Dancing Diva

by Whoopi Goldberg

  We all nod.

  But still—Linc Simmons! He’s amazing. I saw him dance on TV just a few weeks ago, on a PBS special. He did this totally wild new dance where he was jumping and flailing around all over the place. He’s exactly the kind of dancer I want to be—full of emotion and expression.

  “He won’t be rehearsing with you until the week before the show, so keep your autograph books at home till then,” Mr. Lester says. “Now—your scene is near the beginning of the ballet. It’s a street scene, with lots of dancers onstage. It’s the day Linc’s character arrives in Harlem, and he’s exploring the city for the first time. He’s excited by all the movement and people and music.” As he talks, Mr.

  Lester seems to come alive. He starts walking through Linc’s role, as though he can’t help himself. I sometimes forget that he used to dance with the Harlem Ballet himself.

  “He sees a group of girls playing on the street and stops to dance with them,” he continues, leaping gracefully over to the side of the room. “All seven of you are dancing together at first.” He bows and extends his hand to an imaginary person. “But then he takes one of the girls—that’s you, Epatha—by the hand and does a short dance with her on the street before he moves on. Got it?”

  He takes her by the hand? I get to touch Linc Simmons’s hand? And dance with him? I shiver with excitement.

  “You’re so lucky,” says Al. “I might have tried a little harder if I’d known I’d get to dance with Linc Simmons!”

  “You’ll all get to be plenty close to Linc,” Mr. Lester says. “I hope you’ll focus as much on learning your parts as you do on Mr. Simmons. We’re here to do a dance, ladies, not form a fan club. Right?”

  Jerzey Mae’s eyes are popping out of her head. Jessica is smiling off into the distance. Even JoAnn and Al look a little star-struck. “Linc Simmons,” JoAnn says, under her breath.

  Mr. Lester closes his eyes and shakes his head. “All right, even if you do form a fan club, you need to know the dance. Let’s get started.”

  Chapter 7

  Since we all dance together at first, we start by rehearsing together. After we learn the opening section of the dance, we split up. Ms. Debbé takes the other girls into another room to learn their parts.

  Mr. Lester and I stay behind so he can teach me my role.

  “Pirouettes across the stage—right; then you take Linc’s hand.” He holds out his hand and I take it. “Spin, spin, spin—that’s right.”

  Pretty soon I have the basics down.

  “Good work, Epatha,” he says. “So, the key emotion here is joy. You’re hanging out with your friends. It’s a beautiful day. You’re having a good time dancing with them, and then with this new fellow.”

  Joy. I can definitely do joy, especially if Linc Simmons is involved.

  After a few more run-throughs, we work on putting the dance to the music, which makes it even more fun. As I do a jeté, I wave my arms in what I think is a very joyful fashion.

  “Epatha,” Mr. Lester says firmly, “that’s not in the dance.”

  “Sorry,” I say. It should be, I think.

  Near the end of the session, Terrel comes in.

  “We’re done,” she says to Mr. Lester. “Ms. Debbé told me I should come in so I can learn this part, too.”

  “Absolutely,” he says. “Why don’t you watch Epatha go through her dance once; then we’ll do it again and you can dance along with her.”

  I like the part where we’re showing Terrel the dance. I especially like dancing with Mr. Lester, because I’m already imagining what it’ll be like to dance with Linc.

  I am not so crazy about the part where we do the dance again and Terrel’s right behind me. I can almost feel her breathing down my neck.

  “Very good, Terrel,” Mr. Lester says, sounding impressed. “You’re picking things up really fast. Let me just show you that middle section again.”

  I watch as he takes her hand, spins her around, and then shows her the sequence of steps that follow.

  “Want to try the whole thing?” he asks. She nods.

  Okay, I have to admit it: she’s good. She stumbles a little at the start, because she forgets which way to turn, but she learns the dance a lot faster than I did. However, when they run through it a second time, I notice that it looks exactly the same. Exactly! When she does the big jump at the end, she even lands on the exact same spot on the floor. What kind of dancing is that?

