Black Adagio (22 page)

“I was only trying to help ...” Zoe began, a crowd encircling the combatants in this joust.

“Help? When have you ever tried to help anyone other than yourself? Melissa looks fine, and that's what's getting to you. The fact that she looks better than you without putting hours of effort into! Admit it! You're just plain jealous! Jealous of her looks and jealous that's she's a real dancer and not a poser like you!”

Gasps and cries of “Oh, no, he didn't” were heard as Zoe was finally shown up for what she was ... a heartless bitch used to throwing her weight around. Sputtering for a reply, a flush of red crept up into her usually pale cheeks. Kurt turned his back on her, facing Melissa.

“Congratulations, Missy girl. You at least deserve the honor. Don't know why they wanted a cardboard cutout, but they seem to have chosen one,” he said flashing a devilish grin at the girl hot with shame.

Amidst the approving laughter, Zoe stormed away, her two friends following like hairpins in her bun. In spite of not wanting to, Melissa snickered. Putting her hand on Kurt’s arm, the whole thing so funny.

“Thank you, Kurt … for everything.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ve been waiting to say something. She's been on your case since you got here, and it's been getting on my nerves. Don't know why everyone just lets her get away with it, but not on my watch she won't!”

He gave her a quick hug, the other students dispersing and retreating into their own private heaven or hell.

“I hope we get the chance to dance together,” he whispered in her ear, before jetéing away. He gave a whoop, leaping into the arms of his buddies that waited for him across the floor. Breaking out in boisterous roughhousing, even the friends not making it into the company celebrated his victory.

“I think someone has a crush,” Collette teased, sidling up to Melissa.

“Oh, no! He was just being nice.”

“Not nice—besotted.”

“You are so wrong!” Melissa replied, grinning at the thought that Kurt could have a crush on her.

“Two men, one tiny dancer,” Collette continued, her arms spreading out as if reading the back of a romance novel. “Who will she choose? And who will go away brokenhearted?”

Finishing the dramatic reading with a titter, Melissa grimaced, not willing to acknowledge the dramatic arc. Mimicking her friend, she read a blurb of her own.

“One friend ... how could she be so wrong!”

Collette shook her head, denying the assertion.

“Not.”

“Are.”

“Na-ot!”

“Ay-har!”

Arm-in-arm, head-to-head, the two continued the battle up the stairs and to their rooms, rejoicing in the great news.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Ms. Solange! You look like an old carp!”” Viktor barked loud enough to be heard over the music. 

Thanksgiving was over, and the students had been pared down to the thirty lucky survivors. There could be no more hiding behind the numerous rows of lines. Standing in a group of five, she was easily picked out by Viktor
Szelak for torturous remarks about her adage.

Her supporting side digging into the ground like a pole furrowing into the earth, her right foot moved up to a retiré. The leg trying its best to unfold. The beginning was promising—but then it always was. Her stomach pulling in instead of popping out, it was another good sign, that she was working her subtle core and not their stronger outer set of muscles. Her psoas leading the way, her legs felt as if they started in her groin. Bringing her right toe underneath, just when she thought she had it, she clenched her muscles. Thrusting her ribs out, her quadriceps took over causing a turn-in of her legs. Ruining her line, it caused her thighs to unnecessarily burn, adding an undesired heaviness to the leg. There she stood, ungainly in her attempt to lift her slender leg. Throwing off her timing, she rushed—desperate to hold the height of her working leg. Off balance, she began hopping. Falling out of her unsuccessful attempt, she stood embarrassed and flustered.

“Oh, very nice, Ms. Solange! If you had done that on stage, the audience would have booed you off! I suggest you get used to it. Class, let us show Ms. Solange her future! Boo!” he hissed—only two in the class joining in.

