Alistair Mountjoy stood at the second floor balcony overlooking the lobby of Ballet Academy and leaned on the stainless steel balustrade. He had a meeting about the budget that morning, which would be dreadfully tedious. He was the Artistic Director, not the Business Manager. Why should he be bothered with such trivialities as money? He sighed heavily, thinking of the drive out to Amagansett later with Geoffrey. Yes, he would need to cleanse his palate of the dreadful taste of money with a few days of brilliant dancing, brilliant conversation, and brilliant sunshine. If only he could have escaped to Tuscany this summer as he usually did.
He glanced at his watch. Teddy had said the boys had left in time for the M-107 to drop them off at Fifty-Xxxxx Street by eight-forty-five. They should be walking in any second.
At that moment, he saw a boy with red hair suddenly run into view on the sidewalk beyond the giant windows. He performed two Grand Jeté en tournant and a pirouette à la seconde, and quite well considering he was wearing sneakers and performing on concrete. He was a beautiful boy with a strong body, a freckled face, a smile from Heaven and…
Jeremy Fenwick! That was Jeremy Fenwick!
And, as if to confirm his recognition, Rafael slowly strolled into view as the boy grinned and posed on the sidewalk. Alistair felt a stirring in his heart and his slacks as he gazed at the magnificent body of the younger boy, the amazing face, the perfect form. The photographs in his file could hardly do justice to the true beauty of the boy.
Dylan Thackeray was joining them. Wonderful dancer, lots of potential, but a diva, a princess. He would eventually dance for a second tier company in the Midwest or perhaps on Broadway, but he’d never make it to Ballet of America or New York City Ballet. There seemed to be some kind of altercation developing and he squeezed the balustrade when he saw Rafael restraining the suddenly pugnacious Jeremy. What could Dylan have said to the younger boy to ignite such a passionate response? Dylan was certainly an expert at cutting badinage, so it could be anything.
Rafael seemed to be mediating. It was a new role for the boy, that of mediator, but he seemed to be succeeding. Dylan had turned around and spoken to Jeremy, who replied back—and suddenly the two were laughing and walking arm-in-arm into the building with a bewildered and bemused Rafael following.
And, then, Alistair’s heart froze. He had a better view as he gazed at Jeremy’s face when the boy stopped to sign in before he walked underneath the balcony and disappeared into the first floor hallway. It couldn’t be. He looked just like, exactly like…
Alistair stared at the terrazzo floor of the lobby for several minutes after Jeremy and the others had passed beneath him, until he slowly turned and walked away.
—o-0-o—
“So, this is Ballet Academy!” Jeremy exclaimed as they walked through the main hallway on the first floor. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to Heaven!”
Dylan grinned and winked at Rafael as they approached the central staircase. “Well, Ballet Asylum can be like Heaven and Hell, sometimes both at once.”
“I’ve dreamed of this day since the night I first saw Rafael dancing in The Nutcracker back home,” Jeremy declared.
“How old were you?” Dylan asked.
“I was eight and Rafael was almost eleven. I’ve been in love with him ever since that night and I promised I was going to be a ballet dancer just like him. And I am. I’m going to be just like Rafael.”
Dylan smiled at Rafael as they started up the stairs and the older teen smiled broadly and said, “I’ve never thought of myself as inspirational, but I guess I was for Jeremy.”
“You don’t realize how many dancers here at Ballet Academy look up to you, Rafael,” Dylan remarked.
“Rafael’s a hero in Greensburg,” Jeremy declared. “Every dancer in Greensburg Ballet School thinks Rafael’s the greatest. He made it. He made it to New York. He’s all our hero.”
Before Rafael or Dylan could respond, however, the three were met on the second floor landing by a tall, distinguished-looking man with a loose-fitting white shirt, loose-black slacks, and a mane of brilliant, white blond hair. The two older boys respectfully stepped aside as the man spoke in a strong Russian accent, “Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir,” Rafael and Dylan replied. Jeremy stood to the side of the stairs and gazed in awe at the man, who smiled and winked at him.
