Rafael shrieked.
The boys, accompanied by the great dancer, entered the commissary. Someone had brought a transistor radio, which began playing Aretha Franklin’s “I Say a Little Prayer” and, immediately, Rafael slinked over to the first table of ballerinas and began singing, “The moment I wake up, before I put on my make-up, I say a little prayer for you…”
Jeremy watched in embarrassment and amazement as his boyfriend moved from one ballerina to another, running his fingers across their faces or along their shoulders. They grinned and cheered him on. Dylan laughed and then nudged Jeremy’s shoulder. The older boy began to sing back-up.
“While combing my hair now, and wondering what dress to wear now, I say a little prayer for you!”
Self-consciously, Jeremy joined in, moving his hips and arms along with Dylan. Meanwhile, Rafael spun around the commissary to the cheers and shouts of encouragement from the diners. Conrad smiled indulgently and, to everyone’s delight, joined the two boys in singing back-up to Rafael.
“Forever and ever, you’ll stay in my heart, and I will love you! Forever and ever we never shall part! Oh, how I’ll love you!”
The crowd in the commissary cheered Rafael when the song finally ended and the teenager stood up on an empty chair, blowing kisses to everyone.
“Thank you! Thank you! I love you!” he cried. “We’ll be here ’til Friday and then next week, we’ll be at Joey’s in Cleveland. Be sure to tip your bartenders and waitresses!”
He climbed down from the chair and someone yelled, “Conrad! Since when do you take second place to Rafael?”
Conrad smiled stiffly and said, “I don’t mind sharing the limelight with Eve, wonderful Eve,” referencing the antagonist in All About Eve. Rafael, as well as half the audience, caught the subtle put-down and he posed with a smirk and his fists on his hips. Conrad smiled with contentment and proceeded on to the serving line.
“Rafael, you were wonderful!” Jeremy , having swallowed his embarrassment, gushed as the teenager joined them in line.
“Well, you remember what Madame Pulchova used to say.”
Together they recited in a Russian accent, “Ve are alvays on stage!”
“Especially this thing,” Dylan interjected. “She’s a better Aretha than Aretha.”
Conrad ordered a chef’s salad and looked over his shoulder as he declared, “You know, Rafael, if you don’t make it as a dancer, you can always fall back on cabaret singer.”
Dylan hid his grin as Rafael raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s okay. I don’t think I’ll have time. You’ll be retiring soon and someone has to dance Siegfried, Albrecht, and Conrad.”
The real Conrad grinned and nodded, as if conceding the point to Rafael.
The boys took their food and, after leaving the cashier, they followed Conrad to an empty table in the center of the room. The man set his tray down and pulled out his chair, saying, “You know, Jeremy, you’re not half bad as a back-up singer.”
Grinning, Jeremy sat down and said, “I was embarrassed, at first because we never did anything like that back home, but then I reminded myself that I’m in New York and that’s why I’m here—to perform. Then, it was easy.”
“There you go, Jeremy! That’s the spirit,” Conrad said with a warm smile. “That’s what will propel you to the top, that love of performing.”
Jeremy smiled happily at the famous dancer before a ballerina at the table behind him said, “You’re a great dancer, too, Jeremy. We were watching you this morning and you were amazing. You’re so graceful and elegant for a dancer your age. You’re very impressive.”
“Yes, you are,” a danseur at another table added. “And, Alistair was impressed. He said so.”
A look of horror came over Jeremy’s face as he looked at the young man, exclaiming, “Alistair saw me? Alistair Mountjoy?”
The danseur grinned and nodded as Jeremy looked at Rafael in a panic.
“I’m not ready for Alistair to see me, yet!” he cried.
“Relax!” Rafael said. “I could see on his face he was impressed.”
“You knew he was watching?” Jeremy cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rafael grinned along with the others around them and replied, “Because you’d have peed in your tights. Don’t worry. You were great this morning and you’ll be great when we go out to Amagansett. Don’t worry. You’re a great dancer, Jeremy.”
“You really are, Jeremy,” the ballerina behind them said. “What’s your last name?”
“Fenwick,” the boy replied shyly.
