An unnamed source informs us that Anastasia Delaney-Richardson’s future hangs in the balance as the company seeks to distance itself after last night, when ambulances were called during La Fille Mal Gardée . . .
Holding my breath, I click the link.
Oops, this page cannot be found.
What?
I try again. Still nothing. Someone’s taken it down. Who would do that? And who is the ‘unnamed source’?
Something clicks into place. The letters from ‘B’, the mention in them of a betrayal, the photo of Mum with Miss Duke’s husband, and now this article . . . They all add up to one undeniable fact: Miss Duke must have spoken to the papers.
She ended Mum’s career.
CHAPTER 21
Triple Threat is ruining my life. Ratings are through the roof, and all anyone seems to care about is the supposed love triangle between me, Fletch and Luca. I now can’t go anywhere without someone pointing a phone at me, calling my name or coming up to me and asking for a selfie. One guy in Soho last week shouted at me across the road, ‘Oi! When you gonna let Luca into your pants?’ Alec, who was with me at the time, went over and threatened to punch him until Leon managed to talk him down. I’m sure at least four people filmed it. The whole thing’s a mess.
I’m heading up Wardour Street with Kiki after Chicago rehearsals. We’re exhausted. Lisa, concerned that too much of our rehearsal time is taken up with performing stuff over and over for Sam, has had us in all over Easter to catch up. I don’t blame her – we’re approaching mid-April and we still haven’t finished setting everything – but it’s taking its toll on our bodies.
‘Hey!’
We turn around and see a group of schoolgirls in the doorway of a shop. Two of them have their phones out and are filming us.
One of them squeals. ‘It is them!’
‘Excuse me, are you the girls from Triple Threat?’ says another.
Kiki smiles. ‘Er, yeah.’
‘Omigod, we love you! Kiki, you’re, like, the best dancer in the world. And Nettie, your singing is LIFE! Can we have a selfie?’
‘I guess?’ Kiki looks at me, and I shrug.
They huddle around, one of them with her phone held out, and we smile for the camera.
‘Gonna tag you in my story,’ says the girl with the camera.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ adds another to Kiki. ‘Like, I want to be you.’
‘Thanks,’ says Kiki, bewildered but clearly pleased.
We promise to like their photo on Instagram, and they head into the shop, giggling excitedly. Both of us are slightly weirded out.
‘Well, that was strange,’ I say.
‘Cool, though.’ Kiki looks back towards the shop, smiling. ‘That’s the first time I’ve been recognized. It felt nice! Everyone’s so talented at Duke’s, it’s almost like no one’s talented. Your reward is just being there. No one ever says well done, or tells me I’m good, or says I look pretty.’
‘I tell you you’re amazing, and incredibly beautiful,’ I say. ‘All the time.’
‘I know,’ she says, smiling. ‘I meant the teachers, though. I was talking to Sam about the Duke’s Awards, how I feel like I need to win just to keep my head above water, get noticed. How I feel the pressure to look a certain way. How I’ll never be enough. Sam says it’s a bullshit industry, but if I want to be part of it, I’ve got to play the game. Go that extra mile, keep the weight down. Look the best.’
Sam says, Sam says. ‘Kiki, you’re more than enough. You’re everything.’
‘But I’m not skinny. Not skinny-skinny. And that’s what the industry wants. It wants shoulder bones, perfect cleavage, tiny ribcage, minuscule waist, arse like a firm peach, and a thigh gap you could park a truck in. It wants smooth, glossy hair. It wants big lips, small noses, high cheekbones. It wants white girls, Nettie, and even when it does let women of colour and Black women in, it judges our bodies on white standards. It wants us all homogenized: the same shape, colour, height and weight until we all look like one person. It doesn’t care about the thousands of hours of ballet, or the exams, or the sweat, or the tears. It only cares that we fit the mould. Like, maybe when I’m a world-famous dancer, I’ll be able to shake things up, say what I think, but right now I’m at the bottom of the pile. And from down here, I’ve no other option. I’ve got to play the game.’
