Jonathan sat on the step down and watched him in front of the mirror. He’d put the coloured lights on again and now he was watching the Faune go through his paces. His imaginary partner moved around him. Sometimes he stopped and did the steps again, correcting. Once or twice he changed it. Jonathan sensed it was deliberate, not that he’d forgotten, but that he’d purposefully changed it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t know the whole ballet; Jonathan had only taught him sequences. He turned as the music ended and said, “How does it finish?”

“I told you, he climaxes on the nymph’s scarf.”

“Show me.”

Jonathan said, “Not tonight, I’m too tired.”

“It’ll only take you a minute. Show me.” He was almost peremptory.

Jonathan got up. He felt heavy, unreal. He should really be in his bed, he realised. He’d been overdoing it. He said, “Watch.”

Delaney stood back and watched him in the mirror. Intently. Fiercely almost. Jonathan hadn’t quite lost his sense of being slightly unnerved by it. He realised with a tightening of his stomach that he didn’t much want to show him this. And the realisation itself panicked him. He went through it quickly, toning it down, doing it badly.

He got up as the music finished. Frank said, “Put it on again.”

Jonathan did it, not irritated by his manner as much as he was depressed by it. He suddenly wished the boy would just go home.

He stood back and watched him go through it again, improvising more freely this time, putting more into it. He found himself standing by, fascinated by his movements, hypnotised.

It reached its culmination. He took the scarf back to his lair. He slid it down his body, head thrown back. He lay on it, tucked his head down and pushed himself against it, and then he thrust against it.

He rippled. He looked like he was doing it. He had the most flexible pelvis Jonathan had ever seen. Oh Christ. He whispered it. He shook his head. The CD player clicked off.

Delaney rolled over on his back and tucked his hands under his head. He looked glazed, vacant, oddly depleted, lost inside himself.

Jonathan looked at him. His hair was standing straight up on his head. His face was carved by the coloured light, his skin shone. The costume clung to him, sculpted to his body, like a second skin, like a satyr. He was erect. Clearly, obviously.

Jonathan turned away. Christ, talk about getting into your roles. He said, coughing to clear his throat, “Come on, get tidied up. I’ve got to get some sleep tonight.”

He heard the movement behind him, knew he was up and undressing. He didn’t watch him. He tidied the music away and went upstairs.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Jonathan came home the following evening he found a note on his mat saying, “Won’t be round tonight. F. Delaney.” No explanations, no apologies.

He scrunched it up in his hand, mouth tight. He might as well go back to the theatre then. Trouble was, he didn’t feel like it. He went upstairs to the lounge and sat on the settee, staring at the phone. He might at least have said why he wouldn’t be. Couldn’t he have told him this yesterday? Little tyke.

He pulled the phone closer and picked it up. He thought then dialled a number. He said, “Hello, it’s John Delmore here, at Cardwick Crescent, could you come round tonight?”

He listened, then said, “That would be fine. Yes. Yes, ‘bye.”

He hung up, then stood up. He looked round the room then went out and along to his bedroom.

She came at just after eleven. She was a tall dark-haired girl in spiked shoes and a fur coat. Not too much make-up. But enough. The jewellery she wore was real. Not expensive, but real.

She smiled that smile that never really reached her eyes. He felt his mouth go dry. He let her in and closed the door. She gave him another smile.

He said, “Shall we go up?”

He never bothered with the preliminaries, and the beauty of paying for it was he didn’t need to.

She had peach coloured underwear on. Suspenders and all. She was a caricature and he knew it, but it didn’t matter. He liked her legs. She was very tall with long straight legs. It was how he liked his dancers. She was flat-chested, flat-bellied. Once, he’d given her a leotard to wear and had her in that with the gusset pulled aside. It had been powerful and good, but he’d felt sickened afterwards and never done it again. That night she’d been all the girls he’d ever seen and wanted but daren’t touch. And somehow it had contaminated his work so he hadn’t done it again.

He got her to sit on him and watched her milk it out of him. He pinched her nipples as she came, masturbating herself.

After a while they did it again. He pushed her down and she took him in her mouth. He didn’t look, not till the last, till he was climaxing. He moaned softly and fell back on the pillow.

