I had better get used to rehearsing on my own again. I got through to the Nationals in the Prix de Fonteyn, so I don’t have a moment to lose because the competition is only going to get tougher. Tara’s out, expelled from the Academy for seeing an outside doctor, but Grace is still here. Dear, sweet, ‘I don’t care about ballet’ topped the regionals, Grace. If I’m going to beat her, I need to work harder than ever. I slip quietly into the rehearsal studio and go through my steps. This is how it’s going to be. How it always used to be. Me, the mirror and no one else. I focus on my steps, calculating how to push more emotion into the piece. I need to be more than technically perfect to beat Grace. When I finish, I realise Ethan’s standing there watching.
‘You don’t have to prove you can resist me.’
‘I’ve been busy, workshopping contemporary solos. Now that you’re not going to be around to choreograph for the Nationals.’
‘Are you saying you’re going to miss me, Abigail?’
There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction. ‘No,’ I say, but he smiles like he knows it’s not true.
I could do with Kat interrupting us now, but the one time I need her crashing my rehearsal, she’s nowhere. Typical. She is even meant to be at the Academy now. She’s my new roommate too, but sharing a room doesn’t mean we share much else – especially not a commitment to practising.
Ethan’s ambitions in Barcelona don’t go far. Within a week he hears Impresión is not that impressed. They’ve told him to ‘drop in for coffee’ next time he’s around. Like his bus swings through Barcelona on the way to Bondi. He’s decided to stay in Sydney. It does mean having him around to rehearse me, but I can’t help feeling disappointed. None of us would be here if we’d given up when someone brushed us off. Even Kat had what it took to force her way back into the Academy.
I never had Ethan down as settling for second best, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. Worse. He wants to drag me down his second best career path – musical theatre. Fringe musical theatre. He’s decided to audition as a choreographer for some small time theatre company and I have to be there to show off his work.
‘You dragged me out of dance history for this?’ I ask as we walk through into the theatre of the non-gifted amateurs. ‘I’m allergic to musicals.’
I’m about to leave when Ethan applies the guilt. ‘After all the work I did on your Prix solo?’
We meet Finn, the musical’s director. Obviously not the smartest man on the planet. He loves ballet but not those ‘ye olde world classics’. This is going to be such a waste of time, but Ethan begs me to stay. Offers to chorey as many dances as I want.
‘You get this job, I’m taking a percentage,’ I warn him.
I start as Ethan’s ‘human show reel’ and this Finn guy manages to look up for all of five seconds. ‘Yeah, yeah, that’ll do,’ he says. That’s all it took for him to make up his mind. Then suddenly he’s all over us.
‘That was amazing. I’m in love with you. Both,’ he says and asks us to stick around for the cast auditions. This is more like it. I’ve always wanted to be the mean judge on a panel and the starlets auditioning for this show are begging to be taken down. Complete talent vacuums.
Later in the evening Ethan catches me in the rehearsal studio. He left the score for the musical on his keyboards. It’s total hokesville but I can’t help singing a couple of the cheesy lines.
‘Busted,’ he says from behind me. He claims he’s trying to make Finn’s dream a reality.
‘So noble.’
‘You can help me,’ he says. Ethan needs to hear the singing so he can start imagining the choreography.
You make believe, that it’s safe where it’s warm
I belt out the line in my worst rock musical voice, but Ethan makes me sing it ‘nicely’. The words aren’t great, but the music isn’t horrible and singing is easy. At the end, Ethan looks at me like I’ve sung Act III of La Traviata.
‘What?’ I say. ‘Any imbecile can sing. You open your mouth, sounds come out.’
‘Not like that,’ he says. Obviously easily impressed.
As second rate as Ethan’s choreography job is, Kat feels the need to celebrate by hiring a boat for everyone to spend an afternoon on the harbour. I go, but I don’t see the point in celebrating mediocrity. As much as I want Ethan around, he’s worth so much more than fringe musicals. Sometimes you shouldn’t just accept people for who they are, sometimes you need to let them know who they could be.
It may be on the harbour, but it’s the usual Academy party: boys showing off, Kat being loud and me sitting alone. I look at the harbour, wondering if anyone is going to be the friend Ethan needs. Am I the only one with the strength to push him away? He joins me on the deck.
