“Good,” he said, ignoring my wince as he placed a hand on my shoulder and the other on the back of my thigh. “Now move into second.”
Placing my heels together again, I turned my feet out until I felt they were in almost a perfectly straight line.
“Hang on,” he ordered, his hand sliding down my thigh and onto one of my knees. “Does this hurt here?”
“Not much anymore,” I whispered. The touch had sent a shock through me, the way he so easily caressed my skin after having slapped it. I didn’t like it.
“But it did when you first started studying?” He sounded like he was really thinking, concentrating on what he was doing. Did he really think it wasn’t a big deal that he’d just hit me?
“I guess so.”
Leaving my knee, his fingers gripped my waist, feeling the muscles there for a moment.
“You’re not turning out from your hip enough,” he finally explained. “You’re doing it all from your knees. You’re lucky you haven’t snapped any of the tendons there yet.”
He grabbed one of my thighs again and gently started pulling it out and back, making my foot move forward out of position.
“Feel where your foot fell, right there?”
I nodded, swallowing hard, still caught on the abuse he’d dealt out. All the pleasant feeling I’d experienced from his touch were banished now, replaced by anger and hurt.
“That is where your natural turn out reaches. If you want your feet to go as far as they did when you only used your knees, you have a lot of stretching to do. From now on, this is where you work in second.”
He adjusted my other leg and foot to match, his touch strong but gentle. His voice carried an underlying tone of frustration, but it appeared that he really wanted to help and not hurt.
“Now,” he started again, his hands returning to my shoulder and thigh. “Three pliés in second.”
I moved slower this time, trying to concentrate on holding my muscles tighter as he’d said before. It felt much different, especially with my newly adjusted position. When I moved onto the grand plie, parts of my body that had performed it with ease before called out in discomfort.
“Don’t forget to hold your butt in,” he said, applying a small amount of pressure under the small of my back. “It will help keep your spine straight and you won’t pull anything you’re not supposed to.”
“What, you’re not going to slap my butt and call it saggy, too?” The new positions hurt, only adding insult to the injury he’d given me.
“I could slap you every time, yes,” he answered smoothly. “You would never forget to do something the right way again. But I believe you are smart enough to remember after one.”
“Maybe I would have remembered without any, if you’d given me the chance,” I grumbled, lowering down.
“This is how my teacher taught me.” It was a simple answer, but it made my stomach turn.
“You let someone beat you?”
“On to third position,” he replied, releasing me.
As I continued on with what he said, I could tell that I would be sore in the morning from all of the new things I was implementing. It wasn’t an appealing revelation in any way, but progress was a happy feeling to experience.
The rest of his instructions went by smoothly, with Sir only stopping me to adjust something a few more times.
“It will take practice to forget your old habits.” He spoke from the other side of the room as I finished the round. “That’s why we’re sticking to the barre for so long.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed, choosing to face the mirror still since there was no point in trying to look at him. Everything was dark to me, though I could hear his steps on the floor now and his cologne was faintly distinguishable whenever he came close enough. It smelled nice, like he cared about how he presented himself on all fronts. However, something was still eating at me. “Can I ask one question, though?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why does it all have to be in the dark? If the lights were on, I’d be able to see the things you changed in the mirror and remember them better for next time. Is it really only because you don’t want me to know who you are?”
“Yes and no.” He chuckled softly, moving toward me, running his hand down my arm and raising it to the side in a graceful movement. He must have been looking at our reflections in the mirror as he moved me around, stretching my limbs out and up without realizing what his touch did to my skin, goose bumps easily forming under him. His finger caressed my biceps, holding me in the position for a second before allowing my arms to lower. His palms moved to my shoulders then, and I suddenly realized how much bigger his hands were than mine. They held a warmth to them that gave me the feeling I’d had when we first met—that he sincerely wanted to help and not hurt. When he spoke again, it was a soft sound, whispered into my ear. “Dancing is something you should feel, not see. Other people come to see. The only time a dancer sees what they are doing is in class, through a mirror’s reflection. When it comes time to perform, though, they step out under the lights and have only their bodies to rely on. They must remember what their muscles felt like performing certain moves, what their bodies did at certain times.
“By working in the dark, we are taking out the middle man. You will only have the feel of your body to go by. I will tell you if you are doing something wrong and help you correct it. You must remember what it made you feel. Once you remember, you will be able to tap into that every time and perform exactly as you should.”
“So slapping my thigh will help me remember to tighten my muscles? Because I have to admit, I still feel that was a little uncalled for.” He was making me jittery with all of his touching, and I wanted to move away.
He didn’t answer, but I got the distinct impression that I’d made him smile.
“You’re going to do all of that over,” he continued, moving away. “But this time, in relevé. The elevés between each set will help the balls of your feet relax from each position. Begin.”
I smiled to myself as well and started once more, doing my best to apply everything I’d learned in the last set. As he’d said, sometimes I didn’t get it dead-on, but he was there to correct me and help me feel the difference between right and wrong.
