Chapter 2
They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
Mark 2:17
Columbus, Georgia
February 2008
Sergei Prokofiev’s music filled my heart with adolescent passion as I rehearsed the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene with Claus. Each haunting note set me on fire, a slow-burning and all-consuming fire that was as pure as it was intense. I was Juliet, and I was supposed to be in love. It was allowed. On that stage, it was okay to forget how much Claus had hurt me in the past, and it was okay to show love for a man other than my fiancé.
I watched Claus use up the whole stage, impressing me with the perfect combination of charisma and virtuosity, in turns and jumps that were faster and higher in person than on YouTube. Why are you here? He touched my cheek. Why after all these years?
The spell of the music and the moment slipped away.
“Ana!” The artistic director interrupted the rehearsal and stopped the orchestra. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to touch your cheek, where he just touched you. You started so strong. Wake up.” He snapped his fingers multiple times. “Let’s do it again. Focus. One hundred percent. Here. Now.”
“Great. Now I’m getting into trouble because of him,” I mumbled as I walked up to the wobbly gray balcony again, thankful my cheeks were already red from the physical exertion.
“Fine. Focus.” What if he told me he was divorced and that he’d come for me? Shh. Stop. “Here. Now.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I need to get this right. This is the chance of a lifetime. Next is the Met. I can do this.
“It’s okay. It’s allowed,” I whispered to myself while taking slow, rhythmic breaths to gain control.
The conductor lifted his baton and the musicians prepared. My hands steadied and my stomach unclenched. The orchestra started. Slowly. Softly. The melody church-like as I, Lady Juliet, paced my balcony dreaming of my Romeo.
A “ta-da” in the music interrupted the melody, startling Juliet and announcing Romeo’s arrival in the shadows of the night of old Verona. “Ta-da-da.” Between the dry-ice mist and the spotlight, I couldn’t see Claus at first, and the staccato of the music reflected Juliet’s confusion.
But then—magic. The fog dissipated slowly as if it too wanted to announce Romeo’s presence. The music softened, pulsating like a heartbeat. And then I saw him. My Romeo. What a vision … breathe. Claus kept his sand-blond hair a little longer now, wavy and just below the collar of Romeo’s puffy cream blouse. His baby face frozen at the sight of Lady Juliet. Who did he see? Just Lady Juliet, or could it be he still had feelings for me? His royal-blue eyes filled with expectation.
It didn’t matter. We were on stage. We were Romeo and Juliet. I could love him again. It was allowed.
I ran down to him. The melody became fully established. Luminous. Exalted. Beautiful. We locked eyes. We locked hands. We locked hearts. And then we danced.
I was in the moment, and this time I was able to stay in the moment, wrapped in the red cloak of desire, allowing Romeo to seduce Juliet completely.
Claus held my hands, his grip tight, palms sweaty, and lifted me in the air as if I were an ethereal being. Our connection was tender. He was attentive, and I was receptive. Time and again he begged me to stay. He wanted me to stay. He wanted to show his love. Oh, that was everything I’d dreamt of as a young girl.
Romeo kissed Juliet passionately, and lost in the moment, I melted in Claus’s arms, aware only of his strong body pressed against my small frame.
I didn’t want to stop kissing him, but Juliet had to run up to the balcony. Oh Juliet, Juliet … why? She should have stayed. I rushed back to the balcony, wishing I could remember the words of Shakespeare. What does Juliet say after the kiss? You would think I would know. But the words didn’t matter. She should have stayed.
“Bravo!” someone in the crowd of families and dancers shouted amid claps, whistles, and more shouts.
So this is what it feels like.
“Bravo!”
I came down from the balcony, a giant grin stretching my lips. What a treat—to dance the most romantic scene of the most romantic ballet with my first love and lover.
Claus reached for my hand for an improvised curtain call, and I blushed and looked down for a moment. This is it. This is my time.
I stepped forward, looked at all the faces, and curtsied. Next is the Met.
Brian, our artistic director, walked toward us with a spring in his step. That was all the excitement he was going to show. But that counted. That was our Brian. If he was not yelling, that meant he was happy.
“Ana, I love your little leap at the bottom of the steps but jump in a diagonal. This way when you run, he catches your hand center stage.”
“Got it.”
“Claus, this stage is not as big as the ones you are used to.” Brian chuckled, probably to keep things light. He was talking to one of the best dancers in the world. “You are coming out too far in your initial run. Stay close to the balcony. Work the shadows.”
Claus nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s it for tonight, everybody. We meet here again tomorrow at four for a light class and warm up. We’re expecting a full house.” Brian raised both eyebrows and lowered his head to look at us over his eyeglasses. “Ana and Claus, feel free to stay and go over anything you may need to. I have a dinner with our sponsors.”
I watched him walk toward the dark curtains.
“Do you mind going over my entrance to mark the things Brian mentioned?” Claus used his wrist to wipe sweat off his forehead.
“Let’s do it.” I stretched my arms and moved my head from side to side. “Wait until people leave?”
