Nutcracker Sweet Read online

  Nutcracker Sweet

  By

  Jennifer Mueller

  Dedication:

  To my little ballerina!

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Nutcracker Sweet by Jennifer Mueller

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Publishing with a touch of Class! ™

  The symbol of the Red Rose and Red Rose is a trademark of Red Rose™ Publishing

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Copyright© 2007 Jennifer Mueller

  ISBN: 978-1-60435-232-0

  Cover Artist: Jennifer Mueller

  Editor: Pam

  Line Editor: WRFG

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  www.redrosepublishing.com

  Forestport, NY 13338

  Thank you for purchasing a book from Red Rose™Publishing where publishing

  comes with a touch of Class!

  Nutcracker Sweet

  By

  Jennifer Mueller

  Chapter One

  “Quiet.” A deep voice boomed from the other room. The corridor was packed on both sides, benches full, people standing in doorways trying to catch a glimpse of the dancers within the rooms.

  Tara Barbour pushed her way through the crush of people, using her body to shield her four-year-old daughter from the onslaught. Her Chinese, Irish, and English ancestry made the girl stand out among everyone else in the hall. “All right, get your shoes and clothes off. You have five minutes before class starts.” Tara rushed to help her daughter get down to a little pink skirt and shoes. Clad all in pink Tara hurried to get a bun in Megan's dark hair.

  As Megan ran off for class, Tara collapsed. Traffic had been bad and now nothing to do for an hour. Just to sit there and stare at the knitters, the seamstresses, the women that lived there, that made up the Ballet Academy. Four was the youngest they would take kids, and in the annual production of the Nutcracker, they started out as mice. Two and a half months in class and they expected four-year olds to perform in a full professional production, complete with former Bolshoi dancers. Clara in her nightgown ran past followed by a line of angels. Final costume fittings had people everywhere, the most Tara had never seen. As a mouse it was pretty painless; they practiced during their one hour class, showed up an hour before performance to rehearse on stage and after their two minute part they went and played games till bows. One performance, that's it. But the women who talked as if old friends, many in Russian, they never had a word for Tara.

  Slowly as the class change ended, the corridor emptied somewhat, and she could actually breathe. Earlier that fall she would have gone strolling at the farmers’ market, a block away. Picking up fresh veggies, a cream cheese danish, the likes of which no one had ever seen, but December only a few brave souls stood out selling now, if you were in the mood for meat. So she sat. One day perhaps, if Megan kept it up, she might know them all by name, take up knitting, but frankly while she could afford the $120 a quarter now, when the fees went upwards of $600 a quarter it would kill her. A four-year-old had to stick with it for twelve years for that, though.

  “This seat taken?”

  Tara lifted her eyes to find herself staring at one of the few men she had seen in the melee. An oddity—even among the parents men were hard to come by. “Uh no.”

  He sank down with a sigh as the voice from the other room yelled, “Grand jeté.” It was hard to tell what he really looked like, his face was covered in paint, and an old man's wig covered his head. He was young enough though. At least his piercing brown eyes were.

  “A few weeks and you'll be able to breathe again,” he murmured, putting a water bottle to his mouth.

  “I thought it was always like this.”

  “You'll be surprised how many don't show up after The Nutcracker is over. The mice anyway.”

  Tara shriveled a bit inside at the idea she would have to admit such a thing in the crowd she was in. “I suppose you'll hate me if I say I've never seen the ballet.”

  His eyebrow rose slowly. “Isn't there some girl's movie out about it?”

  Tara couldn't help but laugh. “Why do you think my daughter wanted to take ballet? What bits of the story I've seen from Megan's movie though, I don't think it’s anything close to the ballet. Clara gets a nutcracker and it comes to life, that's what I know.”

  Tara felt his breath near her ear. The women ignored her but he seemed to actually be flirting with her of all things, even if he was dressed as an old man.

  “I wouldn't let those women over there hear you say that. Her daughter’s seventeen, and she still sits there every minute she's in rehearsal. I'm not sure she has a life other than The Nutcracker. The knitters over there, their daughters can dance every part at the sound of the music alone.”

  “So what do I need to know so I don't stick out like a sore thumb?”

  His eyes danced with laughter, but he kept it from the others. “Clara gets a nutcracker for Christmas. She goes to sleep after her brother breaks him, and your little mouse dances around her, gets scared off by the rats ruled by the rat king. The nutcracker comes to life, they fight and Clara escapes with him into an enchanted world. She wakes up back where she fell asleep, never sure if it was all a dream.”

  “That's the condensed version, I imagine.”

  “Just a bit. You have tickets to see it though, you'll learn the story soon enough.”

  Tara stared at the announcement board. “No, since Megan's dad died things are tight. Ballet lessons were the one thing she asked for, birthday and Christmas.”