  “Terrific,” Mr. Lester says. “You both did a great job today. But keep practicing at home, please. You need to have the dance down cold. That way your bodies will do what they’re supposed to do even if you get nervous. Or,” he adds, “a little starstruck by a certain Mr. Simmons.”

  Terrel and I walk downstairs together. “How was the other rehearsal?” I ask her.

  “Good,” she says. “Everyone learned the dance quickly.”

  We walk in silence for minute. Then I say, “Linc Simmons!”

  She grins. “I know. Crazy, huh? And you get to hold his hand.”

  “You’ll probably get to practice with him, too,” I say.

  Terrel stops, right in the middle of the stairs. “Really?”

  I nod.

  I’ve never seen Terrel look freaked out before. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  Chapter 8

  Joy, joy, joy. Mr. Lester said the dance should be full of joy. That’s not going to be too hard for me! I fly up the stairs at home and nearly knock Nonna over.

  “How was your first rehearsal, stella pic-cola?” asks Nonna.

  “Good!” I say. “And I get to dance with Linc Simmons!”

  Nonna’s furrows her brow. “How are you going to dance with persimmons? They are a fruit, no?”

  Nonna is a little hard of hearing sometimes. “Not persimmons, Nonna. Linc Simmons. The famous dancer. Remember? The one we saw on TV?”

  She nods, but I can tell she has no idea who I’m talking about.

  Abuela, however, is a different story. “Linc Simmons? You’re dancing with the Linc Simmons?”

  I nod. I’m smiling so big that my cheeks hurt.

  Abuela just stands there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her at a loss for words before. Finally, she rushes forward and gives me an enormous hug. “Well, of course you’re dancing with Linc Simmons! You’re my granddaughter!”

  Nonna comes over to hug me, too. Even if she doesn’t know who Linc is, she’s not going to let Abuela make a bigger fuss. “Simmons! Simmons!” she says.

  Sandwiched between them, I can barely breathe. I wriggle away just as Mom comes upstairs.

  “Simmons!” Nonna calls triumphantly, motioning to me. “She is dancing with Simmons!”

  “What?” Mom asks, clearly confused.

  Abuela cuts in. “My granddaughter is dancing with Linc Simmons in that big fancy Harlem Ballet show!”

  “That dancer we just saw on TV?” Mom asks. “The cute one?”

  “Ewww, Mom!” I say. Linc may be cute, but I don’t want to hear my mom saying it.

  “Yes, the cute one!” Abuela says.

  Or my grandma.

  “I get to do a solo dance with him at the beginning of the show,” I say, hoping to distract them from the “cute” thing.

  “I need to go sell some more tickets!” Abuela says.

  “I also need to,” says Nonna. They race for the phone. Nonna, surprisingly, overtakes Abuela, and we hear a triumphant “Ha!” as she gets there first.

  At least Mom isn’t going completely crazy. But then she says, “Maybe I’ll go e-mail a few friends about this. Can’t let your grandmas sell more tickets than I do!” She kisses my head and dashes off.

  Linc Simmons fever has officially struck, and I’ll bet even Brenda doesn’t have a cure for it.

  Chapter 9

  We stay after class every Tuesday and Saturday to work on our dances, and they’re looking good. I do the steps I’m supposed to do, even though it’s hard to resist adding a flourish here a
nd there. But I understand that I need to know the steps so well I could do them in my sleep. Then I can add the finishing touches.

  Everyone’s a little jumpy, especially with the Linc factor and all. After class one day, as we’re changing shoes, Jerzey Mae says, “I wish we could practice more than twice a week.”

  “You do, you goofball,” JoAnn says. “You and Jessica are always in one of your rooms practicing.”

  “That’s not all of us,” says Jerzey Mae. “It’s different when we’re together.”

  “Hey, I know,” I say. “You guys could all come over and practice in the restaurant supply room. Like we did last year, when we had to teach Al how to spin. ¡Problema resuelto! Problem solved.”

