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The door at the back of the theater opened. “What is going on?” Tatiana demanded loudly. She wore a white fur coat that doubled her minuscule size, and I could see her glare from here. She marched down the aisle toward the stage like a runway model showing off the newest long-sleeved Valentino.
“Tatiana…” Director Atkins began.
She stopped when she was in the front row, and her voice cut like a whip. “Why are you rehearsing the scene without me?”
Atkins rose from his seat. “You were late. We had to begin rehearsal with your understudy.”
He should’ve been scolding her, but he wasn’t. His tone was that of a subordinate meekly explaining a situation to an angry boss. The way Tatiana put her hands on her hips and rounded on me, she might as well have been.
“My understudy?” she said, looking me up and down. Just as quickly, she put me out of her mind. “I am here now. We can begin the proper rehearsal.”
I smiled awkwardly and shuffled to the back with the other dancers. That was my real role, so long as Tatiana was alive and kicking. A dancer without any lines.
Atkins made a show of checking his notes. He always did that when Tatiana was late, buying himself a little time to make it seem like he didn’t jump whenever she said to.
But the act was ruined when he said, “From the top. Tatiana. We’re starting with the—Tatiana?” He looked around. “Where did she go?”
“Um, backstage,” one of the other actors said.
“Son of a…” Atkins grumbled as he chased after her. “Nobody move. We’re continuing as soon as I get back.”
I glanced at Braden, who was already looking at me. We shared a smile together while Tatiana began shouting backstage.
At least I’d gotten a taste of what true acting was like—and a taste of our show’s hot male lead—even if it was just for a few minutes.
2
Nadia
Opening night for The Proposition was just two months away, and we were totally fucked.
Most of the problems stemmed from Tatiana, the female lead. She was usually late, and sometimes didn’t show at all. For some reason Director Atkins was terrified of her, so he never scolded her or gave her criticism, let alone threatened to cut her from the show the way he would with any other actor. Usually we all waited around until she showed up, or did dry-readings of our lines. And since most of the scenes involved her, all the other actors were behind in their rehearsals. A cascading problem as we slowly ran out of time.
Those weren’t the only issues. The theater was new—in the sense that it had just been converted into an off-broadway theater. It was previously an abandoned manufacturing building stuck in re-zoning limbo while developers tried to turn it into apartments, until a producer with too much money finally swept in and bought it. It had old wiring, strange smells, and issues with the plumbing almost every day. Not the best working conditions, and certainly awful viewing conditions if they weren’t fixed by opening night.
But an aspiring actress had to work her way up, building the resume from nothing into something. I was lucky to land a role as a backup dancer, let alone the understudy to the lead. And even though I would never get a chance to replace Tatiana, it was good practice to hone my skill.
Tonight was the first night Atkins finally used me as the understudy. I’d been practicing my lines religiously in case the night finally came. Five glorious minutes under the spotlight with everyone’s eyes on me. Only the eyes of the other cast members and the crew rather than a proper audience, but still. That single scene with Braden left me feeling lighthearted and gleeful for the rest of the night. And it had nothing to do with a totally hot guy plastering his body against mine in the scene.
Well, it mostly didn’t have to do with that. I was a professional, but I was still a woman.
Once Tatiana had changed—a process which took another ten minutes—they rehearsed the same scene. It was the climax of the first act of the musical, when the lead female finally succumbed to the lead male’s proposition. Tatiana delivered her lines with too much drama, like someone in a daytime soap opera. She had no chemistry with Braden, who seemed to cringe as he covered her body with his.
Or maybe I was just being jealous.
Sweet baby Jesus, he was hot. A perfect triangular torso leading up to a face made for the movies. Everyone was hot in the business, of course. Fit, too. There was a lot of dancing and track movement in this musical, which required a level of fitness that attracted men who were sculpted like Greek statues. Every guy in the room was easily a New York eight or nine. Dorian, one of the minor cast members I briefly joined arms with and twirled in time with the stage music, wasn’t as jacked as Braden but still had a lithe figure and a gorgeous face. A thimble-sized person could ski down the slopes between his abs, that’s how defined they were.
The musical number ended, and Director Atkins paused to give stage directions to a few of the cast. Since this was an off-broadway show with a minuscule budget, we didn’t have a dedicated choreographer, dance captain, or musical director. All of that fell onto Director Atkins’ slim shoulders, which was yet another thing that slowed down the rehearsals. I ran through my track—the choreographed movement route—for my next song while we waited, both for practice and because I wanted to look like I was a hardworking member of the cast. I was hardworking, but looking it was just as important as being it. Actors knew that more than anyone.
Tatiana and Braden had a duet next, a heart-tugging song about the internal struggle their characters were feeling. The lyrics were already cheesy enough, but Tatiana’s delivery put them over the top to the point of parody. Several of the cast exchanged glances while running through our choreography. Everyone’s face said wow, this is bad.
“Fantastic work Tatiana!” Atkins said when the number was done. “I love how you bellowed the lines from your diaphragm. Singing with your body, not your throat.”
“Mmm hmm,” she said while glancing at her cell phone.
Atkins gave stage directions to half a dozen others in the cast—but pointedly not Tatiana, even though her footwork was as sloppy as a drunk woman stumbling home from the bar. Then we did the number again, and a third time after even more feedback. Each time the overall group’s work got tighter and more seamless. I prided myself on nailing it each time without any notes from Atkins.
Things seemed to be going well, until during the fourth rendition of the song two lights in the hanging trusses malfunctioned. The screws used to rotate them up and down suddenly gave out, causing them to swing uncontrollably, turning the stage into a techno rave party of blue and white. In the back of the theater, one of the techies cursed.