After that they slept.

In the morning she fellated him a little and kissed him and he paid her and she let herself out saying, “Don’t be such a stranger, honey.”

He promised he wouldn’t. He hated being called honey.

She said he was one of her favourites. Of course she did.

When he heard the outer door close he turned over and went back to sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

Delaney didn’t turn up next day either. Another cryptic note; this time all it said was, “I’ll be tomorrow. F. Delaney.”

“Oh thanks a bunch,” he muttered, and he ripped this one up.

He phoned the girl again. She couldn’t stay the night, but she could come round for an hour or so.

They did it in the bath this time, slippery and hot and wet.

It was better, but as usual it left him feeling numb, worn out. It always did.

He let her out again.

At least it had been cheaper.

CHAPTER TEN

So why keep it a dark secret?”

“He didn’t like the idea of anyone knowing. Anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“So is he going to be our Faune?”

“I don’t know.”

Paul looked at him intently. “Is there something wrong, Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s head jerked up. “No. Why?”

“You’ve been losing weight, and you’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“Oh thanks.”

“No, I’m being serious.” And he was. For once, Paul wasn’t smiling. “Are you sure nothing’s worrying you?”

“Positive. When did you see Aubrey anyway?”

“This morning.”

“He took his time telling you. I thought he’d be round here post-haste.”

“He was up in Scotland somewhere. I think he called in to see your mother, by the way.”

“Oh joy. No doubt he’ll be bearing messages of maternal love.”

Paul grinned, then said, “I saw your friend at the gym last night. Young Vaslav, as Aubrey’s christened him.”

“Last night? When?”

“About nine. He even said hello. Well… he nodded. When do you squeeze him in?” he asked curiously.

“He comes round most evenings,” Jonathan said. He looked angry.

It was a singularly uncommunicative answer, but Paul didn’t push him. He said, “You are teaching him in the hopes of getting him, aren’t you?”

Jonathan said, “Why else?” It was curt.

“I take it he’s not keen?”

“Oh he’s keen to learn all right. Well, he was,” he added shortly. “But he’s not keen on being a professional. His Nan might see him.” His voice was sarcastic.

Paul guffawed. “Did he actually say that?”

Jonathan shook his head, feeling a little cheap.

Just then the door opened and Aubrey came in. “Ah Sergei, my dear, they told me you were here. And how is dearest Vatsa this morning?”

“Oh sod off, Aubrey.”

Paul laughed. Aubrey twitched an eyebrow. “Oh he’s touchy this morning, very touchy.” He turned to Paul. “He’s beautiful, my little disciple, quite beautiful. Two different coloured eyes. What a creature. Quite the god of dance. That right, Sergei?”

“Anything you say, Oscar.”

Aubrey laughed. “I shall take him in hand for you, corrupt him in the way of Uranus, then he will be ripe for the picking. I won’t even charge.”

Jonathan looked away wearily.

Aubrey turned to Paul. “How can he? That youth, that body, and…” he turned back to Jonathan, “how old is he, by the way?”

Jonathan blushed. “I’ll be damned if I know. I’ve never asked him.”

“Proves it,” Aubrey said. “It’s love. He doesn’t even care how old he is. Let’s hope he’s over twenty-one, Johnny, or it’s a slapped wrist.”

“Of course he’s over twenty-one, talk sense. He looks about… well… twenty-two or something. I don’t know.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture.

Paul said, “Twenty-three.”

They looked at him.

“Guessing. I’d say twenty-three.” He smiled. “And cute.”

Aubrey leered, “What’s he like in tights, Johnny. Tell us, do.”

“Muscular as a horse, what else?”

“He makes me think of a boa constrictor,” Paul said. He laughed at their expressions. “That thick neck.” He looked at Aubrey. “He looks okay in shorts too, darling.”

“Oooh, don’t, I haven’t had my morning tea.” He turned to Jonathan. “So when do we see our Faune?”

“We don’t, unless I can convince him.”

“He’s not resisting his fate?”

“Like the Hoover dam.”

“The boy’s mad. A chance to be Nijinsky to your Diaghilev? Mad. Drug him.”

Paul laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m quite serious, drug him, hypnotise him, drag him here by main force.”

