Ripped (19 page)

The painting was finished, and I just had time to rush to the theater to surprise Jaz. There seemed to be a cast of thousands present when I entered the ornately decorated interior. My usual row of seats was occupied by a group of middle-aged men and women who were deep in discussion. In between sketching furiously on notepads they would point to the stage and simulate a sweeping staircase or the ocean waves with their hands. So these were the prop and set designers.

In another group along the far wall were twelve younger people, stretching and talking. These weren’t the dancers who had auditioned with Jaz; this was a different group who didn’t really have the build of dancers, and I wondered where they’d come from.

“All right, let’s take scene one, Act II from the top again,” Pierre called from the stage. A plywood staircase was wheeled in and positioned stage left. “
Mon cher
, up the stairs,
s’il vous plaît
.”

The orchestra plucked and played various notes to tune their instruments as Jaz ascended the staircase and took her position. The conductor silently indicated the tempo with his baton and the musicians burst into a soaring melody. I’d watched rehearsals so many times with only a few musicians present, but to hear a full orchestra play took the score to a whole new level. Music coursed through my entire body, filling every nerve, every pore with the heavenly sound of the string section.

As I sunk into a seat halfway down the center aisle, Jaz began to move. It was a simple movement, just the rise of an arm as she slid one foot out, but she was breathtaking. She was still dressed in her own clothes, so this wasn’t a full dress rehearsal, but she was wearing heels and a dress which I assumed resembled the costume she’d be in for this act. The chorus danced around the foot of the staircase, subtly holding it still as Jaz danced her way down, intermittently holding a position before turning and ascending a few more steps. If this small example of the show was anything to go by, this was going to have as long a run as
Cats
.

When Jaz finally set foot on the stage, her partner Mikhail sashayed over to take her hand, and I slumped back in my seat. The mood for me was broken. Jaz was captivating and her performance reminded me of the old-time majesty of a classic Ginger Rogers movie, but this guy was no Fred Astaire—not even close. I’d always watched Jaz and only Jaz while she was dancing, but this time I let my focus wander as I studied everyone else. There were eight guys and eight girls, including Tiffany and Becca, partnered and dancing a similar routine to Jaz and Mikhail. These were the dancers who had auditioned with Jaz. There was also another dozen who I had seen earlier in the background, not dancing but filling in the gaps the way extras do on a film set. As I watched the dancers, I began to pick their technique apart. Sloppy arms, rounded shoulders, feet that didn’t turn out from the hip—the list was endless. All these things could be rectified given time, and yet they had all been given a place in the chorus.

If I had auditioned, would I have stood a chance? If Mikhail was the best option for the male lead, surely I could have been cast and then I’d be dancing with Jaz, holding her as she held her leg bent back in attitude, before lifting her over my head. But I’d tried for so many years and failed every time. And now I was twenty-eight, and in this industry, twenty-eight was prehistoric.

My phone buzzed with a text message from the Brooklyn IKEA store, confirming delivery of our order the following morning. Sighing, I replied then tucked my phone in my pocket. This was my life now—selling ancient music, watching my girlfriend shine in the spotlight, and assembling flat-pack furniture.

L
IFE WAS
chaotic, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When the Ship Comes In
filled every minute of my time, from the early hours of the morning, when I would either make my way to the studio for small group run-throughs, or the theater for full cast rehearsals, to the evening, when Bax and I would go over any steps I was still having trouble with. Dance consumed my life as it always had. But things were different now than they had been for the past eight years because I had reunited with Bax.

Bax, my loving, supportive, patient boyfriend was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and if I had to choose between Bax and dance, I would have hung up my pointe shoes without a second thought. He was such a godsend and I thanked the universe every day for putting him in my way, literally, on that fateful day six weeks ago. But as much as I knew he loved me, I couldn’t help feeling there was a wedge between us, a distance that I couldn’t quite bridge, and the ironic thing was that it was caused by the one thing that had initially brought us together. Dance.

“The fundraiser is this weekend. Will you be able to make it?” I asked as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast on a rare day off from rehearsals.

With a slight flick of Bax’s wrist, the pancake flipped in the air before landing back in the pan. “Don’t know. Maybe.” He stayed focused on the stovetop, giving the preparation of breakfast far more attention than it actually required.

“Are you working this weekend?” I pressed. “You said you’d ask for the time off so you could come.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask, okay? But I can’t promise anything. Not everything revolves around your show. I have commitments, too, and working in the bar is the only thing that makes me feel appreciated for me.”

That stung like a slap across the cheek. “What do you mean? I appreciate you. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

He braced his hands against the cooktop but still didn’t turn to face me. “Yeah, everything I do for you. I’m not talking about things I do for you; I’m talking about being appreciated as my own person, not as your boyfriend.”

The tension had been building between us for the past week but I had side-stepped the argument that I’d known was brewing, not wanting to waste the little time we seemed to have together exchanging spiteful words.

I sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Were we really going to do this now? “I never said your job wasn’t important, Bax, but you’ve known about this for weeks and you promised.” Tears stung my eyes, threatening to fall. “I need you there for support; you keep me calm.”

“Well that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” He spun to face me. I had expected to see anger in his eyes, but all I saw was defeat. “I’m here to support you. To carry your bag and encourage you to go after your dreams, but what about my dreams, Jaz? When do I get to live the life I’ve always wanted?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I asked, waving my arm to encompass our apartment.

“Oh sure, this is a dream come true.” The spatula was thrown in the sink before he stormed over to the bed and sat heavily on the edge. “This with you is what I wanted. Of course it is. But working downstairs and at the restaurant washing dishes was never how I imagined my life turning out. I want to dance, Jaz; I
need
to dance.” His head hung low so I couldn’t see his face. “I had dreams, just like you did. The spotlight, the applause, the hours of relentless dance until my body ached with fatigue. To me that was the best feeling in the world—to be so exhausted that you were asleep a second after your head hit the pillow.” He raised his gaze to look at me. “That’s what you have. You sleep so soundly, Jaz, but I lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.”

I sat perched on the edge of my chair, running my hands through my hair. “It’s not too late,” I said quietly. “You’re a brilliant dancer, Bax. Better than any of the guys in the cast.”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you before, I don’t dance that way anymore. Broadway’s not for me.”

Hesitantly, I went to sit beside him. To try to comfort the man I loved more than anything in the world. He was hurting so badly, and I had no idea how to help him. I didn’t understand why he had given up but I knew I couldn’t push him any more than I had. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and squeezed. “What can I do to help?”

“You can try to understand.” His shoulders shuddered beneath my arms. “Understand that while I am so happy for you.” He lifted his head so his red-rimmed eyes met mine. “And I am happy for you. Every day that I live this life takes me further away from my dreams and spiraling closer to the humdrum existence I swore I would never lead.”

I wanted to encourage him to audition for a show, any show that was coming up, but I’d broached the subject so many times already, and always with the same finality in his response. “There are other types of dancing, Bax. Maybe the theater isn’t for you, but there must be other options.” My mind raced, searching for an answer. “New York is a melting pot of opportunities; we’ll find you a job where you can feel the heat from the spotlights on your face and hear the gratitude of an audience as you take your bow.”