The Way We Dance by Katie Rae

6

Giselle

"Tyson Black is still struggling this preseason. He seems distracted, almost cursed. If you are the Atlanta Jets, you have to be asking yourself if Black is worth his impending contract extension. At this rate, I am not even sure he is worth a spot on the bench this season."

I turned off the sports news and sighed. It was Sunday and while I normally didn't spend my Sundays watching sports, I considered watching videos of Tyson Black to be research.

There were a million different ballet moves and forms that I could teach him but it dawned on me that unless I knew what he was really struggling with, I wouldn't know where to start. There was no way I would keep his attention if I started from the beginning.

As much as I wanted to treat him as though he was a first time ballerina, fresh into a beginners class, it felt somewhat wrong. He was an athlete, after all, not to mention an adult. I knew I could spend this coming week going over basics that he would need to know but then I would be stuck at a crossroads and would need to have a better idea of what type of things we could work on.

Unfortunately, the news didn't give me much. They showed him dropping two balls and the rest was just video of his stupid perfect face while they talked about how awful he was.

I didn't follow sports but I knew Ty wasn’t awful. Mr. Peyton had told me as much. He said something was off, something was getting to him, but that he was one of the best. He was hoping that focusing on something outside of his realm, but also something toward his overall athletic concepts, would help him.

Working with someone like Ty Black really would boost my reputation but he made it abundantly clear that he didn't want anyone knowing he was learning ballet. He was the type that would give poor Sam a hard time for being a man in what is considered a "girl" sport.

Yes, I considered dancing a sport. It was an activity involving physical exertion and skill. It also involved people competing against one another for entertainment. The only difference was, the competition took place behind the scenes and the winners were the ones that got to entertain the viewers. Still, it was a sport.

Despite Ty not wanting to let me put this on my website. Despite the fact that I was kind of using him to not be alone in the studio. Despite the fact that he was incredibly annoying.

Mr. Peyton was offering me enough money to pay the rent on Brisé for half a year and that was an offer I couldn't refuse. I had made some money as a dancer, but it was going to run out.

Brisé did well as far as a steady clientele. But we had yet to do a performance and if I didn't get that arranged for the parents, things would start going downhill.

I made a mental note to call a few theaters first thing Monday morning. There were sure to be a few small theaters with something available for November or December. It would be a quick turn around but I was confident the kids would be able to put on a show for Christmas.

As far as Sunday went, I was done thinking about the studio and Ty. I needed to take a little time for myself and I usually did that by working out in the gym of my building. I was on my feet at the studio every day, but nothing beat the hard sweat of weights and cardio.

The gym was in the basement of the building and was always empty on Sundays. A few people would straggle in and out but for the most part, I knew I would have most of the equipment to myself on Sunday. The isolation added to its appeal for me.

Unfortunately, as I approached the doors, I could hear someone inside very loudly explaining that they weren't going to put up with that shit anymore. I sighed out my frustration but hoped that when I got in there, they would take their conversation elsewhere.

I opened the doors to the state of the art gym and locked in on the person disturbing my normally silent Sunday.

Mr. Peyton.

Shit, that meant not only would I have to deal with other people, but I would have to be on my 'A' game as well. I couldn't let a man that was paying me to help him see any part of me that didn't exude poise. It was how I worked, how I made my living.

It was all I knew how to be.

I pulled my slouched shoulders back and held my chin up and I walked by the treadmill that Mr. Peyton was on. He hadn't noticed me yet, so I took a minute to try and figure him out.

He was a nice enough guy to me, the one time we spoke, but I had seen him on TV and he was always yelling. According to the sports channels, he had a lot to prove because he was a fairly young coach. Despite winning a few Super Bowls since he arrived in Atlanta, everyone gave the credit to the quarterback, Cam Nichols, and no one gave Mr. Peyton his due diligence.

As he continued yelling into the phone, he never missed a beat on his run. You would think he would have trouble yelling while also running but he was doing ok for himself. His light brown hair was slick with sweat, his calves looked cut, his arms were perfect.