Paul said, “Have you shown him the ballet?” He asked it in some kind of instinctual guess, sensing Jonathan would not be able to resist.

Jonathan nodded reluctantly. “Some.”

“And?”

“He’s good.”

“Good?” Aubrey squealed. “He’s perfect. Who cares if he can dance? None of them can dance. The point is he will make up beautifully. I will do it myself. I will transform him. From myth to man.”

Paul laughed again. “You’ve got them the wrong way, darling; he’s a faun, not a man.”

“My dear boy, you are missing the point. He is a faun already. It is the man that needs to be brought out.”

And for some reason no-one said anything to that.

Not yet discovered the wonder of The DANNY Quadrilogy? You can check out all the volumes currently in print at Poison Pixie where you can read an extract of Volume 1 for FREE! Or start your collection on Amazon here where you can also buy a ‘sampler’, entitled CULT Fiction, containing an introduction to The DANNY Quadrilogy along with an excerpt from Volume 1, for only £2.99. But hurry, the sampler has been discontinued and we only have three copies in stock. Once they’re gone, they’re gone!
If you are a new fan who wants to know more about the background and history of DANNY, then visit The DANNY ‘Wikipedia’

You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY’s various trailers and ads) here.
To subscribe to this blog, without divulging your email address, scroll down the page and you will find a button marked “Entries RSS” under Meta in the left hand sidebar. You can also sign up to follow comments here. Or you can simply post the following text into your RSS browser: http://www.chancery-is-god.com/?feed=rss2
Lastly, there is a DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone’s DANNY haphazardly hosted by Jodie. It’s haphazard because the poor soul never has anyone to talk to, so go along and pester her; she likes it. Don’t you want to belong to a really elite club?

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CHAPTER SEVEN

It was a week away from Christmas. Eight o’clock in the evening. Jonathan had been at another theatre all day, borrowing costumes for a special three day Christmas performance they were doing. Excerpts from the Nutcracker. It was a charity thing and he was using it as a showcase for his students. Half of him wanted to invite Frank Delaney, the other half did not. He wasn’t sure why, and he didn’t question it. He never questioned anything to do with Delaney. He never thought about him. He saw him almost every day, without exception, and was often with him as long as three or four hours. They didn’t speak much. Delaney came, he worked, he went home. Very occasionally he stayed for supper. He still hadn’t said yes or no to Jonathan’s offer to make him a professional dancer. Time was passing, Jonathan was beginning to fret.

Aubrey was pressing him. Paul was pressing him. Even Jo-Ann was pressing him. It was supposed to go into rehearsal in January. Where was the lead dancer? He was here, damn him, right here; it was just getting him to say yes.

Two days ago he’d asked Jo-Ann to make up a costume for the Faune. He’d surreptitiously checked the size on Delaney’s sweat suit when he’d been out the room. He’d been lucky it had had a chest size and waist size on it. It might have said, “Medium.” He could guess his height.

She was making it in lycra, so it didn’t have to be exact. She wanted to know why the hell he was making it up since he’d have to make another for the dance. He’d snapped, Just do it, will you. So she’d done it. He had it in his briefcase now as he let himself into the house.

He closed the front door, but didn’t bother to lock it; Frank would be round in the next half hour or so. He had time for a coffee and a piece of fruit. He hadn’t eaten, but that was out now. He noticed he’d lost weight, but he’d been carrying a little so it didn’t matter. He smiled to himself: It’s been good for me too; I’ve been getting rusty.

He hung up his coat and put his briefcase in the studio, then ran upstairs.

He was sweetening his coffee when the door bell rang. It was only 8:15.

He trotted downstairs and opened the door. Aubrey stood there.

“My darling boy, I just had to see you.” And he invited himself in.

“You saw me today, Aubrey.” Jonathan shut the door behind him.

Aubrey turned, pulling a tragic face. “He doesn’t love me.”

Jonathan said exasperatedly, “What d’you want?”

“Charming.”

“I’m expecting company, Aubrey.”

“Oooh, how lovely. Is she beautiful? Of course she is. Oh do invite me, there’s a good boy.”

“No. I…”

But the doorbell rang again, interrupting him. Shit, he thought.

