Meanwhile, I suspected your ballet instructor was currently drowning his sorrows in alcohol, every drink bringing him a little closer to his death.
None of us were content.
In the ballet, the lovers were separated by death—murder, to be more precise—only to be reunited in the afterlife. The setting and solemnity of the Kingdom of Shades sequence reminded me a little of a Shade Vale in both theme and appearance. It was a beautiful, tragic story that mirrored our own predicament a little too closely. Had I not been in spirit form, I no doubt would have shed a few tears.
As for your solo, it was the height of male eroticism, and I was reminded of how easily an angel could fall under the charms of a human.
How I wished I could take you home that evening. Like one of my wrestling matches, we’d trade paint for oil until I had you pinned beneath me, captive and helpless. I’d make love to you so thoroughly that by the end we’d both be burnished in gold. How I missed your gentle moans and exaltations, the way your back arched when you climaxed, and the expression of rapture that graced your face. Even in my current state of disembodiment, the memories of our intimacies burned brightly.
It was then I realized, as you took your bow to a surge of applause, you had reached your potential. If I walked away right then, I could be assured that I’d helped you achieve your dreams. You were a professional dancer in a well-respected company and on the cusp of becoming a star. Before long, you’d surely attract the attentions of a benevolent man who could love and care for you in a manner you deserved, as only a human companion could.
So, why couldn’t I leave you?
I searched for you after final bows, but the cast was large, with the additional numbers supplied by the school to play the many roles a production of this magnitude required. The dressing room was a swarm of bodies. A beautiful golden man should have stood out to me like a beacon. Bruno was there, and I recognized several of your friends as well, but you were nowhere to be found. Not in the bathrooms or the showers. You didn’t show at the restaurant where your friends had gathered for the post-performance celebration, either. Not knowing what else to do, I waited at your apartment for your arrival with a growing sense of unease.
39
Orlando
Orlando Bell.
She was calling my name. We’d just taken our final bows and were huddled backstage. Bruno’s sweaty arms were wrapped around me in a congratulatory embrace. He kissed my cheek and when he pulled away, his lips and arms were golden.
Orlando Bell.
“She’s here,” I told Bruno, who only stared back at me with a perplexed expression.
“Who’s here, Fofo?”
I turned a full circle, looking for her.
“I have to go. I’m going to miss the party, but I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Orlando,” Bruno called, but he disappeared in the crowd.
Orlando Bell.
Her voice was like a tug on my arm, pulling me away from everyone else, away from the dressing rooms and down the dark, deserted hallway… I followed her call blindly until I came to the theater’s exit. It led to the alleyway behind the building, where dancers went to smoke. It reminded me of where I’d brought you so long ago after my first audition. When you’d tried a candy bar for the first time, and I made you promise to stay with me.
You promised me, Henri. Do you remember that?
I pushed open the door to the cool night air, and there she was, wearing a stylish, low-cut dress. The light from a streetlamp pooled around her like silk.
“There you are.” Your mother smiled seductively. Her lips were red, and her eyes glittered as hypnotically as the expensive jewels around her neck.
“Hello again.” My shaky voice betrayed my nervousness. There was a chill in the air that made goosebumps break out all over my chest and arms. Her gaze immobilized me.
“Join me.” She motioned with a turn of her elegant hand towards a sleek, silver limousine waiting at the curb.
“I’m not really dressed…” I’d left my street clothes in the dressing room. I was wearing gold paint and not much else. I didn’t want to get it all over her fancy car.
“My darling, don’t worry. I have people. Come along now before Henri sees you.”
I climbed into her limo, and it purred like a kitten as it pulled away from the theater. Bruno might worry about me, I’d left all of my stuff behind—my clothes, my wallet, my keys… but one look at Lena, and all of those concerns melted away. The effect she had on me reminded me of you.
There was a third person in the car, a man in an expensive-looking suit and eyes like spring water—sparkling blue all the way to the bottom. I guessed he was some kind of bodyguard. He appraised me when I got in, maybe thrown off by my costume. But then he smiled charmingly, and I found myself smiling back.
“This is Lucian, Henri’s brother,” Lena said to me, then reached into a small built-in refrigerator and pulled out an open bottle of champagne. Lucian handed her glass flutes from a recessed shelf. She poured and offered one to me while Lucian took another for himself. I figured that if she wanted to kill me, there were at least a hundred ways she could do it. Poisoning seemed unnecessary.
