Woman with dreams
Agnes Holloway sat before her dressing room's mirror, the dim light casting a soft glow upon her features. Alone in her thoughts, she gazed upon her reflection, her face adorned with carefully applied cosmetics. From the rosy tint of her cheeks to the crimson hue of her lips, each touch of makeup brought her a sense of confidence and affirmation.
"The stage awaits, Agnes!" came the announcement when the door swung open after a pounding. Mr. Fletcher, in charge of backstage operations, stood in the doorway.
Agnes offered him a nod of acknowledgment before rising from her seat, ready to join the other women gathered backstage. Dressed in similar attire, they awaited their cue to grace the stage.
"You're looking radiant tonight, Agnes!" Amelia, one of her fellow dancers, complimented her with a warm smile. "Your auburn hair is positively enchanting, like the hues of autumn."
"Thank you," Agnes replied, her fingers instinctively reaching up to touch her wavy locks. Despite the compliments, a nagging sense of self-doubt lingered within her.
She was a twenty-four-year-old woman, her eyes changing color depending on her mood. Light brown when happy and calm, they turned dark during gloomy moments. Though not confident outside on the streets, it was different when she stepped onto the stage.
"Alright, let's go!" Mr. Fletcher ushered them in as the music began. The curtains began to draw away from each other, letting the viewers see the eight women, of whom one was Agnes.
Agnes stepped out of the shadows. Her footsteps were sensual as she made her way towards her spot, with others following her with the rising music. The spectators in the seating area began to applaud and whistle as soon as they laid eyes on her. Due to her full-time job at the Frontier Hall Opera, she was a scarce dancer in this club, and her appearances were only four times a week.
She was a confident dancer, moving sensually to the music with a full-blown smile on her face as if she owned the stage. In moments like these, she felt liberated.
Due to her initial strict upbringing, she was rather self-critical and harsh toward herself. Not to mention, respectable women here didn't dance in front of people, not like what occured inside the club.
The singer and dancers bowed to the crowd when the music ended after the two dances.
"What a fantastic show, ladies!" Mr. Fletcher lauded them as usual. "Here is the payment for the night. And make sure you girls are safe on your way back," he warned out of caution.
"Are you concerned that someone might take us, Paul?" one of the older dancers teased him.
"Of course I do. But that's not what I mean. There have been murders happening in the city, women being murdered, and a voodoo doll of the scarecrow left behind at the scenes. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to any of you."
"Terrifying business, that," chimed in another young woman. "The police are still on the hunt for the culprit."
"Agnes, do mind yourself as well," Mr. Fletcher interjected, turning his attention to her.
"Absolutely. You head home alone, and you are extremely beautiful for whoever that psychopath is to not notice you," said another woman in agreement while nodding her head.
They were being too nice by saying she was beautiful and an attractive woman, Agnes thought to herself. She was barely comparable to the beauty of other women in the room, while she covered herself with makeup.
"You're a fraud," her inner voice taunted, chipping away at her confidence.
After changing out of her costume, Agnes slipped out through the backdoor. As she made her way down the dimly lit alley, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease. Her eyes landed on a man in a suit standing beside a carriage parked not far from the club's entrance.
Looking away from the man, she quickly started to make her way back home when she heard an echo of footsteps not far behind her.
"Excuse me, Miss! Miss Holloway!"
Agnes felt a trickle of fear run down her spine, and knowing she couldn't go far, she paused her footsteps. The man in the suit quickly caught up to her.
"Can I help you?" Agnes asked, her voice softer than usual and a frown marring her face.
"I am Derek Anderson. I am a producer in New York. I own Ballad's," the man offered his card to Agnes. "Forgive me for approaching you at this hour, but I didn't know when to bring it up. I was wondering if you would be interested in joining us."
Agnes's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. She had faintly heard about the Ballad's, whose reputation soared high enough to reach even her ears.
"I am not a professional dancer," Agnes blurted, and she did it only for joy.
"You are really fantastic at what you do. I've been observing you for the past two weeks. Not like a stalker," he added in response to Agnes's worried expression. "I stumbled into this place while visiting the town for work.
With a heavy grip, Agnes glanced at the card before returning it to him and saying, "I am sorry."
"If there's a contract with the current club, I am willing to settle it. We wouldn't want to waste a talent such as yours when you can make it big on the bigger stage," the man continued to persuade her.
