The Swan Princess

The final curtain fell before me like a guillotine to the off-Broadway stage floor for the ballet that never filled the seats to half-capacity. I didn't know this would be the last performance of my career. The only person saddened might be the little man in the red velvet dinner jacket who stood in solitary ovation at the end of every show.

When the debacle of this Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake production died an early death, my elation rivaled the celebration of winning a Tony Award, well, not entirely.

The productions investors lost significant money when it was canceled because three cast members no-showed in four of the scheduled nine, and their understudies stood in.

One of the disappearing acts was my roommate Jenny, whom I also called Princess. I hadn't seen nor heard from her in two days and not since she danced the lead at the matinee as understudies do. We were very competitive but loved each other dearly. I had little concern because she had a habit of running off with the latest and greatest love of her life. This one must be the real deal as the Princess never ditched a show for anyone.

I exited the backstage door, wrapped myself tightly in a Montcler Hermine hooded parka to fend off the arctic wind, and turned right on Broadway. My internal alarms went off when I realized the little velvet-coated man from the theater followed me, and I accelerated my pace. He whistled a tune I remembered from my childhood. This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine.

Over the years, many men had stalked me after shows. Some were social pariahs living a fantasy, and a few turned out to be perverts. Once in a group setting, most of the stalkers, like cowards, would move along and disappear into their private worlds of fantasy.

The whistling grew louder as he closed on me, and I ducked into Starbucks Cafe just in time. This little man, though, quite the Braveheart, followed me into the café. I ordered a latte and moved to a corner to wait him out. Nervous, I spilled the hot liquid down my coat and unwittingly presented my stalker with an opening.

"Oh dear, this won't due, let me buy you another Madam Leticia," he said from across the lobby and scurried to the Barista. I sat at my table, doomed to fend him off, and slipped a faux diamond on my left ring finger. At the least, he read the Playbill, unlike the last one who called me Madam Butterfly.

The little man, with a smirk on his face, set the cup on my table. "Madam, this honor is the least I can do for the most skilled and beautiful Ballerina I've seen in years. You were magnificent but I find it shameful the same can't be said about the supporting cast," he said.

I thanked him and subtly flashed my ring of faux commitment. His demeanor switched to one of a concerned father.

"Oh my, I have alarmed you. I mean no harm," he said and bowed as he reversed away. "Thank you for the honor of witnessing your magnificence," and the little man exited the café.

I relaxed and chastised myself for being so pretentious and paranoid that every man represented a hazard. I sipped my frothy drink and realized that this was the reason that I found myself alone at the age of twenty-six. Weary, I decided to rest in the café before entering the subway to go home. Fatigue overwhelmed me, and I laid my head on the table, just for a minute.

****

The jet engines screamed as I woke in a plush contoured seat of an airplane. My brain alerted my body to panic in fear, but it would not respond. A strap around my chest restrained me. I yelled, but no sound emerged. Two seats faced me, and the little man now in a white button-down shirt sat in one.

"Don't panic Madam Leticia, I will not harm you," he said with his chronic smirk. “I only ask for you to consider a proposal. Then I will remove the gag from your mouth, fair enough?"

Though terrified, I nodded in agreement to play along until I could figure a way out of this mess.

"You have been chosen by the greatest Ballet aficionados in the world to compete for the richest prize in the universe, Prima Ballerina Assuluta. The Ballerina who triumphs with the best performance of Swan Lake will be honored like no other and will be memorialized for all eternity."

He removed the gag and the restraint.

"Please Madam, forgive our method of audition. We intentionally place our candidates into a weak setting like your last show. A grand ballerina will shine even in the poorest of circumstances and you shone bright. We deposited $20,000 into your bank account as earnest money for your time and your acceptance of this honor. Do you agree to compete?" he said.

Though my drugged mind was filled with anxiety, I found myself intrigued. I had been told of secret ballet societies when I studied in Italy but dismissed it as mythical. Besides, residing in New York City remained expensive, and my next ballet wasn't scheduled until the spring Spoleto festival in Charleston.

"Why did you kidnap me?" I said, "I have an agent."

"The society's sponsors come from the oldest families in Europe. Their privacy is more important than their riches. They are not interested in publications of ego but only seek to elevate and honor the grand art of ballet."

"What if I refuse?" I said.

"Though saddened, we will be release you as soon as we arrive in Europe. The money deposited to your bank would suffice for your return, and we will not contact you again."

"I want to access my bank account," I said. He smiled with a smirk and set a laptop computer on my lap.

My bank account, once I logged in, showed the deposit as promised.

"What's next?" I said, "and could I please have some water?"

