“There’s a chair behind you,” Kees said. “Or just fall onto the floor if it’s too much.”
Erik scanned the headline, “A Tree Grows in Saint John: New Brunswick Ballet Theater Debuts Full-Length Nutcracker.”
He sat down. In the chair.
After two years of only being able to produce the Act II Divertissements from the beloved ballet of the Christmas season, New Brunswick Ballet Theater is debuting its first full-length Nutcracker this year, with a thriving guest list for the party scene and an army of mice and soldiers, all under the age of twelve. Co-Artistic Directors William Kaeger and Marguerite Bianco partnered with local dance schools to cast the iconic first act, and a team of industrious set designers came up trumps with the ultimate present for their iconic battle scene: a growing Christmas tree…
The text went on for pages, but the pictures now caught Erik’s eye. Children rehearsing. Stagehands constructing the tree. Then shots of Daisy and Will, dancing together in college: one from the Bach variations, another from Who Cares? Daisy in her poppy-pink dress.
Skimming the text, Erik turned the page. A beautiful black-and-white picture of Will and Lucky Dare. Lucky seated at a desk, poring over some papers with a chubby toddler boy on her lap. Will stood by, looking over her shoulder, a little girl on his hip. The caption read “A Family Affair: Will and Lucky Kaeger, with their children, just another day behind the scenes at NBBT.”
Erik turned the page. And there she was.
“This is now?” he asked. “This year?”
“Right now,” Kees said, his voice low and kind.
Daisy. Right now.
A full-page color shot of her rehearsing, or perhaps teaching. Daisy in a practice tutu. Posed in a long, leaning arabesque, supported by Will. Behind them clustered pairs of dancers, some mirroring the pose, some simply observing. Will’s head was turned back toward them. Daisy’s head was turned forward and her mouth was parted—clearly she was talking through the reflection in the mirror to the couples behind her.
Without being aware he was doing it, Erik’s finger traced the line of Daisy’s pose.
Line, Kees had taught him, is the picture the body makes in the air.
Daisy’s long legs, feet arched and curved in their pointe shoes. Her black tights came down mid-shin, and Erik could see part of one scar along the top of her left calf. Her feet bare inside pointe shoes. Will’s hands at her waist, his left hand nearest the camera, with its two missing digits. Erik noticed he wore his gold wedding band on his index finger.
He continued the path of his own finger, up the song of Daisy’s neck and shoulders. Her hair pulled up with those same small curls falling out. Her face was more angular, her eyes a little circled. But beneath the twin arches of her brows, those impossibly blue-green irises blazed with a passion. She was in her element, vibrant and alive.
She was beautiful.
Erik traced her arms, slim and curved, reaching out and away from her, extended without break to the ends of her nails. Her left hand nearest the camera: a bracelet encircled her wrist but her fingers were bare.
“I said look at it. Don’t eat it.”
Erik looked up, blinked.
“You talk to her?” Kees asked.
Erik shook his head, closing the pages.
“Ever?”
“No.” Lightly he tossed the magazine back onto Kees’s desk. Kees stared back at him, calm, relaxed, arms crossed.
“Why not?”
Erik stood up. “I need a couple of beers for this conversation. Are you still buying?”
“What if I wasn’t?”
“Then I’d buy.”
Kees released an arm and gestured to the door.
Free Counseling
They went into town, got beers and burgers, sat and ate at the bar.
“Wat denk je, mijn vriend?”
“Did you know Daisy slept with David?”
“Of course I knew.”
“You did?”