With the author having skipped an evening, and having gone to a comedy club, Michael has to make up for the calories with some exercise.
Dancing Queen
Mrs P knocked on the bedroom door, and called out "Michael?" Not receiving any reply, she pushed the door open, and entered. The young man was fast asleep in his new bed, with the dressing gown lying on the floor where he had dropped it. Lying next to him on the bed was an overly frilly satin nightdress that matched the other dressing gown. It was obvious that he had seen it, and equally obvious that he had rejected wearing it.
Shaking Michael by the shoulder, she repeated his name. Blearily, he opened his eye. "It's time you got up again. There's someone downstairs, and it appears that know what you're meant to be doing next." Michael threw his blankets aside, and slowly sat up, revealing that he was naked, except for the pair of silk panties that had come with the nightdress.
Looking down at his lack of clothes, Michael said, "I hope she has something for me to wear. I really don't want to get back into that Sailor Sissy costume. Do you know what she's going to make me do?"
"She didn't say. Maybe she's going to take you shopping to fill up all those wardrobes."
Groaning, Michael picked up the dressing gown from the floor, and stood up. Wrapping himself in it, he said, "Shall we go and see what horrors await?" After a few steps, he turned around and stuffed his feet into the slippers, muttering "cold feet."
The visitor was waiting in the sitting room. "Hi Michelle, I'm Reba and I'm here to take you to your next appointment." Reba was a tall and sinewy woman, with short blonde hair. She was dressed in black form-fitting leggings and a pink T-shirt. Even seated, she gave the impression of barely restrained energy. "I've got your costume here," she said, indicating a large flat box lying on the table. "If you get changed, I'll drive you to the studio."
"Studio, what studio?" asked Michael.
"No time for questions, there are people waiting for us. Chop, chop!"
Picking up the box, Michael found it to be a lot lighter than he expected, and turned to go to his bedroom.
Throwing the box onto his bed, Michael stared at it, as if it was a vicious animal about to attack him. "I don't think I want to know what's in there. Actually, I know I don't want to know."
Mrs P pushed past him, saying "We have to get you dressed, so I'll open it." Opening the box and looking in, Mrs P continued, "Oh my, that is pretty! The good news is, you're not going shopping. The bad news is," Mrs P reached into the box, and pulled out a ballet tutu. "It looks like you're going to have a ballet lesson." The tutu was white, with black decorations, and had a large tulle skirt that went out horizontally in all directions.
"They appear to have everything here, tights, shoes and even a very cute little shrug top, to keep you warm."
Michael had sort of got used to not seeing himself in the mirror, just the costume that he had been wearing. This time, he could see himself. He stood there, looking at himself wearing a ballet tutu, with white tights, ballet shoes and yet another pair of odd elbow length gloves that had no hand, just a loop over his middle finger that pulled then taught. A trail of black leaves ran over the bodice from his right shoulder down to his left hip, where it split into multiple branches that covered the top of the skirt. The layers of white tulle underneath ensured that the skirt stood out, with very little droop. The fingerless gloves had embroidery to match the leaves. After he had donned the gloves, he had removed and replaced them several times, just in case they weren't going to come off. The final detail had been a hat of some sort, Mrs P had called it a fascinator, which continued the leaf theme, and clipped to his hair.
Feeling, not stupid, but odd, he stood there, staring. There was something about his reflection. He didn't know what it was, but there was something. Vaguely recalling a program he had seen, he shuffled his feet in to what seemed to be the right position. He essayed a slight bounce. The tulle netting of his skirts bounced in time. Another bounce. Harder. Michael was fascinated by the movements of his skirts.
Rising to the balls of his feet, he experimented with walking, running and jumping, while trying to move his arms in an appropriate ballet like way. Looking on indulgently, Mrs P said, "Come on, Margot Fonteyn, I don't think Reba will wait much longer." With a last glance at the mirror, Michael followed her downstairs.
Like Reba, her car had a lot of suppressed energy, and she had no compunction in throwing the Mini around corners at speeds that Michael thought excessive. The way he had to sit forward in the passenger seat to avoid crumpling the tutu, and grasp desperately at the door and dashboard only added to Michael's worries.
