Part 10 - Dance to the Magic

Christie sat in her darkened car watching the exodus from Madame Coulter's Dance School. She had purposely parked up the street from the studio so she wouldn't come to the notice of any of the departing students or their parents as they left the studio for home. She really did not want to be here, especially not for the reason that had brought her, but it didn't seem she had much choice. Thanks to fate - and Mrs. Pettis.

As she waited for the studio to empty, she recalled the meeting that her Mom and Christie'd had earlier that day with Cindy Pettis' Mom, Linda. Not surprisingly, Linda had not been very enthusiastic about the idea when they'd first broached it with her. She'd been hesitant to permit Cindy to return to Renee's school for the same reasons Christie hadn't wanted to return there. Surprise, surprise.

Ultimately, two factors had swayed the reluctant mother. First was Cindy's clear and fervent desire to continue learning to dance. When Linda had questioned her daughter directly, you could literally feel the hunger and need radiating off the young tween. Her face glowed, and her voice trembled as she'd tried to tell her Mother just how much she truly missed dancing. Cindy and Linda were both fighting back the tears at that point.

The second deciding factor for Mrs. Pettis had been Amanda's assurances that Christie would be there to protect Cindy and ensure she had fun learning. Did her Mother somehow magically influence the other woman? Christie tried to sense any such use of her Mother's power but got nothing for her efforts. Which most likely meant her Mom was just too good and too subtle for Christie's emerging abilities to detect, but darn, Mrs. Pettis had sure caved quickly! Like right after Amanda had said, "I promise, Linda. Christie will be there for your girl, just like she is at the dojang."

Sheesh, thanks loads, Mom. Now, all Christie had to figure out was how to make that happen. The main studio lights at the school winked out, confirming the first bit of Mother-provided intelligence. Carefully checking her surroundings, Christie slipped out of her car into the dark January evening and moved quickly to the school's main door. She found it locked, which she'd expected. If the spell Gran had taught her for getting around locks didn't work, she wouldn't have to do this tonight.

The darn spell worked. Christie entered quietly and closed the door behind her. She saw a light in the back, near where she remembered that Renee had her office. Another piece of intel confirmed - Renee typically stayed late on Tuesdays to get her billing and other paperwork done. She fervently hoped the additional information her Mom had uncovered was just as accurate and helpful.

Taking a deep breath, Christie strode toward the lighted office but stayed in the shadows initially to observe her quarry. She was working at her computer, so she had been turned away from the door. Concentrating hard, too, Christie saw. She resisted the urge to barge in, scaring the woman out of a few years' growth because that would only make the contrary woman more difficult.

Softly at first, and then more firmly, Christie knocked on the doorjamb and then called out, "Hi Renee," in as non-threatening a voice as she could manage. The woman still nearly jumped out of her chair, one hand reaching for her phone and the other for her heart.

"WHAT?!?" she yelped as she turned wide-open eyes toward her intruder. For a moment, Christie wondered if the old bat even recognized her. "YOU!!" she yelled. "What are you doing here? HOW are you in here? We're CLOSED! I know I LOCKED the doors! I'm calling the police. This is breaking and entering."

"Just stop, Renee. If I was going to hurt you or steal anything, I could have done it already. I just want to talk and give you a present." Christie kept her voice matter of fact and without emotion. "I'm not a threat. I just want to speak with you privately."

Renee's eyes narrowed as she considered. Christie could almost see her considering her options from escape (she'd have to go through Christie) to calling the police (assuming the girl couldn't stop her). Evidently, she'd concluded that neither option had much chance of success. "You want to talk," she said snidely. "And you have a present - for ME? I don't know whether to be curious or afraid. Very well, what do you want, Christie?"

"May I sit down?" Renee gave a snort but gestured her into the other chair in her office. "As to what I want, I know someone who has incredible potential and passion for dancing, who wants to come here to learn from you."

"I do have normal business hours for such things, girl. You could have just sent her and her parents to me. I'd even take a referral from YOU."

Christie chuckled softly at that. "Good one, Renee! I almost felt that zinger. No, this is a little more complicated than your usual new student. First, she's not new to ballet. She's already had several years of lessons. I've danced with her - just playing around stuff - but for her age? I think she's good. VERY good. Easily better than I was at her age, and she just loves to dance."

