Black Adagio

by Potocki, Wendy

  “Hey, sleepyhead! Get up!” came the voice from the other side of the door. Insistent pounding accompanying it, the collective noise rousted Melissa from a dark drama. Dreaming that she'd melted into the music, she’d turned into syrup and disappeared—just like Brandi. Una and Todd had searched for her, but she’d been there all the time—hiding between the notes.

  Blinking her eyes, she checked her clock. Only 8:00 AM, it was way too early to get up. She hadn’t even bothered setting the alarm since there was no need to anymore. The school was down to one early afternoon class a day. The reduction was due to the anticipation of the cuts being made. Providing a respite for the powers to formulate who stayed and who was to go, the schedule was just enough to keep the dancers in shape.

  Coming out of the stupor, she finally recognized the strident voice. This early in the morning, everything above a whisper was irritating to her. Only Collette at the door wanting in, she tottered to her feet. Her joyous friend bounded in, grabbing both of her hands.

  “You have to come with me!” she shouted.

  “Uh, like this?” Melissa questioned, pointing to her pajamas.

  'You look fine! Nobody'll even notice! They'll be too busy looking at the announcement,” she replied, an infectious smile developing on her pretty face.

  “Announcement?”

  “The announcement about the company, you dolt! It's been posted!”

  “What? Oh, my God!” she squealed. Beginning to jump around in place, they hugged one another. Laughing and emitting shrieks of joy, Melissa suddenly pulled back. “What am I doing?” she asked, smoothing back loose strands of hair from her face. “I know I didn’t make it, so why even look?”

  Collette became demure, tracing her name on the hardwood floors with her big toe. It was an exercise one of the teachers had given them, but right now it was driving Melissa crazy.

  “You have to do that now?” she chastised, her arms going up in the air. Missy clamped down on her friend, beginning to shake her.

  “Argh, you're killing me!” Collette teased.

  “And for good reason. Now tell me who they picked! You got in, of course!”

  “I’m not saying anything! You'll have to come with me and find out for yourself,” she insisted, gently yanking her friend by her arm once again.

  “Oh, alright!” Melissa snapped, slipping her feet into the knitted moccasins she wore to keep her feet warm before class.

  Slipping a tunic top over the skinny legged bottoms, she trudged out the door trailing behind her overly enthusiastic friend. Before they even made it down to the first floor, the ripple of excitement was cascading up the staircase. Jubilant cries of joy intertwined with heartfelt sobs of disappointment, the full spectrum of drama was being played out.

  Pulling Melissa through the morass of fellow students experiencing the highs and lows of what life had to offer, Missy stood on her tippy-toes, trying to get a peek at the sheet of white paper pinned to the bulletin board. Giving up, the names were too small to read at a distance. She backed off her plan of getting a sneak preview. Not wanting to get aggressive, Collette did it for her, pushing her to the front row. The view no longer obstructed, she finally got a clear view of the thirty names that had made the company. Collette's name first on the list, Melissa erupted in a show of happiness.

  “You made it! Collette that's wonderful!” she shouted, giving her friend a pat on her arm.

  “Thanks!” she answered breezily. “Now keep reading!”

  Melissa wasn't sure that she wanted to. Realizing it was a slightly crazy attitude, the decisions were why she’d come to the academy. Feeling much like girls who refused to listen to evidence of boyfriends who were cheating, she was burying her head in the sand. Refusing to be so cowardly, she continued. Zoe’s name striking her across the face, the selection didn’t surprise her. Seeing Kurt, Tina and Justin made it, she was truly glad. Not as thrilled as if she’d made it, but she was unwilling to be spiteful. Reaching the end of the list, a lump arose in her throat as she read the last name.

  “Melissa Solange.”

  “I made it?” she asked, not believing what she was seeing. She needed someone else to validate the apparition parading before her eyes. Shakily turning to her friend for help, she looked again to see if the delusion had vanished.

  “Of course you made it! Don't you see your name right there?” Collette responded. Bouncing up and down, she pointed to the spot where it was printed.

  “I see it, but I, I, don't believe it!” she screamed.

  “I don't blame you,” came the sullen response over her shoulder. It was Zoe, in all her Luciferian glory. Like Hecate of old, she was in one of her rare moods—death and destruction following in her wake. “Out of all the talented girls they could have chosen, they pick you! Must be your fabulous sense of style,” she sniffed. Blunt in her judgmental opinion, the self-appointed arbiter of fashion took a free lunge with her sword. “How a loser like you could have the nerve to wander around in your pajamas is beyond me! You are aware that there are other people that can see what a mess you are?” Her hands digging into the hip bones that were noticeable, her friends were loopy with laughter that reinforced her view of the world.

  Melissa stuttered, embarrassed that she had been talked into coming downstairs without changing first.

  “Shut the fuck up, you skank!”

  The response rang out like a gong, making others turn and look at what was going on. It was Kurt, chivalrously defending his lady's honor. Zoe froze, stunned that anyone was intruding into her private tirade. It was her right to throw tantrums and wound others with her words. Clearly not used to having the tables turned, it was her turn to be at a loss.

  “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 move
ments.

  “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.