Butterfly (5 page)

Later that evening when Celine began to question me about what I had read in the book on ballet, I felt as if I had already enrolled in a new school. She was like a teacher, correcting, explaining, and assigning me more reading. She wanted to be sure I knew the names of all the famous ballets.

"I haven't told Madame Malisorf anything about your background, Janet. She doesn't have to know you've lived all your life in an orphanage," she said. "You could be a distant relative whom I've adopted."

It was the first time she had said anything that made me feel ashamed of where I'd come from. I remembered the first time I heard someone refer to me as an orphan. It happened on the playground at school. I was in the fourth grade and we were outside at recess. There was a small sidewalk the girls used for hopscotch and we often partnered up. When one of the girls, Blair Cummings, was left with me, she complained.

"I don't want to be with her. She's too small, and besides, she's an orphan," she remarked, and the others looked at me as if I had a wart on my nose. I remember my face became hot and tears felt like boiling drops under my eyelids. I turned and ran away. Later, when our teacher, Miss Walker, found me sitting alone in a corner of the playground, she asked if I was sick.

"Yes," I said. It was a convenient way to escape any more ridicule. "I have a stomachache."
She sent me to the nurse's office and I was told to lie quietly after the nurse had taken my temperature even though she found that I didn't have a fever. I suppose that was why people thought of me as sickly. Whenever I felt singled out, I would often get these "stomachaches" and be thankful for the excuse to disappear. Being an orphan made me want to be invisible.
"Most of Madame Malisorf's pupils," Celine continued, "come from the finest families, people of culture who have raised their children in a world of music and art and dance. They have a head start, but don't you worry, dear," she added, reaching out to touch my cheek. "You have me and that, that is a much better head start than any of the more fortunate ones have had."
After dinner I sat with her and Sanford and listened to Celine's descriptions of some of the dances in which she had performed.
"Madame Malisorf compared me to Anna Pavlova. Have you ever heard of her?" Celine asked. I hadn't of course. She shook her head and sighed. "It's a crime, a crime that someone like you, someone who is a diamond in the rough, has been denied so much, denied the opportunity. Thank Heaven I saw you that day," she declared.
No one had ever even suggested I had any sort of talent, much less thought of me as a diamond in the rough. When I left Celine that night and went to my room, I stood in front of my full-length mirror in my new pointe shoes and my leotards and studied my tiny body, hoping to see something that would convince me I was special. All I saw was an underdeveloped little girl with big, frightened eyes.
I crawled into bed that night terrified over what was to come.
The next morning after breakfast, Sanford took me to the Peabody School, a private school. The principal was a woman named Mrs. Williams. She was tall but not too thin, with light brown hair neatly styled. I thought she had a very warm, friendly smile, and was nothing like the principal in my former school, Mr. Saks, who seemed always to be grouchy and unhappy, and who was always anxious to punish students for violating one rule or another. Often he perched in the corridors like a hawk watching and waiting. He was always charging in and out of the bathrooms, hoping to catch someone smoking.
Peabody was a much smaller school, and also much cleaner and newer. I was surprised when I was brought to a classroom where there were only eight other students, three boys and five girls. For my grade there was one teacher, Miss London, who taught English and history, and another teacher, Mr. Wiles, who taught math and science. Our physical education teacher, Mrs. Grant, also taught health education. I discovered there were only 257 students in the whole school.
"The classes are so small you know you're going to get special attention here," Sanford told me. He was right. All of my teachers were very nice and took the time to explain what I had to do in order to catch up with my classmates.
What I liked most of all was that I was enrolled and introduced to the other students as Janet Delorice, and no one was told that I had been adopted and had been an orphan before this. Everyone simply assumed I was transferring from another private school, and I did nothing to cause them to think otherwise.
I thought most of the girls were snobby as well as most of the boys, but one boy, Josh Brown, who wasn't all that much taller or bigger than me, gave me the warmest smile and greeting when I sat next to him in my first class. Afterward, he walked with me and told me about the school and the teachers. The color of his hair was so similar to mine, we could have been brother and sister. He didn't look like me, however. He had dark brown eyes and a round face with firmer lips and a nose that tipped up at the end. When he smiled, I thought he was cute, although I didn't dare say so.
"Did your parents just move here?" he asked me between classes.
