16. Exposed
Chapter sixteen
Exposed
The stage lights burned Lorelle’s skin. She could only watch, gasping shallow breaths, as Vanesa pinched the glove one finger at a time and held her tin hand aloft, as if it were a trophy.
“Look at this!” She sneered. “She’s a fraud.”
The tin caught the light, blinding her and blurring with the hot tears that burned her eyes. Even though Lorelle sat flat on the floor, the stage seemed to tilt below her like cresting ocean waves. And she was sinking.
Gasps echoed around her, and Lorelle couldn’t ignore the faces of her fellow dancers.
Shock, surprise, disdain, and contempt swam in the sea of faces.
A few lighthouses of pity beamed from the crowd, but no one stretched out a hand to help her up.
Not one lifeline was extended to lift her from drowning as she was.
Vanesa leaned down, lowering her voice so it wasn’t heard above the whispers. “That’s what you get for interfering,” she snapped. She dropped Lorelle’s hand, where it resounded as it hit the ground.
Lorelle snatched it up.
“Directora!” Vanesa called, moving to the front of the stage. “What are you going to do about her?”
Lorelle stood unsteadily, testing her ankles. At least nothing was twisted, even if she had been shoved. Her fingers gripped her tin hand in a strong grasp. Lorelle took a breath and raised her chin. Even though her chin wobbled, she wouldn’t give Vanesa the satisfaction of gloating.
“Someone with those . . . rasgos,” la directora answered, “is not fit to be a part of the company.” Her gaze flickered to Lorelle, her eyes freezing and unrelenting.
And that was enough to break her. Tears overflowed, and she ran from the stage.
As Lorelle ran, she heard Vanesa’s crowing. “I should dance as Maria . . . I don’t know why you picked her in the first place. I knew there was something off about her . . .”
And then Vanesa’s voice was swallowed by the curtains as Lorelle pushed through the wings of the stage, forcing her way past clueless dancers and stagehands and exiting from the back of the theater.
As she stepped into the courtyard, misting rain hit her skin like a cold wave dousing her. She threw the tin hand on the marble walkway behind her, the metal clattering as it hit the ground, and she was sure the pinkie finger was truly broken now, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Her world was tilting on its axis. It felt as though the stage had been pulled out from beneath her. She wasn’t strong enough to stay afloat in the storm raging around her.
She rushed into the dancers’ quarters, lit only by a flickering gas lamp, and she hurried to her pack. Her fingers trembled as she hefted it over her shoulder. Had it always been this heavy?
She tried to grasp for the words that she knew God said of her, but the only one that hit her then was, My grace is sufficient for thee: For my strength is made perfect in weakness.
But right then, she felt too weak to even stand.
And not a drop of divine strength flowed through her to carry her out the door into an uncertain future.
But somehow, even if she didn’t see it or feel it, God would help her through this moment.
Even if she had to wade through a difficult season in the next few months as she figured out what she would do.
Without the company, with her secret exposed, she had little to go for her.
“Jesus,” she whispered, “I really need You right now.”
Footsteps sounded, and she tensed.
“If you’ve come to gloat, Vanesa, don’t bother,” she snapped. “I’ll leave you the costume. You already have one of the gloves.”
Metal caught the light as the figure stepped forward.
But it wasn’t Vanesa holding her tin hand, but a young woman.
She wore a plain pink dress, a red woven shawl draped across her shoulders.
Red ringlets fell in fiery waves, catching the light and making her blue eyes all the brighter.
And it was only when Lorelle spotted the crown on the young woman’s head that she realized she was facing Princess Teresa herself.
Lorelle fell to one knee and bowed her head.
“Perdóname, princesa,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you.
I’m leaving the castle now with all my things.
I just need . . .” She raised her eyes to the tin hand clutched in the princess’s hands.
“I just need my hand, and I won’t bother you anymore. ”
“May I speak with you for a moment?” the princess asked. “Before you make your decision.”
The princess held out the hand and Lorelle took it, but when she caught a glimpse of the princess’s face, she didn’t see scorn or derision, but something like understanding.