I hate that Kiki feels so shit, but Sam’s advice, while completely toxic, actually has a twisted logic behind it. Kiki and I are starting out, right at the bottom; we can’t go tearing the industry up from its roots.
But maybe that’s exactly what we should be doing.
All anyone can talk about at rehearsals lately is the Duke’s Awards. What are you singing? What are you wearing? What monologue have you chosen? Everyone’s desperate to get to the finals, which are held every year at a West End theatre and are watched by the whole of the theatrical glitterati. This year there’s the added pressure (or benefit, depending on how you look at it) of the Triple Threat cameras. Everything we do is basically a self-tape for the entire industry.
Leon and I are just discussing what he should sing for the first round, when Taro comes over. Leon visibly tenses but smiles politely.
‘Don’t tell me – the Duke’s Awards?’ Taro says.
‘What else?’ I say. ‘What are you singing, Taro?’
He shakes his hair off his face. ‘I dunno. I was going to do “If I Can’t Love Her” from Beauty and the Beast, but Alec said it was basic.’
‘Basic?’ I say. ‘It’s a beautiful song.’
‘Alec said that?’ says Leon at the same time.
‘Yeah, that’s what I told him,’ says Taro, answering my question, which was louder than Leon’s. ‘I think I’ll do it anyway.’ He drifts off casually to the coffee station, leaving Leon and me open mouthed.
‘Why has Alec got any input in what Taro’s singing, anyway?’ says Leon.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think they were even speaking.’
When Leon looks at me doubtfully, I add, ‘Alec always said the ball was a one-off. He hasn’t mentioned Taro, or stayed out all night, and Taro hasn’t been to our flat. I don’t think he’d do that to you, Leon, not after everything that’s happened.’
‘Yeah,’ says Leon, but his face tells me he’s thinking something different.
The next two weeks go in a blur of extra lessons with Lisa, who’s intent on turning me into Ann Reinking before opening night, and panicked lessons with Steph, practising for the Duke’s Awards. She seems as stressed out as Fletch. If this is what creating a new musical is like, I think I’d rather not, thanks. Just bung me in Mamma Mia! and I’ll be happy. Actually, what am I saying – I’d be happy with any job.
Fletch and I have barely spoken these last two weeks. When we do talk, he barely asks me anything about Chicago, or my weekend plans. How can he expect me to share stuff with him if he shows no interest in my life? There’s been no mention of Triple Threat, either – I don’t even know if he’s seen any more episodes. That kind of hurts, too. Which I know doesn’t make any sense when I’m also dreading him seeing it, but it’s, like, your girlfriend’s on TV every week and is now randomly quite well known. Surely that’s a big enough deal for you to watch it, or at least acknowledge it, even if it does end in us fighting?
Luca’s as determined as I am not to let things get weird between us, but we’re definitely still censoring our behaviour in front of the cameras. Every time we run ‘Razzle Dazzle’, I cringe at the way Sam swoops in on us.
Lisa’s not impressed. ‘Come on, you guys. This pas de deux shouldn’t even be in the show –’ she glares over at Sam – ‘so it has to be impeccable to work. You two just don’t have the chemistry you used to. I need more authenticity. More sexual tension.’
More sexual tension? Oh my God.
Michael’s becoming increasingly bothered by the scheduling changes Triple Threat has caused. As we pack up after the sitzprobe, I overhear him arguing with Sam in a low voice.
‘I’ve told you, Michael. We’re building towards the season finale.’
‘The students are exhausted, Sam. They worked all through Easter to give you material, and these awards are a big deal. I don’t think having them the week before Chicago is good for focus.’
‘You knew it was going to be like this from the off. Miss Duke agreed to hand all scheduling over to me.’
Luca, who’s also eavesdropping, raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home,’ he says.
