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He looks at me with a slightly panicked expression.
I smile sweetly. “You can drop the shoes, Mr. Mercer. You won’t need them for this class.” Then, before he can reply, I clap my hands. “Okay ladies… and gentleman,” I add, nodding at a now positively terrified man. “Let’s bring out the bars.”
The ballerinas nod back and bring out four portable bars, positioning them perpendicular to the mirror wall in the front.
I brush past MGM. “You can still quit,” I goad him.
His jaw sets. He looks like a man who’d rather cut off a limb than quit at anything.
At the display of male stubbornness, I hiss, “Suit yourself.”
MGM kicks off his shoes and takes position at the bar closer to the door between two other dancers. Smart man—this way he can follow the others’ movements whatever side we’re working on.
Ages vary within the class from late teens to adults up to their mid-forties. What doesn’t change is that everyone in this room has had formal ballet training, everyone except MGM.
“Okay, gals, let’s warm those legs. We’re going to start in second position and do three grand pliés.” I demonstrate. “One and two up three and four and again, feeling your turnout, seven and eight third time reverse the arm. Two, three, four into the bar. Five and six, coming up, tendu, seven and eight. First position. Demi pliés, again, grand plié reverse the arm on all the grand pliés today, six, seven, and eight. Fourth. Demi, demi, grand, port de bras, come to fifth, demi, demi, grand again. Forward and back and sous-sus and balance. All right?”
All the dancers nod except for MGM.
I select the playlist on my phone and relaxing classical music blares out of the studio’s speakers.
“On one, two, three.”
My ladies begin to move, and MGM does his best to follow the exercise. I start my round at the other end of the class and slowly amble my way toward his bar.
“Your grand plié needs a little work, Mr. Mercer,” I comment. “Keep your knees aligned with your toes, hip bone tucked in.”
He pushes his pelvis forward, getting in a slightly better position while positively glaring at me.
“Chin high, gaze ahead,” I reprimand him.
Next, I torture him with a lightning-quick sequence of tendus that has him almost falling flat on his face when he tries to follow along. MGM doesn’t know his left from his right and he keeps confusing sides.
I give the man a breath of oxygen with a long stretch sequence at the bar, but there’s nothing I can do to save him from the center work or the diagonals. At one point he looks like he might throw up. I hope he didn’t come to a ballet class after a big lunch.
He finally gives up on the pirouettes and just sits in a corner, drinking water from his steel bottle and shaking his head.
When the lesson is finally over, I clap. “Great job, gals, and please give it up for Gabriel, our newest recruit.”
The women all clap and cheer while Gabriel makes a very poor attempt at a révérence, curtsying to the girls on wobbly knees and almost falling flat on his face again.
One by one, all the dancers file out of the class until I’m alone with MGM in the studio. He still looks a little out of breath. Admittedly, I didn’t go easy on the sautés.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He looks at me, a little disoriented. “I’m fine. Just need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need. The next class in this room will be in an hour.”
I make to leave, but he calls me back, “Wait.”
I turn, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t I at least deserve a juice after all the hard work?”
I play dumb. “Sure, you can redeem your new-membership coupon at the bar.”
“Aw, come on, you can’t spare me twenty minutes after everything you just put me through?”