Lorelle nodded, though she wouldn’t have denied the princess any request. Not when it was within Princess Teresa’s power to make today’s ridicule a greater torment or maybe, just maybe, lessen it slightly.
“Why do you dance?” the princess asked.
The question surprised Lorelle. “Because, well, I love it.”
“But why?” The princess stepped forward. She seemed to be searching for a deeper answer. “What makes you keep going when it’s hard?”
Guilt squeezed Lorelle’s chest. She would be a hypocrite to answer now.
She wouldn’t be able to keep dancing after today, not when the word of her disability made it to the rest of the dance companies and any other potential prospects.
She had come up against the hardest thing in her life, and she was running.
She gripped the strap of her pack even tighter, the leather biting into her palm.
“I don’t,” she whispered. “I’m leaving.”
“Please don’t,” the princess said. “What about before? Why did you dance pretending to be like everyone else?”
“Would I have been accepted if I wasn’t?” Lorelle said quietly. She let out a breath. “No academy would have accepted a one-handed dancer, and no company would take on a ballerina like me. Especially not now.”
The princess’s voice broke. “There has to be some kind of hope.”
Lorelle wiped her eyes. “I had hoped that if you saw me dance,” she whispered, “that your favor might help me. But that’s impossible now.” She stood. “I’ll leave you, Your Highness.” She dipped her head.
“No,” said the princess, and Lorelle looked up in surprise, meeting the princess’s gaze for the first time. Determination glinted in her blue eyes. “That’s not impossible. Not for you . . . or anyone else.” She let out a breath. “Come with me.”
The princess started back out of the room, and Lorelle had no other choice but to follow.
Could she hold on to that last thread of hope that her life might turn around?
Would the princess’s favor really change la directora’s mind?
Maybe for this production, but the second they left the castle for the next show, she would be tossed to the streets.
A real change would be impossible.
Lorelle dragged her feet as she followed the princess, who took small steps along the walkway back to the theater. Lorelle slipped her tin hand back on, but she didn’t have the glove anymore to hide the glint of metal. That secret had been exposed by Vanesa. And for what? A role?
Angry tears pricked her eyes, then something like pity tore through Lorelle as she thought of the young, talented dancer.
Vanesa had all the makings to be a principal dancer herself, but the stage lights shone on all of them the same, and no matter what each dancer hoped to gain under the spotlight, the applause could never fully bury insecurity or loneliness. Lorelle knew that all too well.
The princess went in the front entrance of the theater and strode down the aisle with a regal air that made Lorelle feel even smaller.
The stage rose up in front of them. The music had started again, and la directora had managed to pull the dancers together to rehearse again.
La directora was in the middle of giving instructions when curious whispers from the dancers made her turn around and spot the princess.
“Ah, Your Highness,” la directora said, stepping up to the princess and bowing her head. Her eyes flickered to Lorelle, but to her credit, her smile didn’t waver. “Can I help you?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “you can. Lorelle will be dancing in your production.” She gestured for Lorelle to step forward.
La directora blinked. “She has been dismissed from the company,” she answered, starting to bristle at the princess’s statement. “She will no longer be participating in the production.”
“Why was she dismissed?” asked the princess, her voice neutral as if she was facing down a familiar attitude, though Lorelle doubted the princess had ever been spoken to that way before.
La directora now looked at Lorelle pointedly. “Well, she lied. She has pretended that she has capability that she doesn’t. She does not have a hand, when I wanted to hire a whole dancer.”
Lorelle winced at la directora’s words. And now she caught a glimpse of anger spark in the princess’s eyes.
“I’ve seen her dance yesterday and today,” said the princess. “Her technique and ability is not any different from your other dancers. She is fit to dance in the production, even if she is no longer a part of your company.”
La directora laughed now. “And why would I allow a cripple to dance?”
And there it was. A few dancers nearby gasped, and Lorelle caught the gaze of a friendly face—Isabel—her expression one of anger. A few stagehands paused to look on.
“Because,” the princess said coolly, “I would expect you to extend the same respect and dignity to your princess.”