40. Paige
This has got to be the most insane thing I’ve ever done. Somehow crazier than finding a man bleeding to death in my car and even crazier than being in a real live car chase with guns .
I blot my armpits with a paper towel and readjust my bustier. The bustier is part of one of Gina’s team uniforms. Solid black, strapless, designed to stay firmly in place while cheering, thanks to built-in grippy strips. Gina’s bustier and a black bikini bottom I already had match perfectly. A sliver of my tummy shows, which feels sexy as hell, but I’m way more covered up than on any trip to the beach.
Gina picked Nancy Sinatra’s ‘Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)’ because of course she did. She strolled onto that stage in mile-high heels, hair curled into perfect big 1960s bouffant waves, smoky eyes, pale lips. The three girls that went before her each danced to high-energy, fast-paced music. Gina’s song couldn’t have been slower, sexier.
No one could take their eyes off her. I mean, of course she can dance. She’s been dancing her whole life. But I’m used to her hyping a crowd up with kicks and splits to bass-pounding, ear-ringing group choreography.
This was slow, deliberate. Sultry. Drawn-out spins around the pole, intentional eye contact. The entire room in a trance, hypnotized. When she pretended to be shot and slowly slid down to the floor with her back against the pole, her legs spread, guys were getting out of their seats, yelling and cheering. She absolutely killed it, and the guys are demanding an encore.
She walks toward me. I’m holding out a water for her, but she barely broke a sweat.
“You were unreal out there.” Her confidence in front of a crowd is insane.
“All in a day’s work.”
Salvo’s voice over the speaker announces the fifth dancer. I’m up last, which now means next. Holy crap.
“Was Damiano in the audience?”
She nods while drinking from her water bottle. “He wasn’t at first. But he came in near the end. Him and the guy that made the first cuts outside were arguing, but then they sat next to each other. Damiano wasn’t paying any attention to me, by the way. He kept leaning over to the other guy to talk to him.”
Rob.
Rob, who took one look at me standing in line outside, told me I better be here to cause the good kind of trouble, then sent Gina, me, and four other girls inside.
“Damiano looked pissed, P. Really pissed. At one point, he got up and started to walk out, and the other guy barked at him to sit his ass back down. It was loud enough to hear over the music.”
“Where was he sitting? Like from up on the stage, where would I look?”
She moves to stand next to me, facing the same direction. “If you’re standing in the middle of the stage,” she points down and a little left of center, “he’s right there. The guy that yelled at him is on his right—your left. There’s a row of guys right at the edge of the stage, then there are a few rows of folding chairs set up behind those. He’s in the first row of chairs.”
They gave us a quick peek at the stage before tryouts started, so I have a good mental picture. The place is really nice inside, not at all what I pictured.
I let out a breath. Am I really doing this?
“And there are stairs from the stage down to the floor, over there,” she points to the right, “in case you decide to go down to the floor.”
“Wait—should I go down to the floor? I didn’t rehearse doing that.” I hope she doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.
Gina turns toward me and looks at me thoughtfully for a minute. “If it feels right, yes, you should. I know you worked really hard on your choreography, and it’s good, P—really—but keep an open mind about just letting loose and feeling the beat and going with the moment.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
She hands me the headband that goes with my outfit. “You do. You’ve got this.”
“Do I?”
She shrugs with a smile. “Well, we’re about to find out.”