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instilled a sense of responsibility in her graduates. They all want to give something back, help fledglings such as yourself."
"Fledge what?" Steven asked Howard, who poked him.
All of us contemplated the empty stage for a moment. This was where we would be judged, where we would either soar or sink. I imagined Rose saw herself dancing up there and Ice saw herself singing.
"Not too shabby." Howard remarked. "How are the acoustics?" Ms. Fairchild looked annoyed by the question.
"I don't think you should have any concerns about that." she replied. "The best theater architect in the world designed this little theater as a special favor for Madame Senetsky."
"I know that." Howard said defensively. "I just wondered."
"Sure," Steven said.
"I did. What do you think, it's some top-secret information? If you bothered reading about the school..."
"Let's continue," Ms. Fairchild snapped.
She took us to a room about half the size of the dance studio. There was a grand piano in it. She said this was where the instrumental lessons would be held and where the vocal lessons would be conducted. Steven went to the piano and tapped out some notes.
"Please," Ms. Fairchild said. "Not now."
"I can't help myself. I'm obsessed." Steven cried.
"Distressed is more like it," Howard muttered.
Ms. Fairchild showed us the large dining room, and then led us toward the kitchen.
Along the way we saw a wall full of framed photographs. She explained that they were all various shots of Madame Senetsky in her prime, each capturing another famous moment on a European stage. Costuming indicated productions from the Greeks through Shakespeare and into more modern plays, but there were also news clippings and reviews explaining the productions as well. When she was younger, she was quite striking. I thought. I was sure I might have seen her in an old movie.
After the display of photographs were a number of trophies, plaques, and citations Madame Senetsky had won. They were encased m glass. Some had been awarded by royalty. We clumped around them, reading as much as we could.
"You can look at all that some other time," Ms. Fairchild said, rushing us along.
We stopped at the kitchen, where a short, elderly woman with her hair under a net was preparing what looked like roast duck. She glanced at us, but kept her attention solidly on her work.
"Mrs. Churchwell is responsible for all the cooking and food preparation here at the Senetsky school," Ms Fairchild explained. Even while she talked about her. Mrs. Churchwell kept her
concentration on her work. She runs the kitchen and has it organized as she needs it to be. No one is to move a cup out of place. All of you, on a rotation basis, will help with kitchen chores, cleanup, and the like. Tonight, your first night here, is the one exception.
"For tonight," she continued. "Madame Senetsky has hired help to conduct the dinner. That is because you will meet all of your teachers at dinner tonight, and Madame Senetsky wants you to give all your attention to them. I will show you where I will be posting messages, the roster, scheduling, and anything else you all need to know. It will be your responsibility to check the board daily." she emphasized.
"Chores?" Howard moaned. "What is this, summer camp or something?'"
"Clothing:" she announced instead of responding, and continued down the hallway to the laundry room. "You all are responsible for your own bedding, clothing, towels, et cetera. Anyone who needs instruction about working the washer and dryer will speak to Mrs. Ivers," she said.
On cue, a tall, thin, dark brunette entered behind us. She wore a short-sleeved white uniform and white, thick-heeled shoes. Her arms, although very slim, looked muscular, veins and arteries well embossed against her skin. Her lower lip looked smaller than her upper and seemed to lie unhinged, showing her bottom teeth.
"The soap powders and softeners are kept in this closet," she instructed, opening a closet door to demonstrate. She stepped