“Yeah.”
Where is your wife? I should just ask.
Claus was still a principal in the same company in Wiesbaden where he’d started his career, in their native Germany. But there was no mention of her on the company website, not anymore. She’d been the highest ranking dancer there for many years too.
But I couldn’t ask. I mean, I could … but I shouldn’t. How could I possibly maintain my I-don’t-care façade and attitude if I asked? The question would betray me.
Claus went over some of his turns. No, I couldn’t ask.
I looked up at the balcony and went over the spacing in my head. Why was it taking so long for the theater to clear?
Suddenly being there felt wrong. I was with Peter now and I was happy. I’m just working. Nothing to it.
A hand on my shoulder startled me.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” Claus took a small step back. “Sorry. Are you ready?”
“Sure.” Why did he have to be so perfect? I touched my shoulder—the spot where his hand had been—and climbed up to the balcony.
“Pa pa.” He went through the steps of his entrance without actually doing them, walking and marking the space instead. “Parara, parara, pararara. Pa pa pa…”
“You must have it right because I can’t see you at all.” I stretched as far as I could to look for him. “You’re good.”
“Good.” He showed up at the bottom of the steps. “Now come on down.”
He disappeared again, and I came down looking for him. Where are you, Romeo?
Then right where Brian wanted us to meet, I felt Claus’s warm hand on mine.
“And that’s good.” The pitch of his voice was low. I’m not going to look at him. No way.
We walked forward. Right, left, right, left. I withdrew my hand from his and touched my chest to feel my heartbeat. At that point I was supposed to take his hand and place it over my heart so he could feel it too.
Should I? Did I trust myself around him? Not today. I took a step back.
He lowered his gaze.
Did I still love him? I had to be able to answer that question, right? The theater air touched my cheeks and cooled my face. Who was I kidding? I already knew the answer—had always known the answer. So much. There. I loved him so much…
But I loved Peter too. Just as much—maybe more. Definitely more. Didn’t I? Claus had to go. “We’re done then.”
“Do you want to go over anything else with me?”
Like why you’re here? “No. I’m good.”
He nodded but stayed on the same spot.
“I want to go over a couple of things on my own.” Please leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The orchestra was still practicing bits and pieces of our music. Enough with the balcony scene already—please.
“You go to bed early, yes?”
“Yes.” I took another step back. “Promise.”
I watched him as he walked toward the stage door. His body hadn’t changed in a decade—his legs were as perfectly muscular now as they’d been when I’d first seen him. He was compact, like Michelangelo’s David.
He was walking a little taller and slower than usual.
Oh, I bet he knows I’m looking. I closed my eyes and blushed. Claus needed to stay in the past where he belonged.
I filled my lungs to capacity and exhaled slowly. Peter should have come to the rehearsal. He was the perfect mix of handsome, successful, and easygoing, and the mere sight of him relaxed me and put a smile on my face. He was my future. Everything else was nonsense.
I didn’t want to wait another day to see him, but for him to stay away from his Pine Mountain ranch for two nights, he had to plan ahead. Didn’t hurt to ask, though. I would call him on my way home. I climbed the narrow steps leading to the balcony, the thin wood moving and squeaking under my Bloch Balance European pointe shoes.
What I’d told Claus about staying back wasn’t true. I didn’t really need to go over anything. I was just not ready to go home. In the middle of all my heart’s turmoil, it would have been easy to overlook the marvelous quality of what was happening to me on that stage, but I didn’t want to overlook anything. This is my moment—my season to dance—the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my career.
Once at the top, I sat on the edge of the balcony, swinging my legs like a little girl—hoping not to freeze in Juliet’s silky cream gown.
As I indulged in I-can’t-believe-I’m-Juliet thoughts, the structure wobbled and squeaked again. My heart raced and I felt dizzy.
Who could be coming up?
“No way,” I whispered, spotting Claus.
He sat by my side and stared at the dark audience, as I did. And like me, he said nothing.
We watched the orchestra pack up and heard the pit grow silent. Soon everything was quiet except for sporadic shouts from one stagehand to another. What was he doing?
His hand inched toward mine, and I closed my eyes. I felt the warmth of his fingertips and welcomed the heat.
And then thin fabric caressed my hand. Huh? I looked down and gasped. “You’ve kept it.” The delicate cherries of my small neck scarf had faded, as had the aquamarine chiffon. The tiny white polka dots were barely visible now. I held the scarf up, examining it as though it were a rare jewel.
He’d bought it for me at the Saks Fifth Avenue store in New York and given it to me on our most memorable date.
I’d handed the scarf back to him at the end of every encounter, so he could always have a little bit of me with him.
He’d kept it. All these years, he’d kept it.
I looked at him, my heartbeat loud and strong. He’d kept me.
His eyes no longer reflected the exuberance of Romeo’s feelings. Instead, they were filled with sorrow. And love, too. It was all so unexpected. I was in dangerous territory, but I didn’t stop.
