by Lolita Files
Anyway, I was trying my best to ignore the cramps, but I couldn’t.
Besides that, rehearsal had been going on waay too long. We were well overdue for a break.
Every now and then, when we did a funky spin or a turn, I would stumble a little here and there. On the sly, so I thought.
One time, Julian caught me, and shot me a look that made me feel a little ridiculous.
“All right, take ten!” he announced at last.
Thank goodness!! Things were getting pretty hairy.
Julian stepped over to me.
“Go address yourself,” he said in a low tone. “You obviously have issues.”
“Why?!” I asked with alarm, clenching my legs tightly together. “Can you tell?! Is something showing?!”
“Reesy… I’m a choreographer. It’s not like I haven’t seen that move before.”
I stood there, feeling silly.
“Now, get outta here, and handle your business. You’ve got ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, grabbed my duffel bag, and rushed off to the bathroom.
There was someone in it when I got there.
I waited impatiently, hoping the person would come out before our time was up.
I heard the toilet flush.
After a second, the door came open.
It was the sistah who had elbowed me when I first auditioned for the show. The one who was smirking when the guys told me to leave.
She was the one who had gotten the other part that was up for grabs when we first auditioned.
She hmmmphed at me as she walked out.
Nasty heffah. Didn’t even wash her hands.
I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I sat down, my head in my hands, moaning softly. After a few deep breaths, I reached into my bag and pulled out some Aleve. The only thing that worked when I had cramps like this. I swallowed two of them. Dry. And prayed for quick relief.
I lingered in the bathroom a little while, then struggled my way up.
I slowly made my way out of the bathroom. There were two girls standing outside, waiting to use it.
“Our damn time is almost up,” one of them snarled.
I ignored her and hobbled my way back over to Julian.
He was sitting on the edge of the stage, sipping on some Evian. His legs were cocked open. Bulge a-plenty.
“Why you walking like that?”
“I got a situation… ,” I began.
“Oh, here we go… ,” Julian said, rolling his eyes. “It’s the cramp thang, huh? I never figured you to use that one for an out, Miss Thang.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s not like that. I can keep working through cramps. I’ve done that before. These are just real severe.”
“So go on then,” he said. “Get outta here.”
“Okay. So you don’t mind?”
“Of course, Imind, but it can’t be helped!! Now get outta here so the rest of us can get back to work!!”
I could tell he was serious.
I had a windbreaker in my duffel bag. I took it out and tied it around my waist.
“See ya later,” I said and waved as I walked awkwardly away.
“Go home and lie down” he said, standing up.
He gestured to the other dancers.
“All right, y’all! Let’s shake it loose! Back to work! Gotta make moves!”
The next day, I once again arrived early for rehearsal.
But, since those cramps were still kicking my butt, I would be sitting out the day’s activities, again.
Rowena was on stage, doing her thing. I stood there on the sidelines, watching her with fascination.
Rowena Shaw was the star of the show. She was amazing. A bundle of pure energy and talent.
She played the part of Mimosa Jones, a celebrated beauty from the fifties who headlined a successful all-black Vegas-styled revue that toured across the country.
The role of Mimosa was central to the show. Practically every scene revolved around her. Mimosa was Black Barry’s Pie.
Consequently, so was Rowena.
Rowena had been in ten other off-Broadway productions, and had worked with Gordon and Julian several times before.
Long-legged and limber, she was one hot mama. Now, that sistah could dance and sing! She breathed life into Mimosa and made the character excitingly real. I only wished I could move the way she did.
I came in early many a day and watched her rehearsing her part. I had come to know it well. Just to see her dance gave me something to aspire to.
One day, I often mused. One day.
That was gon’ be me up there on that stage.
But for now, I had more pressing issues at hand. I had to make it through my very first show.
And now that the opening was rapidly approaching, the heat was on and the excitement had begun.
A STAR IS SCORNED
I waited backstage, my heart racing.
We were all dressed. The show was due to start in less than five minutes. There was a nervous electricity in the air that affected us all. People I had been rehearsing with who hadn’t bothered to say two words to me for the past three months were now saying hello and break a leg left and right.
Every light backstage was on. The smell of greasepaint and freshly pressed costumes filled the air. All I could hear was rustling feet and endless chatter.
In the midst of it all, I stood there. Frantic. Excited. So keyed up I could have just popped.
I should have been sweating from all the heat and the energy, but, somehow, go figure, I managed to stay cool.
Julian rushed by, hurrying toward the stars’ dressing rooms. He doubled back when he noticed me standing.
“Make me proud out there tonight, girlfriend,” he whispered. “You know you’re my greatblack hope. Don’t make me take my Maxwell ticket back!”
I smiled nervously. Squeamish, and a little frightened, for once in my life.
I saw him disappear inside Rowena’s dressing room.
Where was Misty?
We had been in rehearsals all weekend, along with everyone else involved with the show. We’d put finishing touches on the presentation, costume fittings, perfected moves, and made sure everything was as tight as it could get.