He opened it. Frank stood in the doorway.

Aubrey said, “Well. If it isn’t Vaslav…”

Frank looked from him to Jonathan, a What the hell’s this? expression on his face.

Jonathan said, “Come in,” his voice low, irritable.

Frank went in.

Aubrey caught his shoulders, crying out, “My God, his eyes are two different colours. Look, Johnny. God, how novel. What an original idea. How do you do it?”

Frank put his hands up and pushed his hands off. “I was born that way.”

Aubrey was no way put out at being manhandled so rudely. He turned to Jonathan, “He’s so forceful, isn’t he? Such muscles.” And he gave a little shiver.

Jonathan said, “Aubrey, we’re working, do you mind?”

Aubrey tore his eyes off Frank to gape at him. “Working?” He turned back to Frank. “He’s never trapped you? Never a little faun in Johnny’s big net? Oh, he’ll eat you up. He’s a slave-driver. A task-master. Ask Dione. Ask anyone. Don’t do it, darling boy. It’s just too evil.”

Jonathan said, “Aubrey.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going. I won’t say a word.” And he put a finger to his lips. He looked at Frank again. “Oh Vaslav, what a dear, dear boy.” He reached out and patted Frank’s cheek. Frank jerked away. Aubrey laughed a dirty little giggle, blew Jonathan a kiss and let himself out the house.

“Well the cat’s out the bag now.”

Frank was still looking at the closed door. He turned to him and shrugged.

“Doesn’t bother you?”

He shook his head.

Jonathan smiled. “Just as well. Do you want some coffee? I mean… something. I was just about to make some.”

Frank shook his head. “I’ll go warm up.”

Jonathan nodded, feeling oddly disappointed. He went upstairs. Down below he heard the music start up. He gave a dry smile. Rock. It’s what he always played when left to himself. Either that or some obscure classic that he picked out of Jonathan’s collection. He seemed to remember everything by its sound. He identified music not by its name but by how it sounded. He was always very clear about it too. He knew what he liked. Not that he ever said so. If pressed he’d say, It’s alright. It was the strongest praise he ever gave anything.

Jonathan decided to take his coffee down. Might as well, instead of sitting here by himself.

It was a swing door on the studio; he pushed it open by backing through. He was thrown to find the room lit only by the coloured lights. He hadn’t had them on since that very first night. The music was up Delaney loud. Frank hadn’t seen him come in. He wouldn’t have heard him. Jonathan stopped where he stood, back in the shadows. He didn’t want to be seen. Frank wasn’t warming up, he was well past that.

He was in practice tights and singlet as usual, but barefooted. He was dancing an odd mixture of ballet and what could only be described as rock video.

Jonathan watched, spellbound. The music was thumping out, a jerky raunchy rhythm. Frank had his hands behind his head, watching himself in the mirror. He was grinding his hips, snake-like, like Elvis Presley and Gipsy Rose Lee in one. It was the most obscene thing Jonathan had ever seen.

Frank stretched his arms above his head and spun suddenly and went up on pointe in a tight stop and jerked his hips out with his head thrown back.

Jonathan shut his eyes and backed back out the room.

He went back upstairs to the kitchen.

He sat at the table for maybe ten minutes, listening to the pound of the music, seeing nothing but Delaney dancing, that primitive, obscene teenage hormone display. Christ, my ballet looks like a strip-show? He might have been some bump and grind boy in a San Francisco gay bar. Or something worse. He’d gone into one once with Aubrey and Paul and an American they were staying with. Last time ever. There had been about eight boys on stage, all flexing and strutting, all in various stages of arousal, all in nothing but white socks. It had been like one of those Las Vegas shows with hundreds of bare-breasted girls, and instead of getting a hard-on you got satiated, numbed. Too much of a good thing. Except this had been embarrassing. Fat middle-aged business men drooling over young blonde Californians pushing their genitalia in their faces, hands fumbling under tables. God. Aubrey and Paul had found his reaction most amusing. He’d left them to it and gone elsewhere.

The only difference between those boys and young Delaney was Delaney looked too obscene to be let loose. And, of course, he didn’t have the looks, not those kind of looks. What he had was something altogether different.