Zoe and Justin enthusiastically went along with Viktor’s suggestion. Relieved of her entourage, Gretchen and Rob had been sent home packing. Collette and Tina's faces showed anguish for the browbeating being delivered. Totally unnecessary, how could someone relax when their feet were being held to the fire? The rest of the dancers in Melissa's group held their positions, ignoring the teacher's hurtful words in a display of solidarity for a fellow student. Trying to pick up the choreography, Missy finished the rest of the variation by marking the movements. Her spirit crumbled under Viktor’s icy glare.

The music ended, the small group maintaining fifth position as instructed. Melissa nervously squeezed her thighs together, doing her best to remain anonymous. Like a linebacker on a football field, Viktor pushed the other students out of the way to get to her. Towering over her, his voice was the only noise heard.

“I want you to stand in the back for the remainder of the class! I will not have my eyes disgraced by your mediocrity! Is that understood?” he yelled out, his voice traveling into the hall.

“Yes, sir,” she meekly replied, wishing the ground would swallow her up and end her ordeal.

“Good!” he screamed. Moving unsteadily to the front of the class, he leaned heavily on his cane for support, summoning the music to begin again. “Next group! Come on! We haven't got all day!”

The pianist repeated the musical selection. The next group in their places, they enacted a picture perfect replay of what Viktor wanted. Melissa retreated, trying her best to stay out of everyone's way.

Enduring another forty-five minutes, the de rigueur applause rang out at the end of class. Viktor waddling out as best he could, the titters of Zoe and Justin burned in her ears. God, how she hated that Justin had joined the fitful hatefest, but the scheming temptress had managed to turn him against her.

Slumping down in a corner, she threw a towel over her head, attempting to hide her tears. Collette bent down, giving her a kiss on the top of her head.

“Melissa, you want to go downstairs for a snack?”

From under the hem of the towel, she recognized a second set of feet as Tina’s. Melissa only shook her head, the towel moving from side to side.

“Okay,” she said, both moving away.

The two sets of feet shuffling out the door, the room quieted down. Alone, it's what she had been waiting for. Sinking into a fit of tears, she sobbed mournfully, getting it all out. To her surprise, a pair of canvas-soled feet padded over to her. The feet belonged a male. Hoping it wasn’t Justin coming back to rub salt in the wound, the towel currently being used as a veil was unexpectedly lifted, Kurt's sweet face before her—he was beaming like a friend and not an enemy.

Feeling so good to have someone care, she forgot about where she was. Throwing herself against him, he held her awkwardly at first. Relaxing, she huddled in his sinewy arms. Crisscrossed over her, they enveloped her in a bear hug of compassion.

“Come on, Melissa. It isn't that bad,” he soothed.

“N-not b-bad?” she heaved,
wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “H-how do you figure th-at i-it's not b-bad?”

“He's old school! We've all had teachers like that. You can't let it affect you so much,” he said brushing back her tears. Gazing into her eyes, he softened his stance. “You know, maybe it is that bad. You're a true artist, and artists always feel things more strongly.”

The encouraging words made her feel even worse. If she were good, it would mean that she was letting everyone down. Bursting into another round of feverish wailing, new tears spilled, making it impossible for her to talk.

“Hey, I didn't mean to get you more upset. I was actually trying to help. I've been raked over the coals so many times, I can't even count! It's never stopped me from doing anything.”

“Y-you? Y-you've never been t-ttalked to like that!”

“Course I have!”

“B-but it doesn't seem like y-you have,” she answered, picking up her head and locking on his amazing green eyes.

“Cause I don't let it show, and you do,” he replied, moving in closer. Holding out the towel for her, she took it, wiping her face. “It's like you don't know you're good or something. I don't understand.”

“I'm not good,” she stated flatly, staring at the ground, her lips turned down in a bitter realization of her true talent.

“What the … ?” he gasped, taking her by the shoulders. Ducking his head down, she could no longer avoid looking at him. “You are fantastic! Absolutely! You’re like, like,” he said, struggling for words, “magical or something!”

