The Little Mermaid

He ruled his theater with an iron hand, commanding absolute perfection from his staff and tolerating nothing less. There were none who dared refuse him anything he asked, and although he had broken many, there was never a shortage of eager young actors vying for his attention.

Which is why he was in a foul mood sitting in the back row of this shabby theater in the middle of this dismal backwater he'd never heard of before. But his exec had been insistent he go and had even gone so far as to endure one of his legendary tirades by buying tickets. Not that he would ever admit it, but this had intrigued the man, and there was precious little that did that these days.

So here he sat, seething at being utterly ignored by these peasants and planning cruel ways in which to torture his exec. This delightful diversion saw him through the first excruciating minutes.

The music changed when she arrived on stage, moving effortlessly and seeming to reach to the heavens with her long-limbed grace. All thoughts of his exec, and everything else fled and he sat enraptured until the curtain fell and the houselights shattered the spell.

He had to have her.

*****

A week later he was ready, having spent the last week learning everything there was to know about his quarry. She was poor, appallingly so, with only a grandmother to claim as family. She was a loner, and apparently lonely, moving from one short affair to the next, always breaking it off when her lover got too serious. She was fiercely devoted to her grandmother, whom she called Nana, and had broken off more than one affair when her lover wanted her to move in with him. She was quiet and shy, spending most of her time rehearsing alone. There were few she called friends, even among her fellow dancers, her talent isolating her from the others.

She would be his easiest seduction yet.

He started by buying tickets to all of the remaining performances and distributing them to schools and youth groups and to anyone too poor to afford the ticket price, starting with her neighbors. Audiences swelled to triple their previous size, filling the theater every night. He himself sat front row center for every show.

After each performance he had one of the younger dancers present her with a tasteful bouquet, watching carefully to see which flowers she favored, then matching them to what he knew of her preferences in color. To avoid dissension among the other dancers, he had them presented with small tokens after each performance as well.

Two days before the end of the production, he introduced himself to her at a small catered party thrown under the guise of a birthday party for the theater owner. He greeted her solemnly, praised her work in glowing but not effusive terms, then drifted away, watching her from his carefully chosen post. She talked freely to her few friends, more cautiously to those she didn't know as well, her manner shy, almost innocent, yet underscored with a hint of longing for something she had no hope of possessing. He watched how she tilted her head, how her hands were in almost constant motion, how her lips curled in that tiny closed smile he found so appealing. He was fascinated.

She left the party early, nodding to him as she passed. He remained where he was, savoring her presence long after she was gone. He knew she was going home to tend her grandmother, and had already arranged to deliver a gift basket of cheeses, fruit and meats to her shabby apartment. It would be waiting for her when she arrived and he spent the entire ride to his own opulent house imagining the look on her face when she saw the anonymous gift.

*****

He courted her carefully, insinuating himself into her life until she couldn't remember a time she hadn't thought of him as a friend. She'd had so few real friends in her life that his presence quickly became something she depended on. He became her confidante, gaining her trust in ways that no one but Nana ever had. She told him of her loneliness, her worry about Nana, who was suffering the ills of old age. She even revealed that she'd turned down more than one opportunity, personal and professional, in order to care for her grandmother, and that she had carefully concealed the truth from the older woman.

That fact seemed to trouble her deeply, as if concealing anything from her Nana was painful. She even admitted that the other dancers were often cruel to her, mocking her poor clothing and worn shoes, driving her to spend much of her time alone rehearsing in the early morning when no one else was in the theater.

She consumed his thoughts, her image following him every time he left her to return to his life in the city. She was so much more than the dazzling stage presence that had first enthralled him. She was beauty and grace and innocence tempered with sadness and strength that she didn't even know she had. He wanted all these parts of her, and more, the parts he hadn't even begun to discover yet, layer upon layer wrapped in that tempting package. He wanted to peel away those layers, to lay her essence open to his eyes alone, and then to possess that which bewitched him.

He wanted her in a way he had never wanted anything else and, for the first time in his very long career he feared that he had found something he could not control. Inside, a very small part of him was afraid.

*****

He wooed her throughout the rest of the troupe's season, offering her emotional support and bolstering the troupe by making sure every seat was filled for the last production of the season.

He delighted in pleasing her, seeing that extra spark when she danced for the children he bought tickets for. Each performance he sat front row center, clapping the loudest, as mesmerized by her in this latest performance as he had been by the first. She was a siren on stage, pure grace, elegance and beauty, possessing that extra something, that soul, that made her a natural performer. And in realizing that, he finally knew how to make her his own.