  “I don’t know,” says Terrel. “Last year it was just Al dancing. We need space for all six of us to dance at the same time.”

  “We can move some of the boxes around to make room,” I say. “And I can help you guys. I can watch and see if you’re doing anything wrong.”

  Terrel and JoAnn exchange a look.

  “Let’s do it!” Jessica says. “I want to practice all we can, so we’re perfect by opening night.”

  So the next day, all my friends come to Bella Italia after school and we head for the back.

  JoAnn even brings a little speaker for her iPod, so that they can dance to the music. We push back the pasta boxes and large cans of tomatoes to clear some floor space.

  They take their places. “Aren’t you dancing with us?” Jerzey Mae asks. “At least for the first section?”

  “Nah,” I say. “I’ve got my part down.”

  I sit on a big container of olive oil and take charge of the iPod controls. “Okay, you guys—get ready,” I say.

  As the music starts, they begin their dance. I watch as they spin and jump. They look pretty good, but they seem kind of stiff, to me. As they dance, I give them some helpful comments. “You could jump a little higher, Terrel,” I say. “Brenda, put some feeling into it, girl! You guys are supposed to be having fun! JoAnn, why don’t you try an extra little spin there?”

  JoAnn comes over, take the iPod, and stops the music. She looks mad, for some reason. “Excuse me. Did someone make you the director of this show?”

  “No…What are you talking about?” I ask.

  Jessica hurries over. “I think JoAnn just means it’s a little hard for us to dance with you making comments all the time,” she says gently.

  “What? That’s nuts!” I say. “Mr. Lester and Ms. Debbé talk all the time while we’re dancing.”

  “Yeah, and they actually know what they’re talking about. Because they’re our teachers,” Terrel replies.

  My scalp tingles the way it does when I’m furious. Jerzey Mae’s eyes are wide, as if she’s waiting for an explosion. Jessica, who hates any kind of fighting, looks totally freaked out. There’s a moment of complete silence that seems to last for hours.

  “Fine,” I finally say. “I was just trying to help.”

  Everyone relaxes a little. “Shall we start again?” Jessica asks quickly. JoAnn reluctantly gives me the iPod back. I start the music again and sit and watch them. Very quietly. I don’t say a single word. Since I’m the one with the starring role, it seems like they might actually want my help, but they can suit themselves.

  The music ends. “That felt pretty good,” Brenda says.

  “Except the very last part,” Al says. “We were a little too slow on those spins.”

  I nod vigorously. They were way too slow on the spins. Jerzey Mae looks at me, then looks away quickly.

  “Thanks for letting us practice here, Epatha,” Jessica says. “That was really helpful.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Al says stiffly.

  “You’re welcome,” I say. I’d been planning to show them my dance, but I decide not to. I don’t think they deserve to see it. “You want to hang around in the restaurant?”

  They look at one another. “No, thanks,” JoAnn says. “We should be getting home.”

  “Me, too,” says Terrel. “I have lots of homework.”

  They file out of the storage room into the restaurant. Even though it’s still early, there are a bunch of customers already. Dad is putting plates heaped with pasta in front of a few gray-haired ladies.

  “Hello, girls,” he says. “How are my favorite ballerinas? Did you have a good rehearsal?”

  “Yes, thanks,” says Jessica.

  They weave past the tables toward the door. Mom, who is refilling all the salt shakers, says, “No breadsticks today, girls? You’re welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like.”

  “We have to go,” Terrel says.

  “Bye, guys,” I say as the glass door swings shut behind them.

  Mom looks puzzled. She comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Is something wrong, cariño?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Some people just don’t want helpful feedback.”

  “Were you being critical of their dancing?” she asks. “I can see how they might not appreciate that.”

  “I was trying to help them!” I said. “I didn’t say all bad things. I said some good ones too. I think.” I try to remember if I actually did.

  I don’t like the way Mom’s looking at me. “What? I’ve heard you telling your friends what’s wrong with them,” I say. “Like in your writers’ group.”

  Mom’s writing group meets in the restaurant every week. They’re always talking about one another’s work and picking it apart.

