Unchained Melody (18 page)

The fact that he’d never get so it again hit him like true loss. ‘Is it always the same cast?’

But Eva shook her head. ‘I think I recognize the lead from a production they did two years ago, but he was only a supporting character then.’

A young girl who was probably twelve was in the seat in front of Hunter. She pivoted, gave him an annoyed look and then nodded back to the stage. Hunter immediately felt ignorant for daring to speak and settled back into his chair, abashed.

*

Though the next scene was set to the lowered tempo of Fastball’s The Way, Hunter thought it was almost more glorious than the first. The cast only seemed to consist of about sixteen dancers, and yet they managed to transform the stage into a ballroom in a spectacle of swirling skirts and powdered wigs and shocking, abstract gothic make-up which made them look like they were wearing masquerade marks. The blend of gothic and modern against rock and pop was just too stimulating and Hunter couldn’t keep the grin off his face. In this scene, the lead’s father, was the one who sang the vocals while his son and nagging mother went from woman to woman with sour expressions. The king looked unhappy by the way his son and wife dismissed the potential brides as he watched from his perch on the throne above. There was no dialogue, only musical numbers just like in other ballets, but Hunter loved how easy it was to follow the storyline anyway.

He looked over at Ryan again to see how he was enjoying it and then almost groaned audibly to see that although his friend was facing the stage with a small smile on his lips, his focus had to be elsewhere, for sweet little Jo had her hand on Ryan’s lap, not-so-subtly stroking him! Hunter snorted, wondering if Eva knew what a tramp her BFF was!

The stage lights came up again on the third scene and Hunter was thrilled to hear the strains of yet another one of his favorite rock songs. The king and queen danced to Ugly Kid Joe’s Everything About You in the empty ballroom. It was an angry, passionate dance choreographed to demonstrate how the king who was almost as young and handsome and almost as talented as his son, did not like his wife. The entire audience was twitching in time to the music and Hunter himself alternating between tapping the drumbeats on his legs while his fingers mimed invisible guitar chords.

When that song came to an end, the blue lights illuminated the woods again, and spirit-like creatures now dashed through the trees doing what Hunter realized to be more classical ballet. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck, echoed in lights and sound effects and from a wailing like harmony from the orchestra in the front. Then, a synthesizer started up and the silhouette of a gothic castle- which had been pushed out by the stage crew during the blackout, lit from behind. Then a familiar, haunting tune began and suddenly, a solitary female figure in a tattered and very revealing white sheath dress suddenly stumbled onto the stage, falling to her hands and knees just as a boom of lightning struck. It was the harpist again- she bowed, hands above her head, fingers curling ever-so-slowly into claws of tension and fear.

Hunter stiffened. It had been a long time since he’d seen a girl react to lightning like that and his mouth went dry at the memories that the dancer was breathing fresh life into within him. He heard Ryan clear his throat and shift his weight and he knew that his friend had imagined Callie too. The dancer’s terror was so convincing that Hunter had caught his breath. She curled up, protecting herself, and when the sound passed, she stretched rolled, extended and curled up into a ‘U’ position that hurt Hunter’s abs just to watch. She held it as soft drums pounded, making the atmosphere of the room reflect the mood of the dancer. She had dark hair and though it had been shaped into a ballerina’s bun earlier, it was coming apart now, tangled around her tiara on her head like weeds on a cemetery fence. Her body was muscular yet delicate and Hunter shifted his own weight, trying not to get too swept away by her black garters, torn stockings and literally heaving chest.

‘She’s spectacular!’ Eva swooned on Hunter’s shoulder. ‘Baby I wanna dance that role!’

Hunter nodded dumbly, unable to tear his eyes from the girl’s sensual presence. Still bent into a ‘V’, her breasts straining appealingly against the thin silk, her hands gracefully extending to hover parallel to her upraised knees, the girl looked to the sky and opened her mouth, gently singing: ‘You only see…’

Hunter let out his breath and wasn’t sure if he should take another. He didn’t want the slightest sound to come between his ears, and the girl’s melodic voice as she began Madonna’s Frozen. Hunter wanted to weep at the sheer perfection of her performance; every move she made was liquid, strong and awe-inspiring. Eve the slightest tilt of her toes was a sight to behold.

The chorus began and the ghostly dancers behind the trees backed the girl up as she swirled around the stage, portraying someone who was lost, scared and vulnerable. She went to the castle door and the queen opened it, stepping out onto the stoop, watching her dance as though begging permission to answer. But the queen slammed the door in the ruined princess’s face, who then fell to her knees and rolled in one movement, ending up on her back at the foot of the steps as though dying.