He was going to turn his dancer into an actress.

She laughed the first time he suggested it, her voice as lovely as a crystal bell. He kissed her cheek, joyous at the sound of her mirth, and drew her towards him. They were not intimate yet, and he was careful not to overstep those unspoken boundaries she had set.

He had met her grandmother weeks ago, charming the old woman into his net and sealing his pretty dancer's fate. She had not been as successful at hiding things from Nana as she thought she was. Nana was no fool, she knew her granddaughter too well to believe the fantasy she spun. No, she knew the girl's talent, and her life was being wasted here and was more than willing to help him lure her to the city. One week after the dance troupe's last performance he took his dancer to the city.

*****

She insisted on renting a hotel room but was unable to find one she could afford. She had only double her usual small weekly allowance, having left the rest of her earnings with Nana. He offered to pay but she politely and firmly refused. Instead, she accepted the small room he offered her in the back of his theater. It was sparse, containing only an old bed and battered bureau, but there was a window looking out onto a park and she was delighted to have it.

He gave her permission to decorate the room, then surprised his cast and crew by appearing, paint and brushes in hand and helping her paint. They had never seen the man in anything other than ridiculously expensive suits, yet here he was in old pants and a sweatshirt with the theater logo on it. By ones and twos they gathered, helping to clean and paint not just the tiny room but the hallway and the small bathroom that she would use.

When they were done, the room was fresh and bright, a cheery pale peach with a mural of exotic flowers covering one wall. She was thrilled. He watched her interacting with the others, far more at ease here than he had ever seen her with her co-workers, laughing and joking, her face slightly flushed from the work they'd been doing. It made him want to take her in his arms right then. Instead, he surprised his people again by treating them to a picnic in the park.

After everyone had gone, he bundled his dancer into his car, insisting she spend the one night in his guest room while the paint dried in her own little room. Her eyes were drooping and she looked exhausted, far too tired to argue with her lovely friend.

He gave her a drink when they reached his home, then sat beside her on the sofa, drawing her against him to rest. She went willingly, settling against him with a contented sigh and closing her eyes. He took the opportunity to study her, surprised how different she seemed in these lush surroundings. She looked so thin and pale, so poor, her face betraying the life of deprivation she had led since she was orphaned at barely 4 years old.

"Beverly?" he spoke hesitantly not wanting to startle her.

"Um?" she replied sleepily.

"Come to bed." he suggested.

She turned to look at him, not sure what he meant.

"You're exhausted," he clarified. "You should get some sleep." For just a moment she actually looked disappointed, the desire flickering across her face for just an instant before she schooled her expression. She did it instantly, without a thought, as if she'd been disappointed and denied so often that she no longer allowed herself to want.

"Of course, you're right. Thank you Jean-Luc. For everything." Before he could reply, she leaned over and kissed him on the lips, then quickly backed away and fled to the guest room.

He sat there for a long time with his eyes closed, savoring that kiss.

*****

The week passed quickly into two, then three. Somehow she didn't find the city as big and frightening as she'd always imagined it would be. At least it wasn't with Jean- Luc at her side.

And he was at her side every moment that he was not working. She had never realized the extent of his influence in the theater community but she learned quickly that he was a very powerful man. Just as quickly she discovered how much she liked being close to such power. It never occurred to her that she might one day have power of her own.

His power fascinated her, how he wielded his influence so comfortably, using it for so much good. He so obviously cared for things and people other than himself, donating to charities, volunteering his time for children's groups and much more. He was a prince, she decided, just like one of those noble men Nana had told her stories about so many years ago.

He was even wonderful to Nana.

She'd been so worried about leaving the old woman alone for so long, but Jean-Luc took her home to see Nana just a few days ago. Nana had been spending time with a neighbor gentleman, nearly the same age, and had insisted Beverly return to the city.

To Beverly's surprise she was glad to go. The city was connected to him somehow, both of them compelling in their own way. They represented so much that she'd never even dreamed of, power, control, strength and passion. With him at her side she felt a little of that power and control herself. It was intoxicating and she wanted more.

Another week went by and she found herself spending nearly every waking moment in his presence. He was intoxicating. And the other people at the theater were all so kind and thoughtful, never mocking her or treating her differently. They even let her practice her dancing every evening after rehearsal, although she was finding dancing less and less appealing.

