Status: Renovation in process

I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh

Merde

Stage makeup is nothing like street makeup. You white out your face with makeup and draw on an entirely new one that will read to the second balcony. Makeup is all part of the process to get into character. For Juliet, I draw on the face of a young girl, sweet pink cheeks, delicate mouth. For Odette, a beautiful face with full lips and sparkling eyes. For Odile, sharper contours, redder lips, darker eyes. Putting on stage makeup isn't just when the dancer starts to look like the character, it's when she starts thinking like one too.

For tonight, I was careful with my makeup. Nothing too tawdry nor too innocent. I may have been a homewrecker but I was a regretful one at that.

There was a quiet rapping at the door, so quiet I thought I had imagined hearing it. I opened the door to find one of the younger dancers, perhaps 11 or 12. “Why hello there.”

“Hi,” she whispered shyly, “I'm Lizzy. I was wondering if you could sign my program,” She held out the booklet and a black marker. A blush spread across her cheeks. She was wearing her street clothes but her face was full of stage makeup. From the glittering golds and sweet rosy lips, I assumed she was playing a fairy in one of the group productions.

“Of course, come in,” I beckoned her into my room and I sat at my table. She took in every single detail, the way I had arranged my makeup and my brushes across a towel, how I had a fixture for my hair brushes and pins, the mess of pink satin that were my pointe shoes, the way my three costumes were hanging on the wall, the several photographs stuck on the periphery of my mirror. She drank in every aspect with eager eyes, “Feel free to sit down. Which piece are you in?”

“I'm a fairy for the excerpt from A Midsummer's Night Dreamp,” She smiled brightly and proudly as she moved to sit in the chair next to me. Her eyes fixated on the makeup. I could see that she wanted to touch things, like a little girl wanting to try on Mommy's pearls, spray her perfume, unscrew her lipstick.

I flipped to the page that featured a photo of Alejandro and me in costume, “To Lizzy, the most beautiful fairy in the world, with love, Svetlana Khitrova,” I dictated as I signed with a flourish and handed the program back to her.

“Is it true that you do your makeup differently in Russia?” She asked in a hushed whisper as she examined a lipstick tube etched in Cyrillic.

“I don't think the way I do my makeup is very different from the way you do yours. Would you like to watch me put on my makeup?”

Lizzy nodded eagerly. Her earrings brushed her pink cheeks.

“This is my moisturizer,” I opened a jar and showed her the yellow cream, which I dotted on my face. “It helps the makeup go on smoother. I'm sure you know what this is,” I took the quite famous pancake makeup that almost every dancer used and blanked out every feature, making me look quite frightening as the only discernible feature on my face were my eyes. Then I powdered my skin to a matte finish.

I began to add more features to my ghost-like face, “To make my face more defined, I use bronzer and blush and if you place bronzer below your jaw, it'll make your neck look longer.” I dusted peach blush on my cheeks and then applied a bronzer into the hollows of my cheeks and below my jawline. “Tonight I want to look natural. I just want to exaggerate my features so that the people in the way back can see me.”

Her eyes followed every movement I made and she hung on my every word.

“Are you on pointe already?” I asked as I darkened my brows with eyeshadow, extending them and thickening them ever so slightly.

“I'll be starting next summer. I'm going to get fitted next week,” She smiled brightly.

“I remember the first time I got fitted. Leonid, our shoe master, was like Santa Claus coming in and fitting us and then delivering the pairs to us,” I reminisced as I applied a pearly eyeshadow to my lids and contoured my crease with a soft brown and created a cat-eye effect. I lined my eyes thickly with liquid eyeliner, “I like this one because it gives a nice clean line. I like to line my eyes really thick to make my eyes standout. I also like to put a little shadow underneath to make it look like my eyelashes are so thick and long that they create a shadow,” Then I applied false eyelashes to augment the look. “I also like to use sparkly white shadow in my inner corner just for some sparkle. I normally wear red lipstick straight but I think tonight I need to tone it down a little bit so I'm going to use a brown lip liner and then put on the red lipstick so it's not so in your face,” I sketched myself a new pair of lips, bigger, fuller, pouty-er lips in a shade of brown. Then I brushed on a red lipstick and then applied a darker raspberry lipstick to the outer corner and an orangey red lipstick to the center of my mouth, “This way it gives my lips more dimension.”

