This girl would be a wonderful bio chemist one day. Her grades were already better than some of his longer tenured students. Her dancing progressed well, even though the teacher that he chose for his students was a bit harsh. She had gotten every one of his students to dance with a passion and sultriness that any ballet would be proud of. Of course, professional ballet might have paid better than the strip clubs that some of his students continued to work at, but then they wouldn’t be able to go to school and become the professionals that he wanted them to be.
As he bent down to grab a bottle opener from the shelf under the bar he said nonchalantly, “Jessica? Can you tell me again what a fucking bitch your dance teacher is?”
The girl audibly grunted. He stopped for a moment at the comedic sound of the girl’s consternation. He looked at her steadily as he poured his wine out of the corner of his eye, “Jessica? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Instructor I heard you.” She answered.
“Then why haven’t you answered me? Tell me what a fucking bitch your dance teacher is.”
The girl visibly fumbled with her tongue as she tried to answer him. It looked like she was trying to form the words that her instructor had just said but was unable to. Kenneth allowed himself to laugh at her discomfort.
Jessica didn’t look at her instructor as he was laughing. She was still trying to untangle her mouth and force herself to answer her instructor’s question.
“Never mind, Jessica” Kenneth said shaking his head and picking his glass up from the bar. “You have pleased me and in doing so I commend your progress.” This got a huge smile from the girl. “Now go to your room and get ready for your dance lesson tonight.” Jessica curtsied deeply to her teacher. Kenneth nodded his approval at her. Jessica then picked up her bag and turned up the stairs to her room.
Kenneth had one last deep chuckle at his student. This one did have a very keen mind. She was progressing well in her areas of study; her body however left something deeply to be desired. She might always be too skinny; of course there were ways around that. The second student that he trained, Allison, was even now deep in her third year of private practice plastic surgery. He could always send Jessica to her and get a full body overhaul. But then that might be too much too soon. His students needed to live what he taught them. They needed to work for what they got, he just gave them a little nudge out of the door, and sometimes a full-on shove in their backside. However, when all his efforts had failed his ideal vision, then there was always the scientific alternative. He had made use of it once, but detested that it spoke of something beyond his control.
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He crossed over to the French double doors on the other side of the sitting room. The sun had lowered beneath the rim of the world and the predator had let loose his death colors out into the encroaching night sky. He always took some time to savor this time of night. His colleagues and those that would call themselves his masters would be just rising to meet the new night.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He thumbed through his list and chose one of his better students. He pressed the call button. The voice on the other line was unmistakably masculine but with a hint of refinement and restraint, “Yes, Instructor?”
Kenneth smiled at the proper response, “Michael, we have an appointment that I don’t mean to be late for.”
There was a moment of silence from the other end, “Yes, Instructor. I’m on my way now. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Without any further acknowledgment he ended the call. Michael was one of his students who had embraced his teachings, heart, body, and soul from very early on. His studies at school went from a 72 average to an 88 average almost overnight. He put on twenty pounds of muscle in the gym in his first six months and that was after he lost an initial fifteen pounds of fat and flab from his mid section.
Kenneth didn’t send his male students to dance school but they did go to gymnastics and martial arts classes. They were immersed in the true high arts of using liccasapuni, Sicilian dueling knives and learning the lesser eastern fighting arts of Kung Fu, Chinese boxing, Muay Tai, and Kenpo. No, his male students were not trained to be looked at; they were fighters to be feared, trained to protect him, and kill for him.
Draining his glass he returned it to the bar. He walked across the foyer to his study. The deep brown oak of his heavy writing desk sat atop the same crimson rugs that covered the rest of the house. The trim was in gold with dizzying Geometrico classico designs weaving their way around the edge of the thick rug.
His desk was neat and orderly. The single, double head lamp was both functional but also gave the desk that certain amount of panache that one would expect from such a dominating piece of furniture. Indeed, the desk took up over a third of the room. The dark wood gleamed in the lamp light; its highly polished surface was like a mirror. The two chairs that sat facing it were of a type like the one in his sitting room, not nearly as rich as his personal chair but they shared a similar look. The comfort level of the two chairs were on par with his and their silent vigil over the desk itself gave the room a feeling of comfort but also business. And it was for that purpose that he was about.
He rounded the massive desk and pulled out his set of keys. The precaution was a mild one. Sometimes he would prefer to just leave the drawers unlocked. Still, it was better to put at least a small wall in front of would-be prying eyes. His students and servants were completely loyal to him, but old habits die hard.
He unlocked his top drawer and pulled it open. The soft clean scraping of wood on wood was heard by him, but no else could have detected the infinitesimally small noise. He reached into the drawer and pulled out two thick packets of documents, and laid them out before him on the table.