Jean-Luc had suggested she practice the play with them, reading a bit part in the second act, just to fill in. She'd been so nervous at first but after her first few stumbling attempts, he and the actors had been so supportive that she actually found herself enjoying this new aspect of stage work.

*****

He offered her the part one night after a successful rehearsal. He'd turned much of the day to day management of the theater over to his exec and found his temper much improved. Who needed to break people for a diversion when there was this ravishing creature to be claimed?

She performed beautifully throughout the run of the play, her natural stage presence shining through her nervousness. Two critics even made a passing reference to her in their reviews - a nearly unprecedented occurrence.

Although remaining outwardly quiet and shy, inside Beverly was elated. After the long sadness of her childhood and youth, the poverty of her life, the lack of recognition for her talents as a dancer, suddenly she had more then she'd ever dared imagine and she was finally happy with who she had become.

He had done this for her, because he loved her, and this understanding made her love him all the more passionately, until she could imagine nothing more perfect than their union.

*****

It was inevitable that they become lovers. She was firmly enmeshed in his snare, having been unknowingly manipulated to this point by her lover.

He reveled in her sensuality, spending hours just caressing her. She returned his fevered passion, becoming more open and uninhibited each time they made love. The intensity of their love overwhelmed him and, somewhere in the back of his mind, it frightened him as well.

He was doomed he decided. He'd snuck away from rehearsals to make love to her and was still lying, breathless and sweating with her cradled sleepily in his arms.

He was doomed to fall in love with her, truly deeply, irrevocably in love with her. Perhaps he already had. The thought terrified him.

*****

Two months later she made her real debut as an actress carrying the second lead in a complex and difficult play. Critics raved about her, giving her twice the ink of what was afforded the real lead. She became an overnight sensation and although he played the role properly, he was privately seething with jealousy. Something had to be done.

*****

Tempers flared in the theater, spurred by his carefully placed comments. It made rehearsals difficult, bringing dissension to the company where before his control would have kept everyone in line. In his mind this was all the justification he needed to start his new plan. The next day at rehearsal he introduced his new actress.

She was lithe and beautiful, a golden blonde with honey colored skin. Her voice was honeyed too and she spoke with a slight accent that made her sound exotic. She was so many things that Beverly was not, self assured, almost arrogant in her beauty, confident of her abilities and not hesitant to voice her opinions. The mere sight of her made Beverly wilt, her new-found contentment with her life shattered by this intruder.

Everything seemed the same at first, Jean-Luc still spending most of his time with Beverly. She had moved into his house just before the play debuted and she was quite comfortable there. She had her own room but spent most nights in his. They remained lovers and friends. Until the night he brought *her* home.

Beverly sat huddled in her bed, imagining that she could hear them making love even though her room was on the opposite side of the house. He'd invited *her* to dinner without telling Beverly, embarrassing her further by dressing for the occasion then commenting about Beverly's old paint spattered shirt and pants. The evening had been a nightmare and she'd finally fled, biting back tears, when Jean-Luc called *her* by Beverly's pet name. She was awake long into the black night and when sleep finally claimed her she slept on a tear soaked pillow.

The next morning he informed Beverly that she was under contract for the remainder of the season and would not be leaving the company. However, he would consider her request to leave after the latest play was finished. Not once did he falter in his calm pronouncements, but a small part of him suffered seeing the pain in her face and the darkened circles under her eyes.

*****

The next month was excruciating as she endured the jealousy of the other actors by day and his cruel rejection by night. Watching, always watching as the new woman took her place by her beloved's side. The wrenching pain she felt made even walking feel as though she were treading on knives.

She carried the lead for this latest play, a drama. He'd rehearsed her hard to prepare for this challenge. Part of her hoped she would fail. But another part, the part that still loved him knew that she would do her best for him no matter how he hurt her. An even smaller part knew that he wasn't the only reason she didn't want to fail. She owed this to herself, this one last taste of success, before the bitterness of reality drove her out of this fairy tale and back to her old life.

*****

He was never outwardly cruel to her. He still brought her treats and sat close to her, caressing her hair and face. As much as she hated herself for it she let him continue these things, desperately hungry for his touch, and almost as desperate to prolong the fairy tale.

*****

On opening night, she arrived at the theater early and found him shouting at one of the stage crew. He'd always tried to control his temper around her, trying not to let her see his dark angry side, but here she'd walked right into it.

The stage hand was furious, shouting and waving his hands at Jean-Luc. The theater director merely waited for the storm of words to subside, confident in his power to control those around him. He certainly didn't expect the angry man to grab a heavy stage prop and take a swing at him.