Feral. The word kept coming to him. Animalistic, feral. Just like Nijinsky. He was always described in animal terms, and this one was just the same.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He heard the music change down below, something soft and classical. It might even have been Debussy.

He got up. Well, if he failed as a dancer he could get a job as a stripper. He went down to join him.

They worked for an hour and a half, then Jonathan stopped. He was tired, not up to it for some reason.

He said, “I’ve had enough for one night, let’s leave it.” Surprisingly, Frank didn’t demur.

Jonathan pulled on a top. When he emerged, Frank was drying his armpits in a towel. He always brought one every night. Always clean and neatly folded. Nan’s work assumably. He wondered what Nan thought of all this. If he’d told her. He said, “I’ve got something for you.”

Frank looked up.

Jonathan crossed to his briefcase, snapped it open. He took out the polythene bag and threw it to him. “Here.”

Frank caught it. “What is it?” he turned it over in his hands.

“Open it and see.”

Delaney pulled it open and out. He shook it out, looked up at him. It looked almost like a deflated skin.

Jonathan said, “It’s a costume for the Faune, try it on.”

As he’d done before, he didn’t quibble, all he said was, “I stink.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He looked at it again then dropped it on the floor and pulled his singlet off then peeled his tights down. He had a dance support on this time. Jonathan watched him pull the suit on with difficulty.

“Too tight?” he asked.

He shook his head. “Just sticky. It might as well be after the bath.”

Jonathan nodded, watched him ease it up over his thighs. He was heavily hirsute. He’d noticed it before. It went with that thick-set animal look he had. It seemed only right that he should be. But, paradoxically, he had a completely smooth chest : hair on his back and that almost sculptural smooth chest. Unless he shaved it – but somehow Jonathan didn’t think so.

He pulled it up over his chest and pushed his arms through the arm holes.

He stood there, fixing the straps, easing it up neat against his crotch. He tugged it a few times then straightened up. “How do I look?” And he went easily and perfectly into one of Nijinsky’s photographed poses.

Jonathan nodded and said in a low voice, “To the life, Delaney, to the life.” And he was surprised to see him smile. Maybe the first genuine smile he’d seen.

Not yet discovered the wonder of The DANNY Quadrilogy? You can check out all the volumes currently in print at Poison Pixie where you can read an extract of Volume 1 for FREE! Or start your collection on Amazon here where you can also buy a ‘sampler’, entitled CULT Fiction, containing an introduction to The DANNY Quadrilogy along with an excerpt from Volume 1, for only £2.99. But hurry, the sampler has been discontinued and we only have three copies in stock. Once they’re gone, they’re gone!
If you are a new fan who wants to know more about the background and history of DANNY, then visit The DANNY ‘Wikipedia’

You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY’s various trailers and ads) here.
To subscribe to this blog, without divulging your email address, scroll down the page and you will find a button marked “Entries RSS” under Meta in the left hand sidebar. You can also sign up to follow comments here. Or you can simply post the following text into your RSS browser: http://www.chancery-is-god.com/?feed=rss2
Lastly, there is a DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone’s DANNY haphazardly hosted by Jodie. It’s haphazard because the poor soul never has anyone to talk to, so go along and pester her; she likes it. Don’t you want to belong to a really elite club?

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I apologise for the absence of Part Ten of Delaney. Unfortunately I have had a computer disaster of epic proportions. All my files have been wiped. I have lost all five volumes of DANNY, all my other novels/novellas. All my short stories, my entire blog archive and every letter, comment and review I have ever posted, or that has ever been posted about me.

I have bought a new computer which will arrive Thursday of next week-ish. Then will start the painful process of trying to find, beg, steal and borrow all the files we can find to restore the lost work.

Unfortunately this is unlikely to include my blog archive, which was not saved elsewhere, or in any other format.

So for all those people who felt that DANNY should never have been written and deserves to disappear into obscurity – all your praying paid off. I am very happy that even amid disaster I am able to spread a little light.

Bear with me. Delaney will, hopefully, resume, as soon as possible….

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CHAPTER FIVE

Jonathan slid into the booth. “Alright?” He closed the door. He could hear the music tinnily over the tannoy. Paul turned it down.