“Well, Jeremy Fenwick, you’re going to be a star. You’re the next Rafael Colón.”
Jeremy blushed deeply and said, “No one can be another Rafael.”
“Well, that’s for sure!” a younger dancer at another table remarked, and a number of people laughed good-naturedly.
Rafael grinned and said, “Competition just makes me better! Though I do have to ask, I was out there sweating bullets for you a moment ago, and all you people can do is compliment my back-up singer?”
“Look out, Rafael! There’s a new kid in town!”
Jeremy blushed ever more deeply and whispered, “I’m sorry, Rafael.”
“What in the world are you sorry for?” Rafael asked with surprise.
“Well, for taking the attention away from you. You’re the best.”
Rafael placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder while Conrad munched on his salad and studied the boy. “Jeremy, never, ever apologize for getting attention or accolades. Remember what I said Saturday night. You are never embarrassed. You are never self-conscious. You must always know you are good. You are great and the audience is there to see you. You are great and fantastic and you will perform fantastically. Never be sorry for getting attention or for taking attention from someone else. I’m a big boy. I can fight for my own attention. You focus on getting your attention, Jeremy, and you will surely get it. You don’t believe me when I tell you how good you are, but these people saw you. They’ve been here for years training at Ballet Academy or dancing for the Company and when they say you’re good, Jeremy, you’re good. You need to start believing it.”
Several people started applauding Rafael’s speech and within seconds the entire commissary was applauding.
Conrad’s face showed an enigmatic smile. He watched and for a moment his eyes met Jeremy’s and held. They boy felt his breath being sucked out of him.
—o-0-o—
Alistair Mountjoy calmly strode across the lobby of Ballet Academy with his usual controlled serenity, his standard demeanor of professionalism and majesty. He passed a couple of trainees entering the front doors and nodded to them with an encouraging smile, though without any words. He stepped outside into the midday air—and the perpetual shadow along the street—and to the charcoal Lincoln double-parked in front. He opened the door, tossed his briefcase into the backseat, climbed in, and dropped onto the seat with a weary sigh.
“Rough day?” Geoffrey asked as Alistair slammed the door and lay his head back against the seat. Closing his eyes, he replied, “This has been a God-awful day and a glorious day, both, and I need a drink. Get me the hell out of this city.”
“You’ve got it,” Geoffrey replied as he started forward and moved to the left turn lane. “I have a glass of Scotch with ice waiting for you in the cooler.”
“Oh, bless you, Geoffrey,” Alistair exclaimed as he reached to the cooler. “Remind me to give you a raise.”
“Are you referring to my salary or something else?” the young man asked with a grin as they turned left onto Seventh Avenue.
Alistair simply smiled as he dropped two ice cubes into a glass, poured in two fingers of Scotch, lifted the glass and gratefully took a sip. He sat back and stared at the stores and restaurants that lined the street.
“So, talk to me,” Geoffrey said. “Pretend I’m your priest—or your bartender.”
Alistair sighed heavily and asked, “What do you think of Jeremy?”
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow and glanced back in the mirror. He paused a moment and asked, “Did you see him dance today?”
“I saw him practicing with Rafael and Dylan Thackeray. Jeremy’s…very talented and I’m very…impressed.”
Geoffrey glanced back and forth between the traffic before him and the mirror. Alistair was looking to the side.
“I got the impression last night,” Geoffrey said, “that Jeremy is very much a twelve-year-old boy. He’s not the kind of boy I would expect to be training as a ballet dancer. He seems very much a normal boy.”
“You mean to imply that boys training for ballet are not normal?” Alistair asked with a smile.
“You know what I mean. He seems like he would be more comfortable on a football field than in a dance studio. Then, when you hear him speak, you realize he is absolutely devoted to ballet—and to Rafael.”
Alistair nodded as he gazed out the side window.
“He strikes me,” Geoffrey continued, “as someone who would be at the top of whatever field he chose to be in. He’s easily embarrassed, though, by Rafael and Teddy, but he’s so sweet about it that you know he doesn’t harbor any ill feelings. However, he’s absolutely petrified of not being good enough. He’s concerned that he won’t get enough practice time or that he won’t impress you this week. I can tell he’s ambitious, though, because he repeatedly said he has to be the best. He seems fixated on his desire to be the best.”
