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I start back out of the Platinum room. “That’s right.”
His expression darkens. “You sure you know what you’re signing up for? You won’t work here. You will only dance for me, beauty. Whenever and where I want it.”
Swallowing, I nod. “I know.”
I turn and flee down the stairs, my head full of contradictory thoughts.
I just gained a patron… but I won’t sacrifice my privacy to keep him, if I can help it.
Chapter43
Calum
Two days later, I’m standing by the studio’s only window, frowning out into the inky blackness. Basil is in the opposite corner and between us are the current group of dancers. Basil leans down close to one ballerina, his black-clad body looking rather like a knife.
“You can leave,” he tells her. He looks her up and down, his expression severe. “Your pirouettes are disgraceful.”
The twenty ballerinas and dancers surrounding her don’t stop moving, even when she bursts into loud, sloppy tears. Basil turns on her classmates, sighing silently. He watches their movements like a hawk.
I fold my arms across my chest, my eyes tracing the dancers’ arms. I can see that half of the dancers here are lacking in the natural grace with which Honor was so proudly blessed. There are also a lot of nerves right now.
Even though the class has been instructed to impress Basil and not worry about me, I am getting plenty of looks. Not because I’m handsome. Not because I’m rich, though I’m sure that’s part of it.
No, they are looking at me because it was announced earlier today that I will be directing all of the spring productions.
And I won’t be pulling a single punch.
“Stop!” I call out, shaking my head. I look to the corner where the piano player sits. “Stop playing.”
The room is abruptly silent. All eyes are on me. I walk to the middle of the room. Several dancers back away, making room though I ask for none. I look around, pushing my cheek out with my tongue.
“This is going to be the last combination we’re going to do tonight. I would suggest that if you’re going to impress me, the time to start doing that would be right the fuck now.”
I look to the piano player, signaling him with one hand. He starts playing the same notes, a lively Chopin number.
I draw myself up, starting in first position. As I execute each move, I call out to the class. “Ladies! You start with a this, a this, into a this. Then you’ll do four pirouettes and finish with a big jump. As wide and exaggerated as you can.”
The ballerinas nod, most looking tense.
“Gentlemen! You should begin by the wall…” I head for the wall and the dancers get out of my way. I ready myself, starting in first position once more. “Move, move, move. Pirouette, rond de jambs, arabesque, hold it… for… as… long… as… you… can.”
I finish with a little bow. The male danseurs look a little shocked that they are being asked to do an arabesque, which is traditionally considered a ballerina’s move.
But if they are to be compared to the ballerinas, I need to see them do the same thing.
I start clapping time. “Come on. Let’s go. Ladies, line up. One and two and three and…”
I watch the ballerinas and dancers twirl and hold their poses for the next few minutes. I’m looking for strength and beauty, grace and expressiveness.
When the last note is played, I call to the piano player. “Thank you. You can go.”
I turn my eyes on the class again, frowning. “You can go too. Rosters of those staying with the company will be posted tomorrow morning.” I dismiss them with a wave.
The dancers all take off at a run, whispering amongst themselves. Soon the room is empty but for Basil and me. I lean down and rub my right knee, feeling the ugly surgical scars.
Basil walks over, nodding to my knee. “Giving you trouble, is it?”
I snort. At the moment, I’m in real pain. It arcs down from my knee like white hot sparks, burning and tight. “Something like that.”