“You must be new here,” he said as he extended his hand. “I am Alexei Vishnevsky.”
“Yes, you are,” Jeremy breathed as his trembling hand grasped the man’s firm, stronger hand.
Vishnevsky smiled and said, “Don’t be too impressed, young man. Twenty years ago, I was you and twenty years from now, you will be me.”
He proceeded on down the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Practice well, boys.”
Dylan struggled not to burst into hysterical laughter until after the famous dancer was out of earshot.
“Oh, my God, Jeremy!” he cried. “That was priceless!”
Rafael grinned as he and Dylan moved on to the next flight of stairs. Jeremy followed, his face burning with embarrassment, and he replied, “But, that was Alexei Vishnevsky!”
“Yes, it was,” Dylan answered, “and now he knows that, too.”
“But, he’s the greatest dancer in the world!”
“Not anymore,” Dylan replied. “He’s a has-been, but no one’s bothered to tell him.”
Dylan smiled, however, and added, “That’s okay, Jeremy. I understand. It is cool to meet someone so famous.”
Jeremy smiled appreciatively as Dylan looked back over his shoulder. Rafael simply shook his head as he added, “And, what was that shit he said about ‘twenty years?’ He’s really thirty years older than us!”
“Come on, Rafael,” Dylan said. “So, he lies about his age. They’re going to have to drag you off the stage kicking and screaming to stick you in your casket.”
“I’ll go into choreography or teaching when the time comes. I won’t hang on and drag a company down just because I can’t admit that I don’t have it anymore.”
They reached the third floor and started toward the front of the building as Jeremy looked around with excitement. He could hear a couple of pianos playing in the studios along the hall and at the window of one of the studios he stopped and gazed at several ballerinas working out. Suddenly, he pressed his lips together and his eyes grew moist.
Dylan looked behind when they reached a door marked “Intermediate Boys Locker Room” and nudged Rafael, who looked back and saw Jeremy.
“Sweetheart?”
Jeremy turned his head toward the two older boys and said in a quivering voice, “I’m watching some girls practicing at Ballet Academy of America, Rafael. It just really hit me where I am. I’m here, Rafael. I’m here. And, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead now. If it wasn’t for you coming to see me last Wednesday, I’d have given up and killed myself.”
Jeremy started forward and Rafael walked back to him. They met and Rafael wrapped his arms tightly around him.
“Sweetheart, you’re here because you’ve earned it and when Alistair sees you dance and when the admissions committee sees you dance next month, everyone will know where you belong.”
Jeremy sniffed and looked up at the teenager, whispering, “I love you.”
“Me, too.”
Jeremy grinned through his tears and asked, “You love you, too?”
Rafael grinned and said, “No, dummy. I love you.”
Jeremy giggled and they kissed before turning back to the locker room door. Dylan quickly passed through the door, but not before Rafael could see his damp, red eyes.
Inside the locker room, Rafael dropped their dance bag on one of the benches as Dylan dropped his on the one opposite. Jeremy looked around with amazement as he sat down and said, “Man, this is big and nice.”
Dylan sat down and began to remove his street shoes as he replied, “I guess you didn’t have many boys in training back home, did you?”
“Just two,” Jeremy replied as he began to remove his shoes, as well. “One my age and one Rafael’s.”
“That figures,” Dylan replied. “Here, you have about eighty boys and more than three hundred girls.”
“Oh, man, it’s going to be so nice to have some guys to train with!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” Dylan replied, adding with a nasty leer, “especially in the showers!”
Rafael gave his friend a warning look, which Dylan acknowledged with a brief nod as Jeremy stood and whipped his shirt over his head and off. Dylan looked at Jeremy’s torso and exclaimed, “Sweet Mother of God, Jeremy! Where’d you get that body?”
Jeremy grinned as he unfastened his shorts and replied, “The Memorial Day Sale at Monkey Ward’s.”