Alistair nodded and sipped his Scotch thoughtfully.
“It means a lot to him to be here in New York, though,” Geoffrey added. “He cried when I stopped at Ballet Centre and let them stand on the sidewalk and look up at it.”
“He’s been through hell during the last few months,” Alistair said. “His coming to New York and training at Ballet Academy wasn’t a sure thing until he actually got on the plane with Teddy and Rafael.”
He paused a moment and asked, “How are Jeremy and Rafael together?”
Geoffrey smiled and said, “They’re a cute couple. Rafael pushes Jeremy, I think. Rafael wanted to make-out with him in the car and Jeremy was shy and embarrassed. I tried to put him at ease about it. However, it’s clear that Rafael truly loves him—and that Jeremy worships Rafael.”
Geoffrey looked into the mirror and saw Alistair’s frown.
“I get the impression,” Geoffrey added, “that Rafael is quite…active in the sexual department.”
“You could say that.”
Geoffrey smiled and added, “I also get the impression that he is more than quite fond of you.”
“You could say that, as well.”
Alistair never looked at Geoffrey as he replied to the questions, which did not go unnoticed by the young man.
“In some ways,” Geoffrey added, “I think the two boys are very mismatched. I mean, Rafael seems to be quite the promiscuous and social homosexual, but Jeremy seems very shy and conservative, maybe even naïve. I’d be willing to bet that the extent of his sexual experience before he met Rafael was jacking off with his best friend.”
“And, your point?”
“What they have in common is special. Rafael needs Jeremy’s innocence and goodness and Jeremy worships Rafael’s beauty and talent.”
Alistair took a deep breath and said, “Rafael inspired Jeremy to become a dancer when they were seven and eleven. And, then, Rafael rescued Jeremy from an intolerable situation in Greensburg after Jeremy’s parents died.”
“Ah,” Geoffrey replied with surprise.
“But, you’re basically correct,” Alistair added as he looked at Geoffrey‘s eyes in the mirror. He took a sip of his Scotch and then glanced over at his briefcase. After a long moment, he reached over, opened it, and removed Jeremy’s file. He opened the file and gazed again at the boy’s school picture. Geoffrey couldn’t see what the man was looking at and returned his attention to the street and the traffic. However, the next time he looked in the mirror, Alistair had set the photo on the seat beside him and Geoffrey could see what it was. Quickly, he looked away before Alistair could see him. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. A couple of minutes later, he glanced back up at the mirror and saw that Alistair had set a second photo aside, this one showing Jeremy performing an arabesque. Geoffrey looked away again and driving through Times Square, he took a breath and said, “Alistair, I want to tell you something.”
The man looked up and met Geoffrey’s eyes in the rear view mirror, responding, “Yes?”
Geoffrey paused and then said, “My parents discovered I was gay one night when I was caught messing around with a couple of boys in my fifth grade class spending the night with me. They weren’t happy and they made my life very difficult after that. In the eighth grade, I tried to commit suicide and after, it was my art teacher, Kenneth Sanders, the artist who introduced me to you, who became my savior. We had an affair for a couple of years.”
Geoffrey glanced back up at the mirror. Alistair was looking him in the eye, but his face was inscrutable. He continued, saying, “Throughout my teens, I had several affairs and went to a number of parties where I met men who…liked to be…sociable with young men. What I’m trying to say is this. I know I’m nothing more than a glorified prostitute who runs errands for you, but I really like you, Alistair. A lot. You’re a decent man and I understand why everyone loves you.”
“I assume there’s a point to all this butt kissing.”
Geoffrey took a deep breath and said, “Alistair, are you…interested in Jeremy? If you are, I understand. I really do. I’ve met some real schmucks over the last few years, but you’re a good man, really the finest man I’ve ever met, and if you’re…interested in Jeremy in…that way, I’d understand and, if you need any help, encouraging him or maybe checking the situation out for you or distracting Rafael or…anything, I’d be happy to help.”
He looked up into the mirror and met Alistair’s cold eye, immediately regretting his words.