As we walk down Wardour Street, I check my messages. This morning I sent Fletch a picture Kiki took of me dancing in rehearsals. Without being too vain, I was quite pleased with it – I can see how much my dancing’s improved with all these classes with Lisa. Fletch saw the photo more than twelve hours ago but still hasn’t replied. I know he’s busy, but would it have killed him to send a heart or a kiss? I’m always asking how it’s going down there, cheering him on when he gets down, and being supportive. Why can’t he do the same?
‘Hey, well done tonight,’ Luca says, stopping for a moment. ‘Your dancing was looking really great in “Me and My Baby”. I can tell how hard you’ve worked.’ His shiny dark hair whips across his face in the wind, and he puts a hand up to push it back.
Why is Luca saying everything I want my boyfriend to say? It’s almost a shame we don’t have feelings for each other. Things would be undeniably less complicated.
I smile. ‘Thanks, Luca. You were pretty good yourself.’
‘I mean, that’s kind, but we both know I’m miscast in this role. If it weren’t for all the fun we’ve had, I’d be having major regrets.’
‘It has been fun, despite all the hard work . . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh as much as when I flung myself backwards to sit on your lap at the start of the number, but you’d gone to talk to Leon.’
He grins. ‘I was sorry, but it was too funny. Your surprised face was what got me. And the fact that you were on the floor.’
We both chuckle at the memory. Almost like clockwork, someone wolf-whistles from the other side of the road. I step back automatically. Luca bristles.
‘Seriously, people need to do one,’ he says.
We walk back through St James’s and Piccadilly, less chatty than we normally would be. It takes us both a while to shake off what just happened. When we arrive at Langley Street, Luca doesn’t hug me like he normally does; we just part ways with an awkward wave. I can’t deal with this any more.
When I get home, Alec’s waiting with a wooden spoon in his hand, wearing a new pinny with a life-size photo of Shirley MacLaine on the front.
‘Where have you been? Out with your other boyfriend?’
‘Alec, I’m not in the mood,’ I say.
For once, he takes the hint. ‘What’s up?’
‘Urgh, nothing,’ I say. I try to slink off to my room, but he pulls me back.
‘It’s Luca, right?’
‘Someone just wolf-whistled at us on the street.’
‘Nettie, if you’re worried about your feelings for Luca—’
‘I’m not!’
‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with finding people attractive. There’s no rule that just because you have a boyfriend, you must suddenly start pretending you don’t fancy anyone else. It would be weird if you didn’t.’
‘That’s not it.’
‘Well, what is it, then?’
‘It’s the programme. It’s made everything weird between us. We don’t want Sam to film us together, so we avoid each other when the cameras are on, but then it feels like we’re censoring our behaviour, which makes me feel guilty, even though there’s nothing between us.’
‘Maybe you should stop spending time with Luca. Fletch is clearly jealous, and—’
‘Fletch is being an arse about it, actually,’ I snap.
‘Well, look at it from his point of view. There’s Triple Threat and all the unfathomably unreasonable things being shown on there – plus he’s away and you’re having a fabulous time with his best friend. You can’t really blame him, can you?’
‘Have you been talking to him?’ I say sharply.
‘No! Not about that, anyway. Nettie, I wouldn’t do that – not behind your back. But he’s my friend too, and I don’t think you can underestimate how tough he’s finding things right now.’
‘What am I supposed to do – stay in bed crying? Quit Chicago?’
‘Of course not. Just remember that Fletch is having a really hard time, too, so if there are things you can do to make everything smoother sailing, do them.’
Smooth sailing? If only. This year’s been nothing but drama since we started. I wish I could go back and do it all again, make everything right. But real life doesn’t work like that, does it? It’s not a preview. Every day of real life at Duke’s is like opening night: no second chances. But throw Triple Threat into the mix, and suddenly I don’t know what’s real and what’s part of the show any more.
CHAPTER 22
07:36
Where are you?
Alec:
Went in early to rehearse.
You’re keen!
DUKE’S AWARDS TODAY
I HAVE to win this, Nettie.
