Chapter 6
I got back to Columbus with just enough time to feed Barysh, grab my ballet bag, and get to class.
As expected, only half of the company’s dancers showed up. We’d worked hard to make Romeo and Juliet happen, and Brian let everyone who wanted to take a week off do so now.
I’d planned to stay in Pine Mountain for a couple of days and then return to the studio, but the fact that my plan hadn’t worked out was an understatement, to say the least. Stupid Lorie—and stupid me.
She wasn’t at the studio, and that was good, of course. But she’d planned to be there, so her absence had to mean that she was still in Pine Mountain with Peter, and that wasn’t good at all. Was she going to spend the night? I twisted my mouth and took a deep breath. I had to get my mind out of my misery. Just don’t think about it.
Claus wasn’t in class either. Would I feel better if he were to come? Maybe.
I walked to the rosin box and stepped into it mindlessly with an old pair of pointe shoes I’d decided to pull out for barre. Pointe work was fun for me, and while most ballerinas didn’t wear their pointe shoes for the barre portion of class, I usually did. I stepped into the old wooden tray and enjoyed the familiar crushing sound as I applied enough of the amber powder to create good friction between the shoes and floor.
The simple black leotard I wore when everything else was dirty reminded me of growing up dancing. There’d been lots of those. I adjusted the straps and looked in the mirror. My leg warmers needed adjusting too. Walking to the barre, I wrapped on a black skirt that was ancient and entirely too short for my taste—I had to do laundry.
Brian started with a simple plié sequence. Ms. Jiménez, the pianist, played the gorgeous but melancholy “Le Lac de Come.”
The door opened. Was it him? I looked up. A demi-soloist rushed in and took the first available spot.
A tightness in my chest and in my throat forced me to moan.
The music continued, stabbing me, one note at a time, with its sad beauty. “Le Lac de Come” is a nocturne, which by definition is a romantic or dreamy piece—”suggestive of the night”—but to me it had always been sad. Why?
Ms. Jiménez smiled and played forte.
It was too beautiful. That’s what was wrong with it. The piece was about an idyllic lake in Europe and indeed evoked romantic and dreamy thoughts. But my first and only trip to Europe had been a disaster, and my romances and dreams always amounted to nothing.
I was on the verge of tears when the door opened again.
Claus! Thank God.
He took a spot in front of me, and I moved back to give him room.
Seemed like he, too, needed to do some laundry. He was wearing a white T-shirt and black sweat pants, a popular look for guys in the company, but not a Claus signature look.
Still, he was handsome.
The day was unusually warm. Faint sounds of rush hour traffic reached wide open windows, and the late-afternoon sun shone far into the studio through the leafy evergreen trees that lined Broadway.
Ms. Jiménez, who’d had a one-week break, seemed especially inspired this afternoon, playing the music of the most famous ballets, rearranged to suit class combinations.
Brian kept most exercises simple, and, without the mental challenge of more intricate combinations, thoughts of Peter and the ring and of Lorie at his house were always one measure away. I was tempted to let those thoughts reach me—to dwell on them, but I chose not to.
During slow, sustained movements that didn’t look pretty for people who didn’t have high legs, I was tempted to imagine life with Lorie Allen’s extensions, as I often did. But today I didn’t.
Instead, stretching to Gallastegui’s “Promenade,” I found joy in everything that was familiar and beautiful. And I hoped that Claus would want to get together after class. Might as well hear him out.
After barre, it was time for a newer pair of pointe shoes. I repeated the rosin routine and picked a spot near the first tall window. The breeze was just right— soft and steady—and the sunshine on my legs and feet made me unusually pliable, casting beautiful long shadows on the marley floor.
Claus picked a spot next to me, and my heart beat a little faster. How could I act like such a silly adolescent? I shook my head in slow motion and got en pointe to let my toes get used to being inside a slightly narrower pair of shoes.
“Here.” He stood near, letting me use him for balance. I put my hand on his shoulder and bent my knees, bouncing gently and then stretching my knees again. Good.
The smell of his sweet cologne and his sweaty shirt had my attention. I zeroed in on his lips, thinking of salty kisses, and heat flooded my cheeks. I am so wrong.