  “Go push your way over to the door and watch rehearsal then. Most of them are just being stage moms; they've seen it a dozen times, not counting rehearsal. They're getting ready to run through the dances from different lands, Spain, Arabia, and Russia.”

  The yell filled the hall. “Jake, you're on!”

  “That's me,” he said, and stood quickly. “Be sure to go see some of it.”

  Tara sank into the last free space on the benches a week later. Megan vanished rapidly out of sight with a bunch of kids hanging out in the hall. With deep snow outside, the farmer's market was seriously not in the plans. Tara pulled out her Christmas cards and address book. After last year with none at all, she was determined she would get them out this year, to Brian's family especially. Brian's death had been only a month before, back then.

  “Rat's let's practice,” a deep voice yelled from the other room. Megan had mentioned that the rats were scary, so Tara peeked inside on her way to grab a soda. The rats were cute little 9-year-olds in grey unitards, but over in the corner sat rather scary looking rat heads with glowing red eyes. In front of the forbidding cuties was a gentleman with flowing white hair. When he turned Tara waved, but he paid no attention, not even a faint nod. Only looking closer could she see that it wasn't the man who had spoken to her. Now she couldn't even say what man she had spoken to, he'd been in costume, of course.

  “I wouldn't try to get his attention, Alexander
is much too busy to speak to you with all he has to do,” a woman said behind her.

  “I didn't . . .” Tara knew it wouldn't help to say she thought it was someone else. She wasn't important enough that they would care about her reason. Russian behind her told her that some of the older ballerinas and their mothers were there. Tara grabbed her soda and got out of the way as girls in toe shoes came running by.

  They weren't all like that, there were several that she spoke to most weeks, she couldn't tell you their names, but she could tell you which child they belonged to. The lawyer whose daughter had an oddly formed foot, the couple with the adopted daughters, the well to do woman, who very well might have thought ballet at four would look good on a college application at eighteen, the Ugandan woman.

  Twenty cards down when Megan and the other four-year-olds came out to get a drink from the water fountain.

  “Hi Mommy.” Megan threw her arms around Tara's neck and the older mothers looked askance. Megan wasn't disciplined enough for their taste.

  “Get your drink, babe.”

  Megan ran back to her identical line, all in pink.

  “Did you get to watch?”

  Tara looked around for the speaker, it was the voice from before, but the gray haired man was nowhere in sight. Tara finally had to convince herself that the man in an exaggerated soldiers costume was the same man. Still, what he looked like was a mystery though. Some sort of half mask covered him now. “Some yes, not that it made much sense, all mixed up as it is for practice.”

  He smiled faintly. “True. This might sound odd, but would you want to be in an ad for a local Asian restaurant? I told someone about you and they could really use a beautiful Asian woman.” He gave her a lazy grin even if she couldn't see the rest of his face. “I guess there aren't many in the rolls of the local actors.”

  Tara just stared at him. “Many what?”

  “Beautiful Asian women.”

  “You're joking!”

  “No talking, there's an announcer, but they just need some people in the background. You could make some nice Christmas money for a few hours work.”

  “Jake!”

  “Work is never done,” he announced before he left a business card in her hand. “Just give him a call.”

  As the production moved into the actual theater for the production itself, the black box space was filled with girls four to fourteen, all rushing about, horses, soldiers, rats, mice, angels, puppets, Arabian dancers, friends. The only adults in sight were those helping with costumes, the dancers in the show, the adult ones, all had dressing rooms far above the kids. Coming in, there had been older dancers flitting about, half in costume, as they prepared for the school performances. There were the big performances over the weekend for the public in general, but for most, the week before there were daily morning shows for school groups on fieldtrips. Megan was scheduled for one of those. The tickets, despite it being a musical recording and filled with children, were the same as if you were going to the full orchestra dress up performances while everyone around paid five dollars. It hardly seemed worth it.

  “Come along mice, time to practice,” Miss Laura announced and started lining up the girls in their pale grey pillow-bellied costumes.

  “You can come watch,” one of the mothers said, when Tara watched Megan walking off. There were no older mothers around as they had all signed up to be in charge of this and that for other performances. The important performances. Tara followed the woman to the stage decorated as a large living room, a large tree to one side, and a big chaise where a sleeping Clara lay.

  The lights were low, and out went some six-year-old mice jumping, and carrying cheese, playing about like carefree little girls. Several more ran out and played patticake before the group of youngest ones ran out in a line and sashayed around Clara, oblivious to their presence. Sashay, sort of a sideways skip that Megan had proudly demonstrated for weeks as she dutifully learned her part of the show. She was on stage for all of a minute. It took Megan longer to explain the whole sequence than it did for it to happen. That was the entire part her daughter had practiced for two and a half months.

