Olivia needed to have her head examined. Is it possible that a torn Achilles tendon could affect your sanity? she wondered.
She’d canceled her flight back to Chicago, called Raoul to tell him she needed more time, notified her agent, and called Ana, her closest friend in the dance company, and asked her to pack up her casual clothes and dancewear and have them shipped to Northridge. Then she broke the news to Jennie that she’d have a housemate through June, who took it in her usual frustratingly stoic fashion.
Finally, she’d spoken with the surgeon and the physical therapist about sending her records and PT plan to a center in Atlanta that treated the Atlanta Ballet’s dancers, so she could continue her rehab there, which meant hours in the car driving to and from her appointments.
Now she sat reviewing the audition flyers Amy had created and emailed to her. With no time to spare, the auditions would start the day after tomorrow.
The dancers age eleven and under would be assigned roles by their classes. But the dancers twelve and over could audition for age-appropriate roles, including Cinderella, the Wicked Stepmother, the Fairy Godmother, the Stepsisters, Prince Christopher, etc. Town residents could audition for roles like Prince Christopher’s parents, the Town Crier, and other non-dancing roles.
In the meantime, she’d asked Amy to pull together the usual suspects who helped out with set design and get them started. Amy had found photos of the Cinderella production from almost twenty years earlier, and Olivia had made notes of the changes she wanted.
Amy also unearthed the script and staging for the previous production, as well as the pages and pages of choreography. Olivia would spend the chilly evening curled up in front of the fire reading and revising the script.
It would follow the Broadway version, including the music, as closely as possible, but Olivia would put her own spin on the choreography while playing to the assets of the yet-to-be-cast dancers.
Once the script was finalized, and the dancers chosen, she could turn her attention to costumes. They could range from soft, lyrical, and contemporary, to classic long and short tutus. She’d yet to make a decision there. That, too, may depend on the casting decisions.
She leaned her head against the high-back wing chair and groaned. Then would come fittings and rehearsals. Aside from the recital, Olivia would be taking over many of her mother’s classes. No small feat when she couldn’t perform many of the steps.
She needed help. How did her mother do all this by herself?
One thing was for sure, the next three months would keep her busy. Maybe too busy to mourn her mother and the loss of her career, and to fret over the ever-present Zach Ryder.
“What’ll you have?” Neil, one of The Firehouse Taproom’s bartenders, asked.
“How about that new honey ale?” Zach nodded to the chalkboard behind the bar listing the newest pourings.
“You got it.”
Looking around the warm, comfortable pub, Zach asked, “Where’s Tyler?”
“He’s in the back, checking on the kegs that were delivered earlier today.”
After the success of the brewery, Tyler had opened The Firehouse Taproom in town in a building that once served as a livery stable and carriage house for the Northridge Hotel, where he served up his latest brews, offered monthly tastings, and often brought in food from local businesses.
The pub boasted exposed brick walls, a polished oak bar lined with taps ready to dispense Tyler’s latest creations, pub tables, and intimate booths. The glass shelves behind the bar held glass beer mugs, shaker pints, pilsner and tulip glasses, as well as samplers for the weekly flights of beer for those patrons who wanted to taste a little of everything.
Neil set the shaker glass in front of Zach. “Enjoy. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks.” Zach took a sip, letting the hops and barley dance across his tongue, followed by a smooth honey finish. He’d never been much of a beer connoisseur—he liked a frosty beer as much as the next guy—but Tyler had been teaching him the finer points of beer tasting.
“So. She’s back.” Tyler came around the bar and stashed a clipboard beneath it.
Zach didn’t have to ask which ‘she’ Tyler meant.
“Yep.” Zach turned his glass in a circle on the polished wood bar.
“How does that make you feel?”
“What are you, my therapist?”
“Well, I am a bartender.”
“No.” Zach picked up his glass and pointed at Tyler. “You’re a brew master.”
Unfazed, Tyler crossed his muscular arms across his equally muscular chest. Hauling round beer kegs all day did that to a guy. Crossing one ankle over the other, he leaned against the counter behind the bar. “Talk.”
Zach sighed in exasperation then shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. She’s here for a week or so, taking care of her mother’s estate, then she’ll return to the bright lights and big city of Chicago.”
“You’ve seen her then?”
Zach nodded. He’d definitely seen her—wearing nothing but a towel. And in a conservative little black dress that shouldn’t have been sexy but was, and in a pair of form-fitting jeans that reminded him what a great ass she had. “Went by her mom’s house the day of the funeral, paid my respects. Saw her in town on Monday.”
