Dancing Through It: My Journey in the Ballet (19 page)

I stood in my bedroom with my giant cat, Storm, purring on the bed and watched my answering machine, waiting to see who it was. My breath caught when I heard James’s voice. Butterflies rushed through my stomach, and I had to calm myself to actually listen to what he was saying.

“Hey, Jen, it’s James. I was just calling about that
Nutcracker
gig we were going to do up in New Paltz for Peter Naumann. It is in early December, so I wanted to see when we should get together to rehearse. Give me a call when you get the chance. Okay, bye.”

I was shocked for two reasons. First of all, no one from the company had called me since I’d left. I don’t believe it was on purpose—the schedule of City Ballet can be so overwhelming that they probably hadn’t had the time or energy. Also, I’d been very successful at closing myself off from my friends.

Secondly, he was calling me to
dance
with him?

I was horrified. What
Nutcracker
gig? When had I agreed to do it? We must have discussed it a long time ago, and maybe I’d just said yes, hoping or assuming he would forget. I certainly had forgotten! There was no way I could do the performances with him, I thought. I was too heavy and too out of shape, even though I was taking some ballet. I was taking for fun, not to be ready to perform. I would be terrible, and it would be embarrassing.

I worried all day, wondering what I would say to James. A thousand lies and excuses came to mind, ways that I could avoid the truth and save face. But the more I thought about it and prayed about it, the more
I realized that I needed to take a step as the real me and not hide behind a persona of false perfection, as the old Jenny would have done. James was a good guy and a friend, and despite my summer crush on him, I didn’t have to hide from him. I would tell him the truth.

I returned his call that night after a long, nervous day. I was actually hoping that he would not answer so I could just leave it all on his machine, but of course he did.

“Hello?”

“Hi, James, it’s Jenny.”

“Oh, hey!” He sounded excited. We chatted a bit. Then I took a deep breath and plunged in.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t think I should do that gig with you. I wish I could, but I’m really out of shape.”

“There’s tons of time for you to get in shape,” said James. “And we can rehearse a lot too, which will help.”

I realized I would have to be more explicit. I’d never come right out and called myself overweight to a fellow dancer; I’d always avoided the word, using phrases like “out of shape” or “bigger than usual.” But I was going to have to do it this time. I felt myself blushing and held my clenched fist over my stomach.

“The truth is, James, I’m . . . I’m really heavy right now. I’m overweight. I don’t think you are going to want to dance with me. I think you should just get someone else. But I so appreciate you asking me to do it, and I really thank you.”

There was a pause that I hoped would lead to the end of the conversation so that I could get off the phone as quickly as possible. Then James spoke.

“Jen, I don’t care about your weight. I just want to dance with you. Let’s do the gig. I really think it would be fun.”

I was stunned by his response. And touched. No one from the City Ballet world had ever told me that my weight didn’t matter to them. No one else had been able to get past the fact that I was heavy. Feeling both confused and pleased, I agreed to give it a try and meet with James to rehearse.

I was extremely nervous for our first rehearsal. Now that there was a prospect of performing again, I realized how much I wanted to be back onstage. What if James saw me and changed his mind? I was at least twenty pounds overweight for a ballet dancer. I wasn’t sure how much I actually weighed because I’d thrown my scale away in an effort to become less obsessed with it. But I knew I was heavy. I told myself that I would be all right if James wanted to do the gig with someone else. I was stronger now and would not fall apart if James decided to go with another dancer. I faced my fears and gave it a chance.

The rehearsal went surprisingly well. James seemed pleased to see me and had almost no trouble in the partnering sections. He never once gave my body a second look. I honestly don’t remember many details from that rehearsal or any of the subsequent ones because I think I was in a very strange emotional state for them; I was anxious and excited and battling all of my habitual insecurities with the new weapons of God-centered identity that I was acquiring. The only choreographic concession we had to make to my weight was during the sustained
grand jeté
lifts, where the Cavalier holds the Sugar Plum aloft for three slow counts of music. James, though one of the strongest male partners in City Ballet, couldn’t keep me in the air for that long, and we changed it to a quick throw of a lift that lasted only one count. We would then run into an arabesque and continue into the regular dip that followed.