She wished her father could hear that. She smiled and replied, "No, it isn't that. Thank you for the opportunity, but I will have to decline."
"Is it something that doesn't interest you? The pay is good too," said Mr. Anderson.
"I am very interested." There was a quiet yearning in her voice. "But I can't." This was an opportunity that she knew was rare and was something her heart soared at. But not everyone was fortunate enough to follow their dreams.
"Is it your family? Are you married?"
Agnes shook her head. "I appreciate the opportunity. I really do. But I will have to refuse it." She couldn't explain why she couldn't go to New York with the man. It was complicated.
"How about you keep the card with you?" He said, "If you ever change your mind, you can ring me. Goodnight, Miss Holloway."
"Goodnight," Agnes murmured softly, watching the man return to his carriage.
The following week, during work, Agnes couldn't stop thinking about Derek Anderson's offer. She held his card between her fingers, staring at it. It would be a lie if she said she wasn't tempted to leave everything behind and move to New York to pursue her dreams. But reality was harsh, and she had experienced it many times before. Especially with the secret she carried.
"Do you want to go to New York?" Ricardo asked Agnes, as she was still holding the card.
"It isn't like I can."
"Por que? Why? All you need to do is push harder, Senorita. Look at me."
Agnes had no rebellious streak in her, at least not like Ricardo, whom she knew had an outgoing and wild personality. She crumpled the card and threw it in the bin. When she went quiet, he tried to cheer her up.
"Don't be so hard on yourself. How about we do some shopping later? I will be happy to assist you."
"Yeah, I would like that," Agnes smiled before releasing a sigh. "Thank you, Rick."
"If you don't have fun often, you are going to turn like Sylvester," Ricardo remarked.
"He likes the quiet life," Agnes murmured.
"I believe the word you are looking for is boring. I mean, look at him." Ricardo clicked his tongue as if he couldn't stand Sylvester.
Sylvester was having lunch with Lady Poppy right now in the seating areas, where people walked past them with curious looks on their faces.
"I am going to sleep! See you later!" Ricardo took his cue to leave.
One of the evenings, when Agnes was resting her feet after the performance on the stage, one of the dancers announced,
"Ice cream for everyone today! My treat!" which earned cheers from other ladies.
"Ice cream in this cold? I think I will pass," Agnes stated, not wanting to risk falling sick.
"It is chocolate mint! You cannot say no to that," the woman said.
"Chocolate mint? That's Marcello's favourite." Agnes responded. Maybe she could take it home?
"Is that your boyfriend, Agnes? What does he do?" asked another woman, and the others turned curious.
"It must be someone wealthy and handsome," said Amelia. "I doubt Agnes would go out with anyone less worthy. When are we going to be introduced to him?"
Agnes chuckled before responding, "Sorry to burst the bubble, but Marcello is an eight-year-old boy. He's my brother."
"Boo!"
"Way to put a stop to the possible romantic story," whined another lady in the room.
"I admire you, Agnes. You work so many jobs and prioritise your family," said Amelia. She then added, "You should find someone and settle down. Someone who will look after you. If you want, we can babysit your young brother."
"That is very generous of you," but Agnes didn't accept the offer. Marcello wasn't fond of the company of unfamiliar people.
As Agnes reached her apartment's doorstep, she instinctively retrieved her keys from her purse, the familiar jingle echoing in the quiet evening air. Just as she prepared to unlock her door, a faint creak of the wooden flooring caught her attention. Peering into the dimly lit hallway, she noticed the silhouette of her female neighbour, her gaze sharp and scrutinising.
"Women judged other women harder than anyone else," Agnes thought to herself before entering the house and closing the door behind her.
In another time and place, beneath the softly glowing lamp posts amidst the snowfall, a young couple ventured beneath the bridge's arches. Even though they were glowing, the light posts couldn't ward off the chill.
"I really should head home," protested the young woman, just before her boyfriend silenced her with a tender kiss.
"Just a little longer," he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. Stepping back, he declared, "Tonight, I will tell my parents about you."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed until then." Her words were cut short as something wet landed on her face. "The snow's already melting."
"That doesn't look like water," he observed, gently brushing his fingers against her cheek where the crimson droplet had fallen. Another followed, and their gaze lifted upward, widening in horror.
"AHHHHHH!!" The young woman's scream pierced the wintry air as they beheld the lifeless body sprawled above the bridge's arch, blood continuing to trickle from its wounds and falling on the pure white snow below.