Miranda's Lessons Read online

  Miranda wondered if her bottom still bore the red blush and the eight stripes. Certainly it must take a day or two for the cuts to disappear. Although they didn’t look as if they had broken the skin, they raised nasty welts on that tender posterior.

  Miss Reault gave Miranda a side long glance. She registered a moment’s shock, no doubt wondering if Miranda had heard the row and the ensuing punishment. Yet the dancer’s instant of curiosity didn’t stop her from exiting the studio as quickly as she could. Not missing a stride, she opened the door and hastily left.

  Then, as Miranda watched the dancer fly down the outside steps, she heard Mario enter the room.

  “Miss d’Angelo?” his voice called her out of her stupor.

  Miranda quickly turned back staring at him, slowly feeling a blush rise on her cheeks. Mario looked surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He stood just a few feet from her, having come into the foyer through a side door.

  Miranda’s heart pounded furiously at the very thought that he didn’t expect her. “Sir?” she questioned him carefully. “I have an audition.”

  “Ah, ah yes you do.” Mario looked distracted, then returned to the desk and thumbed through a datebook. “Yes, that audition is tomorrow at two.”

  “Tomorrow? But, I know it was today,” Miranda asserted, as her mind quickly recalled the phone call three weeks before when the date had been set. She was not wrong, though she was not about to argue with him. “I’m sorry Mr. Diego, I must have been mistaken, I thought my audition was today.”

  “It’s a reasonable mistake. Tomorrow will do fine,” he said. He walked forward, graciously extending his hand to her; and Miranda rose to her feet. He gazed directly into her eyes, as his face broadened into a devilishly charming smile. It was so disarming, Miranda could not think of one intelligent thing to say. “Two o’clock?” he repeated

  “Yes, certainly,” Miranda stammered.

  He opened the door for her like a gentlemanly host, his engaging aura seemed to follow her on her way. The entire last hour was apparently far from his thoughts; there was not one hint that he knew she’d seen the entire punishment scene with Cassandra Reault.

  “Ah, Miss d’Angelo,” he interrupted her retreat. He was standing at the top of the front steps looking down at her.

  “Yes?” Miranda turned back and looked up at him.

  “Tomorrow, your plies? I expect exquisite line from you,” he told her. There was gleam in his dark eyes that made Miranda shudder.

  “Yes sir,” she said nodding to him, and with nothing else to say, she scampered off, feeling as awkward as a new babe.

  Miranda hurried down the street to catch the bus two blocks away. Her mind was so full of thoughts that she couldn’t separate her fearful imaginings from reality. Without really thinking, she made a mad dash to Julia Adams’ apartment, knocking loudly on her door.

  “Come in,” she heard her friend call to her.

  Once inside, Miranda discovered Julia in her workshop. “You didn’t tell me about canes and paddlings and leather spanking things!” Miranda blurted out without saying “hello”.

  “What!” Julia turned from her work at a potter’s wheel, shocked to see her distraught friend.

  “Mario?” Miranda reminded her. “Mario what?” Julia asked.

  “What do you mean Mario what! I go to my audition today only to find him spanking the living daylights out of Cassie Reault’s rear end!”

  “Oh!” Julia said, with a thoughtful faraway look, as if the was bringing the scene to mind.

  “Well?” Miranda demanded an explanation.

  “‘A firm hand,’ he’s always said,” Julia said lightly, as if Miranda’s tale didn’t faze her.

  “Don’t be vague with me Julia Adams! Is this Mario’s regular practice? Because if it is, I’m NOT going to have anything to do with him.”

  “Did you audition?” Julia asked her calmly.

  “Answer my question,” Miranda demanded.

  “The way you’re going on, maybe you need a spanking,” Julia suggested with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  “Julia, tell me, is this what I can expect if I work with the man?”

  “It’s not uncommon with Mario,” Julia admitted. “But Cassie Reault is really headstrong. I told you, you have the right temperament for Mario Diego.”

