Pas de Deux
By Icewyche
Author's Note: Pas de deux is a ballet term. Translated from the French, it means "step (or dance) for two". In classical ballet, it is usually the climactic duet for the hero and heroine of the story (i.e., Sleeping Beauty and the Prince), and traditionally involves five parts: the prelude or entrée; the slower, romantic adagio; variations for the male and the female; and the coda, where both dance together. I've always thought this was a good way to describe a courtship, too. As for the other dance terms in the story, see the Terminology section at the end of each chapter, or check your local library.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors. Sunrise does. Don't sue me.
Part One: Prelude
The best stories always begin with, Once upon a time…
"Sage. You busy?"
Sage Date looked up from the sheaf of papers he was poring over, shoving his blonde hair away from his face. "Oh --- hi, Matsuka. I've got your reservations made for the Osaka trip next month. And Mr. Yoyomani called and needs to reschedule his meeting with you --- says he has a 'family emergency', which knowing him probably means he got busted on a DUI again. You'd think the guy would learn to lay off the beer by now, especially when a major gallery wants to show his work."
Matsuka Kazuhara felt her lips twitch at Sage's no doubt accurate appraisal of the beleaguered Geniro Yoyomani. The man was an extremely talented sculptor --- when he was sober, which unfortunately wasn't often. "I have a proposition for you."
Sage raised an eyebrow. "Matsuka-san, I've never thought of you that way, I swear. Besides, wouldn't your husband object?"
"Very funny," Matsuka scolded, but she couldn't help a small tingle of feminine delight. Sage was, after all, an extraordinarily handsome young man. Twenty-three years old, Sage had the golden hair, violet eyes, and fair complexion of his American father combined with the delicate features of his Japanese mother. The result was an exotic look that had women throwing themselves at him --- much to her serious young assistant's dismay, Matsuka thought with amusement. She herself was happily married, but still --- if I were thirty years younger, she thought. "You know the Kazuhara Gallery is one of the major sponsors for the National Ballet Theater's anniversary gala. As part of that, I'm invited to the ballet on Saturday, and the VIP reception afterward, and I can bring a guest. My husband can't make it that night, so I thought you might enjoy going with me."
"Me?"
"Why not? You're my executive assistant, you know how to handle important people, and you enjoy cultural events. I think you would be an excellent representative for the gallery. Besides, think of it as a career move. After all, who knows who you might meet at this gala?"
"And who knows what kind of gossip might start when Matsuka Kazuhara, patroness of the arts, shows up with her assistant as escort?" Sage replied dryly.
Matsuka laughed. "I will be the most envied woman in the room," she said, only half-joking. "Sage, I'm not making a pass at you, I just don't like going to these functions by myself. So why not take someone with me who's well-mannered, can actually appreciate what's going on, and looks damned good in black tie to boot?"
Sage raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said you weren't making a pass at me."
"Sage, I may be an old woman, but I'm not blind," Matsuka told him. "So --- Saturday night at Horoshi Center. The ballet starts at eight, so I'll meet you there around seven."
"And what if I had plans that night?" Sage said, amused by Matsuka's full-speed-ahead efficiency.
Matsuka gave him a piercing look. "And do you?"
"Well…no," Sage admitted sheepishly.
"All right, then. Dress is formal, and don't be late. Now, when did Mr. Yoyomani say he could meet with me?"
~~~~
"So what exactly are we going to be seeing?" Sage asked on Saturday night as he met Matsuka outside Horoshi Center.
"The National Ballet Theater is performing Don Quixote. They're one of the top ballet companies in Japan. I hear the lead ballerina is quite good," Matsuka replied. They walked into the theater lobby and a uniformed usher handed them both programs.
Sage flipped idly through the glossy booklet. "Let's see…says here the female lead is being danced by somebody named Carey Navarro. Well, I think it's safe to say she's an imported talent."
Matsuka turned to the dancer biographies. "It says she was born and raised in Miami, Florida, studied with the Miami Civic Ballet and the New York City Ballet. She moved here a year ago, has a B.A. in Dance, and was promoted to principal dancer just this past summer." She studied the accompanying photo. "She's quite a pretty girl."
Sage turned to the page Matsuka indicated. The small black-and-white headshot showed a young woman of about Sage's age with dark hair and a winsome smile. In fact, Sage decided as he studied the photo, she looked as if she were secretly amused about something. He didn't know why, but he liked that.