"I'm still not hearing any reason this could not have been handled through my standard procedures nor any reason I should have to listen to this from you.

"Well, as I said, it's complicated. You see, you know this student. She used to take lessons from you, but unfortunately for you AND her, you screwed the pooch on this one, Renee. You're only hearing about this now because I think she needs - I mean REALLY NEEDS - to dance. I'm the one who's trying to convince her and HER MOTHER to let her come back here for training."

"I have NO idea what you are talking about, and I have no more time to listen to your drivel. I want you to get out of here, right now!"

"No, I can't do that. I have to make this pitch, and you have to agree to it, including agreeing to this girl's Mom's conditions. Let me throw this in, Renee. Compared to me at age 11 or 12? This girl is incredible. I truly believe that we are talking about someone with the potential to be a principal dancer with a major company."

Interest lit the older woman's eyes, and she began to lean forward in her chair. "I'm still not hearing any reason why I'm dealing with you." Christie had never heard 'you' used as a filthy curse word before. That was really impressive.

"Her Mom wants assurances that you will help her excel and not berate her. Simply stated, her Mother doesn't trust you with her child. She's heard her daughter crying in her room after several of your 'motivational tirades.' Then she heard you tell all those girls how poorly they'd performed at the summer recital. Mom knows enough about dance to know that your sniping was NOT justified, and so she decided to pull her out of your school, or to use her words, 'your clutches.'"

"You stupid, stupid girl!" Renee exploded. "Sniping? Tirades? You don't know anything about high-level ballet at the professional level. That is how danseurs and ballerinas are trained! If they can't take constructive criticism, they can't be professionals!"

"Oh, garbage, Renee. That's just bull-something my Mom would wash my mouth out with soap for saying. These are NOT professional dancers! They're kids! Kids with a dream! Kids who think dancing looks pretty and like it might be fun! One kid in a hundred who walks through your door has a chance, a CHANCE of going pro. And do they? How many, Renee? How many of your kids have moved on to a higher-level school with a chance to dance professionally? How many?!"

The older woman practically sputtered in a fury. "I've had several - more than several, damn you! How dare you imply otherwise. I am the very best teacher in this entire STATE!"

Nodding calmly, Christie kept her gaze fixed on the now red-faced dance teacher. "I'll agree. Since I've been your student, you've had five students move on to one of the pipeline dance schools, with two of them currently under contract with a regional dance troupe. Do you know what they all have in common, Renee?"

"They were trained to excellence by ME, damn you, here in MY studio, girl!"

Shaking her head, Christie snorted a laugh. "I suppose that's true, but what I was getting at, Renee is that all five were guys. Danseurs Noble. As far as I can tell, and I looked, not one of your girls has moved up in the last ten years. I like to think I might have, but my recent growth spurt makes that unlikely. All these little girls, Renee, coming to your school dreaming of tutus, dancing en pointe and flying, and not one professional ballerina on your resume. Why is that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't concede your statement on ballerinas. I'll have to check my own records."

"You do that. Okay, I have a question for you then. Did you start studying dance because someone was constantly yelling at you, telling you how badly you were doing? Or did you start for the reasons I said earlier? Because you wanted to be beautiful and have fun, to find joy in the dance? Tell me, Renee, I've always wondered what motivated you."

"When I was a girl, we all did dance in school. I liked it and did particularly well, so I was sent to a state school for the performing arts where I received intensive training."

"How old, Renee? When you left home to go attend that school? And were the teachers you had there your role models for teaching?"

"Almost 14, and no - those instructors were too soft. They let the children get away with too much! I patterned my teaching after the Dance Mistress I had when I was with the Ballet de Opera national de Paris. She demanded excellence, as do I."

