Svetlana’s fingers curled into her feathered skirt as anger poured molten through her veins. It was a delicate mask made of stiffened Venetian black lace. Black diamonds studded the winged tips.
“They will come from all over Paris to see the Russian swan dance on my stage.” His face hovered in the mirror over her shoulder. “You will dazzle them.”
“I danced on the stages of Petersburg, not before drunken ex-aristocrats.”
“Think of it as staying in practice. For when I introduce you to Sergei Diaghilev and his Ballets Russes, the epitome of Russian culture here in Paris.”
A gasp sprang to her lips. The impresario Diaghilev was known for his groundbreaking artistry and collaboration with masters in choreography, composition, and dance. To dance for the Ballets Russes was to achieve the highest honor for a Russian artist outside of their homeland. Perhaps if she were to gain the approval of Diaghilev she could earn a wage to repay the debt owed Sheremetev and no longer rely on their dwindling jewels for basic survival.
“If I dance tonight, you will introduce me to Diaghilev tomorrow.”
“I see this delights you. Proper introductions will be made at the earliest convenience.” The corners of Sheremetev’s mouth turned up, dimples in the dough. He turned to leave. “I’ll inform the band you’re on next.”
The stage spotlight bled through the curtain, washing Svetlana in muted red as she waited. No more being coerced into dancing for others. After tonight she would secure a respectable way to settle their account at the White Bear and be done with the horrid place for good. One more dance. That was all.
A woman sat on a stool a few feet away, neatly tucked between a stack of chairs and crates of wine. Cigarette smoke curled from her lip. Her slouched posture and brightly rouged cheeks looked familiar.
“Hello again, Duchess. I see land on feet.” The working woman she’d met on the street. From the looks of things, work had not been kind of late.
“Tatya, was it? A surprise to see you here.”
“Not surprise when this where all Russians come for good time.”
Svetlana searched for something appropriate to say, but what did one say to a girl of her station?
“I don’t believe the guests are allowed backstage. You’ll enjoy the show more from the tables.”
“I no guest.”
“You work here?”
“
Svetlana shook her head. Never did she wish to claim working here. “I’m doing a favor for Mr. Sheremetev.”
Tatya barked with laughter that stuttered into a cough. “We all favors for Mr. Sheremetev. You prettiest yet.”
One of the locked doors along the hallway opened and a jacketless man with the front of his shirt unbuttoned motioned at Tatya. The woman jumped off the stool and ground her cigarette under her heel. She sauntered by Svetlana, tweaking one of her feathers.
“Showtime, Duchess.”
* * *
“Is it done?” Marina asked sleepily from her pallet on the cold floor as Svetlana and Mama slipped into their makeshift quarters.
Svetlana groped for their single candle and a match. A tiny light sprang to life, producing a halo of orange that didn’t quite
reach the entirety of the space. “Nearly,
Marina yawned and stretched, mimicking her nickname of little kitten. “I’ll be glad when you don’t go there anymore. It’s lonely without you.”
Guilt swelled in Svetlana’s chest. There was only one way to alleviate it, but it came at the price of her pride. One look at her little sister’s pale face and she moved past her spat with Mama. Svetlana would paint herself and twirl like a bawd as many times as it took to remove her sister from this place.
“You should have seen her tonight. Dressed like a swan in pearls and feathers. I’ve never heard such rapturous applause.” Mama shimmied out of her gown and placed it in the trunk with all the others. “She has an introduction to Monsieur Diaghilev of the Ballets Russes. Think of the prestige of performing on a Parisian stage.”
Svetlana slipped her aching feet out of her shoes and rubbed the dull ache in her shin. She tried forgetting about the earlier spat for Marina’s sake, but Mama gave a valiant effort for resurrecting it.
“Your tune about my dancing is oddly different than a few hours ago.”
“Think of those attending Ballets Russes. Nobility, gentlemen and ladies. Diamonds and evening gloves. One step closer to the world in which we belong.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful, Mama.” Marina met Svetlana’s eye. She had learned the patience of placating their mother long before Svetlana could even attempt it. “Only because Svetka’s grace will outshine them all.” She coughed and fell back on her pillow.