“A dancer dies twice — once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful.” -Martha Graham
The Summer Gala was in full swing at the Shanachie Theater and the packed house could be keenly felt by all the dancers and technicians backstage. There was a frenetic energy which practically buzzed in the air and carried on its currents a tangible sense of excitement, opportunity, and enthusiasm. No doubt each of the dancers performing during the Gala had their own routines, their own processes to prepare themselves mentally and physically for their individual performances that would put them in the best possible position to delight the crowd.
But for one dancer…for one extraordinary ballerino...that typical routine was utterly derailed. The Black Eagle stood where he could see the audience filling the theater, watched as the rows filled and the volume lifted from silence to several pockets of murmuration and slowly built to an unending flood of indecipherable white noise that only furthered the short circuit going on within him. The inner dialog of Dante Lorenzo Domínguez-Álvarez had dissolved into the exact opposite of his typical outspoken bravado and charismatic confidence that bordered on outright
arrogancia. Not tonight…Dante was certain they would all see the truth tonight beneath the brightest of lights.
El águila negra had retreated (such a foreign word to him) from the border of stage and curtain, fell back to a simple metal folding chair apart and distant from most of the other dancers. He would perch there, in silent contemplation while harried lines of consternation creased through his brow to wreak havoc upon the perfect symmetry of his bad boy features. Arms crossed over his chest, the Black Eagle protectively folded his wings about himself while a bouncing heel became the outlet for pent up energy and a physical release valve for doubtful thoughts which raced towards disaster. He watched, distantly, as various dancers arrived and congregated, only partially aware that his sullen seat was at odds with the typical preperformance routine of his. A routine which saw him, especially recently, stretching and working with other performers, sharing words of encouragement and coaching (if desired) with some of the younger performers. But not tonight. He caught a glimpse of Josette’s radiance when she arrived and stubbornly looked away…not wanting to draw her attention during such a crisis of confidence for she was sure to zero in on him and the uncertain energy which roiled off his body.
For the first time in his illustrious and storied career… Dante Lorenzo Domínguez-Álvarez was unsure if he could take the ballet stage.
There was no hiding from the blue-green patina of the ballerina’s gaze. Though the nebulae within often looked a bit dreamy eyed and in her own little world, there was very little that actually escaped her attention unless she made the choice to withdraw it—even if by all outward appearances she seemed to be entirely somewhere else. Perhaps she was even now, but that impossibly long neck turned when she felt the distinct shift.
The Black Eagle’s frequency had changed considerably and after a moment’s pause, the slender ballerina moved in his direction. She watched the nervous energy attempt to find its exit strategy, but she did not let her attention linger there for too long. The weight was still there from whatever was on his mind. So Josette simply sat next to Dante and said nothing as she went about adjusting her pointe shoes. No teasing this time. With his arms folded like that, she recognized the body language and was strongly reminded of Isaac’s words one Savannah Summer while they watched an eagle’s nest. Josie had been so
eager to see the eaglets finally spread their wings and soar.
”They fledge on their own timeline…not ours. Isaac had said. So Josie remained patient and quiet next to Dante while she prepared for their Summer Gala performance.
Mierda.
She had seen him and, judging from his reclusive perch, Josette had also perceived the seismic shifts going on inside him. He looked away again, even as she approached and sat alongside him. She sensed too much. He watched, from a nervous corner of his eye as she joined him in quiet company and began adjusting her pointe shoes. She always seemed to dress for cooler weather than the other dancers, an extra layer or two of warm up gear, as if she herself always had a bit of a chill.
“Hola, Estrellita.” The smooth purr of the greeting summoned a pet name for the girl he had first given her when they had been paired in Paris. The moniker possessed a certain symmetry tonight given their chosen dances. He had seen the talent then when they were both in Paris, young as she was, and knew her path would carry her up into the firmament of the ballet world if she so desired it. ¿Cómo estás? ¿Buena?” But rather than a typical Dante greeting that might end there and leave Josie in the silent presence of the haughty ballerino, Dante kept talking. His English building almost as rapidly as did his Spanish…an early, accidental fledge that might send the Black Eagle tumbling towards the earth below.
Dante’s use of the nickname he had given her so long ago in Paris produced a small smile on the ballerina’s doll-like features. She inhaled to answer his question as he inquired how she was doing, but the first syllable snuffed out as the ballerino continued with that compulsive need to speak. She knew all too well when to remain quiet and let the energy go where it wished. The nebulae of that celestial gaze simply took in the Black Eagle and his aura as it shifted.