The ballet began a few minutes after eight, and Sage found himself greatly enjoying it. The plot bore almost no resemblance to the Cervantes novel, centering more on a pair of lovers trying to outwit the girl's father, but it was lighthearted, funny, and charming. The dancers were indeed excellent and drew a great deal of applause, especially the two leads, Toshiro Hamada and Carey Navarro as the young lovers Basil and Kitri.
Sage found his eyes especially drawn to Carey Navarro. She displayed a speed, lightness, and agility far beyond anything he'd ever seen. Her leaps defied gravity, her turns were dazzling, and she could hold a balance on pointe forever. But more than that, Sage decided, she danced with a spirit and a fire that lit up the stage whenever she was on it. She enjoys her work, he thought. No, more than that --- she loves it. He was actually disappointed when the curtain finally fell and the ballet was over.
Matsuka looked like a little girl who had just been to the zoo. "That was spectacular," she bubbled as they made their way to the exit. "Those two lead dancers were absolutely wonderful. You know, I've been thinking --- what about doing an exhibit of ballet costumes? We might need something to replace the Yoyomani exhibit. Maybe we could even get those two dancers to model for the catalog shots."
Sage laughed. "One step at a time, Matsuka. We might meet them at the reception, so maybe you can broach the subject then. Yoyomani's not a complete loss, is he?"
Matsuka snorted in annoyance. "Not yet, but I really get tired of waiting for him to sober up enough to demonstrate his genius. And besides, we've done sculpture before. But textile art --- that's always different." She smiled. "This gala really was a good idea."
The reception was at a nearby hotel. Sage lost track of all the people he was introduced to --- lawyers, doctors, and business tycoons, accompanied by their glossy, brittle wives or their giggling, empty-headed "companions". The men nodded to him politely and went back to talking business. The women eyed him as if he were a particularly tempting dessert, and one even came on to him rather blatantly, even though her husband was across the room. A DJ played various popular songs, and the constant rush of chatter left him feeling somewhat overwhelmed. Suddenly he had a strange yearning to be home, in the quiet sanctuary of his apartment, away from the gossip and deal-making and superficial politeness. He stood by the window nursing a mineral water and wondered how soon he could make his excuses to Matsuka.
A stir of excitement from the dance floor caught his attention. The crowd of people moved back and Sage saw a couple in the middle of the floor, dancing expertly to a Latin song. Both were dark-haired and slender, the man in a tuxedo, the woman in a clingy black-and-red dress that showed off long, beautifully shaped legs. He recognized them as the lead dancers from the ballet.
They moved around the floor with a sequence of quick footwork, then the man whirled his partner out and back like a human yo-yo. She swiveled around him with a distinctly come-hither attitude. They moved apart, then together, back and forth in a dance that was equally a seduction and a battle of the sexes. It was, Sage thought, sexy but not vulgar. Then the woman spun and plunged into a backward freefall. The man caught her easily, her back parallel to the floor. The music ended and they grinned at each other as the crowd applauded. For just a brief moment, the young woman looked up; her eyes met Sage's and he felt an odd shiver of recognition. Then another song came on and Sage lost sight of her as the crowd moved back onto the floor.
"Well," Matsuka said beside him. "That was certainly impressive."
"You know them?"
"I was introduced to them earlier --- I think you were trapped by Dr. Hashimoto's wife. They're the two that danced earlier tonight, Navarro and Hamada." Matsuka smiled absently at him and bustled over to chat animatedly with someone Sage vaguely recognized as a local politician, leaving Sage standing alone by the huge French windows.
He glanced out the opened window. The ballroom opened onto a small, softly lit courtyard filled with plants, a little fountain at its center. Suddenly the ballroom seemed stifling and overcrowded, and Sage felt he would scream if he didn't get out. He looked for Matsuka, but she was still talking to Minister Whoever, and Sage took advantage of the distraction to slip out one of the open doors. He sat down on one of the little stone benches and took a deep breath of the night air.
"Are you okay?"
Startled, Sage looked up. A young woman stood in front of him, the woman he had seen dancing earlier. He forced a polite smile. "Yeah, I'm all right. I just needed some air."
"It does get kind of overwhelming in there, doesn't it?" the woman said sympathetically. She sat down beside him and extended a slender hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm Carey Navarro, with the National Ballet Theater."
"Sage Date, Kazuhara Gallery," Sage replied as he shook her hand. "I enjoyed your performance tonight."
"The one at the theater or the one in there?" Carey asked with a mischievous smile. She was very pretty in person, Sage noted, with delicate features and golden eyes that gave her the look of some exotic feline.
"Both," he admitted.
