"Thanks," my mom says. "We really appreciate your help."
"My pleasure, Ms. Hartley. And can I say—I'm a huge fan of your work." He beams at her, gazing straight over my head. Seriously, I may as well be invisible.
"That's very sweet of you," my mom tells him.
As I listen to him start in on his speech, I know this is going to go one of two ways—either he'll tell her he's an actor, or studying acting, or he'll start to document each and every film he's adored her in. To be honest, I wish he'd just get lost. We really do not need any more weirdness after what happened before.
I still can't believe that my mom said anything about her family, or how she reacted to someone simply being at our door. She's usually so…in control. But then that's because she always has control of her world and of mine. We're in someone else's world now—Rory's—and I'm starting to realize that the lack of control is freaking my mom out.
The guy goes to open his mouth again to say something neither of us really wants to hear right now, but then, thankfully, he pauses, his hand suddenly shooting up to his ear—someone's talking into his earpiece. "Sorry, I have to go," he says. "Enjoy the show!"
Oh, I will, I think to myself, as I check out the stage. It's already brightly lit, with all the signature SMD colors—pink and blue and silver. Arches of balloons stretch across the stage, punctuated with cascading silver fountains of foil stars. The ceiling is completely filled with matching balloons and roving lights scan the crowd. "Wow," I say, checking out the numbers. "How many people do you think are out there?" I glance back at my mom.
She moves forward to take a closer look. "At least three thousand. And I think it could take four thousand."
Just for a split second, my eyes follow those people filing into the ballroom and let myself pretend it's going to be me up on the stage. Me that they'll be watching. That I'll get my turn to dance. But only for a split second. And then, just as fast, I push the thought away, because I know from experience that if I let myself run with it any longer, it'll be even more painful to let it go.
"So, you guys ready for some good, clean SMD fun?" Allie bounces up to us, rubbing her hands together, looking from Mom to me. The way she pronounces "fun" lets us know she thinks she's up for anything but.
Mom laughs. "Oh, Allie, you sound so world-weary for someone so young."
People say this about Allie a lot. But then Allie's had to deal with things in the past year or so that most don't have to deal with until they're a whole lot older.
Allie rolls her eyes at my mom. "Let's just say I'm looking forward to ditching the world of trailing along behind SMD and going back to school."
Allie had had most of the last year off school because of her surgery and had been tutored instead. Now that she's healthy again and can risk getting things like a simple cold, she's been given the all clear to return to school.
"Hanging around SMD isn’t your idea of a good time?" Mom asks her with a chuckle.
"Not exactly," Allie says, with a grimace. "I tried to stay with Dad in the green room, but he pushed me out here to be 'supportive.'"
I turn back to the stage again, every cell in my body feeling suddenly weighted down, barely even able to listen to their exchange. What I'd give to hang around SMD on a daily basis and not trail after my mother all over the world with only a tutor for company, I couldn't even begin to explain.
* * *
As we wait, I begin to get a bit worried that my misery on watching other people live out my dream will get worse on seeing the show itself, but oddly, the exact opposite happens. When the stars are introduced by the emcee, and one by one, run waving onto the stage to take their places, all I feel is excitement. I have this gut feeling it's going to be a great show, as do the audience, who are going insane. They go nuts when they see Rory's new out-there hair, too.
I grin as I crane my neck to see the first few rows of people in the audience—kids, parents, grandparents, a real mix, just like Rory had said there'd be. All of them, as one, are jumping up and down, cheering, wooting, and generally having a fantastic time before the show's even begun. Before long, I'm able to stop thinking about myself in somebody else's shoes, and I can relax, let the mood envelop me, and focus on watching the dancers do what they do best.
The SMD format is always the same, and from what I saw at the rehearsal this morning, tonight's live show is going to be a pretty close match. There's a team dance to start with, with all three regular couples performing, as well as Mara and José, the understudies. It's a really slick, sophisticated routine set to Katy Perry's new song, and the audience is up on their feet immediately, even though it's not one of the dances they'll be learning the steps to like they will later on. Of course, as always on SMD, the dancing is flawless.
