“Did you have fun with Dylan?”
Jeremy smiled at the words whispered into his ear as the two showered together in their bathroom. Rafael had turned and entered the room, seeing Jeremy walk toward the balcony. He had asked what Rafael was doing out there, naked in the dark, and the older boy had honestly told him that he was masturbating. Jeremy giggled and he removed his clothes as Rafael fought to hide the pain inside him. Only when they were together in the shower, their soapy bodies sliding together, though neither trying to reach orgasm after both had achieved multiple climaxes not long before.
Jeremy grinned as he looked into Rafael’s eyes and nodded.
“Dylan’s fun. It’s almost like messing around with your best buddy,” he replied. “We were beating off and playing with each other’s titties and we just got so horny that we started sucking each other at the same time! Did you know that if one of you turns around you can both such each other’s dicks at the same time?”
Rafael chuckled and grinned. “Yeah, I heard about that somewhere.”
Jeremy giggled, acknowledging his love’s greater experience and closed his eyes as they held each other. Later in bed, they simply held each other, Jeremy resting his head on Rafael’s chest, his erection—did that thing never go down, Rafael wondered—pressed against the teenager’s hip, as they quietly drifted off to sleep.
It was in the middle of the night when Rafael awoke to Jeremy moaning and squirming against him. The boy, however, wasn’t in the throws of sexual ecstasy. He was terrified, crying as he struggled against something while thrashing in his sleep next to Rafael.
“Jeremy!” he said urgently as he was able to gather his wits and realize what was happening. “Wake up, sweetheart! Wake up, Jeremy! Wake up! It’s all right! It’s just a dream!”
“Mommy! Mommy! Please! I love you! No, Mommy!”
“Jeremy!” Rafael said louder as he shook the boy harder!
“Daddy! Daddy!”
“Jeremy!”
The boy opened his eyes and pulled away from Rafael in terror as, panicked, he looked around the room before he desperately climbed from under the covers and stood between the bed and the dresser in a stance ready to run as he fearfully gazed about him in confusion. His eyes met Rafael’s as he gasped for breath and then he sighed with despair.
“Oh, God,” he breathed.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Rafael said softly as he held his arms out.
“I…I can’t,” Jeremy replied, as he looked around the room at the floor. “I have to be alone. I can’t…”
“Come here,” Rafael ordered firmly. “Now. Come here, Jeremy.”
Automatically, the boy looked at him and then walked back to the bed, climbed in, and lay down under the cover with his back to Rafael. The older boy pulled the covers over them and whispered, “It’s okay, Jeremy. It’s okay,” as he spooned up behind him, wrapping his arms around him. Jeremy, however, could not relax. Rafael felt the stiffness throughout the boy’s body as he tried to caress and relax the boy. He felt Jeremy’s convulsions, though, before he heard the soft, quiet sobs. Gradually, Jeremy relaxed and eventually his sobs died. Not long after, Rafael fell back asleep. Jeremy, however, did not.
—o-0-o—
“There you are!” Alistair exclaimed from his chair at the breakfast table on the patio. “I thought we were going to have to go up there and drag the two of you out of bed!”
“Or throw a bucket of cold water on you,” Teddy added with a grin from the buffet the caterers had set up, “to cool your libidos!”
Rafael and Jeremy were wearing their tights and leotards as they emerged from the house. Both seemed subdued, however, which Conrad noticed immediately. Dylan smiled innocently at Jeremy, but grimaced curiously when the younger boy only slightly smiled.
“We had things to talk about this morning,” Rafael said softly as they walked over to the buffet.
Alistair watched them as the conversation at the table resumed, but neither spoke as they put food on their plates and poured orange juice into their glasses. Jeremy sat down between Dylan and Conrad and Rafael sat down across the table from him, giving him a loving smile, which Jeremy answered with a shy smile of his own. Dylan leaned over and whispered, “Was Rafael upset about last night?”
Jeremy shook his head and said, “It’s nothing. Everything’s cool.”
Conrad smiled uncertainly at him and asked, “Are you ready to work this morning? I want us to go through a full performance of ‘Friends’ and try to make it as cohesive and smooth as possible. I want it to flow and be more than just a demonstration of individual ballet moves. I want it all to blend together. You ready to work?”