She saw what was happening before Jean-Luc did and ran towards him, trying to protect him. She managed to reach him just as the heavy object whistled through the air, connecting not with his head but glancing off the side of hers. She fell to the floor stunned.

Jean-Luc was beside her in an instant, cradling her and calling her name. She tried to shake off the fog she was in but failed. He held her like that for several minutes, gently checking her head for bruising or injury. After a moment she managed to sit upright, then stand. She assured him everything was all right and there was a show to do.

He never suspected it was her finest acting job.

*****

She made her way through the play, with only a few slight errors in the beginning of the first act. She accepted his praise of her performance then politely excused herself to change. He didn't see her again until morning.

She was late for rehearsal and he stormed into her room ready to chastise her. He found her unconscious in her bed, still dressed from the previous evening.

Thirty-seven hours later she woke in the intensive care ward of the nearest hospital. The next day she was moved to a private room where she was finally allowed to speak to the doctor.

There was a name for her condition, of course. There always was. But the only words that she heard and made sense of were "head injury" and "damage" and "permanent loss." The rest didn't matter.

He'd arranged to pay for her hospital stay and to cover the cost of her physical therapy but he never set foot in the hospital. He was too ashamed, too proud, too stubborn. Too afraid.

She left the hospital weeks later walking shakily to the cab that would take her home to Nana. The blow to the head had damaged something, taken away her sense of balance. She could walk, maybe even run, but she would never dance again. What's more, there was secondary damage affecting her ability to speak; she could talk, slowly and falteringly, but not enough to be an actress. Long term therapy might help her overcome the disability, or it might not. It didn't matter, she had refused the treatment.

*****

She had a little money from her salary at the theater. She'd been sending most of it home to Nana. They lived on that until it was nearly gone, then she took whatever legitimate work she could find. There was precious little she could do that would pay enough to feed, clothe and shelter herself and Nana. More than once she considered lowering herself to less legal, more profitable employment; even damaged as she was, she was still physically attractive. Only the memories of him and the love they had shared prevented her from taking this drastic step. And somehow those memories of the good times, of who she was before he turned her away, helped her survive.

Memories of the bad time, after that woman had arrived meant nothing to Beverly now. The sting was gone, all emotional connection to the occurrence drained. Whether a side effect of her injury, or result of her losing so much so quickly, it didn't matter. What she remembered was loving him and being loved, and that was all that mattered to her. Not that it meant she didn't remember him causing her pain, but emotional pain meant little to her in her daily struggles against pain of a more permanent, physical nature.

She didn't hear from him at all after the accident. A small part of her wanted to be bitter, to let anger protect her from the pain she felt at their separation but she couldn't. She loved him passionately, eternally and that would never change. And somehow she knew, as she was sure of so little else in her new life, that he in his own way loved her just as passionately. That knowledge helped her through many dark lonely nights.

*****

Spring came, almost a full year since the accident and still there was no word from him. It had been a long bitterly cold winter and Nana had taken ill. Beverly's meager salary kept the roof over their heads and just enough food in their bellies to keep her and Nana alive. There was precious little extra for niceties like more blankets or medicines.

Somehow the older woman had lasted through the cold, refusing to let herself go while her granddaughter needed her so desperately. She was still too weak to move about much, but she no longer ranted, consumed by fever and cold. Last fall, Beverly had learned, out of desperation, how to cull usable plants out of the weeds that grew wild in her rundown neighborhood. She became an expert at finding and processing the scrawny weeds into curatives for Nana's ills. The coming of spring meant opportunity to replenish her supply of these plants and for that alone she was grateful.

*****

She was able to walk a little better now and could control her speech most of the time. It was only when she was very hungry or tired that she suffered severe bouts of pain that made her every movement hurt. She hadn't even thought of dancing in months. That part of her life was gone forever, the memory receding like a fairy tale.

It was on one of her bad days that he arrived on her doorstep. She immediately sent him away, refusing to even look at him, refusing to let herself hope that he was real. On bad days she remembered just how long he'd stayed away, letting her suffer, denying her the life she'd wanted so much.

He was used to getting his way. Even in this, where he wanted nothing but to throw himself down before her and beg her forgiveness, even here he expected her to react the way he wanted. So he came back the next day, again and again, only to be turned away every time.

Until one dark day, as Nana lay dying in the little room the two women shared. Beverly was on her knees beside the woman, crying silently and praying for a miracle. Seconds later he knocked on the door.

