Chaos Choreography
Page 120
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I sighed, and went.
The hallway was still empty, and for the first time, it occurred to me how odd that was. There should have been production assistants and security guards everywhere, even during rehearsals. One of the unexpected truths of reality television was that no one was ever alone. There was always someone there, watching, monitoring, making notes on an endless series of clipboards. Hollywood was a self-perpetuating machine, creating jobs for people who wanted to move up the food chain, while it moved the cousins and nieces and nephews of the elite up in place of the people who fetched the coffee. So where were they?
Maybe this snake cult was taking the employees after all.
I prowled through the halls back to the rehearsal room, not even trying to walk like Valerie. She was a pampered creature, designed for controlled environments and safe spaces, and this wasn’t a safe space anymore. Maybe this had never been a safe space in the first place. Maybe I’d just been imagining it.
The door to the rehearsal room opened before I could grasp the knob, and there was Anders, a hangdog expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Val,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled, but when I came back to apologize, you were gone.”
He sounded genuinely anguished. Even if I’d been angry with him, and not disappointed in myself, I would have forgiven him then. “It’s okay. I just needed to take a walk and clear my head. I shouldn’t have said that. You know I didn’t carry you.”
“Yeah, just like I know that without you, I would never have made it to week four in our original season. I’m the only tapper who’s ever made it to the top ten, because the rest haven’t been lucky enough to have partners who’ll prop them up until they get their stage legs.” He offered his hands. “Forgive me?”
“Forgiven,” I said, taking them.
We were still standing there, smiling at each other, when Marisol pushed through the door behind me and reentered the studio. “Good, you’re both here,” she said. “We’re going to take it from the top. I want to believe you’re going to leave the stage and head straight for the nearest broom closet to conceive your love child.”
Broom closet. “Marisol, did we cut way down on the janitorial staff for this season?”
The choreographer turned and frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see as many people in the hall as I was expecting when I went down to craft services for a cup of water.”
“We have the same staffing levels as always,” said Marisol. “You must have been lost in your own little world. Hopefully, it was the world of dance. Now come. Show me what you’ve learned.”
We assumed our starting positions. Marisol hit “play” on our backing music, and for a little while, I did what my grandmother had told me to do: I danced, and I trusted my friends and allies to keep an eye on the situation.
This was almost over.
Twenty
“There ain’t no drug in the world like the siren song of the stage. Once you’ve tasted it, you’ll always want more, even when you know it’s killing you.”
—Frances Brown
The Crier Theater, the following Thursday afternoon
DANCERS RACED DOWN THE HALL, glistening with sweat and smelling of hairspray. The army of makeup assistants that had wiped away our vampiric pallor and fake blood after the opening number was behind us, getting ready for the rush that would follow the requisite introduction sequence. Sometimes it felt like Dance or Die was a series of sprints disguised as a dance show.
Anders beat me to the stage entrance by a few seconds. He stopped there, waiting for me to catch up. Then he grinned. “Season two for the win, right?”
“Season two for the win,” I agreed, looking over my shoulder to where Pax and Lyra were getting into position. Pax flashed me a thumbs-up. I could see the pale metallic gleam of the counter-charm around his neck. We’d done everything we could to make this safe. It was all down to chance now.
“Jessica and Reggie!” announced Brenna, from the stage. The last two dancers from season one ran out to take their places under the lights. Jessica raised one leg in a high, perfectly vertical extension, showing off her muscle control, while Reggie executed a series of standing flips that would have taken my breath away if I hadn’t seen him do it a hundred times before.
They ran for the back of the stage, beginning the lineup, as Brenna called, “Valerie and Anders!”
We ran to center stage, where Anders executed a quick tap step before grabbing my hands and allowing me to go into a series of fast, supported turns, ending with my weight on my right foot and my left leg shifted to the side in the classic “I am a sexy tango dancer” pose. We let go and joined Jessica and Reggie at the back as Brenna announced Lyra and Pax.
