84 Ribbons (32 page)

Bartley’s comments sounded like Marta’s own just last week. The difference was that she actually had gained weight; her clothes were tighter than last fall. Bartley looked several sizes smaller since the end of the Nutcracker performances in December.

When Bartley’s mother returned, the girls said their goodbyes wrapped in a snug embrace. As they parted, Bartley whispered, “When you come tomorrow, bring me diet pills; any kind you can find, okay?  But don’t let anyone know. It can be our tiny secret.”

“I’ll try,” Marta said.

After a five-minute drive, Marta stepped into The Regents Inn. The reception area had overstuffed chairs arranged in conversational groups near a crackling fire in a metal faced fireplace. A uniformed maid tidied the side tables filled with silver trays of fruit and pastries, an assortment of juices in pitchers, and several wine decanters. Plates and glassware lay on a nearby table. Marta shuddered. More food. Why did everyone obsess over food?

Her room on the second floor was three times the size of her room in Billings. A cozy sofa and chair faced the picture window. The huge bed with a green silk spread and extra fluffy pillows looked small in the over-sized space. A fruit basket with her name on it sat on the corner of a massive desk.

Pale yellow marble covered the bathroom walls and floor. Even with a separate shower and tub, two sinks, and two toilets, the open space left ample room to practice a routine without any fear of bumping into fixtures.

She resisted the temptation to call Lynne or her mom and describe the hotel and her room. Keeping her promise kept her from sharing the luxury that surrounded her.

All night she tossed and turned, thinking of Bartley and how desperate she acted. The next morning she counted her stash of diet pills. Eight, plus the two in her purse. She had enough to share, but she’d promised Mrs. Timmons. She took two and locked the rest in her suitcase before she returned to Eaglecrest.

Bartley stood by the door, waiting for Marta. When she entered, Bartley hugged her. “Did you bring any?”

Marta mentally crossed her fingers. “I didn’t know where to buy them. Besides, you need to do what the doctors say. Then you’ll…”

Bartley shoved Marta with both hands. “You’re like the others. I thought you were my best friend.”

“I am, but they’re right. You’ve lost too much weight.”

“I hate you!” Bartley grabbed Marta’s shoulders and shook her like a rag doll, then pushed her backward.

Marta screamed as she fell against a chair and landed on the floor, her legs tangled in the chair legs. Marta saw Ana rush to the door and hit a button. Then she stepped in to restrain Bartley, avoiding Bartley’s flying arms, pushing her away from Marta.

“Marta, I need pills. You promised you’d bring them.” Bartley twisted to free herself, but Ana held her tight. Two men unlocked the hall door and rushed past Marta to help restrain Bartley. When she relaxed, they led her into the bedroom and closed the door.

Marta lay on the floor feeling chained in place, watching the actions unfold like a violent movie scene. Another young woman entered the suite and helped her stand. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Marta said. “Will Bartley be all right?”

“Perhaps. Please come with me.” She led Marta back to the reception area and waited for her to sit down. “May I bring you something to drink?”

Marta shook her head.

“They’ll let you return to visit with Bartley if she settles down.”

Marta’s whole body shook as she sat waiting for whatever might happen next. She rubbed her left thigh. Did she feel any new pain? No, but why did Bartley attack her? She acted possessed, like the woman in the scary movie
The Electric Monster
that she’d watched one night when she worked at the theater.

Suddenly, Marta felt her stomach roil. She raced down the hall to the public bathroom and threw up.

When she returned to the waiting area, she thumbed through magazines absentmindedly and watched the clock hands circle: thirty minutes, one hour, thirty more minutes. She replayed Bartley’s reaction. Her eyes looked frightened when she grabbed Marta, like she might drown. But then she’d pushed Marta to the floor using super human strength. Marta moved away from the receptionist, turned her back to the main room, and cried.

Two hours later, Marta sat beside Bartley in her suite, staring at a frightened, disheveled, red-eyed girl. Bartley stroked Marta’s hands. “Did I hurt you, Marta? I’d never want to hurt you.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Bartley straightened and lifted her chin. “I told you I’d eat and gain back the weight, so why didn’t you bring me pills?”