She went to him without thinking, needing only to feel his touch once more. She loved him so very, very much, no matter what he had done. There was nothing he could do that she would not forgive him for. If he was back, truly back, then perhaps there was a hope for her, for the life she wanted back so desperately. Perhaps there was a reason to live. And for giving her back that hope, she would forgive him everything.

He held her fiercely, tears slipping unnoticed down his face, the bouquet he'd brought lying on the floor where it had fallen. She was in his arms. She was with him. She was real.

*****

He'd begun to doubt himself lately, worried that his perfect dancer was nothing but a product of his deranged mind. He'd been so very desperate to see her.

He'd given up the theater, turning it over to his exec and retreating to his mansion. For months he lived there alone, seeing no one but the servant he hired to shop and clean for him. For months he had felt himself dying.

He had done this, done all of it. He and his damnable cowardice and fear had destroyed the one piece of perfection in his miserable life. He deserved to die, he wished for it, and yet he was too much a coward to end his own life. Instead, he sat for hours on end in the room they had once shared and wished for death. A heart attack nearly granted his wish.

It was mild the doctors assured him, nothing a change in diet and increased exercise wouldn't fix. He didn't take their advice. Instead, he started searching for her. Only she could make him whole again, and if it took the rest of his life he would gladly give it to touch her just once more.

*****

Together again at last, they clung to each other. They might have stayed that way forever if Nana hadn't coughed. Beverly went to the old woman's side, then looked back at Jean-Luc, her eyes pleading for him to save her.

He wrapped the woman securely in her thin covers and picked her up. She was so thin and pale and wasted, just like his pretty dancer, his Beverly. He drove at maniac speeds to the hospital, then handled the paperwork while Beverly sat with Nana.

The doctors kept the older woman for several weeks, allowing Beverly to stay with her so that they could keep an eye on her as well. At the same time Jean-Luc cleared out their few possessions and prepared rooms for them at his house. He'd been a little hesitant to make the offer but Beverly had surprised him completely by accepting without hesitation.

They lived together in the big house all spring and summer, happy to be together. There was a slight subtle tension that surrounded Beverly and Jean-Luc. Neither one of them had made a move towards intimacy. Not that bitter memories were holding her back. She had forgiven him for everything. He had saved Nana, and her. He had come back to her. He had begged her forgiveness on his knees with tears in his eyes. He had given her back her fairy tale. She would deny him nothing, but neither would she ask for more than he'd already given. She would wait for him, no matter how long it took.

It was he that was afraid to ask. And so that slight subtle tension between them grew.

*****

On the first day of fall Nana died.

Jean-Luc made all the arrangements as Beverly was too withdrawn to help. She stopped speaking almost completely and took to roaming the house at all hours. After the funeral she continued her roaming, as if she was searching for something she had lost, but couldn't remember what it was.

Jean-Luc let her go, sometimes following her, sometimes talking to her. Alone yet together they lived in the house, both consumed by their grief and pain.

*****

One night a month after the funeral Jean-Luc awoke to a crashing sound and went downstairs to investigate. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb Beverly if she was sleeping. He never expected to see her in the studio, dancing.

She was moving through one of her favorite pieces, stumbling and falling at nearly every turn. But each time she picked herself up and kept on with the routine. Over an hour she did this, until her knees and legs and hands were bruised from falling so much.

She was on the floor, curled into a ball not making a sound. He went to her on his knees, daring to reach out and touch her face just once as he curled his body around but not touching hers. They spent the rest of the night on the floor like that.

After that she spent much of her time trying to dance, to regain a little of what she'd lost, her life, her love, her soul. Jean-Luc was there, supporting her every effort, helping her through the pain and despair that taunted her, making her doubt herself. He was the only thing she did not doubt. He was her prince, her lifeline, her heart. He had given her her heart's desire once, when she hadn't even known what it was and she knew he would give it to her again if she believed in him, if she loved him. And so she danced, fighting the pain and the doubt and the fear, hoping it would heal them both. It was only natural then that when they finally made love again it was on the floor of the studio.

In the afterglow of their lovemaking he asked her to marry him and for the first time in forever his soul was complete when she answered yes. Her soul, more brittle and battered than his, took much longer to complete. Loving him helped, as did teaching dance at the school he bought for her. But it was not until she held their child in her arms that she felt completely whole again. She had her life again, her love, and now he had given her something better than her fairy tale.

Their child, so beautiful and perfect. Little Felisa.

And they lived happily ever after.

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