May’s arrived, and with it comes a load of stress: our performance of Chicago, and the Duke’s Awards. Last year, I entered the Duke’s Awards as a singer-songwriter with Fletch, but because of my disastrous vocal situation couldn’t actually sing the song, so Jade ended up duetting with him. I was devastated.
This year I’m singing ‘The History of Wrong Guys’ from Kinky Boots for my first round entry, and I intend not to fuck it up. The first round of each category – classical dance, jazz dance, acting, singing, songwriting, composition, choreography – takes place in the studio theatre. Students, teachers and even Miss Paige and the office staff come to watch. No classes. No rehearsals, either. Michael’s seething. Honestly, I’m nervous about the time off, too. I was just beginning to feel happy with what I was doing, and now we’re stopping right before we open.
Kiki’s got two pieces in the competition: her commercial solo and a contemporary group dance that she’s choreographed. She’s been worrying about her costume all week because Sam told her that the sequinned two-piece she was wearing ‘wasn’t very flattering’ on camera. Kiki was hurt, I think – especially as the outfit was from her collection and she was hoping to showcase it. She ended up changing her costume at the last minute. I literally don’t even know why she insists on being friends with Sam.
Sequins or no sequins, she smashes her jazz dance. There’s no way she won’t get through to the finals. And win it. No one else comes even close with their performance.
When Jade gets up to dance, Sam busies the cameras with at least five different shots, and Jade has to do the dance several times until they get what they need. It makes me angry that Kiki, who so clearly deserves it, got a tenth of the time they’re spending on Jade.
‘I don’t get it,’ says Kiki, who’s come from backstage to watch. ‘She’s not even good.’
‘That’s why they need all the shots,’ says Alec, who’s already killed his dance in the morning and is enjoying the luxury of not having to stress about it any more (unlike Leon and me, who are both still sitting there stiffly in our smart clothes, waiting for the singing round). ‘Close-ups, lots of different angles. Standard pop-video stuff. People won’t be able to get a clear view. It’ll look good; they’ll believe what they’re told. Don’t be surprised if she gets through.’
Leon is brilliant in the singing round. He emerges from the wings, looking gorgeous, and gives a performance of ‘What Would I Do?’ from Falsettos that’s beautifully understated and deeply emotional. There’s a pause as he finishes the song where you could hear a hairpin fall to the floor. Then the audience erupts. I’m so happy for Leon; he deserves this recognition.
Alec sniffs next to me. I gla
nce at him, about to comment about how amazing Leon is, but seeing him, the words stick in my throat.
Alec is sobbing.
Not just a couple of token tears. He’s ugly-crying. His chest is heaving shakily and his nose is running. Like, I get it, Leon’s performance was emosh and I’m feeling it, too, but Alec . . . doesn’t cry. I’ve never seen one tear exit his face.
‘Do you . . . want a tissue?’
He nods, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. I reach into my bag for one and pass it to him. He blows his nose loudly.
‘Are you . . . OK?’ I say.
He gulps. ‘He’s – That was . . .’
Alec can’t seem to find the words. It’s strange to see him like this. The song’s about deep, loving friendship. Maybe he feels bad about the way he’s treated Leon. Or is he just sad their relationship isn’t quite back to where it was? It’s an odd, outof-character reaction. Maybe it’s . . . guilt? Recently, I’ve been watching Alec’s behaviour around Taro. He goes out of his way to avoid him. I think he can’t handle what he did.
There’s no time to discuss it. The girls round is next and I have to go. Leon’s performance and Alec’s bizarre reaction still lingering in my brain, I go to get myself ready backstage, feeling a little battered.
Kiki’s in early the next morning to deliver the news to us all.
07:50
Kiki:
Hey, have you seen the board?
Alec:
We’re still at the flat! Tell me TELL ME
Kiki:
We’re all through!
Yay!!!
Alec:
FINALS, BABY!
Phew
Would have been embarrassing for them if I hadn’t got through
Kiki:
Could you just for once not be a bighead pls, Alec?
Dance Like No One's Watching Page 20