Lizzy nodded as we both looked at our painted faces in the mirror. In an odd way, with our stage makeup on, we looked like we could be sisters.

“May I add something to your makeup?”

Lizzy looked down and blushed, “Sure,” she said meekly.

I took an iridescent, glitter powder and dusted in a 'c' shape on her temples, arcing around her eyes. “Now you'll sparkle a little bit more than everyone else. Do you think you could sign my program, too?” I handed the booklet that was sitting on my vanity.

She flipped to the page that had the group photo of the fairies, “Your my favorite dancer,” She wrote, and then added, “EVER! Love, Elizabeth Bryce Ford.”

“Elizabeth Bryce Ford, great stage name.”

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I shimmied myself into my costume and then layered on almost every knit I had to keep my muscles warm. I dared myself to go out into the wings and peek into the filling theatre, I searched for the familiar blonde hair and chiseled jaw.

“Is he there?” Alicia asked.

“No,” My voice betraying my painted exterior. “I don't think he'll come.”

“Don't lose hope, baby,” She rubbed my shoulder affectionately. Then we both went off to start warming up, using the huge black boxes, which usually held lighting equipment, as a barre.

Backstage is an interesting place. To the unknowing, it's a magical, mythical place. But in reality, it's a mess. It's a chaotic tangle of satin, tulle and long limbs. Dressers fastening girls into their pristine tutus. Hairdressers pinning in fake diamond hairpieces to our buns- or more often than not our scalps. Choreographers giving last minute corrections. Therapists stretching out a sore calf or adjusting a tweaked neck. Jody, the stage manager, yelling the program, reminding us of when we're on. Girls touching up their lipstick. Others sewing ribbons on their shoes. Smokers making the precarious walk to the roof in pointes to ease their nerves. It's always utter madness and I've never felt more at home anywhere else.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed to a complete darkness, as the show began. Jody grabbed the straggling dancers and pulled them towards the stage. With 45 minutes till I had to be in the wings, I walked the only place illuminated with light, a single light bulb over the coveted bulletin board to check tomorrow's schedule. The schedule tells us which ballets we’re dancing in, which ones we’re rehearsing for, and which roles we might have a chance of getting. Dancers study it as if it’s the word of God. If your name is printed under a soloist or principal part, it means that Mr. Orr sees potential in you, and your career is in the ascendance. Continually being cast in smaller corps parts, though, means the opposite. Since we perform so many different ballets in a season, each ballet is, in theory, an opportunity for a great part. So we’re always hopeful—even if we’re often disappointed.

I scanned for my name and when I saw it, my breath caught in my throat. I had the role of Dewdrop. An entirely new role for me. While my personal life was falling into ruins, at least my professional life was going up. Dewdrop was Balanchine's invention for Tanaquil LeClercq; it had come at a time when he was trading one wife for another. He had given the main role Sugar Plum Fairy to Maria Tallchief and out of passion he made Dewdrop for his Tanny. Balanchine famously said “Ballet was woman but it did not have to be one woman.”

Leah rushed up next to me and began looking for her own name. “Marzipan again,” She grumbled.

Anna pushed past us to get the board, knocking Leah off balance.

“God, Anna,” Leah exclaimed, “Shove much?”

Anna ignored her and two seconds later a little yelp escaped her lips, “Dewdrop! I got it!” Turning towards us and smiling, her teeth white and perfect. Her red lips looked black in the dim blue light and her freckles erased by the thick pancake makeup. Everything about her seemed so perfect, it was disturbing and unsettling yet captivatingly beautiful at once.

My stomach sank at the realization. We'll both be rehearsing the role but only one of us will be performing it.

