‘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.
CHAPTER 5
The next day, shooting the video is an even bigger buzz than the rehearsals. We’re using decent choreography, there are no hotpants in sight and it’s because of me. My big mouth running off with itself has done some good for a change. Myles’s vid isn’t going to suck. It’ll stand out completely from every other R&B clip on TV.
This beats hovering around en pointe in a tutu any day. And then there’s Myles. The abs are on show again in this vid. That’s fine by me – if you got ‘em flaunt ‘em. I can’t help thinking about our kiss last night, how close we were, alone by the harbour. Myles Kelly, the idol of thousands of girls, kissed me. I’m in danger of doing a marshmallow – getting seriously gooey …
When we finish the last shot I go over to Tara. Wild horses wouldn’t have stopped her coming.
‘That was fun!’ I say, totally pumped.
Tara hands me a towel. ‘It was brilliant.’ She’s almost as excited as I am. Even Tristanne has put down her clipboard and is smiling.
Myles joins me with Tara. ‘She’s right,’ he says to me. ‘You’re brilliant.’ And then like it’s the most obvious thing in the world he adds, ‘You should come on tour.’
Tara’s jaw drops.
‘Yeah right,’ I say.
‘I’m serious. Make a surprise career move,’ Myles suggests.
‘Are you joking with me?’
‘You’re just as good as the other dancers,’ Myles continues. ‘I know it’s not your thing but you’d make it different. We’d be better with you.’
Entering a state of total stun-ment! He actually means it. He wants me on his tour.
We’re interrupted by Tristanne, who drags Myles away to get changed for some TV interview on set.
‘I’ll be back,’ he says as he heads off. ‘Think about it. Doesn’t have to be complicated.’
Tara’s giddy with excitement. ‘You’re going on tour with Myles Kelly!’ she squeals.
‘Am I?’
‘Yes! How often do you get a chance like this? You’re going on tour, Kat. You’ll be staying in hotels and tr
avelling and celebrities and getting room service and … ’
‘… and following Myles Kelly around.’ The reality sets in.
‘Yeah!’ says Tara. She has no idea what it’s like to follow a star around. I do.
‘Myles, some tour manager and the rest of the entourage. Being a back-up dancer for a pop singer.’
It’s just not me. All my life Mum’s dragged me around, along with a horde of publicists, stylists and journos. And it’s been great, but it’s never been ‘my’ thing. It’s always about her.
When Myles comes back from getting changed he wants to talk, but he’s only got a moment before he has to do the interview. It’s a familiar feeling, having someone you want to be with dragged away from you all the time for their career. I totally understand. This tour will be all about Myles. It has to be. He’s the one everyone will want a piece of. And on the tour that will always come first. That’s just how it works.
‘I’m serious about what I said,’ he repeats the offer.
‘I know. And today, yesterday – it was amazing. But it’s your thing, not mine.’
I can see in his eyes he’s disappointed but I think he understands that I can’t be another backing dancer groupie.
Tristanne’s hovering with her phone, pushing for the interview. ‘Myles? Are we cool?’
‘Two more minutes,’ Myles says to her.
‘Better not keep ‘em waiting,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry about them.’ He takes my hands.
I wish we could just be spending time together. I wish we could be doing ‘our’ thing, but that’s not what the tour would be about. Life isn’t that simple. I can feel part of me being pulled towards him, but it’s not right for me.
‘I kinda have to go anyway. Do my own stuff.’
‘Is there anything I can say to change your mind?’
There isn’t. I pull away from his hands – his seriously sexy hands. I have to go.
A couple of days later we’re all watching TV in the living room at the boarding house. Myles’s interview is on the TV. Even Ethan and Christian are drawn away from the pool table.
‘It’s the pizza guy,’ says Christian. ‘What’s he doing on TV?’ He must be the only person in the country who doesn’t know who Myles is.
The interviewer asks Myles if he had someone special in mind when he wrote the song.
‘No but I met someone recently and I guess it’s her song now.’
Then he introduces the video.
‘Okay, this is my new song, Hey Girl, and, Kat, if you’re watching, this one’s for you!’
Sammy and Tara are in total awe and I have to admit it’s pretty cool having a song dedicated to you on national TV.
Even Ethan, my ‘I’m going to be a serious choreographer’ big brother, reckons, ‘It’s quite cool’. That’s about as much praise as I’ll ever get from him.
I have a moment’s regret about not going on tour with Myles. I know it wasn’t right for me but I had a peek at a life that wasn’t ballet, wasn’t the Academy and wasn’t what everyone’s assumed I’m going to do. For a second the thought that I don’t have to be a ballet dancer flashes through my mind but it’s so bizarre, I can’t hold onto it.
Some day, I don’t know when, something will come along and I’ll know it’s my thing. And I’ll drop everything and run towards it. Until then, I’m no one’s backing dancer, not even Myles’s.
CHAPTER 6
I try to remember what Myles told me, that relationships don’t need to be complicated, but that’s not easy when you’re the great Natasha Willis’s daughter. It’s the end of our first semester and that means demonstration classes when proud parents come to the Academy and beam about how far their talented little darlings have come.
Tara, Sammy and I are waiting outside the Academy for our parents to arrive. Tara is hopping from one foot to the other, desperate to see her parents who have driven all night to come and see her. Sammy’s face lights up as his mother arrives, rushes out of her car and gives him a big hug. I get a peck on the cheek and a disapproving, ‘Is that chocolate?’ when Natasha steps gracefully out of her car.