“Yes. Very,” Jeremy replied. “I want to work all day.”
“Well, actually,” Conrad replied, “I think Alistair would like to work with Rafael this afternoon on The Gazelle, so we don’t want to monopolize the studio. We can do a little more work tonight, if you want, though.”
“Okay,” Jeremy replied quietly with a reserved smile and a blush. “That would be nice.”
Conrad smiled at him and then glanced across the table to see Rafael studying the scrambled eggs on his plate.
Alistair studied the somber air at the table and then smiled as he suddenly declared, “Tedward, you seem uncharacteristically chipper this morning. Like Mame’s friend Vera, you normally seem to think of eight in the morning as the middle of the night. What has you so ridiculously happy?”
“I’ve been inspired,” Teddy replied. “I returned to my pen and paper last night after our little conversations in the lounge and I got to work outlining a new story. I’ve decided that after being immersed in the delightful world of ballet I should actually write about it. I am putting my current project aside and writing about the trials and loves of ballet dancers.”
“Oh, dear,” Jonathan muttered. “I certainly hope that your characters aren’t thinly veiled descriptions of us!”
“Of course they are,” Teddy replied. “I must write what I know. So, the composer will frequent that arcade on Forty-Second Street for naughty boys, the Artistic Director will be god-like and universally loved, and the dancers will all be sex-crazed and insecure. I shall make Jacqueline Suzanne look like June Cleaver. It will be all the rage. Of course, there will have to be females in the story and since I have so little experience in that area, I may have to have a few conversations with members of that persuasion, but I’m sure that won’t be too difficult.”
“Perhaps you should spend some time with Mr. B.,” Alistair suggested. “I hear he quite likes the other persuasion.”
“I shall be combining the best and worst of both Balanchine and Mountjoy in my protagonist. The story will be brutally honest and shamelessly full of lies. It will be a bestseller.”
“You realize, of course,” Jonathan said, “now that we know what you’re doing, we’re all going to be on our best behavior and buttering you up so our characters will come out looking better?”
“I am not above taking bribes,” Teddy replied. “A little Scotch, perhaps a touch here and a feel there, a little kiss stolen under the arbor…”
“Teddy,” Conrad said, “have I ever told you how much Boys in the Square meant to me?”
“Yes, you have, but I may require more tribute before I make the star dancer in my story a positive and likeable character.”
Jeremy shyly looked at the man at the end of the table and asked, “Am I going to be in it?”
“Oh, yes, dear! Most definitely. You’re going to be…”
His face suddenly clouded and he seemed uncertain of himself. Jeremy frowned, but before he could ask him what the problem was, Teddy said, “I haven’t completely flushed out your character.”
Alistair saw the discomfort that had suddenly descended across the table and rose. “Yes, well, I’m sure it’s going to be a profoundly fascinating look at the ballet world, as all your books are of their particular worlds. In the meantime, however, we have dancing to do! Hurry and finish your breakfast, boys—and Conrad! We must get our morning practice under way!”
The boys quickly finished their breakfast and once they and Alistair and Conrad had disappeared into the house, Jonathan leaned over to Teddy and asked, “Should I assume that Jeremy is the tragic character in the story, the innocent, naïve, and eager young dancer who is destroyed by the deceit and venality of the New York ballet scene?”
Teddy looked down at his coffee and said, “Not just the ballet scene, but every scene in this fetid city.”
Jonathan frowned and asked, “No optimistic message as is typical of a good Teddy Cochran yarn?”
“For some reason, I’m not feeling optimistic, right now,” Teddy replied. “I feel a cloud over me, over all of us. I’m feeling that I must move on beyond the typical, plastic happy ending that infects all my stories. I have a feeling that something is about to happen and it’s leaving me unsettled and uncomfortable, and the feeling has infected my work. This is not going to be a typical Teddy Cochran story in which all the characters overcome their challenges and end up living happily-ever-after. Life is not ‘happily-ever-after’, and I am starting to think that someone needs to tell Jeremy that it’s a swirling, sucking shit-hole of uselessness and despair.”
Jonathan flinched with surprise before Teddy smiled and added, “And, they lived happily ever after.”
