‘Moss! Moss! Over here!’
‘Do you have a date for the release of the next album?’
‘What are your thoughts on “Everywhere” dropping out of the top fifty?’
We’ve just arrived at a party being held by Moss’s producer. Invitation only. Except the media seem to have been invited to their own party at the front door.
Bryn and Rachel pose for the cameras while Bruno stands to one side, sucking on a cigarette and stabbing at gravel with his toe.
‘Who’s your lady friend?’ asks someone, as Moss’s arm slips around my waist and pulls me close.
‘Scarlett Stirling. She danced in the “Everywhere” video,’ calls Moss. ‘We’ve become good friends.’
A burst of flashes respond.
‘Just keep smiling,’ he whispers in my ear.
‘Do you have any plans to work together in the future?’
‘Anything more than friends?’
‘Scarlett, what are your thoughts on the single?’
There’s so much going on, people pulling me from all directions. It makes me giddy. All I can think is that Moss invited me. He knew this would happen …
‘Thank you, thank you,’ calls Moss, raising a hand. He keeps one arm around my waist and guides me inside. ‘Keep them wondering, hey?’ he murmurs.
They’re not the only ones. My cheeks hurt from grinning. I can still see stars from all the camera flashes.
The space inside is huge, breezy and pastel-painted. A white-coated waiter holds out a tray of champagne. I take one and sip, sticking close beside Moss. He introduces me to his producer, who nods as if he remembers me. I meet some musicians that I’ve heard of and some that I haven’t.
By the time I’ve finished my glass, Moss is already on his third. He’s joking about something with a middle-aged couple. He seems to have forgotten to introduce me, but I just act as if he has. The woman has the shiniest lipstick I’ve ever seen.
When Moss and the man crack up about something I didn’t catch, the woman turns and smiles thinly. ‘You danced in Moss’s latest music video?’
‘Yes, I’m Scarlett.’
‘I’m Janine, nice to meet you.’ She holds out a hand. ‘Who did your hair?’
‘Um …’ I look at her sideways. ‘I did.’
‘Really?’
Was that a compliment? I just smile and nod. When I turn back Moss has disappeared somewhere with the man. Not for long, I hope.
For a while I talk to Janine about the music and the party. She excuses herself and I’m left on my own. A waiter wanders past offering glasses on a tray, so I take a red wine as a kind of security blanket, something to do.
Keeping my head high and moving slowly, I wander past people talking in groups, trying to spot someone I know. A guy with a goatee smiles hopefully, but I pretend not to notice. If I keep moving it won’t seem like I’m on my own. When I reach a wall, I lean against it and check my watch. It’s after ten-thirty. Maybe it’s time that I went home. I have school tomorrow, homework, rehearsals.
I sip at the wine, still feeling light. Moss and me, we have an understanding. We give each other freedom. He focuses on his music, while I focus on my dancing career …
I decide I’ll just find Moss and say goodbye. Still holding my glass, I start on another circuit of the room.
A waiter catches me looking lost. ‘Restrooms to the left of the dance floor,’ she says.
‘Thanks.’ I smile and keep going.
When I reach the other side of the room I find a row of concertina doors leading to a paved area out the back. I’m through in a flash, relief carrying me forwards. He must be out here.
It’s mild outside. Lights edge the paving like an aeroplane runway. After just a few steps, I see Moss, talking in a group.
I start towards him and then stop, feeling a kick in the guts. He has his back to me, one arm around Kitty.
She’s in a tight silvery dress, and she looks amazing. I see Moss’s hand slide down to her hip, then up again.
For a moment I stand there, hurting. But soon the hurt’s replaced with something else. What’s she doing here? He invited me.
Without thinking, I march straight up to the group. There’s a gap between Rachel and Bruno, so I shuffle in. I take a gulp of wine to stop myself exploding.
I don’t want to look at Moss. But I can’t help staring.
‘Oh, they’re up to the red wine now?’ asks Bryn, looking at me.
‘What’s it like?’ says Rachel.
For a moment I don’t say anything. ‘It’s ah … nice.’ I hold out the glass. ‘Do you want to try?’