Hunter’s heart tugged unhappily and he leaned forward in his seat to watch the rest of the dance. Towards the end, the dancer began crawling to the front of the stage as she sang, entreating the audience to take pity on her and give her shelter from the rain and she looked so authentically heartbroken that Hunter wanted to go give her his jacket. The entire audience had leaned towards her like he had; spellbound, and Hunter could sense in his peripheral vision that Ryan was one of them.

The dancer beckoned to all/ But it was I who answered her call/ Limbs soft as whispers /Strong as steel/ I’d give my heart/ I’d give my will/ I’d give it all for her to feel….

But the lyrics taking shape in Hunter’s head were sucked out of him as though by an invisible retreating wind when the dancer lifted her face to the audience for the first time, as though in one final plea. Tears sparkled in her eyes as her hand extended to them; to Ryan.

Callie’s hand.

‘Hunter…!’ Ryan sounded like something cold and hot and burning had been plunged into the centre of his stomach and was now pulling the breath from him. Hunter knew that, because that was exactly how he was feeling.

‘I know,’ Hunter whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes as Callie collapsed in a heap and the castle door opened behind her. The king charged down the steps and flung a blanket around her prone figure, then helped her to her feet, a soundless invitation to follow him inside.

And the moment Callie rose to her feet, Hunter got to his own and shuffled out of his row, wiping the tears from his eyes just as the intermission house lights came on.

17.

Callie ran off the stage at intermission, accepted the towel from the girl beaming in adoration and wiped her face with it, panting a breathless: ‘Thanks’ before hurrying towards the stage door.

Thespia was there waiting for her, Callie could tell by the silhouette of the black beanie pulled tightly down over her sister’s golden-brown hair, which she’d donned to perform as the backstage crew. Suede-brown eyes were wild with demoniac-titillation when Callie drew near- the Muse of Comedy and Tragedy looked like she was on crack.

‘Incredible!’ Thespia dragged her towards the backstage doors, where they’d be alone. Her fingers were excitement-tight around Calliope’s wrist, her familiar scent, which was as rich as the velvet stage curtains and musky from too much time spent in dark, dusty spaces. After four years living with her sister, Calliope knew her fragrance better than she knew her own, which seemed mostly sweaty to her. But then again, what else would someone in Performing Arts smell like?

‘They’re here!’ Callie swallowed heavenly oxygen, needing it inside and out, especially against her sweat-wet skin. ‘I saw them near the end! And oh my God…’ She leaned against the white-concreted wall and sagged down to a crouch, closing her eyes and recreating Ryan’s bright, fixated expression when his eyes had found hers despite the darkness of the room. He’d always had very blue eyes, but with the eerie blue light illuminating her performance, they’d shone like the most valuable diamonds ever cut, almost aqua. ‘Oh wow…’ She groaned, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. ‘Ryan is even more beautiful than I remembered!’

‘The prince of darkness in row G?’ Thespia asked. ‘Oh yeah, I saw that one! Too bad he’s not ‘The One’ Callie he is exactly your type.’

‘That makes sense.’ Callie took a bottle of water from Thespia’s outstretched hand and took a delicate sip, reflecting on the days that Thespia had pulled up internet pictures of a seemingly endless string of men that Callie had passed time with as a Muse. The ones who had the best careers tended to resemble one another after a while; dark-haired, dark-eyed, darkly-dressed and with features chiseled like one of the garden statues back on Helicon. Ryan’s picture could have been tacked onto the end of that line without a beat being missed.

Callie had been beside herself to see the men, because she had been hero-worshiping every single one of them since she’d first learned how to change a record. It wasn’t until then that she’d felt cheated of her memories. And not just because she wanted to know exactly what it had been like to make love to some of the biggest names in music history- but because she wanted to know what they had been like.

And she now knew that she hadn’t been lovers to all, or even half. A Muse’s job wasn’t merely to seduce someone into a pliant little ball of consciousness, but to inspire, and there were as many female names in her yet to be recalled portfolio as there were male. Some were even nameless, and had contributed by organizing a concert, or giving a bus fare to an out-of-work lyricist. There weren’t as many dancers as singers, but there were composers, directors, agents, label-owners and washed-up country singers as there were platinum artists, and now that Callie had a better idea of how she had been contributing to the world, she felt that she understood herself better.

