4- Savotage

"Wow, those flowers are really beautiful," Laudis says as she enters and grabs her water bottle.

On her vanity, there is a bouquet of red roses. She takes the card from the envelope and smiles.

"Wow, so Jeremy is really taking the task of conquering you seriously," I say while smiling, looking at the bouquet of roses.

"The truth is, things have become serious between us," Laudis tells me. "He is very nice and attentive."

"Without a doubt, he will come tonight," I affirm, smiling.

"Who sent you the blue-edged lilies? They're beautiful."

"It's signed by someone named K.A, I don't know who it is."

"An admirer," she says joyfully. "He will probably come tonight."

"I don't know, will he be handsome?" I say excitedly.

"Oh, I hope he is very handsome and cultured, the type of guy you can talk dirty with in bed and deep conversations outside of it," Laudis laughs.

It's time for the performance. I remember everything we have learned during these months of rehearsals, the symbols connected to our movement and body. I feel more than prepared to do my solo and perform my role, however, there's something surprising about me. The nerves aren't there.

Symbols connect themes. The color on stage is important. That night, the pink and yellow themes were the overall concepts. Figurative language and dancing can be connective thematic tissue that runs throughout a literary work. The color green is used throughout novels until everything that exists. This particular performance reminds me of one of my favorite writers, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and his novel "The Great Gatsby" as a marker for money and materialism. The audience loves the good ballet, and they define us as the best in the city. It's not just our company; the audience is the one who gives importance and meaning to the art we express. Just like the life of Jay Gatsby took on importance when his eternal love, Dasy, used to stare at him, and besides, one of the main female characters in that play has my name. One more reason why I love Scott Fitzgerald.

All the girls are getting ready in their dressing rooms. We arrive three hours before the performance as usual. Laudis, Jeremy, who works as part of the cultural production team in the theater, joins us for lunch that afternoon. They can't stop laughing and he can't stop complimenting her and making her feel special. I look at them affectionately, I am so happy for my friend.

Upon arriving at the theater, we are given the order of the pieces, which are already printed on the doors of all the dressing rooms. The hallway is full of dancers, some rehearsing their dance steps, most stretching and warming up, doing flexibility exercises.

I walk towards the bathroom because Laudis has been in our dressing room bathroom for over 20 minutes, inside with Jeremy. I sigh. I look for one of the bathrooms located outside the dressing rooms and find an empty one. I start washing my face and do my skin care routine to prepare my skin for makeup. Then I dry my skin and carefully apply my makeup, making sure not to miss any step. I know how to do my makeup like a professional makeup artist, I have taken many courses to always look radiant on stage. My makeup is in the style of Odette, but before that, I have to do my makeup in the style of The Swan Queen to dance my solo of the death of the swan, a choreographic version set up by our teacher Pili Hocevar. I also have to do my arm makeup, applying moisturizer to take care of the wound and make it heal well, and then translucent skin base, powder, and more foundation until it is uniform and imperceptible. I will have to touch it up throughout the night and avoid sweating, unless I'm on stage. On stage, sweating doesn't matter. It is my home and my house when the curtain opens. I am completely free.

After finishing my makeup, I put on my handbag hanging over my shoulder and go to the dressing room to get dressed. I open the door, but the doorknob doesn't turn, it's locked. I knock on the door asking for help.

"Hello, is anyone there?" I say, hearing some voices. I remember seeing some dancers as I entered to do my makeup, they were rehearsing and stretching.

"Hello? I'm locked in! Please, can you open it for me!"

"Hello!" I repeat, but no one responds. I look through the gap under the door, only a yellow light seeps in, but no one responds. I hear footsteps moving away from the place.

"Damn, they can't hear me," I mutter in a whisper.

I take out my phone and dial Laudis' number. The voicemail picks up, there's no signal in the theater's basement, only on the stairs that lead to the stage, and I am in one of the bathrooms farthest from the stairs.

"Damn," I say in a hushed voice. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There are less than thirty minutes left before going on stage and I have to get dressed. I can't get dressed while being nervous, it won't go well.

"But no one hears me, or they could've heard me and still left," I think to myself. It's absurd, no matter how much rivalry there is among dancers, no one would be capable of doing something like this. No one except

"Débora," I say aloud.

At that moment, the bathroom door opens and a man, tall, very athletic, even at first sight I can perceive it when he's dressed in a tuxedo and with intensely haunting eyes of a deep navy blue, looks at me from the door frame. I let out a choked sigh, it's the same man I saw in the backseat of my car last night, I saw him for a moment through the rearview mirror before he transformed into a… beast.