“Fine. I do nothing for the next twenty minutes. Bob the Brain here does it all.” He patted the console. “Come in and talk to me. I haven’t seen you all day. I’ve missed you.”

Jonathan said, “I can’t stay. I’ve got to get home. Work to do.”

“What, again? God, it’s got some grip on you, Johnny. Let’s hope it’s worth it.”

Jonathan laughed. “Oh ye of little faith. It will be the ballet to end all ballets.”

“Well, I hate to be critical, but what you haven’t got is a dancer.”

Jonathan tapped the side of his nose. “Relax and leave it all to Uncle Johnny. Have you seen Aubrey?”

“He was downstairs with Ruth earlier.”

“Never mind, I’ll catch him later.”

“What did you want him for?”

“His encyclopaedic knowledge. I want to know what Nijinsky’s costume in Les Orientales looked like – I mean the colour. I’ve got a photo of the costume itself but it’s black & white, obviously. Also if he knew where it was, is – if it exists, that is.”

“I can ask him.”

“I shall be eternally in your debt.”

Paul grinned. “You could settle easy enough.”

“It wouldn’t be easy.” Jonathan patted his back. “Like you as I do.”

“One lousy blow-job, that’s all I ask.”

Jonathan put a hand to his face. “I’m going before you embarrass me further. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paul swung his chair, said, “Ciao.”

“Good, good. You’ve been practising, haven’t you?”

Frank said, “You told me to,” as if it was a foregone conclusion: everything he said as teacher would be taken as gospel.

Jonathan smiled. “God, I wish all my pupils were like you.”

“Why?”

Jonathan smiled. “Never mind. Okay, now watch this in the mirror.”

Frank watched.

“Now you.”

Frank did it, not right but, God, so much bloody better.

Jonathan said, “You make me sick.”

Delaney looked at him. Jonathan was surprised to see some of the colour go out his face, immediately – panic, or something very like it, in his eyes. He said hastily, “I was joking.” He looked at him in the mirror and said, “Why does this matter to you?”

Delaney was immediately hostile. “I like to do things proper, that’s all.”

Jonathan nodded. He was lying, he felt sure of it, but it didn’t matter. He had a pupil who was ready to kill himself to learn. That was fine, absolutely fine, because he was ready to kill himself to teach him. He said, “Come on,” and slapped his shoulder, “again.”

They began to go through the steps again.

CHAPTER SIX

Two weeks went by. It was almost December, bitterly cold.

They had the heating on in the practice room. It was after eleven. Outside, a soft fall of snow started.

Jonathan said, “Okay, that’s enough, let’s give it a rest.”

“Just one more run through.”

“No. Stop. Now. Who’s teacher, me or you?”

For a moment it looked like he was going to argue, then his shoulders dropped.

Jonathan smiled at him in the mirror as he picked up a towel. They were both in woollen tights. He’d lent Delaney a pair. They were too long for him and he wore them with the legs rolled up. He’d even brought him ballet shoes home. He’d accepted them without comment. Not even thank you. Oddly enough it didn’t annoy Jonathan. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was beginning to understand his silences.

“Fancy some supper?” He’d only ever asked him once before and he’d turned him down with his usual, “My Nan’s expecting me.” But tonight he gave him one of Delaney’s special surprises.

“Okay.”

Jonathan grinned. He felt good. It had been a good practice. He was fast, determined. He’d never taught anyone who understood so well before. He had to face facts: it wasn’t just that Delaney was exceptional, they had an exceptional rapport – almost mind-reading. Once or twice he’d caught Delaney watching him in the mirror – his face, not his body – and it was like he was reading his movements in his eyes. Word perfect with his body. It was uncanny. “Get your clothes on and come up.”

Delaney nodded.

Jonathan went on upstairs.

“I’m not much of a cook.”

Delaney pulled out a chair. “Neither’s my Nan.”

Jonathan smiled and turned back to the cooker. “Why no tea or coffee? You’re not a Mormon, are you?”

“It’s bad for you.”

Jonathan half-turned and smiled at him. “You watch what you eat?”

Delaney was immediately defensive. “Something wrong with that?”

Jonathan held up a hand. “I think it’s great.” He turned back to the stove. “I’m telling you, I wish half my pupils were like you.”