Dylan looked at him blankly as Rafael chuckled. “He means Montgomery Ward, Miss Thing. It’s a department store across the Midwest and South. You wouldn’t know it. Middle Class people shop there.”
“Hmm,” Dylan replied dismissively. “Of course, if they’re selling bodies like that, maybe I should go there and buy a couple dozen or so.”
Jeremy giggled as he shoved his shorts and underwear down. His penis wasn’t erect, but it was definitely plumping out. As Dylan shoved his shorts and underwear down, he checked out Jeremy’s privates and whistled again.
“Girlfriend, you are going to be belle of the ball when you start showering with the other alleged males here at Ballet Asylum! You’ll be devirginized your first day!”
Jeremy looked at Rafael with alarm, but the older teen rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t scare him.”
“But, it’s true,” Dylan replied as he pulled his dance belt from the bag.
“Guys do it in the showers?” Jeremy asked as he started pulling his dance belt on.
“Some do,” Rafael replied.
“Everyone does,” Dylan declared, “at one time or another.”
Jeremy frowned and said, “I’d don’t think I’d like that. I don’t want to do it with anyone except Rafael. I love Rafael. I won’t do it with anyone else.”
Dylan looked at him as if he were crazy and said, “Jeremy, you can have any guy in this school, and probably every girl, too. You have one hot and sexy bod, even if you are twelve. You’ll be the most popular boy in the showers, believe me.”
“I won’t do it,” Jeremy replied.
“But, Jeremy, Rafael is…I mean, Rafael…he’s…”
“Yes?” Rafael asked with a reptilian grin.
Dylan sighed with frustration before looking back at Jeremy and saying, “Jeremy, sweetheart, there’s a reason I’m known around here as the Scarlet Harlot and Rafael as the Heinous Anus.”
Jeremy giggled before he said, “Look, I know Rafael likes sex a lot.”
“That’s an understatement,” Dylan muttered. “Rafael doesn’t just like sex a lot; he likes a lot of sex a lot.”
Rafael gave him a look as Jeremy said, “I know and I know why and I don’t care. I love Rafael and I know he had a life before I came here and I won’t get in the way. Rafael can do whatever he wants. But, for me, I just don’t want to do it with anyone besides Rafael. I love him.”
Dylan sighed helplessly and said, “Man, Rafi. He really is sweet. Damn. If you ever get tired of him, let me know. I have first dibs on him when you’re finished.”
“Well, you’re going to have a long wait,” Rafael replied as he pulled his leotard on. “I’ll never be finished with Jeremy. This is the real thing, Dylan.”
Jeremy adjusted his leotard and smiled up at Rafael with love.
As Dylan started pulling his tights on, he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two opposites in such a deep love before.”
Rafael grinned and said, “Well, here we are. Jeremy means everything to me.”
“And, I owe my life to Rafael,” Jeremy declared as he started working on his tights. “I will always love Rafael.”
“Jeremy knows that he has the freedom to do anything he wants to,” Rafael added. “Even if he never does, he can still mess around and I’ll understand. We have a love that’s just too strong and deep.”
Dylan sighed and said, “You’re a beautiful couple.”
After a moment, however, he added, as he struggled with his tights, “I wish to God we could just wear shorts and a tee-shirt when we come in here on our off-time.”
“I love wearing tights,” Jeremy replied as he pulled his up.
“I do, too, but on our off-time, its such a hassle.”
Jeremy looked at Rafael and asked, “Why do we have to dress up even on our off-time?”
“It was one of Lionel Mountjoy’s rules when he ran the place and it’s a tradition now. The idea is that we’ll be more professional and take it more seriously if we dress properly all the time. And, it looks better when outsiders come in and see us dressed in tights and leotard instead of whatever we drag out of the dirty clothes hamper. It was one of the few rules Alistair kept when he took over after his father died.”
