The ’suit’ was beautiful. Truly. Not the one in the photograph, but truly beautiful. It was dark green, in some kind of silk tricot with hard shellac shaded sequins going in a V bellywards, completely worked over the shoulders and chest. A solid mat of iridescent green.

Corresponding Vs ran from the hip down to the thighs and over the forearms but these were single rows. Gloves went with it, and shoes, all in the same shade of green.

“It’s beautiful,” Jonathan said, meaning it.

The boy said, “It fits me. Shoes and all.”

Jonathan looked at him. “Put it on.” Like before, he wished the words right back. Christ, what would the boy think?

But he surprised Jonathan all over again. He pulled his singlet off and said, “Give it here.”

Jonathan turned away when he pulled his shorts down, and busied himself tidying the boxes up.

He sneaked a glance when the boy bent to pick up a shoe. He had the suit on and was pulling the ballet slipper on, tightening the drawstring. He knew how it worked. Jonathan smiled, turned to watch him. The boy was utterly absorbed. He pulled the other slipper on, tightened it, then straightened up and pulled the gloves on. The effect was immediate and fantastic.

He’d seen the damn thing before, he’d swear it. Or something like it.

The boy looked at him, something a little flushed and uncertain in him, and something a little proud.

Jonathan smiled and said, “Turn round.”

The boy did it.

Jonathan took the opportunity to study his build. He’d been aching to since he’d first stripped off. It was exactly right. The long, muscular neck. The powerful legs, the small head. Exactly. But Christ, it wasn’t what dancing was about, was it? He looked like him, he wasn’t bloody him.

The boy laughed suddenly and abruptly, that madcap burst he’d done in the car. It almost gave Jonathan goose-pimples.

“I feel I ought to do something.” And he threw his arms open and spun round. Fast. And stopped. Dead.

Jonathan felt instant surety in his gut; he held his eyes intently and said in a low voice, “Can you dance?”

The boy began to shake his head, stopped. The moment hung there.

Jonathan demanded, “Can you?”

The boy said in an uncertain voice Jonathan had never heard before, “My Nan’s taught me some.” He shook his head. “But not like that girl, not like that.”

Jonathan said, “I’m going to put some music on.”

The boy said immediately, sounding as close to panic as he could sound with that flat voice, “I can’t, not like her.”

Jonathan ignored him. He crossed to the hi-fi, put a CD on. L’après Midi d’un Faune. He detested Debussy, heartily. But that wasn’t the point, was it?

He put the wall lights out, the coloured lights on. He used them purely for atmosphere. And by God, he needed it now.

The boy stood there, looking like a petrified fourteen year-old at an audition.

Jonathan said, “Look in the mirror. Right, copy what I do.”

He went through the standard centre exercises. The boy copied them perfectly. Jesus.

Jonathan said, “She has taught you, hasn’t she?”

The boy said nothing, watching Jonathan move as intently as a snake watched prey.

Jonathan stopped. The record finished and began to repeat.

Jonathan said, “Now try this,” and he began to go through the scene, step by step.

The boy never faltered. He didn’t always get it right, but he got it better. He had the awkward leg movements better. His body angled better but, more importantly, the damn thing looked better on him. Like it had been written for him. Which of course it had, hadn’t it? It had been written for a body just like his. And here it was.

The body.

Jonathan stopped and watched him as he went through the movements on his own.

The reincarnation of Nijinsky.

Right here before his eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

“You don’t look as if you slept.”

Jonathan shrugged.

“Hot ass, was she?”

Jonathan gave him a look. Paul laughed.

Jonathan said, “Did Jo-Ann leave the sketches?”

“Yup, they’re in the office. They look good. She’s got fabric samples too. The colours look just right. Sort of off-chamois and suede brown.”

“And what about the wig?”

“She’s got a sheaf of notes and some gold thread samples. They look a bit bright to me, but then it depends how you light it.”

Jonathan nodded.

“And are we still serious about our naked nymph?”