—o-0-o—
Dylan and Rafael were at the barre doing plié, the younger of the two glancing across the room at Jeremy, in the center of the floor practicing port de bras to fifth. He stood with feet turned out, one before the other, as his arms were curved downward before they rose gracefully to above his head and then outward to horizontal before they seemed to swim before returning to where they started. He repeated the move over and over and Dylan touched Rafael, who looked back over his shoulder and asked, “What?”
“What’s up with Jeremy?” Dylan asked. “He’s racing through everything. Have you ever seen a port de bras performed that quickly?”
At the same moment, Alistair, who had been doing his own warm-up and practice in the corner, looked over and asked, “Jeremy, are you on your way to a fire?”
Jeremy looked at the man with confusion and responded with a confused, “I’m sorry?”
Rafael stopped and watched with concern.
“Jeremy, I’ve been watching you and you’re racing through everything as if you’re trying to get this over with. Do you have plans?”
“Oh, uh, no sir,” Jeremy replied with mortification. “I, no sir. I was just…I’m just trying to practice hard and…I…I’m sorry.”
Alistair smiled as Conrad stood in the opposite corner, watching as well. The older man walked gracefully over to the boy and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “You seem a little preoccupied this morning. Is there something bothering you?”
Jeremy’s face turned a brilliant red as he looked down in shame and replied, “No, sir. I’m very sorry, sir. I’ll try harder, sir.”
“No, you won’t try harder,” Alistair replied. “You will relax. This isn’t a race and you aren’t competing with anyone right now. I want you to be graceful and elegant, smooth, beautiful. Like this.”
He performed a perfectly graceful and elegant port de bras to fifth and then smiled at Jeremy.
“If there’s anything bothering you, Jeremy, dance is a perfect way to shrug it off and leave it behind. I’ve always found that when I’m bothered or worried about something, concentrating on my dancing, focusing on my movements, listening to the music and letting my body and mind respond to it is a marvelous way to free myself of my problems. I know Rafael has always done that. Whenever his demons are tormenting him, he often escapes into his dance and he always feels so much better. Dance liberates you from the ugliness in life and lets you immerse yourself in the beautiful music and the pristine world of ballet.”
He smiled at the boy and slowly raised his fingers to Jeremy’s face. Placing them on his eyelids, he softly said, “Close your eyes, Little Man. Imagine you’re in a peaceful field of wild flowers under a clear, blue sky and a warm, brilliant sun. You can feel the heat on your skin and the cool, tender caress of the breeze as you stand in fifth position and slowly, gracefully raise your arms to first and slowly, gracefully up. Yes, there, and now elegantly to the side and let your fingers float outward as a gentle wave goes out from your torso through your arms, to your hands and fingers—yes, so beautiful, so delicate and polished and refined. So good, Jeremy, and now bring them down again. There. A perfect port de bras. Again, slow, graceful, to first, yes, up, yes, and now down, slow, such a refined and stylish grace, let the wave flow through your arms to your fingers, and down. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Jeremy opened his eyes slowly and smiled with serenity.
Across the room, Dylan grinned and said, “Alistair has such a way of almost hypnotizing you when he works with you.”
Rafael nodded and said, “It really is amazing how he brings any and everything out of his dancers.”
Alistair ran his fingers over Jeremy’s face and said, “Ballet is about strength and power, but it is also about delicacy and beauty and elegance. The danseur must use his masculinity, yes, to be strong and powerful, but he must also reach deep inside to find that feminine side as well. It’s in all of us, Jeremy, that gentle femininity. It doesn’t mean being a ballerina. It means understanding that we are all of two natures, man and woman, masculine and feminine…”
“Yin and yang,” Jeremy softly said.
“Exactly,” Alistair replied with delight. “Just like the pendants you and Rafael are wearing. “You’ve been a dancer for four years, Jeremy. You’ve worn the tights, you’ve mastered every move. You know your masculine side, Jeremy, your strength, your muscular side, but you need to know your feminine side better. You need to feel that grace and tenderness, the soft and gentle side. Man and woman, strong and graceful. War and peace.”
He leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “Can you be gentle, Jeremy? Can you be in touch with your feminine side, Jeremy, that inner girl within you, Jeremy, that graceful side of your personality?”