Dylan was rolling the top of his tights down as he asked, “I suppose you’re going to Alistair’s party.”
“Oh, yeah,” Rafael replied. “We’re going out tomorrow. Alistair’s new houseboy is driving us out.”
“Ooh, Geoffrey!” Dylan vamped. “Isn’t he a dreamboat?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rafael replied, with a quick, guilty look at Jeremy, who grinned.
“We’re going to dance for the party Friday night,” Rafael said, changing the subject as he blushed.
“I saw your Ice Prince album. Are you doing ‘Dance of the Friends?’”
Rafael nodded as he sat down to pull on his dance shoes. “I can dance ‘Friends’ backwards and in my sleep and Jeremy’s danced it back home because Madame Pulchova used it to train her male students because it has practically every move a danseur can perform in classical ballet.”
“You know, if Conrad Hartsfeld is here, you should ask him for help,” Dylan suggested.
“Why?” Rafael asked with distaste.
“Well, because Ice Prince is his ballet. He was Andrei the last time the company staged it in ‘67 and he was Sasha the time before that in ‘63.”
“How do you know all that?” Rafael asked.
“Because I dated him for a couple of weeks last winter,” Dylan replied proudly.
“You never told me that,” Rafael replied with surprise.
Dylan grinned and replied, “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Jeremy giggled and Rafael rolled his eyes. “Since when are you a lady…and for that matter, when don’t you kiss and tell?”
Dylan shrugged shyly and said, “Sometimes, I do have a sense of decency. Anyway, Conrad is probably here this morning. He just got back from France last Friday and likes to get back into shape before they start working on the fall productions. You know he and Mario are both dancing Conrad in Corsair.”
Jeremy had been staring at them agog as the two spoke of one of the company’s great stars as if he were just one of the guys. “You really think a great dancer like Conrad Hartsfeld would want to help a new kid like me?” he asked incredulously.
An enigmatic smile came over Dylan’s face as he replied, “I have a feeling he might.”
Rafael shook his head and said, “Conrad Hartsfeld is the definition of diva.”
“Said the pot calling the kettle beige,” Dylan replied with a grin.
“Come on, you have to admit that he’s an arrogant, self-important jerk who thinks the sun shines out his ass.”
“Yeah. He’s the company’s Rafael Colón.”
Rafael flipped off his friend and placed his dance bag in a locker. Wrapping an arm around Jeremy, he said, “Come on, Oliver Twist. Let’s go dance.”
Rafael, holding his record album, led the boy around the wall providing the locker room privacy from anyone using the door. Jeremy looked back over his shoulder and saw Dylan grin and silently mouth the word “Diva” while pointing to Rafael. Seeing no malice in Dylan’s eyes, Jeremy grinned in response.
In the hallway, however, Jeremy heard several shrieks of “Rafael!” and saw the ballerinas he had been watching earlier emerging from their studio. Rafael handed the record to Jeremy and held his arms out, crying, “Ladies! Come to Papa!”
Dylan grumbled, “Oh, for God’s sake. We’ll be waiting for an hour before Rafael finishes preening for his adoring public.”
Jeremy giggled and followed Dylan around the group and into the first empty studio. For several seconds, the younger boy simply stood and looked around at the mirrors on the wall, the barre, the piano in the corner, and his eyes grew moist as a look of pride came over his face. Dylan had walked to the barre and was watching him in the mirror. He smiled and turned around.
“You’re here, Jeremy,” he said to the smiling boy. “Let’s warm up.”
Jeremy nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
He walked toward the barre and chuckled, glancing out the window at the group of girls surrounding Rafael. He shook his head. “The girls just love Rafael,” he said.
Jeremy sat down on the floor and began stretching as he replied, “He says its because he treats them with respect and because they know he won’t take advantage of them.”
“Is that what he said?” Dylan replied as he, too, began his stretches. “You want to know the truth? It’s only because he’s just one of the girls.”
