RETURN TO SWAN LAKE

a novel by Gary Canup

Chapter 11

Now that she was a student of Madame Jenkins, Jan was attending ballet class two hours a day, six days a week. She rose at seven, dressed and ate a light breakfast, was chauffeured downtown to ballet school, where she and the other girls changed into leotards; and after two hours of class they showered, dressed, and Jan was chauffeured home again and had lunch. Mother made her practice an additional two hours, sometimes three, every afternoon in her home studio, to help her catch up to and eventually overtake the other girls. Jan was usually too exhausted to do much of anything else the rest of the day. She had dinner and went to bed.

Madame Jenkins presided over one of the top company schools in the nation. The school supplied all the dancers for the local children's ballet and, more importantly, most of the dancers for the major ballet company based in their city. At eighteen, if a dancer had distinguished herself in the children's ballet, that dancer graduated from the company school to the corps de ballet of the major company. Most dancers failed to rise above that level, but the best of them, after a number of years, became soloists, and the very best of all achieved the status of prima ballerina, who performed all the major roles and garnered most of the fame. Mother had made it plain to her daughter that she would settle for nothing short of prima ballerina, and no one who had ever attained that pinnacle, she reminded the girl during her slacker moments, had done so without giving her utmost in hard work and sacrifice and dedication.

Jan's daily regimen left her and Davy very little time to spend together and no time at all to go to Swan Lake, but the girl had somehow arranged with Mother for Davy to come over and watch her dance during the two or three hour practice sessions in the afternoon, so long as he did not distract her from her work.

The boy would sit by the door on a cushion he had brought from home, one of those plastic-covered foam-rubber seat cushions seen at baseball parks. It was by now the hottest time of summer, and because the air conditioning to the studio had been shut off and the windows angled open to provide conditions conducive to warming up and to keeping the leg muscles supple and less susceptible to cramping during dancing, the atmosphere inside the studio was often uncomfortable, if not downright oppressive.

Though Davy enjoyed watching her dance, he knew that he could not spend two and three hours a day doing that alone. He had to find other ways to occupy himself while at her home. Sometimes he brought comic books to read. Other times he brought a book of crossword puzzles. He also grew fond of going back into the dressing room and studying the CDs she danced to and learning to associate the music he was hearing with the title of the composition and the name of the composer. In this way Davy was becoming quite a classical music enthusiast.

But still he would grow bored and restless and his boyish need for adventure would compel him to do something bold, even stupid. What he would do was, he would step out into the hallway, as if to stretch his legs, glance back into the studio to see if Jan noticed his absence (she never did, she was too absorbed in her dance) then close the door and sneak off to explore the mansion. It was very naughty of him, this unauthorized snooping about, and if Mother ever caught him she would no doubt banish him for life, but the boy could not help himself — he had the wanderlust, he had a need for adventure again. Besides, the air inside the studio was always intolerably hot and sweaty, and the rest of the house was air conditioned.

He crept down the staircase, glancing every which way, and scampered across the foyer into the drawing room. He had always wondered where the family kept their television, and he opened all the cabinets and was appalled not to find one at all. What did rich people do for entertainment? He searched beneath the cushions of all the sofas and easy chairs for coins and other treasures but either a servant had gotten there before him or the pockets of the rich never stooped to the carrying of mere change. He thought he heard someone coming and with a pounding heart ducked behind a sofa. But false alarm, no one appeared. After a few minutes, he stealthily emerged, and peeked around the doorway into the empty foyer.

One of the rooms adjoining the foyer, he discovered, was a library lined with mahogany shelves full of expensive volumes. The lower shelves contained children's literature such as Black Beauty and The Wizard of Oz, much of which Davy had already read. He spotted on one of the higher shelves, however, a boxed set entitled The Complete and Unabridged Works of the Marquis de Sade. Davy had heard of him; that was the guy who liked to torture people. He climbed onto a chair but still could not reach the lofty volume. He put the chair back and sadly left the library.

