I couldn't wait for Sunday to come along to post this...so here is your next chapter! (Don't worry, I will still post another one on Sunday).
Chapter 3: The Gossiping Gals
Underneath a small, twisted tree, four ballerinas practiced lethargically. They stood on a section of the travelling stage, doing their best to stay under the little shade they had. Meg and Christine held onto a small, homemade barre while La Sorelli and Jammes stretched near them. The managers had agreed to let the cast practice for an hour a day so they didn't stiffen during their travels. To Christine's delight, they had been able to practice on the dock of the boat and admire the coastal towns against the backdrop of the Alps. Yet now, she practiced in the flat, arid land of the east. Her energy was drained before she even started.
"I hope she doesn't make us run. I don't think I could chassé for more than a few steps without collapsing." La Sorelli complained.
"Do you think she will let us take more water breaks?" Jammes asked as she rolled her neck and shoulders.
"If we have enough water. Ugh, why is she talking to Reiner? Can't she see we are dying in this heat!"
Christine was very good at ignoring la Sorelli. She would just think of a little tune in her head and imagine the scales dancing in her mind. The primera ballerina was incredibly talented. She was tall with lean limbs and dazzling facial features. A true beauty among common folk and a good friend to Christine. However, her cynical and self absorbed complaints were frequent and Christine had learned that no conversation would ever resolve them or end well. So instead, she focused on the tunes in her head.
Meg, on the other hand, was not as resourceful.
"I doubt they are talking about the weather, Sorelli." Meg retorted. "Hopefully Reiner has more information on that low life Buquet."
Sorelli slumped onto the stage, resting her elbows on her knees. "Has your mother said anything else?"
"No. You know how difficult it is getting information off her. It is like pulling teeth out of a raging tiger."
"I had heard he was going to meet us in Italy. But when he wasn't there, I asked André about it and he denied that Buquet was going to meet us at all. I swear I had heard him mention it before!" Sorelli gossiped.
"Maybe he was misinformed?"
"Don't be so naive Jammes. It's bad for a girl your age."
"Maybe he got distracted by too much alcohol and brothels." Meg huffed.
"That I would believe. Though lately, I struggle to believe anything André and Firmin say."
Jammes's head snapped upwards. "I thought Firmin was going to leave you in Beirut when he caught you looking in those boxes!"
Both Christine and Meg gasped while Sorelli glared at Jammes.
"Thank you, Jammes, for being such a silent confidante."
Jammes buried her red cheeks in her hands as she muttered an embarrassed apology.
"Don't pretend neither of you were curious." Sorelli countered, squinting at the two shocked women. "We have talked about it before. I tried to pry open the corner of one of the boxes, just to get a peek. But they're sealed with more than just nails and it made such a ruckus when I tried to open it. Firmin was definitely flustered when he found me, but it is not like he could send me back to Paris. They're definitely hiding something."
"I asked André ." Said Meg. "He said they contain silks to give to some friends on our journey."
"Well when I asked Firmin, he said they are full of spices that they will trade for a performance with persian royalty." Sorelli countered. "Whatever it is, there is enough of it to fill an entire wagon."
"Maybe it's both?" Jammes shrugged.
"Or maybe it is none of your business." Meg hushed. Meg glared at Sorelli with wide eyes as she tried to signal her on her mother's approach, but it was too late.
"I assume you are all stretched and warmed up, Sorelli?"
Sorelli leapt to her feet, her skin growing pale at the sight of her unimpressed instructor. "Yes, madame. Sorry, madame."
"Good. We will begin with the ballet from Act Two. Our last performance was a disgrace. If you think this heat is draining, wait until we perform tomorrow. If you were hoping for a relaxing day, you should have outdone yourselves last week. Now, I am convinced this heat will strengthen you. Let's begin!"
The ballerinas shuffled to their positions, preparing for the scene. Christine began first, lifting up from her low plie into a small jump. The others joined and, as a group, they performed their synchronized routine. Christine had been practicing with them for so long that she felt as though they were harmonizing perfectly. Sorelli was quick to take charge, her natural talent and grace allowing her to lead as the prima ballerina she was. The girls would keep in time, following her lead and the beat of Madame Giry's cane against the wooden stage piece. Meg was definitely the main support, her techniques fine-tuned in every detail due to her own personal, rigourous training. Jammes had an unnatural flexibility, allowing her to complete some techniques with relative ease despite her lack of confidence. Christine, if anything, was the peaceful middle-ground. These contrasting personalities in dancing allowed them to fit together, like puzzle pieces, and perform as one cohesive unit. The girls were all very close, all due to their passionate determination and respect for each other as women and artists.
Madame Giry on the other hand, clearly had a different viewpoint.
"Stop!" She hollered. "Jammes? Are you a child having a temper tantrum or a ballerina?"
"A-um ballerina, madame." She stammered.
"Then act like one! When you stand from your plie you must find the fine line between a rigid lower back and fluid arms. Not just flinging yourself around like an infant! Again!"
