by Taras Ford
“Is everything ok?” Sydney asked Nolen.
“Yes, everything is fine.”
The limo pulled up in front of the studio, and Nolen's gaze turned to her. “Show time.” She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
The driver opened the door and Nolen got out, extending his hand.
Sydney accepted it, stepped onto the curb and locked eyes with Juan. He stood in front of the building, smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a pink shawl pulled down on his right shoulder with a pair of matching pink, pleated pants. He put out his cigarette and narrowed his eyes at her.
Nolen led her through the side entrance of the building; she glanced back to see Juan trailing behind.
They passed through a small group of dancers. Ms. Minetti stood in the middle of the girls. She turned, her smile dissolved into a frown when she noticed them together. Sydney nervously stepped to the left to put a bit of space between her and Nolen. He however remained expressionless. Xenia, fixed her eyes only on Sydney when she approached.
“I didn’t know you were coming today,” she addressed Nolen, but held Sydney’s stare.
“Decided to see the final pick for my investment,” he answered.
Xenia whirled around to her assistant. “Juan, escort Ms. Allen to the practice studio.”
“It’s Juanita, damn it!” he snapped. “C’mon, Ms. Thang.” He grabbed Sydney’s arm and pulled her along.
Reluctant but obedient she went with him. She even dared a final glance back at Nolen. He tracked her with his eyes, his gaze never wavering. None of it went unnoticed by Ms. Minetti.
“Did I do something to offend her?” Sydney asked.
“That fish? She thinks she’s got King Ding-a-ling over there hooked. But you and I know different, don’t we, girl?” He giggled. Letting her go, he walked around the table and checked off her name.
“He’s her boyfriend?” Sydney asked.
Juan looked up at her and smiled. “Boyfriend? She wishes. She can bat those fake lashes of hers and sling that bleached-out hair, but she’ll never wear the crown of being his girlfriend. That man could have any dessert he wants, and right now he’s got a craving for chocolate!”
Sydney looked back once more to find Nolen staring. Why on earth would he pursue her if he dated Xenia? She glared at him.
Juan handed Sydney her packet. “So what are you going to do now? First it was the Butterfly. Got some jungle love in that backpack to shake those hips to?”
Sydney tried to disguise her annoyance at his constant digs. She forced a smile to her lips. “No, I thought that it was a group dance-off, not a solo.”
Juan smiled, folding his arms. “It is, honey, but with that man in the audience, you just need to put a wiggle on that bottom of yours to get that part.”
She shook her head. This time laughter was the best medicine to ease her anxiety.
“Zenter Stage, join us!” Gustav called out to her from the open studio door. Juan and Sydney both looked up at the cackle of her voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sydney said, and then rushed off to the dressing room to change. Distracted by Nolen, she’d forgotten the time. That would have to stop. All of it. No matter how appealing his pursuit was, prima spot in the ballet was her only goal. She changed quickly, twisting her hair into a neat bun, and entered the rehearsal room where Madame Gustav was already speaking to the dancers. The old woman stopped and just stared at her. Sydney gave an apologetic smirk and tossed her backpack at the door before joining them.
“Hi,” Bet said through pressed lips.
“Hi,” Sydney said through her teeth.
Emily cut her eyes at Sydney.
Gustav began again, but her eyes never left Sydney’s. “Today iz different. I don’t care dat you’ve made it diz far. You’ve accomplished noting! Now, Enrique will walk you through de routine. Dere will be no other rehearsal. Diz iz it!” Gustav walked down the line of girls all balancing on the ballet barre. She checked them over for poise. When she reached Sydney again her eyes went to her feet. Sydney’s cheeks burned red, knowing what she must be thinking. But Gustav moved on.
“Lez begin!”
Portia tied the sash to her dress. Her hair, in untamed spirals, fell around her face. She looked back at her new lover, who lay naked with the sheets twisted around his waist. His chest glistened with sweat and she felt the same steam over her skin. He looked even tastier watching her that way. She could taste him on her tongue.