Claus put my leg in arabesque, picking me up with ease and lifting me up high.
“That looks really nice.” Brian walked to the front of the room at last and marked the first exercise.
Again we started with simple routines, but ten minutes into the center his excitement picked up with the pace of the combinations.
He stopped us in the middle of a pirouette waltz. “As you all know by now, we are going to dance Don Quixote in the upcoming season, and to get ready for it, I want to focus on improving everybody’s pirouettes. Ana, do it: preparation, fourth, pirouette.”
Doing anything alone in class made me nervous. Doing it in front of Claus was excruciating. But I did it—two solid turns with a bit of a hop in the landing.
“See, what Ana is doing is what everybody is doing: focusing on the landing—on the finish.” He stomped his foot and clapped at the same time. “Stay up! Don’t worry about the landing. You will land eventually. Gravity will take care of that. I promise you. Worry about staying up there in relevé! It’s a beautiful place to be.” He walked among us, making eye contact with each dancer. “A beautiful place to be, huh? Just stay up.”
The class repeated the waltz, and when we finished Brian asked Claus to do the whole combination alone for the rest of us to see.
The spot on the corner of Claus’s mouth trembled as he waited for the music to start—the right side. The old nervous tic. One of the best dancers in the world would not be nervous because of a small company class. But a man, best dancer in the world or not, would always be nervous in front of a woman he was trying to impress. My watching him is getting to him—good. I looked down and smiled.
He did the combination with pizzazz and finished every pirouette in balance. Must be nice.
I might not be able to finish my turns in balance—not en pointe and not every time. But I can do the pizzazz part. Let’s have some fun.
As Brian marked the first diagonal exercise, all dancers moved to the left back corner. “I want three at a time.”
Lorie and I, along with another soloist, Rachel, always got diagonal exercises started, but with both gone I dropped to the back and stayed near Claus.
When it was our turn, no one else joined us.
It was like being on stage all over again—Claus and me, and a grand waltz. I glanced at the mirror when we got to the finishing pose. We looked good together.
“I said three, not two.” Brian shook his head. “I guess no one wants to get between Romeo and Juliet.”
Claus and I did every diagonal together—just us—no one between Romeo and Juliet.
We finished the class with a little bit of partnering. As Claus approached each woman to do the lifts, some blushed. He smiled, trying to put them at ease, but that only made most blush deeper.
We finished with a simple révérence, and all dancers applauded Brian and Ms. Jiménez, thanking them for the class.
I dragged my bag to the sunny spot where I’d done the center to remove my shoes, and Claus practiced some spins as the room slowly emptied.
Alone at last.
“That was fun.” He sat across from me and massaged his right knee.
“It was—one of my best ballet classes ever.” I’ll remember it forever. The sun that was shining on me was shining in me too. Who would have thought, after everything that had happened in Pine Mountain? Just don’t think about it.
I organized my already-organized bag and searched for the keys I knew were in the zipper pocket. It was easier to search in my bag for no reason than to look at him—wondering if he would suggest we get together, wondering if that was even a good idea.
“Can I take you to dinner?” His voice was hardly above a whisper.
I watched the breeze play with his hair. “I need to get home to my dog.” I studied his face. His jaw dropped slightly, as did his gaze.
I can’t fix my future with Peter, but I can understand my past with Claus… “You can come with me.”
“That will be fantastic.” He jumped up and reached for my hand, his Duchenne smile full of promise.
When we got to my apartment, we were met by the far-from-homey scent of a dirty dog kennel. “I’m so sorry.” I took my fingertips to my nose.
Claus frowned, scanning the room. His eyes stopped on my diapered dog.
“Do you mind waiting on the balcony while I clean him?”
“I don’t mind.” He opened the sliding glass door and stepped out. “Is it normal for dogs to wear diapers?”
“Some old dogs do. Some don’t. Like people.” How embarrassing. “It’s okay,” I whispered to Barysh, bagging the dirty diaper and wipes. “Feel free to close the door—this smell is terrible.”
“I’m not going to leave you in there alone with poo.” He chuckled. “How old is he?”
