Audition (19 page)
Authors: Stasia Ward Kehoe
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Stories in Verse, #Love & Romance, #Performing Arts, #Dance
In the dressing room
Lisette says a tearful good-bye
To her beautiful Dew Drop dress,
Tearing one tiny flower
From the shoulder strap.
A memory that looks
Like it will break her heart.
To her beautiful Dew Drop dress,
Tearing one tiny flower
From the shoulder strap.
A memory that looks
Like it will break her heart.
I want nothing from my costume
Except to forget it.
Except to forget it.
Will he give me another chance?
I think I have disgusted him
With my childishness,
Even though I am more afraid
Of being lonely
Than of losing anything
Rem could take from me.
With my childishness,
Even though I am more afraid
Of being lonely
Than of losing anything
Rem could take from me.
At the party he hangs out
With Paul and Don,
Vincent, Marie, and Galina,
Until our eyes meet
Over the top of his beer.
With Paul and Don,
Vincent, Marie, and Galina,
Until our eyes meet
Over the top of his beer.
He glances around quickly.
Is he looking for Jane?
Some disapproving teacher?
An escape
From my desperate gaze?
Is he looking for Jane?
Some disapproving teacher?
An escape
From my desperate gaze?
But no,
He comes over to my side,
Gives me a sort of fatherly hug.
He comes over to my side,
Gives me a sort of fatherly hug.
Though his wide hands grip my forearms,
It is my heart
That feels the tightening
Of his fists.
It is my heart
That feels the tightening
Of his fists.
“Long month, huh?”
I nod. “No more white unitard!”
He grins. “I liked it.”
“That gaudy horror? How could you?”
“Well . . .”
I feel him trace my body
With his eyes.
Panic
Numbs my fingertips.
Desire
Makes my face burn.
With his eyes.
Panic
Numbs my fingertips.
Desire
Makes my face burn.
“Want to go somewhere else?”
I hear my voice say.
I hear my voice say.
A short, cold motorcycle ride,
Up the dingy steps again,
Past the tie-dyed sofa,
Up the dingy steps again,
Past the tie-dyed sofa,
To Rem’s bedroom,
Where I start the new year
Changed.
Where I start the new year
Changed.
Afterwards
There is not much pain
But a surprising amount
Of blood.
But a surprising amount
Of blood.
The second of January
Is a Sunday.
I stay in bed pretending
I have nothing to hide.
I have nothing to hide.
At lunchtime Julio knocks,
Pokes a deck of cards
Through my cracked-open door.
Pokes a deck of cards
Through my cracked-open door.
The giggle in my throat
Surprises both of us.
Can I be hungry for something other than Rem?
Surprises both of us.
Can I be hungry for something other than Rem?
The kitchen smells of refried beans,
And strangely delicious.
And strangely delicious.
We gorge ourselves on laughter,
Scoring thousands of Rummy 500 points
Across the gold vinyl tablecloth
That always feels a little sticky
Despite Señor Medrano’s fastidious housekeeping.
Scoring thousands of Rummy 500 points
Across the gold vinyl tablecloth
That always feels a little sticky
Despite Señor Medrano’s fastidious housekeeping.
The television shouts in Spanish,
Battling the ferocious hum of the teacher’s vacuum cleaner.
Señora has left again today.
Battling the ferocious hum of the teacher’s vacuum cleaner.
Señora has left again today.
I suspect that Señor is waiting for a phone call, too.
Can you still feel
Abandoned
After years of marriage, a child, artistic acclaim?
Can you still feel
Abandoned
After years of marriage, a child, artistic acclaim?
“Rummy!”
Julio jumps up.
Cards scatter.
I laugh again.
I can’t help myself,
Though it makes me ache.
Julio jumps up.
Cards scatter.
I laugh again.
I can’t help myself,
Though it makes me ache.
At the studio on Monday,
I am early for class, as usual,
Thanks to Ruby Rappaport’s lack of regard
For speed limits.
Thanks to Ruby Rappaport’s lack of regard
For speed limits.
I stand alone at the barre,
Work my feet
Through a series of slow tendus,
Try not to look in the mirror
For the girl
I can’t get back.
Work my feet
Through a series of slow tendus,
Try not to look in the mirror
For the girl
I can’t get back.
