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Dancers - Part 2 |
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By Margo Perry
It was all too much. Since breakfast, I’d quit the only company I’d ever danced in, really pissing off the Board of Directors. I’d begged another choreographer for a job - not just for me, but for Rosie - gotten it and was about to sign. The limo seemed increasingly small and close. Every muscle in my body ached from the tough rehearsal and the day’s hectic events seemed to be tattooing themselves all over my body, in clashing colour. My skin felt too tight. I needed air. I felt claustrophobic.
I glanced at Rosie, a bundle of terror, huddled deep in the limousine’s seats. She’d been my best friend since Jamie imported her into the company from Cuba and had been fired today because of her curves, her female body. The company thought I’d quit in sympathy, but there was more. I’d quit because the new choreographer had robbed us of Jamie’s spirit, of the eclectic body of dancers he’d chosen. Jamie had celebrated Rosie’s womanhood, as he had my enormous breasts, in glorious dance. We’d been so happy. But, those days were done. Karl’s choice was skeletal sameness and he couldn’t wait to get rid of most of us.
When the limousine picked us up, we were basket cases. We’d left the board in shock and a bunch of dancers in total disarray. I remembered the stunned silence, the quick gathering of possessions, the short elevator ride and escape into the waiting limo – thanks, Greg. I remembered bursting into tears, the driver shutting his window against our display. Rosie had taken me in her arms and comforted me. My first girl kiss had been soft and meandering. Her hands and mouth had found my sensitive nipples, expanding fields of pleasure, until all my wet pussy wanted was a cock. But, I couldn’t wait and soon I was coming, as Rosie rubbed her pussy to mutual climax. It had been strange and releasing and wonderful. But now, selfish as it sounded, all I wanted was air, a signed contract and Greg. We’d met on the opening night of their new complex a few months ago. What a glorious night of eating and dancing! Both companies on one floor, dancing with more joy and abandon than we had since Jamie died. While the party raged, Greg had taken me to his office to show me a wish list of dancers he’d developed long before his dream had been actualized. I was at the top.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“Jamie was my friend. You were his muse, his love. I had no chance,” he said, brushing away imaginary tears.
We’d both laughed, and then kissed, and then made mad love on his desk. I hadn’t stopped thinking of him since.
Right now, I could feel him suckling my nipples, teasing them, making me impatient for his cock and tongue. I was wet again. I thought of Jamie and guilt ascended in the form of a headache. Jam, as I called him, was my solid and secure life mate, but he’d died, left me alone. Feeling truly alive again, had taken until now and I was more than ready for an adventure of a different kind. Greg had told me that he didn’t have affairs with his company members. I was about to become a company member and I wanted him as much as I’d wanted Jamie. It was new, a challenge and I was more than ready for it. The car slowed and parked.
“Rosie’s going to Gino’s,” I blurted out.
“I’d be glad to drop her off,” the driver said.
“Gino’s is only four doors down,” Rosie said, groping for her dance bag and then purse. “I’ll walk … Fuck! Where’s my ...”
I’d noticed her current erotic romance on the floor. As Rosie reached down, I jumped out of the car and nodded to the driver.
“Thanks,” I said, slamming the door.
I waved to her, as the limo pulled back into traffic. I knew I was being selfish, but I had no more to give Rosie right now, no time or patience for weeping or worry. I was emotionally overloaded and needed my wits about me. I needed a contract and I needed Greg.
I walked through the urban garden of trees and rocks, an overture to the sky reaching, spiralling glass building whose architectural beauty breathed movement and inspiration. It was a perfect blending of art and the city. I could see dancers warming up at barres, sitting on long benches, texting, chatting or just lounging about. They could see me, and the city rising, traffic moving. I longed to be one of them, to dance with them, to dance Greg’s dance. I needed to see the same light in his eyes as I’d seen in Jamie’s.
I walked through the door to reception.
“Greg is expecting you.”
“Thanks, Lady Diana.”
The elderly lady smiled. I had shown due deference, known who she was without having ever met her. I’d even bowed my head slightly and she’d appreciated it. It was an unwritten law in many dance companies: Make friends with the lady at the gate.
They were often willowy grey haired ex-dancers who’d never really been able to leave the company. They guarded the studio and the choreographer with ferocious devotion and, only with their blessing were you assured smooth sailing on company seas. It was rumoured that Lady Diana was in her sixty-seventh year, although you’d never have guessed by her long slender, strong body and commanding voice.
“Greg is excited to have you join us and so am I. Go right through the main studio to his private elevator.”
Her long manicured red nails glistened as she waved me away in the general direction of the studios. Her attention had already switched to another dancer who was asking about a schedule. I’d been dismissed. I could see the main studio from the hall. It was light, high ceilinged, with beautiful nature pictures on the walls. I wondered what it would be like dancing here every day.
