Henri Beaumont sat in his office. Last night, somehow, a young man had managed to get backstage and had almost made it to the girls’ dressing room before young Étienne had stopped him. I did not think that young boy had it in him, Henri thought to himself, smiling.
And then there was tonight. This foreigner had ended up backstage not long after eight, and she had collided with Karyn. Karyn had ended up on her rear on the chorus dressing room floor until one of the other dancers helped her to a chair.
Now, according to Madeleine, she was not fit to continue performing for the rest of the evening. She had just about made it through Le Jardin des Plumes. Since then, Karyn had been sitting in Madeleine’s office with the young man who was a friend of Madeleine’s. What was his name again?
It didn’t matter. If Madeleine hadn’t introduced him, Henri would have thought he was the same man from the night before, but Madeleine had assured him he wasn’t. He seemed a nice enough young man, not that Henri had seen much of him, but he had escorted Karyn to the dressing room so that she could change out of her costume and into the outfit she had worn to the theatre that afternoon.
Madeleine had given him a small note to give to Claudette so that she would not shout at him too much.
At least Karyn was not badly hurt, as far as Madeleine had told him. That was one problem out of the way for today; now he needed to get hold of Marcel. Henri had come up with an idea about how to fix the security problem.
“Il faut absolument que quelqu’un reste à la porte des artistes. C’est manifestement par là que tous ces gens réussissent à entrer dans le théâtre.” (“We absolutely need someone stationed at the stage door. That is clearly where all these people are managing to get into the theatre.”)
Henri looked at the clock above his office door. He had had it installed at the same time as the others backstage. He knew that Marcel would be getting ready to help Élise off the stage once her number had finished. Plenty of time for him to get hold of him and sort things out.
Meanwhile, in the chorus dressing room, Lucienne Moreau sat finishing her makeup, making sure it was perfect before she and the girls went back on stage for their last number of the night without Karyn.
She had been the one who kissed her in the corridor earlier.
She had promised herself that she would not do anything like that.
They had agreed to remain friends.
For the moment.
She remembered that conversation. Of course she did. It had not even been particularly dramatic. That somehow made it worse.
They had been sitting together after a performance a few months ago, long after most of the others had left.
Karyn had been the one to finally say what both of them had been avoiding.
“Nous ne pouvons pas continuer comme ça, Lucienne.” (“We cannot continue like this, Lucienne.”) Karyn had told her.
Lucienne could remember looking at her.
“Tu veux me quitter ?” (“You want to leave me?”) she had replied.
Karyn shook her head.
“Je ne sais pas ce que je veux. C’est bien là le problème. Nous nous disputons pour des sottises, puis nous faisons comme si rien ne s’était passé.” (“I don’t know what I want. That’s the problem. We argue about foolish things, and then we pretend nothing happened.”)
Lucienne remembered how much those words had hurt. She knew how true they were.
“Alors, qu’est-ce que tu proposes ?” (“Then what are you suggesting?”) she asked.
Karyn took her hand.
Lucienne could still remember exactly how it had felt.
Warm.
Familiar.
“Pour le moment, restons simplement amies. Avant de finir par nous faire vraiment du mal.” (“For the moment, let us simply remain friends. Before we end up truly hurting one another.”) Karyn told her.
For the moment.
Lucienne remembered walking home afterwards, wondering whether they had actually ended their relationship or merely placed it somewhere safe until they were ready to try again.
And tonight she had kissed Karyn again. She wasn’t sure why she had done it.
No, that wasn’t true.
She had missed her.
That was the truth she had been trying not to admit. She missed talking to her. She missed making her laugh. She missed the way Karyn would squeeze her hand for the briefest moment backstage whenever nobody was looking. She missed being able to kiss her without having to apologise afterwards.
Maybe she should talk to her about it. Yes, that was what she would do. She would go around to Karyn’s apartment and talk to her, and see where they stood after tonight’s kiss.
A voice called from nearby.
“Lucienne, tu rêves encore à ton amoureux ?” (“Lucienne, are you dreaming about that man of yours?”) Mireille asked her.
“Non, je réfléchissais, c’est tout.” (“No, I was just thinking.”) Lucienne replied.
Whatever happened with Karyn could wait until tomorrow.
For now, she had a performance to finish getting ready for.
Back in Madeleine’s office, Karyn sat quietly.
Madeleine had been gone for a few minutes now, dealing with whatever it was she had to deal with. Perhaps it was Julien, looking for Colette again. That young man had certainly fallen for her badly.
Wait. How on earth did she know about Julien?
She was certain she had never met anyone by that name.
Perhaps it was simply a name she had overheard while sitting in the dressing room earlier. Yes, that must be it. She must have heard it then. Perhaps Lucienne had mentioned him while helping her prepare.
Lucienne.
Karyn had tried not to dwell upon the kiss they had shared earlier. She had other matters to worry about. Yet the more she tried to put it from her mind, the more she found herself thinking about those lovely, soft lips of hers.
She ought not to have leaned into the kiss as she had, but somehow it had felt perfectly natural to be kissing Lucienne.
She had kept this secret from Jon, and there was certainly no reason to share something so personal with a stranger like Madeleine.
But Jon was not a stranger. She had known him for years.
Still, something inside her told her that he would not understand. And so she kept it to herself—well, between herself and those soft lips.