"No. My father owns a glass factory," I told him as I thought of ways to avoid telling him I had come from an orphanage.
He thought a moment and nodded.
"Yeah, I know where it is." He seemed satisfied with my answer and I was happy to let the conversation drop.
Later in the day, the girls asked more questions, and I could see that one girl, Jackie Clark, was suspicious.
"You didn't attend a private school before, did you?" she pursued.
"No," I admitted hesitantly. I was really going to have to get better at creating a story for myself.
"Were you a problem child?" Betty Lowe asked quickly.
"No," I said
"You didn't get into big trouble?" Jackie followed. I shook my head.
"How are your grades, pretty bad?" Betty asked with a nod and a smile as if she hoped they were. "No. I have good grades," I told her.
They looked at each other, confused and skeptical. "Why weren't you in a private school before, then?" Jackie demanded.
I shrugged.
"My parents just decided," I said vaguely.
"I'd rather be in a public school," Betty admitted.
"Not me," Jackie responded, and they got into their own argument and forgot about me for the moment. That was when Josh offered to show me around some more and we left the others. I enjoyed my first day at my new school so much, maybe because of Josh, that I nearly forgot Madame Malisorf would be waiting for me when I got home.
At the end of the school day Sanford was waiting in front of the school to bring me home.
"There may be times when I'll have to have one of my employees pick you up, Janet. Whoever it is will be very nice," he assured me. "Oh, and you don't have to tell Celine, she never understands why sometimes work needs to come first. I enjoy taking a break to come get you, but I just won't be able to do it every day. Don't worry, Celine won't find out, it'll be our little secret."
I tried not to worry about there being yet another secret between us, another secret kept from Celine, and concentrated on the drive. There was some roadwork being done between our home and the school, and we got stick in a traffic jam about a mile from the school. I didn't think it was so terrible, but Sanford was getting very nervous. He kept muttering, "Damn, damn," under his breath, and chastising himself for not taking a detour. Finally, we were sailing along again. He drove a lot faster and I couldn't help thinking about the terrible car accident he and Celine had been in. The wheels squealed as we turned up the drive and came to an abrupt stop in front of the house.
I carried my new books in my arms and hurried to the front door with him. Celine was waiting in the entryway, sitting in her wheelchair and scowling at us as if she had been waiting at the door for hours.
"Why are you so late?" she demanded as soon as we entered the house.
"Roadwork," Sanford began to explain. "It--"
"I don't have time for your excuses, Sanford. Just go on back to your precious factory." She spat the words through clenched teeth and then turned her angry face to me. "Janet, Madame Malisorf is waiting in the studio. Put your books down --come along."
I placed my books on the entryway table, gazed at Sanford with wide, frightened eyes, and then started after Celine. My heart was pounding as I entered the studio. The first thing that astounded me was how small Madame Malisorf was. From the way Celine had described her, I pictured a towering figure at least as impressive as Mrs. McGuire. Madame Malisorf looked to be no more than five feet tall. Her hair was all gray and her face was full of wrinkles, but she had such a trim, athletic body, she looked like a young person who had prematurely aged. Her eyes washed over me as I followed Celine across the floor.
Madame Malisorf wore her hair pinned up in a huge twist. She wore black leotards and pointe shoes like the ones Celine had bought for me. Her lips were scarlet and her eyes were charcoal smudges in her pale, pale face.
"Janet, this is Madame Malisorf," Celine said, and I was amazed to hear that she no longer sounded angry. It was as if crossing the threshold of the studio transformed her.
"Hello," I said and smiled weakly.
She simply stared at me and then turned to Celine. "You know I don't like to put girls onto full pointe until they are thirteen, Celine, no matter how long they've studied."
"She'll be thirteen very shortly, Madame," Celine said.
Madame Malisorf smirked with skepticism.
"She looks no more than nine or ten."
"I know. She's small but she's precious and very talented," Celine said.
"We'll see. I want you to walk to the far wall and back?' Madame Malisorf commanded.
I gazed at Celine, who smiled and nodded encouragement. Then I walked to the wall, turned, and walked back.
"Well, Madame?" Celine asked quickly. It was obvious she expected Madame Malisorf to agree with her assessment of me.
"She does have good posture and balance. The neck looks a bit weak, but that will be rectified quickly. Stand on your toes," she ordered, and I did. When I started to lower myself, she barked, "No, stay there until I tell you otherwise?'
I did what she asked and waited. My calves began to shake and to ache, but I held myself up. I could feel my face turning red.
"Hold your arms straight out?' she ordered.
I did that, too.
"Keep your head high, your eyes straight ahead."
It felt like some sort of torture, but because Celine was watching me with that smile on her face, I forced myself to endure. My whole body began to shake. I hoped it would be easier in pointe shoes.