A shadow passes
Over my shoulder.
Rem’s hand is on the barre behind me.
I feel the breath of his words
Against my back
So I know he’s not looking
In the mirror
Either.
Over my shoulder.
Rem’s hand is on the barre behind me.
I feel the breath of his words
Against my back
So I know he’s not looking
In the mirror
Either.
“I’m working on a new piece
After Variations tonight.
If you want to . . .”
After Variations tonight.
If you want to . . .”
I steal a peek
At his reflection
On the far wall.
At his reflection
On the far wall.
Rem’s voice is casual but
His spine has an electric straightness that makes me dare
Regard my own silhouette as I say,
His spine has an electric straightness that makes me dare
Regard my own silhouette as I say,
“Yes.”
Señor Medrano doesn’t mind
My change of schedule
As long as I can get another ride home
So he can get back to the dusting, the supper,
The world outside the dance studio
Where he seems almost joyful
To relinquish his teacher crown.
As long as I can get another ride home
So he can get back to the dusting, the supper,
The world outside the dance studio
Where he seems almost joyful
To relinquish his teacher crown.
Other dancers sometimes stay later, too:
Vincent and Fernando,
Simone,
Company dancers working on projects
Of their own
While Remington makes dances
Then flies me
On the back of his motorcycle,
Pulls me
Up the three flights of stairs,
To the surreal world of the musty couch,
The orange chairs.
Vincent and Fernando,
Simone,
Company dancers working on projects
Of their own
While Remington makes dances
Then flies me
On the back of his motorcycle,
Pulls me
Up the three flights of stairs,
To the surreal world of the musty couch,
The orange chairs.
Señor doesn’t wait up,
Doesn’t comment
On the lateness of the hour
That Remington returns me.
Doesn’t comment
On the lateness of the hour
That Remington returns me.
Though often,
When I tiptoe up the stairs,
Light seeps through Julio’s cracked-open door.
When I tiptoe up the stairs,
Light seeps through Julio’s cracked-open door.
In the morning, Julio doesn’t ask
With anything but his eyes.
With anything but his eyes.
Bess emails me a picture
Of her and Stephen
On a snowshoe date,
Grinning and rosy against powder-white drifts,
Bundles of coats, hats, boots.
On a snowshoe date,
Grinning and rosy against powder-white drifts,
Bundles of coats, hats, boots.
“His brother drove the truck,”
She writes.
“We made out the whole way home.”
She writes.
“We made out the whole way home.”
Rem laughs
When I show him, asks,
“Could he even find her
Under all those clothes?”
When I show him, asks,
“Could he even find her
Under all those clothes?”
I giggle.
Roll against him.
There was no rehearsal tonight,
Just a made-up excuse
So Señor would leave me late
At the studio.
Roll against him.
There was no rehearsal tonight,
Just a made-up excuse
So Señor would leave me late
At the studio.
I like real rehearsal nights better.
Rem’s eyes turn luminous
When music and steps collide,
Rem’s eyes turn luminous
When music and steps collide,
His grip velvet steel
When he leads dancers
Through his choreography.
When he leads dancers
Through his choreography.
And after, he is gentler,
Unwound.
Unwound.
When he doesn’t make dances
He is silly, but less tender.
Mumbles more often questions
I don’t want to hear or ask myself.
“What am I doing with you?”
I feel like a distraction
Between his sheets.
He is silly, but less tender.
Mumbles more often questions
I don’t want to hear or ask myself.
“What am I doing with you?”
I feel like a distraction
Between his sheets.
“Want some water?”
He sits up.
The blanket twists around me.
He sits up.
The blanket twists around me.
I shake my head, no,
Roll over,
Lift Bess’s picture
From the nightstand.
Smile back at the frosty faces.
Roll over,
Lift Bess’s picture
From the nightstand.
Smile back at the frosty faces.
City water gurgles from the kitchen sink.
A glass smacks against the tabletop.
A glass smacks against the tabletop.
I straighten the brown quilt, the beige sheet.
Wonder what I’d be doing
If I’d stayed home, in an orchard
Softly buried in Vermont snow.
Wonder what I’d be doing
If I’d stayed home, in an orchard
Softly buried in Vermont snow.
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