‘So I think we should go out. On a proper date,’ he says.
‘You do?’
‘That kiss – your eyes were closed. I was watching.’
My eyes were closed, but they’re not now. ‘I’m not attracted to you. I like guys with ambition.’
He laughs, but I can tell he’s hurt. He needs to be.
‘You used to be Ethan Karamakov, star of third year. You turned down a place in the Company so you could be a choreographer. And then you stayed here because …?’
‘I wanted to learn. I wasn’t ready to go out on my own.’
‘It’s okay. Some people are never equipped to leave their comfort zones.’
Not long after our little chat, I see Ethan and Kat talking seriously, then Kat jumps up and announces that Ethan is going to Barcelona. Everyone claps, but no one thanks me for being the Karamokov family’s personal life coach and trainer. I get Kat back into the Academy and Ethan back on his career track. The least they could offer is dinner with the parents.
Instead all I get is the return of the rival. Tara’s back at the Academy. I never thought I’d feel sorry for Tara, but you’d have to be beyond ice not to feel for her. The injury she hid during the Prix de Fonteyn and got expelled over was caused by Saskia. She was stretching out Tara’s leg, pushed too hard and something cracked. Ben was there, he heard the crack. I knew from The Red Shoes incident that Saskia had it in for Tara, but causing injuries? Vicious. So Tara’s reinstated, back at the Academy and still in the Prix. Fine, I’ll have to work even harder, that’s all.
CHAPTER 9
The emotional freak show that is Sammy Lieberman continues. I thought no one could outdo Tara for torturous romantic entanglements, but here we are in the living room of the boarding house to prove that wrong. Sammy has assembled his ‘inner sanctum’ – Tara, Kat, Ben, Grace and myself to announce that he is ‘seeing’ Ollie, the second year who’s been coaching him for Prix de Fonteyn. Kat squeals with instant gay solidarity, Tara takes a while to process, Ben compliments himself on his ‘gaydar’. But I’ve no wish to stay for their Mardi Gras love fest.
‘I can’t believe I wasted studio time for this,’ I say and leave. So my boyfriend who was gay and then wasn’t, is now gay again and he chooses to tell me via a public service announcement.
The Sammy craziness doesn’t end there. We’re spending the weekend learning circus skills. Our teacher Zach says it’s to get over our mid semester ‘slump’. Personally I’m not having a slump but it’s on the weekend, doesn’t interfere with classes and could help develop my physical skills so I don’t mind. Everyone tries different circus acts: stilt walking, trapeze, tight rope walking. I enjoy the tissu, using a cloth hanging from the roof to perform acrobatics. It certainly helps build core strength. Sammy decides to prove his manhood by doing a twist on the tissu. He’s high up, wrapped in an impossible knot and clearly dreading it. We all know he doesn’t like heights, so why he picked this exercise to prove himself I don’t know. As he lets himself down, he screams. There’s no denying he shrieks like a girl.
‘Apart from the lady screams, that was impressive.’ Ben calls it, but Sammy’s embarrassed, pushing past everyone saying, ‘just get away from me.’
The next day I�
��m on the tissu, showing a lot more grace. Sammy’s idling on the edge of my safety mat.
‘You’ve been quiet on the love front lately,’ he says. ‘Anyone in your sights?’
‘Why?’ I snap. We haven’t done the heart to heart thing since last year. His dumping me wasn’t exactly easy.
‘I broke up with Ollie last night. Just saying, we’re both available so …’
‘What the hell is wrong with you at the moment?’
‘Great, so you don’t see me as a contender now either. I go out with Ollie for half a second and suddenly I’m not of the guys. I’m “Sensitive Sammy”.’
I’m not putting up with the self pity. ‘Wake up Lieberman. That’s who you’ve always been.’
It was Sensitive Sammy that wouldn’t leave my side when I was sick last year. Sensitive Sammy that climbed up through my bedroom window and just watched a movie with me when I needed someone there. Sensitive Sammy that I fell for.
‘I have?’ he says.