As I approached, the glass door slid open. Without thinking, I slipped off my shoes and carried them barefoot across the cool wooden floor. It was empty, devoid of sound, but I could still hear the laughter, see those beautiful dancing bodies, ghosts from the night of their opening gala, the night I’d slept with Greg. I twirled around, enjoying the feel of the floor. I imagined the room full of dancers, all of us at the bar, all sweating, all striving to be better, to best serve a choreographer’s vision. I shivered with excitement, imagining Greg at the front of the room.
Without invitation, the memory of Greg dancing with Martine Collins – the only blight on that night - chilled my spine. It was the way her possessive hands had encircled his neck, locking him in. It was in the bend of her body, her pelvis pushed into his, pulsing insistently. Hope was in the way he seemed remote and uncomfortable. Every movement of her tall willowy body was choreographed for seduction. There was no doubt that I had competition in a game I had to win. I was falling in love with Greg and did not want to lose him.
As I stepped into the private elevator, I remembered that it was the slowest elevator I’d ever been in. You could hardly tell it was moving. Anxiety and excitement were feuding in my stomach and Greg was all I could think about. Today’s rehearsal, Rosie getting fired and my quitting had all faded into the distance. I’d been already accepted into DanceWorks, but hiring Rosie was still on hold. I was worried about her. Rosie’s sweet kiss, watching her deal with the pain of being fired by pleasuring herself, her finding some relief in orgasm, had been a beautiful and painful experience which had left me feeling horny and very vulnerable. I hadn’t even kissed a man since Greg and I wanted to now, kiss him and more.
I was looking forward to seeing Greg and signing my contract. I was hoping that a whole lot more would develop between us. The elevator doors slid open. I adjusted the dance bag over my shoulder, smoothed my black turtleneck over my gargantuan breasts, and followed their lead down the short hall to Greg’s office. As I approached, a piercing and very angry female voice penetrated the closed door and stopped me dead in my tracks.
“I came up here the night of the opening. You were both in the shower. I knew you’d fucked her, but I protected you. Never told a soul. And now you want to hire her? No fucking way!”
I couldn’t distinguish Greg’s response but, whatever it was, it made her even madder.
“She was Jamie’s whore and we don’t need his leftovers!”
This is one mad woman and she’s talking about me!
“Now, that’s enough!” Greg roared.
I felt like an interloper. The elevator hasn’t gone anywhere. I rushed back to it, pushed the button and rode it back down to the studio. I again slipped off my shoes, crossed the wood floor, and returned to reception.
“Greg seems to be busy,” I told Lady Diana.
“He’s not supposed to be. In fact, he said he didn’t want to be disturbed until you arrived.” Lady Diana picked up the phone, pushed a button, and listened intently. Her face was a mask of concentration, tinged with concern.
“This isn’t making sense! Did you knock? Did you hear voices?”
“I heard two voices, Greg’s and a woman’s. She sounded angry.”
“Oh no! Martine was standing at the desk when Greg told me about you. Eavesdropping, I suspect. If it’s her, I’d advise that you get back up there and save Greg from a whole lot of grief.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I do. Martine has her reasons for not wanting you here. She’s wanted a relationship with Greg for a long, long time and she’s determined to have him. Don’t leave Greg to fend for himself. He’s a compassionate man and could become vulnerable to all her machinations. Now go!”
Things were eerily quiet. Standing outside Greg’s door, I couldn’t hear a thing. I felt nervous and strangely disturbed but, remembering what Lady Diana had said. I knocked loudly, opened the door and went in.
Martine had obviously caught him coming out of the shower. The towel around his neck caught moisture dripping from his usually ponytailed hair that now fell around his shoulders. Another was knotted around his waist. I felt embarrassed, but turned on more than I wanted to be. Martine was still dressed in character shoes and her skin tight leotard, but the spaghetti strap eased from a shoulder and the hand cupping her pert, tiny breasts was evidence that she was in seduction mode.
I felt foolish. Greg looked so beautiful, so sexy that I wanted him more than Martine could ever have imagined. I was jealous of her and I didn’t like that either. My only hope was that his towel showed no sign of his arousal.
“Sorry for the delay, Sara. Martine was just leaving.” He sounded furious. “And please don’t come up here unannounced ever again.”
The stare down Martine gave me was a declaration of war and she didn’t close the door quietly. When I looked back, Greg was gone. And then back and dressed. His hug was close and friendly, but impatient.
“Your signed contract is on the desk. Let your people take a look and let me know if there’s a problem.”
I looked for two things: The word soloist and my salary. What I saw was soloist and a much better salary than expected. I grabbed a pen from his desk, signed and tore off his copy. Being this happy had been a fading memory, like life with Jamie. I felt restored.
Greg smiled. “Impulsive aren’t you? Sure you don’t need anybody’s okay?”
“Nope.”