It’s not the warmest of greetings but that’s my mum. She is actually present, which is pretty good by her standards. As we walk into the building she acknowledges that we haven’t spent much time together lately and makes an offer.
‘It’s time you and I had a holiday together,’ she announces.
‘Can I choose where we go?’ I ask, knowing her choice would probably be two weeks at the Met in New York.
‘You choose, but there is a condition,’ she smiles.
‘What?’
‘You have to get good marks in your dance exams,’ she says.
‘There’s no way I can be top of the class,’ I warn her.
‘All I ask is you try your hardest.’
‘And I get a holiday of my choosing. Deal,’ I agree.
‘Marvellous!’ Natasha beams and strides into the Academy like she’s just aced a parenting skills exam.
It’s a fair exchange and I’m going to keep up my end of the bargain. It doesn’t go unnoticed. In our demonstration class Miss Raine is almost impressed.
‘Katrina, interesting what happens when you try,’ she says.
Tara’s dad stands up in the middle of the class and shouts, ‘Gooo Tara Banana!’ It’s funny, but he’s so proud of her he can’t help himself. It’s a natural, uncontrolled, happy pride. Can’t see Natasha ever doing anything like that.
After the demonstration class, Mum bestows some feedback on me.
‘Miss Raine tells me you are good when you put the effort in. That’s marvellous.’
But as always the praise is followed by a request.
‘Teensy favour for your mother, Kat darling. Those awful publicists won’t leave me alone and have begged me to do an interview and a photo shoot for Woman magazine while I’m here.’
‘Not caring about having a glamour moment, Mum.’
‘Well you should care. It’s for the good of the Company. Ballet needs all the promotion it can get and they want you to be involved, too.’
‘Please, no.’ I can sense the horror already.
‘It’ll be fun. A mother-daughter bonding moment for us. And the shoot is just on the roof terrace here tomorrow so it won’t take long. And I have promised you a holiday.’
She knows the holiday is her trump card. I can’t counter it, but I am going to do some research and find the place in Australia that is geographically furthest away from a dance stage.
The photo shoot is so creepy. The ‘stylist’ should be taken out and shot. She’s got us in matching dresses: black with pink, yellow and white spots. We look like an accident in a liquorice allsorts factory.
We have to walk up and down the roof terrace of the Academy being photographed while the interviewer gushes at my mother.
‘We look like sisters,’ I say, trying to emphasise how stupid it is but Pip, the interviewer, thinks I’m complimenting Mum.
‘I know. When I saw you dance Aurora, I couldn’t believe you had a fifteen-year-old at home,’ she coos.
‘It’s just make-up and lighting,’ says Natasha in a delightfully youthful way.
‘If only that was all I needed,’ says Pip with a laugh as genuine as my mother’s. ‘Did you watch your mum in that role, Kat?’
‘I always watch her. I can’t get enough of watching her,’ I say, managing to get the required words out, focusing on the holiday to keep me from screaming. It’s not like I haven’t danced the loving daughter role before.
‘It just amazes me, Natasha, how you juggle everything. Lars Pedersen told me you’re booked for the European Gala?’ Pip asks and then makes us ‘reset’ – go back to the far end of the terrace and then walk forward again as the photographer takes pictures. We’ve already reset twice. How many more photos of these hideous dresses do they need?
‘The gala’s like performing to royalty,’ Pip continues. ‘You can’t tell m
e you can come home after that and clean the bathrooms?’
‘No, that’s not confirmed yet,’ Natasha says.
I’ve vagued out but the hesitation in my mother’s voice gets my attention. Suddenly I realise what the real story here is. It’s the same old one.
‘Sorry, silly me. When is the gala again?’ I ask Pip.
‘It’s in the next few weeks, isn’t it? Will you be going Kat?’
Now I know exactly what’s going on. It doesn’t matter how brilliant my marks were, Natasha never intended taking me on ‘my’ holiday. European Galas don’t come up at the last moment. She lied to make me behave and do this interview.
I stare at her. She’s done it again and I’ve fallen for it again. Stupid daughter, standing in a heinous spotty dress! I actually believed that if I tried hard in dancing then I would get what I wanted. That’s it. If Woman magazine want a mother-daughter story I’ll give them one.
‘Yeah,’ I say with a sweet smile. ‘Luckily it’s right at the same time as my school holidays. Mum always makes sure I have the best holidays. I remember in Singapore once, when I was ten, she was so caught up doing the tour that she flew out of the country, completely forgetting I was back in the hotel room.’
Natasha tries to scowl at me without losing her composed smile. The photographer leans forward to catch this ‘unexpectedly intimate’ moment and Pip starts scribbling furiously on her notepad.
Silly me. There was I thinking Uluru or the Great Barrier Reef and some mother-daughter bonding time, but no, the holiday was always going to be trailing around the world after Natasha Willis, prima ballerina. I’ll be watching from the wings for the thousandth time as she pretends yet again to be a sweet sixteen-year-old girl being woken from a hundred years’ sleep.
‘Let’s reset,’ I say and go back to the start.
CHAPTER 7
Natasha’s European tour wasn’t a complete disaster. She was a triumph of course but I did manage to keep the loving daughter duties down to a minimum and escape from time to time. Okay, probably more than from time to time. I think I know ‘you’re grounded’ in six different languages. And I brought a souvenir back with me. Some people bring back mini Eiffel Towers from France, or chocolates from Belgium, I’ve brought back a boyfriend.
Dance Academy Anywhere but Here Page 3
