Lucas was contemplating himself in the mirror. His translucent skin was taut over exquisite bone structure, his hazel eyes framed by eyelashes so long and dark that he would barely need mascara tonight. His T-shirt and leggings highlighted sculpted muscles.
This was the culmination of all Ben’s dreams, to be here with him.
“It’s true, you’re perfect, Lucas,” he sighed.
Ben worshipped Lucas’s body. Everyone worshipped Lucas’s body. For Lucas was perfectly proportioned, his limbs a masterpiece of symmetry. When he walked past with his perfect gait, he turned everyone’s head. When he danced, they were bewitched. His had been the fastest ever progress from the corps de ballet to soloist, and he was set to become a principal before the end of the year.
Principals only ever dated other principals. But no-one was surprised when the divine Kara, the company’s star, ditched her long-term amour, Perry Quinn, for Lucas. Kara was Lucas’s due, thought Ben. How could someone perfect be expected to make do with less than the divine?
“I can’t tell you what a privilege it is to be in this masterclass with you,” he went on.
Lucas ignored him and began stretching his spectacularly supple hamstrings. He folded himself over from upright until his chest was pressed against his knees, his head against his shins.
“And today of all days!” said Ben. “I feel part of history. To dance alongside Lucas Ward just before he appeared in his first lead role.”
Lucas paid no attention, pointing and flexing his powerfully sinewed feet.
Ben took up position beside him at the barre.
“You’re my role model,” he confided. “I dream of being like you.”
This time, Lucas reacted. His perfect eyebrows shot up and his perfect lip curled.
“You dream of being like me?”
He prowled round Ben. “Neck – too short. Shoulder-blades – too high. Knees – too rotated.”
“Yes...I see...” said Ben.
Lucas suddenly punched him violently in the stomach. Ben, completed unprepared, rocked forward, winded.
“Abs – too weak,” said Lucas with cool satisfaction.
“Sorry, Lucas,” wheezed Ben.
The students were beginning to filter into the room. They huddled at the back, staring in awe. Lucas was on to hip warm-ups now, moving an athletic leg round and back in a semi-circle.
And then Mr Bryce and his entourage entered, and some students almost hyperventilated. The company’s revered founder, now 87, lived in semi-seclusion. But once a year, he emerged to take a masterclass with two of the professional dancers. He was still an impressive and intimidating figure: his ornate stick seemed more for show than support. One of his followers took his cape, another got him a chair, and a third shooed the students into a line.
“A remarkable day for you, hey, Mr Ward?” said Clifford Bryce.
Lucas inclined his head in graceful agreement.
Bryce turned to the students. “You may not have heard yet, but Mr Quinn has been struck down by a nasty bout of food poisoning.”
The students computed this. Perry was dancing Prince Siegfried in the premiere of Swan Lake. And his understudy was –
“Lucas – Lucas will be dancing with Kara!” squeaked a student who could compute faster than the others. The divine Kara as the Swan Queen and Lucas as her prince: the students practically swooned with the romance of it all.
Clifford Bryce clapped his hands for silence.
“We must begin, to give Mr Ward time to rest before this evening’s performance. Mr Ward, Mr Jenkins, kindly run through the basic exercises and then the students will join you.”
Ben followed Lucas in the familiar routine. But he had lost all enthusiasm. How was someone like him supposed to motivate the students, with his over-rotated knees and his deformed shoulder-blades? How could he ever have hoped to make soloist? It was ghastly seeing himself reflected in the mirrored walls alongside Lucas, the contrast magnifying his defects.
Then he saw Mr Bryce watching him. He was in class. He could never be like Lucas, could never know perfection, but he could push his defective body to its limits.
When they finished, the founder moved on to questioning the students about method and technique.
“What do you see when you look at Mr Ward?” he asked one of the most promising students.
“Perfection!” the student sighed. The others nodded vigorously.
Clifford Bryce smiled. “That is a tribute to Mr Ward’s superb technique,” he said. “Mr Ward has succeeded in creating the illusion of perfection. In fact, his thighbones are three centimetres too long.”