  “Did he ever spank you?” Miranda asked.

  Julia nodded.

  Miranda stormed about the room stunned even more than before, the reality of the afternoon’s discoveries finally sinking in.

  “How? Why?” she asked, turning back to her friend.

  “How and why did he spank me?” Julia clarified. She stared at Miranda, eyeing the dancer cautiously. How much should she tell her? It was difficult to know just what to say. She cleared her throat and began. “It was several times, three, maybe four? Not a lot, really.”

  “But why?” Miranda asked.

  “I don’t really know, I guess you could say it clears the air,” she replied.

  “Clears the air?” Miranda repeated, doubtfully.

  “Mario’s a passionate man, dancing a passionate experience with him. In the course of time, tensions build between teacher and pupil, and this is Mario’s way of handling the situation. It cleans the slate with him. If you could see Cassie’s next session, Mario will be a prince. And … I’d be willing to bet that Cassandra will dance like a swan.”

  Miranda looked at her friend, not sure what to think. Julia spoke so calmly of something so completely outrageous, that it almost sounded a perfectly natural thing to do.

  “Did you have your pants down too?” she asked, almost too embarrassed to say it; but she had to know.

  “Yes, twice,” Julia conceded.

  “And with the cane?”

  “Once.” She looked a bit sheepish. “I was having a terrible time with my jumps, no matter what I did they stunk! It was so odd, I was making mistakes as if I’d just begun to dance. Mario was a saint for about two weeks. He was incredibly patient, but his patience wore thin. And then he was agitated, and I was crabby and we ended up in quite a row. I exploded, and … so did he.” There was a pleasant nostalgia to Julia’s retelling of the event. “I remember his eyes flashing the way they do, and I knew I was in trouble. But my dancing only got worse. And then, he just stopped me, grabbed my wrist and drug me to the bar, where he made me bend over. I couldn’t believe it, he was walloping my rear end with his hand as if I were a little kid.”

  “His hand?” Miranda questioned.

  “Yeah, he’s a powerful spanker.”

  “No cane?”

  “Oh, that came later that day, after the first paddling. When he was finished, I pleaded with him to let me try my dance again. He didn’t want me to. He was planning to send me home to ‘think’ about whether I really had it in me to be a dancer. That comment stung so hard I just had to try once more. He told me I had one chance; but if I wasn’t any better, he’d use a cane on my rear. ‘I don’t have time to waste with you,’ he said. God the man’s so fierce.” The recollection was proving to be a cherished memory by the look on Julia’s face. “I was so nervous and pentup I couldn’t do anything right. I was worse than before. So, living up to his promise, he had me at the bar again, bending over. This time though, he made me take my dancing shorts down to my knees. My ass end was naked and waving in the breeze. Damn! he was ruthless, the way the cane cut into my poor butt.”

  Miranda was as mesmerized by Julia’s story as she was watching Cassandra Reault get her punishment that afternoon. There was something altogether strange going on inside her, though she didn’t have the ability to figure out exactly what it was.

  “Does he do this with all his students?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. We never talk about it amongst ourselves. At least I never did. It’s a rather private matter. I’m only telling you because I’m afraid you’re going off halfcocked thinking of not working with Mario. That would be the stupidest
thing you’ve ever done.”

  “I don’t now,” Miranda replied cautiously. She was still so taken aback by everything she didn’t know what to do. “If you knew in advance what might happen, would you have gone ahead with him?”

  Julia chuckled to herself. “I’d have done anything to have advanced my dancing career,” she asserted, “besides I didn’t believe then that I would ever warrant such treatment.”

  “I wish I could feel so sure of myself,” Miranda mused.

  “You didn’t audition today, did you?” Julia guessed.

  “No, apparently he didn’t have the time of my audition down on the right day. It’s tomorrow. I know I got it right, but he said otherwise. I was hardly going to argue, especially after what I’d just seen.”