“I don’t have…those kinds of relationships with my students,” the man replied flatly.
Geoffrey nodded, wondering if the man was lying, but sensing he had crossed a line he shouldn’t have. Alistair turned his head and looked out the window as they turned onto Forty-second Street. Geoffrey took a breath and said, “Forgive me if I was presumptuous.”
“You weren’t presumptuous,” Alistair replied still looking out the window at the stores on the south side of the street. “At least, I didn’t take it that way.”
Neither spoke as and, after a bit, Geoffrey turned the radio on to WQXR, the classical station to which Alistair normally listened. However, the man said, “Could you turn that off? I’d rather have quiet.”
Geoffrey nodded and turned off the radio. They crossed Sixth Avenue and Alistair stared at a couple of hustlers in Bryant Park. He sighed. He should have felt elated at finding such a gifted dancer as Jeremy. And, yet, he felt more lost and alone than he ever had.
—o-0-o—
“Now, the thing to remember about Dmitri Koronov is that he was as gay as a goose.”
Conrad Hartsfeld stood before Rafael and Jeremy in the center of the studio with Dylan standing to the side. Jeremy was listening with rapt attention while Rafael tried not to reveal the discomfort and confusion he felt. Dylan was looking at the rise in the front of Jeremy’s tights and smiling to himself at the younger boy’s arousal.
“And, like Tchaikovsky, Koronov was in love with a beautiful youth. Now, of course, this was Imperial Russia in the nineteenth century, so this sort of thing was frowned upon even more than it is in America in 1970. So, when Koronov decided to write a tribute to the object of his love, he couldn’t come out and describe a love affair between a thirty-five year-old man and a fifteen year-old boy. So, he made Prince Andrei twenty-one and his commoner friend, Sasha, seventeen. However, Sasha has a few qualities of a youth much younger than seventeen. So, when the two of you are dancing as Andrei and Sasha, you are actually in love. You aren’t just the closest of friends, as Koronov portrays them. You are in love, as you and Rafael are, Jeremy.”
The younger boy smiled and looked up at Rafael with love as the older boy smiled at him and ran his fingers along Jeremy’s cheek.
“We need to remember the story of The Ice Prince. Prince Andrei’s best friend is the commoner Alexander, or Sasha, which is the Russian nickname for Alexander. However, Andrei’s mother, the queen, insists that the heir to the throne cannot have a commoner as a friend and orders him to give up his friendship with Sasha, which he refuses to do. Meanwhile, the evil king of The South wants Andrei’s fiancée, Maria, for his own wife and threatens war with The North if they don’t allow him to have her. When he attacks the North, Andrei and Sasha go off to fight. At the climactic battle, Maria has come to watch and when she is endangered, Sasha rushes to protect her and is wounded. Andrei is unable to come to his friend’s aid until it is too late. The North has won the battle and the war, but Sasha dies in Andrei’s arms. At the end, his spirit is seen rising to Heaven and looking benevolently down at Andrei and Maria, giving his blessing to their love.”
The older boy smiled and briefly caressed Jeremy’s face as Conrad watched and smiled. Dylan watched all the interactions and Conrad in particular with interest and suspicion.
“So, the scene we are working on, ‘The Dance of the Friends’, despite it being in Act One instead of at the end, is actually the most exciting and the one that invariably leads to a standing ovation and wild cheers and applause. However, audiences also invariably misunderstand what it is. After the queen orders Andrei to end his friendship with Sasha and he refuses, the queen marches off in a huff and then Sasha sneaks in and teases Andrei. When Andrei catches him, they dance together in a wildly athletic series of moves. Most people think they are competing with each other, trying to out-dance the other, but it’s not a competition.”
Rafael sighed with boredom, but Jeremy was rapt as he listened to the great man.