“Yes,” Jeremy replied softly, his voice slightly higher pitched than normal.
“Good,” Alistair replied sensuously. “So let’s do this again, softly, gracefully, an elegant and lady-like port de bras to fifth as a boy feeling that girlish side of him, arms in position and flowing elegantly to first, so smooth and beautiful and up and you look at the sky and see the beauty above, yes, and now you bring your arms down, flowing as if you’re a leaf in the wind, until your arms are at the side and the wave emanates from your shoulders and flows, flows out to your hands and fingers, yes, so graceful and feminine, and now bring them back down. So pretty. So beautiful.”
Jeremy smiled demurely at Alistair and the man smiled back and said softly, “The great dancer knows how to switch from the powerful masculinity of the Grand Jeté to the gentle femininity of the port de bras. And, he knows how to combine them both, to unite two seeming opposites into one simple union of strength and grace. You can do that, Jeremy. You can be both masculine and feminine, strong and graceful, graceful and strong. So, how do you feel now, Jeremy?”
“Wonderful,” the boy replied with an enthusiastic grin.
“Good. Now, let’s see some powerful and graceful Grand Battement. I want to see those masculine and feminine kicks.”
Dylan smiled at Rafael and said, “Isn’t it amazing how he brings Jeremy out of his funk and brings out the different sides of his nature, making him forget whatever was bothering him?”
“Yes, Alistair is wonderful,” Rafael replied with emotion.
Dylan looked at him and asked, “Jeremy had another nightmare last night, didn’t he?”
Rafael silently nodded and said, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to keep him from having them. I thought maybe that they might disappear after a while, that once he started actually working and dancing and getting into the routine, that they’d disappear and he’d be okay.”
Dylan shrugged and said, “It’s only Thursday, Rafael. How long have you been here? Three days? Give him some time.”
“I think it’s getting worse. I don’t think it’s getting better. I think it’s getting worse.”
Dylan frowned and sighed. “Maybe last night’s nightmare was my fault.”
“Maybe.”
Dylan looked sharply at Rafael, who had been watching Jeremy kick with Alistair coaching him.
“How did you know? Did he tell you?”
“He didn’t need to. I saw you,” Rafael replied. “I knocked and when you didn’t answer, I opened the door. I was going to ask you where he was, but I saw you two sixty-nining on your bed.”
“Are you upset?” Dylan asked carefully.
Rafael shook his head and replied, “No. I was, but I got over it because it’s not fair for me to fuck around and then get jealous when he has some innocent fun. It’s just that…I’ve never been in love like this before and I don’t know how to act. Anyway, I don’t know if what you two did contributed to his nightmares last night, but they might have. I don’t know what they were about. He wouldn’t talk about them. He never does.”
Dylan frowned and resumed his practice for several minutes as Alistair and Conrad began to work with Jeremy on his adagio moves—arabesque, attitude, développé. After a few minutes, as Rafael and Dylan moved onto their work in the center of the floor—their own Port de bras and Battement practice, the redhead softly said, “You know, once he starts training with the other guys, once we get back into the routine of school in the morning and training in the afternoon and evening, maybe then the nightmares will go away and he’ll relax and feel like everything’s fine.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Rafael replied. “To be honest, most of the time, he’s fine. It’s just early in the morning after he wakes up from one of his nightmares, or if something happens during the day that reminds him of his nightmares that he gets that morose air. He was racing through everything this morning because he was trying to forget what he went through last night. But, look at him now after Alistair and Conrad have been working with him. He’s fine. He just needs to dance and he’ll be fine.”
“You know,” Dylan asked, “that Andy and Dante are coming today.”
‘Oh, hell,” Rafael responded as he stopped his Port de bras in mid-air.
Dylan grinned and said, “I thought you’d been lusting after Dante since he started last year.”
“I’ve had Dante and he’s totally far-out,” Rafael replied, “but Andy loves to fuck and it’s hard for me to say no to him.”
“You’ve got to admit he’s always got great weed.”
“I don’t get high,” Rafael replied stiffly as he continued his Port de bras.
“Well, excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty,” Dylan replied with offense. “I’ll remember that the next time I see you on your knees at one of Daugherty’s parties.”
