Read Online Black Adagio by Wendy Potocki - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendy Potocki
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disregard her own instincts. It was completely futile to override things you already knew, but she was always so willing to give people a second chance. It was what she'd done with her mother, and by endlessly repeating the pattern, she kept being stabbed through the heart over and over again.
Staring down, she rushed headlong into a man. Vaguely familiar, she’d seen him after her sessions in the unused studio. The route forcing her to pass Una’s office, she’d seen him in it, talking to the artistic director and Anna. In his thirties, he was a handsome man. Obviously a dancer or former one, his legs were lean and muscular, but it was his carriage that gave away his pedigree. The first good look she'd gotten of him, she was intrigued by what she saw. An air of mystery to him, he was the type of man that should be wearing a cape. Possessing an awe-inspiring presence, his gorgeous blue eyes were brimming with humor, his, thick, wiry leonine hair framing his square-jawed face the way peanut butter goes with jelly.
Slamming on his brakes, the man easily avoided disaster by stopping on a dime. Glancing at her, he smiled, moving nimbly on his way. Raising the collar of his navy blue pea coat to fend off the frigid air, he exited into the night.
The breeze hit her full force. Wrapping her arms over her chest, she scampered to her room. Rapidly changing into her racer-back leotard, she hadn’t worn it to class since the day she'd been insulted. Not wanting to chance being slammed for something as silly as the cut of her dance apparel, she was making good use of it during her nightly dance rituals. Taking her dance bag, she didn’t bother slowing her pace for her errant roommate’s unexpected appearance.
“Missy! Missy, I'm sorry! I didn't know! Really!” she bellowed like the foolish child she was.
“I can't abide idiots that can't keep their mouths shut!” she screamed as she ran down the hall—away from the source of her irritation. Keeping up the furious pace, she hurried outside. The huge sweatshirt covering her didn’t help at all. Allowing all the air to rush in the loose neck and arm openings, she felt she would freeze like a Popsicle. Making it to the annex that housed her favorite haunt these days, she rushed through the door.
Looking both ways before she took off for the stairs, her rubber-soled ankle boots allowed her to move noiselessly past Una's office, and up the final two flights of stairs. Arriving undetected, she entered the studio. Discarding her bag, she cranked up the thermostat on the wall, feeling the warmth seeping out of the vents almost immediately.
Putting her earphones in, she began working at the barre. The pliés felt wonderful as did the cambrés. Throwing herself into the movements, she had a lot of anger to work off. Not able to get Zoe's insidious face out of her mind, she felt like such a jerk. Then there was her pseudo-friend Brandi. With friends like her, you didn't need enemies.
Working in her ballet slippers, the touch of her hand on the barre was the same as taking a man's hand at the altar. What Phoebe had taught her, it was one of the rules she followed. The preparation paying off, by the time she finished the impromptu barre, she felt sweaty and aligned. Dispensing with her sweatshirt, she was ready to tackle the center.
Turning down the heat, she strapped on her shoes. Doing a few relevés to warm her feet and ankles, she made sure she felt her legs extending all the way into her pelvis. Engaging her pelvic floor, it was crucial to ballet—most especially in pointe work.
Performing more warm-ups, she was ready. Switching the music, she tried some tendus into passes. Turning the passes into pirouettes, she comfortably completed triples on each side. Far from satisfied, she was a perfectionist, and only perfection would do.
Stopping for water, she glanced at the clock. Even though 9:30, her energy level was peaking. Feeling feisty and needing to let loose, she
Staring down, she rushed headlong into a man. Vaguely familiar, she’d seen him after her sessions in the unused studio. The route forcing her to pass Una’s office, she’d seen him in it, talking to the artistic director and Anna. In his thirties, he was a handsome man. Obviously a dancer or former one, his legs were lean and muscular, but it was his carriage that gave away his pedigree. The first good look she'd gotten of him, she was intrigued by what she saw. An air of mystery to him, he was the type of man that should be wearing a cape. Possessing an awe-inspiring presence, his gorgeous blue eyes were brimming with humor, his, thick, wiry leonine hair framing his square-jawed face the way peanut butter goes with jelly.
Slamming on his brakes, the man easily avoided disaster by stopping on a dime. Glancing at her, he smiled, moving nimbly on his way. Raising the collar of his navy blue pea coat to fend off the frigid air, he exited into the night.
The breeze hit her full force. Wrapping her arms over her chest, she scampered to her room. Rapidly changing into her racer-back leotard, she hadn’t worn it to class since the day she'd been insulted. Not wanting to chance being slammed for something as silly as the cut of her dance apparel, she was making good use of it during her nightly dance rituals. Taking her dance bag, she didn’t bother slowing her pace for her errant roommate’s unexpected appearance.
“Missy! Missy, I'm sorry! I didn't know! Really!” she bellowed like the foolish child she was.
“I can't abide idiots that can't keep their mouths shut!” she screamed as she ran down the hall—away from the source of her irritation. Keeping up the furious pace, she hurried outside. The huge sweatshirt covering her didn’t help at all. Allowing all the air to rush in the loose neck and arm openings, she felt she would freeze like a Popsicle. Making it to the annex that housed her favorite haunt these days, she rushed through the door.
Looking both ways before she took off for the stairs, her rubber-soled ankle boots allowed her to move noiselessly past Una's office, and up the final two flights of stairs. Arriving undetected, she entered the studio. Discarding her bag, she cranked up the thermostat on the wall, feeling the warmth seeping out of the vents almost immediately.
Putting her earphones in, she began working at the barre. The pliés felt wonderful as did the cambrés. Throwing herself into the movements, she had a lot of anger to work off. Not able to get Zoe's insidious face out of her mind, she felt like such a jerk. Then there was her pseudo-friend Brandi. With friends like her, you didn't need enemies.
Working in her ballet slippers, the touch of her hand on the barre was the same as taking a man's hand at the altar. What Phoebe had taught her, it was one of the rules she followed. The preparation paying off, by the time she finished the impromptu barre, she felt sweaty and aligned. Dispensing with her sweatshirt, she was ready to tackle the center.
Turning down the heat, she strapped on her shoes. Doing a few relevés to warm her feet and ankles, she made sure she felt her legs extending all the way into her pelvis. Engaging her pelvic floor, it was crucial to ballet—most especially in pointe work.
Performing more warm-ups, she was ready. Switching the music, she tried some tendus into passes. Turning the passes into pirouettes, she comfortably completed triples on each side. Far from satisfied, she was a perfectionist, and only perfection would do.
Stopping for water, she glanced at the clock. Even though 9:30, her energy level was peaking. Feeling feisty and needing to let loose, she
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