Carey laughed, a lush, velvety sound. "Kazuhara Gallery --- I met someone from Kazuhara earlier, the boss from what I could tell. She was going on about textile art and drunken sculptors." She studied Sage curiously, her head tilted to one side. "Let's see --- you're too young to be her husband, and you can't possibly be her son, not with that hair."
Sage found himself smiling at her candor. "Actually, I'm her executive assistant. Her husband had a business trip to go on, so I got drafted into escort duty."
"You poor thing," Carey empathized. "Personally, I can think of other things I'd rather be doing right now, but I'm NBT's newest star, so I have to show up and make nice to a bunch of people who probably can't even remember my name without a program." She sighed.
"If it's any consolation to you, I really enjoyed watching you dance tonight," Sage told her. "In fact, that was the best part of the whole evening. Those balances of yours in Act Three were unbelievable, and I don't know how you managed that series of turns at the end. Was it my imagination, or did you really do single, double, triple?"
"No, it wasn't, and yes, I did. That fouetté sequence is one of my signature moves. Brings the house down every time." Carey looked at him for a moment. "You really don't belong here," she said finally. "Neither of us do."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Look at them in there." Carey gestured toward the ballroom. "Those people don't really care about ballet or sculpture or textile art. They're here to make deals, to hit on other peoples' spouses, to show off how well-off they are. One guy bragged about the huge contribution he made to NBT's scholarship fund but admitted in the next breath that he doesn't really like ballet --- it just looks good on his tax return. Another woman told me --- and anyone else who would listen --- that her dress alone cost ten thousand dollars. Apparently she had it made just for her in Beverly Hills. I didn't stick around to hear about the accessories." Carey sighed and shook her head. "This benefit is just another schmoozefest to them. But you…you're different. Do you know that you're the first person I've talked to who's actually noticed what I danced rather than just noticing that I danced? You actually watched the ballet."
Sage felt a rush of sympathy for her. "It bothers you, doesn't it? To put your heart and soul into your work like you do…and then people just pat you on the head and say 'Very nice, dear' and not even care."
Carey looked at him in surprise, her eyes a deep amber in the dimness, and Sage was hit with that odd feeling of connection again. "You noticed that?"
"I noticed." I've been there, Sage thought. There was silence between them for a heartbeat or so but it was an easy, comfortable silence, not the awkward hesitation of two strangers stumbling over small talk. Sage felt strangely at ease with this girl, as if he'd known her for years, and he wondered why. "If you don't mind my asking," he said finally, "why did you follow me out here? You and I hadn't even met until now, and I'm sure you would have had to escape the throng of people who wanted to meet NBT's new star attraction."
Carey lowered her eyes and chuckled ruefully. "This is going to sound like I'm hitting on you or something, but I've watched you all night. And the blonde hair notwithstanding, you just didn't look like you belonged with this crowd. Oh, you smiled and made polite small talk so nobody noticed, but I saw how trapped you looked --- especially when Dr. Hashimoto's wife was showing off the results of her, ah, enhancement surgery," she added with an impish smile. "Do women always act like that around you?"
Sage grimaced. "It's like being back in high school. Some days I couldn't even walk down the hall without being mobbed. Do you think they'd leave me alone if I dyed my hair?" he asked wistfully.
"Don't you dare. Besides, I don't think it would work for long. There's just something about you that --- I don't know," Carey shrugged. "Maybe it's just that you're so easy to talk to. You certainly got me talking more than I should."
"Likewise," Sage admitted, surprised at how easily the words came out. "Do you know I haven't told anyone about my high school girl problems? At least not anybody I haven't known since then. You know, I think you're right. We don't belong here --- we have minds."
"Don't let your boss hear you say that," Carey warned playfully.
"I won't tell if you won't."
Carey smiled at him and that velvet chuckle escaped her again. Music filtered from the ballroom. "Would you like to dance?" she asked.
Sage blinked. "Oh, I --- uh, I can't," he stammered. "I --- I'm not nearly as good as you are."
"Neither are they," Carey said, indicating the partygoers.
"No, I mean, I can't. I…don't know how to dance," Sage muttered, his face reddening with embarrassment.
Carey stared at him for a moment. "I can teach you," she said.
"What?"
"I can teach you," Carey repeated.
Sage felt his face heat even more. "Not here, I hope. I'm seriously rhythm-impaired. Besides, I don't think my boss would like it if I wound up taking dance lessons when I'm supposed to be 'representing the gallery'."
"You have a point." Carey thought for a moment. "Are you free Wednesday night?"
"I --- yeah, I think so."
