Chords that Bind Ch. 17

His hands shook as he pulled a leftover curry out of the fridge and heated it up. If she'd been eating poorly, her body wouldn't be able to recover from all the work she did. The pain ballerinas endured . . . but her feet always looked pretty bad.

Abe carried the food on a tray upstairs. He set it down in front of Clara. When she started to feed herself, Abe sat in his armchair, observing his wife and worrying about her looming recovery. A broken foot was a bad diagnosis for a ballerina.

"Clara, tell me why. Why wouldn't you get your foot looked at?"

Now that she had to say it aloud, Clara felt the folly and futility. "I got my chance, my big break with Alice, because another dancer got hurt. Then they cast me in a lead role for Streetcar. I was afraid if I had to sit out, the directors would replace me too, and I'd never get another chance again. They didn't give me the part I wanted in the Nutcracker. I was worried they'd already grown tired of me. Coffee isn't especially difficult."

Abe couldn't wrap his head around ballet company politics. Clara's part seemed plenty difficult enough to him. It was incredible what his wife, his willing submissive, achieved with her body. "Clara, what part did you want?" He was curious in spite of his anger.

"Dew Drop, in the Waltz of the Flowers."

That meant nothing to Abe. Maybe he'd ask James later.

"You're very mad at me." Clara whispered.

"I am." His answer made her cower. "You made an injury worse because the part they gave you wasn't hard enough?"

"What are you going to do?" Clara wanted him to punish her. If he punished her, then she could be forgiven and they could move on.

Abe didn't have the patience for this right now. He never expected Clara's masochistic streak to show itself like this. She was in no condition to play games. A spanking wasn't going to solve this problem anyway. His voice came out hard. "You're going to the doctor tomorrow. And whatever he says, you're going to listen."

Clara opened her mouth to plead her case, but Abe would not be deterred. "I mean it Clara. If Dr. Kessler says you aren't to dance for a year, you're going to heed his advice."

Clara hung her head and picked at the remainders of her food. She didn't have anything further to say. She watched helplessly as her husband cleared the tray and left her in bed. "Get some rest, Clara."

***

Abraham was sitting in the den not paying attention to the football game on the telly, when she heard the front door open. Cecilia's bell-like laughter carried through the house, heralding her and James's return. Good. He needed James right now.

Cecilia walked in with James behind her. "Where's Clara?"

"She's resting."

James glanced at his friend and knew something was off. "Cecilia, I need to speak with Abe. Go upstairs and wait for me."

Cecilia nodded and obeyed. James turned to Abe.

"You look like someone stole your puppy, mate."

Silence.

"What's wrong?"

Abe didn't know where to start, and James fell into cross-examination mode to try and understand. He thought that Abe and Clara would be ensconced in their room for the night or out for a quiet dinner. It wasn't that late.

"Abe, did you and Clara have an argument?"

"Not as such."

"I didn't think we'd see you two until tomorrow."

"She's not well."

"I'm not surprised she came down with something. Flu?"

Abe didn't like being peppered with questions when it came down to it. "I have to take her to Dr. Kessler's surgery in the morning. I think she broke her foot."

"What? What happened?" Clara had been fine just a couple hours ago. James fished the decanter out from behind a copy of L'Morte D'Artur and poured a finger of brandy into two glasses.

"The promotion at the company happened! The ruddy ballet happened! She's been dancing on broken feet!"

James frowned. He couldn't imagine such agony. Abe continued: "She injured her foot . . . and then she tried to cover it up. She wouldn't have told me if I hadn't seen when I was . . . well, anyway."

James gave him a half grimace. "Are you sure they're broken? Not to trivialize, but Clara's feet always take a beating. They usually look a bit . . . colorful."

"At least the one is definitely broken, so far as I can tell. When I asked her about it she broke down and started crying about how she's afraid she won't dance again."

"Surely, it's not that bad?

"I wouldn't know. But right now, I want to tell her she's to quit the company."

"You can't do that, Abe." James worried Abe would do something he'd regret.

"Damn it, James! I know! But I want to. While Clara's worried about dancing, I'm concerned she'll hurt herself beyond repair. They don't encourage dancers to rest or take care of themselves. They push them and run them ragged and then if someone gets hurt, it's just an opportunity for someone else. Clara's up there in tears and pain because of a bunch of petty girls and flamboyant snobs. It's getting into her head. She stopped eating meat and she's lost weight. She got it into her head that they didn't like her dancing anymore. I love her, but she doesn't look healthy . . . James . . ." Abe didn't dare ask the question most on his mind.

