Christina’s House, Friday Evening, May 5, 1989
If there were to be a tale of three female musketeers, Eva, Christina, and Adera would fit the billing. Inseparable, yet uniquely different, they balanced each other with their contrasting personalities that together drew a crowd—wildness opposing sobriety, whimsy flaunting practicality, beauty versing strength, and purity confronting bawdry. Their Cinco de Mayo deck party spilled into the backyard as the weather blessed them with a warm sunny day. It was a graduation party of all sorts. Eva attracted the wild, theater and dance crowd, some in neo-classical attire, assumedly costumes. Adera’s wit and beauty, her strength as an international triathlete, and her passion for returning to Ethiopia to work as a surgical nurse with Doctors Without Borders drew her athlete friends and medical classmates. Christina had a following of students in humanities and international studies, many friends from University Church and a blend of dancers, pre-med, and nursing graduates.
Jerry was there, also. He and Christina did not miss a day without seeing each other. At the coffee shop—a convenient rendezvous down the street from his flat—or on his rooftop terrace star-gazing, or hanging out with the musketeers making dinner for four as chef de cuisine. He loved to cook and the laughter and bantering that these three girls provided were his entertainment as he chopped and sautéed, grilled and basted. Had they had a spare room, they would have invited him to move in, a male counterpoint to balance the monthly flare of estrogen intensity.
He had also become somewhat a celebrity or rather a suitor of one. At the final performance of Swan Lake, he walked down the center aisle of the auditorium with a suave spray of Brazilian red roses during the standing ovation for Christina’s performance. She graciously accepted them, and the audience thundered with applause at the romantic gesture as she blew him a kiss from the stage.
“So, Christina, tell us what you’d be doing after we toss our mortar boards tomorrow and shelve our books. What plans do you have?”
“Ah, you should ask, Margot. Since we last talked, I’ve decided to dedicate the next six months to the medical mission of the Mercy Ships and serve as a recovery room nurse. Adera and I will be working together. She is serving as an OR Nurse.”
“How interesting! Where will you be traveling?”
“We’ll be stationed on the ship and port along the coastline of West Africa in the Gulf of Guinea. Ghana will be the focus of our term. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I saw the Mercy Ships’ video at the Campus Crusade Spring Break Roundup. Anyone left out of the Daytona Beach migration found that was the only thing going on campus.”
“Yeah, I did the beach mob in Daytona—gridlock and a week of all day and night partying. Good for you, Christina. Someone needs to take life more seriously than I do.” Margot tipped her foamy beer cup as a salute and smiled. “Journalism has a lot of fluff.”
“Christina!” A beautiful black girl came running up to the deck. “I just heard from Adera that you'd be shipping out of here soon—literally! Wow, that is so exciting!” Several others joined in the conversation as Christina offered details of her medical expedition, another novelty to add to her varied experiences as a dancer, singer, journalist, and nurse.
“Hey, there’s Jerry!” Christina shouted, interrupting their focus on her. He waved to her and signaled that he was going to get in line at the beer keg. Two? He motioned with his fingers. Do you want one? Her face and body language read please and rescue me, and he smiled. They were getting to know each other’s habits and hang-ups deeper than most couples after just two months. Although Christina often found herself in the spotlight, that was not her comfort zone. Helping others overcome and prosper, rehabilitate and grow, that was her calling.
Eva was the bawdy one of the three. Christina had yet to have her first beer. Eva tapped the keg at noon, yet the party did not start until four. She held her own, though, a sorority-seasoned girl who chose to live off campus lest she became an alcoholic. When it came to dealing with peer pressure, Eva caved, and so did her grades. She nearly flunked out her freshman year, and that was in dance. “Ya can’t bust the moves with a hangover,” was her lament. Meeting Christina was a Godsend and moving in with her kept her straight, for the most part. What the hell, it was graduation, a time to celebrate.
“Chrissy!” Eva waved her over. Jerry was still on the tap, so she joined Eva’s crowd.
“Chrissy, I want you to meet someone really special. This is Robert Chamberlain. Robert, this is Christina Rogers. Christina was the prima ballerina in a modern dance debut of the classic Swan Lake choreographed by Charles Riviere.”
