Three Guilty Pleasures (Blindfold Club 6)

He grabbed our things without hesitation. “Lead the way.”

Grant was sitting on the lobby floor, his back against a wall and his focus on the screen of his phone, when I came out of Ganz Hall. It was a much smaller theater that was part of the Auditorium, and the Dance Dreams production team had inhabited every space of the sprawling, historic building. There were rolling carts and spare lighting rigs tucked in hallways, equipment stacked out of the way, making the show’s presence undeniable.

Grant looked up as I came through the door, and as soon as he saw me, he was on his feet.

I flashed a smile, but it was strained, trying to convey the interview had gone well, but I wasn’t out of the woods.

The staff member manning the exit door was a guy not much younger than I was, and he wore a bored expression. Like he’d been seated behind the laptop computer at his folding table for a century.

“Number?” he asked, not even looking at me.

“One twenty-two.”

“Music?”

Grant dug out the CD I’d burned and passed it to the guy.

The man opened the jewel case, popped the CD into the computer’s DVD drive, and grabbed a set of headphones. “Track one?”

“The piano part of it, yeah,” I said.

He paused, the headphones on, but he obviously hadn’t started the song yet. His eyes finally connected with mine. “What?”

Grant and I exchanged a look. Moment of truth. My tone was nonchalant. “I’m going to perform with live cello music too.”

The guy’s face contorted as he removed his headphones. “What?” he repeated. “Someone’s going to be playing the cello at your audition?”

“Yes. Me,” Grant said.

When the man evaluated Grant, his confusion cranked up to level ten. Then he frowned. “No, the music needs to be pre-approved.”

My pulse stumbled, but Grant put his hand on my shoulder, and the simple connection helped keep me calm.

“All right,” Grant’s tone was straightforward. “I’ll play it for you.” He strode to his cello case, laid it down, and unsnapped the clasps with practiced efficiency.

Unease flooded the man’s face as he stood from the table, and I caught his name on his badge. Andrew wasn’t sure what to do when faced with something new. “No,” he said, “it needs to be a recording.”

“That’s not in the rules.” My throat was tight, pinching the words. “Tap auditions don’t use music at all.” When he scowled, I softened my voice. I needed to be charming, not confrontational. “I know it’s a little unusual. Is there someone else we can get additional approval from?”

To him, I was a problem, and I’d just given him an out so someone else could handle me. Andrew took the bait. He got on his phone and called a production head over to his station, all while Grant continued to set up his cello.

When the woman arrived, her expression was already irritated. Tina, her name badge read. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

“This contestant,” Andrew gestured to me, “wants to audition with live music.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of music?”

Had she missed the enormous man with the enormous cello, standing only ten feet away? I plastered on a friendly smile, wanting to win Tina over with kindness. “Cello.”

“No,” she said instantly. “It’s an unfair advantage over the other contestants.”

I pulled my shoulders back. “How do you figure that?”

She didn’t have an answer for me. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and looked pressed for time.

“What about the contestants,” I continued, “who hire a professional choreographer for their solos? I’d argue that’s an unfair advantage over the people who can’t afford one, but it’s not against the rules. Just like performing with live music isn’t.”

She considered my argument critically. I saw my opening.