by Jean Kwok
Nina was doing her usual stretches in front of the mirror but skipped over to me as soon as she noticed me. “Charlie, take a look at this!”
She grabbed my arm and dragged me back to the reception area, where the clipboard was. I peered at the poster hanging there. I saw a photo of a smiling older man in a Latin suit and it read, “The Paul Rosenthal Dance Scholarship. A check of $15,000 shall be awarded to the best Pro-Am couple in American Rhythm/International Latin. The talent of both dancers, the professional and the amateur, shall be judged.”
At this I stopped and stared into Nina’s eyes. Each person would then receive seventy-five hundred dollars.
“Keep reading,” she said.
I looked at the poster again. “Two couples, each made up of a professional woman and an amateur man, may compete from each Avery Studio in New York City. The couples shall perform a show number based upon one of the rhythm/Latin dances. The team of five judges, to be chosen and headed by esteemed adjudicator Julian Edwards, will be looking beyond technical ability. Rather, they will be searching for the qualities that Paul embodied in his life: enthusiasm, passion and authenticity.”
“I wish I had a shot at this,” Nina said, rolling herself up and down on her toes. “I had this wonderful guy but he moved back to Sweden last year. I don’t have anyone really good right at the moment. My competition students now are all kind of stiff and scared to be on the floor. But I’m going to do my best to convince someone to do this with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This is a private scholarship, which means they can set up the rules however they like. I called my friend at the West Side studio and heard it’s being funded by the guy’s daughter. He’s just passed away. It looks like the daughter’s trying to re-create what he used to do: Latin dances, with a professional woman. This prize is a huge deal. It’s so much more money than a normal competition and every Avery Studio in New York is going to want to participate for the honor of it.”
“So who’s going to represent our studio?”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “I’d put my money on Simone. If her Keith wants to do it, and I’m sure he will, the studio will support him.”
I knew from my scheduling days that Keith came in three times a week for two lessons each time. “What about Katerina?” She had many competition students.
“She’s not a Latin dancer and none of her students compete seriously in those dances. If it were international standard, she’d smoke it but it’s not.”
“So it’ll be between you and Simone. I really hope you win.”
“I’d kill to get this.”
—
The only classes I taught in that month of December were the beginner classes. I noticed when Evelyn and Trevor had lessons with Nina. Ryan didn’t appear, though. I couldn’t believe I was getting paid when I was hardly making any money for the studio.
“They’re investing in you,” Irene said. “My boy always knew how to do business.”
I liked sitting in the receptionist’s area with her when my feet hurt too much for me to take another step. Thank goodness Nina had taught me how to tape my feet. Even so, they were so sensitive and sore by the end of the evening that I changed back into my old dishwasher shoes when I left the studio. Now I understood why no one wore even the slightest heel when they changed to go home. Everyone put on the most comfortable shoes they could find.
Irene seemed to fit into the studio as if she’d always been there. She was like a mom to all of us, especially now that Adrienne had left the studio until after the baby was born. As it neared Christmas, the studio was decked out in Christmas trimmings and all of the music started to have holiday overtones.
Irene made mistakes behind the desk as well. Once, I heard Simone complaining to her about another booking mistake on her agenda and Irene said, “Too bad for you, honey. Suck it up.”
But I also saw the other dancers pouring their hearts out to her.
“My parents want to meet my girlfriend,” Mateo said. “They’re pressuring me to bring a date for home for Christmas. I don’t know what to do. I just barely got through Thanksgiving alive.”
“Don’t hide who you are. They are your parents, they will love you no matter what.”
“You don’t know the culture I grew up in.”
“You’re a professional ballroom dancer. Believe me, they already suspect.”
“Some of the guys aren’t gay.”
“But they don’t know that. They probably think all of the male dancers are gay. How did you get away with this for so long?”
“I convince random women to go home with me.”
Nina said, “Oh, thanks a lot. Now I’m a random woman.”
“You did a great job, Nina. So good that they kept pressuring me to marry you. That’s why I had to tell them our relationship was over.”
Irene said, “You’ve been pulling the wool over your parents’ eyes. It’s awful to lie to them. Just tell them.”
This made me think about my own Pa, and how I was lying to him every day. He had no idea I was working at a dance studio, let alone that I was now a dancer. How long could I keep up the charade?
—
“We need to do something about your hair,” Nina said, craning her neck to read the menu on the wall of the pizzeria. “You have a good face”—by now I was getting used to everyone at the studio commenting on every part of me—“but the hair is a disaster. Whoever cuts it, and I do not want to know who that is, you must never let them do it again. Is that clear?”
I rolled my eyes. Nina, Mateo and I were in line, waiting for her and Mateo to order. I’d started going out to lunch with them, even though I always brought my own food. They must have known that I couldn’t afford to eat out but they never commented. That morning, Nina had looked exhausted. I understood she’d had a rough night with Sammy. Even so, I saw the guys behind the counter checking her out. She didn’t notice.
Nina continued, “I know someone who might be able to help you. Her name’s Willow and she cuts for Jarrett.”
Mateo whistled. “Takes months to get an appointment there, and the cuts are like five hundred dollars.”
