Ripped (37 page)

W
E SHOULD
have known Pierre wouldn’t let us win. With Mikhail gone, having walked out as the prima donna we all knew him to be, the male lead role needed to be cast and quickly.

Jaz and Tiffany immediately thought it would go to me, knowing the type of dancer I was from seeing me perform. Unfortunately, no one else did.

With congratulations and pats on the back from the other cast members, Robert assumed the role was his and Pierre allowed it.

“At least you’re only one step away now,” Tiffany said with a shrug. “I’ll help you guys plot his demise if you like.”

I shook my head. As much as I wanted the role and to be able to partner Jaz every night on the stage, the show really did have to come first. Robert had been understudy from the beginning and deserved his chance to shine, and I needed to have faith that my time would come.

Being only one week away from opening night, it was technical rehearsal day, and everyone was at the theater. James Bruckshaw had timed this production perfectly to begin when his previous show ended, so was now available to step into the producer role fully.

I’d never been a part of a tech rehearsal, as they called it, and found the whole process fascinating. It wasn’t about the dancers; it was purely to block out the scenes, over and over, to ensure lighting, sound, and set cues were precise. This aspect of the show was just as important as the dancers knowing their steps. If the wrong props were on stage for a scene, it would be catastrophic; if lighting had their cues wrong, the mood would be altered and the performance could go from breathtaking to just okay.

Robert, who had only been catapulted into the role a few days earlier, hadn’t had a chance for a full run-through and was insistent that he do so. He was in a panic, trying to picture where Mikhail had been at certain times and racing to that spot, only to be told he was too slow and to move on.

I sat on one of the seats in the audience with the other understudies. We were all in the same position, all wanting to be on stage and all relegated to the shadows, wishing we would get a chance, but at the same time hoping nothing happened to our friends.

Robert was adamant he needed a complete run-through, not just a blocking of scenes. Every time the music would count in he began to dance, only to have it stopped and people walking around the stage to make notes. His frustration grew. His face reddened every time he was told to go stand in a particular spot for ten minutes while lighting flicked through the multitude of spotlight strengths and colors until they were happy they had found the perfect one.

“Next scene,” the stage manager called. The backdrop was raised and new scenery wheeled in. The first eight bars of music played and the lights flickered. It was fascinating to observe, but infuriating for Robert.

The following scene to block was Robert’s big solo. This would be his chance to prove his worth. To have the stage completely to himself. There would be no distractions from other dancers—just Robert. He needed to nail this routine or it would tarnish his entire dancing career.

I could tell before the direction started that he had no intention of being stopped halfway through his solo. He held his starting position. The music counted in and he began to dance. Stage hands with electronic earpieces shuffled around the stage, but he didn’t care. The music stopped and the next scene was called … He didn’t care about that either. He pirouetted then
jetéd
across the stage, his legs in a perfect splits position with every leap, then prepared for his next sequence.

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Robert went into a butterfly leap, his arms pulled back like wings, his legs bent behind him like the secondary wings of the butterfly. A stage hand who was walking backwards so he could assess the newest backdrop crossed his path. He had no chance. Seeing the man standing in his landing position all too late, Robert tried to pull up his jump in mid-air. He landed heavily, his ankle twisting as he came down with a thud.

As he rolled around on the floor clutching his ankle, everyone from the seats raced to the stage. His ankle was already swelling from either a bad sprain or maybe even a break. From the look on his face, the pain was excruciating.

“Looks like it’s up to you,” Jaz said, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Unless you’re worried this show is cursed and you’re next.”

“Jesus, did someone put something in the water? Our dancers are dropping like flies.” Tiffany stood with her hands on her hips, facing me. “You should have got the part from the beginning because you’re the better dancer, but this is terrible.” She looked over her shoulder as two burly men carried Robert off-stage, their wrists braced together so Robert could sit across them.

I watched Robert go, his foot purple, his ankle swollen to the width of his calf muscle.

James came over. It was the first time we’d met. “I believe you’re our last standing understudy?”

I nodded.

“I hope you’re prepared; we open in a week.”

It felt like an eternity since I’d had a good night’s sleep. In reality, it had been a week. Night after night, while I enviously listened to Jaz’s peaceful, even breaths, I would gaze at the ceiling, watching the firelight flicker and dance shapes across the beams.