"Relax," Madame Malisorf said. "Good strength, good balance for someone without any training. You might be right, Celine," she said, "but it will take a grand effort. As far as pointe work, we'll see how long it will take to get her ready." She turned back to me.
^-
Change into your exercise outfit and be back in ten minutes," she ordered.
There was that ten minutes again. Celine nodded at me and I hurried out and up the stairs to my room to get into my leotards. Celine was right about how Madame Malisorf conducted her class. She demonstrated and then put me into one exercise after another at the barre. Repetition was the magic word. She barked her orders and expected me to obey instantly. If I paused to catch my breath, she sighed deeply and said, "Well?" And Celine would give a little cough from the doorway where she was sitting. She hadn't told me she was going to watch my lessons and was making me even more nervous. I performed each move so many times, I thought I would do each of the exercises in my sleep. Finally, Madame Malisorf had me move away from the barre and work on standing with my feet turned out.
"For various reasons having to do with the structure of the hip joint," she explained, "a dancer can obtain the greatest extension if the leg is rotated outward, away from its usual position. This rotation will enable you to move to the side as readily as to the front or back. This position is known as--"
"Turnout," I said quickly. I wanted to impress her with my knowledge.
"Yes," she said, but she didn't seem surprised or even very pleased. Instead, she looked annoyed that I had finished her sentence. From her reflection in the mirror I could see Celine's eyes fill with warning and I moved quickly into the position as it had been described in the book.
"No, no," Madame Malisorf cried. "You don't begin from the ankles. You do not force your feet into that position and let everything from there on up follow. Turnout begins at the hip joint."
She seized me at the waist and had me do it repeatedly until I satisfied her. It was too soon in my training to go on to jumps so we returned to the barre for more exercise.
"I will get you strong enough so you can attempt the moves l'll teach you," she said
confidently.
When we finished for the day, I was aching all over, especially in my hips and legs. The pain was so deep in places, it made my eyes tear, but I dared not utter a syllable of complaint. All the while as I worked with Madame Malisorf, Celine watched from her wheelchair, nodding and smiling after everything Madame Malisorf said.
"She'll be wonderful, absolutely wonderful, won't she, Madame Malisorf?" Celine asked at the end of the session.
"We shall see," Madame Malisorf replied, her eyes cold and critical.
"I have already fitted her for pointe shoes"
"We can't rush her along, Celine," Madame Malisorf snapped. "You, of all people, should know that."
"We won't, but she'll progress rapidly," Celine said undaunted. "I'll see to it. She'll practice and practice, Madame."
"I should hope so," she said directly to me. "You can't expect to become a dancer with only our sessions." She thought a moment and added, "Next time, I think I'll bring another pupil along." She turned to Celine. "It's good to have someone else work alongside her."
"Yes, yes, fine," Celine said. "Thank you. Tomorrow then?"
"Tomorrow," Madame Malisorf replied, and began to gather her things.
Tomorrow? Will I have lessons every day? I wondered. When will my poor little body have a chance to recuperate?
As soon as Madame Malisorf left, Celine wheeled over to me, her eyes blazing with excitement.
"She likes you. I know she does. I've known her a long time. If she didn't think you had potential, she would simply refuse to be your dance instructor. She doesn't waste her time on mediocre students, and for her to volunteer to bring along another one of her special students . well, you just don't understand what that means, Janet. That must be why you're not as excited as you should be. You have to be excited, Janet. Don't you see? Madame agrees with me. You're going to be a prima ballerina. This is wonderful, wonderful," she said, clapping her hands.
I tried to smile through my aches and pains. It made her laugh.
"Don't worry about your pains, Janet. Go soak in a hot tub before dinner. After a few more sessions, you won't be so sore. You'll see. Oh, I can't wait to tell Sanford about the lesson. I was right. I knew it. I was right," she said, spinning around in her chair and wheeling toward the doorway.
What had I done to make her so confident, I wondered, besides parading across the studio, rising up on my toes, balancing myself, and then performing some vigorous exercises that left me feeling like I'd been hit by a truck?
I followed her out and walked up the stairway to my room much slower than I had the day before. It wasn't until I was in my room and the door was closed that I permitted myself my first groan. Then I ran water for a bath and soaked my sore muscles. Later, at dinner, my work in the studio with Madame Malisorf was all Celine would discuss. Sanford tried to ask me questions about my first day at school, but Celine continually interrupted with advice about this and that work at the barre.