Match Pointe. Indigo Bloome
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understand,’ he went on, ‘I still enjoy it, but the monotony of training is getting to me. I go through the motions but my mind is in another world – like a swimmer focusing on the relentless black line at the bottom of the pool, no longer able to see the big picture. And all my commitments off the court … You know I dislike having to appear smiling in front of cameras for sponsors – making sure my watch is positioned just so – I’m just bored with all of it. I feel like I’ve already achieved what I set out to do.’
‘If you like, I can organise to reduce your commitments and free up more of your time – if that’s what it’ll take to get you back on form. Just a couple of calls, no problem.’
‘Believe me, I know if anyone can, you can, Caesar. But it’s not just that …’ Ivan reflected a moment longer then gestured towards the stage. ‘My heart is in this world, in dance and music and beauty, just what I have witnessed tonight. Now that I have seen Eloise – that was her name, yes?’
Caesar nodded.
‘Well, now that I’ve seen her onstage, it makes me want to attend every one of her performances. I know I shouldn’t feel this way – I should be focusing on my training – but there’s something about that exactness, that discipline she has over her mind and body …’ His thoughts meandered before he added, ‘If I could only capture a performance like that before I play – you know, bottle it up somehow – I have no doubt that my motivation would be sky-high.’ He sighed again, suddenly disheartened by the absurdity of his own suggestion. ‘But instead I must wait until her next performance like everyone else.’
Caesar looked thoughtful. ‘Are you saying you believe watching her dance before you play would improve your motivation?’
‘How could it not? Look at her! I’m sure I’m not the only one who would feel this way. There’s something captivating about the way she moves, like she brings the essence of the music to life … Well, if I could just bottle up a bit of ballet for my own personal use, that would be perfect.’ Ivan laughed, then added with a wink, ‘I know you are a resourceful man who is capable of many things, Mr King, but I doubt this is a problem you can solve. If you do come up with the answer, let me know; I’d love to hear about it.’ He chuckled at the path their conversation had taken, amiably patting Caesar on the back.
‘A fascinating challenge, just fascinating. In the meantime, my friend, come backstage with me, and I’ll see if I can introduce you to Eloise and the rest of the corps de ballet.’
‘Thank you but unfortunately I must be on my way, yet another plane to catch. Thanks for the chat. I shall look forward to seeing you again at another one of her performances.’
As the two men bid each other farewell, Caesar’s intrigued mind was clicking into gear, working on a variety of scenarios based on Ivan’s sketchy idea.
If Ivan could not manage to consolidate his position as the world’s Number One, men’s tennis would enter one of its most unpredictable eras. The Edge currently managed the top six male players in the world, which provided Caesar with tremendous insights into what was happening on the circuit – leading to substantial business opportunities.
The more inside information Caesar had, the more money he stood to make. And once an idea had seeded in his mind, it was rarely dislodged – particularly if it was coupled with a fire in his belly. There was no doubt this conversation had ignited the flame of an idea for Caesar and it was usually only ever a matter of time before it came to full fruition.
Manon
All the dancers of the Royal Ballet had eagerly gathered in the narrow corridor, anxiously awaiting the announcement of their roles in Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s Manon, widely acclaimed as one of the company’s signature ballets. For most ballerinas, dancing the coveted role of Manon was deemed to be one of the highlights of their career. The ballet told the story of a young woman torn between the man she loves and a wealthy older suitor who promises her the luxury she craves. The character must exhibit various states of emotion – ranging from shy to flirtatious, from desperate love to the agonies of an eventual wretched death – all captured within the realms of dance. The demands on the ballet dancer were extreme, requiring almost exhaustive physical and emotional stamina.
Eloise was returning from the ballet’s physiotherapist, having been dismissed by Madame Alana from the morning class when she landed badly on her ankle during her sissonne jumps, and was immediately drawn to the buzz of activity surrounding the notice board. When she approached the other dancers, the bustle around her immediately faded to silence as the weight of her reaction hung heavily in the air.
As she registered the black names listed on the white paper, she stared uncomprehendingly at the notice board, her eyes anchored to it as though she were paralysed in the worst nightmare of her life.
Not a sound could be heard other than Eloise’s breath slowly inhaling and exhaling through her nostrils … until a muffled, strangled scream passed through her pursed lips.
The dancers scattered in panic as though a large stone had been thrown amidst a flock of flamingos, their scarves and tutus fluttering and floating to the floor like feathers post-flight. They dispersed as quickly as they had assembled in an attempt to avoid what they all knew would be the eye of the foreboding storm.
In what should have been the triumph of her career, Eloise had been usurped by a Russian impostor.
Principal: Natalia Karsavina
Soloist: Eloise Lawrance
Eloise noticed her hands trembling, before she actually felt them lightly touch the bold print where she had expected to see her name. Her entire body went numb, not allowing her to feel the emotion she knew was brewing beneath her skin. Life swirled on around her, but it didn’t seem to touch her. She was present, but in her mind she was not really there. This had to be false – a prank perhaps? But no one could be that cruel; ballet dancers were finely honed creatures, physically strong yet their self-esteem so very fragile.
How could it be? Her life’s work – had it honestly come to this? How could she face her peers in light of this demotion? How could she face the world? She was the Principal of the Royal Ballet, not Natalia! They might as well have broken her legs, such was the pain in her heart.
The force that had driven her for years to study, to practise, to hone her skills hour after hour, day after day, all ultimately heading to the role of top ballerina at one of the greatest ballet companies the world had known, all had come to nothing, because the role she had aspired to had been cruelly snatched from beneath her wings. Although she had always loved Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty and The Nutcracker, she had done them all to death, the movements so deeply entrenched in her muscles that she barely needed to engage her brain as they toured around the world doing one performance after another. Manon had been her opportunity to challenge, interpret and ultimately shine – to firmly establish herself in the history of the Royal Ballet as Number One for this day and age.
Eloise fell in a crumpled heap onto the cold concrete floor, as the pain of disappointment crashed over her limbs. They had finally broken her spirit, snapped it in half.
Though she was so often complimented on her demure presence, controlled emotions and grace, both on and offstage, suddenly uncontainable anger ripped through her veins and she got up and tore the menacing announcement from the notice board then charged along the corridor and up the stairs.
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