Rafael gave Dylan an irritated look and said, “There’s a difference in sucking guys off at a party and doing drugs. Maybe you’re jealous or disgusted with my sex life and quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. But, I won’t, I repeat, I won’t fuck up my dancing with uppers, downers, or anything else. There’s a reason you always have to struggle at the end of the year to get another invitation back to Ballet Academy, Dylan!”
Dylan froze and looked at the older boy in shock. Alistair and Conrad both heard the comment and stopped, as well. Alistair frowned angrily and strode over to the two.
“Did I just hear you correctly, Rafael?”
Rafael defiantly declared, “Andy Daugherty’s a druggie. Why would you invite him here?”
“It’s none of your business, Rafael. You forget who you are and who I am. How dare you make such comments to a fellow student. You owe Dylan an apology. He’s a trainee at Ballet Academy of America because he has earned a place here as one of the finest dancers in the world and you, Rafael Colón, are in no position to question that or to cast aspersions about another student’s training. How dare you?”
Rafael’s face was drained of color as he stood before the man, refusing to look away. He took a deep breath and said, “Alistair, you look away at the drug use in the school.”
“No, I don’t. I know who’s coked up and who isn’t. There are dancers who disappear from both the school and the company and you can guess why. I don’t give preferred assignments to drug-users. I take care of the situation in my own way and I will thank you, Mr. Fourth Year student, to let me run my academy and my company.”
Rafael was clearly frustrated. He took several deep breaths and then said, “Why, Alistair? Why would you invite a loser like Andy Daugherty to your party? Because his daddy’s running for President in ’72? Because they donate millions to the arts? Is that it?”
“Yes,” Alistair replied. “Because this is the United States and the arts are always in financial trouble and the Daughertys donate hundreds of thousands to us and because I don’t want to lose it. I admit it. Because their money does more good for the company than their pathetic son harms it. Let’s be honest, Rafael. That’s how America works. The rich buy their way. They rig the rules, and those of us in the arts have to kiss their asses. You think it doesn’t make me sick to have that loser in my school? I can’t stand the sight of him, but I know that sometime before his father’s Presidential campaign begins, he’ll be arrested by the NYPD on a drug charge and that will be that. He’ll be expelled from the school, Bobby Daugherty will buy the kid’s way into a second-rate dance school somewhere out of the way in a city without any real news media, and the man will lose the first few primaries and drop out of the race and all will be right with the world. In the meantime, I make nice with him because Dante Harris lives with him and Dante is a hellatious dancer and the only black student in the school and I do respect him. The only way to get Dante is to take Andy because the Daughertys know that Dante comes from a poor family in Mississippi and they want everyone to think they’re nice liberals by letting a poor black kid from Mississippi live with them.”
Rafael looked away with disgust and Alistair sighed.
“Look, Rafi, I understand how you feel. I agree with you. But, I’ve already had a talk with Bobby Daugherty and Andy has stopped dealing in the school. If trainees are stupid enough to go to his parties, I can’t do anything about that. But, he’s not dealing in the school and I won’t allow that. Now, when he and Dante get here this afternoon, you will treat him with the respect that a fellow trainee at Ballet Academy deserves. Now, take that diva routine, Rafael, and shove it up your rather well-used ass and resume your Port de bras. And, by the way, you need a more fluid motion in your arms when you bring them down.”
Rafael stood there for a moment looking at the wall before him as Dylan walked away toward the barre. Jeremy had watched the entire incident with horror as Conrad kept a hand on his shoulder.
Alistair approached Jeremy and in a soft voice, said, “Will you excuse me, Jeremy? I have a few things I need to do right now and I’m sure Conrad can take over.”
Conrad squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder and then walked to the turntable in the corner to flip over the album of generic practice music that had been playing. Rafael stood frozen, conflicting emotions of shame and anger boiling within. The music began again and Dylan resumed his practice, though with his back to Rafael.
Conrad and Jeremy resumed working on his arabesque, Rafael gave up his routine and began to perform a generic dance with several energetic moves that allowed him to take his mind off the incident that had just occurred. He danced it over and over as the others continued their practice until the album ended. He flipped it over and let it start again for the others before he left the room. Jeremy caught Dylan’s eye and the fourteen-year-old simply sighed in response and walked out in pursuit.