"Good. Then why don't you meet me at the NBT studios --- say, seven o'clock? If that's not a good time I can change it," she added apologetically.
"No --- no, seven is fine," Sage agreed, feeling rather bemused. "You're serious, aren't you? You really intend to try and teach me to dance."
"Not try. I will teach you."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but why?"
Carey shrugged. "Because you have class. Because you appreciate my work. Because you let me rant at you and didn't run away screaming. But mainly because I like you." She gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. "Wednesday at seven, then?"
Sage nodded dazedly. Carey gave him one last heart-melting smile, then turned and headed back into the ballroom. Sage stared after her, feeling as if he'd just survived a tornado. What have I gotten myself into? he wondered --- and then wondered why Wednesday night suddenly seemed a long way away.
~~~~
When Sage walked into the dance studio on Wednesday night, Carey was stretching, one leg propped on the barre. "I hope I'm not too early," he said.
"No, you're fine," Carey reassured him. "I just like to keep my muscles loose. My left hamstring has been a little cranky today, and I didn't want it to tighten up on me." She swung her leg down in one fluid motion and walked toward him. "So --- shall we dance?"
"You know, if you're tired or don't really feel up to it, that's okay," Sage apologized, a little too quickly. "I mean, you're taking your own time to do this, and if you'd rather be resting --- "
"Oh, no, you don't," Carey laughed, and Sage noticed how casually pretty she looked in black jazz pants, high-heeled shoes, and a snug T-shirt that read "New York City Ballet". "I'm not about to let you chicken out on me. Fear is not an option."
"That's failure, Carey."
"That's not an option, either. Now come on, we'll start with the basic step. Stand here beside me, shoulders down, head up, back straight." Sage did as she instructed, and she nodded approvingly. "The basic salsa step has three parts. First, step forward on your right foot, weight on your right. That's count one. Next, shift your weight back to your left foot, but keep your right in front. That's count two. Bring your feet back together on count three, and pause on count four. Then you reverse the sequence --- back on your left, shift right, together and hold. Let's try it. Ready? And --- forward, shift, together, hold; back, shift, together, hold…."
They practiced the step for a while, Sage awkwardly imitating Carey's more graceful moves. He felt like a gorilla mimicking a gazelle. "Is it just me, or am I totally mangling this step?" he asked in frustration.
Carey smiled. "Well, it might be a little easier if you bend your knees."
"Knees. Right."
"Keep your knees soft and your lower body relaxed. That's what makes this dance so fluid. Make the weight shift more of a rocking motion by staying on the ball of your working foot rather than just leaning back and forth. For now, at least, your upper body should be still. All the movement should happen from the waist down. Okay, let's try it again. One, two …"
It took a few more tries, but Carey finally nodded in approval. "Good, I think you've got the general idea. Now ---" She swung to face him. "Let's try partnering."
"Partnering?" Sage stammered. "But --- I mean --- I'm not very good at this yet."
"Salsa dancing --- or any other form of social dancing for that matter --- is not done solo," Carey told him. "At its best, it's a sort of courtship ritual between a man and a woman --- or a stylized battle of the sexes, depending on who you ask. Now, then. The basic step is done in waltz, or closed, position. Hold my right hand in your left at about chin level. Your right hand goes at the base of my left shoulder blade and my arm rests on top of yours, elbows level. There should be about a foot of distance between us. This is called the frame. You want to keep that frame steady, but not stiff. No spaghetti arms or Frankenstein holds."
Sage looked down at Carey's high-heeled shoes. "I hope those are steel-toed."
"You let me worry about that. Just remember, forward on your right while I go back on my left. Ready…and. One --- ow!"
"Sorry," Sage muttered, red-faced.
Carey shook out the foot he had stepped on. "It's all right. Just relax, okay? You're doing fine. Let's try it again…but this time, you might want to start on your other right," she suggested gently.
He felt like a total idiot, but by the end of the lesson Sage could at least say he was a better dancer than he had been forty-five minutes ago. "This is harder than it looks," he mused, as they rested on the floor.
Carey smiled at him. "Actually, you've done better than most of my other students. I only had to tell you once to stand up straight, and you do learn fast. Give yourself time."
"You have other students?"
"I teach a salsa class here on Thursdays. Gives me a nice break from battements and fouettés and the like."
"So why didn't you just suggest that I take lessons with the group? Why volunteer to teach me alone?"
Carey shook her dark hair out of its ponytail. "Because I like you and because I wanted to do it this way, and besides, would you rather work one-on-one or with a bunch of strangers staring at you?"
