Private Lessons

WEEK SEVEN – DEALING WITH DISASTERS

Working with Dawn was a hoot. We both enjoyed working on the duet from GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES and fell into an easy camaraderie. When we weren’t singing our hearts out, we were divulging in coffee and gossip.

Apparently, Dawn had known Mr. C long before he started teaching this Master Class. In fact, she had been in the chorus of one of his more famous Broadway shows. She was an older woman, possibly in her late thirties or early forties, but I could believe that she was a dancer. She had the build for it, that bitch, I thought enviously. With Italian dark looks and short hair, she was quite attractive in a mysterious way.

Without hesitation, I tried to pump her for information all about how she knew him and what he was like outside of the classroom.

Dawn laughed over her latte at Starbucks.

“I confess, I really don’t know what his personal life is like,” she said. “Whenever he was at work, he was completely dedicated to the task at hand. And he is just as brutal on himself when he is acting as he is on us in class. There was one time, after my divorce when...”

Her voice faltered.

I knew that I was stepping on painful territory.

“You don’t have to go on just for me,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“...No, it’s just that he was very nice to me. Very supportive. At a time when I needed it. I’ll never forget that.”

To know that there was a human being behind that singing and acting machine was a comfort. I guess knowing that Mr. C had a heart made me a little less frightened of him. And I was getting more nervous by the day at the prospect of “doing lunch” with him.

At that moment, my cell phone rang.

“Excuse me, better get this...” I said, hoping that it was a casting call since only people in the industry had this number. Only people in the industry...and Billy, I noted with distress.

“Nothing important,” I shrugged.

Happily, I returned to Dawn and her stories. Billy would just have to learn to take no for an answer. I was a different person now.

-----------------------------------------

“Very good, girls,” Mr. C said wanly after our number. “Next time, let’s try something with a little substance, shall we?”

Dawn and I were both disappointed as we thought that we would like it. Oh, well, on to Plan B. The duet from WEST SIDE STORY. The “I Have A Love” number.

“Oh, and Maggie?” Mr. C asked. “Would you take this to the Admissions Office for me?”

“Sure.”

It was a blue audit card. On the back of it was a scrawled message.

“Meet me after class at the back entrance.”

I nodded, trying to be subtle. Of course, he couldn’t just waltz around town with his student all over New York without a care in the world. He was still Mr. C after all! He probably just wanted us to have some privacy while we snuck away in a taxi.

At least, that’s what I assumed he meant by the “back entrance”. Naughty thoughts of anal sex crossed my mind. The thought terrified and repulsed me that he might want to do that. He was already into kink, so why not that? And I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t like it. But on the other hand, I never thought I would get so turned on by being spanked and whipped. So what did I know? There are some men that you want so badly that you would do anything, try anything, if they asked you to. And I knew that Mr. C was one of those men for me.

For the rest of the class, I was wondering where we would do lunch. Where does a person like him eat lunch? Sardi’s? 21? Nah, those were all tourist traps now. He would undoubtedly go to some real hot swank spot that you hear about in gossip columns, one of those places where you couldn’t even get in the door unless you were Somebody.

When class was over, I visited the ladies’ room and fixed myself up a bit. I had worn an elegant burgundy sweater with a respectable black knit skirt. I had no idea what to expect, so I decided to go conservative. I even pulled back my hair for the occasion. And I looked pretty good, I had to admit. Even my stomach was starting to finally firm up a little bit.

Then I went out through the main hallway of the school, past the Green Room, towards the back entrance. I had never been back there before. The view wasn’t much. It was just a plain side street where I had hoped his car would be waiting. But there was no car. So why were we meeting here I wondered, shivering in the cold. Snow had fallen early this year. I occupied myself kicking at the snow with my boot, nervously waiting for his arrival.

“Hi.”

Mr. C was bundled up in a black trench coat with scarf and gloves on.

“Hi,” I said with a warm smile. It was ironic that even though I knew what he sounded like when he came, I was still not sure if I should call him by his first name or ‘Sir” or “Teacher” or what.

Apparently, Mr. C was nervous too because he wasn’t looking at me and seemed very quiet.

“So where are we going to have lunch?” I asked eagerly, hoping to break the ice.

He looked pained at my question. Jeez, did I fuck up already?

“But if you’re not up to it, we can postpone it, that’s cool...” I babbled, suddenly afraid. Very afraid.

A long silence.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he said simply.

“Doing what?” I asked stupidly, hoping that I was just misunderstanding him.

“Meeting this way.”

Of course, it was inevitable. After all, he probably had a whole harem of women just waiting for him to call them up. Of course, he was already tired of me. Why would he want an inexperienced hick from Texas who gave bad blow jobs when he could have movie stars, models, anyone he wanted...?

