Dance Academy Anywhere but Here (2 page)

Tara, Sammy and all the other first years have gone gooey because the Company is in town and rehearsing at the Academy. I even catch Tara and Sammy staring all doe-eyed as the Company warms up in one of our rehearsal spaces. Like they’ve never seen sweaty tights and bunions before. For me, if the Company’s in town that means one thing – daughter duty.

I remind Tara and Sammy that we’re due in Miss Raine’s class and they manage to drag themselves away. As we walk in, Miss Raine is introducing our ‘special guest teacher’, none other than my dear mother herself. When your mother’s been away for weeks, is it normal for the first time you see her to be at the front of a dance class? It is in the Karamokov family.

‘Darling, I’ve been looking for you all morning!’ my mother declares.

It’s just gone nine, the morning’s barely started, so it’s hardly ‘all’. And her search clearly didn’t stretch as far as coming to the boarding house to wake me with kisses, cuddles and a bag full of croissants. Pity, croissants would have been nice.

I receive a perfectly poised peck on each cheek. Behind me I can feel a near swoon happening. It’s Tara.

After class all she can say is, ‘Your mother is Natasha Willis.’ She’s the only person in the entire world that didn’t know. ‘Why have you kept it a secret?’ she asks me.

‘I haven’t. Lots of people know.’

Sammy knew. He was just cool enough to know I didn’t really like talking about it.

Then Tara starts gushing. ‘But she’s a ballet legend. Mum once recorded her on TV and I watched the tape every day until it broke. You know I have her poster in my locker.’

‘I thought you were being ironic,’ I tell her. The look of complete and utter awe on her face is all too familiar. I really thought she was up to speed on the parental baggage.

‘Seriously, you didn’t know? Wow. I could’ve sworn you were being cool,’ I say.

‘I’m never cool. You know that.’

Tara’s right, I should have known better. The photo in the locker was a pretty obvious clue.

As we make our way back to class I can virtually hear her repeating, ‘Oh my God!’ over and over in her head. The noise is temporarily interrupted by Ethan coming towards us.

‘I’ve been summoned tonight,’ he says to me. ‘I assume it’s … ’

‘… shared pain,’ I reply with my bravest smile. We both have to report to the Opera House this evening.

‘See you over there. Try to play nice,’ Ethan says and rushes off.

‘We have this opening night thing,’ I say to Tara and Sammy. It would be great to get some moral support through the agony. ‘You guys wouldn’t want to come, would you? It could be brutal. Stuffy VIPs, hours of hanging around backstage … I totally understand if you want to pass.’

Clearly they have no idea what they’re in for as they both leap at the chance and jump on me like I’ve done something amazing for them rather than try to share a burden with them.

When the evening arrives, Sammy gets off the hook from opening night duty. His girlfriend, Mia, has just flown in from a kibbutz in Israel. She is way too gorgeous for Sammy but she’s crazily in love with him. He stays with her rather than coming to the Opera House to witness my mother pretending to be a waterfowl for two hours.

Tara, on the other hand, would probably skip her grandmother’s funeral for this. As we walk up the steps of the Opera House, she stops.

‘Wait,’ she says. ‘This is a life-changing moment.’

I give her about fifteen seconds. ‘Is it over?’ I don’t wait for her to answer and stride away. She scurries after me.

It’s the Sydney opening night of
Swan Lake.
Tara is totally glued to the show as we watch from the wings. Me? I’m not so impressed. ‘The dude falls in love with a swan. Tell me that’s not creepy.’ I whisper to Tara but she’s lost in the land of feathery make-believe. She’s so wrapped up in the magic onstage she doesn’t see the graceful swan pulling a wedgie out of her tights before she runs onstage.

I’m more pleased about seeing Caroline, the stage manager, than
Swan Lake.
The Company may be mid performance but she gives me a big hug. She’s been with the Company for years and we’ve spent a
lot of time together. When I was a little girl she was the one who always gave me a smile, got me a drink, made sure I wasn’t alone when Natasha was in a ‘not now darling, Mummy is about to go onstage’ moment.

After the show Tara and I are in my mother’s dressing room along with three fields of flowers, dance critics, Company patrons and of course the great Natasha. Tara and I are on the sofa while Mum holds court, for the hundredth time telling the story of how she first played Odette twelve weeks after giving birth to me. Finally the ballet rent-acrowd leaves.

Tara’s all nervous. She’s alone with me and her very own living legend.

‘I’m glad that’s over,’ my mother says and plonks herself in a chair. ‘This must be the famous Tara I’ve been hearing all about,’ she says and gives Tara a quick once-over.

‘It’s an honour to meet you, Ms Willis. Tonight was incredible.’

‘Oh really, did you think?’