“Koronov, like any educated man in the Nineteenth Century, was familiar with Ancient Greece and what was derisively known at the time as ‘The Greek Love’. It was common and expected for an older man to take a youth under his wings, to be his mentor and lover. This was considered a more pure form of love than that between a man and a woman, which is explained in Plato’s Symposium. Well, in Thebes, they took that a step further and built an army of male lovers called the Sacred Band of Brothers, based on the belief that lovers would fight all the more valiantly to defend their beloved and to make their beloved proud of them. Well, that is sort of what’s happening here. Andrei and Sasha aren’t competing with each other, but with themselves. They are trying to prove their love to the other by dancing better than they ever have. And, at the end, when they are standing center stage, gazing proudly off at the audience, they are showing their pride in the other and in themselves, and especially in the fullness of their love. Of course, in all the librettos, the word they use is friendship, but we all know what Koronov was actually talking about. So, Jeremy, when you’re dancing in the ‘competition’ with Rafael, you are actually showing him how much you love him. So, you have to dance the best you ever have.”
With a look of determination on his face, Jeremy nodded and declared, “I will. I’ll dance better than I ever have in my entire life!”
Conrad smiled as Jeremy looked worshipfully at Rafael. The older boy’s eyes grew moist and he kissed Jeremy’s forehead.
“All right, then,” Conrad declared as he walked toward the turntable in the corner. “You both know ‘Dance of the Friends’, so let’s run through it and see what we have. Dylan, you make the perfect Queen, so we’ll start where Andrei tells his mother to shove it.”
Dylan grinned as he walked to the center.
“Your Majesty,” Conrad said as he pointed, “stand to Rafael’s right. Jeremy, you’re off stage over there. Everyone ready?”
The three boys nodded and Conrad placed the needle at the appropriate point on the record album.
The music began and The Queen glared furiously at her proud and defiant son before turning in a huff and marching off the stage. Dylan made the moment as dramatic as possible and it was all Rafael could do to maintain his professionalism and stage presence and not burst into laughter. Quickly, Andrei turned back to the front, crossed his arms, and haughtily looked about. Sasha, meanwhile, watching the scene from the side, tiptoed out on stage and approached Andrei from his left and behind. He playfully tapped Andrei on the left shoulder and then jumped to the right as Andrei looked where Sasha no longer stood.
“Okay,” Conrad called out as he lifted the tone arm from the record. “Let’s stop there for a moment.”
Rafael frowned and asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Diva,” Conrad replied with a grin. “You’re perfect as the arrogant prince.”
Rafael raised an eyebrow and dramatically bowed.
“Jeremy, you were great and your style and form were superb as you made your entrance.”
The younger boy smiled as he looked expectantly at the man.
“However, this is one of those moments when you need to remember that you aren’t just a dancer, Jeremy. You’re an actor, as well. Now, let’s look at Sasha. Who is he? What is he? What’s his personality?”
“Well, he’s Andrei’s best friend—or lover—and he’s younger than Andrei and he’s a commoner. He’s not an aristocrat.”
“Yes. Everything you said is correct. But, it’s his personality we have to look at. Sasha’s younger, yes, which means he’s also not as mature as Andrei. He’s a kid, a brat, and he likes to play pranks on Andrei, which is one of his ways of showing his love and friendship. So, since you can’t speak, Jeremy, you have to have Sasha demonstrate his mischievous personality. You can be a brat, can’t you, Jeremy?”
Rafael grinned and nodded as Jeremy smirked and replied, “I suppose.”
Conrad grinned and said, “I have a feeling that if I were your boyfriend, I’d be spanking you every day.”
Jeremy blushed and grinned as Rafael looked Conrad in the eyes for several seconds.
“So, Jeremy,” the great danseur continued, “you need to think of ways to make Sasha’s playful personality more apparent to the audience and do so in a way that makes them love Sasha as the cute, sweet, mischievous little imp that he is.”
Jeremy nodded thoughtfully and Conrad said, “Go back off stage and think about this for a moment and then, when you’re ready, we’ll try it again.”
Jeremy stopped and asked, “So, how did you do it when you were Sasha?”
“I can’t tell you,” Conrad replied. “I did Conrad Hartsfeld’s Sasha. You have to perform Jeremy Fenwick’s Sasha. You have to make this role yours so that years from now, when the audience sees someone else perform Sasha, they compare it to the memorable Jeremy Fenwick Sasha. Okay?”
Jeremy nodded and slowly walked to the side as he thought about the role. Rafael smiled as he watched and then glanced to the window, where he saw another audience of six or seven dancers gathered to watch.
