Butterfly (Orphans 1)

"It's all right," Sanford told me and somehow managed to take hold of the chair as he kept the suitcases under his arm. He pushed her up the ramp and I followed. When we reached the porch, he put down the suitcases and hurried around to unlock the door.

"Where is that fool?" she asked him sharply. I had no idea who she was talking about. Did someone else live in their beautiful house?

"It's all right," he said inserting his door key. Celine turned and smiled at me.

"Now you can push me, sweetheart," she said, and I moved quickly to the back of the chair.

Sanford opened the door and we entered the house. The entryway was wide with mirrors on both sides. On the right was a coat rack and a small table on which were some sort of pamphlets. When I looked closer, I saw they were programs for a dance recital. On the front of one was Celine's picture. Above it in big red letters were the words Sleeping Beauty.

"I want you to see the studio first," she said when she saw what had captured my attention. "Sanford, bring her things upstairs to her room and see if you can find Mildred. We'll be along in a few minutes."

I saw there was a special elevator chair that ran up the side of the stairway. At the top was another wheelchair. Celine wheeled herself deeper into the house and I followed slowly, drinking everything in: the beautiful paintings on the walls, all of dancers, one who looked very much like Celine.

"This is our living room," she said, nodding at a room on the left.

I could only glance at it because she moved quickly down the hall. I saw the fancy pink and white sofa with frills along the base, a red cushioned chair, the fieldstone fireplace and mantel, above which was a grand painting of Celine in a ballet costume.

"Here," she declared, pausing at another doorway.

I stepped up beside her and looked into the room. It was large and empty, with a shiny wooden floor. All around the room were full-length mirrors and on one side was a long wooden bar.

"This is my studio and now it is yours," she declared. "I had a wall knocked out and two rooms connected. You can spare no expense when it comes to your art."

"Mine?" I asked.

"Of course, Janet. I will get you the best instructor, Madame Malisorf, who has trained some very famous Russian ballet dancers and once was an accomplished ballerina herself. She was my teacher and mentor." And again that fa

raway, eerie look came over her.

"I really don't know anything about ballet," I said, my voice trembling. I was afraid she would want to return me to the orphanage immediately when she learned how clumsy I was

"That's all right. That's good. I'd rather you didn't know anything," she replied, taking my hand.

"You would?"

"Yes. This way you're pure, an innocent, an untouched dancer, not contaminated by any mediocre teacher. Madame Malisorf will be pleased," she assured me. "She loves working with pure talent."

"But I don't have any talent," I said.

"Of course you do."

"I don't think I've even seen a ballet on television," I confessed.

She laughed and I was glad to see her normal face returning.

"No, I don't imagine you did, living in those places with children who have had no opportunities. You mustn't be so afraid," she said softly, squeezing my hand. "Ballet is not as difficult as you might imagine and it's not some strange form of dance reserved only for the very rich. It's just another way of telling a story, a beautiful way, through dance. Ballet is the foundation of all Western theatrical dance. People who want to be modern dancers or dancers in show business are always advised to start with ballet."

"Really?"

"Of course." She smiled. "So you see, you will be doing something that will help you in so many ways. You'll have wonderful posture, more grace, rhythm, and beauty. You will be my prima ballerina, Janet."

She stared at me with her eyes so full of hope and love I could only smile back. Suddenly we heard a door slam and someone hurrying down the stairs. She turned her chair and I looked back to see a tall young blond girl come down the hallway. She was dressed in a maid's uniform. She had large brown eyes with a nose a little too long and a mouth a little too wide with a weak, bony chin.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Delorice. I didn't hear you driveup."

"Probably because you had those stupid earphones in your ears again, listening to that ugly rock music," Celine quipped.

The maid cringed and began to shake her head vigorously.