“Why d’you teach?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Well, you can’t need to. Not with your money.”

Jonathan half-turned to him again. “Think I’m rich, do you?”

“Well you ain’t poor.”

Jonathan laughed. “No, I don’t teach for the money. The students belong to the company. We take so many in a year, use them for the corps de ballet. Not that I’ve got one, but you get the idea.”

“Like apprentices?”

“That’s it.”

“Bit costly that, isn’t it?”

Jonathan shrugged. “It’s the only way you can be sure of getting the right material.”

“D’you teach them what you teach me?”

“No.” Jonathan didn’t elaborate and the boy didn’t ask.

They were silent for a while, then Delaney asked, “Can I use your toilet?”

“Sure. It’s along the passage, last door on your left.”

He went out.

Jonathan set about getting plates.

Frank sat tracing the pattern on the knife handle with his nail. It was an uncharacteristic gesture for him. Jonathan wasn’t sure if it signified relaxation or tenseness. He said abruptly, “I saw your friend at the gym yesterday.”

Jonathan tensed. “Paul?”

Delaney nodded then lifted his head. “He don’t know I come round here, does he?”

Jonathan hesitated then shook his head.

“Why not?” His eyes were challenging.

Jonathan let his slide away. “I wasn’t sure you’d like the idea of anyone knowing.”

“Why not?” he demanded again.

Jonathan looked at him. “Real men don’t dance, like they don’t eat quiche.”

Frank looked at the table top. He looked the nearest to uncomfortable Jonathan had ever seen him. “It don’t bother me, not him. My mates maybe, but not him.” He lifted his face again. “It’s bloody hard work.” And there was a hint of a smile.

Jonathan took a deep breath and said as levelly as he could, “How would you like to do it full time?”

The boy looked at him then said, “What? Be a dancer? Like you?”

“I’m a choreographer, but you’ve got the idea, yes.”

The boy shook his head.

Jonathan said, “It would pay you more than gas fitting. Eventually. I think you could be really big in it, I’m serious.”

“What d’you mean big?” He didn’t lift his head.

“Famous.”

Now he did. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why should I be famous?”

Jonathan looked at him. “Because you’re good.” He hesitated then said in a low voice, smiling a little, “I think you may even be great.”

And Jonathan was surprised to see Frank Delaney blush.

Not yet discovered the wonder of The DANNY Quadrilogy? You can check out all the volumes currently in print at Poison Pixie where you can read an extract of Volume 1 for FREE! Or start your collection on Amazon here where you can also buy a ‘sampler’, entitled CULT Fiction, containing an introduction to The DANNY Quadrilogy along with an excerpt from Volume 1, for only £2.99. But hurry, the sampler has been discontinued and we only have three copies in stock. Once they’re gone, they’re gone!

If you are a new fan who wants to know more about the background and history of DANNY, then visit The DANNY ‘Wikipedia’

You can also see me in person on my YouTube site (as well as DANNY’s various trailers and ads) here.

To subscribe to this blog, without divulging your email address, scroll down the page and you will find a button marked “Entries RSS” under Meta in the left hand sidebar. You can also sign up to follow comments here. Or you can simply post the following text into your RSS browser: http://www.chancery-is-god.com/?feed=rss2

Lastly, there is a DANNY Discussion Board run by fans, C Stone’s DANNY haphazardly hosted by Jodie. It’s haphazard because the poor soul never has anyone to talk to, so go along and pester her; she likes it. Don’t you want to belong to a really elite club?

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Delaney has been running for around two months now. My viewing figures are dropping and, to my knowledge, no-one has ever bought a copy of DANNY because they’ve read Delaney. Or any other book I’ve ever given away. So I’m not. Giving it away. As it says on today’s tag line, I am able but unwilling.

Bye.

How To Write the Perfect Novel by Chancery Stone. A book about writing by someone who not only knows how to do it, but does it. And is fucking great at it. The best fucking writing book you’ll read, and the only fucking writing book you’ll ever need. Except for Stephen King’s; his are really good too. And Somerset Maugham’s isn’t bad either. In places. BUY IT! (Mine, that is. Not theirs.)