And just as Callie hadn’t only spent her life jumping from one bourbon-scented hotel room to the other, she hadn’t always had the face Callie saw in the looking glass either. She’d been a one year old girl, tumbling out of a boat and to her death and leading the police officer on her case to pen a heart-wrenching song about how precious life was. She’d been an eighty year old woman, kissing her equally old husband on the cheek in a park and inspiring a timeless love song for a musician across the pond, who had been watching them while coming down from a cocaine high. The only similarity between each case was that Callie had known exactly who she was, and exactly what she was doing when she’d inspired everything she’d set out to do. She had been blonde, brunette, old, young, ugly, overweight and as skinny as a heroin addict. She’d been a hippie at a peace festival (and a thorn in Hendra’s side at the time as she’d been told) and Thespia had been able to show her pictures of some of Callie’s aliases, or painted likenesses of herself on so many album covers that her head had spun like she was in a maze of mirrors to see them.

But none of the memories had returned to her. It was like flipping through an album of grainy old baby photos. She could see herself, but the actual weight of the moment held no mental value.

But tonight, Callie would begin to create a memory as she always had in the past; intentionally, and with a specific victim in mind. A still golden-haired though slightly scruffier version of the guy she had once come dangerously close to giving herself to. This was going to be one of the occasions when she had to use her feminine wiles to get herself to where she needed to be- in the centre of Hunter Marks heart which was dangerous given how much she had once cared for him. But forewarned was forearmed, and she was counting on her attraction to Ryan to keep her alive a second time.

‘Can we just glory in that performance for a little while though before it becomes all about you again?’ Thespia’s features were more classical than the other girls. She had wavy dark hair, unassuming, rather-plain eyes and an average build. However, Thespia was the most alluring of all the sister’s that Callie had met yet. She was enigmatic and passionate, not numbed like the other Muses because her gift demanded that she keep every emotion bubbling under the surface of her calm façade to be drawn upon at a moment’s notice. She was quick to anger and even quicker to get over it. When she laughed it was with abandon and when she cried it was with the melodrama of a soap actress. She was funny, never at a loss for anything to say and ridiculously sensitive about people’s perception of her.

She was an actress. Her face was never lax, but always expressive and almost never looked the same way twice. In this particular sliver of her life, Thespia had been posing as a drama teacher at a university in London until she’d heard that Callie was in need of her. So she’d ‘schooled’ Calliope on being a Muse by putting her right into the action; first as a student in London and now, as a star in a Sydney theatre company. Callie had met so many wonderful and talented humans along the way, and she was gladdened to see how her proximity to them all sharpened their natural skills. Gavin especially, who was playing opposite her in this production was one of her most favorite people. He’d been the best dancer she’d ever seen when she’d watched him at the auditions, and now he was probably one of the best in the world. The show was finishing early because he had an audition for The Boy From Oz in London, and Callie knew he was going to land the role and make a name for himself. And it would be because of her. Well not just her, for a few of the Muses had thrown their hats in on the production.

‘It’s brilliant Thespia. The crowd looked as delighted as I feel when I dance the role.’ Callie took another sip of water. ‘Did you hear how they screamed for Gavin?’

Thespia nodded in delight. ‘And you darling… it’s a shame that you always take a back seat to your gifts. If you stopped trying to influence people and just performed for them instead there wouldn’t be a show we couldn’t sell-out!’

Calliope smiled sadly. Another thing she’d learned; Muses very rarely ended up in the spotlight themselves. As a human, it was thrilling to her but apparently, when she was in her regular form, dancing or singing for crowds had stopped satisfying her a thousand years ago. As a Muse, Calliope was not the star, but the spotlight shining down upon them, or the atmosphere in the crowd. That was where she derived her pleasure from; creation.

But as a Muse locked in a human’s body, Callie was free to do as she wanted. She sighed and glanced down, knowing that she only had a few minutes left to get into her third costume. It depressed her to know that this was one of the last times that she’d get to live out this fantasy, for when the curtain fell in Brisbane, the show would be over, and would not go on- not for her. And the irony was that being this close to realizing a dream she’d not been ambitious enough to aspire to to a teenager, was actually making her feel like she belonged in the world at last and she had no idea what she’d receive in its place when all was said and done. Would she lose her way and perish, only to repeat the nightmare again? Or would she succeed, regain her memories and return exhausted to the sweet boy she’d met on Mt Helicon who she still thought about every day?

When she looked up at her sister, tears were pricking her eyes. ‘Thank you, for all of this.’

Thespia smiled lovingly. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you Callie.’

‘I know.’ Callie said impishly. ‘But thank you for doing it with me, rather than against.’

