Bruno’s eyebrows drew together in a pensive expression. He didn’t seem like one who’d scare easily. Was Bruno interested in employing my powers for himself? There were some advantages to having a demigod on your side.
“I will be his roommate.” Bruno rapped his knuckles against the table as if sealing his commitment. “It is sure to beinteressante.”
Tyrell shrugged and shook his head. “You just better be careful, man. And don’t piss off Henri. Lando, either. Here, take this.” Tyrell scratched out his pager number on the paper bag that had once contained your meal. “Call me if some crazy shit goes down. Lando thinks this Henri guy is his dawg, but I’m not so sure. Shit.” Tyrell glanced around and lowered his voice. “He’s probably listening to us right now.”
I sent a gust of wind to blow a crumpled wrapper off the table.
“See what I mean?” Tyrell exclaimed.
Bruno folded the piece of paper and tucked it away as you returned from the bathroom with a wide grin on your face. You spread your hands in a solicitous gesture.
“All right, boys, who wants to push me on the swing?”
Your school term ended,and you moved into the ballet academy dormitory for summer session. Your mother seemed to have mixed feelings about it. The two of you had become quite close in recent years, and I sensed she felt like she was losing not only her son, but a very dear friend. To her credit, she didn’t guilt you into staying, only made you promise that you’d come home some weekends to do your laundry and catch up on the soap operas she’d taped for you during the week.
The dormitory was a renovated apartment building that had previously served as housing for Coast Guardsmen. The apartment you shared with Bruno and two other young men had two bedrooms, a common area that was really just a combined dining area and kitchen, a bathroom, and a small balcony which was usually obscured by a cloud of cigarette smoke on account of the rampant bad habits of the dancers.
A bunk bed was installed in your bedroom to make room for a television and two tattered recliners. The space was small, and with four men living together, quite cramped. But you were living independently and doing what you loved. Your life was dynamic and exciting. Your body and mind were growing and evolving every day. I predicted you’d become bored with me and move on. I hardened my heart to the idea, believing the blow would come when I least expected it.
Your first semester was relatively easy for you. School was out for summer, which left you some time to adjust to your new living situation. You charmed your instructors, and your classmates warmed to you soon enough. Bruno was quite popular. Having him as your friend and roommate was a wise decision. Several of the young women nursed crushes on the both of you, and many of the young men did as well. Bruno did well with all genders, and the two of you devised a system where you wouldn’t intrude if Bruno was entertaining a guest. I liked to watch, and in my most lecherous moments, I imagined it was the two of us performing those sacred acts.
I suspected that when you spoke of me to Bruno, he was indulging you, at least at the outset of your friendship. But, little by little, I convinced him.
For instance, one day he’d misplaced his keys, and I instructed you as to where he’d left them, something you couldn’t have possibly known yourself. Another time, I asked you to replenish Bruno’s supply of prophylactics, as I knew he was out and had an amorous encounter planned for the evening. Then Bruno began testing my abilities by making you leave the room, then hiding objects and asking you to tell him where they were. It was rather amusing to see Bruno slowly come around until at some point, his skepticism transformed into acceptance.
I’d thought living in such close quarters, the two of you might experiment sexually, but the extent of it was watching low-quality pornography and masturbating together, each in your own recliner with a shared box of tissues between you. Your easy companionship was heartwarming, and rather than feel excluded, both of you treated me much like a third roommate, even asking my opinion on whatever films you happened to be watching. Bruno said more than once that he appreciated my unconventional sense of humor, and I possessed a similar fondness toward him.
Whenever I pointed out a charming young man in one of your classes, you had a list of minor grievances against him. Either you were the pickiest human lover of all time, or you’d meant it when you said you were waiting for me.
Your second semester didn’t go as smoothly. The artistic director, Sergei, took over the tutelage of the best of your pre-professional class. It was a hand-picked elite corps of dancers he seemed to be grooming for the company.Master Sergei, as he insisted upon being addressed, was very hard on you in particular. At first, I thought he wanted you to reach your potential, and that by publicly shaming you, he would motivate you to strive harder. But then I followed him home one evening and learned it was something else altogether.
You were complaining to Bruno and me one night after a difficult day in the studio. Your variations class was preparing for the ballet company’s annual production ofThe Nutcrackerin which you and your classmates were assigned roles. You, Bruno, and one other dancer had been selected to perform the Trepak. This would be your first appearance in a professional production, and your spirits were high.
Sergei had berated you on some sequence you weren’t executing to his liking and made you repeat it with an audience of your peers until your legs trembled with fatigue. It was a test of wills, where you were determined not to ask for mercy. I worried you might collapse from exhaustion. Seeing the satisfaction on Sergei’s face, knowing it wasn’t as innocent as I’d once thought, made me want to retaliate in your defense.
I did not know this prior, but dancers in a studio are similar to new recruits on the battlefield where the centurion is law. In my day, we used flogging and castigatio for discipline. Sergei punished you by making you dance until your pain was nearly unbearable.
“He hates me. I can never do anything right,” you said one evening while icing your knee. I worried over your body unendingly. A bad injury could ruin your career. It was another of the reasons I despised Sergei for pushing you to the point of enervation.
“He’s too hard on you,” Bruno agreed.
“He has an obsession with you,” I chimed in.
“What?” you asked. Bruno tilted his head, knowing it was me you were responding to.
I remained silent. I did not care to repeat myself, especially on this matter.
You shook your head in disbelief. “Henri says he’s obsessed with me.”
Bruno laughed but I didn’t find it amusing.
“Why do you think that?” you asked.
“He has a collection of videos and photographs of you,” I said plainly, “and he masturbates to them regularly.”
“OH MY GOD!” You jumped up from where you were sitting on your bunk so fast you nearly knocked your head on the structure’s metal frame. “Henri, that’s insane.” Your face flushed, and your arms windmilled in the small space. “Please, tell me you’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not,” I said gravely. I’d hoped Sergei’s obsession would pass, but like my own condition, it only seemed to grow stronger with time. Sergei had clipped several films taken from your class and solo work and combined them into a video where you were featured almost exclusively. From the frequency with which he played it, it seemed to be his favorite reel.