Jeremy giggled and said, “He wasn’t like a girl last night.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dylan replied with anticipation. “Do tell!”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” Jeremy replied with a blushing grin.
“Don’t tease me! You started this. Now, tell me. Did he fuck you?”
“No!” Jeremy exclaimed with a giggle. “We just, I mean, he kind of took over and he was so romantic and so… manly. He held me and hugged me and kissed me and jacked me off and… it was so beautiful.”
Dylan grinned and said, “It sounds to me like you’re in love.”
“Oh, I am,” Jeremy replied. “Can I tell you something?”
“Oh, yes! Do!”
Jeremy grinned and said, “I’ve thought about Rafael every night when I beat off since I first saw him in Nutcracker. Every night. He was so beautiful and strong and graceful and… He’s the sexiest person on earth.”
Dylan grinned and said, “You sound like you have a crush on him.”
“I have more than a crush!”
Suddenly the door opened and Rafael strode in, declaring, “All right, girls! Get off your lazy butts and let’s get to work! We have some dancing to do!”
—o-0-o—
Alistair Mountjoy glanced impatiently at his watch as he sat at his desk reviewing the columns of numbers on the memos before him. He loathed and detested having to deal with money issues. That wasn’t what he was meant to do. Those were matters for the Business Manager and Finance Director of the Company and Academy. He, Mountjoy, was the creative genius who gave the world dreams of music and dance. He sighed.
Underneath the irritating memos was a folder labeled, “Fenwick, Jeremy David. Summer Session 1970. Approved.” He pulled the folder out and placed it atop the memos. He stared at the cover for several seconds before flipping it open and revealing its contents. His eyes scanned the application, made out in the impeccable handwriting of Jeremy’s mother. He had reviewed it a dozen times; nonetheless, he read it again before turning it over and finding the transcripts of his training at the Greensburg Ballet School and the Magnolia River School of Gymnastics. Admirable. A model student. Next were the letters of recommendation from his teacher at the ballet school, Anna Pulchova, and the Head of Instruction at the gymnastics school, as well as from the Artistic Director of the Greensburg Ballet and the Headmaster of Breckenridge Academy. All were fulsome in their praise of the boy, as one would expect with a letter of recommendation. He flipped them over and came to his goal—two photographs.
The first was the classic school picture, a color photo of Jeremy’s face before a cloudy blue background. He stared at the picture and felt his heartbeat increase. The red hair, boyishly unruly, the laughing blue-gray eyes, the freckles across the nose and cheeks, the smile—oh God, that smile, so happy and full of life, showing a perfect set of white teeth, so cheerful and optimistic. He was beautiful, absolutely, stunningly beautiful, a boy becoming a man.
Alistair gazed at the picture and imagined the boy flying across the stage, leaping, spinning, gliding. He imagined standing before the boy and guiding him, encouraging him…
He suddenly flipped the picture over to reveal a second, larger photograph, Jeremy’s audition picture. It showed the boy performing a perfect arabesque, supporting himself on his right foot, which was turned to the right, his left leg thrown backward and up, perfectly straight, his foot pointing outward, his torso curving upward, right arm extended to the barre, left arm thrown outward and forward, a look of confidence and pride on his face. Jeremy’s arabesque was exquisite, delicate, powerful, evocative, sublime.
Alistair felt his erection grow as he gazed at the boy. He pressed his lips together tightly and then closed his eyes. No. It was not to be. It would not be. He would do everything he could to encourage and nurture the boy—but nothing beyond that. He couldn’t. He had already gone too far with Rafael. He would not do so again.
And, yet…
He opened his eyes and stood. The meeting would begin at ten. He had time. He looked down at the folder and closed it. He picked up the financial memos beneath and strode to the door. He was relieved to see the second floor hallway was deserted. He walked to the staircase in the center and climbed to the third floor. He could hear pianos playing up and down the hallway, but it was the group of people standing at the window of Studio Three-B that caught his attention. He walked toward them and recognized two ballerinas from the advanced division of the academy and three danseurs, one from the advanced division and two from the company. They were watching something through the window and as Alistair approached, the oldest of the danseurs turned and smiled.
