“I could have left a hundred times, but I stayed. I won’t go with you or anyone else. Go away, devil.”
I took no offense—I’d been called much worse. Daybreak had come and gone, and the night was returning. We didn’t have much time. I made my last attempt. “Please, Lydia, come with me. I could not save your body, but I can save your soul.Forsan miseros meliora sequentur.”For those in misery, perhaps better things will follow.
“My soul was lost long ago,” she said, her last words to me.
Her burning yellow orb dulled to an ashy gray, the color that represented my defeat. Her path was shuttered, and her fate was sealed.
So I left.
23
Orlando
Opening night was always a disaster. No matter how much we’d rehearsed and organized everything ahead of time, there were always a series of fuckups right before the curtain opened and the show began. Tonight, it was a costume catastrophe. Someone hadn’t properly stored Juliet’s nightgown, and the delicate material of the dress had torn. People were running around like mad trying to figure out a way to repair it, while Bruno only shook his head and suggested it was done on purpose by a rival prima ballerina.
I’d like to think our fellow company members were above such petty sabotage, but they’d proven to be a pretty cutthroat group. And Sergei did nothing to build good will among us. Instead he singled out dancers, either as some standard that the rest of us should aim for, or more often in my case, an example of a dancer who had one foot out the door.
I tried to stay above the fray, but Bruno liked the drama.
While everyone else ran around in a tizzy, I daydreamed about tonight when you and I would be together again. Last time you’d arranged the closet mirrors so you could see me from all angles. Sex with you was like performance art, and as I stared at my reflection and applied the last of my stage makeup, I thought about that moment when I was kneeling between your thighs, just after having you in my mouth, when you came all over me.
Look at yourself in the mirror,you’d said as you gripped my hair.See that you’re mine.
“Thinking about Henri?” Bruno asked, catching my eye in the mirror. I smiled. I told Bruno pretty much everything. He’d lived through it with us, all of the ups and downs in our quest to find you a body, and the bliss we’d found with Xavier. Bruno might typically be a gossip, but he didn’t say a word to anyone about us.
“I’m going to ask him to… you know. Tonight.”
“I’m jealous.” Bruno laid his hands on my shoulders and squeezed lightly. “You deserve this, Orlando. Enjoy it. As for me…” He made a droopy face and acted like he’d be alone with his hand that evening. Doubtful. Bruno could have a different hookup every day of the week. They practically had to take numbers.
There was a commotion at the entrance to the dressing room, and I assumed it was another costume malfunction. I finished applying my eyeliner and mascara. Bruno tapped me on the shoulder. “Look who it is.”
I only recognized the woman Sergei was leading by the arm because I’d just seen her in a horror flick a few weeks ago. Bruno and I went together because you didn’t want to be triggered by all the blood and gore.
“Gianna Russo,” I said, admiring her up close. She looked a lot classier without the strategically torn clothing and blood stains. We sometimes had celebrities make the rounds before or after a production. The school and company boards often entertained funders with backstage access. Why anyone would want to see us slobs in a sweaty, cramped dressing room was a mystery to me, but I suppose it did have aLa Boehmefeel.
“She’s coming this way,” Bruno said and presented himself like he was a prince or something. I stood just behind and let him take the lead. Bruno was a social butterfly, which was cool because it meant I could bask in his glow without having to initiate conversations.
“And here are two of our apprentices,” Sergei said, motioning to us. “Bruno and Orlando, please say hello to one of our newest and most generous donors, Ms. Russo.”
Bruno flashed his Glamour Shots smile and I nodded awkwardly, tongue-tied in the face of someone so famous.
“Orlando,” Gianna gushed. “I believe we have a friend in common.”
“Really?” I didn’t know any actors. Maybe it was a dancer?
“Yes, a dear friend of mine. His name is Henri.”
Wait.Youwere a dear friend of Gianna Russo?
“You knowmyHenri?” I asked.
“A little birdie told me he’s involved with a most beguiling dancer.”
I’m sure my grin stretched ear-to-ear. I was finally meeting a friend of yours. I was stunned. And an actress, no less. Why hadn’t you told me? Were you just being modest?
“How do you know Henri?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. You sometimes talked about yourassociates, but for whatever reason, I didn’t think they were human.
“Oh, my goodness, Henri and I gowayback. Before I moved out west. He is such a captivating man, isn’t he? You must feel very fortunate to have caught his eye.”
