by K. K. Allen
That was the thing with dance. It wasn’t always about attaining the same skills to fight for one top position. We were fighting every single day to better ourselves, push ourselves, carving our own paths in the industry.
We’d finished choreography over an hour before, and they had just started calling girls in to perform solos for the directors and producers. Since they were going in the order we’d all walked in, I knew I would get called last, so I took advantage of the extra time.
With earbuds drowning out the backstage activity, I tried to focus on the steps in front of a long mirror. It was one of the more technically taxing routines I’d ever learned for an audition, with a jazz flair that put on a twist I’d never seen in traditional Broadway. Like always, the challenge fueled me, only making me work harder.
The backstage assistant, whose name I learned was Rhonda, smiled in my direction, catching me midroutine. I took out my earbuds when I saw her mouthing something.
“Kai Ashley. You’re up, sweetheart.”
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before following her to the stage, where another dancer was jogging past me, looking blotchy and flustered.
Worry could have easily crept into my mind just then. Worry that I would leave the stage looking just like her. Worry that I would fail to meet the judges’ expectations. Or worry that the man behind the piano would somehow creep into my mind at the wrong moment, making me freeze like I had on the street.
But worry could go screw itself. This isn’t the time for any of that. It definitely wasn’t the time to let some asshole in black ruin a good job opportunity. That was the conclusion I’d come to as I fell in love with the choreography over the course of the past few hours. I might not have had the right experience for the role, but it felt right. And it would pay the bills.
I stepped out to center stage and found the tape marker on the floor. Looking up, I scanned the panel of judges, noting their expressions, which showed wear from hours of watching the same routine. Boredom was written all over their faces. It gave me hope. Maybe they hadn’t yet found what they were looking for.
Dirk nodded to the band, which prompted them to shift into position and wait for the vocal track to start up over the speakers. Apparently, Sebastian would be singing in the live shows but not today since he was “saving his voice,” as I’d overheard him tell the director. And I could only imagine that if this was the energy produced from a small band with a low-quality vocal track, then the full theatrical version would be incredible.
The first four eight-counts consisted of a sloppy walk forward, each step in time with a strum of an electric guitar. I hit each move as if the music was coming from inside of me—thrumming, vibrant, just a tease of what was to come.
Each move lingered with each fading note until the next move came, and then I’d hit that one harder than the first. Everything was building. The fire in me was growing. Then the drums came in, quadrupling the rhythm until the song transitioned into a fast rock beat.
I felt like I was in the front row of a concert, getting thrashed around in a mosh pit. My knee crossed my body as I picked myself up into relevé, then I was stomping my feet and whipping my head, every move perfectly in sync with the music.
WATCH: Kiwi
For the last move, I sank to my knees and fell to the side, sliding my palms along the floor as the final note faded out. I couldn’t help the laugh that shook through me at the pure energy of it all. Nothing was more intoxicating than the confidence I got from performing. Executing choreography as if it was my own wasn’t something that came naturally to me early in my career. I trained my ass off before ever learning how to let go and let the music drive me.
Dance wasn’t just the execution of perfectly timed steps. Dance was about expressing the steps, which I knew I’d just nailed. I hadn’t felt like that in an audition in a long time.
My eyes were wide, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Suddenly, I’d never wanted a role more in my life. It didn’t matter that I was unfamiliar with the story and all the contractual obligations I’d be bound to once I had all the details. All I knew was that I wanted more of whatever had just happened up there on that stage. I needed more of it.
I waited for the panel to address me, but they weren’t coming up for air any time soon. They were bent over, whispering to each other, while I tried desperately to avoid the pair of eyes lasering me from behind the piano at the front corner of the stage. I didn’t want to give Sebastian the satisfaction of a single glance. I wanted to forget that he was there or at least make him think I had forgotten.
But despite my best efforts, I was running out of places to glance while I awaited word from the powers that be. My focus fell lazily toward the piano, where I could feel the strength of his gaze intensifying by the moment. His pull was too strong, and the longer I forced my gaze away from the inevitable, the tighter the imaginary rubber band he’d wrapped me in stretched and stretched.
Until it snapped.
My gaze collided with his.
His signature smugness was gone. I was caught in his electric web, arresting and far too complicated to mean anything good. Amusement lit his eyes, but it wasn't the type of amusement that was laughing at me.
No, Sebastian wasn’t amused by me. He’d underestimated me.
He was laughing at himself.
The corners of my mouth curled into a small smile as I failed to stifle my reaction to the irony. Then I winked because nothing was better than watching a grown man squirm.
“Kai Ashley.” Jimmy, the director, had his eyes on my headshot. “Are you currently committed to any projects?”
I shook my head. “Not at this time, sir.”
The casting agent leaned in. “And are you aware that this is a seven-month contract? Nine when you include the two months of rehearsal time leading to the start of production?”
My nod came quickly and a little too eagerly, but it caused the panel to smile. “I am aware.”
“And would you be fully committed to our show for that duration? Meaning no side jobs, no outside auditions, et cetera.”