“Alistair, you should see this kid dance. He’s amazing for someone so young. Is he new?”
The man stood behind the others and stopped breathing when he saw Jeremy Fenwick performing a number of graceful glissade derrière and then several glissade devant. Rafael was standing in front of him, apparently coaching him. Jeremy’s moves were so graceful that one of the ballerinas watching shook her head and whispered, “He’s divine. He’s absolutely divine.”
“It’s an easy move,” one of the danseurs muttered. “Let’s see him try something more challenging.”
As if in response to the danseur’s comment, Jeremy and Rafael spoke for a moment before the boy began to perform pirouette à la seconde, his arms extended, as well as his right leg. The girl looked at the man and grinned and the man raised an eyebrow and nodded before the others gasped as Jeremy suddenly began to perform fouetté en tournant, a move performed usually by ballerinas, spinning on one foot with the other leg whipping the dancer around. And, then, he shocked the group at the window by performing chaînés tournes across the floor, turning on the balls of his feet from one foot to the other, with excellent form. The first danseur to speak earlier turned and asked, “Do you know him, Alistair?”
With a single nod, the man replied, “He’s Jeremy Fenwick. He’s starting this fall. He’s been training under Anna Pulchova.”
“Rafael’s teacher?” one of the ballerinas asked. “No wonder he’s so good.”
One of the danseurs softly said, “He could be the new Rafael.”
Alistair stared at both boys, Rafael pointing with his right hand, Jeremy turning as he moved quickly across the floor, both of them looking beautiful, their grace and masculinity emphasized by their tights and leotards. After a moment, he took a deep breath, turned, and walked silently away.
—o-0-o—
“Does this kid ever stop?”
Rafael grinned at Dylan as they stood by the water cooler. “No, he doesn’t,” he replied. “The guy is amazing. You have to drag him, kicking and screaming, off the dance floor.”
“Maybe we should break for lunch and then you two can start working on ‘Friends’,” Dylan suggested.
“You want to stick around?” Rafael asked. “You can be The Queen.”
“Honey, I’m always The Queen,” Dylan replied as Rafael grinned and walked toward Jeremy, who was practicing his Grand Jeté en tournant. He stood right in Jeremy’s path and the younger boy stopped just before colliding with him.
“What are you doing?” Jeremy demanded as he gasped for breath.
Rafael grinned and said, “Lunch time.”
“No way! I have to keep practicing this!” Jeremy protested. “This is the climax of ‘Dance of the Friends’! I have to get it perfect!”
Dylan had followed Rafael over to Jeremy and now the older boy said to his friend, “You grab his other arm.”
Together, they held Jeremy’s arms and began to drag him toward the door.
“Hey! What are you doing? We’re not done! I have to do this!”
When they reached the door, Rafael turned and faced Jeremy, who looked back at him with indignation. However, before the boy could protest, Rafael began to play with his nipples. A sudden look of shock came over the boy’s face and his body stiffened as if he were being electrocuted. Rafael was just as shocked by the boy’s reaction as Jeremy was to the nipple-play. He removed his fingers and looked at Jeremy with amazement as Jeremy panted and whispered, “What…what was that?”
“I was playing with your titties, but I didn’t expect you to have an orgasm like that.”
“I didn’t but…wow…that was…do it again!”
“No,” Rafael replied with a teasing grin. “Maybe later. Here’s a towel. Dry off. We’re going down to the commissary to grab a bite and then we’ll be back.”
Jeremy took the towel and began wiping his sweaty body as Rafael and Dylan did the same, but asked, “That’s…kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Rafael replied. “A lot of guys like to get to their nipples played with. Body builder types and leather queens love it. Even some normal gay guys like it.”
“Normal?” Dylan muttered with a raised eyebrow.
