homesickness. “No. No first-night distractions. She’ll see me when the lights come up; that’s enough.”
“Hmm, just a few nights here, and then we’re off to Beijing,” Irina said, almost letting a smile break across her stern features. “Biggest tour in ten years, you heard?”
“Of course. I never was a great fan of touring.”
“It is good to see you. You should look out for your wedding invitation. Jess will want her best woman to have a date, yes? And call me sometime. I would like to compare notes.”
“I think you’re starting,” Victoria answered, and they grasped each other by the forearms, exchanging two air kisses near each cheek. Sure enough, the lights went down, and Victoria slipped into her seat with a smile for the Hammans. She’d already declined their offer of a late supper and an invitation to stay at their grand apartment in the center of the city. A hotel room granted far more freedom, and with luck, Victoria would have a guest to make the queen-sized bed a little less lonely.
Tchaikovsky’s first mournful notes were as familiar to Victoria as her own heartbeat, but she’d barely taken in the conductor with her slicked-back red hair that skimmed the collar of her tuxedo jacket when the heavy damask curtains rose. Interesting. Irina had gone with the additional prologue of discovering how dear Odette became a swan in the first place. Most productions still opened on the waltz, a huge party scene for Prince Siegfried.
Then the spotlight fell on Anna, a vision in white. Any care about the plot or the staging dissolved at the sight of her. It took considerable resolve for Victoria to remain in her seat. Every sinew was straining to reach out somehow, to touch Anna at her most untouchable.
Her technique was flawless, but Victoria expected no less. The audience seemed enraptured by the vision of sweetness, bordering on innocence. Victoria smirked at her very private knowledge of how Anna could be anything but. The simple white silk of her dress hid lines and curves, but there was no disguising those long legs or those toned arms that could lift as readily as any male dancer thanks to Victoria’s careful training.
Despite her jaded views, despite her hyperfocus on Anna herself instead of the character, Victoria still found herself stifling a gasp as the evil Rothbart transformed the innocent into a swan, cursing her to be found that way by the prince in the second act. With a series of pirouettes and some almost invisible stagecraft, the dress seemed to disintegrate in mid-air, revealing the risqué slashes of leather from the posters. Another spin and the simple braids of Anna’s blonde hair were twisted up in an elaborate headdress that gave the faint impression of feathers.
Their swan.
As the scene gave way to the raucous waltzes of the first act, Victoria settled back in her seat, the last of the tension finally easing from her shoulders. She would watch the rest of the ballet through fresh eyes and hope for a happy reunion as soon as the curtain fell for the final time.
Anna reveled in her early solo, knowing it framed the story firmly around her. While the principal female dancer carried most of the story, playing both Odette and Odile, it was easy for a handsome prince to become the focus.
She’d gotten in the habit of not scouring the house for familiar faces back in New York. Other than when her family was in attendance, or some old friends who’d come in from out of town, she didn’t need the nerves of spotting someone she knew. The stage lights left her only able to see a few rows back anyway, just as far as the house seats. That was why Anna didn’t give the faces a second glance for those first two minutes, concentrating on the feel of the stage beneath her feet and waiting for Elliot to come in as Rothbart and cast his wicked spell on her.
As her fellow swans came to join her in transformation, hiding some of the tricks that let her change so quickly right on stage, Anna felt a prickle at the back of her neck. A pleasant sort of shiver, really, like seeing her apartment for the first time when coming back from a trip. Sinking to the floor to finish her sequence, she risked a proper look out at the audience, holding her chin high and proud.
Victoria.
For weeks they’d been skirting around the topic of Anna’s coming to Berlin, of how relatively close it was to Victoria’s new home in Paris. Vague, noncommittal comments about “seeing how her diary looked,” or, “if everything is calmer by then,” had made Anna feel guilty about making demands on Victoria when she’d been dealing with a rebellious company and incredibly demanding bosses, including the French public who funded the ballet partly with their taxes. Everyone had an opinion, and although Anna had come out to support Victoria’s first mounted production, their time together in the ensuing months had been frustrating and too fleeting by half.