When the team is done, the audience goes crazy again, and it takes some time before the emcee can talk over their voices. "I can see you all enjoyed that as much as I did." She laughs. "And now, I'd like to welcome Rory and Noah back to the stage to teach the first blast-from-the-past dance of the evening—Madonna's 'Lucky Star.'"
Once again, the audience goes wild, clapping and cheering even louder when Rory runs back onto the stage again.
I glance around at my mom and Allie. "I guess that means they approve of the hair?" I say.
We all turn back as Rory starts speaking and Madonna's "Lucky Star" begins playing on the huge screen behind her, with the music turned down low for now.
"Hi everyone! Hope you've brought your sunglasses like Madonna here!" she says as, behind her, a King Kong-sized Madonna reaches up to pull her black Ray-Bans from her eyes. "No great surprise, but this is one of my picks for you—you'll probably have worked out by now that I'm crazy about Madonna. Tonight we'll be learning a few steps from Madonna's "Lucky Star" from 1984. This was really the start of people copying Madonna's fashion and moves—the all-black layers with leggings, ankle boots, and mini-skirt, the crucifixes, the one earring, cut-off gloves, the mussed-up hair and, yes…the risqué belly-button, which I know is pretty tame now, but back then was a Big Deal. While such a basic clip wouldn't make the grade today, I still love this one—it's still as watchable and danceable today as it was almost thirty years ago. So, let's get into dancing Madonna's "Lucky Star"! Oh, and for the purposes of this dance, poor Noah is going to be sent behind me to dance back-up…"
Everyone in the audience ooohhhs a "poor Noah" ooohhh at this and Rory gives an exaggerated wink. "But I'm going to ask Tobias to join him so he doesn't get lonely."
With this, everyone cheers.
"I thought you might like that!" she continues. "Okay, let's begin!" The video stops now and returns to the beginning, where Madonna waits for us, frozen in time.
Rory, however, comes to life. "We start by twisting back, our hands held into our heads, just like on the screen here. Got it! Not hard, right? Now, don't worry about the rest, I know it looks tricky, but it's actually quite simple once you get the hang of it. Okay then, ready? Let's jump forward, then right leg cross, left kicks back, then feet together, hands down by our sides, jump to the right, hands in the air, cross right leg in front, hands still raised and jump to open wide…"
Backstage, Allie and I follow Rory's every move. And she's right. It looks harder than it is—all that leg crossing is deceptive. But once you try it a few times, it's not hard at all. All three of us are doing it successfully the second time around.
"Go, you guys!" Rory claps after most of the audience seems to have got the sequence down—right up to the crouching on the floor bit and the wink. "Okay, I think we'll skip the writhing on the ground, because it's not like we're all in the comfort of our own living rooms today, so let's move on a little further and learn a few more steps."
With this, the video moves on to a different segment. "This sequence is a little easier than the first one." You can hear the older people in the audience breathe a sigh of relief with this. "Right, here we go…step back, then back again, hands halfway, right leg back, head
and chest back, left leg in front and point that toe. Now step forward and head up again, step, step, left leg in front, right back, right hand up and jump with your left leg, right hand up and head back…that's it! You've got it! You're stars!" She laughs. "Come on, let's try again. Dance it with me." When Rory says this, she glances stage right—at me—and winks again.
And, in that one small moment in time, despite everything else that's been going on, I know that out there on that stage, she's truly happy and doing what she was born to do.
-
15 -
It's a fantastic show. There's a guest performance with dancers from the San Francisco Ballet, the other couples all teach a dance as well as Rory and Noah, then there's another team dance, with an intermission in the middle.
Near the end of the show, my mom receives a text. "Drat," she says, reading it. She glances up first at me and Allie, then beyond us both, at Rory. "Do you think Rory would mind if I had to leave? It's Deb. I'm needed upstairs."