Before he could begin to consider the possibility that he might survive the journey, Reba stopped the car. In a mutter, Michael said, "I knew I was going to be made to do things that scared me, but that was beyond a joke."
"Don't be such a sissy. I haven't killed anyone yet. More important, all these years, and not a scratch or dent on Daisy here," said Reba patting the dashboard. "I want you to be polite to Madame Soligny, when we get inside. It was she that taught me, and she's not taking on students at the moment. Lady DeMorgan went to a lot of effort to get her to agree to this," continued Reba, revealing her disdain for the game she thought Michael was playing.
As Reba bounced out of the car, her mood changed. "Come on, come on, we do not want to keep Madame Soligny waiting." Inside the building, Reba disappeared down a side corridor, leaving a "wait for me there," trailing behind her.
Normally, Michael would have slouched against the nearest wall, with his hands in his pocket, but the tutu interfered. Crossing his arms, he tried to give the impression that he belonged here, and was waiting for a friend. As he waited, several classes finished, and the students flew past, chattering. Most of them ignored him, but a few looked at him with either curiosity or disdain. He noticed that the students fell into two groups, those wearing functional leotards, or those in overly elaborate tutus, and the two groups tended not to mix. Most of the disdain was coming from the first group, while the curiosity came from the second.
Shortly after the crowds departed, Reba returned talking to another woman, who Michael presumed to be Madame Soligny. She was talking, "I was surprised when Jane said she was personally training a sissy, and so I agreed to assess this one out of curiosity. I doubt she'll be that good, and she can probably go into one of the sissy classes."
Reba introduced Michael to her. "Madame, this is Michelle. Michelle, this is Madame Soligny, who will be assessing you to see which class you are to attend." Like Reba, Madame Soligny was tall and sinewy, and despite her apparent age, and use of a walking stick, the best word to describe her was 'spry'. Michael had the feeling that she was about to dance him into the ground.
"Well, girl," said Madame Soligny, "let's have a look at you." Like some of the students, she had a disdainful expression on her face, and this became more pronounced as she looked at his costume. "Hmm. Turn around. Slowly." Michael turned as ordered, showing her every side of him. "Well, there's nothing obviously wrong with you. Reba, I suggest that you go and have a cup of coffee, this shouldn't take too long."
"Yes, Madame," said Reba, and walked away.
"You, girl, follow me," said Madame Soligny.
"Yes Madame," replied Michael.
crack went the cane across the back of his legs. "Silly sissies like you address me as Madame Soligny. You have not, and may never, earn the right to call me Madame."
"Yes, Madame Soligny."
"Better. It appears you can at least learn the simple stuff." Madame Soligny lead him into a private dance studio. One wall of the studio was a window looking out onto the road. Michael could see Reba seated at the coffee shop across the road, apparently enjoying a coffee and a magazine. The other walls were covered in mirrors, and a waist height barre went all around the room. Madame Soligny caught his nervous glance at the window. "I wouldn't worry about people looking in, I'm going to be enough of a problem."
"So, girl, have you ever danced before, or had an interest in dance? Anything else that might help?"
"No, I've never danced, though I have been to see the ballet a couple of times. I do do tai-chi regularly, if that helps."
"No dancing? Not even when you got your lovely little costume?"
"Uhhmm. I did do a little playing around, but nothing that I would call dancing."
"Show me what you did." When Michael was reluctant to obey, the crack of the cane provided impetus. He tried to reproduce his previous little 'dance', while trying not to die of embarrassment. For some reason, he decided to throw in some pirouettes, seeing how long he could manage it.
Michael didn't know whether it was kindness, or wanting to ensure that he heard everything, but Madame Soligny waited until he had recovered from the dizziness and got up from where he had collapsed on the floor, before starting to lambaste him.
"Silly girl. What on earth made you think that you could get away with something as stupid as that? You make it obvious that you know nothing about ballet. I doubt that you will be able to learn anything about ballet. Still, I promised Jane that I would do this, and I will, even if it kills you."