  “Then you’ll go back tomorrow and dance your heart out,” Julia told her. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” Miranda said, her mind abuzz.

  “No. No thinking at all, there’s only one thing to do, and that’s go.” Julia smiled kindly, though she was adamant. “If you don’t, IT likely spank your butt myself,” she warned.

  Miranda lightened at the very idea of the diminutive Julia taking her over her knee and spanking her butt. Yet, Julia’s vow did little to ease Miranda’s fears.

  “C’mon, let’s get some pizza,” Julia suggested, changing her tone.

  “You know I don’t eat pizza,” Miranda said.

  “You will tonight,” her friend replied, and she rose from the potter’s wheel and began to wash her hands in the kitchen sink.

  As the two struck out toward a local pizza parlor, the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. The warm afternoon light, and the good conversation seemed to ease some of Miranda’s immediate anxiety, at least for the moment. Something about Julia’s confident manner reassured the younger dancer, at least long enough to forget Mario Diego for a few hours.

  Later, in the restaurant, the two last slices of pizza lay on the greasy cardboard plate, inviting the two women to nibble the peppers and mushrooms now and again, as they let the rest of the pizza go to waste. The food had been soothing for Miranda, as she again considered her quandary over the audition that was to take place the following day.

  “You know, Julia?” she mused. “It was strange today when I left.”

  “Strange how?” Julia asked, only mildly interested in renewing a conversation about Mario Diego.

  “He said some thing just as I was leaving. In fact I was out the door and on the street and he followed me out.” Julia’s curiosity was aroused a little more, as she stared across the pile of napkins and the halffull glasses of diet Coke. “He told me that he expected ‘exquisite line’ when I dance tomorrow.”

  “What’s so odd about that?”

  “Well, it was the exact term that he used with Cassandra, today.”

  “So?”

  “I think he knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That I watched.”

  “Really?”

  Miranda nodded her head. “Yeah, I think he knew.”

  “And what do you think that means?” Julia asked curiously.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m beginning to wonder, things don’t seem to quite add up, unless Mario wanted me to see his session with Cassandra.”

  “He set you up?”

  “Yeah, I think he did.”

  “My,” Julia pondered, “I wonder why?”

  For Miranda it all made sense thinking of the incident that way. Mario Diego wanted her to witness the punishment, as a warning, perhaps, as a test. Whatever the motive, she was certain that there was no miscue on dates. The timing was deliberate, and the man was purposeful in his plans. Her supposition didn’t make much sense; and now with that too on her mind, she had much to think about and an important decision to make before morning.

  “Don’t be foolish Miranda,” Julia cautioned her. “You’ll regret it, if you don’t go.”

  “We’ll see,” Miranda answered, “we’ll see.” It was all she could say. It wasn’t just the spanking, there was something more, something that she couldn’t quite identify, that both drew her to Mario Diego and repelled her at the same time.

  It would take some time to make up her mind, but even as she left Julia at her door and walked toward home, she knew what her decision would be. She just needed to admit it to herself.

  Chapter Two

  Miss D’Angelo, I see you have your days straight this time,” Mario Diego observed, with a twinkle in his bright brown eyes.

  “Indeed I do!” Miranda thought to herself. She stood in the foyer of Mario’s dance studio biting her tongue to keep from disputing with the man on the spot. As far as she was concerned she had her days right all along! The mixup had been Mario Diego’s! She’d arrived for her scheduled audition the day before, only to have Mario, tell her after she had witnessed a harrowing scene between Mario and another student that she was a day early. She knew he was wrong.

  But as much as Miranda wanted to set him straight, she knew she had to forget the matter and get on with the dancing. She was in no position to argue with a man who held her life in the balance.