I can tell Mum didn’t think it was her greatest ever performance, but she’s not admitting it. I pass her the bottle of cleanser so she can remove her make-up.

‘Well, I love meeting Kat’s friends,’ Natasha continues. ‘You didn’t want to bring Abigail, too?’

I can’t believe she’s not with the program on the ice maiden.

‘I would have if it were four years ago and we were friends. But bonus points for name recall.’

Mum laughs. ‘I’m always in so much trouble with her.’

‘Me too,’ Tara agrees.

‘Now tomorrow,’ Mum says, ‘I know you’re too busy to spend time with your decrepit mother but it’s been ages.’

I perk up, this could actually be leading to some serious mother-daughter time. I’m thinking shopping.

‘My wardrobe could handle some credit card action. Maybe we could … ’

Mum pulls her ‘I’d love to, but …’ face.

‘I was more thinking – early dinner? I have a matinee in the afternoon which you could come and watch.’

Great, hanging out backstage … again.

‘Just remembered, we have that thing.’ I look to Tara for back-up but get none. She’s too lost in awe.

‘Well if you get an opening I’ll leave your names on the door,’ Mum says curtly and removes another false eyelash.

‘That would be fantastic,’ Tara gushes.

Someone pass me a sick bucket.

The next day things get even more revolting. Tara arrives at class with her hair dyed black
a la Natasha.
It does look ridiculous and Abigail manages to use it to strike at both of us. She points out loudly that Tara’s copying Mum and then turns to me and says, ‘First Ethan, now your mother. Isn’t it adorable your best friend has a crush on your entire family?’

To pile on the humiliation, the great Natasha herself is teaching the class. She throws every dance teacher cliché going at us.

‘Imagine yourselves more bird than human. Energy connecting you up to the sky.’

When I laugh she doesn’t like it and so she praises Tara deliberately. It’s so obvious. She’s always done this with my friends – casts the spell of the fairy ballerina till they are totally enraptured.

Tara is falling for it, big time.

‘Do you mind if I go over to the Opera House?’ she asks me later on. ‘We don’t actually have a thing, do we? And Natasha said our names were at the door so …’

‘You thought you’d go and what – see if she’ll adopt you?’ I say. Tara’s totally crushing on my mother. ‘Maybe you can rub her a few times and some of the magic will come off,’ I add.

‘What?’ she says all innocently.

‘It’s fine. But don’t ask my permission, because you’re going to go anyway.’

‘I don’t get what the problem is,’ Tara says. ‘Natasha just wants to spend time with you.’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘Yes. And if I was lucky enough to have a mother like yours I would make the most of it.’

‘Stop,’ I tell her. ‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’

Totally under the spell.

I really don’t understand my friends. First Tara tries to turn herself into my mother and then just before our next class Sammy tells me he’s broken up with Mia. Gorgeous, fun, exciting, fantastic Mia.

‘How could you do that? You should know I’m going with Mia in the divorce.’

I feel like solving all our problems and asking Mia to take me back to her kibbutz. Then Tara could have my mother to herself and Sammy could spend time with whoever it is that he thinks could possibly be better than Mia and I’ll be far away from the parents.

The next day Tara arrives for class with a scarf wrapped round her head. My first thought is that she’s had an exact replica of my mother’s bun stapled to her head, but she actually starts apologising.

‘I’m sorry, Kat,’ she says. ‘Yesterday I was being insensitive and … ’

I finish the sentence for her. ‘… self-absorbed.’

‘That too,’ Tara adds.

‘Thanks for clearing that up.’ I turn away. It’s going to take more than a quick sorry to solve this one.

Mum makes her entrance into the studio to take the class again.

‘Tara darling,’ she purrs to her new favourite, ‘where did you run off to yesterday? I was looking forward to showing you around.’

I can tell this is all for my benefit.

‘I’d like to give someone the benefit of my experience,’ dear mother continues.

‘Okay, leaving you guys to the lovefest.’ I head off to the
barre
when I hear Tara speak. Something must have happened at the Opera House yesterday. Perhaps she got a glimpse of how totally self-absorbed my mother really is.

‘Sorry Natasha, I had things to do,’ Tara says.

‘Things?’ says my mother.

‘Yes. Hair appointment.’

I turn round as Tara takes off her scarf. Her hair is green. She’s done some drastic chemical work to get rid of the Natasha shade of black. I love it. It’s the best hairstyle I’ve ever seen. I love it almost as much as the look on my mother’s face.

‘Mermaid chic,’ I say to Tara with a grin. ‘Maybe with some highlights …’

I don’t know what happened at the Opera House but the fairy ballerina’s spell is well and truly broken.

The Internet is a strange and wonderful place, full of hardcore weirdos. Tara, Sammy and I are watching ‘my’ video, which Sammy posted online.

