Dance, My Angel. Virginie T.
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man writes down his intention to come to see me, because he is a man, no doubt. The first letters that came to me had made me think of a fan a little too possessive. He recounted in his letters the life of a couple that he imagined for us, with a lot of salacious words. Over time, the descriptions became cruder and the words more threatening. He went from “I'm going to take you in every single way” to “I'm going to impale you on my cock and I am going to fuck you until you scream in pain”. He also blames me for my lack of reaction and involvement in our relationship as a couple. What couple? I do not know anyone twisted enough to make up a torrid story with me. The way he imagines me makes it clear that we do not know each other. Apparently, he decided to remedy this fact. I take my cell phone out of my bag trying to regain control of myself. When the letters have become a source of anguish, I have sent them to the director of the ballet who had contacted the police. Unfortunately, at the moment the inspectors have no leads and, according to them, there is nothing to worry about. It seems that most anonymous stalkers never take action. What about the others? I was not given any answers. I think I am paranoid. Okay, I am a little bit. Let's say I have a natural tendency to extrapolate everything. But it is time for those letters to stop.
─ Caitlyn! You've been fabulous. The feedback comments from the spectators are very good.
─ Thank you sir, but I'm not calling you for that.
I hear him sighing on the phone. He does not like me either. He supports me because I am useful to him. I make a lot of money for him and he feels compelled to make an effort with me.
─ What can I do for you?
─ I have received a new letter.
─ We’ve talked about it before. You have to get over it and throw them away without opening them. This man will never act.
─ In fact, I received one at home and one was slipped into my dressing room.
The silence that follows reassures me. Maybe I will finally be taken seriously.
─ Leave them with Security when you leave the theatre. I am going to send them to the police.
─ Thank you, sir.
─ You are welcome Caitlyn. Enjoy your evening. You deserve it. We'll see you tomorrow to talk about the investigation.
─ All right. Good-bye.
I am relieved by this call. I just hope these new letters will make a difference. I am already afraid enough of the world around me without adding the fear of a psychopath.
I get ready in a minute. Not that I am in any hurry to see my parents, but I cannot wait to get rid of those damn letters which I cannot stand to see on my hairdresser. I leave the theater after a last glance in the mirror, entrusting the letters to Security.
Chapter 3Caitlyn
My parents have not changed an inch. My father as always has his unruly graying hair, and his piercing blue eyes same as mine, and my mother is dressed up in her tight pantsuit and her chignon without a single strand of hair sticking out. The way they stare at me is no way different from how they looked at me when I was little. As if I were an alien impossible to decipher.
— Thank you for honoring us with your presence Caitlyn. You took your time to join us! You know your mom cannot stay up for long.
In fact, my mother does have some knee problems due to failing joints, but it is only painful in cold and rainy weather and tonight the sky is incredibly clear.
— Hi, Dad. It's incredibly mild for the season, don't you think? We can even see the stars.
— Don't be rude Caitlyn.
Well, yes. My parents have always stood together, especially against me. My grandmother comes in before dinner is cut short. More than short, since we are not even at the restaurant yet.
— Let's go eat. I'm starving.
Grandma passes her arm under mine and we walk on the sidewalk in silence, at the head of our little procession. I have the unpleasant impression of being observed. It is like a look burning my back, making cold sweats grow along my spine. I might think this is due to the presence of my parents; however, they have never caused me such an epidermal reaction. I shudder when I look around, but the faint glow of the moon and the few scattered lampposts do not allow me to distinguish the surroundings well, creating at most disturbing shadows in the darkness.
— Are you cold, darling?
— No, Granny. I am OK. I just can't wait to get home. I am tired.
I did not tell my grandmother about the letters. I did not want her to worry about me. She leads a peaceful life and there is no question of that changing.
— When are you going to visit me in Virginia? Clean air and large spaces would do you the greatest good.
— I have no doubt, Granny, but the season is just beginning and the Sleeping Beauty shows will continue for several weeks.
— And then there will be the selection of a new ballet, which of course you will win hands down. Then the rehearsals for the new show and again the performances. It never stops, Cat.
I lower my head, ashamed to be such a bad granddaughter. These remarks are entirely justified.
— I'm sorry to disappoint you, Granny.
She stops so abruptly to look me in the face that my parents stumble upon us.
— You will never disappoint me Caitlyn Cat. Do you hear me? I'm extremely proud of you and so are your parents.
She gives them a strong look to which they can only respond positively.
— Of course Caitlyn. We're happy for you.
It is not really the same as being proud, but I would settle for it. I know I would not get anything better from them. We resume our slow walk.
— I just want you to discover something other than dance. Besides, I'd like to introduce you to Baraqiel.
— Your neighbor?
She agrees, nodding.
— You never told me his first name. It is very strange.
— Don't judge him without meeting him. He is an angel, darling.
Of course! My grandmother loves everyone regardless of anything. The good-natured conversation could have ended there, but obviously my mother had to get involved once we are sitting at the table.
— In any case, mother-in-law, you know well that Caitlyn has no time for love. For that she would have to be interested in someone other than herself, and this is not about to happen.
My mother is getting more and more bitter. I wonder why she forces herself to come to see me when she clearly does not want to. No doubt that is not my grandmother's fault. She knows how to be very persuasive. I would like to be able to tell my family that I love them, but that would require my parents to accept me as I am and they would never do it. Today it is too late and my silence is always taken as a rejection. In fact, it is more an acceptance of the situation. As always, my grandmother serves as a buffer in our conflicting relationships. I believe that without her, there would be no interaction at all between my parents and me.
─ Let's order. It's getting late for an old lady like me.
I choose my dishes, but I feel oppressed between the heavy silence at our table and the hubbub of other customers' conversations. My grandmother knows me well and squeezes my hand under the table.
─ Go ahead, you have time.
I get up hurriedly, ignoring my mother who is already starting to grumble. The air from the outside makes me feel good. The light breeze caresses my bare legs and makes my cheeks rosy. I take advantage of the calm of the night to take a few steps before leaning against a wall and looking up at the sky. There is not a single cloud and the stars twinkle on this beautiful black velvet carpet.