The Little Mermaid
by Astra <astraplain@yahoo.com 

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 an 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 so-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 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 run down 
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 hearts 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 be 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.