All in a Day's Dance

All in a Day’s Dance

by L.R. Lane

Publisher of www.allinadaysdance.com

PROLOGUE

The main character, Truchsia, experiences an unconditional puzzle of guilty pleasures in a way that might strike a common chord with some readers. There is no cause for concern though, seeing that her story is purely fictional.

She always has a song in her heart to get her through the day – knowing all the while that she has to be game for “facing the music”.

If one resolves to discover the key in the title, strung together to let the whole wide world pass through, Truchsia might extend the invitation to share her most private suite with anyone who is interested.

On the other hand, out of respect for Truchsia’s privacy, envisioning the music continuously transforming for her dances could be one’s own guilty pleasure.

Midnight Echoes of the Concert Hall

Music from the evening’s concert was echoing through Truchsia’s mind, on her way home. She often rearranged stirring phrases from the repertoire, to counterpoint with her own melodies for fun. As impromptu as a gesture of reflex, the vivid image of the amorous couple in the front row of the theatre occurred to her. The pair seemed to blend into the sonic backdrop, which made her wonder if music was able to take someone into another world.

She turned the key in her apartment door to enter, and beads of water dripped off of her guitar case when she set it down on the floor of her suite. Somehow she was caught in the still of the moment, where reflection met with the day’s end, yet the repercussions of unsolved thoughts were like floating melodies.

Even though she was having little trouble learning the works being played by her new group called, “The Harmonizers of the Inner City”, the life of the metropolis with its concerts, and fancy restaurants made the pace of daily life exciting, yet more overwhelming than anything she had ever known before.

No specific place in her past was anywhere she would refer to as “home”, due to the constant uprooting her father and mother took the family through, making Truchsia feel detached in some way. Her mother did not have a job and her father was indeed employed, though Truchsia had no idea of what kind of work he did, or who his employer was, since he never talked about his occupation candidly.

It was not easy being the new kids on the block, but she and her brother became adept at making a game of it. “I bet you, I can remember more names of the kids in my class than you,” Joseph her brother said, after the first day of school. Always up for a challenge, Truchsia – if a name did not come to her – would often make one up until Joseph caught on that she was improvising.

Truchsia recalled a real estate agent, Samson Carter from the big city, coming to their house on one of those pre-moving days, sporting a stylish suit and carrying a briefcase. By his business card she could tell that he was independent and accomplished. At one point during a discussion her father was having with Samson, her father declared, “Any place on the outskirts of suburbia is heaven compared to that sinful, mad-dash urban world.” Mr. Carter seemed a little perplexed and replied, “Maybe for some people… it’s really a matter of taste.” Truchsia drew from his response that being from the big city had a different flavor, and she was curious about how it would taste. Her mother seemed quite happy just to have her own garden where she could grow her favorite flowers, and some vegetables.

Truchsia gravitated to music at an early age, and her father said he believed she inherited the family music gene, once remarking, “Our little girl has music in her. We need to hear it come out. As for our boy – I don’t think so.”

Her connection to music began with violin lessons, having an uncle who was once a well known concert violinist, until he lost the end of one of his fingers to a vicious dog, while on his way home from a rehearsal. He sent many letters to Truschia’s father over the years, and although she never had an opportunity to meet her illustrious uncle, her father was determined that his daughter would follow in his brother Bertrum’s musical footsteps in some way.

“That’s your Uncle Bert playing,” her dad often mentioned while listening to his favorite recordings. “Bert played in a European symphony you know – the music of Dimitri Shostakovich, one of the greatest Soviet composers!” Truchsia did not share her dad’s love for that style of music, but enjoyed the singing quality of all the string instruments, and she continued with her violin lessons, out of a desire to realize her true musical personality.

Her mother always made sure that she and her brother attended a church wherever they moved to, regardless of the denomination. When they were very young kids sitting at the kitchen table one day, their mom tried to instill in them a sense of purpose, “You need good values or you will lose your way. Go to church and learn the lessons they will teach you, and you will stay on track.” Truchsia always said her prayers before getting into bed.