I was slightly mortified by this, but not surprised. In fact, I was relieved that we changed the step a little so that I didn’t have to feel guilty about James struggling to hold me in the air.

Later, James told me that he believes God gave him a different way of seeing me. To James, I hardly appeared overweight, and he just saw a pretty girl with whom he liked to dance. He thought that the reason we couldn’t do the proper
grand jeté
lifts was that he was a little out of shape and not as strong as usual. He always prided himself on his strength and his ability to lift any girl over his head; he figured that since it was the beginning of the season, he was just a little weaker than normal.

James and I fit rehearsals in wherever we could between our two conflicting schedules. I was really enjoying the process and was having fun spending time with James again. But reality hit when James told me that I needed to get a tutu. Somehow I’d completely forgotten the important detail that I would need a costume. That meant I would have to approach City Ballet’s costume department to ask for a rental.

I worked up my courage and called Dorothy Cummings, the ladies’ wardrobe mistress. She and her assistant, Norma Atrides, were warm, motherly women who took on the task of making sure the women of City Ballet were properly attired for the stage. They also handled costume rentals when dancers went out on independent gigs. Dotty was happy to hear from me, and we set up an appointment to meet at the theater and find me a tutu.

I hadn’t been to the theater since the end of the spring season, and it was strange to go in knowing that I no longer worked there. The building still seemed oppressive to me, but I reminded myself that I was there for my own purposes and that I was no longer subject to the company’s judgment.

Dotty greeted me with a warm hug and twinkles in her big brown eyes.

“Let’s get you fixed up, all righty?” she said in her cheerful British accent.

I followed Dotty to “the pit” where they kept the costumes for rent. We tried on tutu after tutu. None of them fit me. Some would not go past my hips, but those that did were too tight around my torso. I was soon close to tears.

Dotty stayed calm and matter-of-fact. “There is one last costume we can try,” she said. “It isn’t a tutu but has a romantic tulle skirt that comes down to your knees. I think it could be very pretty. And everything on the bodice is made of stretchy material.”

I agreed to try it on, not knowing what I would do if this one didn’t fit
me either. I imagined the phone call I would make to James, telling him that he would have to get a different partner after all. Blessedly, this costume fit me, and the mirror showed that it was even somewhat flattering. Dotty was encouraging and said she thought it was lovely.

Grateful for her gentleness, I hugged Dotty. I couldn’t tell her how much her kindness meant to me; no words would come out. I accepted the costume and went home, hoping that I would still look enough like a Sugar Plum Fairy to satisfy both James and the owners of the school we were performing with.

After a few more days of rehearsing, all too soon it was time to travel up to New Paltz, New York, for our gig. James and I would be taking the train together and were getting there the night before our first performance, which was an early-morning school performance. During the train ride James and I chatted and teased each other intermittently while I did some homework; I was taking a drawing elective at Fordham and had brought my sketchpad so that I could meet the course requirement of drawings for the semester, which ended the next week. I did self-portraits using my reflection in the train window and even convinced James to let me do his profile. James made up a silly train song and serenaded me from time to time.

We arrived in New Paltz and Peter Naumann, co-owner of the New Paltz School of Ballet along with his wife, Lisa, picked us up. Peter and Lisa were former City Ballet dancers who had moved upstate with their children when they retired from dance; they had opened the ballet school in a studio attached to their home. James and I would be staying with them and their two young boys for the weekend.

Peter and Lisa were both very laid back and friendly and welcomed James and me into their home as if we were family. James had probably told them that I’d left the company, but they didn’t even appear to notice my weight, and happily gave us a tour of the town before showing us around their house. It was the typical home of a family with young children: decorated for adults but with random toys poking out of every crevice. There was a black Labrador named Chance that rang some
bells with his nose when he wanted to go outside. There was a new gray kitten plopping and sliding on the slippery hardwood floors. And in young Trevor’s and Carl’s rooms, where James and I would be sleeping, the boys’ personal pets resided. I was given the choice of whether I would sleep with the snake or the iguana. I chose the iguana.

