84 Ribbons (9 page)

Lynne opened bottles of root beer, handed them out, then flopped across her bed with a bag of potato chips. “When did you two know you wanted to be dancers?”

Bartley sat in one overstuffed chair with her legs over the armrest. “When I was three. I told my mother I wanted ballet lessons and a wand. Wasn’t that silly?” She shook out her ponytail, letting her hair trail down her back.

“Did you get both?” Marta said as she sat at the table.

“Of course. I’m my father’s angel. I still get whatever I want. Back then he installed a
barre
in the pool house and hired a ballet teacher to come to the house twice a week. I felt like a princess.”

Lynne tossed the open bag of potato chips to Bartley. “Sounds like your family had lots of money. Did you go to public school or private?”

“Private boarding school. What about you, Lynne?”

“Born and raised in project houses,” Lynne said. “Public school and YMCA dance classes until I turned nine. Then I got a scholarship to a dance school. I quit high school at fifteen to work and pay for advanced ballet lessons, and here I am, on my way to becoming a ballerina.”

“Yep. Here you are,” Bartley said. “Did your parents pamper you, Marta?”

“I guess. We listened to ballet music from when I was a baby. I started lessons when I was five. My dad never saw me dance in
pointe
shoes.”

“Why not?” Lynne said.

“He died when I was seven. He fell through a railing at work. I miss him and hearing the sound of his voice when he’d come home from work each night.”

Marta walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing in particular. What was it her dad always said? Something about never really leaving home? Why couldn’t she remember?

When she turned back, Lynne and Bartley were staring at her in silence. She smiled. “Let’s focus on our dancing and being best friends, okay?”

Bartley drove Marta back to her boarding house and headed to her place to help with a party for visiting dignitaries. As Marta entered the boarding house, she inhaled the aroma of Sunday dinner, now long finished. James and Shorty sat playing cards. Mrs. B. walked in from the kitchen, carrying a vase filled with an assortment of garden flowers. “Did you and your friends have a nice day?”

“We did. We forgot about dancing for a few hours.”

“Did you find a record player or any records yet?” Shorty asked.

“Not yet.”

“Shorty told me about your practice space,” James said.

“It’s great. Come and see it.”

Both men followed Marta to the basement. As she opened the door, she wondered if they’d begrudge her having a special privilege in being allowed to use the space. Maybe they’d have liked it for a shop or a place to make a game room. She need not have worried.

The wobbly chair leg had been wired back into position. A small, well used record player sat on the leveled card table, and four long play albums rested against an apple crate. Marta looked from one face to the next. “Where did all this come from?”

“James and I fixed the chair ‘n the table,” Shorty said. “I had the player, and James gave you the records. We hope you like it. We don’t mean to interfere.”

Tears flooded Marta’s eyes as she scanned the room. “You two are wonderful. Thank you.” She stepped to the table and fingered the record player, then smiled at the two gentlemen elves. “I’ll need to plan a performance, won’t I?”

Both men laughed.

“We promise we’ll not come down unless you invite us,” James said.

“Tell her about the window,” Shorty said.

“We unstuck the window. Used a crowbar to break the paint free. Then we put a new lock on the top.” James unlocked, opened, closed, and relocked the window. “Now you’ll have fresh air whenever you want.”

“Thank you, James; thank you Shorty. Everything is perfect.”

The men backed out of the room. Marta trailed her hand along the record player and checked the album titles:
The Overture of 1812, Beethoven’s Concerto in D, Christmas at Carnegie Hall,
and
Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite.
She placed the
Nutcracker
record on the turntable and gently lowered the needle onto the first ring. Then she sat on the floor, feeling the music flow through her.

Images of her recital performances drifted through her mind: the sugar plum fairy, the waltzes, the quirky Chinese doll dance. She loved every dance. Soon she’d learn more of the choreography and perform the dances as a professional. Life looked good.

On her way upstairs to her room, she crossed through the kitchen and knocked on Mrs. B.’s door. When the door opened, Mrs. B.’s face wore a wide smile. “Did the men surprise you?”