James sighed. Whatever he thought was wrong with his best mate, he hadn't been prepared for this. "Abe I'm sorry. I don't know. You're sure about her skipping meals?"

"She says she hasn't. I don't believe her though. And I hate that. I hate that I don't believe my wife because of what that world is like. I thought I could anchor her and she could withstand all of the pressure." Abe felt like a failure.

"Is there anything I can do?" James was at a loss and worried for his friends. What was going on with Clara was beyond him. His mobile buzzed, distracting him.

Abe shook his head. "I guess we'll know more tomorrow."

James glanced up from his phone looking troubled. "Let me know if there is something I can do."

"Right then. 'Night James."

***

Abe woke early in the morning on the sofa in the den. He slept there last night because he hoped Clara was sleeping and he didn't want to disturb her. But that was only part of it. His anger hadn't yet subsided. He'd told the doctor they'd be in first thing, but it was so early it was still dark out.

He made himself a fortifying cup of tea and scrambled some eggs. He would watch Clara eat before they set out for the surgery.

When he went up for a shower, he was glad to hear Clara's breathing was deep and even. At least she'd gotten some sleep. He showered and changed. Clara was awake when he emerged.

"I made you some breakfast. Eat and then we can get ready to go."

Clara could feel his anger, even though he looked calm. "Yes Sir."

She pulled on some yoga pants and a company sweatshirt. When it came time to put on some shoes though, Abe intervened. "I'll carry you down. Your right foot is so swollen I don't know how you were wearing shoes."

He scooped her up and carried her down to the car. The drive was quiet and Clara was too miserable and anxious to try to break the heavy silence.

Abe carried her into the doctor's surgery. After the paperwork was settled, they were ushered into an examination room. Abe set her down. "Be honest with the doctor. Tell him everything."

Clara was saved from answering when Dr. Kessler walked in.

***

Several hours and an x-ray later, it was confirmed. Clara had a nasty fracture in her right foot and was developing stress fractures in her left. That was bad enough, but there was more. Abe pushed her to mention her eating habits, which meant the doctor wanted to do blood work.

The results showed a vitamin deficiency and iron deficiency. Abe's face remained stoic. The doctor proceeded to lecture her about eating properly. He didn't recommend a vegetarian diet for someone as physically active as Clara, but insisted if she was going to try it, that she see a nutritionist. Leaving out meat and eating too lightly could have weakened her body and slowed its ability to repair itself.

Then the doctor said what she was most afraid of hearing: "You should stay off your feet entirely for at least two weeks and wait another two months before you even consider dancing. You'll need to brace your foot and walk in a boot with crutches." Clara started crying again, and so Dr. Kessler relayed the rest of her recovery schedule to her husband. He also referred Clara to a nutritionist who specialized in professional athletes.

Eight to twelve weeks. Over two months with no dancing. She had to do physical therapy, too. They'd kick her out of the company. Clara cried while Abe drove them home through the drizzly fog.

James told Cecilia about Clara's injuries. Cecilia was appalled that her friend was in so much pain. She applied herself to trying to return her friend's kindness. After all, Clara had worked a miracle by helping Cecilia to recover. Chicken and mushroom soup wafted through the townhouse.

The front door opened, and Abe inhaled appreciatively. Soup was exactly what today called for. Clara still hadn't said anything since the doctor told her she wouldn't be able to dance for over a month. She was numb as Abe carried her into the kitchen.

"How was it?" James asked kindly as Abe deposited his wife in a chair at the table.

Clara's voice was raw from crying. She tried to play it off. "Not great. Both my feet are aren't in great shape."

Abe cut in sharply, "The doctor said if she continued to dance, she would've broken the other one too."

"Broken?! How long until it's better, Clara?" Cecilia immediately regretted her question. Abe scowled and Clara looked ready to burst into fresh tears.

"It looks like it'll be six to eight weeks before she can walk on her own." Abraham answered for her with a sigh. "Cecilia, that smells great. Is it ready yet?"

"We were just waiting for you. I'll get you a bowl."