“Are you serious?” It’d never occurred to me that a haircut could possibly cost so much.
Nina said, “Four hundred and fifty dollars for a cut by Jarrett himself. Willow’s second-level staff, so her haircuts are a hundred and fifteen dollars, not including tip.”
“I can’t pay that,” I said.
“You don’t have to. Willow’s a friend of mine. We met at a party in the East Village. We have a trade set up where she cuts my hair and I teach her a Latin class. She’s crazy about it. She’s been wanting more lessons than my hair can handle. Also, I’m just so wrecked from Sammy, I don’t have the time or energy. You’d be perfect.”
“So, you mean I’d teach her in exchange for a haircut? But her cuts are so expensive.”
“And a lesson with you is worth a hundred and twenty dollars. So it works out, see?”
I hadn’t realized I was that expensive too. I wished I could tell Pa. He would have been so tickled. “Is there really any difference between a twenty-dollar haircut and one that’s a hundred and twenty?”
Nina raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely. After Willow cuts your hair, it never curls the wrong way. No pieces stick up in the back. The cut will look very simple but it’s perfect, and it’ll do exactly what you need it to do. I’ll tell her about you. She’ll be excited.”
“And you know,” Mateo said, “I’ll do your makeup after we get back to the studio.”
—
In the crowded teachers’ room, Mateo set me in front of the mirror and started to chuckle. “I’ve never seen a woman put on makeup like you. You just throw it onto your face with your eyes squeezed shut. Then you go out and everyone’s like, ‘Oh, what a lovely g
irl.’”
“They don’t say that,” I said.
He patted my cheek. “You’re different, Charlie. Now, let the expert take care of you, honey.”
“What would you know about makeup?”
“Everything.”
I shut up. Mateo flipped through my makeup bag. It was a collection of cosmetics other people had discarded and given to me, plus a few pieces of makeup I’d bought after I started at the studio. “This is all wrong for you. You’ve got makeup for elderly ladies. No, old ladies wouldn’t wear this stuff. You’re buying senior citizen rejects.”
“Thanks.”
“I need some tools here,” he called out. “Who can help me?”
Nina brought over a makeup case. It was beautiful, with all kinds of colors and pretty brushes. “I got this from my mom for Christmas.”
“Some of this will work for her eyes,” Mateo said, tapping his full lips with a finger, “but I need cooler lipsticks and powders. Katerina, cough it up.”
“Okay.” Katerina rummaged in her locker and came over with her bright pink makeup bag. Simone was sniffing her nasal inhaler as she often did and pointedly ignored us.
Everyone watched my transformation while Mateo made me up with a plum liquid eyeliner, which I’d never used before. He put on much more makeup than I was used to. Lipstick, blush. He feathered eye shadow up to my eyebrows. I kept blinking when he tried to put mascara on me, so in the end he gave up and let me do that part myself.
“You don’t need any foundation,” he said. “Your skin’s perfect.”
I was surprised by how dramatic the liquid eyeliner made my eyes. He’d emphasized their slanted shape, pulling the line up toward my temples. I paid close attention to everything he did.
“It doesn’t have to be expensive,” he said, “but you need the right colors. Go ahead and get the cheap stuff but no more of those neutrals for you. You need brighter colors, more blue-based. Your coloring can take a lot of drama.”
Pa would explode if he ever saw me like this.
“I don’t look cheap?” I asked.
Mateo looked shocked then laughed. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, ruffling my hair.
I examined my face in the mirror. I still looked like myself, but more so. My eyes leapt out, my cheekbones seemed more pronounced. Instead of looking pale, the way I usually did, I appeared vibrant. I wasn’t used to wearing such bright colors, but I had to say it was an improvement.
“You have to blend. It can be bright, but no harsh lines on your face,” Katerina said. “On the stage, you’ll need even more. But for studio, this is good.”
—
I bought some inexpensive cosmetics in the colors Mateo had shown me as soon as I could. That weekend, I dragged Lisa into our tiny bathroom and made her up. She was giggling so hard I could barely do her eyes.
“Shh! Pa will hear!” I brushed some powder across her cheek. Lisa had lighter skin than I did but she still had the gold undertone that we all shared in our family. She was such a beautiful girl, with her long lashes and almond-shaped eyes.
Lisa peered at herself in the mirror and gasped. I had overdone it a bit but she didn’t seem to mind. “I want to look like this every day!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, please.”
“Pa will kill me if he sees me wearing this stuff. What would he do to you?”
She drooped. “Oh, I wish he weren’t so old-fashioned sometimes.”
To cheer her up, I said, “Hey, the Broadway show jar is getting fuller. When we go, we’ll get all dressed up and I’ll do your makeup.”
Lisa’s eyes shone. “Even Pa couldn’t object to cosmetics for a Broadway show.”
—
Willow, the hairstylist, wanted me to come to her apartment in the East Village that Sunday. She was also an artist, and there were large canvases of collages and paintings all over her tiny studio apartment. Many involved tight clusters of newspaper headlines and handwritten phrases. “Buddha Cat!” one said, and stuck all around it were even smaller clippings that said, “Meow!” There were three meows, all in different typefaces, and then the fourth, as a surprise, said, “Vomit in the cafeteria of this nation.” I’d never seen anything like this. In Uncle’s house, he had traditional Chinese paintings. Most of the art I’d seen before had been soothing and meant to blend in.