“Yes. It’s a wonderful surprise,” Marta said. Her lips quivered; she rubbed her mouth to control the tears that threatened to overcome her.

“I didn’t think you’d be mad, that’s why I let them go ahead and work down there. They’ve been waiting for you to return.” Mrs. B. touched Marta’s arm. “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea? I’m suddenly thirsty.”

They sat at a small table in the bay window of the common room. The only sounds were spoons scraping inside porcelain cups.

“So, Marta, you have a studio back home?”

“That’s what I called it, but it was just our garage. We didn’t have a car, so we hung a mirror in it, and my dad gave me his old record player and several classical records.” Marta stared out the window, then looked back at Mrs. B. “Now, you’ve given me a space too. Thank you. It’s like being home.”

The two women sat in peaceful silence watching the shadows deepen. Mrs. B. set her cup back onto the tray and stood. “Thank you for sitting here with me. A cup of tea is such a pleasant way to end the weekend. But now I must get ready for work tomorrow. Night, Marta”

“Night, Mrs. B.” Marta put her cup on the tray and lingered in the common room until it was time to place her Sunday call to her mom. Tonight she had lots to share.

7

B
y the end of September, practices for the fall performances and Marta’s energy were both winding down. Her turns hadn’t smoothed out, so Lynne offered to work with her after rehearsals.

Marta listened for Lynne’s count: “…three, four, begin.” She stared at the cascade of red ribbons purposely mounted above eye level in the far corner and did a
relevé
to
pointe
. Like the other dancers, she used the ribbons to focus her direction and body position for turns. She began spinning across the room doing quick
chaîné
turns, linking corner to corner with tight steps, her arms opening and closing near waist-high to complete and balance her circling.

At the corner she stepped out of her turns, staggered, and grabbed the floor by forcing her toes flat to prevent herself from falling over. “I can’t do one more
chaîné
; not one. Let’s move on.”

“Okay. Those looked better. Now, your
pirouettes
. Remember to lift your nose and your spine.”

Marta executed a
plié
, then a quick
relevé
to
pointe,
and began her turns to the right, spotting a small wall crack above the center of the practice room mirror.

“You’re dropping your chin,” Lynne said.

After a dozen turns, Marta stopped and repeated
pirouettes
on her left side.

“Those look great, Miss Lefty, but, you’re tipping a bit. Maybe spot higher, or maybe you need to stop and eat.”

Marta stopped and panted. “Both might help. Thanks for staying to help me. I’ll take a ride tonight if you’re offering.”

They turned off the light in the small practice room and walked toward the dressing room. As they approached the large rehearsal room, agitated voices tumbled into the hallway. One was a male voice they didn’t recognize, but the other belonged to Madame Cosper.

“Don’t talk to me that way, Herbert,” Madame said. “I’m the director. Who do you think you are, making judgments about my priorities?”

“I’m the money that keeps this dance company in the black,” the male voice said. “You’re the one who sends it into the red. That’s who I am.”

“I am trying to create a first class troupe. We have our strongest dancers in years, but they’re dancing in thread bare costumes. New costumes would showcase the troupe, especially when we travel. The committee won’t release money unless you urge them. Please, Herbert.”

“There is no money to release, Anna. You’ll have to make do with what you have to attract additional benefactors. Now, I must go. Good night.”

“Herbert, please. Stay. Talk to me.” Her voice changed to something softer, pleading. “Don’t go.”

“Diane is waiting for me. We have a social engagement.”

“I’ve missed you, Herbert.”

The room went silent. Marta looked at Lynne; both girls backed away and slipped into the practice room, waiting for Madame and Herbert to leave.

Booted footsteps moved toward the front door. That door opened and clicked shut. Madame’s cane thumped closer. Marta and Lynne dashed to the dressing room.

“Take off your practice clothes,” Lynne said, “and get your hair wet. Pretend you got out of the shower. Hurry!”

They scurried out of their practice clothes, splashed water on their heads, and started re-dressing in street clothes as Madame entered the dressing area.

“Oh! Why are you two still here?”

“We worked on turns in the small practice room,” Lynne said. “Heading out now. Good night, Madame.”