‘You know that Marilyn Monroe once said those exact words to me?’

Callie giggled. She didn’t doubt it.

Just then the director’s daughter Shawna appeared, clutching her copy of Harry Potter to her chest, looking more angelic than usual in her pretty white dress. Shawna was definitely a daddy’s girl, and her constant presence was incredibly helpful to the production, even if there wasn’t any written dialogue. ‘They know.’ Shawna said, glancing at Thespia then back to her. ‘And you’ll be happy to know that Hunter walked out crying.’

Callie swallowed hard. ‘Really?’

‘Well,’ Imogen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe Calliope would have been thrilled to know- I keep forgetting what a wet blanket Callie Clay can be.’

‘Just get back out there and tell them that they’re wanted after the show, okay?’ Thespia asked, rolling her eyes.

‘Sure.’ Imogen winked at Callie before turning away. ‘The sooner they do, the sooner my show starts, right?’

Callie looked down at her toe shoes, tempted for the millionth time to ask her sister what she’d done, but knowing she wouldn’t get an answer; because this was the one story Imogen had inspired that she wanted Callie to experience without words.

*

Hunter could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other during the intermission and had allowed Ryan to fend off their dates endless stream of questions: How had they known the dancer? How could they have been best friends if they didn’t even know what she was doing with her life, and the best one: ‘What do you MEAN you were detained for questioning over her rape and murder?!’ That screeched question had been embarrassing in the crowded lobby and Hunter had shot Eva a disgusted look before stomping outside for a smoke. A smoke he couldn’t light for three attempts because his hands were shaking, and a cloud of nicotine he couldn’t inhale because he couldn’t breathe deeply enough.

‘Why are we just standing here?’ Ryan ran his hand through his glossy hair and tugged on the ends, whirling around to press his fingers to the glass, looking down the darkened corridor that led to backstage which was not being used that night. ‘We should go and find her!’

‘No way.’ Hunter said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to blink for an hour, let alone attempt to confront Callie. ‘I’m already on thin ice with Eva for having gone speechless over seeing Cal, and the whole wrap-sheet thing, and if a single usher or security guard just heard what my darling girlfriend just screeched then I don’t think we’ll be getting within ten feet of the girl’s toilets- let alone the stage doors.’ He flicked his half-smoked butt onto the slate ground and pushed off the door, feeling comfortably numb as he clapped a hand down on Ryan’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go back in without looking too sinister, watch our friend dance and then find her afterwards…’ He jerked his head towards the foyer. ‘So we can wring her neck in private.’

Ryan smiled crookedly at him. ‘Just one thing- before we wring her neck?’

‘Yeah?’

Ryan grinned. ‘Let’s not discuss who gets to do it first in front of her this time huh?’

The laughter escaped Hunter and did not stop until the lights in the lobby dimmed. Not because Ryan was funny, but because he was borderline hysterical. Just like Hunter was.

Callie was in the first returning scene and Hunter’s eyes didn’t budge from the stage the entire time. It was set to a classical arrangement but Hunter barely noticed or cared. He watched as the king led Callie to the queen and prince, presenting her and in a dramatic ballet, Hunter watched as Callie was judged and rejected. The king appeared to lose hope and stormed off but the queen slid from her throne and waved her hand. A stack of mattresses, twice as tall as anyone of them was rolled out onto the stage on a portable set painted to look like a four-poster bed. While Callie’s back was turned, the queen made a big deal of inserting a tiny little pea under the lowest mattress; Callie was going to be tested for the delicacy a princess ought to have possessed.

The scene blacked out and when the lights came back on they were twilight colored, illuminating Callie asleep on the side of the bed. Then, the spotlight drifted across the floor and shone on the king, not the prince, as he entered the room. The band and orchestra joined in harmony top the song Hero by Enrique Iglesias as the king began to dance for Callie’s attention. He was incredibly good, perhaps not as good as the prince, Gavin, (Hunter had studied the program thoroughly) but more masculine and his voice was husky and sensual.

Then the spotlight shifted to Callie who was on her knees on the mattress, pantomiming desire as she clung to the post, swooned and, in a move that made Hunter’s breath catch, lifted one leg, toe-pointed, and slowly drew in up the side of her body until it was taut and stretched above her ear. Her skirt parted and gathered at her hips as she clasped her heel and in one quick movement- rolled, spinning straight as she fell from the bed like a yo-yo. The audience gasped in shock but then the king did a Jet֭e, landed at the base of the mattress and caught Callie effortlessly, immediately contracting her body into a bundle in his arms.