At Rehearsal for Giselle
by Julie Evan Smith
The room was humid with tension. The silence deep enough to hear each individual bead of sweat cascading down the dancers’ necks. All of them frozen like figures in a museum diorama titled “At Rehearsal for Giselle, Loren Became Angry and Chastised the Company.”
Loren Ramsay was a gifted dancer, but a brilliant choreographer. He made stale story-ballets come alive with renewed splendor. He was courted by companies the world over. He was relentless, inspiring. He was not one to keep his temper in check.
The skin of the dancers in the corps de ballet was lacquered with sweat. It was the fifth time Loren had stopped them midway through the combination. Their feet, what was wrong with their feet, he demanded. Where was the swiftness? The attack? He needed their feet flitting about like so many sparrows, and here they were plodding along like honking geese.
He pulled Renee out of formation, and placed her in the center of the room.
“Demonstrate,” Loren said. “Everyone, watch this please, watch… what is your name again, pet?” Said in his lightly accented French, the word “pet” more than made up for the fact that he still didn’t know her name. She was only in the corps, after all.
He had complimented her before on the rare occasions he stopped by to observe company class. His “Lovely” in reference to her arabesque, and “Oui, bien” about her fouettés were tattooed on her heart. But he had never isolated her like this, never narrowed his attention down to a line so slender, pointy as a needle about to pierce a vein and draw blood.
“Renee” she stammered.
“Yes, Renee,” he repeated, with the emphasis on the first syllable. “Show them.”
Consistently singled out in class during her days at the Company's ballet school, Renee often seemed startled by the attention, as though the actual depth of her talent were unknown to her. The slight widening of her eyes, the touch of pink at the tops of her ears, these were the telltale signs of her surprise at being noticed. Even after becoming an apprentice, then swiftly promoted to the corps de ballet, the degree of her talent was still a mystery to her, if not to her fellow dancers.
The studio pianist began playing and Renee flew through the combination, a blur of blue leotard and pink pointe shoes, wisps of hair escaping the bun pinned tightly to her head. Nineteen years old and eager for approval. Lady Luck had given her feet with high arches; years of hard work had given her agility; and Zeus or Apollo, God or Terpsichore, the Buddha or Jesus, had given her the ineffable quality that others would never possess, no matter how many hours they spent at the barre. Scattered around the rehearsal room, those who watched her - some jealous, others admiring, a few lustful - were united in the spell she cast. She let the music in through every one of her pores, let it send her skimming across the studio floor in a series of perfect piqué turns.
She came to a stop, the flush in her cheeks due to effort and joy in equal measure. The silence again. Loren stepped toward her and she waited for the small nod of his head, or the brief hand on her shoulder, his preferred signals of praise. She waited.
“All right, again. Everyone to center,” he said.
Thirty minutes later rehearsal ended, after which the dancers collected the discarded legwarmers and sweaters littering the edges of the room. Weary but chatty, they exited the sweaty studio. Just outside the door, whispering with his assistant, stood Loren – elegant, haughty, withholding. Renee caught his eye and blushed. Just as she was about to pass him, he winked. Swiftly, subtly, without a hint of lasciviousness. Then, just as quickly, he resumed his conversation, unaware of her slightly widened eyes, the pink at the top of her ears.
Julie Evan Smith has had flash fiction published by StreetLit and poetry featured on PoetryNation.com. She has been invited to perform her original essays at storytelling shows in Los Angeles and NYC including Taboo Tales, Pinata, The Writing Pad, and Q.E.D. Astoria. She holds an MFA from the Old Globe Theatre/University of San Diego and has performed at regional theatres around the country, working with illustrious directors such as Jon Jory, Stan Wojewodski, Jack O’Brien, and the late Roger Rees. She is currently at work completing the Certificate in Creative Writing from the UCLA Writer’s Extension Program.