"Good point," Sage conceded.
"I thought so. Don't worry, you're not putting me to any trouble. This is something I'm doing for myself as well as you."
"Having me step on you is your idea of a good time?" Sage asked wryly. "Most women would prefer a bubble bath or a chocolate binge."
"So bourgeois," Carey proclaimed, her golden eyes twinkling. "I'm a dancer. I'm different." They both laughed, and Carey added, "If you must know, I enjoyed talking to you at the reception the other night. I decided that I wanted to talk to you some more, and this seemed like a good way to do it. I get the pleasure of your company, and you learn a valuable social skill. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Sage replied, oddly flattered. "That is, if you don't mind me mashing your toes."
Carey tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "That's what I can't figure out. I've watched you move, Sage, and you're not as clumsy as you seem to think you are. You hold your head up, you have beautiful carriage, and you're actually very graceful --- when you're not trying to dance, that is."
"But get me onto a dance floor and I turn into Godzilla," Sage muttered, embarrassment warring with a strange little glow of pleasure…after all, she had complimented him, sort of.
"I know you said you've never danced before, so where did you learn to move like that?"
Sage shrugged. "Well, I do have some martial-arts training." That's one way of putting it. "Mainly kendo…you know, swordfighting."
Carey considered that for a moment. "Well, then, that's our answer," she said finally. When Sage gave her a puzzled look, she added, "Martial arts requires a great deal of discipline and body awareness, and so does dance. Just think of one as an extension of the other."
"I never thought of dancing as being similar to combat," Sage replied, arching an eyebrow. Carey laughed.
"You've obviously never been to a popular dance club on a Saturday night," she teased him. "Besides, I have some martial-arts experience myself, thanks to my street-cop dad. When it's done right, it really is a lot like dancing."
"You're a ballerina, you salsa-dance, and you've studied martial arts?"
Carey smiled archly. "Sixth-degree black belt in karate. So don't tick me off."
Sage's jaw dropped. "What else do you do?" he asked in astonishment.
"Well, you'll just have to wait until our next lesson to find that out, won't you?" Carey replied with a wink. She rose to her feet and shouldered her dance bag. "I have to get home. I have company class at ten A.M. tomorrow."
"I'll walk you out," Sage offered. They walked through the mostly silent ballet school to Carey's car together, and to Sage it was almost too short a walk. "Carey, it may not seem like it, but I really enjoyed our lesson tonight," he said hesitantly, as they stood by Carey's small black sports car. "Thank you."
Carey smiled warmly at him. "You may not be thanking me once we start on pivot turns and slide chassés," she warned lightly. "Same time next week?"
"I'll be here," Sage promised. Carey slipped her hand into his for a moment. Her clasp was warm and gentle. "Good night, Sage," she said.
"Good night," he replied. He watched her drive away, then headed to his own car, feeling strangely happy. Same time next week, he thought. I'll get to see her again. It was a long time before he stopped smiling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TerminologyFouetté: (fway-TAY) French, meaning "whipped". The technical term is fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, which means "whipped circle of the leg [while] turning". The dancer executes a series of turns while whipping the working (raised) leg around to provide momentum, the foot closing in to the knee of the supporting leg. Can be done with one or more rotations in a single whip. The best-known example of a fouetté sequence is the famous 32 fouettés performed by the Black Swan in Act 3 of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.
Battement(s): (bat-MAWN) French, meaning "beating". A beating action of the extended or bent leg.
Pointe: French, meaning "point". On pointe (or en pointe in French) refers to a female dancer (men dance on demi-pointe, or half-toe) balancing on the tips of her toes. Pointe shoes are the specially blocked and stiffened shoes that make such a feat possible.
Working leg/foot: The leg/foot that is executing a given movement. The leg/foot that carries the weight of the body is called the supporting leg/foot.
Pivot turn: A step in ballroom and social dance. The dancer steps out with the working leg, executes a half-turn on the supporting leg, then repeats the sequence. This will result in a full turn being made.
Slide chassé: Chassé (sha-SAY) is French and means "chased". The dancer moves in any direction with a sliding motion in which one foot appears to be "chasing" the other. Mostly used in social dance, and very popular in Latin dancing. It is this step that gives the cha-cha its name.
Principal dancer: The lead dancer(s) in a ballet company, and can refer to both male and female leads. While the term ballerina is often used to describe a female principal, technically it refers to an outstanding female dancer who has achieved international recognition in her field.
Source: Technical Manual and Dictionary of Classical Ballet, by Gail Grant.