"Of course not!" Allie tells her. "Rory's happy you're here at all."
"It should be fine," I say. "The show's practically over."
My mom bites her lip, unsure.
"Really! Go!" Allie tries again, swiveling her around and giving her a soft push.
My mom reaches out and ruffles her niece's hair. "Okay, I will." She starts off then twists back for a second. "I'm not sure what you guys are up to later," she says to Allie, "but Thea and I are doing a late dinner. If you and your father can join us, that would be nice."
"Sounds good!" Allie says. "I'll find out what Rory's doing, but she should be free."
"Okay, then. See you girls later. I shouldn't be too long." She gives me one last, longer look, where I can tell she's still worried about what happened before, in our room. But then, with a wave, she's gone.
I glance at Allie. "So what happens now?" I gesture toward the stage.
"Audience participation," she says, waggling her eyebrows. "All the dance sequences they learned will run back-to-back on the screen, and they'll pick people out of the audience to come up and dance with them. And then that's the end."
As Allie tells me this, the emcee pretty much says the same thing, which gives us a laugh as the clips start playing. The team starts by dancing all of the sequences together, then one by one they come forward, and with the help of assistants, people are picked out of the audience to come up on stage with them and dance.
I can't see the entire audience, but I manage to get a glimpse of most of the people who are chosen. Valentina is first and picks out a mom, while Cooper picks out a grandfather. Lucia picks out a girl who must be around ten or so, Tobias points toward a dad whose three daughters seem immediately embarrassed and thrilled at the same time. Mara and José pick together—identical twin boys of about eight. Rory opts for a really young boy who could only be six at the most, and Noah goes for another mom who looks like all her Christmases have come at once.
All the dancers are ushered quickly onto the stage, and then the clips start over and their SMD instructors help them perfect their sequences. Everyone is really good, but Cooper's grandfather is a stand-out, and Rory's little boy is amazing and cracks everyone up with his "Lucky Star" moves, especially when he totally hams up the Madonna crouch and wink and Rory turns to the audience and fans her face. He's too much, and she has some serious fun with him.
"So, have you ever been chosen?" I glance at Allie for a second before returning my attention to the stage.
I expect her to say she's been on stage a few times, so when she pauses and then laughs quite a bitter laugh, I'm surprised and move my attention back to her slowly.
"No," she says. "Rory tried, but no."
I give her my full attention now. "What do you mean?"
"I don't think I'm exactly what Sonja's searching for when it comes to her new-look show. I've done a few things with SMD in the past, but not lately. Not since Sonja."
"I don't get it. I thought they'd love it—you being Rory's sister and everything?"
"Come on, Thea."
I watch her carefully.
She runs both hands up and down the length of her body. "I'm not exactly the perfect package, am I? Even with the best medical care money can buy, I'll always be really short. People will always look at me and think something isn't quite right—my chest's too wide, my neck's too short."
I motion toward the audience members on the stage. "Allie…"
"You might not see me that way, but plenty of other people do, Thea. Don't tell me that they don't because they do," Allie says, cutting me off.
"Then that's their loss. And I don't know if you noticed, but it's not like the mom or the dad out there are that burning hot. They're not looking for perfection."
"But that's fun, isn't it? Sending up Mom and Dad. Or cheering on the old guy who can dance. Or the kid who's better than he should be for his age. There's different and there's scary different. And I'm scary different."
I'm not sure if I believe her. Sometimes Allie is right about these things and sometimes…well, sometimes, she can be a bit defensive. But she's been around SMD enough to know when she's wanted and not wanted. I remember what Rory told me about Mara. "Is this like the Mara thing? Rory told me she's not very…accepting."
"Oh, believe me, this is just like the Mara thing. Mara is the queen of this second-class citizen ‘thing.’ Her and Sonja. Oh, except for when Sonja feels like Mara needs a bit of bonding, or publicity or something, so she sends her to my dance class."
I wince. "Rory told me about that. That must have sucked."
"Sucked is about right."