  Unfortunately, it would have been a lot easier to forget the day before, if it hadn’t been punctuated by the most awesome sight that Miranda had ever seen. Watching Cassandra Reault bending over for a hearty paddling, followed by eight nasty cuts on her bare rear end was like nothing she’d ever witnessed. She’d heard all the stories about the flamboyant dance instructor, but she never would have believed it, if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

  To return the following day for the audition, took every bit of courage she had. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her friend Julia, she might not have gone at all.

  “You are going, aren’t you?” Julia had asked her that morning on the phone. She’d called her bright and early just to make sure.

  “Well…,” Miranda hesitated.

  “C’mon, you have to,” Julia encouraged her.

  “Well, yes,” she finally relinquished. Saying it was committing herself. She’d waffled all night, but in the end she had to con sider her career first. Studying under Mario’s direction meant a lead in the City Ballet, and a host of other dooropening opportunities. “But,” she continued emphatically, “I’m not going to let him spank my ass!”

  Julia was silent on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m not,” Miranda vowed, “and I mean it!”

  “Well, that’s not the important thing right now,” ! Julia said. “What’s important is that you show up.”

  “Not important? It certainly is!”

  “Just.go!” Julia insisted, totally exasperatedwith her friend.

  Standing in Mario’s studio once again, Miranda trembled with anticipation, looking at the charming dance instructor. It was hard to believe that anyone so seemingly charismatic, could be so terribly cruel. But, she just had to put all thoughts of the day before out of her head, and go on as if she knew nothing of bare bottoms, paddles, canes and punishment.

  Mario led Miranda into the practice room, through the same French doors from which she’d watched Cassandra’s spanking. Each step was cautious until she reached the practice floor, where there was a comfortable familiarity about the expansive room. It was just like many dance and recital halls: the wood floor, the bar, the mirrors. She was at home.

  “So, Miss d’Angelo, tell me, what does your dancing mean to you?” Mario asked, as he leaned casually against the music table with his arms crossed in front of him. His gaze was so constant, his attention to her body so complete, that it was unnerving. She was suddenly aware of him not simply as a dance instructor, but as a man as well. It was hardly what she needed to be thinking about a moment before the most important dance of her life. But she could not help but notice his handsome Southern European looks and his very sensuous allure.

  Miranda was flustered by the question; she was not particularly adept at extemporaneous answers t
o such thoughtprovoking questions. She looked at Mario, for an instant getting lost in his eyes. Her stomach was doing a thousand flipflops a second, and it seemed that there was something stuck in her throat. “Well, I uh…, it’s my life,” she finally managed to blurt out. It sounded so silly when she said it, but he waited for her to go on. “I’ve always danced, I can’t remember when I didn’t, even when I was little, like two years old, I would twirl around to Swan Lake. My mom thought it was cute.” Now she was off in a tangent that she thought was really stupid, but Mario didn’t appear to mind as he listened to her thoughtfully. “I’ve been dancing ever since.” Did he want more explanation, she worried to herself, but he rescued her with his next remark.

  “I’m not surprised by your answers, it’s much like that with many of my students,” he remarked. “Now let’s see you dance.” He sounded so kind, and she was so caught up in the moment that she visibly jumped at his instruction.

  “Oh yes,” she replied nervously. She fished through her bag which was still hanging over her arm, and found a cassette tape. “My music,” she said, as she handed him a tape. He smiled at her kindly and put the tape in his machine.

  Once the strains of Mozart began, he leaned against the table again with an air of casual indifference, waiting for her to start. His arms were crossed, his gaze immutable.

  She was poised and ready, letting the first several bars of music play so they’d get inside her body, knowing if she could remain, filled with inspiration, she would forget everything else and dance perfectly.

  She began slowly, and there was one hasty bauble, but she quickly corrected the problem, and then for several minutes, she was grace in perfect form. When she did her jumps, she thought she was floating through the air. Her landings were flawless, and she kept that “perfect” line that seemed so important to him. She knew this was a premiere performance, just a few minutes more and she’d have her place in his dance company locked up.