“If I didn’t know better I would say they had something on someone,” Hannah said. We stared at the audition results posted in the studio hall. We had tumbled through the week in anticipation but I had kept quiet about Dudley’s decision to keep me in the shadows.
“How is that even possible?” I was sort of laughing.
It was absurd of course. Two nobodies drop into our studio on audition day from god knows where and suddenly they’re commanding lead roles. They didn’t half embody Dudley’s usual choice. They were bold and fleshy and not at all what you’d call light on their feet. And Jade? Who was more conscious of body weight than the queen of white Lycra? You had to be made of bones alone to look good in that stuff. She didn’t accept extra weight on herself and she didn’t accept it from her dancers. Not usually, anyway.
Since Dudley broke the news the week before, the sting of rejection had faded. I hid behind the cocky confidence that my solo, however minor, would prove to the audience and all involved what a farce the audition had been. Still, I would have expected any name next to a coveted solo besides the one we now beheld. My disappointment renewed itself and screwed into my ribs.
Megan and Alexis burst through the door with Wesley, laughing like old friends. Not just old friends but old friends who expected good news. Hannah and I stepped away from the wall, allowing the three rabble-rousers a clear path to glory. Megan ran her finger down the list of names while short, stubby Alexis peered over her shoulder on tiptoe. She tossed her bobbed blonde hair behind her like a teenaged Marilyn Monroe.
Megan’s shrill screech startled everyone as she hopped up and down like she’d just won Publisher’s Clearing House on late night TV.
“I got Coppélia! Oh my god, Oh, thank you, Dudley, wherever you are!” She turned and hugged Alexis, who struggled free to search for her name.
“And I am your beloved… or rather… you are my beloved,” said Wesley, turning from the list. He knelt, arms spread wide to receive her.
“Oh, Franz,” said Megan, “I wish I could get down off this blasted balcony and kiss you my darling!” She fell into his embrace and they commenced a frenzy of campy, squeaky smooching on the floor.
Alexis stood back, hands on her hips. “Okay, okay, you two, break it up,” she said.
“What did you get, Lex?” said Megan from her Wesley-tangle on the ground.
“I’m just a villager,” Alexis said. But she wasn’t in the least bit put out.
“This is gonna be a blast,” said Megan. “Can you believe the three of us are dancing together in the same show again?”
Hannah gave me a raised eyebrow and we both looked at Wesley.
“Okay you guys, you guys, seriously, stop with the looks,” Wesley said to us. “Megan and Alexis were in West Side Story with me! Last summer at the Civic Light Opera! We had so much fun, I invited them to try out!” Megan grinned up at us, big white teeth spread across her face.
Hannah and I nodded our dawning comprehension. But that didn’t explain why Megan was cast as Coppélia. Dudley was getting screwball in his old age.
“I guess she’s kind of campy,” Hannah said in my ear, “Maybe there’s a method to his madness.” Megan sprang up and took both of Alexis’s hands. They jumped in a circle like a couple of hyper six-year-olds. Wesley dove into the middle of them and yelled, “Ring around the Rosie!”
“Just back away slowly,” I said to Hannah.
“Wait, I never even found my name.” Hannah wove her way back to the wall and ran her finger down the list. “As if I don’t know I’m a villager.” I followed and peered over her shoulder. Dudley had placed our names alphabetically with our roles in a tabbed-away column.
“Holy shit,” she said, “I don’t believe it. He also gave me the Prayer solo. What even is that?”
“Feel like playing Ring around the Rosie?” I asked.
“Shut up. What did you get?” She scrolled to my name and traced across, where she read, “Villager, Dawn solo.”
“I don’t know what that is either,” I said, “Guess we’ll find out.”
Hannah studied me for signs of disappointment. I didn’t let on that I’d been prepared for this, my moment of shock tempered by a week of slow acceptance.
We went into the studio to warm up for class.
“What do you think of Tiffany as Swanilda?” She asked me. No one had even mentioned the winner of the other lead role presented on Dudley’s list. Swanilda was the serious role.
“I think she’ll be great,” I said. Tiffany was appropriately slight and good-natured.
“And she’s never had the lead before,” said Hannah. She approved on Tiffany’s behalf.
“I do love the corps choreography,” I said. “It’s eight minutes long and challenging as all hell.” I was determined to feel, if not good, at least okay about the production. What did I care anyway, about the show? I just wanted to be on stage while Rebecca manned the curtain rope. I just wanted to exit a scene, frenzied and exhausted on my way to the dressing room, and be tugged back into a dark wing for a costume adjustment. And for the kiss that would follow.