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“No, no, that is all wrong,” Charlie muttered behind me as he walked in a complete circle, examining my appearance. Before I can utter a word, his hands flew to the back of my head and he quickly pull out all the pins, leaving my hair down curling around my shouldes with only an elastic headband that matched my hair, holding my hair off my face. “There much better. Come on, we're doing one last run through in the hallway,” He grabbed my hand and led me to the hallway.

The hallway was all white, plastered over brick and concrete floors with the type of fluorescent lighting that made your skin look yellow and your dark circles worse. Alejandro was already there, wearing his costume of stretch dress pants, tie, and a button up shirt that I would rip off of him.

As our turn neared, I had begun peeling off the layers of knit and now I was in a loose fitting cable knit sweater that hung off my shoulders. “Is it packed out there?” I asked Charlie.

“Completely sold out. Even the standing room seats are sold out,” Alejandro quipped. “Not bad for your debut,” He grinned his trademark cocky smile.

“Not at all,” I replied coolly as I took off my sweater. “From where do you want us to start?”

“I want to see some of the lifts and the pirouette,” Charlie started a count from four and began clapping us through. “Don't be afraid of the really holding her for the pirouette. She won't break,” Charlie critiqued, when I was a little off to the side on the pirouette and had to use my core muscles to eek out a double.

We did it again and this time I was able to go smoothly into a triple.

“Perfect,” Charlie smiled. “Merde you guys.” Merde means “shit” in French. It's kind of like saying break a leg but for dancers and we can be quite religious about saying it.

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I sat on the edge of the stage with my feet dangling over the edge and into the orchestra pit. I looked out at the audience, something I'm not usually able to do on stage due to the blinding lights. I used to sit in this exact same position, when I became an apprentice at the Bolshoi. I would look out in awe at the empty, cast theatre with its carved, gilt ceilings and glittering crystal chandeliers. But tonight I looked out looking for Jordan, praying that he was here. I saw Mr. Orr sitting in the front row with his calculating eyes. I saw an older version of Lizzy, who I assumed was her mother. I saw Charlie also in the front row, having thrown on a sports coat over his white shirt. I saw the cluster of principal dancers sitting in a row to show their support for the rest of us. They were principals and didn't have to prove themselves in a Showcase. And I saw Jordan in every blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in the audience. I glanced sideways to see Jody queuing the music up. I held my breath and felt the spotlights come on, warming my skin.

It was one of those magical moments, where time seems to stop and seconds stretch into minutes, hours as I waited for the music to come on. Being on stage is like a several, little magical moments strung together. When everything falls away and it's as if gravity has no hold on me. I lept high into the air and kicked my legs up for a rond de jambe. As I moved across the stage, my mind was clear and calm. Even my breath seems to come easier, lighter, and I hear the music as if it is coming from far, far away.

I feel myself getting lost in the character and the emotion, until the music swelled and came to an end, where I was left sitting on the floor, guilty and unable to leave the affair and Alejandro sitting on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling into the orchestra pit, guilty and torn over the affair and his wife.

The lights dimmed and the crowd erupted in applause.

Alejandro and I ran off the stage, still trying to catch our breaths. I caught Alicia, who was coming on after and whispered a quick merde to her.

Chests heaving, muscles tiring, “That was pretty damn good,” Alejandro managed to say as he took long drinks of water.

I nodded and took gulp after gulp of water. I patted the sweat off my skin. “I have to go change,” I breathed as Alejandro nodded in response. I went to my dressing room and styled my hair for my solo number. I changed into my costume, an ice blue sequined bra top and boy shorts confection topped off the tulle and feathers. I threw on my cable knit sweater and a pair of oversized sweatpants. I clipped in fake diamond earrings and slipped on my jazz shoes. I removed my lipstick to replace it with a brighter, movie star red and I added a more dramatic pair of false eyelashes. With the lash glue still drying, I ran back to the wings to watch Alicia dance solo. I managed to make it to see the closing of her number. It's an excerpt from the new production of Moulin Rouge and Alicia was dancing as Mistinguett, the seductive star of the title cabaret.

