If Ever(7)
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, don't sweat it. Just don't ever drag me into one of your bright ideas again. My ego can't take it."
The next day after an 8 a.m. hair and makeup call, Dominic and I meet with the wardrobe designer to discuss costumes for the next week, which is such a joke because there's is little to no chance I'll be here. I nod and smile in agreement because what's the point?
Afterward we block the beginning and end of the show and in the afternoon run a dress rehearsal, getting prepped on where to stand if we're in danger of being voted off or staying. Other than Hank and Dominic, no one speaks to me. They're all either hung over, self absorbed, or just plain rude. The whole experience takes me back to when I was fourteen and the odd girl that no one talked to because my mom died and I didn't have a dad.
In my trailer I hide out eating pizza and gummy worms, and consider my odds at staying on the show. I'm definitely the least known person. All the others know how to work the camera for maximum appeal while I'm more concerned with making sure I don't have food stuck in my teeth.
What if Dominic's past popularity as the it boy on the show pulls us through despite my mediocre dance moves and lack of social media presence? Then what? Another week of pretending that what started as the best experience of my life has turned into a disaster?
At the appointed time I drag myself to the ballroom and wait as the A-listers are hovered over for final hair and makeup touches. I soak up this time of being so near the celebrities while the pro dancers are on stage for a massive opening number. Watching their perfectly coordinated, lightening-fast dance steps is awesome. In comparison, the rest of us dance like clumsy kindergarteners.
"Chelsea?"
Mary Kay, the makeup girl, approaches with her bag of tricks.
"You don't need to bother. It's fine."
"Nonsense. You're a star too." She tugs me into the light and expertly brushes powder over my nose and forehead.
"Hardly. I'll be out of here soon."
She smiles, but doesn't disagree, then reapplies my lip color and gloss. "Whatever happens, you look great."
3
New York City
“Hey Tom, I thought I’d find you here.”
“I’m nothing if not predictable,” I respond as I sit in the rear mezzanine of the New Amsterdam Theatre overlooking the sea of empty seats to the grand stage.
My costar, Paige, walks up the aisle and drops into the seat next to me. “It must be another one of your British quirks.”
“And I stand by all of them.”
“So, who will be in these seats tonight?”
I run my hands over the armrests and contemplate who might be sitting here forty-five minutes from now when the curtain rises on Crossing Lines. “Well, I’d say it’ll be a group of coworkers in New York for their first time.”
“Why do you think it’s their first time in the city?”
“Because they’re at the back of the house. They didn’t decide to come until this afternoon when one of them declared they’d always wanted to see a Broadway show, and they found the TKTS booth in Times Square.”
“Not bad seats for last minute,” she says admiring the view.
“There really isn’t a bad seat in the house.” I would know. I’ve sat in most of them over the course of the run this past year. I take a few minutes every night to sit in a different part of the theatre to remind myself of the perspective of the ticket holders from the front row to the last.
“You’re right about that. Where are these mystery people from?”
Paige enjoys my prediction game, so I indulge her. “I’d say they were travel agents in town for a conference, but travel agents have most likely already been to New York. This is a group of graphic designers from a tech company in Salt Lake City attending a convention at the Javits Center.”
“Nice.”
“One of the woman used to do community theatre in her younger years, so this is her dream to see a show. The others are more inclined to watch football.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“It is. We’re going to have to work a lot harder tonight to win them over. So best bring you’re A game.”
“Speaking of A games, did you watch Celebrity Dance Off last night?” she asks.
It’s Paige’s favorite show and she got me hooked on it last season. “Yup. How about that girl from the reality dating show? Molly something.”
“She was good, but I couldn’t get past her constant hair flipping. I’m rooting for the celebrity chef. Who knew cooks could dance so well? Or look so good!”
“And that old dude in the sequined cowboy getup,” I laugh.
“Hank Curdy. He’s a legend,” Paige says.
Personally I’d never heard of the guy, but I’m also not a fan of country music. “Maybe so but he was terrible. I feel sorry for his partner.”
“I kind of liked him, but that girl. The one they’re calling America’s Chance to Dance…”
“Chelsea something. I don’t think bringing in an unknown is going to work even if she is beautiful.” I take a swig from my water bottle.