Madame Soligny then proceeded to drive Michael to the limits of his flexibility, stamina and self-control. If he was not bending his body into positions it was not intended to take, he was trying to move his arms with precision and grace. If he wasn't dashing, lightly, across the studio, he was trying to balance on one leg, with his other leg and arms pointing in various directions. If he wasn't doing any of this properly, he was getting hit with a cane.
When Reba reappeared in the studio, he thought his torture was over. "Perfect timing," said Madame Soligny. "This silly girl needs someone to demonstrate the correct positions, and my bones are getting a little old." With that, the torture resumed. The only improvement was that Michael could take a breather when Reba was demonstrating, for the fifth time, the correct way to do something. Michael managed not to show it, but he was amused when Madame Soligny decided a couple of times that Reba also deserved the cane of correction.
Eventually, "enough. You have done enough and you have both done very well. Reba still needs to practice her entrechats, but then she always does." Michael was astonished at this complement, and pleasure welled up inside. In the mirrors, he could still see himself, drooping, breathing heavily, and looking less than pristine. His costume was sweat stained, and the skirts also drooped, as if in sympathy.
"Now, girl you have an important decision to. It's yours and yours alone. Not even Jane can make this for you, no matter what she has on you. There are two types of students here, at this studio. The sissies for whom it just part of the games they play. It is just something they are expected to do, or it is some silly fantasy of theirs. They are appalling students, and rarely learn much."
"Or there are the proper students, who actually want to learn to dance. It may not be their life or passion, and they may not actually be that good at it, but they want to learn, want to dance. Which one are you?"
Michael wanted to say neither, he was the victim of a blackmailer, but he knew that no one would believe him. He considered his options, sissy or dancer. The dancing was hard work, and he expected it to get even harder if he committed himself. However, there had been a feeling of achievement in the few times Madame Soligny has praised him, and the one moment he felt he had got it right had been so perfect.
He looked at Madame Soligny. She was quietly waiting, and appeared to be happy to wait. So, what did he want? "I think, ... I'm not sure, ... I don't want to waste either my time or my teachers, so I don't want to be a sissy dancer, but. I'm not sure that I want to be a serious dancer, at least not yet." Michael's voice trailed off.
Madame Soligny's response was a surprise. "A good answer. It is far too soon for you for you to make this decision. What we will do is have a trial period. For one month, three times a week, I shall be your teacher. At the end of the month, you will make up your mind. Does this sound good to you?" Overwhelmed, Michael nodded. "Good. However, there is one condition, which you must fulfil, or I will hand you over to another teacher. Get rid of that ridiculous costume. Only a silly sissy would wear it to practise, and if I see it again, you will be transferred to the sissy class, and never come back."
"Reba, I presume that you have further plans for Michelle today? If so, I think we should let her get showered and ready."
"Yes Madame. Michelle, the bag by the door contains washing stuff and clean clothes. The showers are dead opposite, and I will meet you in reception, when you are ready."
Just as Michelle walked out the doors, he heard Madame Soligny call out to him and he turned around. "Michelle, under the circumstances, I suppose you may call me Madame."
"Yes Madame. Thank you Madame."
When the door had closed behind Michael, Reba turned to Madame Soligny. "What's going on here? When you retired, you said you would never take on another student. Why this one?"
"I don't suppose you'd believe that I'm bored. Students are annoying, but they give me someone to shout at. Also, this one has potential. She'll never make Prima Donna, but with effort she will get out of the Corps De Ballet."
"That might be true, but it's not all of it, is it?"
"You feel it too? There is something wrong here. When Jane told me she was taking on a sissy, I knew something was up. She only runs the academy because it's a family tradition, not because she enjoys it. Now that I have met Michelle, I'm even more suspicious. She's not your standard reluctant sissy, if she was, she would have gone for the sissy classes."
"I'm worried about the real reason for this, and I have a feeling that it will go wrong, badly wrong, and she will need a friend she can trust."
In response, Reba said, "I think you might be right. Something is odd here. I'll keep an eye on her for you. Speaking of which, I had better go and shower myself, and take her to the next appointment."
Revolution Dance - Falling Leaves
