by J. C. Long
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s famous and I’m Tate O’Connor from Memphis. He’s miles out of my league.”
Lucy let out a little harrumph of impatience. “Who came up with this ‘league’ stuff, anyway? It’s so stupid.”
“You can say that,” I explained patiently, “because you’re in the top league. There isn’t anyone who is out of your league. As for the rest of us mere mortals—well, it’s just reality.”
“Don’t tell me you actually believe that, Tate.”
I shrugged. The truth was I did and I didn’t. I knew that the idea of someone being in a certain league was silly, a result of self-esteem issues in myself and people like me, or else arrogance in others. I knew that, but an academic knowledge doesn’t necessarily translate to an emotional understanding. I knew it, and the part of myself that wrestled with low self-esteem didn’t believe it. It was like the parent of a bully knowing on some level the truth about their child but not believing it.
“You make no sense to me,” said Lucy with a shake of her head. “Absolutely no sense. You have a chance that most people couldn’t even imagine—you have the chance to get to know a famous crush, and you’re just going to waste it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t plan on throwing myself at his feet,” I grumbled, though without any heat. “I’m not going to make an idiot of myself over a famous guy.”
“Even if that famous guy is Mike Chang?” Lucy pressed.
“Even if that famous guy is Mike Chang,” I replied firmly. “Now, instead of going on about something that’s never going to happen, why don’t you tell me about all the boys you’ve met there?”
Lucy pretended to look offended. “What makes you think there have been any boys?” She could only maintain that for a moment, though. An instant later she was gushing on, as I knew she would. “Well, there was this one guy at the bar last night….”
SCENE III
THE FIRST week was much the same, though I didn’t see Mike again, to my disappointment. It might have been better for me, though. The rehearsals only became more intense as they went on. By the time we were practicing the entire group number, a dancer who made a mistake received harsh criticism. I saw more than one dancer new to the pressures of Broadway repeat the sequence with tears running down their faces. I vowed then to not be one of them.
“You have to grow a thick skin for this,” Cally murmured as we watched one of those girls fall victim to Glinnis after missing the same step-ball-change-step-ball-change sequence twice in a row. “Broadway eats weak dancers for breakfast.”
The girl deserved it, I thought privately, though the thought was not one I was proud of. But face it, step-ball-changes were the most basic steps for any dancer—the foundation for pretty much every other dance sequence out there.
When Saturday rehearsal came, I was sore and had more than once questioned my sanity in choosing this career path. When I walked into the dance hall, I saw Glinnis standing in the corner where the piano was, along with the show’s director, Darren Corker, the music director, Oliver Burton, and three actors—one of whom was Mike Chang. Mike stood in the middle of the three in a tank top that showed off his impressively muscular arms and the obvious shape of his pecs, and a pair of form-fitting dark sweatpants. He looked utterly delicious. I was 100 percent confident that I was not the only one who thought so either. More than a few eyes roamed his way.
To Mike’s right was someone else I recognized immediately: Annabelle Hutch, Broadway’s new darling. Pint-sized and blonde, she’d had only one role before this. That role just happened to be Glinda in the long-running Wicked, so no one doubted her skill. She had a voice like an angel and a killer body to go right along with it.
To Mike’s left was a man about twenty years old, like me, who was introduced to us as Donnie Reynolds. He had a chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and honey-colored hair that perfectly framed his face. His handsomeness was marred, as far as I was concerned, by his haughty expression. He looked like he thought he was too good to be there. There was a slant to his posture and an impatient tapping of his foot that loudly broadcasted that he did not want to be there with us.
We dancers set about our warm-ups and stretches while Glinnis talked to the director and the three leads. Throughout my stretches I snuck glances at Mike, admiring his profile, the smooth contour of his jaw, the messy, meticulous just-out-of-bed styling of his hair, the small smile that seemed to constantly tug on the corner of his mouth, which grew as Annabelle whispered something to him.
Cally gave my foot a nudge with her own, meeting my embarrassed look with a quiet, knowing snicker.
I forced myself to stare at my feet for the rest of the stretches.
“We’ve got a lot to do today,” Glinnis called when we finished stretching. “Mr. Corker wants to see the opening number.” She turned to Mike, Annabelle, and Donnie. “You three watch closely, and then I’ll start fitting you in. Everyone ready?”
Oliver Burton took his place at the piano, and I felt a flash of nervousness. They’d never gone through the number with live music before. The tempo the music director preferred might differ from the tape, which might not be a huge change but would be an adjustment for the dancers.
The music began, and the pacing was indeed slightly different from the recording, Burton setting a quicker allegro than the conductor of the recording had. It didn’t change things too badly, though, and I adjusted easily enough. Other dancers didn’t fare as well. A few lost the beat, one guy tripping over his own feet as he tried to skip a move and was on the wrong starting foot.
Donnie guffawed loudly at that. Rage bubbled inside me. This guy had the absolute worst attitude problem I’d seen since coming to New York. Television and movies made it seem as if people like Donnie were a dime a dozen in this city, but I had yet to come across anyone like that in the many auditions I’d been to. Even Mike and Annabelle looked off-put. They both kind of grimaced when he laughed at the poor guy’s misstep. Stereotypes come from somewhere, they say, and I’d guess that whoever created that particular one had a run-in with Donnie at some point in the past.