My stomach had been in knots since Robert’s accident and eating was almost impossible. There was so much riding on this, so much riding on me, and the stress was weighing heavily on me. I’d been out of the game for too long. If this had happened straight out of Boston, I would have breezed into it, cocky as all hell, and nailed it. But it had been eight years since I’d performed on a stage to a full house of people who weren’t rolling drunk. Eight years of rejection, of being knocked down and clawing my way back up until finally, I’d stayed down.

In my heart I knew I could dance the steps, but my head messed with me bringing all those doubts and fears to the surface and tormenting me with them.

There had been great discussion over my suitability the first time I’d stood on the stage as the new male lead. My build was wrong, my hair needed cutting, and my tattoos would need to be covered. Pierre had argued my case, whether it was because he was fearful of us exposing him or he knew I was their last hope. He had persuaded James to give me a shot. Luckily, he’d agreed. I would play the role and partner Jaz on opening night.

“I don’t know if I can do this. Dancing in the apartment when it’s just the two of us is one thing …” My heart was beating so hard I thought any minute it would burst through my chest.

Jaz took both my hands in hers. “Look at me.”

I looked down into her bright green eyes, so full of love.

“I believe in you, but it counts for nothing if you don’t believe in yourself.” She kissed my knuckles. “Forget the audience, and the lighting, and orchestra. It’s just you and me, in our sweats, dancing like we always do.”

“I love you.” I touched my forehead down to hers. “I have loved you from the second you walked through the door of the contemporary ballet class.”

“You know I was scared of you back then.”

“Really? Why?” I couldn’t believe anyone could be scared of me.

“Because you were fearless. You oozed confidence, and you outshone every single person in that room.” Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me down until our lips met. “You can do this, Bax. Remember when we had to choreograph our first piece as partners in the workshop? We took risks because we had each other’s back and knew we could do it together. I’ve got your back, just like you have mine.”

Jaz could always talk me around, and I wouldn’t disappoint her. “You are everything in this world that makes sense. You’ve always believed in me. I won’t let you down—I promise.”

She kissed me softly. “I know you won’t.”

The first act had gone without a hitch, and I was on a high as we used intermission to freshen up and catch our breaths. The guys in the men’s change room had gone from warily glancing at me before the show started to now slapping me on the back and praising me for stepping up at the last minute. I felt like one of the team, like I belonged—that feeling alone made me want to try harder and do better so I wouldn’t let anyone down.

Scene two of Act II was my solo, the one that Robert had been running through when he’d injured himself. Standing in the wings, I shook out the nerves. There was nowhere to hide, no other dancers to shift the audience’s focus. All eyes would be on me and of all the pieces, this was the one I knew the least because there had been no need to practice it with Jaz. Sure, I’d watched Mikhail dance it dozens of times and in theory I knew it, but I’d only had a week to actually get up on stage and dance it with props and the orchestra backing me.

This was it. The stage hand spoke into his headpiece mic, then counted me in. I exhaled slowly in a last-ditch attempt to settle my racing heart. This piece was a vibrant display of leaps and spins. It encompassed classical ballet with contemporary, angular positions. I’d scoffed at Mikhail’s attempts to master it all these months, never realizing the intricacies involved. Every subtle movement needed to be exact to follow on to the next.

As I went into a series of split leaps around the stage, quickly followed by one of my favorites, the
540 battement en rond,
I caught a glimpse of Jaz standing in the wings, clutching her hands together under her chin. She was watching, supporting me as she always did, and it spurred me on. I had to execute every step perfectly, not for me, but for her. My spirit soared as leap after leap took me higher, and every self-doubt from the last eight years fell away. It was exhilarating, having the stage to myself where I could let go and put every ounce of my heart and soul into the dance.

The music ended with an abrupt note, and I held my position for a second. My heart pounded as I tried to catch what little breath my lungs would allow. I had given it my all and there was silence. For three long seconds no one made a sound, and I hesitated for a moment, lowering my arm to take a small bow before moving on to the next piece.

Then it hit me, a wave of applause echoing from the audience across the orchestra pit and onto the stage. It lifted my spirit, my heart swelling with gratitude as I took a second bow and the lights dimmed to give me time to leave.

I ran straight to Jaz who had stood motionless throughout the entire piece. She was in tears and slammed her body into mine, her embrace so tight I hoped she’d never let go.

“I’m so proud of you,” she sobbed. “You’re amazing.”

Any last anxiety and doubts I’d been carrying released and as her body trembled against mine, I felt a wave of confidence wash over me that I hadn’t experienced in more years than I cared to remember.