"Sorry," I say.
Allie sighs now. "It's not your fault. All I can say is I can't wait till Rory ditches this scene. It's old and tired and getting older and tireder by the day for everyone concerned."
"So you think she really will keep trying to get out before her contract's up?" I lower my voice as one of the assistants passes by.
"I hope so." Allie's eyes are focused on her sister, out on the stage.
I follow her gaze to see Rory laughing her head off and holding her "new" dancing partner's hand. She spins him around and around and around. "But she looks so happy right now. She can't be faking that. It's real. You can tell it's real."
Beside me, Allie begins to nod slowly. "It is real. The ‘teaching people to love dance’ bit, that's what she adores. That's what really makes her happy. It's everything else that's pushing her out."
"I know what you mean," I say. And I do. Mom's worked on a lot of film sets that haven't exactly been pleasant because of infighting. "That bites. Poor Rory. And poor you."
But Allie doesn't seem too concerned. "I'll be okay. I'm used to it, and anyway, I'm going back to school." She stares me dead in the eye now. "It's Rory I'm worried about. Because I still can't figure out how we're going to get her out of this show alive and with her career intact. And if I can't think of some weasel-y way to get out of something, there may be no way out at all."
* * *
When the show's officially over, Allie and I hang around backstage for a while longer, watching Rory and company meet and greet the audience, then we make our way back to the green room to meet Uncle Erik, who's still busy on his laptop. When he spots us enter the room, he glances over at the TV on the wall that's screening what's going on on-stage. "All done?" he says.
"Yep," Allie tells him, heading to the fridge on the other side of the room and grabbing us a couple of bottles of water. She slows down to inspect the platters of food on the table as she walks back. "Want some fruit?" she asks me.
I shake my head. Normally it wouldn't worry me, but after Mara's welcome on the bus, I still have that uncomfortable feeling that I'm tagging along like an unwanted friend here.
Allie catches on to what I'm thinking immediately. "It's okay to eat the food, Thea," she tells me. "We're at the Bellagio. I'm guessing there's more where that came from."
"Please, Thea, don't be shy. Eat something."
Uncle Erik glances up from his screen. "Maybe then no one will notice I ate every single strawberry."
This makes me smile. "Well, okay…" I go over to grab a slice of watermelon.
While we wait for Rory, Allie and Uncle Erik and I decide on where to eat tonight, get the concierge to make a reservation at one of the hotel's restaurants, then text Mom to tell her where to be at eight thirty.
And I'm almost feeling comfortable when the door opens and the entire SMD team pours into the green room all at once.
* * *
"Hey, what's that on Mara's forehead?" Allie leans over from her perch on one of the green room couch's arms and whispers so only Rory and I, sitting on the couch itself, can hear.
The three of us check Mara out, across the other side of the room. She has Noah—already changed out of his tracksuit—trapped in a corner and is talking his ears off, exaggerated arm gestures everywhere.
"I can't see anything," I say with a frown, inspecting her forehead.
"Me either," Rory says, confused.
"Really?" Allie continues. "I could have sworn I saw ‘I hate Hartleys’ stamped across it a minute ago."
I can't help it. I crack up at this, as does Rory, and Allie joins in at the tail end. This makes Mara glance over at us, which makes the three of us crack up even more.
"Control yourselves, Hartleys," Uncle Erik calls out from across the room, where he's talking with Sonja. Probably about Rory's hair, is my guess.
But it's too late—we're past controlling ourselves. When he says "Hartleys" we're off again, though this time from behind our hands, snorting to stifle our laughter.
"Sorry, Uncle Erik," I finally manage to say, after having a swig of water.
When we've all calmed down again, Rory gets up from the couch. "Well, I might go and have a quick shower before we eat. I'm thinking it might be a good time to be…elsewhere." She glances over at her dad and Sonja. "See you guys at the restaurant," she whispers, before taking off stealthily, by way of the buffet so it looks like she's snacking, rather than escaping.
Being Hartley Page 11