The rest of the night was just as revealing and painful as the start. After I finished the second round of pliés, he had me start a third on pointe, only to stop me and tell me he didn’t think my ankles were in good enough shape for that yet. I did every barre exercise I’d ever done in class and then some.
There were more mean comments and jabs as I worked, as well as a gruff explanation for some. By the time our session was coming to the end, I hadn’t been able to decide if the meanness was part of a ploy to keep me from getting too close and finding out who he was, or if it really was simply how he acted.
“When will we meet again?” I asked, bending over my leg that was stretched out across the barre. The action was both painful and refreshing, giving my muscles a tiny bit of relief.
“Tomorrow,” he said in an unquestioning tone. “At the same time. If anything changes, I will get word to you.”
I continued my cool down, wincing at the soreness I’d accumulated.
“You did well.” He murmured in a softer tone from some spot right next to me. “There is a lot of hard work to come. I hope you’ve found confidence in your abilities tonight.”
“I have, thank you,” I said in surprise. Was it that easy to see that I’d been thinking I couldn’t do it? Who was this man? Where was he watching me dance? Why did he seem to illicit responses from me that I didn’t expect or understand?
He cleared his throat and walked away, turning the music off on the other side of the room.
“You may go.”
Confused, I blinked behind my blindfold, not sure what I was supposed to do. The sound of a door opening and closing found me tearing the barrier off and blinking in the bright lights of the space.
A huge sigh es
caped me and I crumpled down to the floor, laying out on my back. It was a relief to not have him watching and correcting everything I did. Tomorrow night was not something I was looking forward to. Yet, at the same time, I really was. Despite his sternness and confusing excuses, not to mention the way he made my skin crawl, I felt I’d really been helped tonight. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I was so bad off on the basics.
Realizing how late it was, I slid my shoes off, which he’d allowed me to use for the pointe section of our class, and sighed. It wasn’t quite midnight yet and my workout had left me hungry. After stepping into my regular flats, I made the decision to walk down to a twenty four hour deli and get something to eat. If I was going to be putting in the extra work, I might as well get the extra nourishment from it as well.
Chapter Seven
“If I have to listen to you say one more thing about Colt Erikson ever, I think I’ll strangle you.” Steve groaned as he pushed the door open to the warm up room, holding it so Meg and I could pass through.
“I’m excited that we get to start warming up with the actual company every day,” Meg retorted defensively. “Besides, he won’t even be here anymore in a few weeks. You won’t have to hear a word about him then.”
“If you like him so much, why don’t you just go talk to him? He knows your mom, I’m sure he’d be happy to know her daughter.” Smiling as I sat down on the floor, I stretched my legs out and dug into my bag for my pointe shoes.
“I don’t want an ‘in’ because of my mom. In anything.” She sounded sour, her nose twitching some, and we all knew that was the end of that conversation for now.
The room was filling around us, with students and members of the company both. When the program had first started, we’d warmed up with the professional dancers only once a month; they had been on a tight schedule for a ballet they were rehearsing and needed to be up and ready earlier in the morning. Now that the show was over, though, they were back to their normal time, which coincided with the students.
Barres stood along the walls and in the center of the room, dividing it into rows. When class began, we would all fill in the aisles, taking a spot at the beams and going to work. Mirrors reflected the entire thing back, a help—and a hindrance, if you asked Sir—when it came to knowing what you looked like while moving.
Instantly, my mind flashed back to the night before and the harsh, yet somehow gentle manner I’d been instructed with. Sir was a mystery I felt a very strong pull to uncover. What was his real name? Was he a student? A member of the company? One of the teachers? How old was he? He didn’t seem much older than me, but I was only nineteen. Surely he was closer to twenty five? It was hard to tell when I had no picture of him. All I could do was guess from the way he spoke and how I imagined him to be.
“Scar?”
“Hmmmm?” Pulled from my thoughts, I looked up at Meg. Apparently, Steve had turned to talk to some other guys and left the two of us alone.
“I asked how it went last night. You haven’t said anything about it.” She looked eager and scared at the same time.
“It was fine,” I answered in a noncommittal tone. “Barre work.”
“Did you find out who it is?”
“No.”
Her reply was cut off by the arrival of Colt Erikson, who now appeared to have his own security guard. The beefy man wasn’t doing much, though, stopping outside the door and leaning against the wall.
“Hey man!” One of the other male dancers in the company high fived him as he walked by. “Your own guard?”
“Yeah,” Colt replied, laughing. “Things got a bit crazy yesterday, so the studio sent someone out to help. It’s weird.”
“Why didn’t you bite them with those fangs of yours?” another guy asked, laughing.
“Maybe when I actually get them,” he replied good-naturedly.
“I envy him,” Meg said quietly, watching as he crossed the space and began stretching himself. “Branching out into other things.”