“So what do ya think?” she asked, exhilarated.
“I think you’ve chosen the wrong career.” He yawned.
“Excuse me?”
Todd sat up. “Tricks like the ones you just performed this afternoon could bring you more fame than anything I can do with my camera lens.”
The blood began to pound in her temples. Portia stiffened, momentarily abashed. “What about my other talents?”
Todd stared up at her but said nothing.
“Can I get a reference for Ford, some head shots? If you request me as your model, I can certainly make it for the Bella spread.”
“You’re not ready.”
“I’m not what?”
“You’re not ready. Your look has been done. You’re not ethnic enough. Besides, you’re pretty old. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
Portia picked up her boots and put them on. “I’m twenty-three, and that’s not old!”
“The camera says it is. I say it is. Sorry, Portia, but I don’t endorse overused goods.”
“Overused? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Todd reached to his right and picked up his camera. He looked at her through his viewfinder and then clicked the flash. Temporarily blinded, she blinked as tears welled in her eyes.
“I heard about your interviews. That’s why I gave you my card. Word is your tongue is quicker than the flash on this camera when wrapped around a man’s cock.” He chuckled, then snapped her picture again.
For Portia the room began to spin. She closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. “You’re a slimy asshole!” she mumbled.
“Just honest, Portia. If you had let me finish the interview before spreading your legs, I’d have told you the same thing. Now get out. I have work to do,” he said, lying back against his pillow.
Fuming, she put on her other boot, grabbed her coat and purse, and then looked around for her portfolio. She was crying now, her hair in her face. Remembering that her portfolio was in his office, she stormed out of the bedroom. When she spotted his desk, and the streaks over the surface from where he fucked her brains out she burst into a flood of angry tears. Picking up a heavy lead paperweight, she threw it with all her might at the window glass behind his office chair. The window shattered into a million cracks but didn’t explode.
Todd ran into the office, naked, his flaccid dick swung low. Portia picked up the chair to throw at him.
“Get out, you crazy bitch!”
“Beso mi culo, you dirty bastard! The next time you think of taking advantage of someone, you remember this!” She dropped the chair and went for a heavy white disfigured statue. Her arms buckled under the weight. Fury spurred her on. She slammed it down on his glass desk, shattering both the surface and the statue.
Todd stared at her in stunned disbelief before charging her.
Portia backed up, looking for something to fight with. She would crack his skull for humiliating her.
The synchronized grace of the twelve women dancing to a whimsical melody was something to behold.
Sydney and three other dancers suddenly broke formation, springing forward and spinning on their pointed toes. The next four leaped to either the left or right side of the spinning quartet, coming down into fast leaps and fluid moves. A few of the dancers fell out of formation. His butterfly, however, remained focused on the rhythm of their dance, her serious expression showing how committed she was. Leaning over, he noticed Xenia had drawn a line through Sydney’s name. It didn’t surprise him the least.
Nolen tapped the n
ame on the page with his index finger. “She will be part of the production.” Xenia looked down at the name and then fixed him with an angry glare. “This is my show! I say who will and won’t be part of it.”
“You sold your show to the devil, remember? Don’t pretend you have a say in this when we both know you don’t. Put her in the production, and do it with a smile on your face, or I’ll forget to sign the check.” Xenia blinked through her fury as she turned over her pencil, erasing the line through Sydney’s name.
“Have it your way, Nolen. You usually do.”
Reaching for her walkie-talkie, she flipped it on. “Juanita, over.”
“Yeeessss?”
“I specifically asked for the studio bright lights on the stage. The colored ones are interfering with my concentration!”
“I gave Andy your lighting request,” Juan snapped. She watched him walk to the side of the stage to see the red, blue, and green lights beaming from above. He bit down on his pink-glossed lips in anger. “I’ll take care of it, honey!”