“Are you excited for the Gala performance? Cesare hasn’t been able to stop talking about it for days now, how excited he is to see us fly above the
Flames of Paris once more.” Dante referencing one of their first performances together and the duet that the two were to perform, once again, tonight. A pause. He gad been a much younger dancer then. A forced smile as he finally broke eye contact with Josette to look around at the others assembled about them. “And them? Are they ready for what faces them tonight?” An interesting phrasing, if nothing else, from El Tres as he finally paused long enough to Josie to, maybe, get a word or two in.
Josie continued to curiously peer Dante’s way, absorbing and examining the energy behind his words while letting the initial words wash over and around her in order to hear what was beneath. Not that she didn’t listen, quite the contrary, for Josie was a unique creation and her makeup allowed for her to
hear beneath the words, to translate the feel of spoken vibrations like braille and divine their true meaning. It was no wonder why her brother had referred to her as a human lie detector. Another blink and Josie followed his eyes to the other performers gathered about. “I’m always a little nervous before I take the stage.” Josie quietly confessed in a moment of honest vulnerability. “Because I always dance as if it is the very last time.” Josie had lost her ability to dance before and treasured every moment she had. “I think we all have things to face, Dante and the ballet can challenge us, our bodies and our ability to adapt and places we can improve. But when I look at them—I see…excitement and opportunity.” A small pause as her attention returned to the Black Eagle. “And when I look at you—
hear you, I find something is amiss. If you would like to talk…” A slight dip of her head meant to prompt him to unburden himself if he so desired, but she would not push.
The ball of his foot bounced continuously, though he had not ceased his words for Josette to answer he was grateful for their calming sound and interest. No matter the reason, he wrestled with the realizations within him and the need to finally reveal his tragedy to another. “I found something this morning…something very terrible.” He confessed without warning. “Something that…it is evidence of a weak constitution, a traumatic realization of poor health, Estrellita…” Dante exhaling as his leg jumped with a more pronounced bounce, his hands falling from the cross of arms over his chest to intertwine fingers between jumping knees now. “What I tell you…do not laugh and know you can never tell Cesare…prométeme. Promise me. He can never know.” Another pause after the profoundly serious demand. He needed to get this terrible realization off his chest. One did not easily change the course of a mighty river and Dante’s feelings and words were caught in the churning white water…there was no getting out now.
“Dante…” Josie’s eyes widened; concern clear on her face for her fellow dancer. She reached out to place a calming hand at his elbow. “What is it?” Josette momentarily feared the worst given the seriousness which Dante spoke. She frowned as he told her not to tell Cesare. The man had, in her opinion, been an amazing influence on Dante. He softened the harder, more egotistical edges of the ballerino while also becoming a welcomed addition and friend to Josie as well. The ballerina absolutely loved Cesare’s more contemporary influences when it came to choreography and the easy way he negotiated Dante’s mercurial moods. “I promise.” Josie finally did urge with a gentle squeeze to Dante’s elbow.
“I found a white hair this morning…on
my head.” Delivered with the same gravity of tone as one might deliver truly terrible news. "Estoy canoso…estoy viejo.” Reverting to his native Spanish in his grief. “I am…old." He translated after a moment when he finally summoned the courage to look Josie’s way again. “How can I be the Black Eagle now?” A sigh before he overdramatically snapped his head to the side and away from Josie. “I cannot.”
Somewhere along the way the Bad Boy of Ballet had turned into an old man in his own mind.
Josie blinked in silence when Dante made his grand confession. She blinked and it was all she could do to swallow the music box laughter which threatened to bubble up from between her collarbones. It was clear Dante was greatly troubled by this very natural event no matter how humorous it might be to another. It didn’t matter. It was a very real for Dante.
“Dante.” Josie began, her tone soft and reassuring. “I see no white hairs.” She paused to turn that long, delicate neck his way as she reached her hand up to playfully flick her fingers through his hair above his ear. “Well…maybe one or two…” The tease meant to put a pin in the building balloon of seriousness and Dantean grief and came with that lighthearted smile that illuminated her face.