‘It’s official,’ he says. ‘You’ve gone viral.’

All I did was prance round the living room at the boarding house to the latest Myles Kelly song while Sammy filmed me. To me, Myles Kelly is just another ‘ooh what you do to me girl’ R&B singer. Sure he’s good-looking and his video keeps throwing his perfect abs at the camera, but the dance moves in it are so lame they were begging for someone to have a go at them.

Turns out that someone is me and now, for some unknown reason, thousands of kids around the world are watching me dance stupidly in my hoodie,
spinning around, doing faux R&B star finger-crossing poses.

‘A lot of weirdos,’ I say as we refresh the page and watch the hits jump up. ‘Who knew Myles Kelly had so many fans?’

‘Hey I’m a fan. I love MK,’ says Tara. Sammy’s in the fan club, too.

I grin at them. ‘I rest my case.’

Of course fame comes at a price and that price is Mr Kennedy, the school principal, turning up to class the next morning and grilling me about my ‘online presence’.

He ‘invites’ me to his office after class. Can’t be good. I can’t think why Mr Kennedy would be watching videos online. Surely he’s not a Myles Kelly weirdo, too.

‘There are Academy guidelines about posting personal information on the Internet,’ he starts the lecture off when I arrive.

‘It’s not like it was my phone number or anything,’ I try to argue but he gives me the ‘I’m the principal, respect my authority’ look.

‘Won’t happen again,’ I say, and try to leave. ‘Sit.’

It’s not over.

‘I’ve been contacted by some people from N.A.F. Music,’ he says. ‘They handle an artist named Myles Kelly. They want you for a small cameo role in his new video.’

This has to be a joke.

‘Did Sammy and Tara …?’

Getting the ‘I’m the principal’ look again. Obviously not a joke.

‘It’s not something I’d allow for every student, but in your case … I think it could be a positive experience,’ he says.

‘They want me? To dance?’

‘It’s paid work. On Saturday, after class. You have heard of this Myles Kelly?’

All I can do is nod. This is bizarre. I rip someone to pieces in an online clip and now they want me for their next music video. The Internet may be a weird place, but right now the real world is feeling a whole lot weirder.

On Saturday, Tara and Sammy insist on accompanying me to the video shoot. There’s some big-time pant-wetting going on from them.

‘This is Ground Zero of cool,’ says Sammy.

‘Yep, it’s a building. And, really I’m fine from here,’ I say but there’s no way these two are leaving. Sammy piles on the gushy behaviour, introducing us to everyone who then just ignores him.

‘Waiting around, backstage. I’m having a childhood flashback,’ I say.

‘You say it like it wasn’t awesome,’ says Tara.

It is so not awesome. Everyone busy getting on with their jobs, not paying attention to anyone who they reckon isn’t more important than they are.

As we stand around I see the backing dancers for MK’s video. What a surprise, they’re squeezed into tiny booty shorts – regulation backing dancer uniform for an R&B video.

A woman with a clipboard and headset comes up to us.

‘Kim is it?’

‘Kat.’

‘I’m Tristanne, MK’s assistant,’ the woman briskly introduces herself to us. ‘You’ll be a small video-insert within the clip. Basically it’s what you do in your online clip thingy,’ she says.

‘Is MK here?’ Sammy asks her.

‘He’ll be out later.’ Tristanne grips her clipboard a bit tighter and focuses on me. ‘Why don’t you …
and your friends … chill, eat some sushi and stay out of the way until we need you. We’re cool?’

And she’s off before I can tell her whether we’re actually cool or not.

I can see the dancers running through their totally predictable steps in their teeny booty outfits.

‘Why does every R&B film clip look the same,’ I say. ‘We’ve seen this one already, before they even start filming. The moves are cheesy. The costumes are cheesy. I bet his song is cheesy.’

‘Guys, how are you doing? I’m Myles,’ a voice says behind us.

We turn around. Tara and Sammy go wobbly and I realise my big mouth has put me in it already.

I have to admit, the good looks on his video clip aren’t just make-up and lighting, and the tattoo curling over his right shoulder is real. And he’s in great shape. Really great shape.

‘You must be Kat. I liked your stuff,’ he says.

‘Really?’

‘D’you want to come and have a chat? About the clip?’

He takes me over to some chairs for a one on one.

‘Camembert? Brie? Feta?’ Myles says with a vengeful grin.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to hear that.’

‘You can’t backtrack now. So if you think I’m cheesy, what’s the deal with the tribute vid?’

I explain as tactfully as I can that it’s not me that’s the fan, it’s Tara and Sammy. I skip the part about it actually poking fun, not paying tribute.

‘I’m just not great with the whole commercial thing,’ I say.

‘So you’re into songs that “mean” something?’ Myles asks, rolling his eyes.