Ben blinked. That couldn’t be right. Lucas’s every dimension was – perfect.
“Senile old fool,” said Lucas in a stage whisper.
There was a puzzled muttering among the students, who stared at Lucas, first in concern, then in shock. Ben turned to look at his hero, his unattainable role model, verifying that every body part was in perfect correspondence with every other. Perfect...perfect...perfect...perfect. He reached Lucas’s thighs. Impossible. Lucas Ward was perfect.
****
The divine Kara was a consummate professional. With a radiant smile, she rose up en pointe, Lucas’s hands on her dainty waist, and began a series of dazzling pirouettes. As her body twirled, she looked out at the audience, turning her head at the very last moment, so that there was only a split second when her lovely face could not be seen. But it was long enough to let her spit out a single venomous syllable at Lucas every time she whipped past.
“How – dare – you – try – to – hood – wink - me - we’re – through – you - freak.”
While the audience broke into thunderous applause, the news passed excitedly down the two lines of delicately fluttering swans.
“Kara’s broken up with Lucas! It’s all over!”
Lucas clasped the Swan Queen to his bosom in a masterful embrace, trying to ignore the way the other swans were all craning to get a better view of his thighs.
“Kara, believe me, I didn’t know!”
Kara bashfully withdrew from her prince’s grasp and extended her left leg in a faultless arabesque.
“Yeah, right,” she mouthed as she coyly allowed her hand to be captured. “Like you don’t spend every spare second preening in the mirror.”
She inclined towards him with submissive pliancy and Lucas, powerful and passionate, caught her round her slender shoulders.
“It’s only the thighbones, Kara! Everything else is as good as it ever was!” he whined.
Kara gazed up adoringly at him, her right leg bent at a breathtakingly picturesque angle.
“It was never that good, Lucas, believe me.”
Lucas lifted her up with princely strength and determination. Kara arched into a flawless curve, conveying wistfulness and hope combined. She spoke softly but distinctly.
“And stop hogging the limelight. It’s not your fucking solo.”
It was just as well he couldn’t see his parents in the grand circle. This was their fault. He was a laughing-stock because of their genetic defects. Had they given a thought to their future offspring, had checks on their physical compatibility? Not a bit of it. They had rushed headlong into parenthood, thinking only of themselves. The sheer selfishness of it, the sheer –
Kara shifted her weight to return to earth and Lucas was literally wrong-footed. There was a wobble, muffled shrieks from the corps de ballet, a thud, and a frantic ringing down of the curtain.
Lucas, in a crumpled heap, was vaguely aware of the babble of voices.
“His leg’s broken.”
“It’s those thighbones of his. He just doesn’t have the stability.”
“What understudy? Lucas is the understudy!”
“Message from Mr Bryce, get Ben Jenkins into Perry’s costume. Move it!”
****
The male paramedic hissed at the female paramedic: “I can’t cover for you any longer. There’s only so many tests I can pretend to do on him.”
The female paramedic reluctantly emerged from the wings. “Okay. It’s finished anyway. It was sublime. Kara Anderson was supposed to be dancing with Perry Quinn, but I swear, a star is born!”
There was a sudden roar from the audience, and she darted back to see what was happening, then returned, giggling, to help her colleague adjust Lucas on the stretcher.
“Oh, wow, that was some kiss she gave him – how cute are they?”
As they began to wheel Lucas away, Ben rushed offstage, rather flushed, clutching a bouquet.
“Lucas, I owe it all to you!” he gasped. “I’m so stupid, I completely misunderstood what you were saying to me. I thought you meant my body was too flawed for me ever to be a great dancer. It was only when Mr Bryce explained about your disability that I realized that if you could overcome your handicap, then I could overcome mine.”
Gently, he laid the bouquet on Lucas’s chest. “You deserve these, not me.”
The paramedic cocked her head. “They’re calling for you. You’d better get back on stage.”
They headed towards the door.