She was careful about certain questions when talking to her dad; he was always secretive about something. Once she asked him if he had girlfriends as a young man. His eyes darted sideways as he turned his head away, “That’s not something you need to know,” he said, muffling the words as if to hide some discomfort, and that was the last mention of the topic.

Later in her life, Truchsia discovered that her father’s original name was Sydney. Sydney had spent several years with the military, and after he had received his discharge, lived in Denmark for a short period of time. Money was difficult for him to come by, so he was compelled to live in a room beneath a cabaret where the rent was within his means. He hated being in such close quarters with the late night partiers and loud music, promising himself that at some point he would take pleasure in a peaceful lifestyle.

One day, Sydney met an attractive young woman on her way out of the cabaret. “How many krone do I need to ride across town?” she asked him. He helped her out, eventually getting to know her over the coming weeks. Her name was Elvira, and she was a classically trained dancer, who worked for some of the theatre groups in town; when opportunities were available, she danced for ballet troupes.

His fondness for Elvira grew rapidly, and he hoped to take it a lot further if the feeling was mutual. However, just as suddenly as she had walked into his life, Elvira was gone, and Sydney never heard from her again.

The past relationships of Gladys, Truchsia’s mother, were seldom discussed, and when they were, her tales were ordinary. Gladys loved beautiful things, and her favorite flower was the fuchsia. “She will be true to herself,” she vowed, and that is how Truchsia got her first name, meaning, truly like a fuchsia – beautiful – Truchsiabelle. Her mother argued that her second name should be Hermine, after her Aunt Hermine, who was commonly known as Minnie. Her father insisted on drawing a connection to his favorite composer, Dimitri Shostakovich, and as a result her middle name was compounded to become Diminnie. Therefore she became, Truchsiabelle Diminnie Winbuckle, but most people just called her, Truchsia.

Truchsia was a pretty little girl going through school, and even though she was unaware of how nice she was to look at, she subconsciously likened her name to a blemish on her face, and in embarrassment always wrinkled her brow when people asked what her name was.

“Truckishania, please put up your hand,” Miss Ewer, her grade three teacher directed all too often. Chester, the class clown loved to tease her with, “Tuna from Keluna,” and wise-cracking Willy Finch could not resist saying, “Hey Toosha Wind Breaker,” while fanning his hand in front of his face to get attention from everyone around, when she was in the fifth grade. Never fooled by their ignorance, it was hard for her to understand why people who behaved in the way they did could not be less predictable.

Looking at herself analytically probably started earlier for her than for most of her peers, which might have had an unusual impact on the image Truchsia had of herself. She always wished she could express herself freely, envisioning herself being a highly skilled dancer, communicating ideas and emotions like a true professional.

Truchsia’s mother shared the same vision, hoping to see her daughter grow into an elegant, poised beautiful woman, and she believed the way it was going to happen was through enrolling Truchsia as a little girl in dance schools, wherever they were available. Truchsia seemed to be quite natural at the art form and enjoyed it, but her greatest developments came when she moved to a community where a ballet teacher named, Miss Caverly had a small academy. Miss Caverly poured her heart and soul into her most willing students, and Truchsia learned a great deal from her. Truchsia’s father only quietly observed her development, while trying to stifle the effect of the unbearable reminders to his past relationship with Elvira in Denmark.

The day eventually came though, when Sydney put his foot down, “That’s enough. You will do no more dancing,” he said, and it broke her heart.

In spite of her dad’s rigid way, Truchsia continued envisioning herself as a performer of beautiful dances, in different character too. She became an expert at drawing the characters, to compensate for everything her father had deprived her of, and found ways to develop their strength, beauty and poise, just as she was training to do. Her aim was to make them real and alive, and she always kept them in a secret portfolio for only her to see.