“You want to do something besides dance?” I asked in surprise. “I always thought this was your dream.”
“It is.” She shrugged, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer before she began the process of putting on her shoes. Wrapping her toes carefully, she mumbled softly. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to do something else. Dance has been my whole life, from my mom, to school, to now. I love it all, but—”
“Good morning everyone!” Miss Gini entered the room with a sweeping motion, her long hair braided into a high up-do. Her black, calf length skirt swayed with each step as she motioned for us to take our positions at the barre. “Mix it up!” she ordered. “No students by students, no company members by company members.”
Sighing, I finished putting on my shoe, wincing slightly at the soreness of my muscles. I’d been worked well the night before and my body was not excited to be at it again already.
The room became a moment of chaos as we moved to our spots, checking to make sure we weren’t by anyone we shouldn’t be. It was normal practice for when we warmed up together, to help us all feel like one group instead of two, but the instruction was always given regardless. When we were finally situated, I found myself standing right in front of none other than the man himself, Colt Erikson.
“Hi,” he whispered, smiling encouragingly. “I’m Colt.”
“I know who you are.” I laughed quietly, turning my back to him and placing my hand on the barre.
“Then you have a distinct advantage over me, I’m afraid.”
Miss Gini was giving out instructions for how we were to start the warmup, motioning with her arms as she stood at the front of the room. “Begin.”
A piano player in one corner began playing classical music and we moved as one, performing the steps she had instructed.
“Very good, Melanie,” she said as she walked down the row next to us. “Make sure you hold your chin up, please.”
My muscles, while shouting at me for making them hurt in the first place, were becoming accustomed to the new way in which they were being used. I moved slower than I had before, trying to remember how the correct way felt and ignore my reflection in the far mirror.
“That is much, much better, Miss Redford.” Surprise was written on Miss Gini’s face as she moved from behind me to the front, watching as I pliéd. “Your posture is perfect when you do it like that. Have you been practicing outside of class more frequently?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I responded, continuing the movements she’d instructed, my heart beating wildly as I waited for her to find something wrong.
“Very good,” she mused, nodding, before continuing her path down the aisle.
“Miss Redford,” Colt said quietly from behind me. “Scarlet Redford? In the corps de ballet for the main show this showcase, right?”
“How did you know that?” I asked, surprised.
Back at the front of the room, new instructions for the next movement were being given. Turning around to start on the correct side, I caught a glimpse of his smile before he turned his back to me.
“I helped cast the shows. I’m better with names than faces, though, so I didn’t quite recognize you. Sorry.”
“We’ve never met before, it’s not a big deal.” I moved to follow the choreography, but something in my muscles felt wrong and I hesitated, feeling out what I’d been taught the night before. There, my butt wasn’t tucked under like it should be. Confident that I could go on correctly, I fell in step with everyone once more.
“Actually, I’ve watched you dance quite a few times, from the observation room. You probably didn’t notice because you were working.”
Blushing, I bent all the way down, touching my toes and breathing in that position for a moment. He was watching me? For how long? And how could I have not noticed he was there? He was the poster child for the company, his face plastered on every ad they ever did. If he’d been around, I would have noticed immediately.
“It wasn’
t like creepy serial killer watching, though.” He laughed, coming out of the stretch at the same time I did. “Just for work.”
“Oh really?” His words had struck a chord that got my brain moving. He was wearing a black, baggy hoodie, kind of like the jacket Sir had been wearing the night before, or so I thought. He looked to be the right height . . . And I’d accused Sir of being a serial killer. Was it a coincidence that Colt was now referring to himself in that manner as well?
“Gini is right,” he said, glancing over at me. “You look much better today.”
“Thanks.” Was I supposed to be taking these comments on my form as compliments or insults? It was nice to be told I was doing better, but what did that say about before?
The rest of the hour long warm up passed without much comment from Colt, or anyone for that matter. It was comforting, easy even, for me to relax into the music and concentrate on only my body. The more I stretched and got ready for my day of lessons, the better my muscles felt. When the time came to an end, I groaned happily, shaking my feet out.
“Hey Colt, wanna catch a show tonight?” It was one of the guys from the company again, someone who appeared to be his good friend.
“I can’t, bro. I’m sorry. I have this thing I have to do.”
What thing? A secret dance lesson thing?
Shaking myself, I put the thoughts out of my mind. There was no way Sir was Colt Erikson. No way at all. Crossing back to the corner were I’d left my things, I took my shoes off and busied myself with going through my bag. Meg quickly joined me, sliding to her seat with ease.
“I saw you two talking,” she said in a sing song voice. “How was he? Is he perfect? Man I wish I would have picked that spot first!”
“He’s fine.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at her. “He asked me what my name was and said I was dancing better today. Apparently, he’s been watching all of us.”
Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him, her nose twitching again. “I wonder what he thought of me.”
Watching Over Me: A Dreams Novel Page 5
