"Watching someone who has mastered as much as Dimitri has will help you understand what is expected of you," she continued. "Today and from now on, I want you to begin our sessions wearing these leg warmers," she added as she handed me a bright purple pair of heavy wool leg warmers.
After I put them on we proceeded immediately to the barre and I noticed that Celine had wheeled herself into the corner of the room, where she sat with her hands folded on her lap and watched.
Dimitri went right into a warmup drill and for a moment all I could do was watch. He didn't seem shy or nervous to be dancing in front of us. It was as if he was in his own world. His legs moved with such grace and speed while he held his body in a perfectly vertical line.
"Begin," Madame Malisorf said, and I approached the barre, standing just a few feet from Dimitri. "No, don't hold the barre that tightly," she said. "See how Dimitri uses it only for balance."
I tried to relax and we began a series of exercises that included the plies, the tendus, and the glisses, all that she had shown me the day before. From there we moved to the fondus and then the rands de jambe a terre. First, Madame Malisorf would describe what she wanted. Then Dimitri would demonstrate, always with a proud look on his face as if he was dancing for an audience of thousands, and then I would begin, usually followed by Madame Malisorf's quick, "No, no, no. Dimitri, again. Watch him, Janet. Study the way he is holding his back and his neck."
Sometimes it took me so long to satisfy her, I was practically in tears before she let me go on to something else, always with the conditional statement, "We'll work on that." There wasn't anything I wouldn't be working on, seemingly forever and ever, I thought.
When we got to the turnout again, the pain of rotating my hips nearly made me cry out in pain. I was sure my face revealed all my new aches. Madame Malisorf seemed merciless, however. Just when I thought there would be a short break so I could catch my breath, she was on to something new with Dimitri demonstrating and then me trying to mimic his moves.
The session lasted longer than the one we had the day before. I was sweating so much, I felt the dampness in my leotards, which were now glued to my skin Finally, Madame Malisorf did give us a short break and I collapsed to the floor. Madame Malisorf went to talk to Celine and Dimitri finally looked at me for the first time since we'd been in the room.
"Why do you want to be a ballet dancer?" he asked immediately and with a sharpness in his tone that made me feel guilty.
"My mother thinks I should be," I said defensively.
"That's your reason?" he asked with a smirk. He wiped his face with his towel and then threw the soggy towel at me. "You're dripping," he said gruffly.
I found a dry spot on the towel and wiped my face and the back of my neck.
"I think I'll like it," I said cautiously. Again, he smirked.
"Ballet requires complete and utter devotion, a total commitment of mind, body, and soul. It becomes your religion. An instructor like Madame Malisorf is your high priestess, your god, her words gospel. You have to think and walk like a dancer, eat and breathe it. There is nothing else that is half as important. Then, and maybe then, you have a chance to become a real dancer."
"I don't expect to become a famous dancer," I said and wondered why this boy made me feel like I had to defend myself . . . especially when I wasn't so sure that I even wanted to be a dancer.
He looked quickly toward Madame Malisorf and Celine and then back at me.
"Don't ever let Madame Malisorf hear you say such a weak, self-defeating thing. She'll turn and walk out of the room forever," he warned.
My heart, which was pounding madly from our exercises anyway, stopped and then pounded even harder, Celine would be devastated. She would hate me, I thought.
"Madame Malisorf will tell you what you will and will not be," he continued and then he shook his head. "Another spoiled rich child whose parents think she's someone special," he commented disdainfully.
"I am not," I said, nearly in tears.
"No? How many kids your age have a studio like this in their homes and a teacher who costs thousands of dollars a week?"
"Thousands?" I gulped.
"Of course, you little idiot. Don't you know who she is?" He groaned. "This isn't going to last long. I can just feel it," he said with a knowing shake of his head.
"Yes, it will. do what I have to do and I'll do it well," I fired back at him.
I didn't want to tell him that I thought my life depended on it; that the woman who wanted to love me as a mother had her heart set on my success as a dancer and that I would devote all my strength and energy toward making her happy.
"My mother was going to be a famous dancer until she was in a terrible car accident. That's why we have this studio. It's not here just for me."
He smirked.
"You shouldn't look down on someone who is just starting out simply because you're a good ballet student," I added.
He finally smiled.
"How could I do anything but look down at you? What are you, four feet eight?"