James didn't like to see his friends so strained. He didn't know them to fight, and he couldn't remember the last time Abe was this moody. He could tell that the gulf between the two was deep. It could take longer to heal the rift between them, than it took Clara's feet to mend.

***

After supper and watching a movie, James and Cecilia went upstairs, leaving Abraham and Clara alone.

"Why is Abe so upset?" Cecilia asked, relieved to get away from the tension.

James wondered if she would notice. "Because he's worried that Clara will do permanent damage to herself. Dancers are notoriously bad at paying attention to aches and pains. You've seen dancers' feet, haven't you? Abe doesn't want Clara to be another ballerina with crippled feet and an eating disorder."

"What? I've seen Clara eat. She doesn't have an eating disorder!" Cecilia rushed to defend her friend.

"We don't know that right now." James said sadly. "These things can be insidious. Let's pray Abe is overreacting."

Cecilia nodded and climbed into bed. "I've seen movies and heard stories, but I guess I never thought it all applied to Clara. Is there something I should have noticed?"

James loved how Cecilia considered others. "I don't think we were meant to notice. She was hiding it very well. Clara's world is filled with this sort of thing. That's what makes it so difficult to detect. With so many talented girls injured, and so many dancers eating poorly . . . sometimes it seems as if the healthy ones are the anomaly."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"There may be. We'll see. Cecilia?"

"Yes Sir?" she answered, alert and ready for whatever he might ask.

"I expect you to take care of yourself. I know you don't push your body like Clara does, but if ever you're hurt, then I want to know. It's important to me."

"Yes Sir."

"Good girl."

Maybe it made James paranoid, but as he put his mobile on 'do not disturb' his imagination supplied him with visions of an emaciated and physically broken Cecilia. He felt as though an iron fist seized his stomach at the thought and didn't envy what his best friend was going through.

"I have a surprise for you tomorrow." James said, changing the subject.

"Oh?! What is it?"

"You don't honestly expect me to tell you, do you?"

"Well Sir, I had to try."

"Well, good try. You'll see tomorrow. Until then, come here. I know you've got to be cold."

Cecilia smiled and snuggled closer to James as he turned out the lights.

***

Cecilia woke with James's arm draped over her waist. It wasn't often she rose before him, and she enjoyed his unguarded countenance and peaceful repose. The sheet pulled down in the night, and he was bare-chested. She enjoyed the play of skin against skin, but wondered: What can I possibly give you for Christmas when you have made all my dreams and desires real?

His answer about a present the other day hadn't been remotely helpful. With only a few days left, Cecilia was desperate, but no closer to puzzling out an acceptable gift.

James woke to Cecilia stroking his thick, straw-colored hair. Her nails massaged his scalp and he wondered if he should feign sleep so as to prolong the pleasure. He smiled and stretched. "What are you thinking about, little fox?"

His question broke her out of a daze. "Nothing much, Sir."

"Wondering about that surprise I mentioned?" he teased.

"Are you going to tell me?" she asked hopefully.

"Not yet."

Cecilia hopped out of bed. "I suppose I'll go make some tea then."

"I'll be down in a bit," said James, chagrined by the loss of her presence in his bed.

***

Clara had been up for hours. She begged Abe to let her sleep down here, insisting that he get rest in their bed. In fact, the couch was better for keeping her feet elevated. She just hadn't been prepared for him to leave for work without saying goodbye. She still felt numb. He hadn't said much of anything to her and his silence was haunting. Dinner last night had been tense. She was the one who was hurt. So why was he the one who was so angry?

Cecilia started making some tea, and was startled when Clara called out, "Is that you Cecilia?"

"Clara! Sorry. What are you doing down here?"

"It was easier then getting up the stairs."

"Let me get you a cup of tea and some breakfast."

"You don't have to bother on my account."

"Don't worry. I was already making some for myself. Besides, you were so good to me when I was recovering." Cecilia silently wondered if James was right about Clara's eating habits. Cecilia made tea and toasted some bread, bringing a tray over to Clara.

"Thank you."

"So have you told everyone about your feet?"

Clara took a sip and nodded. "I called the company yesterday."

"What did they say?"

