7. Hailey
CHAPTER 7
HAILEY
I snuck into my suite just after five, certain I’d run smack bang into Mina. But she’d either given up or been dragged off to work, leaving only an angry note to let me know I was busted.
I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU. CANNOT. CANNOT!!!!
CHOREOGRAPHY AT 7. DO NOT BE LATE!
Seven, that still gave me two good hours’ sleep. I’d got by on less. I’d be okay.
I faceplanted directly into the couch, closed my eyes for a second, and?—
“Are you kidding? ”
Mina was hitting me. Whacking my back. Slapping my shoulders with something crinkly. I batted it off, eyes squinted shut.
“What are you doing? What?—”
“Get the hell up!” She flung the crinkly thing straight in my face. It bounced off, smacked my chest. A pharmacy bag. Blearily, I grabbed it and peeked inside.
“Aspirin,” said Mina. “I assume you’re hungover.”
“What? No, I’m not.” I wasn’t, at all.
“Eugh, you’re all sweaty. You smell like stale beer.”
“Stop—”
“You smell awful! You know what, go shower.” Mina snatched the bag back and tore into the aspirin. She crunched two up herself and made an ick face. “It’s after six. You’re about to be late. And PR wants a statement — or, ugh. I’ll do that. You just get dressed and get your ass downstairs.” She grabbed me by the hands and hauled me upright, and shoved me ahead of her down the hall to the shower.
“No dawdling,” she yelled, as I got undressed. “Quick, in and out. I’ll leave fresh clothes outside.”
I wanted to dawdle just to piss her off, but I couldn’t do that to the rest of the crew. They’d be at the venue getting set up. Stage crew would be scurrying, taping the floor, my head choreographer running through steps. My backup dancers would be stretching backstage, or lining up for the bathroom to cut down on breaks. I couldn’t let them down, knowing how hard they worked.
“I don’t hear water!” Mina banged on the door.
I turned the shower on and stepped under the spray, resisting the impulse to bask in the heat. I scrubbed my face quickly, then the rest of myself, and I got out without washing my hair. Mina had left clothes, just as she’d promised, and I pulled on sweatpants and a ratty gym shirt. I tied up my hair in a quick, messy bun, jamming the pin in as Mina rushed by the door.
“Come on, hurry up! Car’s waiting downstairs!”
I shuffled out, stepping into my shoes as I went. Mina leaned in and sniffed at me.
“You still smell of beer.”
I grabbed my bag and brushed past her. She followed along.
“I think it’s your hair. What’d you do, bathe in it?”
I could smell it as well, when I moved my head — the ghost of cheap lager haunting my hair. Jackson’s aftershave too, a faint, heady spice. He was probably still sleeping, still naked in bed. The first rays of morning on his bare chest. I felt a twinge of nostalgia for his hard, bumpy bed, his arm around me, his hand in mine. His breath on my shoulder, heavy with sleep.
We hurried across the lobby and out the back, the same way I’d escaped the hotel last night. The car was there waiting and we piled in. Mina let out a breathy sigh of relief. She seemed to deflate with the outrush of air, folding in on herself as she cinched her seat belt.
“I was worried,” she said.
I dipped my head. “I know.”
“It’s not that I want you to have no fun, ever. But you get it now, right? You can’t just run off. You got lucky last night, bumping into that meathead, but what if you hadn’t? If you’d been alone?” Her voice was shaking. I looked up, surprised. For the first time, I noticed she hadn’t changed from last night, or redone her makeup, or fixed her hair. Her eyes were purple with bags and streaking mascara.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
“I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing. That I’m not your parents clipping your wings. When I say a thing’s dangerous, it’s dangerous , okay?”
I looked down, feeling small and na?ve. Guilty, as well, for the night I’d put Mina through. “I hear you,” I said.
“ Do you, though?” Mina looked at me with dark, narrowed eyes. “I can’t be your babysitter when we’re on tour. I have venues to wrangle. My own job to do. I can’t focus on that if I’m stuck watching you.”
Anger flashed hot, then died away. I had screwed up, no arguing that.
“I blame your parents,” said Mina, and dug out her phone. She tapped the screen, frowned, and put it away. “They treated you all your life like you were five. Now you act like a toddler, and I’m surprised?”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
The car pulled up at the rehearsal hall. Security was waiting at the back door, and they hustled us in past a knot of reporters. I barely noticed them, focused on Mina. On what I could say to make this okay. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this mad, or any time she’d been this mad at me.
“I’m sorry too,” she said, pausing at the stage door. “I was wrong to bring up your parents. It’s just, I forget how sheltered you were. How sheltered you still are. Are you okay?”
My eyes stung, and I blinked. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
She dug in her bag and pulled out a package. “Electrolyte tabs. Put them in water.”
I took the tabs. “Thanks.”
“Hug it out, yeah?”
I hugged her tight, then headed inside. Jen and Rashida came bouncing to meet me, their pink practice leotards already sweated through.
“Constance came up with this whole new routine.” Rashida nodded at the choreography team.
“For ‘Night Dancing,’” said Jen. “You know, the transition?”
