fouettes were noticeably weak. You were clearly winded. You need to focus on that in the future.”
Juliet continued to pat her face with the towel, “I’ll make sure to work on that,” she sneered sarcastically.
“Just a thought,” Nadine said nonchalantly.
“You might want to keep your thoughts to yourself next time.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. We’ve known each other too long for that,” Nadine said as she smiled smartly, turned to walk away headed in Vanya’s direction.
Juliet smirked, pulling her lips tightly to one side, a look that usually caused even grown men to steer clear. Few people had nerve enough to criticize her performance let alone comment on a particular step that was missed. Nadine was the exception.
Just fifteen years her senior, they had known each other since Juliet first began with the company. Nadine, a former chorus dancer with lead potential, had taken the position as wardrobe mistress when an injury had ended her promising career on stage. Unlike most she had remained in ballet and had forged an unusual bond of friendship with Juliet.
Both had a biting wit and a determination and respect for excellence. Yet it was Juliet who had gained the reputation as an arrogant, temperamental, difficult and a volatile prima donna. The titles came solely because of her desire for perfection. She expected the best of herself and of others around her. Only when time was being wasted and the quality of the performance was being compromised did she become aggravated.
But never did she show her annoyance without just cause. No matter what others said about her, she knew her craft. She had the talent, ability and skill that made and kept her a star performer and a principal ballerina on stage and off.
At five-foot-seven she was of average height with an overactive metabolism that no matter how much she ate, she always maintained her target weight of one hundred and fifteen pounds. It was the perfect weight to perform the arduous jumps without straining or breaking her dance partner’s back.
By the time Juliet had dabbed the sweat from her face, Nadine and her assistant had scurried off in another direction leaving her alone at center stage.
As if in slow motion, Juliet looked around her. A lonely sense of loss gripped her. Nadine was right, the routine required a longer pirouette, but she was just too exhausted. Another turn and she would have fallen on her behind. She looked up at the rafters then to each stage wing. How was she going to survive the rest of her life without this world? This was all she knew and all she ever wanted. She looked down at her trim neat body. It had betrayed her. At the age of thirty-two her life on stage was over.
Suddenly the stage around her was a bustling hive of activity. Grips and backstage hands quickly removed the scenery as the stage crew and attendants secured the lights and prepared for the next performance the following night.
Juliet walked through the backstage throng, greeting and being greeted by the ensemble performers, dancers and visitors. They all congratulated her for another brilliant performance. The frozen smile returned on cue as she accepted the accolades while moving closer and closer to her dressing room.
Juliet noticed her young rival, a Russian-born dancer named Vanya Kastavah, standing on the side stretching out her long thin legs. At nearly five feet three she was all legs, willowy thin and pasty from her heavily applied makeup. Always sullen and brooding she insisted on perfecting the role of tortured rising star. One would hardly guess that her mother was a plump African-American woman with a fun loving gregarious personality of a cheerleader.
Juliet smiled as she witnessed Vanya’s heated glare and the childish roll of her eyes as she refocused on her stretching her leg. She grabbed her towel and stomped off. Juliet nearly burst into laughter at the juvenile display.
She shook her head with pity. Apparently Vanya had a lot to
Juliet continued to pat her face with the towel, “I’ll make sure to work on that,” she sneered sarcastically.
“Just a thought,” Nadine said nonchalantly.
“You might want to keep your thoughts to yourself next time.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. We’ve known each other too long for that,” Nadine said as she smiled smartly, turned to walk away headed in Vanya’s direction.
Juliet smirked, pulling her lips tightly to one side, a look that usually caused even grown men to steer clear. Few people had nerve enough to criticize her performance let alone comment on a particular step that was missed. Nadine was the exception.
Just fifteen years her senior, they had known each other since Juliet first began with the company. Nadine, a former chorus dancer with lead potential, had taken the position as wardrobe mistress when an injury had ended her promising career on stage. Unlike most she had remained in ballet and had forged an unusual bond of friendship with Juliet.
Both had a biting wit and a determination and respect for excellence. Yet it was Juliet who had gained the reputation as an arrogant, temperamental, difficult and a volatile prima donna. The titles came solely because of her desire for perfection. She expected the best of herself and of others around her. Only when time was being wasted and the quality of the performance was being compromised did she become aggravated.
But never did she show her annoyance without just cause. No matter what others said about her, she knew her craft. She had the talent, ability and skill that made and kept her a star performer and a principal ballerina on stage and off.
At five-foot-seven she was of average height with an overactive metabolism that no matter how much she ate, she always maintained her target weight of one hundred and fifteen pounds. It was the perfect weight to perform the arduous jumps without straining or breaking her dance partner’s back.
By the time Juliet had dabbed the sweat from her face, Nadine and her assistant had scurried off in another direction leaving her alone at center stage.
As if in slow motion, Juliet looked around her. A lonely sense of loss gripped her. Nadine was right, the routine required a longer pirouette, but she was just too exhausted. Another turn and she would have fallen on her behind. She looked up at the rafters then to each stage wing. How was she going to survive the rest of her life without this world? This was all she knew and all she ever wanted. She looked down at her trim neat body. It had betrayed her. At the age of thirty-two her life on stage was over.
Suddenly the stage around her was a bustling hive of activity. Grips and backstage hands quickly removed the scenery as the stage crew and attendants secured the lights and prepared for the next performance the following night.
Juliet walked through the backstage throng, greeting and being greeted by the ensemble performers, dancers and visitors. They all congratulated her for another brilliant performance. The frozen smile returned on cue as she accepted the accolades while moving closer and closer to her dressing room.
Juliet noticed her young rival, a Russian-born dancer named Vanya Kastavah, standing on the side stretching out her long thin legs. At nearly five feet three she was all legs, willowy thin and pasty from her heavily applied makeup. Always sullen and brooding she insisted on perfecting the role of tortured rising star. One would hardly guess that her mother was a plump African-American woman with a fun loving gregarious personality of a cheerleader.
Juliet smiled as she witnessed Vanya’s heated glare and the childish roll of her eyes as she refocused on her stretching her leg. She grabbed her towel and stomped off. Juliet nearly burst into laughter at the juvenile display.
She shook her head with pity. Apparently Vanya had a lot to
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