17. Cassandra #2
Sensing that things are about to go off the rails, I take a deep breath and start down the aisle. I’m not usually one to step on toes, but if this production doesn’t figure itself out, my fiancé is going to lose it.
“Hey, Violet?” I call out when I’m about halfway to the stage. “Can I make a suggestion?”
Violet squints to see me through the stage lights while her choreographer scoffs.
“Uh,” the choreographer says. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who’s trying to get this show opened as soon as possible,” I snap back.
I don’t wait for an invitation when I reach the side steps leading up to the stage. I have to make my way around a platform where a sweaty background dancer cocks a brow at me. I smile back, and she shrugs.
“Okay,” I say as I approach center stage. “I’m not going to lie,” I whisper to Violet, who’s glaring at me. “The choreography for the entire song needs work, but I think I can at least help you with this part.”
She snorts. “Be my guest. It’s not like anyone else is going to fix it.” She sneers at her choreographer.
I ignore her and turn to the two dancers who are just as frustrated as Violet.
“Whatcha got for us?” the one on the left asks. He’s lean, but muscular, with a dark complexion and a shaved head. The man on the right comes close, his dirty blond hair in a low ponytail.
“We can leave in the turns,” I say. “I actually don’t hate them, but we’ve got to change the direction. Show me the choreography that comes right after the turns.”
I motion for Violet to step out of the way as the two dancers get ready to take on the troublesome turn combination. She sips from a bottle of water with an unimpressed expression.
The men start their turn sequence, spinning down stage. Four turns, then they stop abruptly, hit an open second position squat, and go into an isolation sequence with their torsos moving side to side.
“Um, okay.” I wave my arms, telling them to stop. “What are the rest of you doing during this sequence?” I address the six other background dancers.
“Two of us are on the front platform,” the girl I passed when walking onto the stage says. She indicates to the dancer opposite her. “We’re doing this.” She shows me a movement I can only describe as something a sixties Go-Go dancer would perform.
“Huh.” I shake my head and turn to the rest of the group. “You guys?”
The four dancers get together; one in the middle counts down, 5-6-7-8, and they show me a turn sequence similar to the first two dancers, but they stop after two and then walk in individual circles, high-fiving a partner as they pass.
I glance around the group, muttering, “What the fuck.” I might not have an extensive background in hip-hop, but I know enough to understand this is a mess.
“Okay.” I rest my palm on the top of my head as I think through changes. “You two.” I point at the first two dancers. “You’re going to keep the turns, but you’re going to turn toward each other instead, staying mid-stage. Do you feel comfortable switching sides for the rest of the dance?
“Yeah, sure,” the first dancer says, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“After that, I want to change the isolation a bit.” I get into a wide second position squat. “Wait, hold on a minute.” I shuck off my shoes and toss them downstage just left of Violet. She raises her brows but doesn’t complain.
I get back in position. “You’re going to use that chest isolation, but only once.
” I show them, keeping my legs still and popping my upper body to the left.
“Then I want you to roll back to center, split squat right, split squat left, stand, low kick, and throw your arms, crossing them to the front.” I show them the choreography one more time.
The dancer with the ponytail nods. “All right, girl, let’s do this.”
I count them down, and at “one” they execute the new choreography.
The turns cross perfectly, ending stage left and stage right, close to the platforms, framing the area Violet will be using.
The dancers continue through the rest of the sequence, hitting each movement with precision and an attitude that brings the piece to life.
“Perfect.” I clap along with the other dancers when they finish. “Okay, you two on the platforms.” The girls nod. “I want you to do the same thing, but a quadruple pencil turn so you don’t go careening to the floor.” That earns me a laugh, but the girls tell me they’ve got it.
With a “5-6-7-8,” they break into the movement, nailing it on the first try.
“Yep, you’ve got it.” My smile grows as my vision comes to life. “The four of you in the back.” The remaining dancers perk up. “We’re going to reverse what the girls on the platform are doing. You’re going to start with the squat and isolation, then end with the quadruple turns.”