“Then let’s wrap this up.”
He made a call, talked for a few minutes and then turned to me.
“Administration tells me that Jamie’s entire company has quit. They want a meet. Are you free for dinner?”
“I’m supposed to meet the gang at Gino’s, but … sure.”
“We’re going to work a bit. I want Sara to hear the new music. How about Gino’s at 7:30, but let’s keep it casual. We’re in dance garb.”
He hung up.
“Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand and before I knew it, we were in the hall and moving past the elevator to a studio, filled with light and air. This building was enormous. It streamed success. With a few touches of Greg’s hand remote, the doors opened and music filled the air.
“July fourth. There’s a charity concert for veterans. I’d like to introduce you as our new member. A duet.”
“You’ll be dancing with me?”
“Yes. Listen. What do you hear?”
“Conflict and resolution; rounds and squares, harmony and discord.”
“That’s it!”
Jamie jumped up and began moving.
“Come.”
I joined him, following, but sometimes moving against his rhythms. We were apart and then together, struggling and then dissolving into each other. “This is going to be great.” Jamie panted.
We were in the air and then on the floor, pounding and then caressing, fight and then flight and then forgiveness and love.
When we kissed, it was organic. We were lost in the music defining us. Clothes came off, Greg’s law forgotten.
“We’ve signed contracts,” I said, raising my hips as he slid my panties over my thighs. He kissed my pussy, until I screamed with hunger and then he fucked me hard.
“I love you,” I heard myself say. “I love you, too, my muse.”
We talked as we showered, happy but sober. He decided that he’d be honest at the company meeting called for tomorrow. He’d be honest about our relationship. There’d be no subterfuge. Just like Jamie. I felt safe and secure like I had a lifelong relationship that I could trust.
“I’m a total workaholic,” he said, as we walked hand in hand toward Gino’s. “I know,” I said. “So am I.”
We walked to Gino’s. The sounds of the city were an orchestra playing just for us. “I have no idea what this meeting is about,” Greg said.
I just looked at him with puppy eyes. He laughed. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” he said.
Gino’s was buzzing. I couldn’t see, but heard the dancers’ boisterous laughter. They were letting off steam. I felt like I’d abandoned them. Here I was, contract signed, relationship with Greg cemented and, as yet, no commitment re Rosie. No inkling of what was going to happen to the rest of my dance family. No time to think. We were promptly led to a private dining room away from the hustle.
There was a table of seven including us and the mood was serious. I was so exhausted that everything seemed to be happening around me, as I looked on. Greg passed me a glass of wine and I realized they were raising a toast to welcome me.
“Are we dining or should we get right to it?” asked a man of considerable girth, a booming powerful voice of a man. “Let’s get to it,” Greg said. “Sara has a commitment for dinner. The company is here and they have plans.”
“Very well,” said Power Man, instructing the waiter to fill our glasses and the table with delicacies of all sorts. “Greg, you know I’m a man to never miss an opportunity. You’ve been talking about introducing a junior company for some time now and that possibility was included in our building design, but when we got news of Jamie’s company exit, I had another notion. Sara, do you know who owns Jamie’s choreography?”
I was munching on sliced pork flank steak, an item too expensive for my wallet. I paused and dabbed my lips. That was a question I hadn’t recently thought about. The Board had tried to procure the choreography, but Jamie had bequeathed it to me. That’s why they were so upset when I quit. “I do.”
“Well, Greg and Sara, what do you think of adopting Jamie’s company in lieu of a junior. Sara would ensure the authentic reproductions of all his works. Jamie’s work should live beyond him. Fuck Karl Gentry and all his airs? Well, you two?”
Greg took my hand under the table. I could feel the currents, the excitement. We looked at each other and at the faces around the table. Everyone was in concert. Everyone wanted this, especially me and Greg. “It would be wonderful!”
I thought of Rosie and Jacques and the others; all that was about to change. I thought of what life would be at DanceWorks and realized that I’d come full circle. Everything new would be old again.
“Let’s not keep Sara. Her friends are waiting. I’ll stay and work out some of the details to get this going.”
I loved the way Greg looked out for me and I could feel Jamie’s approval.
“Alright,” said Power Man. “Feel free to share the offer.”
I was perfect. I approached the table with all the sadness I could muster. I waited until after the waiter brought the beers I’d ordered, the bottles of wine off the list, before telling the news. There was a moment of silence and then Jacques’ whimper, and then a lot of whooping and hollering that ended in a storm of hysterical tears. It was downright embarrassing.
Greg and Power Man came by to welcome them and to invite them and their agents to a meeting, the very next Monday. As cells came out and excited calls were made, they signed for our open check. “Enjoy yourselves,” Power Man boomed. “We’re in for a delicious, delightful, money making ride.” “I adore those men,” I said.
“So do we all,” Jacques said. We gave them a standing ovation as they left.
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