I wondered for a minute why he wasn't playing. Or did he? He looked like he was in better shape than some of the guys I saw on TV and if he knew all there was to know, he probably played before.

I had started a small warm up on the elliptical behind him and was lost in thought over his calf muscles when I heard, "Ahem."

I shot my eyes up to his face and flushed a little. Luckily he was too distracted to notice.

"I am so incredibly sorry, but I forgot your name," he started.

"Um, Giselle."

"Shit of course," he said. "Fancy seeing you here, Giselle. Sorry for the yelling, I thought I was alone."

"You were, I just got here. I come in every Sunday. So I should say fancy seeing you here."

"Fair enough," he shrugged as he kept running, taking his gaze back to his screen. "I normally workout at the complex with the players but they are getting on my damn nerves so I had to leave for a bit."

"Are you normally there on Sundays when there are no games?"

"Everyday," he huffed. "This time of year we’re gearing up for the season and every day is something. There are no days off. Speaking of, how is Ty?"

"Have you spoken to him?"

"Of course I have, but he is vague and gives me more headaches than I can stand."

I laughed because in my two days of seeing Ty, he had already given me a few headaches.

"Ah, you too?" Mr. Peyton smiled. "Trust me, he is arrogant, rough, tough, and I bet he hates me so much for putting him in ballet class like he's a five year old. But he is fucking worth it. If I can figure out what is fucking him up, I will be the happiest coach alive."

"Well, I will do my best to help," I gave him a "you're paying me well" smile and shrugged. "I just wish I could see what it is he needs help with. Any insight there?"

"No clue. Honestly no clue. I think it’s in his head. I was hoping ballet would get him out of his head."

"Yes, but it is so much more. He could learn techniques that match his playing style. if I knew what that was. Is there anywhere online that has any good video of him catching and playing?"

Mr. Peyton stopped his run and cocked his head at me. He seemed to be dumbfounded by what I asked and now I was feeling sheepish for even bringing it up. I may not have wanted to spend a lot of time with Ty Black, but he was a job now. I took all my jobs seriously and tried everything I could to excel.

"I can do one better for you," he smiled. "Come to practice with me tomorrow."

My eyes widened and I started to shake my head. Poor Mr. Peyton didn't realize I didn't like being around a lot of people. I would be a ball of nerves and I was 1000% sure Ty would have a coronary if his ballet teacher showed up in his big bad tough guy world.

"Um, that is probably not a good idea," I turned my head from side to side, like it was a good idea, but I had thought of some amazing and understandable reason that it was also awful.

"It’s a great idea. You can stay for an hour and I can have Ty run drills. You can get an idea of his quirks and movements. You are trained in the art of balance and poise. It is why I asked you to do this in the first place. You can probably see things that we can't."

"Mr. Black does not want everyone knowing he is taking ballet."

"Oh trust me, I know all about how much he doesn’t want to tarnish his 'bad boy of the league' reputation with his tutu, but I don't have to tell a soul who you are. A lot of teams have professionals come in and observe. You would be treated as such."

I started to turn the idea over in my mind. It really would help me speed this along. Saying yes to Mr. Peyton was an impulse decision when I was scared, but since I had met Ty, it was better that I take the money and run.

Ty was a force against my resolve and it was only a matter of time before he saw through the frosted glass I built around myself. He drove me nuts and made it hard to stay in character. Character meaning the persona I kept when I was in the studio.

Ty Black was exhausting.

He was a cross between charming and scary. A teddy bear and a snake. Some part of me knew he was a good guy to have around and the other part of me feared the outcome of having him close for too long. Like Mr. Peyton had said, he had a bad boy reputation. It was totally a vibe he exuded, yet, he was in control of when and where it presented itself.

"You know what? I think I will take you up on that. Maybe if I can see something, we can get him corrected quicker."

"Great!" he slapped his hands together and got off the treadmill. "I have your number from the other night. Why don't I send you directions to the complex, you can follow me if you like.”

"Oh, I don't have a car but I can take the train to the stadium."

"Oh we don't workout at the stadium during camp, it's out in Johns Creek."

Shit, that was 30 minutes from the center of town.