When we finished the number, Glinnis did not look too pleased. Corker, however, smiled.
“They’ll get the pacing down now that they’ve heard the live music,” he said serenely, motioning for Glinnis to continue.
“Okay, now I’m going to fit the principals in. Everyone to starting positions.”
We dancers made our way to where we began the number as Glinnis walked through and placed Mike, Annabelle, and Donnie amongst us. Annabelle was near the front with Cally, the two almost equal in height. Mike was in the very middle, and unfortunately Donnie was a scant few feet from me. I could almost feel the negativity and smugness roiling off him like heat from a fire.
“When the lights hit, you’re going to be hidden by the dancers. When the dancers part in the second eight count, you’ll be revealed and you’ll be striking poses.”
She demonstrated each pose for the principals. Surprisingly, Donnie had trouble with his instructions.
“You keep turning it into a curve,” Glinnis said impatiently after repeatedly showing Donnie his pose. “We’re not going for pretty here. I don’t want curves. Give me a Fosse leg. No, no, a Fosse leg. Mr. O’Connor!”
I jumped when Glinnis suddenly addressed me. “Y-yes, ma’am?”
“Can you demonstrate what I mean by a Fosse leg for Mr. Reynolds here?”
“Uh, sure.” I looked at Donnie’s pose and mimicked it and then made the adjustment necessary to give Glinnis what she wanted. I turned my right knee sharply inward, creating a rigid angle as opposed to the sloping curve Donnie portrayed. Fosse was famous for jarring angles. He loved creating them with bodies, even though most choreographers in his time went for smooth beauty and graceful curves. It was a major part of his signature and one big reason for his popularity.
“Perfect, Mr. O’Connor. That is what I want, Mr. Reynolds.”
Donnie sc
owled at me as he turned his knee in awkwardly to mimic the pose. Where I looked natural in it from plenty of practice, Donnie just looked ungainly. Take that, smug prick. I could not hide my pleasure, and I was certain Donnie saw it on my face.
The moment the first break came, Donnie stalked out of the hall. His mood had become fouler and fouler as rehearsal progressed. The only time Glinnis had anything to say to him was in criticism, something I imagined he didn’t get a lot.
I stepped out to refill my water and saw Donnie standing near the door with a small group of guys and girls who’d flocked to him quickly, fawning over him. “A fucking amateur,” he was saying in quiet fury. “Can’t believe they couldn’t get a choreographer who had any idea what she was doing.”
I watched in disbelief as the other ensemble people nodded, voicing their agreement and comforting him by telling him how great he was. His dancing inability was Glinnis’s fault? Glinnis Hall had won Drama Desks, international awards, and a Tony for her choreography, but she was the problem? Donnie’s blaming Glinnis for his own shortcomings spoke volumes about his personality.
Donnie saw me looking and scowled.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
I rolled my eyes and filled my bottle like I’d meant to.
“This show is full of talentless hacks,” Donnie sneered, lips curling unpleasantly.
Expression calm, I looked at him and nodded. “It really is, isn’t it?” I walked back into the rehearsal hall before Donnie realized the true implication behind my words.
SCENE IV
THE NEXT week was a blur for me, filled with grueling dance practices, the beginning of scene staging, and music rehearsal for the group numbers. On Thursday Glinnis began working on small dance numbers.
As exciting as the prospect seems, and as much as we think putting together a show on Broadway would somehow be different from putting together a high school or community theatre production because it’s, well, Broadway, the reality is that the scale might be bigger but everything else is basically the same. Well, except for the money. Getting paid is a great bonus.
Friday I had call thirty minutes earlier than the other dancers, and I did not know what I should expect. I walked into the dance rehearsal room in my practice clothes to find that only Glinnis was in there, listening to one of the numbers we would be working on later. She muttered the count of the beats and tapped her hand on her thigh as she did.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said hesitantly.
Glinnis switched the music off and turned to me.
“I was written on the call sheet for four thirty.”
“Yes, I know. I wrote it in. There was something I wanted to talk to you about before everyone gets here. You’re going to be dance captain.” Glinnis’s voice came as close to exhibiting approval as I thought she was capable of. “You can help with the smaller numbers when I’m doing other things, make sure the steps are down and perfected throughout the run. Are you up for that task?”
Was I up to the task? Was she kidding? I couldn’t imagine being given this opportunity, but here it was. My very first show and I was dance captain. Beaming, I nodded.
“Good. The first call will be here in about fifteen minutes. I want you to watch it and get it down. Be back here in fifteen.”
I nodded again, walking out of the rehearsal hall, unable to process anything around me. The floor and walls seemed to be whizzing past me, like the scenery from the window of a train. How had I ended up so lucky? I dug into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone, then dialed my mother’s number, hesitating the slightest bit before I punched Call.
It rang a few times before my mother answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mom, it’s me. I don’t have much time, but I got some really good news, and I wanted to share it with you. I was made dance captain of my show.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mom said, though I could tell she only knew it was a good thing judging by the tone of my voice. I was excited, so it must be good. My family never put in any effort to understand the world that I lived in day to day.