With his fingers under my chin, a Claus signature move I remembered well, he pulled me in and kissed me. I felt his lips part, and as I reciprocated, I resisted the urge to go from gentle to passionate. Gentle was good. Gentle was right.
Things were perfect just the way they were, right there on that balcony ten feet above the stage floor, and I wanted to be there forever.
If only for that moment, the brokenness in me was fixed.
The perpetual ache erased.
If only for a moment.
But he pulled back, nibbling my wet lips with a sigh before a quick kiss in the middle. Then one on the corner.
He faced forward again and held my now sweaty and shaky hand.
Oh, this is amazing. Wow. “Claus…”
He brought my unsteady fingers to his soft, perfect lips.
His kiss was warm. Tender. Wow…
But then he let go of my hand.
I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want it to be over. Again, I didn’t want it to be over.
He looked at the scarf on my lap, and his eyes were sad once more.
Why hadn’t he stayed with me that first time—ten years ago? Now it was too late. Did he realize that too?
He kissed my forehead and stood.
Hot tears filled my eyes. What could we have done differently? Oh, what I wouldn’t have done to avoid the pain of that moment. Hopelessness pooled in my stomach as I watched him leave. Please look back.
But he didn’t.
I would never—ever—be whole again. We would never be able to make anything right. The balcony was steady again but I wasn’t. Would that relationship cloud my entire life?
The stage door opened and closed. Of course that stupid relationship would cloud everything I ever did in the future. Why did he have to show up?
And why had he brought the scarf? I caressed the soft fabric. Was he struggling like I was?
Probably, but he’d brought the scarf back, and he’d left it behind. That could only mean that our story was really over now—the end—for real. He must have needed that closure as much as I’d needed it. That had to be the real end. If for no other reason than because he knew I was engaged.
That’s right—I’m engaged. What was I doing? I shook my head hoping to wake up from a nightmare. I have a man. He’s my rock and I love him. When life is out of control, he gives me peace. I love Peter.
I looked at the workers, busy prepositioning pieces of our set for tomorrow.
Nothing on that stage felt real. The kiss hadn’t been real. What we had done could have been part of a ballet, right? Reliving the moment, I set it to music in my mind. My modern piece was complete. It hadn’t been real. “Miss! We are closing the stage.”
“Thanks. I’m coming down.”
As I prepared to leave the theater, the gravity of what had happened hit me. I kept hoping I would wake from a bad dream, still innocent. But the deed was done. The one thing I thought I would never do—betray a man’s trust. It had been real. I’d let Claus kiss me.
I picked up my bag and turned off the lights. The long hallway between the dressing rooms and the stage door was dark. How could Claus still have such a hold on me? There was only one explanation: I was a moron—a moron and a cheater.
Outside, the cold night air and the city lights lifted me up. With each step the stage retreated farther away, and so did my mistake.
I needed Peter in town. Needed to erase Claus from my thoughts and from my lips. Peter would figure out a way to be here. I called him, unable to resist hearing his voice any longer. Should I tell him about what happened? I would have to, one day.
Then I heard a phone ring behind me—the Sugar Plum Fairy solo, the very same song that played whenever I called Peter.
My body went numb. It had to be Peter. Had he seen the whole thing? Had he come from the theater—just now? Let’s not assume. Maybe he saw nothing.
I turned around and smiled. “Whatever happened to ‘I don’t want to see it until the opening’?”
His eyes avoided mine and focused on the busy street beyond. His towering frame was still. “I changed my mind.” He grabbed my hand and led me quietly toward Broadway. Uh-oh. He saw something.
“Did you like it?” I struggled to keep up with his quick pace. What had he seen?
He didn’t answer. We had reached the marquee in front of the theater, its electronic sign embedded in the huge cement structure. He picked me up with ease and sat me on top of it, about six feet off the ground.
“We’re not engaged anymore.” His voice was hoarse, like a wounded animal’s, and big tears rolled down his tanned cheeks and disappeared in the light-brown scruff of his face. His beautiful full lips were unsteady, and he made no attempt to hide the disgust in his midnight-blue eyes.
I trembled and all my feelings gathered around one question: How do I fix this?
“Peter, no. Don’t do this. I made a huge mistake, and I am sorry. So, so sorry. Give me a chance to explain.” I had to make things right. I didn’t want a life without him.
He started walking away, and my urge to sob turned to anger.
“I don’t know what got into me. Stop walking. I love you!” I couldn’t believe he was going to leave me there. Should I jump?
No, I couldn’t get hurt. I had to dance the next day. The next day would be the most important day of my life in ballet.
“Crap!” I hit the marquee with my heels. “The Allen Ballet presents Romeo and Juliet with Claus Gert and Ana Brassfield, and there is stupid Ana on top of the stupid marquee. Why is this happening to me? Why did I have to mess it all up?”
A couple of people spotted me as I ranted, and again I thought about jumping.
Then I saw Peter cross Tenth Street. As he reached the other side, a woman with her hair in a bun patted his back tenderly and started walking with him in the direction of the bars.