He entered the downstairs bathroom and closed the door, gazed around in awe. What a place to go number one in. He bet the Queen of Sheba herself had never number oned in such splendor as this. In his boyish imagination the sunken bathtub became a World War II foxhole and he grabbed a backbrush and lay down in the foxhole and sighted down the barrel of the backbrush at the door. He was a heroic soldier single-handedly holding off a whole army of Nazis. "Rat-a-tat-tat!" Davy said. "Rat-a-tat-tat!" He imagined Mother entering the bathroom wearing a Hitler hairdo and mustache and he opened fire. "Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!" he said, and she reeled to the floor like a dying swan. She was still drawing breath, however, so Davy had to go finish her off. He emerged from the foxhole and stepped up to her. She reached up to him for mercy, but Davy aimed his weapon at the point between her eyes. "Rat," Davy said, and she collapsed in a death heap. "A-tat-tat." He blew on the muzzle of his machine gun. He had just freed the world from another tyrant.

Davy hung up the backbrush and, before exiting, peeked out to see that the coast was clear, then scampered up the staircase and on past the studio door down the hallway into one of the bedrooms and softly closed the door. He looked around. The room, furnished with lavish elegance, was dominated by a large quaint old-world bed. To Davy's puzzlement, mounted on the ceiling over the bed was a mirror, and he wondered how anyone could possibly watch himself sleep. The boy took care not to touch anything, just went up to this or that — an item of furniture, a painting on the wall, an arrangement of ornate bottles on a dresser — and casually inspected it. He also made comically convex faces in a polished brass bedpost of the big old-world bed. What fun, what great fun.

One day Davy was exploring a closet in the room with the mirror over the bed when he heard the approach of footsteps. He had left the door ajar to enable him to hear just such an approach and he hurried to the door and eased it shut, its position before his entry. Most likely the person would either go on by or turn off before reaching this room but he could not take the chance that the person would not actually enter this room so he hastily hid in the closet. Then he burst from the closet again, eyes darting this way and that — closets were too obvious — and he dove underneath the bed.

Underneath the bed was too obvious too but it was too late now, the door came open and not one but two pairs of feet entered the bedroom and the door shut behind them. Just his luck. "We'll have to be quiet," said a woman's voice. "The children are just down the hall." Davy recognized the voice as Mother's.

"Am I not always quiet?" said a man with an English accent. "Last time I was here it was you nearly squealed her head off."

Mother chuckled. She went to the closet from which Davy had just emerged and opened it and there was a tinkling of metal hangers. The man sat on the bed right above Davy's head. Davy could feel his heart thumping against the carpeted floor.

"So how do you think Jan is dancing these days?" Mother asked.

"I think she looks quite smashing," the man replied. "Of course, she's always had a unique feel for the music and story lines for a dancer so young, but her technique has improved quite remarkably since I saw her last." The man was unlacing his shoes.

"Do you detect the disciplining influence of Madame Jenkins?"

"You have her studying under that old taskmistress? Well, she'll certainly straighten out the girl's technique, that's for certain."

He removed his socks and stuffed them into his shoes which he pushed underneath the bed to within an inch of Davy's nose. Davy could see his reflection in the highly polished surface of the man's shoes, and he thought he resembled a frightened creature peering out of a burrow.

"As you know," Mother said, her gown dropping to her ankles, "Harold is staging a production of The Sleeping Beauty this coming holiday season." She stepped out of the gown and took it up and judging by the sound of tinkling hangers was hanging it in the closet. "I'm thinking about having Jan audition for the lead."

"Is that right?"

"Do you think she's dancing well enough to win the role?"

"She's only thirteen, my dear. She'll be competing against seventeen and eighteen year olds."

"But don't you think she has the talent to win out over the older girls?"

"That's difficult to say," said the man, removing his pants. "She's such a young dancer and her potential is yet undetermined." He tossed the pants onto a chair. His ankles were fat and pale and hairless. "Harold could really help her, though. The last girl he mentored in his children's ballet went on to join the Karkov Ballet back east, where I understand she is creating quite a stir."

"Do you think Jan has as much talent as that other girl?"

"I really don't know, my dear. I haven't seen the other girl dance."

"How good do you think Jan really is? Give me an honest appraisal."

"Unless I miss my guess, she has a legitimate future in ballet."

"How much of a future? Is she good enough to dance for your company someday?"

His shirt and tie joined his pants on the chair and he seemed to be choosing his words with care. "She's definitely good enough to become a member of the corps de ballet."