Nolen witnessed the mild display of control and ignored it. He understood Xenia better than she gave him credit for, which is why he wouldn’t let her stump out his butterfly’s dreams. Even now he struggled with why he cared.
Trish walked into the studio through the back entrance. Clumps of snow dropped from her boots, and the wintry mix clung to her despite the warmth. She’d been so upset when she got Portia’s call that she’d raced over in hopes of catching Sydney before she finished her audition. Directly in front of her was a short man in a pink shawl, waving his hands in the face of a six-foot-tall technician.
“Honey, I don’t need to hear your excuses, ok? Stop flapping your gums and listen to me!” he demanded.
“I specifically told yo narrow ass to light the stage with the studio lights. Your mix-up is making Ms. Juanita look like some Christmas fag!”
Trish walked up behind the man, whose platinum low-cut hair was now spiked to a point on top of his head like a Mohawk. “Excuse me.”
He turned, flustered. “What is it? You’re too late for the auditions!” Trish blushed. “I’m looking for my friend. She has an audition today.”
“The auditions aren’t ova, so I don’t know what you want me to do for you.”
“Oh, ok. I just want to wait for her if that’s ok.”
“Who’s your friend, honey?”
“Sydney Allen.”
“Aaaah, Ms. Thang? That’s my girl. She’s on stage right now!” Grabbing her arm, he pulled Trish down the hall to the left side of the stage. “Get those lights right, Andy!” he shouted to the tech.
Trish looked up to see the dancers. Sydney was leading the troupe. When the music stopped, she fought against giving her applause.
The dancers were breathing hard, each hopeful and searching the faces of their audience under the hard glare of the lights. This was the final dance troupe, and the top three were to be chosen. Sydney knew it and braced for the news. Xenia reached for her microphone and called out the numbers. When Sydney heard her number, she nearly screamed. The other two girls who were chosen were Bet and Emily.
“Ladies,” Xenia said into her mic, “I want to thank you all for auditioning, and I wish you well in your careers. You three, please follow Madame Gustav to the rehearsal room so you can meet with the production manager to go over your contracts.”
“Where are you going, honey?” the pink-shawled man asked, throwing up his hand when Trish started to follow Sydney.
“I need to speak to her. It’s an emergency.”
“Well you can’t just prance around here, Goldilocks, like you own the place. I’ll get Ms. Thang for you.
Wait over there.” He pointed to the side of the auditorium.
“It’s an emergency, please. Our friend is in trouble.”
“Girl, when isn’t it?”
Trish watched him walk off and looked over at the judges. She didn’t want to disrupt today’s auditions.
Those people looked intolerant to the drama she came bearing.
The final sixteen dancers were handed their packets and instructed to review them thoroughly with their agents and lawyers before signing. Then they were given a brief description of the production and who the lead choreographer was—Gustav, of course. If they accepted the agreement, they’d start work first thing Monday morning.
Reviewing her packet, Sydney was happy to find that she would make four hundred fifty dollars a week for the first six months, with the salary gradually increasing as the production launched. It would be her first long-term professional gig.
“I want to speak with you!” Gustav said, stepping closer to Sydney. She nodded, collected her things, and made her way out of the crowd. Gustav stood near the ballerina barre with a challenging stare.
“Yes, Madame?”
“Zo, you’ve got de part, I zee? You’ve done well, Zenter Stage.”
“Thank you, Madame.”
“But you are not a dancer.” The comment delivered the desired blow to her pride. Sydney felt small in front of the tiny woman. Gustav moved in closer. “You’ve no discipline, no training, and doze feet are unmanageable.”
“I disagree, Madame. I’ve earned my spot, and I’ll earn your respect. I hurt my foot, but—”
“Ah? But will you remain dedicated? Diz is the question I want to know. I see potential in you, but only afta’ hard work. You hear? Hard work.” Madame Gustav narrowed her sharp gaze to make sure her point was clear.
“Of course. I want this more than anything.”
“We shall zee, Zenter Stage, we shall zee.” Madame maintained her look of disapproval. The criticism was a bitter reminder of her father’s disapproval.
