Like No One Is Watching

by Jaime Samms

  But if Eliza wanted to make the leap, he would help her. He’d catch her this time, or at least be there if she needed it. Mostly, he wanted her to see that she could do it. So he played the music and ran through the simple exercise at the barre himself, leaving out the bits that required his left leg to do things it no longer could, like support all of his weight.

  “You have beautiful arms” came a soft comment from the door.

  Dusty turned to see Eliza standing in her dancewear and pointe shoes, one hand clasping at the opposing elbow in front of her.

  Dusty smiled. “Thank you. It was always my best feature.” He held out a hand to her “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  She took a deep breath and moved across the floor, her shoes clopping with every step.

  “We’ll run through once on demi-pointe,” he said, handing her to the barre. “I want you to just feel the music and let it flow through you. Don’t think too much about the moves, and don’t bend too deep. You’re not properly warmed up yet, so we’ll take it slow.”

  She nodded and took a few minutes, while Dusty went to the stereo, to breathe and do a few stretches. Once Dusty had the music on an acceptable tempo and a repeating loop, they moved through the exercise carefully, warming up their muscles. When they had repeated it to his satisfaction, they stretched out and returned to the barre.

  The next few repetitions were very basic, getting their blood flowing and the music embedded in their bodies. When Dusty asked if she was ready to do the exercise through, she nodded, expression serious.

  “Try to relax,” he encouraged, finally meeting her gaze in the mirror for a heartbeat before she looked away. “It’s just me, Eliza.”

  She glanced back and offered a tentative smile, which he echoed with a big one of his own. “You’ve seen how clunky I am on my feet. You’ll do just fine.”

  And she did, executing the first run-through with exacting, pretty precision.

  “Now I want you to worry less about form and just let the music move through you and guide you. Close your eyes if you have to.”

  She nodded, closed her eyes, and reset herself to await the restarting of the music. After the first few moves, she cracked one eye to look at him. “You’re just going to watch?”

  Dusty chuckled, happy that he hadn’t looked away. “It’s why I’m here, Eliza. Now focus, please, and forget about where you are or who is watching, and just dance. If there are any egregious problems, I will let you know.”

  Again, she nodded, a curt, sharp move of her chin down a half inch and back up.

  “Good. Now relax.”

  He stepped back and let her continue. At one point, he trailed a hand along her forearm, encouraging her to round the position a bit, and a light smile flickered across her lips. She bent her elbow and curved her wrist exactly the way he wanted.

  “Good,” he said softly. “Plié. Don’t be afraid to roll that motion right up into the sweep, yes! Like that. Lovely.”

  As she performed the exercise, he could see marked differences from the first time through. Then she had executed each position with precision, but this time, along with the precision was a flair of movement that blended the motions one into the next.

  “Very good. Back to first and wait.”

  She opened her eyes when the music stopped and looked right at him. “Better?”

  He smiled, encouraged by the flush in her cheeks. “Much. Once more.” He counted her in and this time echoed her as she performed the simple routine. As he flowed through the movements, she watched him critically.

  “What do you see?” he asked, not stopping, but continuing the moves with her, and now they easily met eyes in the mirror as they spoke, as she came out of herself.

  “You’re stiff,” she said.

  “Ten years will do that to a body.”

  She grinned. “But—your knee? The left one?”

  He nodded. “I can’t put my full weight on it except in a straight-on walk. I have to be very careful. What else?”

  “Pretty arms,” she said, echoing her earlier compliment.

  “Thank you.”

  “And a long neck.” Tiny lines appeared between her brows. “You would have been great.”

  Dusty sighed but forced himself not to stop, much as he wanted to stalk from the room, smashing the music to a stop as he went.

  “Thank you.” He forced his acceptance of her honest assessment through his clenched teeth.

  “You are still a beautiful dancer. Here.” She released the barre. “Let me….” She took his hand farthest from the mirrors, placing hers under his instead of on top as would have been usual in a partnered walk. “Follow me,” she instructed and waited for the music to begin again.

  When it did, she led him away from the barre at a stately pace, her hand under his for support if he needed it. He took each step with care and managed not to place a foot wrong. He may even have been halfway graceful following her to the center of the floor. She curtsied to him, and he bowed back, then she moved her hand so he was now supporting her.

  For a few minutes, she ran through the barre exercises at the point of the music where they’d landed in center, using him as her barre. When she got to the back bend, instead of going into a full, deep bend, she released his hand and spun away, twirling across the floor in a series of controlled, tight spins that led her back to him. He caught her around the waist, and she bent her leading leg, lifting the other, dipping just enough that he had to support her weight, but not so much it would knock him over.

  When he lifted her to both feet again, she once more took his hand.

  “Follow again,” she instructed, “and try not to look terrified.” She smiled. “I won’t let you fall.”

  Nor did she, even when his knee buckled. He didn’t lose his balance completely because her arm and hand under his did not falter. They met eyes and she nodded once. “I’m going to corner seven and across the back. Just walk around and meet me at five, yeah?”