Christina extended her hand, and instead of shaking it, Robert took it gracefully in his with a gentle kiss and a slight bow. Her etiquette kicked in, and she automatically responded with a small ballerina curtsy.
“Robert is the director of the Chamberlain Dance Company in New York City. He came with Sansui, who will be auditioning this month for the next season’s performances.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Christina, to meet you in person after I’ve heard and read the rave reviews of Riviere’s neo-modern choreography and your unheralded debut that have sent directors like me scurrying to know how he found such a diamond of talent, a true gift with dance.”
“Oh, I’m humbled by your kind words, Mr. Chamberlain, it is a gift, one that I’ve been sharing for someone’s enjoyment since I was six years old.”
“Please, please, call me Robert. May I have an opportunity to discuss with you our fall and winter dance tour?”
“Oh, truly you are most gracious, but I have my heart placed somewhere else. I’m soon to be leaving for a six-month mission trip on the Mercy Ships to Africa. My calling is to minister to the poor and lame. My dance was a gift that I will likely not pursue beyond what I have done here.”
“You may be missing out on stardom. Seriously, your dance is unique with no one like your spontaneous style. The videos of Riviere’s choreography and your performance could change the course of dance.”
“Yes, Charles has discussed this with me at length.”
“No doubt he has, assuredly he would want to continue working with you.”
“He understands the Father with whom I dance.”
“Here’s your beer,” Jerry offered with a smile to Christina and a nod to her audience, Eva, Robert, and Sansui. “Sorry to butt in.”
“Thanks, Jerry, not at all. Welcome to the party.” She kissed Jerry on the cheek—their same heights making that all too convenient—and nestled her arm around his. “This is Jerry Meier . . . ” Christina looked at him, and the thought that this was the first time she had formally introduced him to a group gave her pause as who he was to her, what their relationship meant, not only to her but him. Amongst the musketeers, he was her boyfriend and was becoming more like a brother to Eva and Adera. She squeezed his hand and finished her introduction, “My dearest friend.” Jerry returned a smile and extended his hand to Robert and Sansui, then hugged Eva.
“I was just remarking to Christina how the dance and ballet world is wondering how such a gem remained hidden. Prominent directors, choreographers, and dancers have viewed the video of her final performance. They are in awe of how she makes those seemingly impossible combinations of acrobatics, dance, and ballet moves. You must be the suitor that presented the prima ballerina with floral finesse, quite a show of respect and love and now, for everyone to see and admire.” Robert gauged Jerry’s reaction as he paused.
Jerry was born on a ranch and lived a rancher’s life of cowboy boots and spurs, lassos and leather gloves. The world of ballet was as foreign to him as a snowball in hell, but he identified with the academic life and had a broader cultural understanding than a typical cowhand, so, being balanced was a primary motive for him to create his path and destiny outside of ranching.
“Yes, she is a gem,” he replied with a huge smile that said, and she’s mine, then slid his arm around her waist gently, enough to reassure Christina that the decision she had made to pursue nursing and volunteer her time for mission work was one that he supported.
“So, may I get you some refreshments, Robert? We do have a good selection of wine. May I please you with a French Bordeaux, an Italian Sangiovese, or a California Chardonnay?”
“Exquisite. A glass of Sangiovese, please. I sense that is part of your heritage, yes?”
The question caught her totally off guard, and the slight fade of smile and question in her eyes betrayed her answer.
“The father with whom you dance, yes?”
Christina’s smile returned. This man was brilliant, and she had second thoughts about discussing her dance with him more at length, maybe later as the party died down if he chose to stay.
“That would require a story or two to answer, and I don’t think you may have the time or patience, but if you would like, I will give you an interview under one condition.”
“What is that ballerina?”
“That you tell the dance world of the Father with whom I dance.”
“I graciously accept your invitation. I will be returning to New York tomorrow afternoon if that will allow a convenient time for you to arrange a meeting.”
She looked at Jerry. Their eyes met, hearts overflowed with emotion, their spirits connected.
† † †
Copyright 2017 © Jeff Cambridge
Excerpt from PURSUIT, a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational fiction—
Real characters in real life drama that tell the story of their transformation to become more like Jesus.
To read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT: A Novel – Prologue”
Located in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below, write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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