“All right, then, whenever you’re ready. Don’t be nervous. You’re only dancing for me.”
I realize I’m twisting my fingers together and I drop my hands. Okay. Cara’s part. I decide on her first dance, a lively little piece in a simple four-four time. I count off a beat in my head and then begin.
But something’s not right. I can see the way Cara moves in my head and it’s not the way I’m moving. I keep dancing, telling myself that my body will relax into it, but I can’t seem to concentrate.
Mr. Kingsolver comes forward and leans his forearms on the stage. One of the spots catches him. “Is something wrong, Abby?”
I shake my head. The first chance I get at a big role and I’ve screwed it up. “It doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m any good for this part.”
He considers me a moment. “Wait there.”
Two minutes pass. Then five. What is he doing? I hear footsteps behind me and Mr. Kingsolver comes out onto the stage carrying Cara’s silver fairy wings. I see from the way he’s holding them out that he intends me to put them on.
“No, I can’t. We’re not supposed to touch anyone else’s costumes. Cara will kill me.”
He gives me a severe look. “Cara’s not here. This is my theater, and I want you to wear the wings.”
I bite my lip. Technically they’re his wings because it’s his theater. I notice he’s got a funny expression on his face as he watches me bite my lip. “All right.”
He helps me into them, tightening the straps across my shoulders and asking if they feel comfortable.
“Yes, they’re perfect.” Over my shoulder I admire how they flutter, and then do a twirl. “They’re so pretty.”
He smiles, and my stomach flutters as much as the wings. Instead of going back to the stalls he walks to the side of the stage and waits for me to begin.
This time when I dance, it all clicks into place. I can hear the music as if it’s playing, and it’s not Cara that I see in my head, but me. That’s why it wasn’t working before. I can’t dance like her. I can only dance like myself, and now, in the silver wings, I am the fairy.
When I finish I turn to him, and he nods and says, “Very nice.”
Again, I feel a twist of disappointment. I want him to say, “Excellent,” or “The part is yours.” But perhaps he has to talk to Gregory first.
His fingers are gentle and practiced as he helps me out of the wings, and he tells me to change into my street clothes and wait for him while he takes the wings down to the dressing rooms.
When he comes back he looks at his watch. “It’s late. I’ll drive you home. My car is behind the theater.”
I start to protest that it’s too far and the trains are still running, but he’s switching off the stage lights and not listening. He guides me through the darkened theater, his large hand warm on my lower back.
We get into his car, which is sleek and black. The interior smells like leather and him. I give him my address and we glide out onto the rain-slicked streets. Neither of us speaks. I want to ask him about my audition but I have the feeling that if he’s not talking about it, he doesn’t want to. Instead, I sneak looks at his large hands on the steering wheel.
When we pull up outside my house he gets out of the car, as well. “You don’t need to walk me anywhere,” I say.
But he just gives me a look, then goes up to the front door and pushes the doorbell. The lights in the front room are on. My parents are up. What are they going to think, me being driven home by my not-quite boss?
I reach the front door just as it opens. My mother’s mouth parts in surprise when she sees me standing next to tall, handsome Mr. Kingsolver.
“Um, I—” I begin.
“Mrs. Williams. I’m Rufus Kingsolver, the owner of the Palais Theater. I kept Abby late tonight for an audition, so I wanted to be sure she got home safely.”
“Oh. Thank you. That’s very kind.”
My father has heard voices and has come to the door, as well. They shake hands, and then we all sort of just stand awkwardly, not saying anything. I see Mr. Kingsolver’s expression grow a shade chillier.
“She did well, by the way. Your daughter is an excellent performer. But of course, you know that.”
Prompted, my parents scramble to agree, that yes, of course I am, and they know it well.
Mr. Kingsolver turns and looks down at me. I know what he’s doing, and I want to tell him how grateful I am. He remembers my confession from the other night, that my parents think what I do is silly. He’s showing them I’m a valued cast member, by the owner of the theater, no less.