Free The Angel & the Brown-eyed Boy by Sandy Nathan Page B

you can walk in here and create chaos? Insanity?” Her eyes bulged and spittle flew from her mouth.
    “You’re here because of me! You would have remained in Russia performing like a puppet. I set everything up for you. You’ll be famous! The world will open for you. I’m giving Richard to you—he’s waiting for you now. The Golden Boy—for you. You and I could be famous. But you are not a good dancer until you know the order of the class. Until you can execute steps to my cue, on command. You must learn to obey, or we will be lost.” With silent fury, she swung the crop across the girl’s buttocks, swinging once, and again and again.
    The girl looked at her with surprise.
    “That didn’t hurt you? How about this?” Madeleine swung with all her strength.
    The girl looked at her, astonished, and then fell to the floor. All her muscles let go and she was down, on the floor, limbs pointing in every direction. Madeleine swung the crop a few more times.
    Sometimes they threw themselves down when she disciplined them, but not so soon. Not like that, such a total collapse. Madeleine dropped to her knees and spoke to her. “Come now, Olga. Don’t be so sensitive. Can’t we have a little falling-out?”
    The girl lay there, unmoving. Her skin, normally so pale that it appeared to be lavender in its shadows, was turning a waxy white. It was the color of a white candle, with light leaking through the edges.
    She put her hand under the girl’s nostrils. Nothing. Felt her pulse. None. She stood up, clasping her hands to her chest. She took a wild look around the room, noting the door at the other end. But there was no exit from that corridor.
    Outside in the hallway, the girls clustered, listening to the sound of the crop striking flesh.
    Melanie was the first to begin crying. Bridgette was next, and then all of them stood in the hallway, clutching each other and sobbing.
    A security man heard the noise and came over. “What’s the matter?”
    “She’s beating the new girl! The door is locked.” Bridgette spoke for them.
    “Code Red,” he said into his walkie-talkie. “I need backup, Code Red. Get the director here, now.”
    It was quiet behind the door when the school director arrived. “She didn’t understand what Madame was saying. The new girl doesn’t speak English very well. She acts like she’s not too...,” Bridgette dropped her head and whispered, “bright. Madame’s got her in there, and she was beating her with her riding crop. She does it to all of us, whenever she wants. She doesn’t stop.”
    “Call 911, we need the police,” the director barked at the security man. “And get that door open.”
    The door opened before they could unlock it. Madame Mercier stood in the opening, face expressionless.
    “Something terrible has happened,” she said. “I killed her.”

11
    G eorge Hempstead no longer had his gray hat. Whether he’d lost it when they apprehended him at the track, or later, he didn’t know. Or care.
    He had placed his last bet—his very last, since he had no more money and no one would give him credit. He’d been standing in the general admission seats, watching the race and hoping for a miracle. Two men, each twice his size, had come up and stood on either side of him.
    “Come with us,” the smaller of the two had said.
    When he’d said, “Wait! Wait! Let me see how the race finishes,” they’d taken him under the arms and he’d found himself moving across the tarmac. “Wait!” He never did get to see if he won or lost. Winning would have meant so much. They didn’t care.
    At first, he thought the guys hauling him off were from bookies or loan sharks. It took him a while to realize that wasn’t so.
    If he’d been smart, he would have paid everyone off the day before when he had the money. He should have taken the rest home to his wife, gone out to dinner, and then sworn off the ponies forever.
    But he wasn’t smart. He thought he’d pay everything off from his