She was having one of those nights, when your leaps seem to float and your doubles turn to triples and your triples turn to quads. The orchestra even paused, when she was in the air, so they could stay on time with her. That night Alicia out jumped, out performed and out danced her way out of the corps and everyone knew it.

Then it happened.

All of a sudden, in preparation for an easy jump, Alicia's supporting leg went out from under her, and she landed flat on her butt, hard. Even from the wings and over the music, I could hear the audience gasp. Alicia scrambled up so quickly it as almost as if she bounced, and she launched her right back in.

From the dancer's point of view, falling isn't the wort thing that can happen onstage. Falling is either a fluke or the result of going for too much, and as long as there's no injury involved it's embarrassing and a little shocking but it's possible to laugh about it or shrug it off later. A splashy fall isn't as bad as knowing you gave a mediocre performance- that's really the worst thing.

Except if you don't get many chances to dance by yourself. Except if you're just wanting one moment where you know yourself to be really, really good. I could tell from the way Alicia was moving she hadn't hurt herself and after a moment she resumed smiling, but her eyes were dead.

Of course she fell. She fell because there was maybe a jewel from a costume that came off, or a stray hairpin, or something, and she stepped right on it and slipped. And because a million, a hundred thousand million pliés and tendus and a life spent sweating aching and wanting and wanting and wanting could not stop her from falling. She fell because life isn't fair.

The audience started applauding her before her solo was over, and there were some cheers when she finished. Alicia walked off stage, head hung low, as the next group, Lizzy's A Midsummer's Night Dream, went on stage. And after Lizzy, Robert who had the only male solo of the night, and after Diamonds from Balanchine's Jewels, which was the only piece featuring a principal, I came on and I danced... wonderfully.

I mean, absolutely flawlessly. I hadn't stayed warm properly and I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing and I have never danced that piece better. I even stuck the aerial. The solo ends with a leap and a series of two long turns going across the stage. I prepared for my jump, I thought, “Fall,” because if I fell too, it would be the performance that Alicia and I both fell in and we would be even. But I did't fall, I soared higher than I ever did and for the first turn I thought “Fall” again, and I didn't, and then “Fall” once more and I whipped through four pirouettes and balanced like I was made of stone and finished. I stepped sedately back to the upstage corner and passed Alicia and we looked at each other. I wanted to say something but she looked at me with a look that said “You don't know what it's like.”

I walked back to my dressing room and changed into the curtain call number, a maroon and silver fringed bra and matching fringed skirt combination. I applied more makeup to my face. It was oddly soothing and I kept applying more and more until I didn't recognize the kohl eyed, red-lipped vixen in front of me. I went to the wings to watch the boys do their Curtain Call number. It was a fun, cheeky number that had the guys as baseball players; a nice tribute to the Pirates players in the audience. It was a great show of athleticism. Then we were on. Alejandro whispered merde as we passed each other.

We got in our positions and waited for our music to come on. I peeked at Alicia and she still had those dead eyes. Anna on the other hand looked out for the kill, every muscle tensed like a tightly wound spring or a cat ready to pounce. The music started and I felt alone on stage. The other girls weren't there and everything else just fell away. Somehow I was able to make out Mr. Orr's pudgy silhouette but I ignored his steely gaze. This isn't for him. I let my mind turn off and just dance. I thought of my first ballet teacher who would often yell at us in broken Russian, “Don't think, just do!” I didn't let myself over think this number and I enjoyed the moment. A tiny voice in the back of my head told me to enjoy this moment because I won't be on stage forever.

We struck our final pose, perfectly on beat and together and the audience roared into applause. The dark red, velvet curtain came down and we were joined by the rest of the dancers from tonight and we gave our bow.

I peeked from underneath my lashes and I saw him. With the heady adrenaline rush from being onstage, which nothing could quite match, I thought I imagined seeing him. So I picked up my head and there he was. Standing there clapping in his grey suit and occasionally whistling like a true balletomane.

Don't lose hope.
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I hope you liked this chapter! Please review, it really does encourage me to update more often!