Benoit
I bend the new pair, then rough up the soles and finish by banging each shoe hard against the wall. The wall in the staircase is dented from all the banging. I try the pair on and they are ready for use now. I use a different pair for warming up. Then I need to change into my costume and put on my make up. But first Maggie comes to see me and work on my hair. She takes nearly an hour.
Shortly before I leave for the stage, I check my make-up once more. I look pale and from up close as if I had completely overdone it, but of course the audience won’t see me up close. It’ll look just right for them. Normally, I don’t suffer from stage fright but feel just a little jittery before each performance. Brian tells me I’m on in five minutes. A quick check in my locker. The two prepared pairs of pointe shoes are there. I always make sure I have two extra pairs. When I walk towards the stage and hear the music swell, my nerves stop fluttering and I feel the familiar excitement. I walk onto the stage and begin to dance. First, I have a solo piece which goes well. Then I have a short break before I dance the first pas de deux with Benoit.
Benoit has been with the company longer than I have and is considered the best male dancer. I was more than a little afraid of him at first, because he is so precise and committed. Several of the women in the ensemble have a crush on him and it’s easy to understand why. Like all the professional dancers I’ve ever worked with, he exercises religiously and has a well-proportioned, lean body. He has a shock of thick, wavy light brown hair and large blue eyes, but the real attraction lies in his peculiar combination of reticence and team spirit. He doesn’t give much away about himself, but isn’t shy. He knows he is good and likes to shine, yet he is aware of others and wants them to feel at ease. He seems more in a competition with himself than with others. When he realized how nervous I was when I was partnered with him, he worked hard with me so that I knew exactly what I was doing or was aiming for. I found myself trying harder yet felt more supported at work than previously.
The only thing that bothered me is that Benoit’s eating habits include regularly eating garlic, not an excessive amount, but nevertheless. When I complained about it to one of the other girls, she told me it’s less of a problem if I eat some garlic too as long as I’m dancing with him. But I hate garlic and it also makes me self-conscious when I know I smell garlicky. He knows I don’t like his habit, but it hasn’t become a big thing between us. He’s the unrivalled star of the ensemble and there are rumours he will join the San Francisco Ballet for the next season.
Although my first dance went well, I’m suddenly nervous again. This is premiere night and my first ballet with Benoit. I’m terrified I might let him down in some way. He has such high standards for himself. And my stomach heaves a little when I think of the garlic. Then I hear my cue and walk onto the stage. There’s Benoit and we begin to dance. At first I’m too focussed on our steps, on the music to notice. It’s only when he lifts me up that I realize he only smells of himself today. Not the slightest whiff of garlic. I’m so surprised I nearly miss a step.
‘No garlic?’ I whisper when we are finished and wait side by side for a moment before he rushes off for a costume change. He shakes his head and beams at me. “It’s our premiere today and I know you don’t like it.”
I’m so pleased with this gesture, I suddenly feel unbelievably happy. I know he hasn’t done this for any of his previous partners, some of whom complained openly and repeatedly about his habit. When we dance our second pas de deux, I completely forget the audience and the other ensemble members around us. Whenever I lean in, close to him, I take a deep breath. His natural smell is wonderful, and I want to bury my face in his skin. I relish the moments when we are close and my skin prickles whenever we touch. A warmth suffuses me, and I feel naturally supple. I stretch and arch with an ease that I didn’t have before. I’m full of vigour, yet my movements are gentler and more tentative. I delve in and out of positions as if they weren’t the result of gruelling practice but modes of natural expression. When we are done, I have lost all sense of time and the thunderous applause is more like a rude awakening than a pleasure. I feel thrown back into real life with a jolt.
Backstage our ballet coach Judith kisses me and tells me how impressed she is with tonight’s performance. She is not given to praise, and I realize she’s taking me seriously for the first time. I briefly see Benoit again before he leaves. He hugs me tightly and tells me how much he’s looking forward to the remaining shows, then he’s gone. While I chat and laugh with my colleagues, my skin still tingles where we touched. I hardly sleep during the night yet feel full of energy the next morning.
During the following days I hardly eat and practise as much as I can, dance in the evening and then fall into bed, utterly exhausted but happy. I feel benign towards everybody and notice others in a way I didn’t do before. The new secretary has beautiful honey coloured hair, Judith’s outfits are always colour-coordinated, the stage workers go out of their way to keep everything running smoothly, even the postman is charming. I’m full of laughter and energy when Benoit and I dance and he clearly enjoys my company.
There’s a moment during our second pas de deux when we stand back-to-back, arms outstretched. Every time we are in that position, I want to linger, want the moment to last just that little bit longer. This moment when we lean against each other, when I can feel the bristles on his shaved calves, the small hairs on his arms, the firmness of his buttocks, his shoulders, his sweaty back, his wavy hair tickling the skin on my neck. Tonight, I remained just a fraction too long in the position and nearly got out of sync with the music. Afterwards I realize he has noticed. He doesn’t give me a peck on the cheek to say good-bye as he usually does and his smile has become guarded. I don’t have much time to think about that, because my mother has come to attend today’s show. She has read the glowing reviews and after the performance she comes backstage and listens to Judith’s praise. I can tell she is proud of me, but she says she’s tired after the long drive and we leave the theatre soon after. While we’re getting into her car, Benoit is being picked up by his heavily pregnant wife Sweta. I can hear them talking in Russian. When we drive past their car, Sweta smiles at us and waves. Benoit doesn’t seem to notice us as he is busy putting his two-year-old son into the child’s seat at the back of the car.
