Page 19 of Worth the Fight

I don’t know how they record the performances. I don’t know if it’s a camera behind the orchestra that I’ve never paid attention to. Maybe it’s a series of cameras placed throughout the theater, with an entire crew filming, and someone directing which shot to pan to. There’s curiosity in me, wondering if there will be a moment when I accidentally catch the eye of the camera. I wonder if four thousand miles away, Lukas will be sitting at the farmhouse, his attention solely on me, and I wonder if he will see that I’m looking out there for him.

“I can’t get over this dress,” Jessie says, twisting to look at me as she slips into her tutu. “You were made for this part, girl.”

I catch her gaze in the mirror, biting my bottom lip to somewhat stifle my grin. “I can’t believe tonight is happening.”

Someone dips their head into the room, calling out the ten-minute mark, and I prop my foot up on the table, checking again to make sure my laces are sewn tight, then I push out a breath, giving myself another giddy smile in the mirror before I make my way down the hall.

My hands are shaking as I grip the banister, carefully taking the stairs that lead to backstage. The performance has already begun. My dance with Raymond marks the first time our characters are finally alone on stage.

There’s a tray of rosin nearby, and I busy myself by dipping the toes of my pointe shoes in the crushed powder, working it deep into the fabric to ensure every step is stiff, secure.

Act one has begun, and the dancers are on stage, setting the scene that’s a ballet within a ballet, really. My character, Marguerite, a sex worker, falls madly in love with Raymond’s character, Armand. Armand is a nobleman, rich, a much higher class than she, yet he sees Marguerite for who she really is. He genuinely loves her, ready to give up everything he has to be with her—his name, his wealth. It isn’t until Marguerite realizes that she needs to break his heart in order to save his family name that the story turns dark.

Despite her love for him, she ends the relationship, forcing Armand to leave. What he doesn’t know is that she’s ill, and in the final act, she passes away. Raymond’s character finds her old diaries and finally understands the sacrifice she made out of love.

It’s not the modern-day rom com we’ve all come to know and love, but there’s something beautiful in the painful sacrifice. The way she kept her dark secrets to herself, the way she sacrifices her own feelings, wants, and desires to protect the man she loves. Knowing that if she told him the truth, if she told him who she was and let him give up his life for her, it would have cost him everything. She breaks his heart knowing it’ll break her own as well.

The orchestra pauses, and when the music starts again, it’s a piano solo. There’s a full-length mirror center stage, lit up by a singular overhead light in an otherwise dark room.

The music is smooth, soft, and I crack my back, my shoulders, pushing out a calm, steady breath as I step out from behind the curtains.

As I leave the shadows, I take delicate, pointed steps toward the mirror, my character needing to study her own reflection. She’s sad, confused, and as the other parts of the orchestra join in, Raymond’s character steps out of the shadows to comfort her.

It’s a delicate push and pull, our characters wanting each other so badly, but mine is terrified of what it might do to him.

We begin our pas de deux, and I let the music take over.

People have often asked me what I think about while I’m onstage. If nerves get the best of me and I’m trying to calm myself. If I’m riddled with anxiety, terrified I’m going to forget the steps, if my shoe will slip on the floor, if the male dancer will drop me.

Sometimes, it’s all of them and more.

But tonight, it’s just me and the music. I give in to the dance, to the story, feeling my body sway and twist without needing to remind it to do so. I am Marguerite, terrified to give in to this man, to love him, to trust him, even though my heart tells me otherwise.

There’s a moment toward the end of our scene where I take the red camellia that’s pinned to my chest and give it to Raymond, pinning it to his shirt as I force him away from me, toward the party, and back into society. The flower signifies my surrender to him, and the promise of my devotion to him and only him.

When the final curtain falls, and we all take a relieved breath, the crowd rises to their feet. The roar of their cheers and clapping is almost deafening, and I could get drunk off this feeling.

The curtain falls, and when it rises again, it’s just Raymond and me on center stage. We wave to the crowd, take a bow, then turn to each other for another bow.

I rest my hand over my thundering heart, mouthing ‘thank you’ to the crowd. I go to turn, but Raymond reaches for my hand, his grip tugging me back to center stage.

This time, when I go to bow, he takes a step back, and his arms come out to showcase me. My cheeks burn, but I let myself soak it in. I curtsy again, and this time when I stand, I spot a camera pointed down from the north balcony. I send up a smile, wondering, just maybe, that Lukas will see it and know that tonight was because of him.

When I get back to the dressing room and I’m pulling the pins from my hair, a message comes through on my phone. I don’t even bother to bite back the grin, because somehow, I know it’s Lukas.

Lukas:

I’ve seen you dance a thousand times, Mags. Something about tonight was different. I can’t describe it. My mom said I was whispering to myself while watching it.

Me:

It’s an incredible ballet, one of the most popular in France. I’m lucky to be a part of it.

Lukas:

It wasn’t the ballet, Mags. It wasn’t the story or the music or the costumes. It was you.

CHAPTER 14