Dancing Lessons Read Free Page B

he realized he was looking at an early picture of this building. The studio must have added a wing sometime in the past few decades, probably when the town had become more than a hidden vacation spot for beatniks and the rich.
    He moved on to study a framed magazine spread with several ballerinas in it, one of whom was identified as Elisabet Winters. Her tightly bound hair looked dark, and her features were vaguely Slavic, which made her appear like a fierce model. In the picture, she seemed slender and tall, but he was willing to bet she was his height or shorter. Next to her, with her arm at her waist, was another dancer, with lighter hair and softer features. Teodora Winters had a slightly thicker body than her sister. The small stub article next to the picture mentioned their family legacy of dancing and talked about their grandparents.
    He walked down the aisle until he found a picture of these grandparents, a professionally made display of black-and-white photos, drawings, and newsprint articles about an American dancer who married a Russian immigrant.
    There were some amazing photographs of that Russian dancer in the sort of fabulous beaded costumes Chico associated with black-and-white movies. The costumes couldn’t possibly be as heavy as they looked if someone had to dance in them, but Chico nearly smudged the glass as he traced a finger over the costumes in an attempt to determine their construction.
    Ballet costumes had changed over the years. Chico turned to a new wall to study the varieties of tutus and skirts, and the sheer, revealing tights barely containing all the male strength on display. When that made him uncomfortably aware of his body all over again, he made himself look at more innocent things.
    The Winterses had posted pictures of their students who had gone on to professional acclaim, as well as awards they’d won. Chico had expected that, if the studio was as prestigious as he was beginning to think it was. But the Winterses weren’t only proud of the ballet classes. The tap students had photos up too—glossy pictures of smiling children holding ribbons or trophies. There were no professional write-ups of tap dancers, although he noticed a few stray ribbons for ballroom dancing contests. But they weren’t the focus.
    It was almost as if the Winterses loved dance and wanted others, especially children, to love it too, and didn’t have any snobbery about it. Chico had thought ballet would be all scary instructors shouting at exhausted, underfed children, with everything very serious.
    But the Winters children themselves had their own section too, and the first thing he saw was a candid photo of Elisabet, when she was very young, standing on a grown man’s feet as he danced. That was probably her father, and she was giggling up at him.
    An older brother choreographed dance scenes for Hollywood. Chico read all about his attempted revival of serious dance and his longing for the days when many more actors studied dancing. But it was the other brother’s picture that made him stop and forget everything he’d just read.
    His dance teacher was Rafael Winters.
    Rafael was posed by himself on a stage, costumed in a fitted jacket and tights that stopped Chico’s heart with how much they revealed. He didn’t know what exactly went on underneath those tights to both hide and emphasize everything, but it took effort for him to drag his gaze back to Rafael’s face. Rafael had to be much younger in the picture, but it was definitely him. According to the write-up from the local paper, he’d won more than a few competitions as a young man, but he had retired from professional dance only a few years after that picture was taken, choosing instead to stay and teach at his parents’ dance studio.
    Did that make him the family failure? Chico had recently become acquainted with that role. After years of being the queer cousin, after Davi of course, he could definitively say being the family sad story felt far