The ballerinas hustled back to their original position and attempted again. It wasn't long until Madame Giry smacked her cane against the platform. "Again!"
The girls shuffled back. Christine exhaled. She put everything she had into her performance this time, focusing on her positioning and timing. They made it further than they had before until they heard the inevitable smack of their instructor's cane. "Such ronds de jambe! Such temps de cuisse! Again!"
By the millionth critique, Christine felt as though she would pass out from exhaustion. Madame Giry had always been tough on them but it was impossible to keep up after a long day of melting in the heat. She blinked away her tunnel vision and pushed herself through their next attempt.
"Stop! That is enough. I see much improvement in your skill. It is now time to build your stamina in these conditions. Keep active during the day when we travel."
"Yes, madame." The ballerinas panted.
"Go and sit in the wagon. Rest and drink some water. I will fetch you after a short while."
The women practically sprinted off the stage. La Sorelli ran to the front to grab a canteen of water while the rest huddled at the back of the wagon holding the rest of the set pieces. Although it was cramped, they would be alone and out of the sun.
"I think these tights are permanently stuck to my body. I have never sweat like this before." Jammes groaned, laying down over the top of some large luggage cases.
Meg wiped the sweat from her face. "I have no idea how we are supposed to perform in this weather. Ballet was meant to be indoors. What is she talking about?"
"She's your mother. " Sorelli spat, climbing into the wagon with the canteen. "You shouldn't be shocked at her insanity. Supposedly she agreed to let us perform outdoors when we reach the city."
"If we reach the city." Meg grumbled. "What is she doing now? Is she coming this way?"
"No, she is off talking to Piangi."
"Do you think Piangi knows something about Buquet?" Christine asked, taking a sip from the bottle.
Meg giggled. "Actually, Mama and I saw Piangi returning from Carlotta's room in Beirut. It was well past midnight. Let's just say his shirt was untucked and hair askew."
All of the girls giggled, their moods reenergized. They all leaned in closer.
"In those small cramped beds? And of all her entourage she chose Ubaldo?" Jammes blushed.
"Beg-airs cannot be choose-airs." La Sorelli joked, mimicking the diva's Italian accent. The women snickered.
"Did you hear her screaming at Matilda the other day?" Christine whispered.
"Yes! Poor Matilda is the only woman to help with costumes and makeup and Carlotta takes almost all of her time." Meg replied.
"Yes! Louis and Gabriel need their stage makeup as well. Not just Carlotta and her dear Piangi." Jammes added.
"Louis told me the other day he wished he was a ballerina so he didn't have to spend his day rehearsing with Carlotta." Meg chuckled.
"You wouldn't mind that, would you Jammes?" La Sorelli teased.
Jammes blushed. "I have no idea what you're referring to."
Meg and Sorelli giggled and teased Jammes as Christine took another sip of water. Even though they were protected from the sun, the wagon was humid and the water warm. She did not want to faint during rehearsals. Christine wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Maybe he will dance with you at the after party in a few days." Meg nudged.
"Not if I am sweating like this."
Christine sighed. She had forgotten all about the supposed 'after party'. Soon, the caravan was expected to arrive at a city near the capital. First, they supposedly would perform for the public in an outdoor amphitheater. Then later, they would perform for the Persian aristocracy at a nearby palace. In appreciation for the performance, the cast and crew were invited to an after party. It was a strange situation. They were guests, but clearly lower class than the chieftain of the town, who was married to a Persian princess. It felt unnatural, but some time to relax was most welcome.
"It will be nice to have a ball without the Phantom of the Opera bothering us." Jammes muttered.
Christine avoided Meg's sideways glance by staring down the floor. The Phantom had haunted the Opera Populaire since they were both children. He bribed the managers for money and influence over the performances, though his identity remained a mystery. He was a scoundrel and nothing more. Christine was sure that someone was behind the mysterious letters that the managers and Madame Giry received, instructing them how to run 'his' opera. Both girls were certain it wasn't a ghost as he claimed.
But Christine understood the reason for her friend's sideways glance. To them, his name brought back a harsh memory. It was a reminder of their only serious argument. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to block out the events of the night Meg found her in the opera chapel. She bit back a tear as she remembered her friend's screams.
How could you be so naive?! How could you be so stupid!
No. She shook her head as if to rid herself of those thoughts. Those days were behind them. Meg was her best friend and she had apologized. Christine knew that she couldn't hold a grudge, especially not against the only friend she had left.
"Do you think we will have to wear our uniform?" Meg asked, pulling her friend out of her memories.
"I doubt it. Persia may be strange but I doubt they will allow us to walk around in our tights in the presence of royalty." Sorelli sighed. She chuckled to herself. "I assume we will have to wear our best dresses as there will by many eligible bachelors around. Who knows, you two may find yourself a rich man, considering Christine and I are already accounted for."
"Sleeping with a Vicomte de Changy does not make you accounted for." Meg huffed.
"Well then, I guess neither does refusing their marriage proposal, does it Christine?"
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