‘No, thanks.’ Rachel looks over her shoulder. ‘I’ll get my own.’
Bryn pats her on the back. ‘I’ll go. Who’s up for a red?’
It’s all so relaxed. For a moment I wonder if I’m overreacting. After all, Moss brought me. He walked in with me. We’re all adults here.
A waiter appears holding a tray of drinks. Hands move in and glasses are removed. I swap my empty for another red and gulp some more.
I’m not really sure how long I stay there, saying nothing and pretending to listen. At one point Kitty looks vaguely my way. She cocks an eyebrow and leans into Moss, whispering something. I turn the other way.
When people head in different directions, I slip in next to Moss and pull him into a corner.
‘Baaabe.’ He leans in for a kiss.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I snap. ‘You came with me.’
Moss pulls back and his eyes narrow. ‘What’s your problem? I told you the score.’
I still feel like he’s broken the rules and I want to say more, but the room’s spinning and I need to sit down.
‘Pull yourself together,’ Moss says through gritted teeth. ‘I told you already. This was never exclusive.’
Before I can say anything, he walks away.
What am I doing? I should go home.
Another tray is carried past so I grab a new glass, white wine this time. I down a mouthful and start to move. I’m pacing now. Lioness on the prowl.
The guy with the goatee looks over as I pass, but again I keep going. I pause in the corner and scan the room. Another guy glances my way. Plain face, T-shirt and jeans. He’s not expecting much attention, but he’s noticed me.
The next time he looks around, I catch his gaze and smile.
Colour flushes his cheeks and he looks away. It’s not long until he turns back. I’m still waiting. The guy heads nervously towards me.
He pauses a few steps away. ‘Hi, ah …’ He clears his throat. ‘I couldn’t help noticing, a girl like you on your own? That can’t be right.’
‘Hi, I’m Scarlett.’ The words come out slow.
‘Yeah, I know!’ He seems to relax. ‘So, did I hear right? You’re the dancer from the “Everywhere” video?’
I nod and laugh. ‘Well, there were four of us.’
‘You’re the prettiest. Hope you don’t mind me saying. I’m Dave, by the way.’
‘Dave?’ I say, and finish the rest of my wine. ‘Would you like to dance?’
His eyes widen. ‘Sure. You bet!’
Together we make our way to the dance floor and I stash my glass on the way. It’s darker in here, dappled light from a mirror ball. A pop tune from the eighties is playing. A few people are dancing already, but not many.
As soon as we start to move, I feel better. I’m still a bit dizzy, angry with Moss and annoyed with myself for staying. But each step I take releases something until I’m letting it all loose.
Dave turns out to be the perfect choice. He has zero technique and even less skill, but what he lacks in style, he makes up for in enthusiasm. He’s all arms and jerking legs, grinning the whole time.
Mostly I just keep it tame, but a couple of times I slide in close, rolling my hips and arching my back. Dave responds with a massive grin. Something tells me this guy’s in heaven.
One or two people stop to watch on their way to the
restrooms, so I give them something to look at, performing for the crowd. It’s only a matter of time.
We’re three songs in and sweating by the time Moss appears, Bruno beside him. For some reason I wish it wasn’t Bruno. But I pretend I don’t notice either of them, just move towards Dave with tighter moves now, closer. He’s not sure what to do, so I guide his hands around my waist, pull his head close.
There’s a moment when Dave’s moves slow down. There’s a change about him, and his head is leaning in. I realise what’s going on. He thinks he can kiss me.
His lips brush mine before I pull away, a lump in my throat. I don’t want this. I don’t want anyone else.
Dave’s face falls as I pull back, shaking my head. ‘I’m sorry …’
A hand grasps my wrist. Too tight. It’s Moss. I turn back to Dave, who looks confused.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ sneers Moss in my ear.
‘I’m sorry …’ But it’s for Dave. When he looks from me to Moss it’s clear that he understands what’s going on now. It’s almost as if he’s not surprised.
Moss is breathing hard, his jaw muscles clenching.