“And . . .”
“And nothing.”
“You still love her?”
Dammit. Tyler got straight to the heart of the problem. That’s what happens when you’ve been best friends since grade school. You get to know one another well. Sometimes too well. “Never stopped,” he muttered.
“Then you should do something about it.”
Zach lifted the glass, downing the remaining beer, then set the glass back down. “Not going to happen. Been there, done that. Have the merit badge to prove it.”
“You let her go.” Tyler helpfully pointed out.
“Thanks for the reminder.” As if it’s something he could have forgotten. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.”
Tyler gave a sigh and pushed off the counter. “Another?” he asked, taking the empty glass.
“Nah. Gotta drive.” He could feel Tyler’s eyes on him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He turned to rinse out the glass before setting it in the washing rack.
“You got something to say, then say it.”
“Fine.” He placed the flat of his palms on the counter. “She’s lost her mom. She’s injured and recovering. Maybe she’s done. Maybe she’d stay this time.”
Zach scoffed. “You’ve been drinking too much of your own brew. For one thing, she’s already told me she’s leaving as soon as everything is wrapped up. And for another, Northridge has never held anything to keep her.”
“Not even you?”
“Especially not me.”
“Guess you haven’t heard.” Tyler cast him a cautious look.
“Heard what?”
“She’s staying. At least until after the recital in June.”
Fuuuck. He gazed up at the pressed-copper ceiling, a cold lump in his chest. “No. I hadn’t heard.”
“Amy’s determined that the show go on as planned, and there’s no one willing to take it over and see it through. Olivia agreed to stay.”
“What about Chicago?” To say that Zach was surprised by Olivia’s decision to stay would be an understatement of epic proportions. How could she take that much time away? Or even want to?
Tyler shrugged. “Don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. Maybe over dinner.” He winked.
Zach snorted and reached for his wallet. “I repeat, not gonna happen.”
“On the house,” Tyler said, waving him off.
“No. I didn’t come in here for a free drink.” He tossed a ten on the bar. “Or free advice.”
Tyler shook his head and laughed. “You’ll always get my free advice.”
“I know. Even when I don’t want it.” He smacked his palm on the bar. “I’ll see you.”
As he walked out into the chilly night air, he thought, a week was bad enough. How could he handle three months?
So much for his avoidance tactic.
“Again,” Olivia said to Heather, the slender girl auditioning for the part of Prunella, one of Cinderella’s two stepsisters. “Think of the snobbiest girl in school.”
Heather ran through the steps Olivia had given her, casting a haughty look over her shoulder as she performed a series of pas de chats.
Without having been their teacher, Olivia was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to auditioning the dancers. She had no prior knowledge of their strengths or weakness, nor their work ethic.
“Better. That’s it,” Olivia encouraged. The music ended, and Olivia rose. “Very nice, Heather. Thanks for auditioning. The list will be posted Thursday on the website by one o’clock.”
She glanced at the clock. She had just enough time for a potty break and some water before the first audition for the role of Cinderella.
When she returned to the studio, she found a tall blond girl, around sixteen, lacing up her pointe shoes as an older woman, likely the girl’s mother, instructed her.
“Remember, hold your chin up. And don’t bite your lip. You do that when you’re executing a difficult step.”
“Yes, Mother,” the girl replied.
“And shoulders back,” the mother urged as the girl stood.
“You must be Chloe,” Olivia said, as she approached.
Instead of allowing the girl to reply, the woman stepped forward. “Yes. And I’m Lily Larson. Northridge’s first lady.” She extended her hand.
Oh boy. Lily was dressed to the hilt. Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect makeup. She was pretty in that fake, overly polished, look-but-don’t-touch way. From her brief encounter with the warm, friendly Dan Larson, Olivia wondered what he saw in the woman. Maybe underneath the hard shell was a soft center.
“Mrs. Larson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Olivia turned to Chloe. “Are you ready to get started? Or do you need some time to warm up?”
“No. She warmed up in the vestibule. Go ahead Chloe.” Lily extended her tastefully beringed hand to indicate the dance floor.
“Well, then. Let’s get started, shall we?” Olivia offered a smile for Chloe. “This won’t take more than a half hour,” Olivia said to Lily.
“Good.” Lily sat on the bench and crossed one boot-clad leg over the other.
“I prefer to audition the dancers alone,” Olivia said, swallowing the urge to follow that with ‘so, get out.’