  “Querida, that’s different. We’re all in that group because we want to help each other improve our writing. And we ask each other for suggestions. Did your friends ask you for your input?”

  “Not exactly,” I admit.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “But I was trying to help.”

  Mom pours salt into the last shaker, then starts screwing the lids back on. “If Terrel had gotten the role, do you think you’d appreciate her giving you suggestions?”

  But she didn’t get it! I think. Mom is missing the point. But I know what she wants me to say. “No.”

  She nods. “Okay.” She kisses the top of my head and gives me a gentle push toward the door to our apartment. “Homework time,” she says.

  But instead of doing my homework, I practice my dance. When I do, I feel the music pouring through my body—even when there’s no music playing. Sometimes it comes out in a flick of my foot, or an extra kick, or a twirl of my head.

  Every time I practice, I throw in something new. I do the choreographer’s steps, like Mr. Lester said, but I improve on them a little. How could anyone object to that? She’ll probably be happy that I’m making her dance better. Doing things the same way over and over is boring. You have to spice it up!

  “Is that the dance you are doing with the Linc boy?” Nonna asks, poking her head in my doorway.

  “Yep,” I say.

  Abuela joins her. “Let’s see it, cariño! Can we have a preview?”

  I smile. “Sure.” I perform it for them, humming the music as I do. When I finish, they both applaud really loudly.

  “Favoloso! You will be wonderful. And already I have five friends coming to see your show.”

  “And I have nine!” Abuela says, winking at me.

  Nonna grunts. I’m betting some arms will be twisted down at the Italian-American hall next week during her bingo game.

  “Our granddaughter—the star of the show!” Abuela says.

  “This, at least, we agree on,” sniffs Nonna.

  “Abuela, I’m not exactly the star,” I say. But I flush with pleasure.

  “Hmph!” Nonna says. “You are the star girl. You are dancing with the Simmons Linc boy. I think that means you are the star.”

  Maybe she’s right!

  By the time I get around to my homework, all that dancing and star talk has put me back in a really good mood. As I lie in bed that night, I see myself onstage again, but this time taking a bow with Linc. We both get huge bouquets.
He pulls a rose from his and hands it to me.

  I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

  Chapter 10

  We continue to work on our dances. Ms. Debbé and Mr. Lester are both happy with how they’re coming along.

  When I practice mine, Terrel is there most of the time, dancing along with me. Mr. Lester has her do it alone sometimes, too, just to make sure she knows the steps. She still looks like a little mechanical doll when she’s dancing: every step perfectly in place. But after the storeroom incident, I keep my observations to myself.

  One day, we head over to the triplets’ house, because Jerzey Mae says she has a surprise for us.

  “What? Did you decide to organize your pencils by length instead of by color?” asks JoAnn.

  “Shut up, JoAnn,” says Al, but she’s smiling. Jerzey Mae’s a little crazy where neatness and organization are concerned.

  “No,” Jerzey Mae says, pained. “You’ll see.”

  When we get there, we go into her very tidy room and sit on the floor. She pulls her computer over and puts in a DVD.

  “It’s Linc!” Jessica says. We all lean forward to see better. “Where did you get that, Jerz?”

  “I borrowed it from my friend Paula,” Jerzey Mae says, pleased with herself. “Her dad works in TV. This is a dance special that was on TV in Germany, but hasn’t been on TV here yet. Paula said Linc has a big solo dance in it—Just a sec.” She messes with the controls, finds the right place on the DVD, and presses the play button.

  There’s Linc, alone on the stage. He’s wearing a tank top and tights, with a gold crown on his head and gold bands around his arms. The tank top has strips of fabric that flutter around as he moves, almost like wings. He faces one way, then another. He turns and spins and jumps around like some sort of maniac. Every once in a while, there’s a close-up of his face; he even looks crazy. We all watch, enthralled, as he leaps and twirls across the screen.

  “What the heck’s he doing?” JoAnn asks. “Looks like he’s got ants in his pants.”