Julian was leaving absolutely nothing to chance.
I walked around in my fuchsia cocktail dress. All the female dancers wore cocktail dresses, but I thought mine was the prettiest color. It just jumped out at you, sorta like I did.
The flimsy material clung to my waist and the dangerous curves of my breasts and my butt. My calves were shapely and strong. The heels I wore had guided me flawlessly through many a dress rehearsal.
My braids were pulled up into a chignon, with a few tendrils falling gently, seductively, around my face. My nails were kissed with a soft fuchsia polish. My lips were a soft fuchsia gloss. The color was a beautiful complement to the hue of my skin.
“I could eat your yummy ass up,” a deep voice very close to my ear murmured.
I turned around. It was Donovan. One of the male dancers.
He was one of the sexiest men I had seen since I’d been in New York, and I’ve seen some lovelies. I’d watched him many a time during reheasals, and had caught him watching me back.
But too many women were trying to give the brother play. And he was taking it, with two hands. That’s not how I roll. I’m not one to go after what the huddled masses do.
He stood there in his tux, that rich cocoa-brown skin of his smooth like silk.
“Shouldn’t you be full by now?” I replied, my expression dull and flat. “You’ve had your share of yummies over the past few months.”
“I have many appetites,” he growled. “Right now, I’m a little hungry for some red meat.”
I stared into those deep brown eyes of his.
Any other time, I would have been in fuck mode for sure. I would have definitely left the brother deliberately hanging so that I could pick thing
s up after the show was over.
This time, I wasn’t in the mood. I had too many things going on in my head, and was way too excited and distracted. I was so keyed up, I could practically feel the entire path my blood took as it coursed through my veins.
But Donovan persisted. In a vulgar, kinda predatory way.
“Don’t speak too soon,” he cooed. “Why don’t you catch me on the flip, and we can grab something to eat? Maybe later, we can check out the haps at my crib.”
I didn’t respond.
“I got a brass wawtahbed,” he whispered seductively.
I looked at him, not believing he had the nerve to dredge up that old tired-ass Morris Day shit. He had to be trippin’.
“Step off!” I shot back with a laugh. “You don’t know me from Adam!”
“It ain’t like a nigga ain’t tryin’,” Donovan smiled, flashing his pearly grill.
In the theater, I heard our small band (we were calling it an “orchestra” for grand purposes only) begin to play.
“Places everybody!” Dreyfus, the stage manager, shouted.
I fell into line. Donovan took his place a few bodies down from me. He leaned forward, waiting for my response.
“No time right now,” I mouthed.
“When?” he mouthed back.
A couple of sistahs that Donovan had obviously hit and quit cut their eyes at me.
“Catch me next lifetime,” I said with a smile.
Thank you, Erykah Badu, I thought gleefully.
Donovan’s smile faded. The dissed sistahs seemed to be quite pleased.
I didn’t have time for this. Inside my head, all I could really hear was the roar of my own blood as the excitement mounted.
I was about to make my stage debut! In a matter of seconds, those curtains were gonna go up!
This little caterpillar was about to spread her brand-new wings.
“Turn it out, y’all!” Julian whispered from the sidelines.
The music got louder.
Dreyfus stood nearby and, using his fingers, gave us a countdown.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
“… SHOWTIME!!”
As the curtains rose, we began our groove. I worked my hips in a violent shimmy, grabbing the hand of the tuxedoed brother next to me. We danced around each other in a circle, then he spun me like a top and tossed me up in the air.
When the stage lights hit me, I was hooked. All fear had fled, and I was nothing but pure-dee, electrified adrenaline.
I peeked around the curtains during intermission, looking for Misty and Rick, but the crowd was so thick for this first night’s show, all the faces were practically one big blur.
Gordon knew a lot of people, and had put on some pretty successful off-Broadway shows. Rowena needed no words, and everybody knew Julian’s reputation. New York had been salivating, waiting for Black Barry’s Pie to finally take off.
I knew my girl was sitting out there, prouder than Tyrene and Tyrone could have ever been.
The way I was cheesing when I got under those bright lights! It was like I’d found the place I was born to be!
I couldn’t wait for us to celebrate. Me, her, and Rick. It didn’t matter if I didn’t have a date. Just being with my girl would be enough. I had soooo much to tell her. I was bursting with excitement, dying to describe how it felt to be out there, on that stage, a part of the whole musical machine.
I could hear the band/orchestra starting up.
“All right, everybody!” Dreyfus called. “Take your places!”
I was in my spot, lickety-split. Ready for it all to begin again. When the music started, I slid into my boogie, legs bent, arms waving down around my sides, as I wove out onto the stage.
One of the male dancers shimmied around me, and we made artful merry with each other as we danced. He grabbed my hand and led me into a high-steppin’ jitterbug. I danced around him, twirling my fingers and shaking my shoulders with delirious vigor.
I was intoxicated.
It felt so wonderful, that I didn’t want it to ever end.