I draw myself up, glaring at him. ‘What’s your problem?’ I snap. ‘You knew this was never exclusive.’
Then I pull back my arm, my head spinning as I weave through the crowd.
FOURTEEN
The next day, my head is hurting and my heart feels empty. My mouth is dry, but drinking makes me want to throw up.
People keep looking at me strangely. Anka. Grant. Some kids from year ten. I ignore them all.
At lunchtime Anka slinks over to our table. ‘So, Scarlett, what did you do on the weekend?’
‘Oh … I don’t know.’ I don’t want to talk about it. Except, they’re all waiting. Izzy’s fork hovers mid-air. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘She hasn’t seen!’ shrieks Anka, and taps the screen of her phone before handing it to me.
Of course, the photos. Me smiling beside Moss like we’re a couple. I should be over the moon.
‘So what happened?’ asks Izzy.
I scroll through the article. Police were called out to an A-list party in Manchester Hill during the early hours of this morning.
I look up. ‘I don’t know. I left early.’ The article talks about a brawl. I check the names, glad that I don’t know anyone involved.
‘But what was it like?’ asks Anka.
‘I don’t know,’ I say again. ‘It was just a party.’ That only makes everyone more curious. They think I’m playing it coy.
‘Are you and Moss, like … going out?’ asks Izzy.
‘No.’ I lift my head to find Paige watching me closely. I look down again.
‘Is he coming to the grad performance?’ asks Anka.
I hadn’t even thought of asking Moss. He’d never come. I stand up. ‘I’m not feeling very well.’
They’re all still watching me. Izzy raises her eyebrows hopefully. Even Anka’s smiling. It’s as if they want a taste of what it’s like to be me.
If only they knew. I leave my lunch on the table and head out of the Academy.
I need coffee. It feels good to be outside but my stomach is still turning over.
At the cafe round the corner, I order and pay before finding a table on my own. A guy sitting a few tables away leans close to his mate and whispers something, making them both look my way. I stand up and move back to the counter.
‘Can I change that skinny flat white to a takeaway?’
I sip at my coffee on my way back into school. I’m still feeling seedy, but at least I’m not so tired anymore.
As soon as I wander past reception, Jack appears. ‘Scarlett, can I have a word?’ It’s as if he’s been waiting.
I follow him into his box of an office. Photo frames are set up on a tiny desk with their backs to me. I pick one up. It’s of Jack grinning next to a boy wearing tiger facepaint. ‘Cute kid.’
‘Yeah.’ He takes the photo and places it back in position before sitting opposite me.
I sit too, and shuffle. ‘Sorry I haven’t managed to get that reference.’
‘It’s not about that,’ says Jack. ‘We sent the letters out a while ago and I’m glad to say that the response has been good. A couple of interstate companies are making the trip. At least one agent. Closing night is almost full. We’ll have the Artistic Director from the NBC.’
I smile. So he’ll be in the audience. I can do the rest.
‘Scarlett, a couple of your pieces of work have come to my attention.’ Jack lifts papers from his desk and places them back, then raises the top page. ‘This text response that you did for Mrs Wearne? And a psychology report?’
One was finished the day after my first night at the Dixie Bar. The other was crammed in between practising for my solo assessment and school. Both were handed in on time.
‘What about them?’ I ask, seeing red marks scribbled all over the page and a circled number. ‘Sixty-eight per cent? That’s a pass, isn’t it?’
Jack taps the edges of the pages on the desk, then places them flat. ‘Yes, but a big drop in standard. And typos. Silly mistakes.’
‘Jack … next year I’ll be dancing. You’ve said so yourself. So as long as I pass, then what does it matter?’
Jack crosses his arms. ‘It does matter.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, for a start your mother’s worried. She called me this morning, and that’s not the first time.’
I’m starting to get an idea of what happens at home when I’m out.
‘Scarlett, the Academy isn’t just about preparing you for a career as a dancer, it’s about preparing you for life.’
‘Now you’re sounding like Mr Winchester.’
‘Yes. I’m coming to that,’ says Jack. ‘He keeps asking for updates on how you’re doing, Scarlett. And so help me I’m not going to lie. I’ve spent enough time reassuring him that you’re right for the lead.’
