FOURTEEN
Ryan
At the end of the week, Willow and I finally went on our movie date, with her father’s urging and blessing. At six p.m., I picked her up at the deli. While she was nervous about leaving her dad alone for the first time since his return, Mel assured us both he would be okay and the staff promised they would watch him like hawks… making sure he didn’t snitch any pastrami—not even a schnitzel—and that he went to sleep early. Mel was getting stronger and thinner each day.
It had been a really long time since I’d been on a movie date with a girl. Well, except for my four-year-old niece Violet, whom I’d taken to some animated movies, but that really didn’t count. I couldn’t help but think of my first movie date with Allee. I’d taken her to see Camille, which little did I know at that time foreshadowed her untimely death. The movie had reduced her to tears, and that night we made love for the first time in my loft. I was a little nervous, but whatever tonight’s outcome, I didn’t think Willow would sleep with me. I wasn’t ready for that yet. And I still wondered—would I ever be?
“What are we seeing?” asked Willow as we headed west by foot to Ludlow Street. The early October air was crisp and we walked briskly, holding hands.
“It’s a surprise.” Knowing she was a ballerina, I’d fortuitously found a dance movie festival at the nearby Metrograph theater. The popular cinema was renowned for playing Hollywood classics. Among the movies playing were Black Swan, The Turning Point, Flashdance, Shall We Dance, and An American in Paris, definitely not a flick I could stomach. Plus the one that was playing tonight.
“The Red Shoes?” asked Willow, when we arrived at the theater, which was housed in a former brick warehouse. Her voice sounded tenuous.
“Yes, I thought you’d like it.” The photos in her bedroom along with her toe shoes flashed into my head.
She drew in a sharp breath. “Cool…” Her voice trailed off as we entered the theater and I handed the ticket-taker the reserved-seat tickets I’d purchased online. As we walked through the lobby, I was a little anxious. I thought she’d be way more enthusiastic about my movie choice.
“Willow…we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. We can just go out for dinner somewhere.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I loved this movie when I was a kid. I watched it with my mother on TV.”
Oh, so that was the connection. Now, I understood her reservation.
“Have you ever seen it?” she asked.
“No.” In fact, I knew little about the movie except that it was inspired by the Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale of the same name. I’d foolishly not taken the time to read the movie description online. For all I knew, it was a comedy.
“It’s considered the best ballet movie ever made,” she said.
“I’m looking forward to seeing it.” Maybe it would give me more insight into Willow, who was still very closed-mouth about her past. “Do you want something to eat or drink?” The theater housed a top-notch gourmet restaurant as well as a bar in the lobby.
“How ’bout some wine and popcorn?”
“Perfect.”
Five minutes later, we were in our seats toward the back, each with a glass of red wine, a Cab for Willow and a Pinot Noir for me. We were sharing a large bag of popcorn, which I set on the tray table between us.
A geeky-looking attendant took center stage in the small but elegant theater, welcoming us to the film festival before going into some history of the movie. It had originally been released in l948, almost seventy years ago, and garnered two Academy Awards—one for Best Original Score and the other for Best Art Direction. Without further ado, the lights dimmed, the red velvet theater curtain rose, and the opening credits began to roll on the screen.
It didn’t take long for me to discover that this wasn’t a comedy. It was an intense drama about a young, rising ballerina named Vicky, caught in the age-old battle between her career and love. Dominating the story was a heated love triangle between her Russian ballet master, Lermontov, and her lover, Julian, the composer of the ballet she was starring in—The Red Shoes.
Throughout the movie, especially the dance scenes, Willow breathed heavily. She stopped eating popcorn and drinking her wine.
“Are you okay?” I whispered as the beautifully filmed Red Shoes ballet sequence culminated with Vicky, under the spell of the evil Shoemaker and unable to stop dancing, nearing death from exhaustion. As a priest removed the cursed red shoes and Vicky took her last breath, Willow gasped.
“I’ll be right back,” she murmured, leaping up from her seat before I could say another word. Jesus. What had gotten into her? It was only make-believe. A movie about a fairy-tale inspired ballet.
A few minutes later, Willow returned.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she rasped.
Trying hard to believe her, I took her hand as the movie continued. It felt cold and clammy. A big part of me wanted to split, but Willow insisted we stay. Her eyes stayed glued on the big screen as the plot thickened with Vicky choosing her career over her lover after marrying him. Returning to the company to dance in a revival of The Red Shoes, she encounters Julian on opening night. Again torn between her love for him and her need to dance, she can’t decide what to do. Poor Julian, realizing that he has lost his true love, departs for the railroad station. Just as she’s about to take the stage, Vicky, wearing the red shoes, decides to pursue him and rushes out of the theater. At the train station, Julian spots her and runs toward her. But not fast enough. To his horror, Vicky jumps from the balcony and falls in front of an approaching train. Even I gasped at the dramatic turn of events.
While sniffles abounded around me, Willow began to sob. So loudly I could barely hear Lermontov deliver his final line before the performance: “Miss Page is unable to dance tonight—nor indeed any other night.” Willow’s sobs grew louder as the movie culminated with the dance company performing The Red Shoes, a spotlight on the empty space where Vicky would have been, and then cutting back to the train station where a battered Vicky, lying close to death on a stretcher, asks her beloved, distraught Julian to remove the red shoes, just as in the end of the ballet.
While the teary-eyed audience exited the movie theater, Willow stayed in her seat, paralyzed and sobbing. A sickening sense of déjà vu washed over me. It was almost as if I were reliving Allee’s hysterical reaction to the tragic ending of Camille. An ending that paralleled her own tragic one. Fuck. What had I done? Why did I have to pick this movie? Was it some sign that I was destined to lose Willow? My stomach twisted as this dark thought lodged in my brain and morbid fear seeped through my veins.
After the credits rolled, the lights came up. We were the only two moviegoers left.
“C’mon, baby. We should go.”
Her face soaked with her tears, her eyes red and swollen, Willow staggered to her feet. I gave her a helping hand and then wrapped an arm around her.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, swiping at her tears.
“It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.
She shook her head as tears continued to fall. “Ryan, I don’t feel well. I need to go home.”
“Sure.” I didn’t feel well either. Fate was a bitch. And she was fucking with me. Willow Rosenthal was hiding something, and deep inside my heart, I knew it was going to be my undoing. A chill ripped through me. It frightened me.