When she’s driven me home and parked the car in front of the house, my mother takes the key out the ignition and turns to me. “I have never seen you dance like this before, nor look so unhappy. What’s going on?” I burst into tears. “It’s Benoit.” She puts her arms around me. “I want him so much. I never knew I could want someone so much.”
Shortly before I leave for the stage, I check my make-up once more. I look pale and from up close as if I had completely overdone it, but of course the audience won’t see me up close. It’ll look just right for them. Normally, I don’t suffer from stage fright but feel just a little jittery before each performance. Brian tells me I’m on in five minutes. A quick check in my locker. The two prepared pairs of pointe shoes are there. I always make sure I have two extra pairs. When I walk towards the stage and hear the music swell, my nerves stop fluttering and I feel the familiar excitement. I walk onto the stage and begin to dance. First, I have a solo piece which goes well. Then I have a short break before I dance the first pas de deux with Benoit.
Benoit has been with the company longer than I have and is considered the best male dancer. I was more than a little afraid of him at first, because he is so precise and committed. Several of the women in the ensemble have a crush on him and it’s easy to understand why. Like all the professional dancers I’ve ever worked with, he exercises religiously and has a well-proportioned, lean body. He has a shock of thick, wavy light brown hair and large blue eyes, but the real attraction lies in his peculiar combination of reticence and team spirit. He doesn’t give much away about himself, but isn’t shy. He knows he is good and likes to shine, yet he is aware of others and wants them to feel at ease. He seems more in a competition with himself than with others. When he realized how nervous I was when I was partnered with him, he worked hard with me so that I knew exactly what I was doing or was aiming for. I found myself trying harder yet felt more supported at work than previously.
The only thing that bothered me is that Benoit’s eating habits include regularly eating garlic, not an excessive amount, but nevertheless. When I complained about it to one of the other girls, she told me it’s less of a problem if I eat some garlic too as long as I’m dancing with him. But I hate garlic and it also makes me self-conscious when I know I smell garlicky. He knows I don’t like his habit, but it hasn’t become a big thing between us. He’s the unrivalled star of the ensemble and there are rumours he will join the San Francisco Ballet for the next season.
Although my first dance went well, I’m suddenly nervous again. This is premiere night and my first ballet with Benoit. I’m terrified I might let him down in some way. He has such high standards for himself. And my stomach heaves a little when I think of the garlic. Then I hear my cue and walk onto the stage. There’s Benoit and we begin to dance. At first I’m too focussed on our steps, on the music to notice. It’s only when he lifts me up that I realize he only smells of himself today. Not the slightest whiff of garlic. I’m so surprised I nearly miss a step.
‘No garlic?’ I whisper when we are finished and wait side by side for a moment before he rushes off for a costume change. He shakes his head and beams at me. “It’s our premiere today and I know you don’t like it.”
I’m so pleased with this gesture, I suddenly feel unbelievably happy. I know he hasn’t done this for any of his previous partners, some of whom complained openly and repeatedly about his habit. When we dance our second pas de deux, I completely forget the audience and the other ensemble members around us. Whenever I lean in, close to him, I take a deep breath. His natural smell is wonderful, and I want to bury my face in his skin. I relish the moments when we are close and my skin prickles whenever we touch. A warmth suffuses me, and I feel naturally supple. I stretch and arch with an ease that I didn’t have before. I’m full of vigour, yet my movements are gentler and more tentative. I delve in and out of positions as if they weren’t the result of gruelling practice but modes of natural expression. When we are done, I have lost all sense of time and the thunderous applause is more like a rude awakening than a pleasure. I feel thrown back into real life with a jolt.
Backstage our ballet coach Judith kisses me and tells me how impressed she is with tonight’s performance. She is not given to praise, and I realize she’s taking me seriously for the first time. I briefly see Benoit again before he leaves. He hugs me tightly and tells me how much he’s looking forward to the remaining shows, then he’s gone. While I chat and laugh with my colleagues, my skin still tingles where we touched. I hardly sleep during the night yet feel full of energy the next morning.
During the following days I hardly eat and practise as much as I can, dance in the evening and then fall into bed, utterly exhausted but happy. I feel benign towards everybody and notice others in a way I didn’t do before. The new secretary has beautiful honey coloured hair, Judith’s outfits are always colour-coordinated, the stage workers go out of their way to keep everything running smoothly, even the postman is charming. I’m full of laughter and energy when Benoit and I dance and he clearly enjoys my company.
There’s a moment during our second pas de deux when we stand back-to-back, arms outstretched. Every time we are in that position, I want to linger, want the moment to last just that little bit longer. This moment when we lean against each other, when I can feel the bristles on his shaved calves, the small hairs on his arms, the firmness of his buttocks, his shoulders, his sweaty back, his wavy hair tickling the skin on my neck. Tonight, I remained just a fraction too long in the position and nearly got out of sync with the music. Afterwards I realize he has noticed. He doesn’t give me a peck on the cheek to say good-bye as he usually does and his smile has become guarded. I don’t have much time to think about that, because my mother has come to attend today’s show. She has read the glowing reviews and after the performance she comes backstage and listens to Judith’s praise. I can tell she is proud of me, but she says she’s tired after the long drive and we leave the theatre soon after. While we’re getting into her car, Benoit is being picked up by his heavily pregnant wife Sweta. I can hear them talking in Russian. When we drive past their car, Sweta smiles at us and waves. Benoit doesn’t seem to notice us as he is busy putting his two-year-old son into the child’s seat at the back of the car.
When she’s driven me home and parked the car in front of the house, my mother takes the key out the ignition and turns to me. “I have never seen you dance like this before, nor look so unhappy. What’s going on?” I burst into tears. “It’s Benoit.” She puts her arms around me. “I want him so much. I never knew I could want someone so much.”