Studying his face for deception, there didn't seem to be any. Speaking without guile, as impossible as it seemed, he believed in her.

“
Thank you,
”
she muttered almost inaudibly, not able to express how grateful she was that he was trying to help.

“That's better,” he encouraged. “It's just that stupid adagio that's the problem. It's psyching you out. You've got it! Everyone knows you do, except for you! You start out, and then something up here,” he said pointing to her temple, “goes like ...” he said, his fingers wobbling like something spinning out of control.

She shyly smiled, “I know. I don't know why though. I just lose it.”

“Come on!” he said tugging her to her feet. “We have a few minutes before our next class. Let's see if
moi
, Kurt Casings, can help.”

Running to the sound system, he rifled through the school’s music, pulling out a CD. Keying into an appropriate track, a lush phrase began.

“Fifth! Ms. Solange! Right here, please!” he shouted, pointing to the spot in the middle of the empty classroom. Only the best of the best ever stood front and center in a classroom. It was etiquette built over many lifetimes. The lines of a ballet class indicated ranks, with the men and the weakest dancers staying in the last rows.

Hearing Beethoven's
Moonlight Sonata
, something swelled inside her. She loved the music, its melody registering within her. Her body instantly aligned. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, her dark eyes flashed as Kurt called out the movements.

“Soutenu!”

Melissa stepped out on her right foot. Her left foot crossed in fifth, turning in place.

“Two piqué en dehors!”

Pliéing on her right leg, she stepped onto a straight left leg. Completing the two lame duck turns, she doubled the last.

“Plié fifth into a developpé à la seconde, please!”

Relaxing her knees, her thighs pressed outward, melting as fondue. Her right foot lifting, she wrapped her foot around her left ankle. Where she’d fallen apart in Viktor's class, this time it would be different. This developpé would be perfect. She’d execute it just the way she was taught.

“Don't think, dance!” he prompted, moving around to the back of her, as her foot glided up to her left knee. “Relax,” he whispered, bringing his hands down on the trapezius that had already begun to tense. He touched her under her collar bone, running his finger down her side. His fingers lightly holding her, he looked over her shoulder. “Just relax, Melissa. You're doing fine. Listen to the music. Let it lead you.”

Falling under Kurt’s spell, all other sights and sounds disappeared. No longer in the studio, she was in some nameless place where all things were possible. Surrounded by the music, she danced through it, her foot tucking under the knee that was lifting from her psoas Her right hip disengaged, it was positioned to allow her to set the height of her leg. Her hip slightly tilting, her little toe drove out from underneath. Kurt traced a line under her breasts, touching her breastbone. “From here Melissa. “Right here,” he said gently pressing his hand against her heart.

“It's like a kiss, Melissa. Let it happen,” he said, pursing his lips and letting them linger on her bared shoulder.

She was going to do it. She could feel herself succumbing to the music. About to climax at the end of the phrase as she should, the old fear hit her. Afraid she was going to drown in some dark place, it was the place she’d disappeared in the dream. Coming out of the fog, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Jarring her into reality, her perfect form went askew. Freezing up, her quads took over, interfering with the flow. Her legs turning in, the loss of turnout ruined the line, forcing her leg to drop.

Sick to her stomach, she tried to explain. Kurt hushed her, laying a hand on the shoulder he'd kissed.

“It's alright, Melissa. You had it. You know you did. You just have to repeat that until you get it right. Okay?”

Grabbing her by her elbows, he playfully shook her. In spite of herself, she responded with a soft laugh and smile.

“Okay,” she promised.

Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, he retrieved his gear.

“See you in class,” he saluted.

Laughing, his legs hit a perfect split in the air. He was so good. A natural athlete, he made everything look effortless. His form exiting through the door, she studied herself for a minute. Fixing her bun, she walked back to collect her belongings. Bending down, she scooped them up. Standing, she turned, knocking into Alexei Rubino.