Oh, yes, I expected this to happen.

What I did not expect was the pain in my chest like I had been punched in the gut. I did not expect the wild frantic scream that was fighting to rise from my throat. Call me the best actress in the world, but somehow I managed to stay cool.

“But what about...lunch?”

Mr. C closed his eyes in torment. He looked like what he was, a man horribly guilt ridden by the prospect of ripping my heart out. He could have been playing one of his romantic roles on stage,

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said apologetically. “I had led you to expect...more than I can give you. And I’m sorry about that. There are lots of things that I shouldn’t have done.”

I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry. It was a litany in my brain.

“With me?”

“Yes.”

I was swallowing hard.

“I’m sorry, Maggie. But I am really not ready for a relationship.”

“Hey, I’m cool with that,” I said, nodding. “Neither am I. You know, I’ve got auditions to go to, acting jobs to take...no time for romance.”

“That’s not what I saw in the hallway last week.”

Oh. So that was what this was about!

“Look,” I said, trying not to laugh in relief. “That guy. He was an old boyfriend of mine. He was trying to start something up again, but there’s no way. He means nothing to me now, less than nothing. I have no idea why he’s bothering me...”

“Who you see is none of my business.”

“But I’m not seeing him!” I argued desperately.

“I took advantage of you, Maggie,” he continued, not listening to me. “In the most horrible way. You were a student of mine and you looked up to me and I...”

“I still look up to you,” I protested. “You’ve taught me so much. Just because we...”

“Please let me finish!”

Abruptly, I shut up.

“I suppose I really have no business teaching. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. I’m just an actor who got some lucky breaks. And...when I watched you in class, you reminded me of me. Back when I was young. The way you would look at me. From that very first day, I found you so cute...and...”

Cute. Could any other word be such an omen of doom?

“...I guess I got a bit carried away...”

I winced at the memory of clutching on to the desk as he whipped me with his belt. And when I thought of how I had posed like a stripper for him on the stool, I felt worse than pathetic.

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

There was a horrible long silence between us.

“You’re so young, Maggie. All intense and optimistic and full of life. That boy you were with...he’s the sort you should be with. Someone who has something to give you.”

Yeah, right, I thought bitterly. Like what, besides heartburn?

“I don’t have any problem with your being older. In fact, I kind of like it.”

It was true. I had always fantasized about being with an older man. Maybe because my dad abandoned the family when I was only eight years old. I don’t know the psychology of it. But there was something comforting about being with an older man.

“Trust me, dear, I’m no Romeo, no matter what roles I play...”

“Look, sure, I know you’re no saint. Neither am I. I mean...”

“I’ve done some reprehensible things in my time,” he continued. “I wasn’t that much older than you when I sold my soul to the devil just to get some good roles on the stage. I sacrificed my home and family just to get ahead. I have an ex-wife who hates my guts, two daughters that won’t speak to me. And now that I am no longer considered as young and handsome as I used to be, now that I am not longer the flavor of the month, so to speak, I have been lowered to the point of passing myself off as a teacher and taking advantage of my students. I am no better than a scam artist selling fake watches on the street. But you’ve taught the teacher something, Maggie. I guess I have a conscience after all.”

I couldn’t look at him. If I did, I would crack into a million pieces. I just stared at a used cigarette butt in a drift of dirty snow at the foot of the steps. And I really really wished that he had never discovered that he had a conscience.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged.

“No, it’s not.”

Don’t make me do this, you bastard! I thought frantically. It’s bad enough that you’re saying these things. Don’t rub in my pain.

“I hope you will stay in the class. I think you’ve got a great deal of talent and potential.”

The thought of the next four weeks facing me made me feel sick. But I was a professional. I could tough it out.

“Sure.”

I was proud of myself. Perhaps this was the first time I had ever gone through a breakup and had not started to bawl like a baby. But then again...was this really a breakup? Had we ever started? At any rate, I had not cried. I just felt numb. Someone could have kicked the shit out of me and I wouldn’t have felt a thing.

“Well, I guess I’d better go,” he said.

“Okay.”

“Are you going to be...?”

“Yes,” I interrupted him, just wishing he would go. For the first time ever, I wanted Mr. C out of my sight. I didn’t want to see that sexy face or hear that deep voice. I just wanted him to walk away while I was still numb.

I walked up the side street to the #9 train. Pulling out my Arthur Miller play, I looked at the words but they were all garbled up somehow. They weren’t registering in my brain.

Walking up the four flights of stairs, I entered the Chelsea Dump, glad that my roommate was not in. I pulled off my boots, took off my coat and laid down on my bed.

And then the dams broke with a vengeance...