"No higher than that?"

"That's pretty high."

"What about a soloist?" Mother was sounding worried now.

"This is a ferociously competitive business, my dear, as you know, and I suppose with hard work, and the right connections, she could become a soloist and possibly even a principal, yes." He tossed his boxer shorts onto the chair.

"So you think Harold could really help her at this stage?"

"Without a doubt. Harold seems to have the magic touch."

"Have you heard the rumors about him?"

"What rumors might you be referring to, my dear?"

"That he might be a pedophile."

"I have heard a whisper or two to that effect, but I am sure that they are nothing but poppycock. I have known the man for a great many years now. And after all, he's married and has three sons and a daughter."

Mother stepped out of her panties and tossed the panties onto a chair.

"You have a lovely bum, my dear."

"And you have a lovely transcient."

The man chuckled, but Davy just furrowed his brow. He had no idea what they were talking about. To him bum meant hobo. He had no idea of transcient.

Mother padded barefoot over to the man and knelt between his knees. Davy began to hear sounds up there that made him wish he were safely at home, and he vowed never to explore this mansion ever again. After a while the man began to moan.

"Very nice, my dear. Very nice."

"It's bigger than I remember."

"I'm afraid it only appears that way. I have lost some weight, you know."

"Is that right? How much have you lost?"

"Nearly twenty pounds. You mean it isn't noticeable?"

"As a matter of fact, I was commenting to Mrs. Stonehurst at the party that I thought you were looking more svelte these days."

"And did old Stoney agree?"

"Indeed she did. She remarked that — "

There was a knock on the door, and Mother broke off with a small gasp. After a moment she managed to answer casually, almost musically: "Who is it?"

"Mother? May I come in?"

"Just a second, dear." In a harsh whisper she said to the man: "Quick, get under the bed!"

Davy made a look of panic.

"I can't fit under there. I've not lost that much weight."

"Then get in the closet!"

His fat ankles carried him with surprising alacrity into the closet and she flung his clothing in after him and shut the closet door. She hastily pulled on a robe and cinched it in front. "You may enter now, dear."

The door came open and Davy could see Jan's white ballet shoes and pink tights in the doorway. "Mother, have you seen Davy?"

"I was just about to step into the shower, dear."

"Have you seen Davy?"

"Why, no, dear. Isn't he in the studio with you?"

"He left to go to the bathroom or something and I haven't seen him since."

"Then I suppose he went home."

"His cushion and comic books are still in the studio."

"Then I suppose he went home and left his cushion and comic books behind."

There was a pause.

Then Jan said: "Is Daddy home?"

"You know your father is still in Europe on business, dear."

"Whose shoes are those under the bed?"

"Why, they're your father's, dear."

Jan closed the door and went away.

"Damn it," Mother hissed, under her breath.

The closet door came open almost timidly. "Is she gone?"

"Yes," Mother said, in a low voice. She sounded depressed.

"Whew, that was a close one." His fat ankles emerged from the closet.

"She knows," Mother said.

"I'm sure she doesn't suspect a thing, my dear. She's only thirteen."

"She's smart. She knows."

"So who might be this Davy chap?"

"Oh, he's some urchin she brought home from that sticky little public school," Mother replied bitterly. "I gather they're close to some degree. I can't believe I let her talk me into allowing that boy to come over here every day and watch her practice. What I won't tolerate for that child!"

The man was snuggling against her.

"Maybe we'd better call it off for today," she suggested.

"Call it off? Lovey, we're just getting started."

"Please, Nigel. I'm no longer in the mood."

"But I am in the mood, my dear! All this danger has made me incredibly randy!" Her bathrobe dropped to her feet.

"Nigel, please."

He led her over to the bed. Their feet disappeared and the mattress sagged, and when the bedsprings began to rhythmically squeak, Davy stuffed his fingers into his ears.

By the time, maybe five minutes later, he cautiously removed his fingers again, the man was snoring. Mother was softly weeping. After a while, she got out of bed and padded into the bathroom and quietly closed the door.

Davy seized the opportunity to crawl out from under the bed to the door and open it and squeeze out into the hallway and silently shut the door again and he fled out to his bike and pedaled rapidly all the way home.

What fun. What great fun.