“Ten.” Claus hadn’t lost his sense of humor. Good. I put a large pad under Barysh’s derriere and looked into his sweet brown eyes. “I adopted him when he was three. His previous owner was in the Army and had to move to Germany. He didn’t want to take him.”
Claus approached us and crouched down. “Hi there.” Barysh leaned into his hand, enjoying the ear scratch.
“His name is Mikhail Baryshnikov.”
“Like the dancer? Your idea?”
“No.” I laughed from the kitchen as I pushed the soap pump several times before scrubbing my hands and arms. “The guy’s wife used to dance. She was a big fan of Baryshnikov.”
“He looks a little bit like Barysh, the dancer.” Claus cocked his head and looked at my dog with a smirk. “I think it’s the sandy-blond fur.”
“No, darling. You look like the dancer.” Claus’ similarity to Baryshnikov was striking: the thin but well-defined lips, the pointy nose, and the soft blue eyes. The individual parts of both men’s faces didn’t look particularly appealing, but put together and combined with the virility of their artistic expression—it was enough to make a girl forget to blink and breathe. Oh, and then there was the accent—the sweet little accent—slight, but certainly there.
I shook my head out of dreamland and opened the refrigerator. Good thing I’d stocked up the week before the performance.
The oval wooden platter would do for some Havarti and Jarlsberg cheeses.
“Can I help?” Claus ran his fingers up and down Barysh’s chest.
“I’m good.” Olives, crackers, and smoked ham along with the cheeses filled the platter, and I set it on the glass coffee table with a matching bowl of sweet green grapes.
Should I use the regular wine glasses? No, I’m not going to. I dusted two crystal wine glasses I’d never used instead and took my best bottle of Riesling Spätlese out of the fridge—the Robert Weil Kiedrich Gräfenberg.
“Bring it here. I’ll open it.” Claus sat on the high pile rug, kicked off his shoes, and grabbed an olive. He examined the label and nodded. “Is it easy to find good German wine here?”
“If you know where to go…”
He opened the bottle with ease, poured a taste, and started inspecting the wine by lifting and tilting the glass.
Claus was a bit of an old soul. Even though he was only two years older than me, he was much more serious, together, and sophisticated. It wasn’t a bad thing. I was just surprised I was noticing it for the first time. Or maybe it was more about being European and less about being an old soul. Whatever it was, I liked it.
“This wine is fantastic—well done.” He filled both our glasses. “Fantastic place too. Great view of the river.”
“Dad heard there’s a plan to do something to the river to create rapids right here in downtown.”
“In the middle of the city?” He crossed his fingers behind his head and relaxed against the couch.
“I don’t understand it either, but I am curious.” I scanned my CD shelves. What should we listen to? Claus seemed interested in the architecture, his eyes studying the ceiling and walls. “The building used to be a cotton mill. What you see is a lot of the original architecture: the brick walls, the high ceilings, big windows.”
“And your parents?”
“They moved to Pine Mountain two years ago when Dad retired from the clinic.” Claus smiled at the mention of Pine Mountain. It was in Pine Mountain where I’d given him my virginity.
I turned to the CD player to hide my hot cheeks. Lorie’s insinuation that Claus returned to Germany because I’d given him all he wanted flashed through my mind. Just don’t think about it. “Anyway, Dad had been going to Callaway Gardens to golf every week, and Mom loves the park too, so they looked at some homes inside the park and fell in love with one.” Still Lorie’s words rang in my head. You gave him all he wanted. Of course he ran.
Norah Jones’s debut album had been the soundtrack of my heartache back then, when Claus ran. I found it on my shelf and jumped to the second track before joining him on the rug.
“Zum Wohl,” he said, just above a whisper, as he lifted his glass with an alluring smile.
Why had he left? “Cheers,” I said with a quick lift of my glass. I was surprised by the annoyance in my tone, but I was not about to apologize.
He looked down, his smile altered.
And then I asked, I said it at last, the one word I’d been struggling to utter to him, and the only one that mattered. “Why?”
He took a long sip of wine and a deep breath.
What was he going to say? I covered my mouth and took a deep breath too.
“I love you more than I could ever have loved Hanna.”
Had I really heard him use past tense when referring to her?
“But she needed me, and we were so young and had so much history. All we ever had growing up was ballet and each other.”