I nodded again. “Yes, you would have my commitment—one hundred percent, sir.”
His expression gave nothing away. “To that note, are you also aware of the compensation? Since you would be provided meals, your own room, and amenities on location, we have to factor that in.”
The truth was I knew nothing about the pay since Sheena had kept some information from me, but what could be worse than no paycheck at all?
“My agent hasn’t presented all the details, sir, but I understand.” I smiled.
The director nodded. “Very well. Thank you for your time today, Ms. Ashley. We will contact your agent if we decide you are a right fit.”
The excitement that had been building in my chest fell flat in an instant. That’s it? Talk about anticlimactic. It had all sounded so encouraging up until that last bit. I stumbled backward a step and forced my smile to reach my eyes. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
In those next seconds, the nerves I’d been holding in check started to crumble, and I swallowed, hoping to drown out the light chuckle that floated from the piano. My neck and face heated with embarrassment because Sebastian could obviously read right through me.
It took everything I had to not throw him a pointed glare followed by my middle finger. Instead, I avoided him completely and swiveled toward stage right to make my exit. With my luck, the “bird” in Australia was probably a term of endearment anyway.
“Excuse me, uh… Miss Ashley,” Dirk called just as I neared the wall where the curtain was tucked away. “A couple more questions, out of pure curiosity.”
I froze and turned to face the baby-faced silver fox.
“Have you heard of Angst and Grace prior to this audition?”
I knew that wasn’t something I could lie about. I swallowed, feeling that would be the question that kicked me out of the running. “I’m familiar with it, sir, but unfortu
nately, I was never able to make it to a show.”
Dirk’s smile was relaxed unlike the others. “That’s quite all right. And… Sebastian Chase. Are you a fan of his?”
I had to imagine he had a reason for asking me such a strange question. Did it matter if I was a fan of the man behind the piano? I wouldn’t have to dance with the guy, just dance to his music.
Dirk must have seen the confusion in my eyes because he chuckled. “There is no wrong answer, I assure you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, internally cursing myself for my inability to lie. “Sebastian Chase is a talented musician, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan of his, personally.” I pushed out a tentative smile and shrugged while an unsettled feeling came over me. “I hope to still be considered for the part.”
Laughter flooded the panel. Without waiting for the judges to shoo me off the stage, I thanked them again and jogged away, once again avoiding Sebastian’s glare like the plague.
Well, there went that opportunity. As much as I needed a job, I wouldn’t lie my way to get there. If they wanted someone who was going to kiss ass to get the part, that wouldn’t be me. I had integrity.
“Psst,” hissed someone from behind the curtain.
I laughed when I saw Wayne standing there with a huge grin on his face.
“You rocked it.” His whisper was filled to the brim with excitement. “They loved you. I could totally tell.”
I shook my head and pulled a finger to my lips to shush him. “You don’t know that. You probably only watched me.”
His eyes were filled with conviction, and I knew I couldn’t argue with him. “No matter what, you kicked ass, even if that hottie Sebastian Chase hates you now.”
I made a face. “I really don’t care if he does. He almost ruined this entire audition for me.”
Wayne crunched his face in confusion. “What do you mean?”
I raised my eyebrows. “He’s the cause for the wardrobe malfunction this morning. He was tearing around the corner on his motorcycle and drove through a puddle that nailed me. He didn’t even have the decency to care afterwards. He’s a jerk.”
Wayne’s mouth formed an o as he took in what I said. Once it all registered, he shook his head. “And you couldn’t have fudged the truth just a little out there? Would it have killed you?”
I nodded, adamant. “Yes.”
Wayne let out a laugh. “C’mon, Kai. It’s his show. You need his vote.”
Shit. I let out a breath and lolled my head back, suddenly feeling defeated. I groaned again. “I just messed up my chances, I know.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. I mean, he is the Bad Boy of Broadway, after all. He might like that you have a little feisty in you.”
I made another face. “What did you just call him?”
“The Bad Boy of Broadway.” He searched my expression then raised his palms. “Hey, I didn’t make it up. It was all over the news when his musical got canceled. I didn’t follow the details. Anyway, that nickname is better than his other one.”
“He has another nickname?”
Wayne nodded. “Bash. As in Se-bash-tian. That’s what they call him in the theater world.”
We both laughed.
“Okay, from here on out,” I said, “you may refer to him as asshole, Sebastian, or motorcycle man. Bash sounds like something you’d nickname a toddler who loves to drum all over everything.”
Wayne pursed his lips as if considering my statement. “Clearly, you missed the way that man can play a piano. I’d kill to feel his fingers all over me.”
“Gross.” I shoved him away from the curtain, leading him down the backstage hall. “Let’s go eat. It’s two-dollar taco night at Devney’s, and I need food.”
“Uh oh, she’s hangry again.”
I shoved him to one side. “Shut it. Feed me and take my mind off my awful day.”
He hooked an arm around my shoulders and tugged me close. “It’s all about perspective, Kai. One day, you might look back and realize this was the best damn day of your life.”