The hallway was still empty, and for the first time, it occurred to me how odd that was. There should have been production assistants and security guards everywhere, even during rehearsals. One of the unexpected truths of reality television was that no one was ever alone. There was always someone there, watching, monitoring, making notes on an endless series of clipboards. Hollywood was a self-perpetuating machine, creating jobs for people who wanted to move up the food chain, while it moved the cousins and nieces and nephews of the elite up in place of the people who fetched the coffee. So where were they?
Maybe this snake cult was taking the employees after all.
I prowled through the halls back to the rehearsal room, not even trying to walk like Valerie. She was a pampered creature, designed for controlled environments and safe spaces, and this wasn’t a safe space anymore. Maybe this had never been a safe space in the first place. Maybe I’d just been imagining it.
The door to the rehearsal room opened before I could grasp the knob, and there was Anders, a hangdog expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Val,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled, but when I came back to apologize, you were gone.”
He sounded genuinely anguished. Even if I’d been angry with him, and not disappointed in myself, I would have forgiven him then. “It’s okay. I just needed to take a walk and clear my head. I shouldn’t have said that. You know I didn’t carry you.”
“Yeah, just like I know that without you, I would never have made it to week four in our original season. I’m the only tapper who’s ever made it to the top ten, because the rest haven’t been lucky enough to have partners who’ll prop them up until they get their stage legs.” He offered his hands. “Forgive me?”
“Forgiven,” I said, taking them.
We were still standing there, smiling at each other, when Marisol pushed through the door behind me and reentered the studio. “Good, you’re both here,” she said. “We’re going to take it from the top. I want to believe you’re going to leave the stage and head straight for the nearest broom closet to conceive your love child.”
Broom closet. “Marisol, did we cut way down on the janitorial staff for this season?”
The choreographer turned and frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see as many people in the hall as I was expecting when I went down to craft services for a cup of water.”
“We have the same staffing levels as always,” said Marisol. “You must have been lost in your own little world. Hopefully, it was the world of dance. Now come. Show me what you’ve learned.”
We assumed our starting positions. Marisol hit “play” on our backing music, and for a little while, I did what my grandmother had told me to do: I danced, and I trusted my friends and allies to keep an eye on the situation.
This was almost over.
Twenty
“There ain’t no drug in the world like the siren song of the stage. Once you’ve tasted it, you’ll always want more, even when you know it’s killing you.”
—Frances Brown
The Crier Theater, the following Thursday afternoon
DANCERS RACED DOWN THE HALL, glistening with sweat and smelling of hairspray. The army of makeup assistants that had wiped away our vampiric pallor and fake blood after the opening number was behind us, getting ready for the rush that would follow the requisite introduction sequence. Sometimes it felt like Dance or Die was a series of sprints disguised as a dance show.
Anders beat me to the stage entrance by a few seconds. He stopped there, waiting for me to catch up. Then he grinned. “Season two for the win, right?”
“Season two for the win,” I agreed, looking over my shoulder to where Pax and Lyra were getting into position. Pax flashed me a thumbs-up. I could see the pale metallic gleam of the counter-charm around his neck. We’d done everything we could to make this safe. It was all down to chance now.
“Jessica and Reggie!” announced Brenna, from the stage. The last two dancers from season one ran out to take their places under the lights. Jessica raised one leg in a high, perfectly vertical extension, showing off her muscle control, while Reggie executed a series of standing flips that would have taken my breath away if I hadn’t seen him do it a hundred times before.
They ran for the back of the stage, beginning the lineup, as Brenna called, “Valerie and Anders!”
We ran to center stage, where Anders executed a quick tap step before grabbing my hands and allowing me to go into a series of fast, supported turns, ending with my weight on my right foot and my left leg shifted to the side in the classic “I am a sexy tango dancer” pose. We let go and joined Jessica and Reggie at the back as Brenna announced Lyra and Pax.