“Oh, I’m sure you can make an exception in this case. Chloe prefers that I stay.”
“Be that as it may, having others in the studio creates a distraction. And we wouldn’t want Chloe distracted, now would we?” Olivia stood her ground and crossed her arms, waiting for the stage-mom-from-hell to get the hint and leave. So much for the soft center.
“Well,” she said, with a huff, “if you insist.” She narrowed her eyes at Olivia. “I’ll be right outside.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Seriously? What did she think? That Olivia was going to beat her daughter or something?
Olivia had dropped the shades on the glass wall dividing the studio from the elevators, to prevent anyone from watching the auditions, so she had no issue with Lily staying just outside.
Breathing a sigh of relief after the woman left, she asked Chloe a few questions, including how long she had danced, whether she’d danced as a soloist, whether she’d performed a lead role, what she knew about the part, and whether she knew the French words for the steps. Satisfied with her answers, she dictated a series of steps then sat as Chloe performed them.
She displayed fine technical skills, but the passion and emotion weren’t there. It was as if she performed with rote. Lovely feet. Hands a bit stiff. Good posture.
Twenty minutes later, Chloe moved to the bench to unlace her pointe shoes. No sooner had her bottom hit the seat than her mother came back, heels clicking across the hardwood floor.
“Well?” She eyed Olivia, hands on her hips. “When do rehearsals start?”
“Mrs. Larson, I haven’t cast the part yet. I have one more person to audition.”
“Mere formality.” She waved her hand dismissing the final audition. “Chloe was born to dance. Of course she has the part. Put your shoes and cover up on dear,” she directed. “And, of course, with her dancing as Cinderella, her brother will be the Prince.”
“I beg your pardon. Her brother?” Olivia asked in confusion.
“Christopher. Her twin. He always plays the male roles in Carly’s recitals.” She paused to chuckle. “He even has the Prince’s name. He’s perfect.” She graced Olivia with a brittle smile then muttered, “If there isn’t much dancing.”
Not much dancing? In a dance recital? “I appreciate that. The auditions for the Prince are tomorrow at four o’clock.”
Olivia groaned inwardly. Finding her male leads would be the challenge. Boys rarely lasted long in the studio. By age twelve, most had abandoned dance for more masculine pursuits on the baseball diamond or football field.
“Fine.” Clearly, Lily didn’t think Christopher required an audition.
“The casting list will be posted on the website by one o’clock Thursday.”
Lily gave an imperious nod and escorted Chloe out of the studio, peppering the girl with questions about the audition.
Olivia collapsed onto the bench and took a gulp of her water. “Good Lord.”
“Are you ready for me?” a voice asked.
Olivia looked up to see the shy girl she’d met last week standing just inside the door.
“Emily, right?”
“Yes.” She blushed as she walked over and set her bag on the bench.
“Are you warmed up?” At Emily’s nod, Olivia said, “Let’s get started then.” She asked Emily the same questions then dictated the series of steps she wanted Emily to execute.
Emily took her place and, closing her eyes, inhaled slow and deep before releasing it. Then she began to move. Arabesque en pointe to attitude croisée devant, step, sauté arabesque, pas de chat, sous-sus.
Lovely, Olivia thought. Technically beautiful, but with feeling. The girl’s face practically glowed. Completely absorbed in the steps, Emily seemed transported. She finished the series and looked to Olivia for further direction.
“Very good.” Olivia stood and moved to the turntable, where she had an old album with the Cinderella soundtrack. “Let’s try something else to music.” She played about sixty seconds of the opening dance, envisioning the steps. Satisfied, she lifted the arm and returned it to the stand.
Walking over to Emily, she directed her to follow her lead. “I can’t perform all the steps, but you’ll get the gist.”
Emily nodded.
She executed a series of steps, identifying them by name as she did so, with Emily behind and to her right. The girl picked them up quickly. “Do you have it?” Olivia asked.
“I think so.”
“All right.” Olivia walked back and placed the needle on the record. “Five, six, seven, eight.”
Emily performed the steps as if she’d been performing them for days instead of just learning them. What’s more, her love of dance shown through her broad smile.
“Brilliant.”
Emily beamed with the compliment.
After a few more rounds, Emily sat down on the bench to remove her pointe shoes, her breath coming in pants, a fine sheen of sweat on her arms, back, and neck. The girl had performed beautifully.
So beautifully that Olivia had found her Cinderella.