Yeah, I was confident that wouldn’t be the case.
Chapter 4
Sebastian
“Well, I think it’s a no-brainer,” Jimmy said. “Kai was the best one we saw all day.”
The casting agent agreed with an emphatic nod. “Definitely. She has all the makings of a principal dancer. It helps that she’s separated from the baggage of the show. She’s a fresh face, a raw talent. Exactly what we need.”
Dirk leaned forward, and by the look on his face, I could tell he was ready to put in his two cents. “A fresh face is nice, but we can’t afford for this shit to go sideways.”
I laughed, not trying to disguise my amusement one bit. “Shit’s already gone sideways, Dick. Or have you forgotten why we had to close our doors in the first place?”
Dirk threw me a glare, telling me, in zero words, to shut the hell up. Then he turned back to the panel. “Who’s to say the show won’t be a hit and we can’t add it to more locations? We could make Kai an understudy now, give her the training, and then put her onboard another ship to take over the lead when that time came.”
All the air between my fingers vanished the instant I balled them up, trying to hold back my retort to everything Dirk was spewing. The dick still thought this was his show, his rules. Well, screw that. Time to regain some control.
“Wait a sec,” I said. “Our deal was one last run. We end Angst and Grace, and then we move on. The end.”
“I know that’s what you want, Bash, but open your eyes. This show still has life in it, and it deserves to be seen.”
I shook my head, refusing to entertain anything Dirk was suggesting. “Not happening. I’m not interested in capitalizing on a story I don’t believe in anymore. You got me to agree to one last run, and that’s what I’m giving you.”
Dirk dropped the stack of headshots onto the table and slammed his fists down. “Do you realize how much I’ve invested in this show over the last four years? How much time it’s taken to get Angst and Grace picked back up after our end on Broadway?” He slammed his fist again and raised his voice. “You have no idea what it takes to make this shit work. No fucking idea. You just sit there behind your grand piano, singing into the empty void that is your life, and you expect to be the one to call the shots? You do not own this musical. We’re partners, like it or not. And as much as you don’t want Angst and Grace to live on, it will. This show is gold, Bash. Gold.”
I swiped at a spray of Dirk’s spittle that had fallen onto my arm. “Correction, Dick. The music is gold. The show is shit.”
Everyone gasped, and Dirk leaned in again with fire in his eyes. “Thank your lucky stars that Margaret isn’t here to listen to your narcissistic ass speak. She put just as much time into that choreography as you did into your music. But if you feel that strongly about how weak this show is, then feel free to leave. I’ll even pay for your way back to New York. Just sign on the dotted line, Bash.”
Okay, I knew I’d crossed a line there. I hadn’t been the only one to put in work to bring Angst and Grace to life. And I didn’t hate the production at all. I hated Dirk, which was exactly why the show had to end—I couldn’t work with him anymore.
But his investment had barely started profiting by the time the show tanked on Broadway. In my defense, the show would have never gone under if not for Dirk. In my mind, he was getting exactly what he deserved.
“This show could be the next Movin’ Out, just like we’d always planned,” he said.
I snorted. “And see how well that ended for them.”
Dirk stood. “It’s still a best-selling international tour, you small-minded prick. Have some respect.”
I stood, too, and leaned in so that I was only inches away from my old friend, with only a flimsy foldout table separating us. “Watch your mouth, Dick, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’ve already made me.” He practically spat through clenched teeth while his face grew shad
es darker by the second. “After everything I did for this show. After everything I’m still doing. I think I deserve a little respect.”
Rage swirled through my chest. “You’re already taking fifty percent of the profits on the final run. Isn’t that enough? You’ll make your stupid investment back and even profit well.”
“After four years, I should be—”
“Jesus,” Deb, the casting director, cut in. “Can you two focus on why we’re here today? We need a lead, so let’s pick one. I cast my vote.”
I bent my brows inward. “Who did you choose?”
Deb shrugged. “Kai. She checks off all my boxes, minus the theater experience bit, but that’s what the next two months are for. She’ll pick it up in no time.”
Dirk ran a hand through his hair and squeezed the back of his neck. For some reason, he wasn’t convinced that Kai was the right choice. His investment was on the line, and Kai could make or break this thing. “What about that Madeline girl?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t think so, Dirk. Madeline has the experience, but she doesn’t have the spark we’re looking for. We need another Claudette.”
At the mention of her name, dread filled me like wet cement seconds from settling. I could kill Jimmy for even bringing her up. But it was too late. Dirk’s eyes lit up at the idea, and I knew the light at the end of the tunnel was miles farther than I’d hoped.
“There’s a thought,” he said.
“No, Dirk,” I said, my voice low, my tone warning.
“Hold up,” he said, darting a glance to me. “I know this is a sore subject, but what about bringing Claudette in for this? She’s loo—”
“No!” I roared.
Dirk shot me a glare. “She’s looking for work. She’s the original Grace. It could actually be a hit with the tabloi—”
“No,” I said again, slamming my fist on the table. “Out of the question.”