‘Then tell him how much time I put in after school, and … you see me at rehearsal. I’m working my butt off for this, Jack!’
‘Sure, I see you working.’ Jack’s eyebrows go up. ‘But what’s this I hear about some party on the weekend? Photos online?’
‘It’s nothing,’ I whisper, shaking my head.
‘You know, I wouldn’t normally say this.’ Jack pauses to check the door. ‘If you play your cards right and keep working hard, you could land almost any job you want. Do you realise what I’m telling you?’
Quiet hangs in the air between us.
‘But you need to be smart about this, Scarlett. You can’t dictate the terms in this industry.’ Jack looks me in the eye. ‘You said you can do what you’re told when you have to. Well, this is it. It’s time to play the game.’
I clear my throat. ‘Okay, thanks, Jack.’
I’m still feeling queasy, but I force that to the same place where I hold everything else. Stress, hunger, aches of all shapes and sizes. I was the one who wanted to see how far I could push myself. Well, this is what it’s like. Dancing on quicksand.
We’re on the home stretch to opening night, which means everything other than performance rehearsals goes out the window. Miss Penelope pulls Tadpole out of his ballet class to rehearse the pas de deux. There are no understudies today, just me and him. He’s not the reason why this rehearsal was scheduled, though.
As we start into the steps, I feel Miss Penelope’s cat eyes on my every move. Ready to pounce.
‘Chin up, Scarlett,’ she calls. ‘EXTEND!’
I stay focused, working through the piece, and responding to Tadpole as I go. The practice I’ve been doing comes back easily, and for the first time all day I begin to feel like myself again. In control.
We come to the section that I messed up last time, and make it through easily. When our eyes next meet, Tadpole winks. I raise my eyebrows in response and keep on going.
‘Staying in CHARACTER,’ yells Miss Penelope, but when I glance over I
’m sure I see a kink in the corner of her mouth.
For some reason, my skin is flushed – hot and dry. I’m giving it my all but not sweating like normal. I should have been drinking more water. We come to the end and I’m panting.
‘Okay, take five,’ calls Miss Penelope.
I dive for my water bottle. Just two mouthfuls at first, testing the way it hits my stomach. The queasiness is mostly gone but now I wish I’d managed to eat. Two more hours …
It’s okay. I’ll find the energy somewhere. I know how to push through this.
When we start into it again, Miss Penelope stays quiet and I feel Tadpole relax. I spin into him, and end up right where I’m meant to be. Perfection. Our eyes meet before I spin away. I fix on a point in the mirror to stop me overbalancing as I turn.
When I pull out of the turn, my head keeps spinning as I launch into a leap. The world tilts and the floor rushes up to meet me. As I land, my leg collapses and I hit the ground with a stinging slap on bum cheek and thigh.
‘Shit.’ I clear my head with a few good shakes. ‘Sorry.’ I move onto all fours.
‘Don’t get UP!’
Hands push me back. Awkwardly, I sit again, resting on the bum cheek that didn’t take the fall. That sure is going to be the mother of all bruises.
Miss Penelope sits next to me and rests my leg on her knees. ‘Scissors!’ she barks at Tadpole.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘My ankle’s fine.’ I wish I could say the same for my bum. ‘I’ll be okay.’
She’s not listening. Tadpole comes back and my pointe shoe comes off, tights are cut away. I circle my ankle as proof.
Miss Penelope works through various tests and prods before moving to my knee. ‘No pain at all?’
I shake my head. ‘No. I’m okay.’ Tadpole’s rocking from one foot to the other. ‘Sorry, I’ll keep going,’ I say, and push against the floor, meaning to stand.
‘No.’ Miss Penelope places a hand on my shoulder.
I keep going, pushing past her resistance and standing anyway. I test my weight on my ankle. ‘I’m fine. Really.’
Miss Penelope places her hands on her hips and looks from me to Tadpole. She breathes in. ‘Twice I’ve seen dancers keep working after a scare and then end up with a real injury.’
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