He glanced back at Conrad, who was watching Jeremy, his eyes moving up and down Jeremy from behind. The man glanced at Rafael and cocked his head as Rafael frowned
“Okay,” the younger boy declared. “I think I’ve got it.”
Conrad grinned at him and then patted Rafael on the butt.
“All right, then. Let’s do it!”
He walked back over to the turntable and said, “Places!”
The three boys took their places and Conrad started the music again.
The Queen marched off stage, Andrei looked around thoughtfully and arrogantly, and Sasha tiptoed forward. However, he paused a second and broke the fourth wall as he bent forward, grinned at the audience, pointed to Andrei and pretended to giggle as he covered his mouth. He then tiptoed exaggeratedly toward the Prince. He tapped Andrei’s left shoulder and then, performing a Grand Jeté en tournant, leapt and spun around to Andrei’s right. Andrei looked around and, seeing no one, turned to the audience, taking his cue from Sasha, and broke the fourth wall himself but holding his hands out dramatically and giving them a curious look. He then crossed his arms and resumed his proud and belligerent gazing around.
Conrad grinned as he watched Sasha giggle behind his hand at the audience and then tap Andrei on the right shoulder before leaping and spinning to the left. Andrei looked to his right and, with growing irritation, looked back at the audience and frowned dramatically as he crossed his arms and huffed. However, when Sasha giggled silently behind his hand again at the audience and tapped Andrei’s left shoulder, the Prince turned not to his left, but to the right as Sasha leapt and spun to Andrei’s right. Andrei silently made as if to cry, “A ha!” and clutched Sasha, whose face took on a look of fear and shock before he grinned. Andrei grinned and then the two joyously embraced before pulling away and holding each other’s shoulders, smiled and laughed at each other. Then, happily, they began to dance around each other, each mimicking the other’s moves. On and on, they danced about the stage in a circle, each move becoming more and more energetic and athletic as well as dramatic and engaging, until the two posed at opposite sides of the stage and performed a dozen fouetté en tournant, the spins on the left foot with the right leg raised and bent, whipping them around. Then they proceeded on to the six Grand Jeté en tournant that mark the climax of the dance.
They circled the stage opposite each other, their hair flying about their heads, sweat flying off their faces, their legs flying upward with each leap, parallel to the floor, looks of determination, exertion, and pride on their faces as they leapt and spun and leapt and spun, until they both met in the center and turned to face the audience, their feet turned out, one before the other, the outside arm curved down toward the hip, their inside arm thrown upward in triumph as they gazed out at the audience with triumph and joy, struggling to hide their desperate breathing.
The door to the studio burst open and the spectators who had been watching in the hall ran forward and encircled the shocked dancers as they slapped them on the back, applauded, cheered, and congratulated them. Conrad and Dylan both smiled as they stood back and watched the enthusiastic ovation for the boys. Rafael noticed, however, that most of the celebration seemed centered on Jeremy and, after a moment, he stepped discreetly aside and left Jeremy to receive the attention he deserved.
Walking over to Conrad and Dylan by the turntable, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and said, “Man! Did you see that?”
Conrad grinned and nodded. “You were fantastic. The two of you are incredible together. It’s like the perfect partnering. It’s amazing. One of these days, Alistair’s going to have to choreograph a pas de deux for the two of you!”
“God, that was better than sex!” Rafael exclaimed and Dylan laughed.
“I never thought I’d hear those words come out of Rafael Colón’s mouth!”
“It was!” Rafael declared. “It was…fantastic! I want to do it again!”
“You will,” Conrad replied. “The two of you are amazing.”
Rafael nodded and looked back at the gathering around Jeremy, who was joyously, if not a little shyly, responding to everyone’s comments and congratulations. A little wistfully, Rafael remarked, “They really seem impressed with Jeremy.”
“He’s new, Rafael,” Conrad replied. “They already know you’re fantastic, but they’ve never seen a boy Jeremy’s age dance that way before. Come to think of it, neither have I—except for me.”
“Yeah,” Rafael muttered.
Conrad studied the fifteen-year-old and said, “You feel uncomfortable with the competition?”
