Page 2 of The Red Slippers

“I’ll see to Monique.” Cosette walked down the hall and entered the small studio where her student repeated the intricate combination of steps over and over. Her keen eye caught the flaw, but nothing needed to be said. Monique didn’t wait to complete the sequence. She stopped and stomped to the side of the room, took a linen cloth, and wiped the dampness from her face.

“This isn’t particularly difficult,” Cosette said. “You have performed variations of this combination fifty times in other performances perfectly. You put too much pressure on yourself. Enjoy the dance, let the music carry you across the stage.”

“Madame Binet, what if I don’t do well?” Anxiety glittered in the girl’s eyes.

“Throughout your years in ballet school, you were tested, evaluated, and critically judged. Before every performance you were anxious, yet when the music started you danced without hesitation or flaws. This performance is the same. I promise, once you’re on stage, you will be wonderful.”

Her student stood next to her, wringing the linen. Cosette put her hand over Monique’s. The end of the girl’s solo highlighted her extension and grace. Her arabesque was superb.

“Come with me.” They went into the salon where Cosette opened a cabinet and took out a pair of worn red slippers.

“Here, wear these.” Cosette handed them to Monique. “These dance shoes once belonged to someone special and hold the secret to her dancing.”

Monique stared at the slippers and held them with wonder and respect. Cosette was certain the magic of the shoes was all the young dancer needed to overcome her anxiety.

“Madame, these are yours.”

“Now the shoes are yours. These once belonged to Maria Camargo, one of Paris’s greatest prima ballerinas. The slippers have never failed me. They won’t fail you.”

“Oh, Madame.” Monique threw her arms around her.

“Go. You need to dress for the performance.”

The girl stood and stared at her.

“Go.” Cosette nudged her toward the door.

“Thank you.” Monique’s eyes were bright with tears. She clutched the shoes to her chest and ran out of the room.

Moments later, the outside door closed. Cosette glanced out the window as the young woman hurried across the road.

“Your student has joined the others?” Avery came up next to her, wearing his hat and coat, her cloak in his hands.

“It’s nerves. I suspect once the music starts, her jitters will stop and Monique will dance without a flaw.” She took her wrap from Avery who helped put it around her shoulders. “Do you plan to finish your paperwork tonight?”

“It can wait until morning. I’d rather not stay too long at tonight’s opening celebration. I thought a quiet dinner for two was in order. An early evening.”

“That would be lovely. I don’t know how we did it when we were their age, practice all day, the excitement and stress of a performance, then up most of the night celebrating. You don’t miss that, do you?”

“Not at all.” The pair left the studio, crossed the road, and found themselves surrounded by a crowd of people as they approached the theater entrance.

“Madame Binet,” someone shouted.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Madame,” another called.

“There she is. With Monsieur DuBois.” A woman turned to her companion. “I told you Madame Binet would be here tonight.”

People parted, making way for her and Avery. Although she had retired from dancing five years earlier, the crowd’s excitement still surprised and humbled her. People shouted their good wishes, and several handed her bouquets as she and Avery made their way to the main doors.

Reaching the entrance, the retired prima ballerina stopped and faced the spectators.

“Thank you all for your wishes and,” glancing at the bouquets, “for the flowers.” Avery escorted her into the building’s grand foyer.

A hush came over the assembly. The house staff gathered in a double line from the doorway, under the lofty dome, to the grand staircase. This welcome was different from the admirers outside. The theater company and staff were a close family. Cosette went down the line and had small conversations with each person.

Standing before the first twelve steps leading to the landing, she glanced past it to the next flight of stairs branching off in two opposite directions. Cosette let out a heavy sigh.

“I can sweep you off your feet, be your gallant knight.” Avery’s words were for her ears alone. “And deliver you to our private box.”

---