Jonathan nodded again.

Paul smiled. “I do believe you enjoy that, Johnny.”

“Of course I do. Only reason I got into dance, so I could see anorexic girls naked. I’m a wacko, didn’t you know?”

Paul smiled, said nothing. He watched Jonathan dialling through on the intercom. “Jo? Will you bring the sketches Jo-Ann did down for me? Good girl. Thanks. ‘Bye.” He hung up and scratched an ankle.

He straightened up and said, “I won’t be in tonight. Linda gave me tickets to see Giselle.”

Paul gaped at him, camping it up. “My God, he’s reformed.”

“Oh, very funny.”

“Why the hell are you going to see Giselle?”

“It’s Romanov, isn’t it? I mean he’s art, capital A.”

“No need to get bitchy, Johnny. At least the boy can dance. But what is this? Got a new girl goes for the well-stuffed Russian doublet?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just taking…” he hesitated then said, “Just a duty thing.”

“Friend of your mother’s?”

Jonathan didn’t get a chance to answer. Jo came in with the portfolio of drawings. “Jo-Ann says the chiffon’s the wrong colour but it’ll give you an idea of the pattern, and she says it isn’t white but cream, will that make a difference to the lights?”

Jonathan looked at Paul. Paul shook his head.

Jo said, “Will I phone her or are you going to?”

“No do it for me, there’s a poppet.”

Jo smiled.

“Tell her I’ll get back at the end of the week.”

Jo nodded and went out.

Jonathan picked the portfolio up and stood up. “Well, I’m off. I want to do some work on these this afternoon.”

Paul stood up and went out with him. Carpenters were banging in the auditorium, louder out of the lighting booth. “So will I see you tomorrow?”

Jonathan nodded absently. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got class, then I want to see the principles for an hour or so. I want to redo the mid-section in Erotique.”

“Why?”

“It looks like a strip-show. See you later.”

Paul watched his disappearing back with a bemused smile.

Jonathan came down with a thump. “Oaf,” he muttered to himself.

He did it again. He still didn’t like it.

“The point of balance is all wrong.” He slammed his fist against the glass. He turned away. “I can feel this damn thing. I can feel it.”

The front door bell rang. His head jerked up. “Shit. What time it is?” He ran across the studio floor, winding his watch, shouting, “Coming!” as he came down the steps and into the hall. Christ, he was keen, look at the time.

He opened the door. Frank Delaney stood there, dressed as he had been the night he came to the theatre.

Jonathan said, “You’re early,” stepping back to let him in.

Frank looked at him. He was dressed only in rolled down woollen tights. They were hitched up his calves. He looked like a demented Robinson Crusoe. “You been working out?” Delaney asked.

Jonathan closed the door. “Trying to fix something.”

“What?” It was almost peremptory.

Jonathan scratched his armpit and said, “Jump in the Faune.”

“What does it mean?”

“What?”

“That name – L’après whatsit.”

“Afternoon of a Faune.”

Frank Delaney seemed to consider this. “Not much of a title. What’s a Faune? Exactly? I mean, it’s not a deer, is it?”

“No. It’s…” He stopped. “I’ll show you. Come upstairs and I’ll show you.”

The boy became immensely still. Jonathan said dryly, “My lounge is upstairs. I’m not taking you to the bedroom.”

The boy looked away, wetting his mouth.

Jonathan said, “Look, we better get this sorted out right now. I’m not queer, okay? I’ve got no designs on you.”

The boy didn’t look at him, said nothing, but seemed unconvinced.

Jonathan said, trying to hold onto his patience, “I don’t know what scare stories you’ve heard, but not everybody in the ballet’s a faggot, okay? I happen to be one of the nots, and I am not interested in turning you pink.”

The boy shot him a glance, then his mouth quirked and he said, “Okay”, and the smile was gone again.

Jonathan gestured with his hand, still tight-mouthed with irritation.

The boy went ahead of him up the stairs.

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!

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