Now I feel a bit pretentious. It’s getting awkward. Then he asks me what I
really
think about the video.

‘Well, the choreography is like, yeah, whatever, seen it before. And the costumes – come on, show me a self-respecting girl who’d wear one of those. Which brings me to the dancers you’ve cast.’

Myles holds his arm up. ‘Maybe slow down a bit on the honesty.’

I’ve hurt his feelings. No one should ever ask me what I really think.

‘It’s not my call,’ he says, ‘I … I have to trust my people. The director and the choreographer.’

I should keep my mouth shut. This should be the moment for a tactful silence. Sadly I’m not the girl for tactful silence. Instead I blurt out, ‘Except it’s
your name on it. Myles Kelly. That’s what the little caption thingy will say.’

I’m digging myself deeper into trouble and probably out of the video. I need to do some serious backtracking. ‘But what do I know? You’re paying me. I’ll shut up now.’

Myles stares at me. I don’t think he’s used to people speaking to him like this. Before he can speak, Ms Clipboard comes back with my outfit. It’s hotpants.

‘We’re cool?’ she asks and shoots off before I can give my answer – a definite no.

Then Myles gets called off to some radio interview and I’m left holding my ridiculous costume. Really, I have g-strings with more dignity.

When I track down Sammy and Tara again they are walking slowly to the exit. They’ve been just too interested in everything. Sammy has even offered the director ‘a dancer’s perspective’ on the blocking of the scene.

‘We’re being thrown out,’ says Tara.

‘Can I come, too?’ I really don’t want to stick around to shake my booty in skin-tight camouflage pattern lycra.

As we head for the door, Myles comes running after me. ‘Wait up! What are you doing?’

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I just don’t think it’s my thing.’

‘I need your help with something. Please – stick around?’

I look to Sammy and Tara who nod like mad men.

I do stay and I’m glad. Myles has actually listened to my big mouth. He stands up to his director and Ms Clipboard, tells them to lose the booty shorts, put the dancers in long pants and hoodies.

‘I want to do some new stuff,’ he says.

The director is silent and there’s no ‘we’re cool’ from Tristanne.

‘It’s your video,’ she says and holds the clipboard tighter, like it’s a security blanket.

‘Yeah,’ says Myles looking at me. ‘It is.’

Myles and I start working on some new choreography, something that hasn’t appeared in every R&B video ever made. The dancers, who I thought were pretty bad before, now prove they can move. The whole energy of the place changes. The dancers are smiling, Myles is on top of the world and Tristanne almost puts her clipboard down. And me? I have to admit I have an awesome time. Myles
is really cool. He’s not unco at all and he can dance when he’s got some halfway decent choreography.

The director even smiles as he blocks out how he’s going to shoot the new vid. He nods over to Ms Clipboard who calls the end of the day. We’ll begin shooting for real tomorrow.

‘Kat,’ says Myles. ‘You got plans for dinner?’

‘Are you asking me out?’

‘Maybe. What’s your favourite restaurant?’

He’s trying to impress me with his big-star dinner budget.

‘Tour d’Argent,’ I answer, deciding to have some fun with him.

‘Okay. I’m booking a table.’

‘Right. It’s hard to get into.’

‘We’ll get in.’

‘Plus it’s in Paris.’

Myles grins. ‘And you reckon I’m pretentious? Okay, dinner on me, anywhere you want … Anywhere geographically possible.’

I think of somewhere. Not quite up there with Tour d’Argent in Paris but I know we’ll get in and get a great welcome.

Half an hour later we rock up to the living room at the boarding house with two boxes of pizza. Sammy and Tara are total groupie embarrassments. Ethan
and Christian are too focused on psyching each other out at poker to notice that one of Australia’s biggest R&B stars has delivered their pizza, but we have a fun time.

After pizza I take Myles for a walk before Sammy and Tara start asking him to autograph their arms. We head out of the boarding house and walk around the harbour, under Sydney Harbour Bridge.

‘Sorry, they’re not normally like that,’ I say.

‘Your friends are great,’ he grins. He’s been really good with them. They practically wanted to eat him.

‘Doesn’t the fame stuff do your head in?’ I ask.

‘The way I see it,’ he shrugs, ‘I love singing so if I get to do that, who am I to complain about any of the other stuff?’

‘I’d hate it. I’d hide.’

‘Come on, it’s like how you love ballet. You’d do anything to keep doing that.’

‘Err, I don’t love ballet. We’re on speaking terms. Most days.’

‘Are all your relationships that complicated?’ he asks.

‘Think I’ll pass on that one,’ I say.

We stand and look at the lights reflecting in the water.

‘You know, I think you’d be surprised by how simple things can be,’ he says and kisses me.

Wow. That was easy. Real easy.