As she grew older, Truchsia continued to develop her drawings and make them look stronger and more, and more elegant. There was only one emotion in contemplation, she could not depict on paper, but she felt it deeply, as she did with all the rest of her drawings. She saw the emotions in herself, and she saw herself in the emotions, until she was near the point of obsession. Using eight of the drawings for depicting her gamut of expressions, became an odd guilty pleasure.

There was one depiction however, that was in a category of its own. Truchsia knew that the more she developed the image on paper, the more mysterious and alluring it became. She named him Farrago, considering how he was going to need a mixture of specific qualities that were out of the ordinary.

To make him phenomenal was vital to her concept. To be phenomenal in this case he must also have authority, so to her he would be “phenomenally puissant”. Inventing her own definition, she called him, the “phenomenissant” manager to be in command of her collection of dances, which she titled, “The TW Suite”.

Thinking about the qualities her ‘phenomenissant’ manager would need in order to have the most influence, she planned – Farrago would at least require culture, charisma, and a variety of special skills. His connections with experts in the field of “heavy hitters” should mean that he relates to independent wealth. He will need to understand everything there is to know about theater life and dancers, and know music like it is second nature.

It so happened that the more complex and refined her design for Farrago grew, the more she was able to give emotional and distinctive attributes to each of the drawings of her dancers. Their relationship to Farrago became increasingly uncanny.

She gave each one an order of appearance, and a name to go with its distinction:

“The Fling”, “The Window”, “Shadows”,” The Silhouette”, “The Lark”, “The Riddle”, “The Solution”, “The Escapade”, “The Eclipse”.

Music will be their lifeblood, she ruminated.

Truchsia knew her background and experience were to be of huge importance to the ultimate design of her perfect manager, so it felt good to finally be in a position for designing the plans. It was something she had sensed, many years prior to putting her pencil to the paper, but in those earlier days it was not entirely clear how truly necessary he was.

**********

The following scenarios are in order to parallel Truschia’s past with her dreams, and will outline her rationale for designing Farrago.

Farrago’s Fling

Truchsia’s crimson shade by her vanity was throwing its usual shadow against the wall, when she switched the light on in her suite, and her keys rattled when they landed on the tabletop. She sunk into her lounge chair, and tipped back into its full recline position, while looking out the window at the sparkling city lights.

The transition from the small town lifestyle was absolute, and she felt exhilaration over the idea of blossoming into a rewarding future.

Only a few minutes passed before the doorbell rang. When she looked through the peephole, she saw Stewart the doorman standing there wearing his identification badge. It was unusual for him to be at her door, and she hoped that there was nothing seriously wrong. Truchsia opened the door. “You dropped your papers Miss Winbuckle,” he said, while holding a handful of music manuscript papers that belonged to her. They were from the evening’s concert.

“How was your evening?” Stewart asked.

“We got a standing ovation,” she replied.

“I wish I could have been there.”

“Perhaps, one night you will be there. Thank you so much and goodnight,” she said, and closed the door. Truchsia returned to her lounge chair carefully carrying her manuscripts. It was the first time since moving to the city that she had left her portfolio of drawings lying open on the top of her end table, and she laid her manuscripts on her lap, before reclining in her chair once again.

She was nearing the point of being totally relaxed, while the rain tapped lightly against her window. A dazzling blue flash streaked across the sky, like lightning with no thunder, and the beam of light passed into Truchsia’s cherished crystal Caverly award that was sitting on the window sill. She had received the award as a young dancer, and when the light beam reached the center of the award’s many faceted prism, an indescribable display occurred. The strange light then streaked directly into Truchsia’s open portfolio, and being too flabbergasted to think, Truchsia held her breath for a couple of moments, then slowly let out a sigh.

She glanced at her Queen Anne mirror hanging on the left wall of her suite, and thought briefly that she saw a reflection in it. It startled her. Glancing back at her manuscripts, she tried to relax before looking up once more. There stood a character