  “Rats!” Someone yelled as they jumped from the curtains and the whole group scrambled off stage, as Megan had showed her they were supposed to do.

  “Good. Good. One more time and then you can head back before show time,” the white haired director called and they lined up one more time.

  Back in the waiting room, they searched through the little table selling nutcracker souvenirs. Megan picked out a little 4-inch nutcracker and happily went to play with it while waiting for her big moment. Others were getting professional pictures taken in costume seeing as no one could take them during the show. Back stage shots were the closest you could get.

  “Megan Barbour,” someone announced.

  “Yes,” Megan called.

  “I'm to deliver these,” the woman answered and handed over a dozen roses.

  “Mommy?” Megan asked.

  Tara wrinkled her brow, her parents wouldn't know the address of the theater, nor would Brian's. “Find the card so we can see who they're from.”

  Megan dug in the paper before finding the small envelope. “What does it say?”

  Every ballerina needs flowers for her first show. The Nutcracker.

  “The Nutcracker!” Megan screeched and grabbed her little one before swirling around the room.

  Music began filling the room as the show started: a small TV had the action playing, to be able to know where the show was. Much to Tara's dismay though, it was so small it was hard to tell what was happening at all. Especially with forty girls crowded around it. She still wouldn't see the Nutcracker.

  Hours of sitting there while Megan went out and did her minute bit, after she came back, then the rest of the show, before they went out for bows. Tara could say she had heard the music even if she couldn't say she had seen the show. Not to mention the traffic jam to get out of the theater parking lot. The girls, whose mothers that sat there all the time, must love ballet, because for five minutes of busy after hours of sitting there, had better be something in there they love.

  “So how was it?” their neighbor Roseanne asked when they walked in the old arts and crafts house Tara and Brian had bought when they were first married. Cheap enough only because it needed work, they just about had it exactly the way they wanted it when Brian died. Roseanne was also the babysitter while Tara had to work. Something she had to get back to shortly. Roseanne was a retired neighbor; it helped her out with some extra money even if Tara did have to endure endless questions, about her love life especially.

  “Long.”

  “Your boss called thought you were going to be back an hour ago.”

  “Traffic getting out was awful. Holiday cheer doesn't extend to traffic rules I guess.”

  “We have got to find you a man, he'd wipe some of that scrooge out of you.”

  “Just where am I going to find one of those? At work?”

  Roseanne started smiling. “Now that you mention it I kind of wondered if that's why he was wondering so much, there was something delivered while you were gone. I figured the boss was getting anxious thinking you should have gotten it already and would have been calling to thank him.”

  Tara narrowed her eyes. That was highly unlikely; the boss was a married grandfather. Although he might be the sort to send flowers for a little ballerina's first performance. “Megan got some flowers that must be it.”

  “No, not big enough.”

  “Now what are you talking about?”

  Roseanne started smiling before she left the room, only to return shortly pulling Megan's red wagon. The wagon was filled with a 3-foot tall nutcracker. “Check his mouth.”

  Tara almost asked what but kept it to herself and pulled on the lever in the back. His mouth opened to reveal papers, two tickets to the Nutcracker Friday night. The official opening night. “These are front row,” Tara read in disbelief.

  “So did your
boss sign it?” Roseanne asked.

  “There's no card at all.”

  Roseanne's bawdy laugh filled the kitchen. “A secret admirer then.”

  All Tara could see, though, was that a nutcracker held the tickets and the note for Megan's roses had been signed the nutcracker. Whoever it was had to have been the same person. “I've got to get changed for work.”

  Sitting at her desk, filling out the callers’ travel details on automatic, Tara could only run through her closet deciding what to wear. She'd not gone out on a date or even an evening out since Brian died. Met no one she even considered such a thing with. Most of her friends had gotten lives by the time she was stuck at home so they weren't free to go out. With no call on the line, Tara put her head down feeling exhausted all of a sudden. She'd stayed home with Megan, the plan being she would go back to work once Megan was old enough. Now Megan was big enough to really start doing things again, and there wasn't any option. Tara was trapped. Ugh! Roseanne was right, she was a grouch to be around. Some holiday spirit she had. She hadn't even bought a tree or put up decorations. She'd actually forgotten about them in the rush to get cards out. Even if she put up the tree there was nothing to go under it. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed the number on the card the man had handed her.

  A thousand dollars to sit there and eat some food! The man on the phone certainly said it wrong, or her ears were clogged.

  “I work all week during the day.” Tara added knowing there had to be a catch. He'd take the offer back when he heard that.

  “No problem, we're closed all day this Sunday to prepare for a Christmas party that evening. We can get the others to do it that morning before we get busy with preparations for that. We really want to get the ad up in a few days for Christmas. It’s a play on the scene in that one movie where they all end up for Chinese food on Christmas.”