A small afterparty was held at Mr. Dannon's mansion-size house on the edge of their town, with everyone but Teri's parents who had to get up early for their respective jobs the next morning. Champagne and appetizers were liberally consumed in a lavish living room made for entertaining; they all spoke of the bright future Teri had ahead of her, as well as Carlie who would be able to forge her own success with a bit more training and experience.
Dannon made a toast, to the future of young, talented dancers.
"And to a wonderful dance to come...tonight," Camille toasted loudly, as the benefactors and Mrs. Cantor realized that their hired instructor had prepared a departing dance presentation for everyone before she was slated to leave. Camille had left the room to get ready while the younger dancers moved the furniture, prepping the room. The lights were dimmed to half brightness by the time Camille returned, wrapped in a familiar white robe.
"I know white to many is the color of resignation, of no longer willing to fight," she spoke theatrically. "And I know some would believe that I deserve to don this, and only this color. However..." Just as Teri had in her dance, on cue with the bellydancer music used on the first day, Camille spread her arms wide open and fast, showing off not only an American flag behind her, but her own custom-made 4th of July belly-dancing outfit. A blue bra with one strap, white, glittery stars, a red and white-stripped wrap tied at her waist, reaching down to her ankles. Her exposed midriff, painted and decorated with glittery fireworks all across her stomach, and a bald eagle piercing on her bellybutton. Three sparklers were lit in her hand as she posed perfectly like the Statue of Liberty.
"I am America, and America doesn't surrender," Camille finally spoke after a short while, garnering applause for the showmanship thus far.
"America is about freedom, the freedom to choose, to be oneself, always interested in having you free yourself." The phrasing seemed strange to all but two figures who came in behind Camille's form, dressed in American colors, but looking more like subordinates. Each bellydancer held a sparkler, and they danced in unison together, the dimmed overhead or sparkler not bright enough to put emphasis on their dreamy smiles, produced from their minds left gently yet endlessly spinning.
Carlie remembered walking in one day on Camille instructing Teri to spin. She found it fascinating as Camille explained the use it had for her style of learning. She was eager to try it, and Carlie found herself in nearly the same topspin of an induction that Teri had, the only difference being it opened her up to more of an inquiry.
"As you listen and spin so well, you can follow my voice from every direction it comes to you. You obviously have experience in belly-dancing in order to help your friend Teri progress so far, meaning you've spent so much time dancing and spinning yourself, meaning you've been in this place before, where the world just sort of goes away and you're left to let your mind dance and spin its way to a state of receptiveness, where you can be aware of things around you, but only to dance your way around them, guided only by the most prevalent of voices, like mine. I know what it is like to spin like this, I know how you are feeling, I know that the more you do it, the more you listen, the more you'll want to listen, and answer any questions I might have for you, because it's so easy to do so, and I can help you, as you help me, first by telling me about yourself, and how long you and Teri have been friends..."
Carlie's first trance was light, as were the questioned asked by Camille. The somewhat unorthodox teaching methods never seemed to bother Carlie; Teri's new teacher was so friendly and pretty, so unlike Mrs. Cantor, that opening herself up to the query raised no red flags. After a few more sessions of spinning, Carlie was literally an open book to Camille, who liked what she read in her. The part of her mind that wasn't concentrating on their synchronized dance thought back to those moments, and how good it felt to be dancing next to Camille then. The three dancers soon began to break off into their own styles, letting the music dictate their bodies path. The sparklers waved across their bodies, used like magic wands to draw the benefactors attention, and even Mrs. Cantor.
"America helps those who want to be free, to free themselves. And for those who resist, we say that you should surrender yourself."
Mrs. Cantor's eyes widened at the asinine suggestion, not because it was asinine, but because hearing those words took her mind back to a point, weeks ago when she found her dislike for Camille had reached a boiling point. Kicked out of her own studio, shuffled away from teaching her prize student in her latest competition by this unknown outsider, proved to be too much. It didn't help that Camille was a racial minority, and also suspected of being homosexual. After a lesson one day when Teri had already left, words were exchanged between the teachers, some of which involved derogatory words that did more than irk Camille. It didn't matter that she was half right about Camille since she was bisexual, it was insulting enough to think that Camille was supposed to be attracted to Mrs. Cantor, let alone how being attracted to the same sex was an insult. At that point, considered walking away from the whole circumstance, or slapping the taste of out of the older dancer's mouth. However, the triad directed at the Lebanese dancer ended with calling her a "witch." Camille could've belly-laughed at how of after everything she was called, she didn't have the gumption to call her what she really wanted. Backing up a few paces and spreading her arms out, a beat started playing in Camille's head that she moved purposefully to.
"Watch me dance, Mrs. Cantor. See exactly why I was chosen over you to teach Teri this style." Her words were coarse, but she kept her tone measured, letting the older woman watch and fall into the trap slowly springing onto her mind. "It's a very unique style, so unlike the ones you're used to, so sensual and provocative. It's no wonder Teri picked this style; it is meant to be eye-catching, attention-arresting, enthralling to the senses with that music you can imagine I'm dancing to, perhaps the smell of incense that comes with dances like these, the feel of your skin flushing as you watch the dance undulate, your eyes overwhelmed by which limb to follow as it moves whichever way it wants to enflame which part of your brain that wants whichever motion of my hips to make you feel which leg gets heavier or which arm feels leadened. Does determining which matter when the words you hear slip into you while the dance captivates you as if I was a witch casting a spell? That would make so much sense, wouldn't it?"
Watching her toned hips and exposed midriff undulate like Wilma's never could or never tried to put her at a loss. The way her loss of composure produced a need to dance, and desire to speak about the dance she was already doing didn't make sense, nor did it make sense to the more conservative dancer how good she made it look. Wilma Cantor could tell as she followed the pretty jewel in Camille's belly-button from left to right, in small and larger circles, that Camille absolutely loved to dance this way. It never occurred to Wilma unconsciously that she began to love it too.