“Is that all, Madame?” she asked, her voice and bottom lip quivering.
Gustav looked her over. “Yez, dat is all,” she said, and dismissed her with the wave of her hand.
Sydney blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. She sucked in several deep breaths to ward off the burning pangs of embarrassment in her chest. The only training she received was through her mother’s dance class in church. It was her mother that taught her the freedom in dance, even if she was never able to pursue it. It was her mother who snuck her from Sunday services when her father was away visiting another church to see Swan Lake in Charlotte.
“Ms. Juanita over there is trying to get your attention,” Bet said, touching Sydney’s shoulder. “Hey? You ok?”
Sydney wiped at her loose tears, turned, and smiled. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She looked up to see Juan gesture for her from the doorway. She didn’t really want to leave the meeting, but he gave her a get-your-ass-up-or-I’ll-come-over-there-and-get-you look. Sydney discreet in her actions, picked up her backpack and stuck the contract inside, she discreetly excused herself, but not before Emily stepped up, blocking her way.
“Congratulations,” she said.
Sydney stared at her, and Emily gave her a smug smile. “Madame Gustav is the best in the industry. She knows talent if she sees it. She also knows when there is none.”
“Really? No wonder she’s barely said two words to you since we’ve started.” Emily smirked. “Don’t I know you?”
“Excuse me,” Sydney said.
“I do? You applied at the Academy didn’t you? I know I’ve seen that clumsy routine before.” Emily sneered.
Sydney brushed past her. She wasn’t going to blow this with a catfight, or be intimidated. Heaving a thoughtful sigh, she made her way to Juan. “Yes?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your shine, honey, but Goldilocks is here, and she says it’s an emergency.” Sydney’s nose crinkled at the news. “Goldi who?”
“Come on,” Juan said, leading her down to the auditorium. She emerged from the side door to find Trish leaning against the far right wall.
“That’s Goldilocks!” Juan said, pointing at her approaching friend.
“Trish, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Portia. She’s been arrested,
Sydney!”
“What do you mean, arrested? For what?”
“Whoa, you two,” Juan said, frowning at them. “This sounds like drama. Normally I live for it, but not today. Next thing I know, you’ll try to hit me up for money,” he teased and then walked away.
Trish twisted the long golden strands of her hair; a habit Sydney saw her do when she was the most distressed. “I don’t know. She’s being charged with assault, destruction of private property, and resisting arrest and making terroristic threats or something. I called and they said that her bond is twenty-five hundred dollars, and that’s with a bondsman.”
Sydney listened in disbelief. What the hell were they going to do now? The bond might as well have been set at two million.
“She was crying, Sydney. She’s so scared. We got to get her out of there.”
“Shhh, let me think.” Sydney began to pace in the narrow aisle, thinking about the money she had stashed away and who in Portia’s family would even bother to help. When she looked up she saw Nolen Adams headed towards them.
“Everything ok, ladies?” he asked, focusing his concern on Trish. To Sydney’s surprise it appeared to be genuine.
“We’re fine, thank you,” Sydney answered.
“Our friend’s in jail!” Trish blurted out.
“Dang it, Trish!”
“Maybe I can help?” Nolen offered, but Sydney whirled around on him refusal rising on her tongue.
“No, it’s a family matter. We’ll take care of it,” Sydney said, and then tried to pull Trish away.
Trish snatched back her arm. “How, Sydney? How are we going to take care of it? We can’t afford this!
And Portia’s family won’t help us! You know it.”
“Let’s see if Ricky and Syl can help.” Sydney could see Nolen frowning at the mention of the men’s names, and she expected the response before he even said it.
“Well if Ricky and Syl can help, surely you should let me try.”
“This is none of your business,” Sydney said. She saw Xenia Minetti watching them. Lowering her voice, she stepped toward Nolen. “Thank you, but we’re fine.” Trish dropped her head, nodded, and followed Sydney.