"And you will likely never get it because your attitude runs off girls who might have the potential to be more. There's no joy here, Renee. There's nothing to keep them coming back, so they don't. The Danseurs? I think that's a guy thing. Guys grow up with assholes for coaches and expect that kind of crap from their teachers. Just part of being a man," Christie said, growling in a pseudo guy voice. "The girls? They don't have that cultural bias. If you don't give them a reason to come back, to keep trying, they probably won't. If they don't come back, they won't move on, and girls who SHOULD be professional ballerinas aren't. So, where's the joy, Renee? Why the he should my friend come back here? If you're going to tear her down again and again as you did in the past!? That's not gonna happen, Renee!"

Myriad emotions flashed across the older woman's face. Tears glinted in her eyes but didn't fall. She nearly started to speak several times and didn't. Finally, she sat back in her chair and brought a hand up to her forehead as if soothing a headache. "All right. I'm a failure. I can't teach girls. You've made your position clear. I disagree, but there it is. NOW! That being the case, Why. Are. You. Here?!"

"Because Cindy Pettis wants to come back and study dance with you, but her mother won't let her."

"That is sad, but it still doesn't explain why you are here, girl, making me feel like a useless failure! I repeat! Why are YOU here?"

"I really want Cindy to dance, Renee. I've convinced her Mom to let her return to your school, but Mrs. Pettis has a condition. If we - that's you and me - can't agree to her condition, she won't sign off on the permission slip for Cindy to come back here."

"FINALLY," Renee snapped, slapping both palms down hard on her desktop. "And what is this unholy condition? Tell me so I can say no and get you the hell out of my office and my life!"

"I have to come back to class, too. I have to be here anytime Cindy is here, to keep you on the straight and narrow and to help her find that joy you don't know anything about."

"WHAT?!? Are you inSANE? You're going to be here? Like some kind of school monitor evaluating my every word? Interrupting my classes to tell me to be nicer? Have you lost your mind?"

"Put like that, you might think so. I sure wasn't all that pleased when Mrs. Pettis told me her condition, either. Look, Renee, I talked this over with my Mom. She told me about this old TV public service commercial that was supposed to keep drivers from speeding. Anyway, this guy was starting to speed, and this transparent police car appeared in front of him. The catchline was something like, 'When you feel the urge to speed, remember! The Phantom Police Car!' I'd sort of be like that - your phantom police car. You get the urge to say something bad or less than complimentary; you look over and see me in the room, pause for a breath, and find a nicer way to correct whatever set you off. Easy, huh?"

"Oh my yes," she intoned, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I will have this watcher in my studio, doing absolutely nothing but breathing down my neck all class long, and I have to accept that?"

Christie gave a shy little grin at that, "Well, Cindy isn't the only one missing dance. I know I'm not professional ballerina material. I'm too tall, too heavy and too muscular, but I still miss dancing and dance class. I'll take the same classes, so you'll get two tuitions out of this deal. Hey, I'll even let you use me to show what someone did wrong so you can gently correct them. 'See? You certainly don't want to look like HER?' How's that for fair? Your own private bad example."

"You'd look like a clown," Renee replied heavily. "And likely be a laughing stock."

"A little laughter won't hurt me," Christie said with a shrug, "And it might go a long way towards developing that joyous atmosphere we want."

Renee considered that for several minutes before she shook herself and then lanced a searing look at Christie. "I will call Mrs. Pettis tomorrow morning. If she confirms what you've told me, I will accept you and her daughter back on a trial basis. Let's say, four weeks to start. If I find that your presence detracts from my effectiveness as a teacher or my school's reputation - in any way - you're done. Are we agreed?"

"It works for me, Renee. Make sure you spell that out for Mrs. Pettis when you talk to her. My understanding is that if I'm gone, so's Cindy, and I think that would be a crime against dance."

"Understood. Now leave me in peace so I can do my work. I will call your Mother after I've spoken with Mrs. Pettis." Christie nodded, stood, and started to leave. "Oh, and Miss McKellar? I find I have a condition of my own." At the girl's raised eyebrow, Renee nodded and continued. "I insist upon being addressed as 'Madame Coulter' or simply 'Madame' from this point forward. Understood?"

Christie grinned. She'd expected that. "Understood. From this point forward, so long as I am your student, Madame. So long as I continue to be your student."

Renee watched Christie's retreating back and then shouted, "And make sure you lock the damned door behind you when you leave!"

Christie only giggled.

~-~