‘Until you sat me down, your ex-girlfriend, in a room full of people to tell me you now have a boyfriend. Like without any consideration how that could affect me. Suddenly, not so sensitive.’
Sammy’s not the only guy giving me grief. Zach has replaced Saskia as our teacher for Prix de Fonteyn. We’re working on our solos. I’m doing Cupid from Don Quixote. It’s technically challenging, perfect for demonstrating my skills, but my skills just aren’t showing through to Zach. He tells me to relax.
‘Grim determination is not a good look on Cupid,’ he says. He’s more impressed with the way Tara and Grace are dancing. I’ll have to step it up.
After class I’m walking down the corridor, mentally planning an increased practice schedule when someone calls my name. At first I don’t recognise him.
‘Finn,’ he says. ‘You made cutting comments at my auditions. I won you round with my undeniable charm?’ It’s the director from Ethan’s fringe musical.
‘I remember, but I’d describe your charm as deniable.’
‘So … My low budget, but nevertheless excellent, musical is in need of a new leading lady.’
‘I don’t sing,’ I tell him.
‘Our mutual friend, Ethan, has sent me countless emails to the opposite.’
For a director, he should have a better grasp of English.
‘I didn’t say I couldn’t sing, I said I don’t.’ I try to walk off. Some experimental theatre director getting pushy is the last thing I need now.
‘Read it.’ He stops me and makes me take his script.
After Zach’s afternoon class I stay behind to practise. Zach’s watching. His pained face says it all, but just in case I don’t get the message he spells it out.
‘When it’s that quick, it needs to be technically perfect … and light.’
‘I know,’ I say. Usually I hear: ‘technically perfect, but …’ Now I’m not even that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I need to practise more but after Zach leaves, Finn marches in. Just when I’m fumbling a step too.
‘Do I need to take out a restraining order?’ I enquire.
‘We lost the theatre for our rehearsals. I paid a booking fee, but I don’t mind sharing.’
‘I do.’
He starts unpacking his bag and then calls some girl in from the corridor, ‘Mistii’.
A tall thin blonde totters in, all silver heels and giggles.
‘I re-cast,’ he says.
I don’t have time for this. I try working on my fleeting relevés but Finn and Mistii’s torturous character motivation chat is distracting. This Mistii can’t get her head around the fact her character is pretty but doesn’t realise it. How hard can it be?
‘There’s nothing to get,’ I blurt out. ‘Not everyone looks in the mirror and likes what they see.’
Then Finn pulls out the choreography from his bag.
‘Ethan sent this from Barcelona,’ I hear him say. He’s having trouble interpreting it and as far as Mistii’s concerned it might as well be hieroglyphics. Stupidity is so off-putting, there is no way I can focus on my own practice. I grab the choreography notation from them. Ethan’s old school, but it’s clear and it’s him. It’s like he’s here.
‘It just means this.’ I show them the steps which Mistii then butchers. She even has to hold her hands out in front to see which side’s left. I find myself coaching her step by step through the chorey, and that’s before she’s even started singing while dancing. As she leaves I have to question Finn’s casting process.
‘She tries hard,’ he says, ‘and my first choice turned me down. But she seems to respond to your approach. The least you can do is train her?’ The guy doesn’t give up.
‘No, the least I can do is nothing.’
‘I need you,’ he pleads. ‘Mistii needs you.’
‘Ballet needs me,’ I respond automatically. We need each other.
The next day in Zach’s class, I’m even worse.
‘If you keep smashing your head against a brick wall, the wall will win,’ he says as I perform my solo. As if that isn’t enough, Grace jumps in, performs alongside me with her natural talent, breezing through the brick wall. She can’t resist a dig.
‘Great job Abs. You nearly got it.’ Her bitchy asides I can deal with, Zach’s gentle concern is harder.
‘You’re clinging to something that shows up what you can’t do … I don’t know how much clearer I can be.’ He doesn’t need to be. He thinks I can’t do it. Nobody has ever thought I couldn’t do a dance. Dealing with this isn’t in my skill set. After class I try calling Ethan but I get his voice message.
‘Hola. Or whatever. You’re probably off running with bulls – I think I’d be really good at that …’ I need to pull it together. Am I really on the verge of sobbing into a Spanish voicemail? ‘Nothing to report. Just getting ready for Nationals. See ya.’