The little man stood, and his irksome smirk broke into a smile.

"Please allow me, Madam Leticia." He said and moved to a bar while he whistled, This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine.

****

The Leer jet descended over mountains and into a valley with ridged snow peaks abreast the wings. We landed on a private airstrip, and a black limousine transported us to a pristine village set high on an adjacent ridge as the sun set over the mountains.

Elegant Chalet's lined the street and opened to a spacious torch-lit village square adorned with life-sized statues of Ballerinas in various poses of the ballet. The Village Square had filled with hundreds of patrons dressed in the finery of theater lost to modern days. Men and women in fine suits, top hats, and extravagant dresses focused on a stage-like platform high on the steps in front of the entry to a grand theater.

The little man pointed to the theater, and I read aloud the words Ea Luxe Lucet in Aeternum engraved into the façade.

"Her Light Shines Eternal," he said, "We are magnanimous about honoring the worthy and we've arrived in time to witness tonight's ceremony."

"The statues are beautiful," I said.

"We employ the finest artisans in the world and maintain our own foundry for the bronze," he said.

A chamber orchestra under the portico of the grand hall played the Dying Swan from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, and Ballerina swans danced on each side of the torchlit stage. Ballerinos pushed a white veiled figurine to center stage. A magnificent white swan danced to the statue and slipped the veil away to display a polished bronze statue of a perfectly shaped ballerina in the First Arabesque pose. The statue's detail was extraordinary and somehow familiar to me.

The crowd murmured softly and then louder until it crescendoed into a fortissimo chant, E degna. She is worthy, in Italian. The floor around the statue opened, and a burst of yellow and blue flames engulfed the bronze Ballerina. Tongues of fire deflected brazen golden dances of light on everyone's faces and then burned into green incendiary light.

The fiery green light brushed the façade, street, and Chalets like an aurora cast to the heavens. The audience chanted, Ea Luxe Lucet in Aeternum, Ea Luxe Lucet in Aeternum, Ea Luxe Lucet in Aeternum. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Yet, something haunted me, but the cause evaded my mind. A stench of burning flesh brushed my senses, and I covered my nose.

"It's the copper in the bronze," said the little man, "it burns the green light of eternity, lovely, isn't it? We honor the winner of last night's competition.

****

The wild events of the day had exhausted me, and my nerves remained on edge. I had no idea where I was other than somewhere in the mountains near Italy. The little man took me to a Chalet reserved for me where everything I could need had been stocked for my use, even down to my preference of ballet slippers.

I lay on the canopy bed and tried to review the day but could not get the impressive ceremony out of my mind. These people were beyond serious patrons of the ballet, and I had been chosen to compete. As I fell asleep, I wondered who I would be competing against. I also wondered how jealous my roommate Jenny would be when I returned to New York City.

The surreal nightmare of the ceremony replayed through my subconscious until the once golden statue burned green and spoke to me in my sleep through molten lips. "Run, Leticia, get away now, run," and I bolted up in bed. The ominous cognition from the ritual returned, and I realized the statue didn't just look like Jenny, my Princess; it was her. Ballet poses are like fingerprints, and I knew hers. I ran to the bathroom and vomited. The stench of burning flesh as the copper and tin was consumed permeated my soul. They had bronzed and sacrificed her in their perverted cultic society. She had warned me to escape her horror.

The sun rose and shone its pure rays of light over the village. The streets were empty, and with every fiber of my existence, I buried my tears and stoically walked up the cobblestone pavement toward the Grand Hall. A delivery truck, parked in front of a Parisienne-style café, had left its back gate open, and I climbed inside and hid behind a stack of crates.

The driver sealed the gate and departed the village. Six hours later, it stopped. The door slid open, and I shot like the Grand Ballerina I was from behind the boxes with the most incredible leap of my career off the truck and ran.

Soon, I realized I was in Milan, Italy and hitched a ride to Rome. After a lot of hassle with just a driver's license, I entered the U.S. Embassy.

My tall tale of an adventure with a rich Greek boyfriend on the Mediterranean Sea, gone wrong, was met with suspicion, but in the end, the female attaché issued a temporary passport and a flight voucher that I would have to repay. My punishment was to suffer her looks of contempt for being so stupid. I couldn't argue with her.

****

The flight from Rome landed near my hometown, far away from New York City, which I won't disclose due to concerns for my personal security. I changed my name, and I've never danced nor attended another ballet.

So, please, my dear Ballerina's, if some night, a little man follows you and whistles This little light of mine, Run!

I will forever honor Jenny, the Swan Princess, who saved me.

Ea Luxe Lucet in Aeternum; her light shines for eternity.