Free The Unloved by John Saul

to Julie: Tammy-Jo Aaronson.
    “I—I guess I could,” she said finally. “I have something my teacher at home choreographed. Do you have the music from
West Side Story?”
    “I do, indeed,” Marguerite replied. She put on a record, and a moment later the opening strains of The Dance at the Gym’ filled the ballroom, the vibrant rhythms strangely out of place in the faded nineteenth century grandeur of the ballroom.
    Then Julie was alone on the floor, once more lost in the music, dancing with her eyes closed, swaying fluidly to the rhythms, her body moving effortlessly. Marguerite watched her niece with undisguised pride, seeing in Julie’s every movement the heritage that had come to Julie direct from her aunt and grandmother. And as she watched, her eyes drifted over the other girls in her class.
    Jennifer Mayhew and Mary-Beth Fletcher were her most promising students, but compared to Julie, it was obvious even to Marguerite’s biased eye that neither of them had any real future as professional dancers. As for the others, Tammy-Jo Aaronson, a slightly overweight girl who never seemed to worry about anything at all, was at least willing to try.
    Allison Carter—blond, and thinly pretty—was really only in the class because of her mother’s social hopes for her daughter. But Allison didn’t really care, either about her mother’s ambitions or Marguerite’s lessons. The fifth girl, Charlene Phillips, was present, Marguerite knew, simply because she was Mary-Beth Fletcher’s best friend and did whatever Mary-Beth did.
    And after this class, there would be no more. Marguerite had decided years ago that this group of girls would be her last. She would enjoy them while she could, and hadn’t thought too much about what she would do when they grew up.
    But it didn’t matter, really, for she had them now, and she loved each of them for what she was. And now, for a while at least, there was Julie. In Julie she could see all the dreams of her youth, still vibrant and alive.
    The music built to a crescendo, and Julie spun across the floor, her legs moving instinctively, her arms a graceful counterpoint. Then it was over, and after a moment she heard Jennifer and Tammy-Jo begin clapping. A moment later the other girls joined in.
    Only Mary-Beth Fletcher sat still, her hands folded in her lap.
    Marguerite rose from her chair and hurried across the floor to hug Julie.
    “It was beautiful,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have done it better myself when I was your age.” Then she turned back to the girls once more, and gestured Julie to take a bow. Julie performed a deep curtsey, then deliberately let herself collapse to the floor in a perfect parody of having lost her footing.
    Mary-Beth Fletcher again refrained from joining in the response as the girls laughed. Instead she leaned over towhisper to her friend, who immediately cut short her own laughter.
    Julie scrambled to her feet and grinned happily at her aunt. “Was I really all right?”
    “Of course you were,” Marguerite replied. “You were more than all right—everything about what you just did shows your talent. Except your eyes. Never close your eyes when you dance, Julie. Remember, you aren’t doing it for yourself. You’re doing it for an audience, and they want to see your eyes.”
    “But I always dance with my eyes closed,” Julie protested. “At least, if it’s a solo. I can feel the music so much better—”
    “But you mustn’t!” Marguerite proclaimed. “You must always be aware of the audience. Always!”
    Slowly, the class resumed, but as Julie danced with the others, she felt her aunt’s eyes on her; indeed, she could even feel the pride her aunt was taking in her, and when the hour was over, she wished she could go on for another hour. Even the heat in the ballroom didn’t seem to affect her anymore.
    But at last Marguerite ended the lesson and the girls began drifting downstairs. As she had earlier, Jennifer Mayhew fell in beside