“That was sweet of him to give you his flowers – Lucas, is it? Make you feel better.”
And Lucas burst into tears of perfect rage.
This was the culmination of all Ben’s dreams, to be here with him.
“It’s true, you’re perfect, Lucas,” he sighed.
Ben worshipped Lucas’s body. Everyone worshipped Lucas’s body. For Lucas was perfectly proportioned, his limbs a masterpiece of symmetry. When he walked past with his perfect gait, he turned everyone’s head. When he danced, they were bewitched. His had been the fastest ever progress from the corps de ballet to soloist, and he was set to become a principal before the end of the year.
Principals only ever dated other principals. But no-one was surprised when the divine Kara, the company’s star, ditched her long-term amour, Perry Quinn, for Lucas. Kara was Lucas’s due, thought Ben. How could someone perfect be expected to make do with less than the divine?
“I can’t tell you what a privilege it is to be in this masterclass with you,” he went on.
Lucas ignored him and began stretching his spectacularly supple hamstrings. He folded himself over from upright until his chest was pressed against his knees, his head against his shins.
“And today of all days!” said Ben. “I feel part of history. To dance alongside Lucas Ward just before he appeared in his first lead role.”
Lucas paid no attention, pointing and flexing his powerfully sinewed feet.
Ben took up position beside him at the barre.
“You’re my role model,” he confided. “I dream of being like you.”
This time, Lucas reacted. His perfect eyebrows shot up and his perfect lip curled.
“You dream of being like me?”
He prowled round Ben. “Neck – too short. Shoulder-blades – too high. Knees – too rotated.”
“Yes...I see...” said Ben.
Lucas suddenly punched him violently in the stomach. Ben, completed unprepared, rocked forward, winded.
“Abs – too weak,” said Lucas with cool satisfaction.
“Sorry, Lucas,” wheezed Ben.
The students were beginning to filter into the room. They huddled at the back, staring in awe. Lucas was on to hip warm-ups now, moving an athletic leg round and back in a semi-circle.
And then Mr Bryce and his entourage entered, and some students almost hyperventilated. The company’s revered founder, now 87, lived in semi-seclusion. But once a year, he emerged to take a masterclass with two of the professional dancers. He was still an impressive and intimidating figure: his ornate stick seemed more for show than support. One of his followers took his cape, another got him a chair, and a third shooed the students into a line.
“A remarkable day for you, hey, Mr Ward?” said Clifford Bryce.
Lucas inclined his head in graceful agreement.
Bryce turned to the students. “You may not have heard yet, but Mr Quinn has been struck down by a nasty bout of food poisoning.”
The students computed this. Perry was dancing Prince Siegfried in the premiere of Swan Lake. And his understudy was –
“Lucas – Lucas will be dancing with Kara!” squeaked a student who could compute faster than the others. The divine Kara as the Swan Queen and Lucas as her prince: the students practically swooned with the romance of it all.
Clifford Bryce clapped his hands for silence.
“We must begin, to give Mr Ward time to rest before this evening’s performance. Mr Ward, Mr Jenkins, kindly run through the basic exercises and then the students will join you.”
Ben followed Lucas in the familiar routine. But he had lost all enthusiasm. How was someone like him supposed to motivate the students, with his over-rotated knees and his deformed shoulder-blades? How could he ever have hoped to make soloist? It was ghastly seeing himself reflected in the mirrored walls alongside Lucas, the contrast magnifying his defects.
Then he saw Mr Bryce watching him. He was in class. He could never be like Lucas, could never know perfection, but he could push his defective body to its limits.
When they finished, the founder moved on to questioning the students about method and technique.
“What do you see when you look at Mr Ward?” he asked one of the most promising students.
“Perfection!” the student sighed. The others nodded vigorously.
Clifford Bryce smiled. “That is a tribute to Mr Ward’s superb technique,” he said. “Mr Ward has succeeded in creating the illusion of perfection. In fact, his thighbones are three centimetres too long.”
Ben blinked. That couldn’t be right. Lucas’s every dimension was – perfect.