“So you just decided—all of a sudden—that you wanted to be with her again?”
“Not like that—”
“She was sleeping around,” I interrupted. “That did happen, right? And you guys had been separated for almost a year when we met? Or was that a freaking lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie.” His voice softened to a whisper. “Please don’t swear. It doesn’t suit you.”
I rolled my eyes but kept silent.
“She called me soon after our relationship had become serious.”
Did he mean when we had started sleeping together? I didn’t want to ask— he shook as if burning up with fever, obviously struggling to reveal what he was about to say.
“She had been diagnosed with cancer—of the breast.”
My hatred for Hanna dissipated like a thin autumn cloud that in one moment is and in the next isn’t.
I still didn’t like her, though.
“She didn’t want anyone in the company to know, so she asked me to go to Wiesbaden to help her fight the cancer and keep her secret—and to dance with her.”
“You should have said something.”
“I couldn’t say goodbye to you, Ana.” He finished his wine and poured more for both of us. “If I had told you, you would have talked me out of my decision.” He broke eye contact. “But I had it in my mind that going to Hanna was the right thing to do, so I just had to leave.”
He lifted his gaze toward the balcony, toward the river, expressionless.
Yes, I would have tried to talk him out of leaving. I searched his silence. Was she okay now? If she had died, he would have said something by now, right?
I reached for a piece of Jarlsberg. “How is she?”
His tender smile was so sad, but his eyes were on me again. “She passed away two years ago.”
“Oh, no.” I reached for his right hand and held it in both of mine. “No. What happened?” An eight-year battle? I couldn’t imagine.
“We fought it. She danced on and off. There was a good stretch of time when the cancer was in remission, and we thought we had beaten it.”
His expression turned darker still and reminded me of Peter’s—contorted as if crying but with no tears.
“We’d made a baby but she miscarried. She was in bed for weeks after that, and I was beginning to feel there was more to her weakness. A trip to the doctor confirmed my suspicion. The cancer was back. After that, she faded slowly during a very bad year.”
“Oh, Claus.” I scooted close to him and put my head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m better now.” He put his arm around me and inhaled a deep, steeling breath.
I touched his chest as hot tears welled up in my tired eyes. I’d never told Claus I went to Germany to find him after he’d disappeared. I’d tried to forget him and get over the hurt, but it didn’t work, so my mom let me go to Germany to search for answers.
His American company told me he’d gone back to Germany to stay. From there, it was easy to find out he was dancing in Wiesbaden. I arrived in Germany just in time to watch Claus and Hanna perform Giselle, the story of a girl who goes mad and dies when she discovers her fiancé, Albrecht, is marrying another woman. Go figure.
Watching Giselle in Germany had been heart wrenching on so many levels. Hanna was a much better dancer than me. She had everything: the perfect lines, the perfect body, and the successful career I desperately wanted but suspected wouldn’t pan out, as my dad had predicted years earlier. And she had Claus—my Claus.
I’d sat in the hotel room thinking that if it was true that I was not prima ballerina material and also that I couldn’t have Claus, I had to come up with something achievable or I would go mad. The dream of performing at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York was born.
That didn’t require being the best in a large company. Many companies danced at the Met every year, and the dream wasn’t about being the best dancer on that stage but simply being on that stage. I could be in the corps and fulfill my dream.
Sometime during that journey, a new man would come. A good man who I could trust and who would never leave me. I had to believe all those things or my soul would shrivel and die.
“I’m so sorry, Claus.” I looked into his sweet blue eyes. “I had no idea.”
Giselle must have been as hard for them as it had been for me. At the end of the ballet, Albrecht leaves, knowing he is seeing Giselle for the very last time. Claus and Hanna’s interpretation had been impeccable. No wonder.
We finished eating in silence.
I got us another bottle of wine, an Auslese this time, and then we talked about the trouble he’d caused me with Peter.
“I think we are just unlucky in love,” he said with puppy-dog eyes peering at me.
“I just don’t understand the deal with Lorie. Do you remember her trying anything with you when you were here for Paquita?”
“Not at all. She was young, and talented, and professional—like most girls I meet. That’s all. Plus, as soon as I saw you for the first time, I was done. I forgot all about Paquita.” He put his arm around me again.