"I would offer to give you a ride but I’m there all day and wouldn’t be able to bring you back. How about I send a car for you, then they can bring you back into the city after a few hours. Sound good?"

I nodded. I would accept that. He may have been paying me but this was definitely a favor in his advantage.

"Ok, I’ll make sure someone is out front at 9 am! Thanks Giselle!" He jogged from the room so fast I giggled. It was like he was sure if he stuck around I would change my mind.

* * *

The next morning,I got dressed for the first time in weeks. No tights, no tutus, no workout clothes, no pajamas. I had actual slacks on that were tailored to my small frame. The blouse was tucked in, my hair was down, and I opted for the blazer that matched the pants.

I may have been overdressed for a football practice but I wanted to make sure I looked the part I was asked to fill. A consultant. I wanted to be professional and business-like. I also didn't want to be mistaken for someone that didn't have her shit together.

A sleek black town car drove up to the curb right at nine and a middle aged man in a suit hopped out quickly.

"Are you Miss Giselle?" He asked nicely.

"I am," I smiled and put my hand out for him to shake.

He looked confused at first, but returned my firm handshake before motioning to the car.

"Allow me," he opened the door and I climbed into the soft black interior. I was thankful for the comfortable ride out to Johns Creek. When Mr. Peyton said he was sending a car, he sent the best. It reminded me of how my mother preferred to get around.

I got comfortable and decided to keep my nose out of my phone and on the window. I hadn't had a chance to explore too far outside of the city center so I was kind of excited to see everything that led to the practice complex.

I am not sure what I imagined but even a 30 minute drive didn't take us far from the city. We were still in the thick of traffic when we veered off onto an exit labeled Johns Creek. Maybe I thought there would be land and cows since we were in the heart of the south. Maybe a lake or two?

Don't get me wrong, we were in the suburbs and there was a lot less mania than downtown. The homes were huge, the landscapes were perfect. Even the shopping centers were kept up and pristine. I could see the appeal of why people chose to live here when they worked in the hustle and bustle of the city.

We drove another mile or so before a wide expanse opened up ahead of us. There was a large gate and a fence that surrounded the whole place. The sign said, "Welcome to Johns Creek Training Facility. Home of the Atlanta Jets."

The driver rolled his window down and was waved through without question. He must have done this for the team quite often. He seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

Instead of pulling into a parking spot, or even to the curb, he pulled through another small gate between a large wall. On the other side was a huge grassy field and two goal posts. On the field was the entire Atlanta Jets team stretching in perfect lines every five yards.

I was in awe of everything I saw. It was a cross between a college campus and a military base. It took me a minute to realize the driver had parked and was opening my door, helping me out of the car.

I slid my sunglasses on and threw my bag on my shoulder before letting the driver take my hand and lead me safely off the grassy area he parked on. Which ended up being a blessing because my heels may have been the wrong choice for the grass.

Standing straight and poised, I started to pull my phone out to call Mr. Peyton and let him know I had arrived.

"Miss Giselle?" I heard my name and looked up before hitting send.

"Yes," I said to the young guy with the Jets polo shirt and khakis on.

"I’m Dave, Coach's assistant. He asked me to meet you here and help you out today. Anything you need, I can help you with." He couldn't have been older than 20, which wasn’t much younger than I was. Yet, somehow I felt like a century older than Dave. He was smiling and spry, youthful and energetic.

Those were traits I was capable of but so rarely got to indulge in. I could picture Dave going to college and drinking on the weekends. He probably had a lot of friends and an exciting social life. I didn't see the Dave's of the world much. I only saw ballerina mom's and fellow business associates.

Until Mr. Peyton approached me in the lobby of our building, I hadn't spoken to anyone outside of my professional circle in months. Which, then Mr. Peyton became part of my professional circle, so there was that.

I sighed at myself, tired of being on my game all the time but not knowing any other way to be. Using some of Dave's energy, I mustered a smile and nodded, letting him know that everything he said was fine by me. I was glad I wasn’t going to be left alone.

"Well, Dave. It is nice to meet you," I held out my hand and he shook it. "Lead the way."