"Just to take the time to recover. Leah—that's the dance mistress—told me that when I was able to, to come and take physical therapy. We have a physical therapist who works just for the company . . . Meanwhile, they brought an understudy up from the corps to take over the remaining shows, and are letting one of the students fill in as a snowflake for her . . . so at least the show will go on." Clara sounded bitter.

"At least now you'll get to have Christmas Eve and Christmas day with us."

"I suppose so. Now that I've ruined everything . . ."

"That's not true. You can't help that you got hurt."

"Maybe not. But my husband's acting like it's my fault. You should have seen him."

Cecilia just leaned over and gave her hug. "He's just worried about you. We all are. But I see you're eating. So that's good." Maybe James and Abe were wrong about this eating disorder business.

"Is everyone monitoring my eating?" Clara's question was tinged with outrage.

"Clara, I-I don't—" Cecilia had never seen Clara upset before.

"'At least you're eating!' Why did you say that?"

"James told me that Abe said—"

"I'm fine. Everyone is overreacting!"

"I didn't mean to make you upset." Cecilia apologized.

"Morning Clara. I thought you'd be resting still." James came in and poured himself some tea.

"I fell asleep early last night."

James nodded, detecting that he'd interrupted a heated conversation. "I'm going to take my toast up to the studio and then I have a few errands to run. Cecilia, can you be ready to go out around two?"

"Is this the surprise you mentioned?" Cecilia asked eagerly.

"It might be." James said enigmatically. "Just be ready. Nothing too formal, but definitely smart." Without saying anything more, he took his leave.

"That's mysterious," Clara said, relieved to change the subject.

"I have no idea what he's on about. But it makes me nervous. I still haven't found anything right to give him. You're sure you don't have any ideas?"

The awkward conversation about Clara's health behind, them they fell into easy conversation again. "No. But maybe if you go to the shops you'll see something that strikes your fancy."

"I don't suppose you're well enough to come with me?" Cecilia still wasn't sure about venturing out by herself.

"If anyone catches me on my feet I'll be in even more trouble."

"Right. Maybe today's the day I try it myself."

Clara sighed. "Sorry I got mad. I'm not feeling very festive. I just wish I could make Abraham relax about everything. That's all I want this year."

Cecilia gave her a hug. "I'm sure it'll work out. He loves you."

"I know. Go and find something for James. Don't let my gloominess get in the way."

"Thanks Clara. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine for a few hours. Just a bit bored. I guess I'm about to see what's new on Netflix."

***

Cecilia was lost in thought about her friend, but as she walked through the posh streets with Christmas decorations, she felt her spirits lift.

She didn't like to think about the strain between Abe and Clara. They were so stable that Cecilia couldn't help but feel uncertain about her own relationship.

Cecilia kept wondering at James's light touch when it came to rules and protocol. It was so different from what she thought he wanted. He gave her so much freedom. Even as she walked down the London street unaccompanied, she shivered.

So many shops were selling things that didn't make sense for James. He had fine clothes already. Unlike Abe, James didn't go for the newest gadgets. Also, she didn't have very much money.

James gave her a debit card to his bank account, but she couldn't very well buy him a present with his own money. Her own bank account, from her old life, hadn't been replenished in over a year. True, she didn't have to pay for rent or food, because James took care of her, but after all he'd done for her, she wanted to give him something.

She wandered into a stationary shop, admiring the pens and inkwells arrayed in neat rows. She didn't see shops like these in Philadelphia. Americans didn't much care for this sort of thing. Perhaps one of those pens... she'd seen James use a fountain pen before...

A shop attendant came over and asked if there was anything she wanted to see. He was older with greying hair and distinguished.

"That hunter green one there?" Cecilia pointed to a gleaming fountain pen.

"Ah, the Pelikan! You must be real calligraphy enthusiast," the shopkeeper complimented her.

"Oh, well..." Cecilia didn't know what to say. She didn't know the first thing about this. The man handed her the pen. It was heavy. He pushed a piece of blank paper towards her. "Go on and get a feel for it. Is this a gift?"

"It is." She wrote her signature on the rich paper. Oh... she liked the way it felt. Very old-world. It reminded her of James.

The man nodded, happy to see such a young woman appreciate his wares. "I like this."

"Wonderful. Shall I wrap it for you while you browse?"

Cecilia wasn't used to this sort of service. "Um, well, how much is it?"

"770£, miss. But for you, since it's a Christmas present, 650£."