Once they show me that they’ve got it, I step back next to Violet so I can see the whole stage.
“Let’s do it together from the top.” Everyone gets into position, and I give them, “5-6-7-8.” My smile is so wide that my cheeks hurt when the choreography comes together flawlessly
“Yes. You guys got it. Violet, do you want to join in and try it with the music?”
With a raised brow, she nods, places her water bottle on the floor, and finds center stage.
“Sound, you guys ready?” I turn to the sound booth in the back of the auditorium, shielding my eyes from the bright lights.
“We’ll start from the middle of the song,” a man says over an intercom.
I give a thumbs-up and return my attention to the performers on stage.
The music starts up, and Violet nods to the beat until the chorus picks up. She breaks into her vocals, and the dancers take position.
As the chorus ends, Violet flips her hair and pops her hip. They enter the third verse. My heart beats to the quick rhythm of the music—my nerves on edge as I wait to see my choreography come to life.
Violet starts her strut downstage while my dancers begin their turns, the back row dropping low and busting out their hip-hop moves.
The crossing turns hit perfectly, getting nowhere near Violet, and the switch between the dancers’ parts moves seamlessly as Violet gives a sultry spin and blows a kiss while she walks to the other side of the stage.
I twist and wave my hands to the sound crew, causing the music to fade away. When I return to the group on stage, everyone is grinning and sharing hopeful glances.
Violet taps her finger against her chin, eyeing me. “I threw in some improv. What did you think about my turn and kiss?”
“I thought they were perfect,” I say honestly. “You need to perform however you feel comfortable. Your background dancers are here to accentuate your show, not take attention away.”
Violet’s smile grows, and she walks closer. “What’s your name?”
“Cassandra.” I tuck my lip between my teeth as I wait for her criticism of my work.
“You’re hired.” Violet sticks out her hand to shake mine. Dumbfounded, I do the same.
“Nora,” Violet calls to the audience. “You’re fired.”
Violet’s original choreographer stutters. “What the fuck do you mean I’m fired? We have a contract.”
“That has a stipulation that the job is at will. If I’m not happy with your work, I can fire you. I’m not happy with your work.”
“I—What?” Nora crosses her arms, glaring my way. “Who the hell is this girl?”
From the shadows, a tall figure emerges. With his hands in his pockets, Dominic chuckles, an amused glint in his eyes. “That’s my fiancée.”
“Okay, so?” Nora huffs, glancing at Dominic.
Violet laughs. “Nora, meet Dominic Tariello, the owner of Pharaoh’s Temple.”
Nora’s mouth drops open as she turns toward Dominic, her eyes scanning his body.
“You should probably leave,” he says, his tone hardening, allowing no room for argument.
Nora collects her things, a sour expression written on her face. Before she heads toward the exit, she gives one last quip. “It’s your loss, Violet. Just wait until your show opens with critics bashing it.”
Unperturbed, Violet gives a sarcastic wave, and we watch as Nora makes a dramatic exit up the aisle, slamming the door behind her.
“I like what you did,” Violet says, attention shifting to me. “But do you think you can fix the choreography for the entire show?”
I look at the dancers who have collected in a group behind us. “If you guys are willing to work with me, I don’t see why not.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” the guy with a ponytail says. “Just those few counts are the best choreography I’ve seen in the past month.”
Dominic appears at the edge of the stage. “Cassandra, how long do you think it will take you to choreograph the entire show?”
I turn to the dancers. “I would need someone to fill in for me in the show at Il Palazzo,” I say. “But if we bust our asses, all-day rehearsals every day, I can probably finish in a week.”
The dancers murmur in agreement.
“I can be ready to perform by then,” Violet says.
“Can I schedule the opening for the weekend after next?” Dominic asks.
I look at Violet; she raises her brows at me, then turns to Dominic and says, “Let’s do it.”