Flashbacks
Minnie was twelve.
Mom had let her bring the juice out to the patio where Julian was waiting. As she did so, she tripped over a loose brick, and the pitcher and glasses went tumbling despite her usual good balance.
She stood there holding the tray. She'd spilled it. She'd spilled it all. She'd let Julian down. She was clumsy and worthless and ... Minnie burst into tears. "I'm sorry."
And Julian was immediately standing, hand on her shoulder, giving her a handkerchief. "It's just juice," he said. He reached to scoop up the dishes, making the tray hover a little as he set them down on it again. He squeezed her hand. "We'll get some more." And they did. Minnie smiled.
Minnie was twelve.
She was finally,
finally allowed to go en pointe, even if she'd felt she was physically and mentally ready long before. She had new shoes and everything -- Julian was so nice. Mom and the staff and Mr. H all agreed she was great. Julian said she was fantastic. Her feet hurt. It was wonderful.
Minnie was 17.
She was dancing for Julian. Stripping, in fact, eagerly asking "May I, please?" before each article of clothing came off. As she pressed and spread herself against the wall, writhing with desire, she reminded him that she was legal now. That she'd gone to the doctor. That she trusted him. That she
needed him. Presenting her naked body, she begged to have him inside her. And soon she did. Right there, against the wall. It was amazing. A little bit of pain, if she was forced to admit it, but mostly the satisfaction of finally being entirely
his.
Minnie was 17.
She was on her knees before Julian. "Remember, the object of the game is to keep your focus and keep your control," she said as she nuzzled against him before beginning. Minnie chuckled slightly around him at the sound of the metal rattling on the shelves, and redoubled her efforts when he managed to stop it. It was fun!
Minnie was 20.
It had only been a little more than a month, but she missed Julian dreadfully. She stared out from the chorus line on a little Berlin stage, where she'd quickly been moved to the center because putting the most talented dancer on the end threw off the line. As it was, she was constantly asked to rein it in a little so as not to eclipse the main act, so she did. It was tough, not dancing her absolute best; she thought of Julian and his diets, his learning to hold back .... Minnie tried to get her head back in the game. She noted the audience. She spotted the colors that stood out. Two mutants. She memorized their appearances -- at least the ones they were using right now -- ready to recite later as assigned. If she could get names, or a look at their IDs, after the show, she would. Just like the last night and the night before.
Minnie was 20.
She'd been shown how to seal her picture into the blank passports. She had learned to forge a good enough cover identity to get a job working with numbered bank accounts in Zurich. And when she found one of the bank's customers, who'd been involved in very minor machinations against a
certain American entertainment company, she lured him somewhere private, beat him senseless, and received a critique on her technique afterward.