“You know what I mean,” Rafael replied. “Guys who aren’t as perverted as I am.”
Dylan rolled his eyes, but Jeremy looked at Rafael with an anxious expression before the teenager took his towel and deposited it in a small hamper. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Dylan saw Jeremy’s look and silently followed, deciding he might need to have a little talk with the boy about Rafael. There might be things, he decided, that Jeremy didn’t know about Rafael and which he might want to know before their relationship progressed even further.
“This is such a wonderful feeling,” Jeremy exclaimed as they walked through the hallway toward the stairs, “walking through Ballet Academy in my tights!”
Rafael grinned and said, “It’s just another sign that you’re one of us, now, Jeremy.”
The boy gave him a joyous smile as they descended the stairs, declaring, “This has got to be the happiest day of my life. I’ve never felt so alive, so wonderful. I could dance all day.”
As if on cue, both Rafael and Dylan began to sing, “I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things I’ve never done before!”
Jeremy grinned and pretended to sock Rafael in the shoulder. “Go ahead and make fun of me, but this really is the greatest day of my life, except for when I first saw you dancing in Nutcracker.”
Rafael put an arm around the boy and said, “I know, sweetheart. I’m just so thrilled to see you so happy, considering how you looked last Wednesday. It’s really fantastic to see the joy in your face.”
They had reached the first floor hallway when Rafael spoke. Jeremy gave the older boy a look of love. They proceeded toward the commissary at the opposite end from the lobby. However, as he looked forward, he gasped. A young man appearing to be in his late twenties emerged from a doorway in front of them and turned toward the commissary. He wore tights and a leotard. A towel was draped over his shoulders, his white blond hair was tousled and he looked as if he had been dancing for most of the morning. He was slender, but obviously powerful and Jeremy’s eyes grew wide with surprise and admiration. Rafael whispered, “Oh, shit.”
Dylan, of course, called out to the man. “Conrad!”
He turned with irritation, but then gave a proper and polite smile to the boys, his eyes darting from Dylan to Rafael and then settling on Jeremy for several seconds as they approached him.
“Good morning, Dylan,” the dancer responded in a proper and polite voice, tearing his eyes away from Jeremy and smiling at Dylan. “Rafael. I hope you had a productive time in London.”
“I did, thank you,” Rafael replied formally.
“Conrad,” Dylan said as he placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “this is Jeremy Fenwick. He studied under Anna Pulchova and he’s joining us this fall.”
Jeremy felt a massive surge within him as he looked into the blue-gray eyes of the danseur. Slowly, he extended his hand as Conrad reached for it, a hint of a smile at the edges of his lips.
“I am pleased to meet you, Jeremy. I have great respect for Madame Pulchova. She turns out excellent dancers. She gave us Rafael, so I assume we should expect great things from you, as well.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy replied with more strength than he expected. “It’s an honor to train at the school that trained the greats like you.”
“Yes, it is,” Conrad replied, his eyes still locked on Jeremy’s as the younger boy’s erection swelled within his tights.
“Conrad, Jeremy and Rafael are dancing at Alistair’s party Friday night,” Dylan explained. They’re performing ‘Dance of the Friends’ and since Ice Prince is really your ballet, I thought maybe you could give them some advice today.”
Conrad’s eyes shone with pleasure at Dylan’s statement. “Well, I hardly think Rafael needs my help,” he replied with a comradely wink at the older teenager, “but I would be delighted to help Jeremy. I assume, Rafael, you are Andrei and Jeremy is Sasha?”
Hiding is dismay as best he could, Rafael replied, “Yes and we’d appreciate any help you can give us.”
“Wonderful,” Conrad replied with a gracious bow of the head. “I shall be delighted. Will you share lunch with me?”
“Thank you,” Dylan replied as Jeremy beamed with joy.
Here he was, a kid from Greensburg on his first day of practicing at Ballet Academy of America and he was having lunch with one of the greatest dancers in the world!
How could his life get any better?