  He nodded. Easy enough. Walking, even ballet-style, he could do. He placed one hand at the small of his back and held the other in front of himself while Eliza whirled around behind him and flowed from one corner, across the back of the room to the other corner. When she waltzed gingerly back to center, he was there to meet her, and she dipped, once more consigning her weight to his hands when he had his feet still and flat.

  When he released her this time, they were almost out of music. Eliza didn’t seem to notice. She whirled away once more, this time toward the front, throwing a few leaps into her dance as she went. She was beautiful and free, flying around the room, making Dusty almost dizzy as he turned to follow her motion.

  She came to rest in front and to the right of him. He reached for her and she looked back. For an instant, he thought she was going to rush away again, the flight of a wild thing in her eyes. But she didn’t. She rose up on pointe and held a hand for him. He had to go to her, and he did so with as much flourish as he dared.

  When he reached her, she smiled wickedly. “Spin me.”

  “I—” He wasn’t sure he trusted his knee to remain steady.

  “You can do this,” she told him. “Trust your body.”

  That was the last thing he could do, but she looked so free, so truly a dancer, and he didn’t dare break her out of this newfound exhilaration, so he nodded, taking her hand and lifting their arms.

  Of course, she did most of the work. His job was to remain still and steady, a point for her to come back to, her fulcrum. She managed four spins before she wobbled, and he placed a hand on her waist as she lowered her foot to the ground and sank into his grip.

  He braced himself, but he needn’t have worried. As though his body remembered what his brain had tried hard to forget, he caught her and spun her, one last time, so they faced front together and she could curtsey and he could bow. They separated, repeating the curtsey and the bow to the mirrors, huge grins on their faces.

  “You see?” he crowed. �
��I knew you could—”

  Applause from the doorway interrupted him, and they both looked beyond the mirrors and each other to see the room filled with Eliza’s fellow students and Conrad, all clapping and smiling.

  “Oh!” Eliza lifted a hand over her mouth in shock. “I didn’t realize….”

  “And so it should always be,” Dusty whispered to her. “Always dance like no else is watching. You are very gifted. Trust yourself.”

  She looked at him, flushing, her eyes shining with wetness, but she was also smiling, and she nodded.

  “I think that will suffice for your class demonstration, Eliza. Thank you, Mr. Hatch”—Conrad directed his clapping to Dusty—“for a fine illustration.”

  “Um.” Dusty flashed a grin. “Sure. Not a problem.”

  Hurriedly, Dusty moved to the periphery of the room as Eliza’s classmates surrounded her.

  “I’m impressed,” Conrad said, following him to the stereo table. “That was quite a show.”

  “I did nothing,” Dusty pointed out. “I walked and I stood.”

  “You gave her confidence. She trusted you.”

  Dusty shrugged. “Well. It was all her idea, really.”

  Conrad nodded. “She usually has good ones, when I can get her to open up. It’s hard for her. I don’t know why, but partner work is her weakness. She hesitates, and that’s when people get hurt. She didn’t with you.”

  “I’m just glad she managed to let go a bit.”

  “As am I. You managed to teach her something I could not.”

  Dusty’s face heated. “I didn’t teach her anything. I just reminded her what she already knows. She did all the work.”

  “Still.” Conrad touched his shoulder. “I’m grateful.”

  Dusty wanted to lean into that touch. He didn’t. Gently, he moved away from it. “You’re welcome, then. I hope it helps her.”

  He hurried out of the studio, unwilling to disrupt class any more than he already had. Eliza might be thrilled with what she had accomplished with all of her classmates watching, but Dusty was less than pleased that his weakness had been so prominently displayed. The last thing he needed was to reignite the yearning for something he couldn’t have back. If only he had never set foot in the damn studio in the first place.

  Chapter 15

  THAT WAS that. For the remainder of the week and most of the next, Conrad barely saw Dusty, and they spoke even less. Dusty made a point of cleaning where Conrad was not, and there was nothing Conrad could do. No matter what he said, or how he approached the man, Dusty made his excuses and left the room as quickly as possible.

  Conrad finally stopped trying to talk to him. It was clear he was only making Dusty’s job harder, so he left him alone.

  By Thursday, Conrad didn’t bother to wait and see if Dusty would show up before he had to leave for the college. He didn’t want to attempt another class without his caffeine. When he arrived, it was to much-improved morale. The students were actually dressed appropriately for class, no jeans or combat boots onstage at all. Now if only he could drum up some enthusiasm of his own.

  “Good morning,” he greeted them, and got a chorus of good mornings in return.

  “Hey, Mr. Kosloff!” Christopher greeted him with a thick, sticky wash of eagerness.

  “Morning, Christopher.” He sighed and set his satchel on one of the seats in the front row. “Onstage, everyone, please.”

  For once most of them didn’t drag their feet, though a few studied the scuffed black paint or their shoes. Christopher watched Conrad expectantly.

  “You want me to lead warm-ups this morning, Mr. K.?” he asked when Conrad made no move to actually begin class.

  Conrad glanced at him, grateful. “Would you?”

  “Sure thing.” The kid was too peppy for his own good. Cheerfully, he clapped his hands and took center stage, facing the others. “Let’s go, boys!”