Madame stepped aside. “Wait!” She thumped her cane.

Both girls froze mid-stride.

“Exit through the front door. And don’t make a habit of staying late. I don’t have time to check for you two every night.”

“Yes, Madame,” Marta said. “Good night.”

On the street, Lynne chuckled. “Hm-m-m. Sounds like they’re more than benefactor and company director. And did you hear her say she had the strongest dancers in years?”

“Too bad she doesn’t share her appreciation with us,” Marta said. “Do you think the company is running out of money?”

“I doubt it if Madame is asking for new costumes. Maybe Bartley knows. Let’s remember to ask her...or Jer.”

“What made you think of pretending we’d been in the shower?” Marta asked when they were in the car. “You were so careful about what you said.”

“Marta, I have four older brothers. I had to be devious to listen in on their conversations. I hid in closets or behind curtains. It’s paying off now. Do you think Diane knows her Herbert is visiting Madame?”

“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?” Marta said.

Lynne pursed her lips and smiled. “Only if I need to.”

Marta yawned as she trudged up the boarding house stairs to her room. Every part of her body ached, even her hair. As she reached the top of the stairs, Mrs. B. called to her.

“Marta? Coming to dinner?”

“Not tonight. See you in the morning.”

Marta crashed face down across her bed without removing her jacket. A soft knock on the door roused her. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. B. May I speak with you?”

Marta opened her door.

Mrs. B. scanned Marta from toe to head. “Marta, dear, I’m worried about you. You’re skipping dinners, and you look exhausted.”

Marta yawned. “I’m okay. When I’m this tired I can’t eat.”

“What did you do back home? I can’t imagine your mother let you skip meals.”

“Fruit cocktail and ginger ale were all I could get down,” Marta said. “You’re a great cook, but when I’m this tired food isn’t appealing.”

“Say no more. This is your home now. You should have what you need. I have ginger ale in the pantry, and I’ll stock fruit cocktail. Join us when you feel up to it. I know Shorty and James enjoy eating your portions, but they miss talking with you.”

“Thanks for understanding. I’ll be down to do dishes in a minute.”

“Nonsense. If you don’t eat, there’s no need.”

Marta yawned again. “Okay. Once this first show comes together, I’ll be back to normal.” She started to take off her coat, then stopped, afraid Mrs. B. would scrutinize her thinness the way her mom did back home. “Night, Mrs. B.”

The following Saturday morning, Lynne and Marta drove to Bartley’s apartment. Lynne shifted gears as they chugged south over the Yellowstone River, past a lake, and up a winding road. They turned in at the Bar TT Ranch sign where the hard-packed dirt road wandered through a stand of cottonwoods. They followed Bartley’s directions and turned left at the fork in the road. Bartley sat in a lawn chair on a brick patio in front of a small brick house.

Lynne turned off the engine and shouted, “You call this an apartment?”

“Well, it kinda is. I mean, it’s...”

“This is a whole house!”

“Bartley’s being modest,” Marta said.

“Grab your stuff and come in,” Bartley said. “I’ll explain.”

The house had two bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, a carpeted living room, a laundry room, two bathrooms, and a garage. A screened patio at the back of the house abutted a split rail fence. “My parents grew up with the owners. Once they discovered I’d be moving to Billings, they wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Lynne flopped down in a small Danish modern chair. “Do you at least pay rent like the rest of us?”

“Of course. The bad part is that they don’t want people coming and going. I had to promise that I wouldn’t have friends over or have parties. Don’t tell the others, especially Jer. He’s a true chatterbox.”

“If it’s a secret, why invite us?” Marta said.

“I wanted you to see where I live. Maybe I can get you invited to one of their fancy parties. So far these past weeks I’ve met a handful of senators and an old time movie star. Everything is hush, hush. Guests fly in to the private runway on the other side of the ranch. The staff’s not allowed to discuss anything about the ranch when they’re in town.”

Lynne stood and walked around the living room. “Sounds snooty, don’t you think?”

“You’re right, but it’s all business, even the parties. I should get my own place, but for my parents’ sake I stay. They’re all friends of Madame and several of the ballet’s benefactors.”