“It is because I tore it free…I…” And then Dante heard her words regarding the white hairs, and he flapped and squawked his disappointment and fear…a hand coming up as he futilely flailed and craned his head, cast his eyes comically upwards to try and see before realizing, with that laughter, that Josette was having a laugh. “You are a cruel one, Estrellita…” He chastised though his tone and the upward flick at a corner of his mouth indicated he had finally realized the jest. “Chica divertida.” Calling her a funny girl with a sniff and look away. “And yet you…you have not aged a day since Paris.” There was no hint of jealousy in his tone as he looked at her once again…just the flat, sad note of a man faced with the end of his career and the life that he had known. “Enjoy your youth, Little Star…for it vanishes in a flash.”
Josie’s smile was a genuine one as Dante observed that she hadn’t seemed to age. The smile was appreciative for the compliment, for seeing her in that way and for wishing her the enjoyment of youth. Yet the smile was touched with a bit of sadness too, for only Josie knew the extreme cost such a gift had come with. “Thank you. I’m different in that regard—in my cells and my very DNA. It is part of what I am.” It’s why they wanted her in that facility in New York. The memory gave Josie a small shiver, one easily explained by the cool air backstage. "But I can fall ill. I have lost my hair. I have lost my ability to dance—at least in body. I have known the pain of that loss." She spoke without an ounce of self-pity yet words infused with empathy for the beautifully human dancer. "We all have our gifts Dante—especially here in Rhydin. We all have our lessons to learn as well.” Josie’s brows lifted as if to indicate she’d found another white hair. “You are not old.” Quick to shift the topic away from herself. “Perhaps you’re growing and maturing—like the Bald Eagle…” She couldn’t resist a smile then, the kind of smile that met her eyes. “Eagles. They start out all fluff balls of grey—then brown—almost black. Then, once they have left the nest—only do they get their white feathers as they mature.” Leaning in to playfully bump her shoulder against his to bring his attention back to her. “The Black Eagle is entering a different phase…you’re a different person than when we first met.” Josie complimented. “And it could be yet another nickname. Soon it may be…”
“Bald Eagle.” Dante bemoaned as he pictured himself with a white head of hair. Or even worse…no hair. “It doesn't matter.” An unsteady inhale meant to steady and balance. It did not. “Tonight, shall be the last dance of Dante Lorenzo Domínguez-Álvarez…the last flight of the famed Black Eagle.” Still, the Bald Eagle was a symbol of strength and ferocity. Águila negra…Águila calva…perhaps it could work.
Josie chuckled in response to the latest lamentations from the man. “Maybe not
so dramatic, Dante,” she teased. “And you’re not quitting. There are many more dances and adventures ahead of you. It was
one hair. Perhaps it will molt.” A wry smile before she shook her head.“ This is not the end.” There was a twinge of sadness at the very edges of that tone. A blink and it was gone. “And if you do quit, I’ll tell Cesare—all of it.” She said with a sly grin and a wink and lightly sprung her petite frame to its feet her feet to escape both glare and playful swat from the Black…erm…Balding? Eagle. “The performances are almost ready to begin. It’s time for them to see the
new Dante breathe new life and fire into a classic performance. You have never backed down from a challenge. Will you fly? Or will you fold?”
And wasn’t that what it was about? Growing, Learning, Maturing into something new was undoubtedly challenging, but came with its own adventures and stories. This business was not kind to aging dancers. Dante knew this. Josie knew this. Even if as Dante had observed, she hadn’t seemed to age since she was nineteen—she knew how limited time could be…and consequently how valuable. She didn’t want to waste it.
“I will never fold my wings. It’s time to fly.” With that, he held his hand out to her to take the stage. “This is one night, Estrellita,” he murmured in quiet gratitude before he took the stage. “Where I would happily let you outshine me. Thank you.” Reinvigorated, Dante was infused with the same excitement of discovery he had first felt at Las Fallas and found his passion for dance. Tonight…the aging ballerino rediscovered his love and it would show in his performance.
Though they danced this dance first together so many years ago in Paris, Josette smiled from the wings as she watched Dante take the stage first to fly and heard how the audience responded before her entrance. It had been so long ago and so much had happened since they came to this city. But together, through all the struggles, somehow, they found a way to fly in harmony. Dante’s smile was never so bright as Cesare’s was the loudest cheer in the audience. Josette turned and took a snapshot in her minds-eye. It was a moment. No ego, bravado, jealousy, or fear—just pure joy, fire and bliss. It was like she was seeing his very essence. She wanted to remember him like this—
always.
Flames of Paris
((Written in collaboration with the extremely talented writer of Josette Wheeler. Thank you!))