I hang up and then I can’t hold back any longer. Tears force their way out. It’s not meant to be this hard. It’s never been this hard for me. Not being perfect isn’t in my comfort zone.
What I need now is something I can do. Somewhere I can be perfect. In my bag is the script that Finn gave me. I open it up and have a look. I can see Ethan’s chorey and how it will work, how the musical could actually not suck if it was done properly. I get my highlight pen out and make a few notes.
At the theatre, Finn and Mistii look panicked when I turn up. Probably embarrassed at how amateurish they are. Finn was right, they really do need me.
‘I’m only helping with the dancing. Be eternally grateful.’ I lay down the law.
Mistii is unbelievably bad. Who else turned up at her audition, Phil, my fat sweaty workshop friend? ‘It’s all a bit forced. We need to simplify,’ I say.
I dance the chorey. I can sense what Ethan’s trying to do with it – lifting the lyrics, adding a layer of depth to meaning. Compared to Cupid in Don Quixote it’s easy, exactly what I need. I feel like Ethan’s guiding me, watching me with his wry smile through his steps. I can tell he was thinking of me as he wrote them. For the first time in weeks, I feel light, as if I’ve broken the surface after struggling underwater. I open my mouth to breathe, but instead of sucking in air, I sing. I have to, the chorey isn’t complete without my voice, a whole new part of my body to dance with. When I finish, everyone at the rehearsal is clapping and cheering. Finn jumps up to the stage.
‘Sorry dollface,’ he says to Mistii, ‘but you are fired.’
‘No!’ I say. ‘You can’t sack Mistii just because she’s not that talented. She’s worked really hard.’
He and Mistii swap a look. Something’s up.
‘I’m not really playing Mia,’ says Mistii. She’s playing the director of the review that the Mia character appears in.
‘Ethan thought a bit of competition might win you around,’ says Finn.
I’ve been played again, but this time I’ve been tricked into something that I might actually want.
CHAPTER 10
&
nbsp; All my life I’ve liked routine. One egg, one banana, one tub low-fat yoghurt for breakfast. Followed by forty minutes cardio and fifty minutes Pilates, warm up, lengthen quads and strengthen feet. It’s all part of the plan. The plan I made with my mother when I was seven. ‘To be the best’. I like the plan, only now a tiny voice in my head is asking ‘to be the best … what?’
I can’t believe that I, Abigail Armstrong, am cutting ballet classes to rehearse a musical, and loving it. I’m probably the only student that can get away with saying I’ve got a dentist appointment several days in a row. Perfect Abigail wouldn’t skip class.
But even I can’t get away with it indefinitely. I make it clear to Finn I can’t do any more daytime rehearsal. This can’t interfere with ballet. Nothing has ever been allowed to do that. But I like acting. I enjoy the sensation of singing while I dance. I love how naturally it comes, like suddenly, I’m myself.
Let me have a voice.
Let me speak and be heard.
Let my spirit be stirred
With each line, with each word …
When I get back to the Academy after my rehearsal, I’m afraid the secret might be out. It’s taken six dental appointments for anyone to notice, but now they have. In the corridor, Kat claims she can ‘smell a boy’. Then Miss Raine tells me to go and wait in her office to ‘discuss’ my recent attendance.
I wait for her, surrounded by all the ballet trophies and memorabilia, wondering what I’m going to say. I think it’s an ‘apologise and promise it won’t happen again situation’. That’s what Kat would do isn’t it? Miss Raine takes her time so I wander round her office, look at the photo of her with Grace on the shelf behind her desk. As I turn round I see Miss Raine’s laptop on her desk. There’s an email open and I catch my name on a list. At the Academy we live by lists. Where we placed in class, who made it through an audition, who made the cast. We spend our entire lives waiting to see where we are on lists. This is a list of how the teachers think we’ll place in the Prix de Fonteyn. You’re either a ‘tick’ for definitely getting through, a ‘question mark’ for doubtful and a ‘cross’ for definitely not. There’s a cross by my name. Abigail Armstrong, a cross.
Abigail: Nice Girls Finish Last Page 4