“I didn’t have time. I’m only here for part of today. And I promised your mother.”

Bartley let her body sag. Tears hung in her eyes. “She’s wrong, you know. I can stop taking diet pills anytime I want.”

Marta rubbed small circles on Bartley’s shoulder. “Tell me about San Francisco and the big old house on Russian Hill. And all about dancing for a famous ballet company. I’m excited to come visit next summer.”

In the late afternoon, Mrs. Timmons returned. “I hope you two had a good visit. It’s time to get Marta to her plane.”

Marta gripped Bartley’s hands. “I promise to call you every week. Promise me you’ll eat.” Marta released Bartley’s hands and backed away.

“I’ll try, but I need...”

Marta shook her head. “Promise you’ll eat.”

Mrs. Timmons rode with Marta to the airport. They didn’t speak for several minutes, giving Marta time to pull her thoughts together and try to make sense of what had happened.

“I’m sorry Bartley attacked you. Is your ankle okay?”

“I think so. I wish I’d known sooner that she was sick.”

“So do I.” Mrs. Timmons wiped her eyes and tucked her handkerchief in her sleeve. “It wasn’t until she collapsed that we knew it was serious. Looking back, she must have thought taking diet pills would be safe. I used them for years, to take off the winter weight, you know, before swim season.”

“Bartley told me. She thought that if you took them they were safe for her to use as well.”

Mrs. Timmons shook her head. “Ballet is so beautiful, but it demands so much from a dancer’s body. Bartley always wanted to be perfect. She’ll need to work hard to gain back her health. I should have paid more attention.”

Marta didn’t speak again until the limousine stopped at the airport terminal. “Thank you for inviting me to visit Bartley. She’s a good friend. I know she’ll get stronger now that she’s getting help.”

“Yes, she will. Thank you for coming, Marta. Your visit meant a lot to her.”

The driver opened the car door for Marta. “I’ll call her every Sunday.”

30

M
arta straightened her shoulders as she entered the dancers’ door and walked to the dressing room. The flight home got her into Billings after eleven and in bed by twelve, but not to sleep. Starting her first rehearsal on three hours of sleep didn’t bode well for her success. One pill would help her through the morning. As she swallowed it, she replayed Bartley’s situation. She shuddered. After her audition she would start cutting back.

Several dancers said hello; most were surprised at seeing her return. She changed clothes, then joined Lynne to walk to the rehearsal.

“Where were you this weekend? I called but no one knew where you had gone. You missed a great last minute party at my place.”

“A friend showed up unexpectedly.”

“You could have brought her along.”

Marta yawned.

Lynne studied Marta. “Looks like you two must have had a lot to talk about.”

“We did.” Marta shook out her hands and legs. The diet pill kicked in; she felt a surge of energy return. Now, if the knot in her stomach didn’t interfere, she’d pick up the choreography with ease.

After struggling through warm-ups, Marta felt winded. The corps dancers standing around her looked ready to continue at a moment’s notice. Her months without the rigor of rehearsals showed, even to herself.

“Let’s talk before we begin the choreography.” Damien smiled at the corps dancers. “Take a seat. I’d like to introduce you to our next program.”

The dancers sat cross-legged on the floor, facing him.

“
Rhapsody in Blue
is an American piece written by Gershwin in the 1920s. We’ll be using the symphony and two soloists: one on piano, the other on clarinet.

“Imagine a stage with a white backdrop covered with silvery stars and bold streaks of blue. You’ll wear long, blue chiffon skirts and ballet slippers. The principals will wear silver costumes. Let me play the recording of the first section for you. I imagine most of you will recognize the opening clarinet slide.”

Marta closed her eyes and pictured her father sitting in his rocking chair listening to the music. The tranquil introduction to the music pulled her along its graceful flow of notes. She swayed as she listened.

Damien lifted the needle off the record. “This is a change from our usual classical ballet that I hope will be well received. Your performance during the opening chords will set the mood for the entire work. I need you to be better than your best. Keep that in mind as you learn each dance.”

