others.
But
it was also romantic, Tatiana thought. This voluntary self-blinding made it
easier for the woman to submit to the movements of the man, to be truly swept
away, to slip off the confines of her everyday self. Not being able to see
where you were going or how close you were to other couples on the floor
certainly made it easier to follow, for really, under such circumstances what
other choice does one have? Ella had settled back into Konstantin’s arm, and
it was abundantly clear to Tatiana, if to no one else in the room, that she
liked this feeling of a man’s arm around her waist, drawing her steadily in,
and the gentle pressure of her hand in his. Even if the man was but a lowly
dance master, even if they were surrounded by dozens of other people in the
middle of the day.
Something
is missing in her life, Tatiana thought. Perhaps it is the same thing that is
missing in mine.
She
was not jealous. When a woman is married to a powerful man and having an
affair with a less powerful man, and when she is playing her dangerous game in
a well-lighted room, then jealousy is an emotion she cannot afford to
indulge. Besides, Ella was not a threat to her. No woman, not even a woman
possessed with Ella’s pedigree, would risk dishonoring the Romanov family with
an indiscretion. Not in word, not in deed, not even by implication. If
Tatiana’s ankle was in a trap, Ella was buried alive, and had been since the
day she first touched Russian soil.
Tatiana
knew she had been staring too long. That was always her challenge when
Konstantin was in the room - to remember to periodically break the spell, to
sometimes look up and away. When she did, she saw that Cynthia Kirby was also
on the balcony level, also looking down at the dancers, and that she too had
fixed her gaze on Ella and Konstantin. The lady in waiting had seen it all:
their conversation, followed by this, followed by these tight powerful swirls
of the formation and Ella’s head, thrown back too far for balance, thrown back
in a type of ecstasy.
I
don’t like this Mrs. Kirby, Tatiana thought. She has never wanted something
that she knows she cannot possess, never sinned nor broken rules and she has no
compassion for those of us who have. I bet her eyes have never closed, not
even when she danced or when she made love. I doubt they close when she
sleeps.
The
theater was often chilly, kept deliberately cool for the benefit of the performers
and Tatiana always brought one of her large silk scarves with her when she came
to rehearsal. She reached down to her bundle and pulled out the red one,
draping it loosely around her shoulders. Konstantin looked up again, spied it,
and smiled, not at her but at something above her.
She
had two scarves, one red and one white. They were not only a means of keeping
warm while she waited her turn to dance, but also a signal. The white one said
no. But the red one said yes, that she would meet him later.
7:20
PM
“Do
you like the velvet britches, or the satin? Which ones show my legs to their
best advantage?”
It
was two hours after the rehearsal had ended and Tatiana and Konstantin were
lying in a heap of bright colored clothes, costumes that needed cleaning. The
pile of discarded finery was relegated to the darkest and most hidden corner of
the prop room and they had trysted here many times before. It was a
luxuriously quiet and private place, for once the rehearsals were over, the
dancers and musicians always emptied the theater en masse, leaving it with that
strangely exaggerated emptiness that only comes after a flurry of activity has
departed.
It
never failed to surprise Tatiana how quickly the bubble could burst.
Besides,
Konstantin liked the costumes. They not only provided a serviceable bed –
albeit one that contained an occasional jab from a wayward sword or crown – but
they allowed him to come to her in many forms. In the
But
it was also romantic, Tatiana thought. This voluntary self-blinding made it
easier for the woman to submit to the movements of the man, to be truly swept
away, to slip off the confines of her everyday self. Not being able to see
where you were going or how close you were to other couples on the floor
certainly made it easier to follow, for really, under such circumstances what
other choice does one have? Ella had settled back into Konstantin’s arm, and
it was abundantly clear to Tatiana, if to no one else in the room, that she
liked this feeling of a man’s arm around her waist, drawing her steadily in,
and the gentle pressure of her hand in his. Even if the man was but a lowly
dance master, even if they were surrounded by dozens of other people in the
middle of the day.
Something
is missing in her life, Tatiana thought. Perhaps it is the same thing that is
missing in mine.
She
was not jealous. When a woman is married to a powerful man and having an
affair with a less powerful man, and when she is playing her dangerous game in
a well-lighted room, then jealousy is an emotion she cannot afford to
indulge. Besides, Ella was not a threat to her. No woman, not even a woman
possessed with Ella’s pedigree, would risk dishonoring the Romanov family with
an indiscretion. Not in word, not in deed, not even by implication. If
Tatiana’s ankle was in a trap, Ella was buried alive, and had been since the
day she first touched Russian soil.
Tatiana
knew she had been staring too long. That was always her challenge when
Konstantin was in the room - to remember to periodically break the spell, to
sometimes look up and away. When she did, she saw that Cynthia Kirby was also
on the balcony level, also looking down at the dancers, and that she too had
fixed her gaze on Ella and Konstantin. The lady in waiting had seen it all:
their conversation, followed by this, followed by these tight powerful swirls
of the formation and Ella’s head, thrown back too far for balance, thrown back
in a type of ecstasy.
I
don’t like this Mrs. Kirby, Tatiana thought. She has never wanted something
that she knows she cannot possess, never sinned nor broken rules and she has no
compassion for those of us who have. I bet her eyes have never closed, not
even when she danced or when she made love. I doubt they close when she
sleeps.
The
theater was often chilly, kept deliberately cool for the benefit of the performers
and Tatiana always brought one of her large silk scarves with her when she came
to rehearsal. She reached down to her bundle and pulled out the red one,
draping it loosely around her shoulders. Konstantin looked up again, spied it,
and smiled, not at her but at something above her.
She
had two scarves, one red and one white. They were not only a means of keeping
warm while she waited her turn to dance, but also a signal. The white one said
no. But the red one said yes, that she would meet him later.
7:20
PM
“Do
you like the velvet britches, or the satin? Which ones show my legs to their
best advantage?”
It
was two hours after the rehearsal had ended and Tatiana and Konstantin were
lying in a heap of bright colored clothes, costumes that needed cleaning. The
pile of discarded finery was relegated to the darkest and most hidden corner of
the prop room and they had trysted here many times before. It was a
luxuriously quiet and private place, for once the rehearsals were over, the
dancers and musicians always emptied the theater en masse, leaving it with that
strangely exaggerated emptiness that only comes after a flurry of activity has
departed.
It
never failed to surprise Tatiana how quickly the bubble could burst.
Besides,
Konstantin liked the costumes. They not only provided a serviceable bed –
albeit one that contained an occasional jab from a wayward sword or crown – but
they allowed him to come to her in many forms. In the
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