PROLOGUE
The houselights dimmed, and a hush came over the audience. A prerecorded voice reminded those in attendance that flash photography and video recording were strictly prohibited. Then the voices of the soundtrack faded into the background, replaced with the overture of an upbeat musical melody.
Inside the tunnel leading to center ice, behind a thick set of worn wine-red curtains, Francesca Tomlinson, who had gone by the name Frankie since childhood, counted down in her head from sixty. She touched the brunette wig one final time, ensuring it was secured in place over her naturally copper-colored hair.
One of the red curtains slowly began to rise.
Fifty seconds.
On the audio soundtrack, the narrator said “. . . and always remember, you are never too old to dream.”
A worker dressed in all black, wearing a headset, pointed to the line of ensemble skaters standing ahead of her, and mouthed, “Go.”
The skaters high-fived one another and skated out into the darkened area. The houselights slowly became less dim. Frankie heard the excited laughter of children and audible gasps of delight at the fast footwork and spins being performed by her fellow Dreams on Ice skaters.
Thirty seconds.
Frankie glided closer to the entrance. Her pulse began to increase. She kept her hands occupied by tapping the side of her leg in time to the beats of the overture.
Ten seconds.
The ensemble skaters linked arms and held their pose, catching their breaths. The machinery controlling the set backdrop suddenly hummed to life.
Three. Two. One.
“You’re on,” the backstage tech mouthed to her.
Plastering a big smile onto her face, Frankie skated out of the tunnel. It was pitch-black. Some of the ensemble skaters raced backstage for a quick change while she went out to the center of the ice. A spotlight illuminated her.
She glided around the perimeter of the makeshift French village.
“It’s Beauty!”
Hearing the excitement of the children never grew old. Although it was dark, she could just make out the silhouettes of them waving to her in the front row.
“Hi, Princess,” they shouted.
Frankie tried her best to make eye contact with as many of them as possible before coming to a stop.
“Bonjour. Bonjour . . .” the music played.
She breathed shallowly as she picked up the basket laden with fake books and let her muscle memory take hold. The spotlight gave way to soft blues, greens, and pinks. The remainder of the cast, dressed as villagers, glided around her.
Bending her knees deeply, she picked up speed with some forward crossovers, and lifted her leg into a high spiral.
I’m going to miss this.
* * *
An hour and a half and two quick changes later, Frankie locked eyes with Fernando, the skater playing her prince. She nodded subtly, and felt him place one hand on her waist and the other on her butt as he pressed her high into the air.
She waved her wrist in a circular motion.Being a princess never gets old.
They performed one final lap and joined the rest of the principal character skaters in a neat line to take a bow. She stared out at the tiny audience members waving glow sticks and shouting their favorite characters’ names. She wondered just how many of the children would be inspired to take up skating lessons after seeing the show.
Her father had taken her to a show just like this one more than twenty years before. She could still recall being mesmerized by how the performers had jumped and twirled in the air, defying gravity. For weeks, it had been all she could talk about. “Dad did you see that spin? Dad, can you do that? Dad, can I have a dress just like the one the princesses were wearing?”
Fernando squeezed her hand and chuckled. “Lost in the past again?” he asked in his thick Spanish accent.
