Moss clicks his tongue my way and winks. I watch him take the stairs two at a time up to the sound booth. Who would have thought? I’m dancing with Moss Young.
Once the door clicks shut, I turn away. I’m so thirsty. The make-up woman appears from somewhere and fusses before moving on to the other dancers. The hair people do the same.
When they’re finished, I find a chair on the side of the set and wait to be called for the next take.
At the end of the shoot, word goes round about an afterparty at Moss Young’s place. I immediately think about auditions next week for the graduation performance, all the homework that needs to be finished before then, Mum expecting me home … but I push it aside and decide to go.
The two blonde dancers, Alice and Georgia, are in too, but I’m disappointed when Pania shakes her head. ‘Sorry, I have to work.’
‘Really?’ I cock an eyebrow. ‘Where?’ A cabaret show, maybe? Dedicated dance performance?
‘Sasha’s Wine Bar,’ says Pania, and laughs at my reaction. ‘It’s okay. The pay’s good, and you don’t have to audition at the start of each shift.’
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, and even though I should probably keep my mouth shut I can’t help saying more. After today I might never see her again. ‘Did you ever try for work with a company?’
Pania’s ready with a shrug and a dry smile. She’s not surprised by my question. ‘Sure, I’ve tried. Not that I ever had a real chance with the big ballet companies. I mean … a black ballerina? Not that they’ll ever admit it.’
‘What about modern?’
Pania’s chest rises smoothly. ‘If I’m ever invited to audition, Scarlett, you can be sure I’ll be there with bells on.’
I nod, feeling silly to have asked. ‘It’s been great working with you.’ A cliché, but I actually mean it.
Pania grins. ‘I’ll see you round.’
Once she’s gone, I send Mum a text saying that the shoot’s gone into overtime, and switch my phone to silent mode.
My clothes are okay, I think, a tight dancing top and skinny jeans. Not exactly party gear, but something tells me Moss won’t be expecting an evening gown. The ghost make-up has been stripped away. At least I think it has, but a paler face than usual peers back at me from the mirror. I look washed out, so I take my time with the make-up in my bag. Eye shadow contoured carefully. Lots of black mascara. Burnt-red lipstick matches the red in my hair. My new self smiles back from the mirror. She’s older than I am. Her hair looks amazing … perfectly windswept. Sophisticated somehow.
It’s not until I’m crammed in the back seat of the taxi with Alice and Georgia that I realise how hungry I am. Acid trickles slowly in my stomach. Lunch was a huge spread of mini quiches, baguettes and expensive fruit but, like me, none of the other dancers seem able to eat much while they’re working, so the lunch went to waste. I’m tempted to pull an apple out of my bag but that feels somehow childish, so I leave it there. Just accept the stomach churning.
Georgia whispers something to Alice as the taxi turns through two iron gates that have been jammed open. We start up a very long driveway, catching glimpses of the house perched on the side of a hill, like it’s presiding over the city.
Alice hands over a Cabcharge as we slide out of the taxi. More tyres crunch on loose gravel and another taxi pulls up behind ours. A bunch of lighting guys tumble out, all holding beer stubbies. One guy cracks a joke about being the official dancers’ escort, making Georgia smile uncomfortably. Alice shoots daggers with her eyes before walking up the steps to the main entrance. I follow.
The door is opened by an older woman in a stylish black knit. Moss’s mother maybe? I’m about to introduce myself when she asks for Georgia’s coat and I realise she’s the housekeeper.
We’re shown through a huge living area to an even larger room at the back of the house. Groups of people are
Once the door clicks shut, I turn away. I’m so thirsty. The make-up woman appears from somewhere and fusses before moving on to the other dancers. The hair people do the same.
When they’re finished, I find a chair on the side of the set and wait to be called for the next take.
At the end of the shoot, word goes round about an afterparty at Moss Young’s place. I immediately think about auditions next week for the graduation performance, all the homework that needs to be finished before then, Mum expecting me home … but I push it aside and decide to go.
The two blonde dancers, Alice and Georgia, are in too, but I’m disappointed when Pania shakes her head. ‘Sorry, I have to work.’
‘Really?’ I cock an eyebrow. ‘Where?’ A cabaret show, maybe? Dedicated dance performance?
‘Sasha’s Wine Bar,’ says Pania, and laughs at my reaction. ‘It’s okay. The pay’s good, and you don’t have to audition at the start of each shift.’
‘Yeah,’ I say slowly, and even though I should probably keep my mouth shut I can’t help saying more. After today I might never see her again. ‘Did you ever try for work with a company?’
Pania’s ready with a shrug and a dry smile. She’s not surprised by my question. ‘Sure, I’ve tried. Not that I ever had a real chance with the big ballet companies. I mean … a black ballerina? Not that they’ll ever admit it.’
‘What about modern?’
Pania’s chest rises smoothly. ‘If I’m ever invited to audition, Scarlett, you can be sure I’ll be there with bells on.’
I nod, feeling silly to have asked. ‘It’s been great working with you.’ A cliché, but I actually mean it.
Pania grins. ‘I’ll see you round.’
Once she’s gone, I send Mum a text saying that the shoot’s gone into overtime, and switch my phone to silent mode.
My clothes are okay, I think, a tight dancing top and skinny jeans. Not exactly party gear, but something tells me Moss won’t be expecting an evening gown. The ghost make-up has been stripped away. At least I think it has, but a paler face than usual peers back at me from the mirror. I look washed out, so I take my time with the make-up in my bag. Eye shadow contoured carefully. Lots of black mascara. Burnt-red lipstick matches the red in my hair. My new self smiles back from the mirror. She’s older than I am. Her hair looks amazing … perfectly windswept. Sophisticated somehow.
It’s not until I’m crammed in the back seat of the taxi with Alice and Georgia that I realise how hungry I am. Acid trickles slowly in my stomach. Lunch was a huge spread of mini quiches, baguettes and expensive fruit but, like me, none of the other dancers seem able to eat much while they’re working, so the lunch went to waste. I’m tempted to pull an apple out of my bag but that feels somehow childish, so I leave it there. Just accept the stomach churning.
Georgia whispers something to Alice as the taxi turns through two iron gates that have been jammed open. We start up a very long driveway, catching glimpses of the house perched on the side of a hill, like it’s presiding over the city.
Alice hands over a Cabcharge as we slide out of the taxi. More tyres crunch on loose gravel and another taxi pulls up behind ours. A bunch of lighting guys tumble out, all holding beer stubbies. One guy cracks a joke about being the official dancers’ escort, making Georgia smile uncomfortably. Alice shoots daggers with her eyes before walking up the steps to the main entrance. I follow.
The door is opened by an older woman in a stylish black knit. Moss’s mother maybe? I’m about to introduce myself when she asks for Georgia’s coat and I realise she’s the housekeeper.
We’re shown through a huge living area to an even larger room at the back of the house. Groups of people are
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