Rafael frowned and said, “Jeremy’s not competition. I’m three years older than him.”
Conrad smiled and said, “That three year difference will be irrelevant when you’re both in the company. You’re used to being the prince, however, and there’s a boy who could be the next prince. Can you handle that or will you feel the need to try even harder?”
“I want Jeremy to be the best dancer he can,” Rafael replied. “Just because he’s successful, though, doesn’t take away from me.”
Conrad studied him for a second and then looked back at Jeremy and his group of admirers. “All right, let’s let Jeremy get back to work.”
The spectators finished their compliments and congratulations and left the blushing and grinning Jeremy to face Rafael, Dylan, and Conrad. Enthusiastically, he cried, “Wasn’t that fantastic?”
Rafael grinned and nodded, replying, “You were fantastic, Jeremy.”
“Yes, I was!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Man, that was better than sex!”
Dylan laughed and said, “That’s what Rafael said!”
Conrad smiled and said, “Perhaps the two of you have found something to do together now besides violating the New York state sodomy statutes.”
Jeremy giggled as Conrad stepped forward and said, “That was excellent. Now, let’s work on making it stellar.”
Jeremy nodded and Conrad added, “By the way, Jeremy, are you sure you’ve never seen me perform ‘Dance of the Friends’?”
Jeremy shook his head and replied, “No, sir. Never.”
Conrad smiled and said, “I ask because the way you chose to portray Sasha is almost exactly how I portrayed him.”
Jeremy smiled and responded, “Really?”
Conrad nodded and looked at Rafael, asking, “Are you up for dancing ‘Friends’ with me?”
“Sure!” Rafael replied. “I never pass up a chance to dance with someone from the company! You want to be Andrei?”
“Oh, no,” Conrad replied. “You’re Andrei for Alistair, so you dance that. I’ll do Sasha, if you don’t mind Sasha being two inches taller than you.”
Rafael grinned and said, “I’ll get over it.”
Dylan hurried over to the turntable and Conrad said, “Thank you, Dylan. We will do without the Queen this time around.”
He turned to Jeremy and said, “Now, pay careful attention to my glissade, my chaînés tournes, and my Jeté. Okay?”
Jeremy nodded and stepped back from the “stage”. As Rafael stood in the center, assuming the haughty air of Prince Andrei, Conrad crouched “off stage”. Jeremy stared at him and marveled at the man’s slim muscles, his perfect form, his beauty. Even crouching and assuming the air of a seventeen year-old imp, he still reminded Jeremy of a Viking commander about to plunder and pillage, though his face also had a beauty and grace that seemed distinctly un-Viking-like. He realized he was erect again and, blushing, he tried to discreetly cover the rise in his tights with his hands as he wondered how long he had been that way.
The music began and within seconds, Sasha was hopping forward and Jeremy giggled at the humorous way Conrad was dancing the role, amazed that he had chosen to dance the character almost exactly as the great Conrad Hartsfeld was dancing it.
He gasped however, once the “competition” began, and watched in utter amazement at the ease and grace with which Conrad leaped, spun, and glided across and around the stage. Even Rafael seemed energized by Conrad’s dancing and when the climactic Grand Jeté came, Jeremy’s mouth fell open as he watched the perfection of Conrad’s spinning leaps and how he stood without seeming to breathe at all at the end, his arm thrown triumphantly into the air as he and Rafael smiled proudly at “the audience”.
“Bravo!” Jeremy cried as he ran toward them. “Bravo! You were magnificent!”
Forgetting his erection, Jeremy clasped his hands together as he exclaimed, “Mr. Hartsfeld, you were…you were…I can’t think of a way to say that was the best dancing I’ve ever seen!”
Conrad smiled and looked at Rafael. He held out his hand and said, “I understand now, Rafael, why they call you ‘The Gazelle’ and ‘Wildboy’. You danced that with such energy and spirit. You were excellent.”
“Thank you,” Rafael replied with pride. “I was feeding off your energy.”
“Yes, I suppose you were,” Conrad said. “Now, I want to see you do that with Jeremy.”
Rafael grinned and said, “Okay! Let’s do it!”