CHAPTER the newest
Monday morning was raining and sleeting alternately. A suitable dull, leaden grey that corresponded with the inside of Delaney’s gut.
Jonathan found him already in the living room, on his way to get him up. “Not coming through for breakfast?”
Delaney started, turning from the window like a surprised rabbit. He shook his head. He looked pale and drawn.
Jonathan smiled. “Hey, come on, it really isn’t that bad.”
Delaney turned away again. “I’ll be okay. Just leave us be, okay?”
Jonathan looked at his back for a moment or two then said, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
And he went through to have his breakfast.
Jonathan introduced him to the other students. Delaney didn’t look at any of them. He stared at the piano while the students stared at him. Mayakovsky said, sotto voce, as he went with Jonathan to the door, “He is very like, Jonathan, very like.”
Jonathan only smiled, not having the nerve to deny it, and certainly not the courage to pretend with a ‘Who?’
Jonathan left him to it, holding his elbow briefly and saying, “I’ll see you for lunch.”
And then he went to work.
Jonathan had omitted to mention that the only straight male dancer in the company was also definitely black, and was Dutch only by accident of birth.
He was called Pieter Dansk and was something beyond American. He was as tall as all the other male dancers in the group, who seemed to positively dwarf Delaney, but he was more heavily built than the rest.
Jonathan arrived just as they were finishing and took Delaney away for lunch.
The rest of the students got into a huddle as soon as they were out the room.
A tall, willowy boy with a heavy shock of blonde hair hunkered down beside Pieter as he was undoing his shoes and said, “Well, Pete, tell us all. Did he single you out because of that ebony beauty, or is there some deeper significance?”
Pieter looked up. “You’re out of luck, Tim.”
Timothy Alderman put a hand to his brow in mock horror. The others had joined them by now. “Oh say not so. So cute. The size of him.”
“Like a Shetland pony,” someone said witheringly beside him. “Dances like one too.”
Timothy turned to him. The boy who’d spoken was beautifully proportioned, with coal black hair, thick and glossy with a slight wave to it. “Come on, Deli, you haven’t even seen him dance yet.”
“I don’t need to.” He rolled down the sleeves of his practice suit, covering the thick black hair on his arms. He was exquisitely Italianate, beautiful, and knew it.
One of the other boys said to Pieter, “How d’you know?”
Pieter laughed. “Practically the first thing he said, man. When he walked up to me he said, Are you the straight one?”
There was a chorus of ‘no’s at this.
“A fucking homophobe,” one of the others said. The accent was cut-glass refined, swearing like Jonathan was used to.
Pieter only shrugged.
Tim said, “Are you going to close ranks, sweetheart?”
Pieter laughed and shoved his shoes in his bag. “I doubt it.” He made an odd gesture with his hand. “Closed book.”
“Little horse,” the Italian boy said sourly. One of the others laughed.
Timothy said, “Come on, I’m starving.” And for the time being Delaney was forgotten.
“Well, how did it go?” Jonathan was talking to Mayakovsky.
“He is very tense, over-strung, like a horse. But I think he’ll do.”
Jonathan smiled.
Mayakovsky gave him a long, penetrating look. “You are a very cunning man, Jonathan Delmore, you tell me nothing. Who is this boy? Who teach him?”
“No-one. Except me, that is.”
Mayakovsky looked at him oddly, seemed about to say something then picked up a pile of music scores, began banging them vigorously into a pile. “You find him, where?”
“Paul did, not me. In a gym.”
“A gym, yes.” His mouth pursed as if he found the idea both typical and distasteful. “His body is not controlled.”
“That’ll come.”
Mayakovsky looked at him and said, “No,” very definitely, mouth tight. “Not come, not ever.”
Jonathan looked at him.
Mayakovsky said, “Not he can’t control, won’t. Too much…” he searched for it, gave up with an irritated gesture. “Fighting,” he said. “Too much fighting.”
“What?” Jonathan looked at him puzzledly.
“Himself, everyone.” He gestured expansively with his hand. “The world.” Then he said abruptly, “Grudge. That’s it. The boy has a grudge, Jonathan.”
Jonathan was about to speak when a bunch of students came through the door. He said lightly, “I’ll leave you to it,” and went.
Jonathan pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. “So, did you enjoy it?”
Delaney nodded. He was already eating, ravenously, despite it being nine p.m. He obviously wasn’t tense any more.
Jonathan ate more sedately, glancing up at him once or twice. Delaney concentrated on his food. Unsurprisingly, he finished first, pushing his plate away as he often did. It seemed to be a sign of satisfaction in him.
Jonathan finished his and sat back. “So what did you think of Mayakovsky?”
Delaney shrugged. “Too soon to say.”
Jonathan laughed. “Very understated. Do I detect certain reservations?”
Delaney looked at him. “He’s not you.”
Jonathan found himself blushing. He laughed uncomfortably and said, “You’re embarrassing me.”
Delaney said, “I meant, I’m used to you.”
Jonathan laughed. “I should’ve known better. Here was I thinking I was being complimented.”
Delaney said nothing.
Jonathan said, “I’m going to have to be at the theatre every evening this week. Want to come along?”
Delaney shook his head.
Jonathan said, “How will you occupy yourself?”
Delaney looked at him and said dryly, “I think I can manage.”
Jonathan had the good grace to look a little put out. “I meant, will you go to the gym or what?”
“Or what. I’ll stay here and use downstairs.” He looked at him. “If that’s alright?”
“Of course it is. I’d rather you were doing that than the gym.”
Delaney half-smiled. “Why?”
“Too much muscle in all the wrong places. You want dancers’ muscle, not show-muscle.”
“It isn’t show.”
Jonathan laughed and said, “I’m not going to fight about it.”
They fell silent for a moment or two. Jonathan got up and made himself coffee. When he sat down again, Delaney said, “I’ll need to do something about finding a place this week.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No hurry. Give yourself a week to settle down. You can’t do everything at once.”
“Then I need to give you something for my keep.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“How much?”
Jonathan looked at him, exasperated. “I don’t know. God, how much do you eat, Delaney? Whatever you like.” And he waved his hand and named a nominal sum.
Delaney said it wasn’t enough and doubled it. Jonathan protested, but Delaney was adamant. He reached into his pocket and gave him the money. Jonathan left it there between them, not wanting to take it. Finally he did, feeling bad every second it was in his pocket. He didn’t have a clue why.
He said, “Just going for a pee.”
But he went to his room and stuffed the money in a drawer, slamming it shut. He wiped his hands on his trousers and went back to the kitchen.
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