“We’re rushing the catwalk to distract from the stage, while they swap out the backdrop for ‘Stars on Fire.’”
Exhaustion washed over me, a bone-crushing wave. I felt like if I closed my eyes, I’d melt into goo. Instead, I dredged up my shiniest smile.
“Sounds awesome,” I chirped.
Constance had spotted me, and she raised her hands for quiet. “Okay, we’re all here, and we’re down to the wire. We have three more rehearsals before we head out, and I need you all flawless. Not one missed step!”
I clenched and unclenched my fists as I moved to my starting spot, tensing my muscles to get blood to my brain. My crew had worked hard for this, as much as I had. My dancers, especially, with their sculpted bodies. They carried the show with their flashy displays, while I bopped out front through my watered-down steps.
“Hailey.” Constance came at me with my guitar — not the insured-out-the-ass one I brought to my shows, but a cheap stand-in we used for rehearsals. She thrust it into my arms and looped the strap round my neck. “I talked to William this morning about the pyro displays. He’s agreed to ease off on the fountains out front. But I’ll still need you to keep your eyes on the tape. Stay between the blue lines, and whatever you do…” She toed at the marks taped out on the stage. “When it’s time for ‘Night Dancing,’ you get on your mark.”
“I couldn’t find it last time,” I said. “Because of the lights.”
“I know, but don’t worry. We’ll dim that main light. And if you’re still lost, keep your eyes on Rashida. Stay two feet to the left of her, and you’ll be fine.” She took my guitar back and thrust it at her assistant. “Okay, line up! And, one, two, three! ”
We launched into our warmup, full steam ahead. I could feel the night I’d just had in every bone, every muscle, in the beat of the backing track loud in my head. Jackson had taken my legs at one point and folded me over with my heels by his ears. Now my hips throbbed and my movements felt janky, tightness in every joint and down my spine.
“Relax,” Constance called.
I breathed through my nose. At first, I felt woozy and everything hurt, and all I wanted was to lie down and die. Then, bit by bit, I felt the knots loosen, and the bite of adrenaline. A second wind. Constance seemed to sense it, and she cut the music.
“All right.” She waved for the crew to stop working. “We have a lot to get through today, and some new steps. A new transition into ‘Stars on Fire.’ This one’s important, because it involves our insurance. They’re switching the backdrops and the overhead lights, and I need you all twenty feet from where that’s happening. If even one of you lags one foot behind, it could void any claim we make for the whole show.”
She showed us the steps, which weren’t too hard, but they culminated in four dancers lifting me up, carrying me bodily down the catwalk. The first time we tried it, my guitar swung out, and the headstock smacked Jen right in her face. I jumped down and ran to her.
“Shit! I’m so sorry!”
“Not your fault,” she said, rubbing her cheek. “We need to go higher.”
“And keep your back straight.” Constance came up to me and slapped my back. “When they lifted, you leaned back, and you lost control. You need to lean forward , and tuck your legs in.”
I tried on our next go, but quickly keeled over.
“We need a chair,” said Rashida. “And lift the whole chair.”
Constance frowned. “No. You just need to, uh… You know in ballet, when they do angel lifts, and the ballerina freezes in place? Like she’s a mannequin out on display? Hailey needs to do that , and then you just swing her.”
“She can’t do that,” said someone. “Not with her guitar.”
I stood up. “I can try. Just stiffen up, right?”
Our next try was clumsy, but no one got smacked. I fumbled my landing, but didn’t go down. Constance lit up, delighted.
“Okay, again!”
We went again, and again. And again. We went till the steps came without thought. Then we kept going, chasing perfection, Constance circling and shouting, goading us on. Higher, she’d yell, and they’d thrust me higher. Toes , she would cry, and I’d point my toes. Around our hundredth go-through, the pieces all clicked, and it was like I was flying. A flawless lift. I landed at the end of it as light as a feather, and Constance applauded.
“Yes. Yes! That’s it!”
We all broke out cheering, triumphant at last. I held my palms out and we high-fived, six slaps on each side. All twelve of my dancers.
“Okay, that’s lunch.” Constance cut the music. “You have forty minutes, then we’ll do the full run-through. Great work this morning. You all should be proud!”
Back in my green room, I wanted to collapse. The overstuffed sofa was calling my name. Instead, I paced, so I’d stay limber. The second I let the endorphins quit flowing, I’d stiffen up, or worse, fall asleep. So I chugged my electrolytes and strode up and down, and ran through our new steps on loop in my head.
Just two more rehearsals after today — only two more, and it would be real. I’d be pacing that catwalk with fans on both sides, thousands of screaming fans. Screaming for me . I’d be damned if I’d give them less than perfection. Less than the dream I’d chased all my life. In my dream, I didn’t stumble. I never got tired. I lived for the music and lived for the show, and I lived for everyone sharing my dream. Because that was the dream, that chance to share, to show the whole world what lived in my head.
Maybe my parents would even come see.
Maybe I’d show them, and they’d understand.
They’d see it — they had to, because how could they not?
If I was perfect, how could they not?