“Senile old fool,” said Lucas in a stage whisper.
There was a puzzled muttering among the students, who stared at Lucas, first in concern, then in shock. Ben turned to look at his hero, his unattainable role model, verifying that every body part was in perfect correspondence with every other. Perfect...perfect...perfect...perfect. He reached Lucas’s thighs. Impossible. Lucas Ward was perfect.
****
The divine Kara was a consummate professional. With a radiant smile, she rose up en pointe, Lucas’s hands on her dainty waist, and began a series of dazzling pirouettes. As her body twirled, she looked out at the audience, turning her head at the very last moment, so that there was only a split second when her lovely face could not be seen. But it was long enough to let her spit out a single venomous syllable at Lucas every time she whipped past.
“How – dare – you – try – to – hood – wink - me - we’re – through – you - freak.”
While the audience broke into thunderous applause, the news passed excitedly down the two lines of delicately fluttering swans.
“Kara’s broken up with Lucas! It’s all over!”
Lucas clasped the Swan Queen to his bosom in a masterful embrace, trying to ignore the way the other swans were all craning to get a better view of his thighs.
“Kara, believe me, I didn’t know!”
Kara bashfully withdrew from her prince’s grasp and extended her left leg in a faultless arabesque.
“Yeah, right,” she mouthed as she coyly allowed her hand to be captured. “Like you don’t spend every spare second preening in the mirror.”
She inclined towards him with submissive pliancy and Lucas, powerful and passionate, caught her round her slender shoulders.
“It’s only the thighbones, Kara! Everything else is as good as it ever was!” he whined.
Kara gazed up adoringly at him, her right leg bent at a breathtakingly picturesque angle.
“It was never that good, Lucas, believe me.”
Lucas lifted her up with princely strength and determination. Kara arched into a flawless curve, conveying wistfulness and hope combined. She spoke softly but distinctly.
“And stop hogging the limelight. It’s not your fucking solo.”
It was just as well he couldn’t see his parents in the grand circle. This was their fault. He was a laughing-stock because of their genetic defects. Had they given a thought to their future offspring, had checks on their physical compatibility? Not a bit of it. They had rushed headlong into parenthood, thinking only of themselves. The sheer selfishness of it, the sheer –
Kara shifted her weight to return to earth and Lucas was literally wrong-footed. There was a wobble, muffled shrieks from the corps de ballet, a thud, and a frantic ringing down of the curtain.
Lucas, in a crumpled heap, was vaguely aware of the babble of voices.
“His leg’s broken.”
“It’s those thighbones of his. He just doesn’t have the stability.”
“What understudy? Lucas is the understudy!”
“Message from Mr Bryce, get Ben Jenkins into Perry’s costume. Move it!”
****
The male paramedic hissed at the female paramedic: “I can’t cover for you any longer. There’s only so many tests I can pretend to do on him.”
The female paramedic reluctantly emerged from the wings. “Okay. It’s finished anyway. It was sublime. Kara Anderson was supposed to be dancing with Perry Quinn, but I swear, a star is born!”
There was a sudden roar from the audience, and she darted back to see what was happening, then returned, giggling, to help her colleague adjust Lucas on the stretcher.
“Oh, wow, that was some kiss she gave him – how cute are they?”
As they began to wheel Lucas away, Ben rushed offstage, rather flushed, clutching a bouquet.
“Lucas, I owe it all to you!” he gasped. “I’m so stupid, I completely misunderstood what you were saying to me. I thought you meant my body was too flawed for me ever to be a great dancer. It was only when Mr Bryce explained about your disability that I realized that if you could overcome your handicap, then I could overcome mine.”
Gently, he laid the bouquet on Lucas’s chest. “You deserve these, not me.”
The paramedic cocked her head. “They’re calling for you. You’d better get back on stage.”
They headed towards the door.
“That was sweet of him to give you his flowers – Lucas, is it? Make you feel better.”
And Lucas burst into tears of perfect rage.