“Yeah. It’s a really big deal. I’m basically going to be running some of the small dance rehearsals and helping the other dancers with the steps.” I wasn’t sure why I was bothering to explain. My parents had no inkling of what I did, and while they took me to and from dance lessons, indulging me despite how expensive I knew they were, and even allowed me to stay out very late on school nights for community theatre, they never exactly supported me. They didn’t discourage me, so there was that.
What it came down to, really, was that I needed to tell somebody, and Lucy was in Greece. My mother was better than no one.
“Okay, Mom, I have to go now,” I said, realizing that this simply wasn’t going to be the conversation I wanted it to be. “I’ll be watching my first dance practice in a few minutes. Love you.” I hung up the phone and went inside, regretting—though not for the first time—the time difference between Greece and New York.
THE FIRST dance Glinnis had me watch was between Annabelle and Mike, an interesting hybrid of modern dance and a classical tango. I paid close attention as Glinnis taught the steps, knowing I would need to demonstrate them myself if one of them asked. When the two began running the dance in its entirety I just watched, eyes glued to Mike as he moved. A sheen of sweat had grown on Mike’s body, causing him to glisten ever so slightly in the fluorescent lighting of the practice room. His face was set in concentration as he moved, his steps fluid if a bit clunky. I could tell that with practice he would master the dance, no problem.
Annabelle, for her part, was already amazing. She moved with the grace and talent of someone who had danced their entire life. Every extension of her leg was graceful and smooth. It was as if she were floating from step to step, her feet barely even touching the floor. It was breathtaking.
I handed both of them water bottles when Glinnis finally called a halt to their practice. Annabelle sipped at hers while Mike drained his own in one deep, steady drink, gasping when he finished.
“How much time do we have until Corker needs us?” Mike asked Annabelle.
Checking her watch, she replied, “About fifteen minutes.”
“Great. I could use a smoke.”
The two started out of the room. I stood there awkwardly, wondering what I should do. I would have my own dance call later that evening, but there was time. I could just hang around the studio, but that might seem a bit depressing—not that I hadn’t ever been dropped off at Miss Caradine’s Dance Studio before it opened before. At least here I could wait inside. No one would really know how long I had been there.
At the door Mike paused and glanced my way. “We’re going to go out back and grab a smoke. Do you want to join?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The principals were inviting me out behind the studio for a smoke? I felt like the loner at school finally invited to sit with the popular kids. Not that I had ever had that experience, of course. I answered before I’d even fully processed the thought.
“Sure!”
The three of us made our way through the back door, propping it open with a brick that was back there for this express purpose. Annabelle already had a cigarette lit by the time I exited the building.
We were standing there for a few moments before Annabelle directed a question toward me.
“Are you out of cigarettes?”
I was confused for a moment and then realized she was asking because I hadn’t lit one.
“You can bum one off of me, if you want.” She offered her pack to me obligingly.
“What? Oh, no, no thanks,” I said sheepishly. I felt my ears start to redden. “I don’t smoke.”
“Why did you come out, then?” Mike asked, amused.
“The cool air,” I offered lamely, realizing I looked like an idiot for joining them for a smoke when I didn’t even smoke. Cool air? What’s wrong with me? It’s fucking July! What cool air? New York might be “the North,” but it was still hot a
s hell in the middle of July, especially after you’d adjusted to it. The day was humid, the air thick and hanging heavily. Not even a ghost of a breeze moved about us. I didn’t just look like an idiot, I actually was one!
Thankfully they didn’t seem to notice my mental clumsiness or else chose not to speak on it. The conversation quickly turned to the mundane, and I could breathe easier again.
“I’m Mike. This is Annabelle.”
Mike extended his hand, and I shook it, a little thrill running through me as our skin made contact, both a bit sweaty—him from the exertion of dancing and me from the summer heat.
“I’m Tate. Nice to meet you.”
“Where are you from?” Annabelle asked, head cocked as if she caught a hint of an accent.
That wasn’t possible, though. I worked really hard to make sure no hint of a Southern drawl came through in my voice. I wasn’t embarrassed by where I came from, nor did I really think the accent was something to be embarrassed about. However, I’d learned a long time ago that the moment someone heard that sound they would label you a stupid redneck, no matter how many degrees you held. And I didn’t hold any, unless you counted a two-year certificate from a theatrical conservatory, and somehow most people didn’t count that.
“Memphis,” I mumbled. “Memphis, Tennessee.”
“Hey, I’ve been there,” Mike said, taking a long draw on his cigarette.
“Really?” I perked up at that. I hadn’t met many people this far north who had been there. Most knew it for the obvious reasons, Elvis and such, but few had actually visited. My hometown had a reputation for being a bit dangerous—a reputation that was well-earned, for the most part, unfortunately.
“Yeah. Best barbecue I’ve ever eaten.”
There were a few topics one could bring up that would stimulate conversation in even the most reticent Memphian, and barbecue happened to be number one on that list. My head bobbed emphatically. “You got that right. I miss good Memphis barbecue.”