Читать книгу Tempo Of Love - Kianna Alexander - Страница 13

Chapter 5

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. I need your attention on me, please.”

Nona stood before her intermediate jazz dance class, dressed in her leggings, tank and felt-bottom dancing shoes. Her students, ranging in age from eleven to fourteen, were lined up in front of her. All ten of her students were present, eight girls and two boys, each standing on their designated mark on the wooden floor.

She’d been teaching this class two nights a week at Butterfly Ballet and Dance for the past five years, and she truly loved the work. It wasn’t the highest-paying gig in the world, but the joy she got from working with her students and seeing them improve their art more than made up for the paltry paycheck. Her parents’ prodding, and the sense of obligation she felt to them, had led her into journalism as a main career. Pure passion drove her to teach dance.

As the children settled down, ending their conversations and focusing on her, she smiled. “Thank you. Today, we’ll continue to work on our turns as a basis for our recital choreography. Everybody into first position parallel, please.” She moved into the position, standing with her feet eight inches apart and her toes pointed forward.

The children mimicked her stance.

“Second position legs.” She waited as the children adjusted. “Now add second position arms.”

Over the next forty minutes, Nona walked her students through the practice of a series of turn maneuvers. Moving between the two rows of students, she stopped to reposition little arms and feet as they executed paddle turns, piques and pirouettes. They worked hard, staying focused even as they repeated the same maneuver over and over again. When they achieved good form and proper execution, Nona heaped them with praise for their efforts.

The intermediate group was full of students who’d begun dance lessons as young children, some as young as four or five years old. Those who didn’t like dance or didn’t feel capable enough to handle it usually dropped out before the intermediate level. By the time they reached Nona’s class, they were serious about learning all they could. Their interest level and dedication were growing, with many of them eager to move on to advanced classes. They were still excited about dancing but knew they had a lot more to learn, and that was what appealed to her about teaching students at that level.

As the end of class approached, Nona had her students sit on the floor in a circle, as usual. Sitting down between two of the kids, she looked around at their faces. “Great class today, everyone. Now, let’s have our chat. Who has something they want to talk about today?”

Class chats were something Nona had implemented early in her dance teaching days. Due to the age of her students, they often were facing complex issues at school or with their families. They were middle schoolers, navigating a veritable minefield of social, personal and academic issues. She hoped the class chats gave them a forum to speak to their peers in dance and to ask advice from her as an impartial adult. She kept what the children said to her in confidence, except in instances where one of her students might be in danger. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into that issue so far, so she’d built a rapport with the youngsters under her tutelage.

Eleven-year-old Marie raised her hand. “Some of the girls at school have been calling me a geek because I read comic books.”

Nona shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear that, Marie. What is our motto when it comes to our interests?”

The children repeated the often-said phrase in unison. “Being me is the only way to be.”

“Right.” Nona sent a smile Marie’s way. “So if you like comic books, keep right on reading them.”

“I like comics, too.” The remark came from twelve-year-old Diamond. “Maybe we can trade.”

Marie’s eyes lit up.

Nona smiled even brighter. “See? You got yourself a comic buddy, right here in class. Now, does anybody else have something they want to talk about?”

The question was met with silence and head shakes.

“You’re sure?”

The only noise in the room was Diamond and Marie’s excited comic book–related banter.

Nona clasped her hands together. “Okay. Then I have a question for you all.”

Ten sets of surprised eyes looked her way.

Ralph, her oldest student at fourteen, asked, “You want our advice on something?”

She nodded. “Yes. You all know that I work as a reporter for the newspaper. I have an article to write about a man who just won a very important contract from the city.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Diamond focused on Nona, eyes filled with questions.

“The man I’m supposed to interview is very secretive. I’ve spoken to him twice and still don’t know very much about him. At least not enough to write my story. So what do you all think I could do to get him to tell me about himself?”

She looked around the room, taking in her students’ thoughtful expressions. She hadn’t intended to ask them about this when she’d come into the studio today, but she figured she didn’t have anything to lose. She needed to get Ken to open up somehow if she were to have any chance of meeting her deadline.

Ralph spoke first. “What does he like to do for a hobby?”

“I know he likes to run. I went on a run with him the other day, and that helped some.”

“Well, I’d see what else he likes to do. If you do what he likes to do, I bet he’ll talk to you some more.” Ralph folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah. That’s what I’d do.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Ralph.”

“No problem.”

Betty, the youngest of her students, spoke then. “What about cookies? Have you tried baking him cookies?”

That suggestion made her chuckle. “No, I haven’t. But at this point I’m willing to try it. Maybe I’ll take him some cookies the next time I interview him. Thanks, Betty.”

The girl responded with a shy smile.

“I’d say be nice to him, but you’re probably already doing that.” Diamond tapped her chin with her index finger. “Be honest with him and let him know you’re not trying to get in his business, you’re just doing your job.”

Nona nodded. “Good suggestion, Diamond. Anybody else?”

No one else had anything to say.

“Well, thank you all for listening, and for your helpful suggestions to my problem. Class is dismissed.”

As the children got up and gathered their belongings, Nona watched over them. Through the side windows of the one-story building, she could see their parents’ vehicles idling in the parking lot. She got her clipboard from her dance bag, prepared to check off names one by one as the students were picked up. Once she’d seen all her students safely off, Nona took a minute to straighten up her space, then switched off the lights and headed to her car.

Crossing the parking lot, she enjoyed the crisp breeze that blew over her, giving her momentary respite from the humid night air. Thinking back on the advice of her students, she smiled and wondered what kind of cookies she should bake for Ken.

Knowing she’d be willing to give him cookies of a much more adult nature, she shook her head and climbed into her car.

* * *

Wednesday morning, Ken strode into his office around seven. It was a bit earlier than he usually came in to work, but he wanted to get an early start on his drafting for the Grand Pearl project. He knew Nona would arrive to interview him around nine, and he wanted two hours alone in the office to work. Lynn rarely came in before nine thirty, and the two interns came in the afternoon when they were released from their college classes.

Instead of flipping the light switch, he walked across his semidark office toward the windows. The windows went from floor to ceiling, making up the entire eastern wall of his office. Once there, he turned the handle to open the vertical blinds. Sunlight flooded the space, and he took in a deep breath. Morning light always seemed to jump-start his artistic inspiration, making mornings his most productive time for the creative side of his business. He reserved afternoons for paperwork, phone calls and the other activities constituting the practical side of his work.

He faced away from the window, looking around his private office. The walls were painted in a shade of gray so muted it appeared white. His desk was glass, with chrome legs and hardware, and had no drawers. Instead, he stored all his important papers in the two silver filing cabinets occupying the south wall behind the desk. Two bookcases sat near the cabinets, storing various mementos and trinkets. Two chrome chairs with white vinyl seats sat facing the desk. On the rare occasion he had guests in his office, they occupied those chairs.

In the center of the room was his drafting table. Comprised of chrome and stainless steel with a vinyl-covered drawing surface, the table had a matching leather-topped stool for him to sit on. The drafting table was the focal point of the space, positioned in a way to take advantage of the natural light. On the north side of the room sat a seldom-used white microfiber love seat. In place of artwork on the walls, he’d hung blueprints and sketches of his past projects.