After James and I got settled, we went back out into the living room to chat with Peter and Lisa. They told us hilarious stories of their days in City Ballet, which had overlapped with our own early years in the company, and we stayed up much later than we should have, given that we had an early-morning performance the next day. Then somehow the conversations shifted to the costume I’d brought to wear in the performance.

“Could we see the tutu you brought for the shows?” Peter gently asked. “James said it was a little different.”

“Sure,” I replied, feeling dread drop into my stomach. I was already here, and there was nothing anyone could do at this point, but how awful would it be if I had to do the next six shows knowing that Peter and Lisa were disappointed.

I went into the Iguana Room, as I’d begun to think of it, found my costume, and brought it back out into the living room. Peter and Lisa looked at it seriously, and I could tell they were not thrilled with it. What is a Sugar Plum Fairy without a real tutu?

“Jenny,” Lisa said with a little smile, “when we first came out here and opened our studio, I danced the Sugar Plum Fairy for our production. I was pregnant with Trevor at the time. My mother, who makes beautiful costumes, made me a tutu and it is really pretty. Would you feel like trying it on, just to see if it would work?”

Of course I said yes. There was nothing else to say. But inside I was mortified. They were asking me to wear a tutu that a pregnant woman had danced in because I couldn’t fit into one that a real dancer would wear. I was so embarrassed. What must they think of me? And why did this have to happen in front of James? At the same time, Peter and Lisa were so considerate in the way they were approaching me. They were looking at me not with disgust but with understanding.
They were treating me as a human being who had value to them outside of being their Sugar Plum Fairy. And I wanted them to be happy.

Lisa retrieved the tutu, and it really was beautiful. I took it back to my room to try it on, hoping fervently that it would fit. How terrible it would be if I were even too big for that one! I put it on, and like a miracle, it fit perfectly.

As I looked into the mirror, I forgot that I was wearing a maternity tutu. The tutu was dark pink, professionally made, flattering, and pretty, with beautiful small details. I felt comfortable in it because it fit me so well, and I felt beautiful. I felt like a ballerina. I realized that this was something only God could have done. How else would a perfectly fitting tutu have been waiting for me here in New Paltz, ready to be worn tomorrow with no alterations? God was taking me on some kind of journey, not revealing the whole path, but showing His love for me in tiny steps along the way. I felt a little bit of healing slip into my soul in the Iguana Room that night.

I went back out into the living room, feeling shy about showing myself in the tutu and trying not to look too happy about it. It occurred to me that even if I thought I looked beautiful in it, they might not, and they might still want me to wear the other costume. But when I entered the room, Peter gave me a jovial smile, and Lisa laughed and clapped with happiness.

James, looking at me with a quiet smile on his face, allowed Peter and Lisa to exclaim their delight before he looked me seriously in the eyes and said, “Jen, you look beautiful.”

I didn’t sleep well that night. Part of the reason was nerves and excitement for the school performance in the morning. The other reason was the iguana. I couldn’t figure out how to turn the light out in his aquarium, and he stared at me with at least one eye all night long. From time to time he would suddenly spasm his body in his cage, changing his position so that he could focus his head on me from a different angle. It was disconcerting, and when I did sleep, I had weird dreams. I wondered how any child could possibly sleep in that room.

The next morning, we awoke to a blizzard. It was not yet dawn, but the windows showed drifts of white deepening inexorably with the snow falling from the sky. Peter and Lisa were on the phone trying to figure out what this might mean for our school performances; they finally just turned on the local news to watch for school cancellations.

The house was in the state of chaos that is normal in a household of two busy parents with young children. The boys were running around in their pajamas with their hair sticking up in funny directions. Lisa was making them breakfast while Peter drank from a mug of coffee, holding the phone to his ear. Chance was picking the kitten up in his mouth and then slinging it down the hallway, an activity that apparently agreed with the kitten. It made an impression on me to see two people from the ballet world living such a normal, love-filled life.