He found Rafael sitting outside on the far end of the veranda, opposite the patio where the caterers were preparing the lunch buffet. Alistair was still in his tights and leotard as he spoke with a man who appeared to be in charge of the caterers. He also seemed unaware of Rafael at the end of the veranda or Dylan standing by the French door from the atrium. Soon, the man entered the house through the kitchen door. Slowly, Dylan walked over to Rafael, who sat on the edge of the veranda, looking out at the formal garden. Dylan sat down, but Rafael seemed unaware of his presence until, after a few minutes, he turned and looked at Dylan.
“I don’t know what got into me,” Rafael said as he gazed at the fountain in the center of the garden. “You know I love you, Dylan. You’re my best friend. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what got into me.”
“I understand,” Dylan replied. “You’re worried about Jeremy and it’s all building up and you’re under a lot of stress.”
“But, that’s normally when I thrive. I live on stress. That’s how I dance. That’s when I dance my best, when I’m most stressed. I put it all into my dancing. I…don’t know what’s getting into me. I really don’t.”
Dylan took a deep breath and said, “You’re right about Andy. He doesn’t have any business at Ballet Academy, but Alistair’s got to do what’s best for the school.”
Rafael turned to face Dylan and said, “It’s not about Andrew Daugherty. I couldn’t care less about him. It’s…I was so pissed at you last last night for having sex with Jeremy. I know it’s hypocritical. I know it’s inconsistent. I know I’ve said all along that it’s okay for Jeremy to do whatever he wants to do. I know it all, but I could have killed you, last night. It was a great night for me, the best. Alistair had presented this incredible and amazing dance to me and I’m going to perform it on September 18 and I was on this incredible high from just all the adrenaline and everything that had happened and I was looking forward to sharing my joy with Jeremy and then…then Jeremy’s with you and later has one of his nightmares again and then I find out that Andy Daugherty is coming…”
He sighed wearily and said, “Ballet Academy means everything to me. Ballet Academy saved my life. I left a world of pain when I came here and Alistair has done so much for me and…”
Dylan scooted over and put an arm around Rafael’s shoulder. “Look, I know I’m not the dancer you are, Rafael. No one is. You’re a phenomenon. I’m not even an average dancer here. I struggle to keep up, but I also love life. I’ve accepted that I’m not going to dance for Ballet of America when I get out of training. I know I might not even finish here at Ballet Academy. I’m pretty sure that if I don’t go with one of the smaller companies or one of the regionals, I’ll end up on Broadway and then I’ll teach somewhere. I know that and that’s okay. I don’t need to be at the top the way you do. I don’t have that burning drive, that fire in the belly that you have. And, sometimes I smoke some weed with the guys to forget or to have more fun. I understand why you hate drugs and…”
“It’s not about that. I’m just stressed out worrying about Jeremy.”
He looked up and saw Alistair standing in the doorway from the atrium. The man was still in his tights and he looked to the teenager like a god standing there. They looked at each other for several seconds before the man slowly approached.
“We’ll spend the afternoon in the studio working on The Gazelle. We’ll have lunch first and then Dante and Andy will arrive while we’re working.”
Rafael nodded and said, “All right.”
“I love you, Rafi,” the man said softly.
“I know.”
Alistair waited a moment and then said, “He’ll be all right. He just needs time to adjust to everything. He’s undergone a tremendous change in the last week. He underwent an even bigger change last spring. It takes time, but Jeremy’s strong and he’ll survive and he’ll be fine. And so will you.”
He then placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder and added, “Dylan, there’s no reason why you can’t dance for Ballet of America when you leave training. The only thing holding you back is your lack of self-respect. You’re good, son. You’re very good. You can do it. You and Rafi are very similar. You just need to develop a little self-respect. I’m going to watch you this year, Dylan and I’m going to have M. Renier ride your tail in Ballet Technique. By God, I’m going to make a dancer out of you by the time we’re finished.”
He smiled at the boy and Dylan smiled sadly as he looked down at the wooden floor of the veranda. Alistair lifted his chin with his finger and said with a smile, “You will do it.”