  They all groaned and a few of them jeered, but they all assumed the straight-backed, feet-apart position and began to roll down to touch the floor with dangling hands. One of the other students grinned at Christopher and winked. Matt. Christopher wiggled his ass as he turned his back to the others at the front and led them through the exercises. Interesting. Conrad was pretty sure that was an entirely different sort of body awareness than what he taught.

  It got him thinking again about Dusty, and he heaved a sigh.

  “Hey, Mr. K.,” a student from the back of the stage addressed him. “Did you know that if you slouch when you’re not feeling great, it strengthens the emotion?” The class sniggered. “If you’re feeling depressed, one of the best things you can do for your mood is get your body moving.” He gave an exaggerated clown flop, and the class collectively chuckled. “You know. Shake it up.” He flopped arms and legs in a loose-limbed jolt of movement.

  “Yeah,” someone else chimed in. “Get the blood flowing.” He rocked his hips a few times, pointing at Christopher and then Matt, and though Christopher reddened, he laughed.

  “It works,” Christopher said. “Dancing. You know. That thing you do?”

  Conrad shook his head. “You’re right.” He got up on stage and faced Christopher. “So where were we?” He joined the warm-ups, and for the next two hours encouraged the students to talk about the lesson, not one he’d planned, but hell. Whatever worked, right?

  For the first time, the guys loosened up enough to share, even demonstrate and participate in exercises of their own devising, all in the name of cheering up their teacher rather than of teasing one another, and eventually, simply because they were having fun and wanted to see what their bodies could and could not do. It was the first class where no one held back because they were embarrassed, and Conrad found himself grinning by the end of it.

  “That was a great class,” Christopher huffed, catching up to him in the hallway. “But seriously, what was wrong? You looked like someone had stolen your kitten when you came in.”

  Conrad flashed an unconvincing smile at him. “Nothing. Just life. You know how it is.”

  Christopher nodded, but before he could respond, Matt appeared, draping his taller frame over Christopher’s and slapping a palm against his chest. Christopher gripped his hand. “Great class, Mr. K.,” Matt enthused.

  “Thanks. But it wasn’t me so much as it was you guys. You loosened up today. I’m proud of you. You got the class into it. More than I’ve been able to do.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Just did what you’ve been saying all along, Mr. K. Just decided it didn’t matter who was watching or what they thought.” He lifted the other man’s arm and kissed his wrist. “It’s more fun to do it than it is to think about if you’re doing it right.” He grinned. “Right?”

  “I guess.” He eyed them both. “Or did falling in love help you two finally figure the lesson out?”

  Matt grinned. “Actually, no. Figuring out the lesson gave me the guts to finally ask him out.” He kissed Christopher’s ear, making Christopher giggle and squirm. “My gut flip-flopped when I thought about it, but it wasn’t the same sinking, sick feeling I got when I was scared to ask but had to walk into class and be so close to him for two hours. So yeah?”

  Conrad grinned. “Yeah. Well done.”

  “Right?” Matt hopped a few steps ahead of them. “Hey, you teach this stuff for real, right?”

  Conrad blinked at him, then nodded. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

  “You teach adult classes? Like for dolts who’ve never danced before, I mean.”

  “Like you?”

  Matt nodded. “Sure.”

  “Let me think about that. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Cool.” He grinned and turned to Christopher. “You wanna go eat before class, babe?”

  Christopher nodded. “See you next week, Mr. K!”

  “See you.” Conrad watched them disappear into the throng of students. He thought about Dusty. About the sick feeling that invaded at the thought of returning home to the empty studio yet again. He thought
about the soaring flare of joy when he knelt next to Dusty’s bed and looked up into his face.

  “Fuck this shit,” he muttered, turning from his trajectory toward his office and heading back the way he had come, toward the parking lot. “Practice what you preach, Kosloff. Practice what you preach.”

  Chapter 16

  CONRAD LET himself into the building to find the public areas of the studio spotless. His CDs were once more lined up on the shelves, the shelves themselves labelled with types of classes, class levels, and types of music. As he studied the system Dusty had devised, he began to smile. It made sense.

  The handwritten labels were misspelled, and some of the S’s were backward, but the system itself made sense. One CD case stuck out, and Conrad was about to push it back in place with the others when he heard a sweeping strain of sound filter down from above.

  He took the case out of the slot to look at it. It was the soundtrack from Fantasia. It made him smile, and he replaced the case, still sticking out, no doubt so Dusty could find it easily when he returned the CD. It was a good system and one even Conrad, in all his flighty madness, could maintain.

  But it became suddenly irrelevant when he realized that music blaring from above meant Dusty was still in the building.

  Dropping his satchel on the studio floor, Conrad dashed from the room, through the office, and up to the apartment.

  The music was incredibly loud up there, overpowering any other sound. Dusty wasn’t on the main floor, so Conrad ascended the upper stairs to the attic floor to find him, since calling would have been futile. Up there, the music was somewhat muted. At least he could talk over it. He found Dusty sitting in the middle of his bed, heaps of clothes piled all around him. Some were neatly folded, and others tossed in an overflowing laundry basket.