Willow was African-American and taller than I was. She was extremely muscular, so much so that I asked if she also danced. She looked very different from the girls I’d grown up with in Chinatown. I wondered if Mo Li or Zan would like her. She was independent too, practicing her art here in her studio, living on her own.
“I hate to exercise,” she said. “I’m just naturally wiry, always have been. Hairy, too.” She pulled up her loose leggings to show me the thick stubble on her unshaven legs. Wow. The hair on my legs was so fine, I didn’t even need to shave. “But I love to dance. The problem is that Nina’s so busy, and her hair’s long, so she doesn’t need to get it cut that much. But now you’re here!”
Willow touched my hair, rubbing a few strands between her fingers. “Actually, I like what you’ve got. It’s so free. What do you want to do with it?”
“I don’t actually know. I’m hopeless with this kind of thing.”
“Hang on.” Willow grabbed her cell phone and dialed. When it was ringing, she put it on speaker. I realized she’d called Nina. “Hey, girl.”
“What’s up?” Nina said. A small child was shrieking so loudly so that I could barely make out Nina’s voice.
“I’m here with your friend,” Willow said. “Only she’s not sure what she needs.”
“Oh, so glad you called before she does something dumb to it. She’s either got to keep it quite short or long enough that she can tuck it up in a French twist.”
“What?” I said.
“That you, Charlie?” Nina said. “Listen, you can’t have your hair flying into your eyes or whacking your partner when you dance. It’s either got to be short enough to stay out of the way, or long enough to be put up. You guys decide. Actually, Willow, maybe you should choose.” The child’s voice grew louder, wailing something about a Popsicle. “Listen, I gotta go, but good luck, okay?” Nina hung up.
Willow tilted her head to the side. “I think those Bettie Page–type bangs would look great on your face. Then a layered inverted bob, to accent your cheekbones here, longer in the front than in the back. It’ll bring out your eyes.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “We’ll even out your hair, and take out much of the volume. We’ll make sure it retains its movement, but won’t get into your eyes.” I felt like she’d just figured out my entire life for me.
Wearing a vinyl cape around my shoulders, I sat on a wooden stool in her kitchen and she got to work. When she was done, my hair looked like it had been chiseled out of stone, falling in a clean sweep against the line of my cheeks.
“As it grows longer, we’ll keep trimming it until we get the shape we want,” Willow said. “You have very dramatic eyes and this will really highlight them.”
I’d never known these things about myself. My eyes now did seem much larger. I hadn’t realized how much the blob of hair on my head had affected my appearance. After we were done with my haircut, I taught Willow for an hour. She blasted the music and we grooved to some mambo, merengue and cha-cha.
It wasn’t until the next morning, after I shampooed my hair, that I fully realized how good she was. It was just like Nina had said. I’d never been able to control my hair, but now it fell into place after I washed it. I hardly needed to style it. If only the rest of my life were as simple to fix.
Eleven
That morning, Lisa waved a letter at me and Pa. “I got my Hunter test ticket!”
“That’s great. Make sure you don’t lose it,” I said.
&nbs
p; “I know. There was some problem with Fabrizio’s record and now maybe he won’t be allowed to take the test.”
Pa said, “Ah. Maybe he is being punished for something he did wrong. Bad acts always rebound on the doer.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew Pa thought his petty-spirits ritual had reversed some kind of curse the boy had put on Lisa. “He’s Italian. I don’t think he knows about that kind of thing.”
Lisa said, “What are you guys talking about?”
Pa and I both said, “Nothing.”
Lisa was examining my hair. “You look different, Charlie.”
I couldn’t help raising a hand to my new haircut. “Do you like it?”
Lisa nodded emphatically, while Pa said, “It is so flat. You look like a coconut.”
“Pa!” It was hard to feel pretty in this family.
He said, “Maybe you could have the hairdresser perm it for you or something. It wouldn’t be so plain then.”
“I like it simple,” I said. “Some people think it brings out my features.”
“Oh?” he said. “Like Winston?”
Now I groaned while Lisa giggled.
—
Everyone gaped at me when I walked into the studio with my new haircut and my makeup done as Mateo had shown me. Julian was back and I saw his head turn as I went by. Viktor gave a long whistle before he was cut off by Katerina playfully tackling him.
“You go, girl,” Nina said. “Willow’s amazing, isn’t she?”
Then Dominic came up to me the way he did every Monday. “However, lovely as you are, you spent the whole weekend walking like this!” he said, hunching his arms over like an ape.
“I did not!” I had tried to remember but I did forget sometimes.
“You did. People lie. The body does not lie,” he said, glaring at me. His heavy fingers pinched my shoulders back. “I can see it in the slope of your shoulders. Keep them straight.” As he was talking, he pushed in the center of my back and rolled down my collarbones.
I was used to this by now because Dominic was always correcting my body. It obviously offended him whenever it wasn’t properly aligned.