The choreography required long slow moves as well as quick steps. Marta kept pace until her ankle tired, leaving her to walk through the steps rather than dance them. By the end of the hour her leotard was soaking wet, but she felt more alive than she had since her accident.

Every rehearsal during this last week in April resulted in the same situation: early on she danced as well as before the accident; midway her energy and ankle lagged. She iced her ankle before and after every practice. At least
pointe
shoes weren’t required. That would have spelled disaster.

The first week of May raced forward. On the afternoons there were no corps rehearsals, Marta warmed up on her own until Damien was free to join her. Having the small practice room reserved for her lessons with Damien gave her ample space and a wall of mirrors to study her movements. And Madame couldn’t chase her out.

The fact that Madame never spoke to her bothered Marta. It was as if they moved through the same building in separate worlds. Maybe she should make an appointment to talk with Madame. But what would she say? How are you today? I’m sorry I fell? Best to wait, do the audition, then speak with her.

Marta checked the clock: four o’clock. Damien should arrive soon. She needed every minute he could spare to perfect her audition. She restarted the record, posed, and stepped into the first
arabesque
. Damien stood in the doorway watching her practice. He nodded as he walked into the room. “Good. Your strength is returning. For the audition, you’ll perform the first three minutes of the main theme. You’ve learned the steps, so let’s refine your arm movements and your flow from one move to the next.”

Marta used every ounce of energy and skill she could gather. Her ankle ached from the fall from when she visited Bartley a week ago; not the way she wanted to remember their visit. She shook her head to push the thoughts away. Damien stared at her, waiting for her full attention. She straightened and posed as he restarted the record.

Damien clapped the beat. “Reach further up and forward as you move. Stretch your back, elongate your entire body. Remember, you must think like a musical instrument being played by delicate hands.”

Each day after rehearsals two constants remained: sore muscles and ice packs. Each night she massaged her legs and soaked her tired feet before applying ice to her ankle. On the evenings Lynne came over, they exchanged back rubs and foot rubs.

“So, Marta, how is it to working with Damien?”

“It’s great. He is patient and points out the details I need to show. I feel confident I can dance my audition so Madame will have to take me back.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We need you; I need you. Can you imagine me facing Suzette and Marguerite alone? I don’t think I can survive their whining and preening next fall without you pulling me back.”

Marta laughed and pulled Lynne to her feet. “Come on. You need to keep me busy so I don’t think about being alone so much. We can plan for the little girls, and you can help me bake for Damien’s family.”

“No thanks. I’m off to get a good night’s sleep. We’ve got enough planned for the girls, and if I helped you bake, you’d need to toss it. You do remember I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

While Marta stirred the batter for two quick breads, she thought about Steve. His projects and tests kept him buried. They exchanged brief phone calls, but he seldom had time to stop in, and their trips around Billings had dropped away. He was closing in on his career much as she hoped she was closing in on her own.

Marta surprised herself by humming in the shower that evening. Everything was falling into place. Miss Wilson continued to treat her like an adult, so another visit with her sounded like a good idea. May’s warm weather encouraged the flowers and her confidence to blossom. She continued to hum, content and hopeful that the pains she experienced every day would fade over the next three weeks, leaving her ready for the audition.

Sunday evening
Steve broke away from his studies and work, and now he sat with Marta in the common room. He stretched. “I’m starting to understand how you feel when you have too much to do. I’m so tired from reworking my project and keeping up with other homework and tests, plus working at the paper.”

“I thought you were enjoying your project.”

“I am. But have you any idea of how much is written about the history of mining in the Billings area?”

Marta put her arm around his shoulder. “It will be over soon.”

“Not really. I’ll need to work through the summer session. Then I can walk through graduation after fall semester. Will you come to my graduation?”

“I’ll try.”

Steve stood and stretched again. “I’d better get back to work. I’ll call you when I get a moment of free time. Think of me?”

“Always. And thanks for spending part of Mother’s Day with me.”

He hugged her close and spoke into her hair. “You sounded lonely. I knew you missed your mom, so…”