I sat at my area in the dressing room, exhausted, exhilarated, ecstatic. People came by here and there, offering up pats on the back and words of approval.
“You were fantastic out there, girlfriend!”
“Girl, I’m scared-a you!”
“We still got time to hook up, tonight. My place. Brass wawtahbed.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at that. I had to give it to Donovan for trying.
“You made me proud out there, girl,” Julian smiled, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “You earned those Maxwell tickets tonight. If you don’t ever perform up to par again—and you know that I won’t allow that—just know that you showed up for the opening!”
I blushed. A rarity for me.
“Thanks, Julian,” I beamed, reaching up and giving him a warm kiss on the cheek in return. He was really beginning to feel like a friend.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he smiled, waving his finger at me. “And we’ll start this show all over again.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” I said with a salute.
I was so happy that I had finally found what felt like my niche.
Where was Misty?
I needed to be sharing this with her. Any minute now, I knew I would see her pecan-tan face rounding the bend, arms outstretched for hugs.
We’d chatter like chipmunks with excitement. And she’d give me her rundown on my performance.
Hell, I might even go easy on ol’ slick Rick and not dish out any sarcastic lip.
I was punch drunk with glee.
“Oooooooooooooh weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” I squealed. “Hot damn, hot damn, hot damn!”
I couldn’t wait to tell her everything!!
LET’S JUST DIS AND SAY GOODBYE
An hour later, I was still sitting in the dressing room, waiting for Misty and Rick to show.
Everyone was gone. From the stagehands on down. Even the janitor had bounced.
I just sat there, because I didn’t want to move. Moving would mean accepting the fact that I had been duped. I’d gone for the okey-doke. Misty had not only failed to show, but probably had no intentions of doing so to begin with.
I had waited around for nothing. My so-called friend had given me the royal dis.
I felt like a fool.
My elation went through a series of mutations, turning into disappointment, then disbelief, and, finally, fatally, to rage. My eyes were wet, but I couldn’t tell if it was from tears, or the steam that was forming inside every pore of my being.
She didn’t call, leave a message, stick her face in, send over flowers… nothing.
I was fit to be tied. I wanted to kill.
Misty had pulled some stunts on me before, but this had to beat all. To me, her not showing up for me tonight was the equivalent of your parents missing your high school graduation.
That’s just some unforgivable shit.
I changed into my jeans and a T-shirt. Right there in the middle of the backstage area. Wasn’t nobody there to see me do it. Shit. Everybody else was long gone.
I wasn’t about to let Miss Divine put me down and humiliate me like that for no nigga. She wasn’t going to get off tonight without getting an earful from me.
I grabbed my duffel bag and headed for the door.
I ran through Grand Central Station and barely made the 1:07 A.M.
That’s right. I was tracking her butt down in the middle of the night.
I sat there in the almost-empty train, eyes blazing. In my jeans pocket was a balled-up address.
I sat there now, my lip stuck out. I was mad, hurt, and determined. I talked to myself to keep my rage contained.
“I can’t believe a woman can be this damn stupid over a man!” I said out loud.
There weren’t a lot of folks on the train, but the handful that were there shot strange looks my way.
I stared out the window into nothingness until the train left the tunnel at Ninety-sevent
h Street.
When the train stopped at 125th Street, I watched the colored folks get on and off.
Iwonder what it would be like to live in Harlem, I mused to myself.
That could be the answer. Maybe I could just disappear. Let Miss Divine go her separate way, and I could go mine. I could move uptown with my peeps, and get lost in the artsy, Afrocentric, cultural crowd.
Harlem World.
No one would ever have to know where I was, unless I wanted them to know. If I didn’t want to, I would never have to see Misty’s flaky ass again. Wouldn’t have to worry about Tyrone and Tyrene all up in my Kool-Aid, either.
I could do it, no question. Black folks were the masters of disappearing at will, and not ever being found again.
I had a teacher once who just got tired of being bothered by his family. So he stepped. Was never seen ever again.
Could be, God knows, anywhere right now. Maybe even just down the street from his folks. No one even knew where to begin to look.
I tell you, if a negro wanted to get lost, she could do it. Be living right around the corner from your ass, and you’d never know.
Yep. Black folks could teach the Witness Protection Program a few things about falling off. Their people were always discovered and killed, all dressed up in disguises—wigs and fake beards—trying to pass for somebody else. But colored people had been perfecting the disappearing act for years. We could be walking right past your house every day, au natural and unchanged, and still you wouldn’t know.
I sighed heavily. Falling off wasn’t the answer. I’d miss my folks, even though they did get on my nerves sometimes.
The train rushed on, toward conflict and resolution.
Because, regardless of anything, I was going to resolve this situation tonight. I was having no more of it. My cup was full and had runneth over.
I sat there, chewing my bottom lip, not thinking about how things were gonna go down.
I preferred to let it unfold on its own. I worked best extemporaneously.
Let shit happen.
And let the chips fall where they may.
I rang the doorbell.
Lights were on inside, and I could hear raucous laughter.