Why was I still unsettled in his warm embrace?
Lorie’s words still played in the back of my head: you gave him all he wanted. Of course he ran. But Claus wasn’t that kind of guy. Was he?
“Would it have made a difference if we hadn’t slept together?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would you still have left me if we’d waited?” I reached for my glass.
“I guess.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“I don’t think it would have made a difference.” He shifted and reached for his glass too. “It would have been a different equation, but the result would probably have been the same. I would still have gone off to do what I felt was my duty.”
“Yeah, but maybe I would have eto make love like we usedben better able to rebuild my life if I hadn’t given you so much of me.”
“Only God knows what if, Ana,” he whispered. “Let’s not do this, okay?” He drew me closer and teased my neck with his lips. “I just want you.”
His words came out more like a whisper. A soul sound—not a mouth sound. I closed my eyes and focused on his tender kisses and the breeze from the balcony. Only God knows what if. I heard his voice in my mind as I took a deep breath. Let’s not do this. His words echoed within me again as I exhaled, the tension of my miserable day leaving my body like a high fever—suddenly, inexplicably, mercifully.
Claus removed the bobby pins and elastic from my hair and placed me on a large corner pillow on the rug.
He lay down next to me, wrapped his arms gently around me, and kissed my cheek first, then the corner of my mouth, then my lips. No…
But being together felt so right. What did I have to lose?
Closing my eyes and kissing him back, I felt like the virgin I once was in those same arms. Ten years of separation dissolved in ten seconds, and I wanted to make love like we used to—before there was so much pain and sorrow in our worlds. But I couldn’t.
“Claus, I’m sorry.” I pushed gently at his chest and stopped the kiss. “I can’t.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m in no hurry, Ana.”
His face was so beautiful, his eyes hopeful like Giselle’s Albrecht, but it was too soon.
“No hurry whatsoever.” He wrapped me in his arms, and his warm lips brushed my forehead. “You’ve had a terrible day. You should go to sleep, darling girl.”
“You’re right about that.” I exhaled hard. First the engagement ring, then Lorie, then Peter telling me about his ex-wife, then the key exchange … I swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat. Just don’t think about it. “I absolutely should go to sleep.”
He got up with ease.
“But please don’t leave.” I didn’t want to be alone. Please stay. I hoped with all my heart that he would. Stay.
“I’m not going anywhere you don’t want me to go.” He picked me up and looked toward the bedroom door.
I nodded. “You can sleep on the couch.”
“Barysh doesn’t snore, does he?”
“No.” I shook my head and chuckled. “You’ll be okay.”
“Good.”
He placed me on my bed with the same care he used when putting Lady Juliet on hard stage props. “Covers?”
“Please.”
Claus shook open my beige woolen blanket. The soft fabric caressed my cheek before resting on my chest.
“Can I get you some water?”
“No, thank you.” Outside my bedroom window, a storm was forming. Bright lightning contrasted with soft rolling thunder. “Take a blanket from that pile.” I pointed at a stack by the window.
“I will. Thanks.” He scanned the skies beyond the room. “Do you mind if I take a shower and stay up a while?”
“I don’t mind, but that’s the only shower.” I pointed to my bathroom.
“You need to rest. Maybe in the morning, if you don’t mind?”
“That’s fine. Just don’t look this way when you come in if you wake up before me.”
“Promise.” He cupped my face and kissed my cheek.
He let his cheek rest on mine, and I enjoyed the warmth of his touch.
“Good night, Ana.”
“Good night, Claus.” I followed him with my eyes as he grabbed the top blanket from the pile, exited my room, and closed the door behind him.
I touched my cheek, where his lips had been. Who would have thought the day would end this way—with Claus on my couch. And Peter with Lorie.
The soft covers caressed my chin, and I tried to get comfortable. Turning to the large window and massaging my left ring finger, I watched as the first raindrops landed on the glass.
Was Peter watching the rain too? Was he with her? My lips quivered, and I cried the quietest tears as I watched the rain become a storm.
Don’t. Think. About. It. Peter was gone. Claus was here and still would be in the morning.
What then?