I chew on my lip as I attach the video to an email and add Rush and the director as recipients. I start typing out a few lines, which becomes a paragraph, which turns into a page full of nonsense, overexplaining what I’m trying to do. I read over the email and I sound defensive and uncertain.
I watch the video one more time to gauge whether I really did put my heart and soul into this.
And I see it. My work. Maybe my best work ever. If this is not what they want, then I’m not the choreographer for the job and I’ll have to go to Thomas and tear that contract up.
I delete my long, prevaricating email and simply type, I’m thinking something like this. Then I hit send.
I put my hands over my face and groan. Now everything is out of my control and I hate it.
Rush and Marlena are both downstairs. I picture them eating and chatting, and then feeling their phones buzz with my incoming email. Will they watch the video right away or will they ignore their phones for several hours? Maybe they’ve already watched a few seconds of it, thought, What is this shit? and deleted the email. Or they’re passing it around downstairs and laughing at me.
Get a grip, Dree.
Five minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. Heart in mouth, I open it and see Rush filling the doorway.
He shakes his head. “When did you come up with that?”
I want to grab his shoulders and say, Don’t ask me questions right now. Tell me what you think! “Do you, uh, like it?”
His face relaxes in a smile. “Are you kidding? I fucking love it.”
I cover my face with the sleeves of my sweater and bounce on my toes. Then I stop bouncing because it’s unprofessional. “Are you sure? There are still ways we could change things up, and it will evolve as I start to teach it to you and the other dancers.”
“Stop backpedaling. I can see what you’re going for. It’s exactly what I hoped for.”
He gazes at me for a long time, an intense expression in his eyes and the corner of his mouth turned up. The fact that he’s not saying anything is making my heart race uncomfortably.
“Rush?”
He tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and leans against the door jamb. “Everyone downstairs. You. The album. This clip. It’s one of those times, I can feel it.”
“What do you mean?”
But he just gives me a mysterious smile and pushes away from the door. “Night, Dree. Let’s start my dance lessons tomorrow or I won’t be able to keep up with what you’ve created. Eight tomorrow morning?”
Eight. I can’t think at eight in the morning. I can dance, though. “Sure. Eight. Night, Rush.”
I watch him go, and then close my bedroom door and lean against it. I’m not fired or laughed off the property. I wonder when it’ll sink in that I really am the choreographer for this video.
Rush meets me in the ballroom at eight on the dot, bare footed and dressed in sweats and a tank top that hangs loose on his shoulders, showing off his biceps and the muscles of his chest. So many rock stars cultivate an underfed, whiskey-and-cigarettes aesthetic, but not him. I have to forcibly remind myself not to stare as I take us through my usual pre-rehearsal warmup. Then I change the music and teach him an adage of fluid contemporary movements that test his strength and alignment. It’s good. Surprisingly good.
“How old were you when you stopped dancing?” I ask as I scroll through tracks on my phone.
Rush takes a swig from a water bottle. “Eighteen. Saint Cyprian got signed and I just didn’t have time anymore.”
“You maintained your fitness and flexibility, though.”
Rush puts his water aside and stretches his quads. “It’s been a habit I’ve kept up.”
A useful one. I won’t have to dumb anything down for him. “Okay, we’re warmed up. Let’s walk through the main choreography.”
All of Rush’s dancing is with the Priestess, so I demonstrate his movements and take on her role. He picks up the dance quickly. Long lines, quick movements into slow, elegant ones. Resistance and surrender between the two main characters. Marlena wants the camera to focus in close on intimate moments between the Sacrifice and the Priestess, and the way he holds her is important.
I don’t have to correct his hands. Every time he touches me, it’s perfect. So perfect I just want to melt into him.
I disengage from him and walk quickly over to my phone to stop the music. “There are lifts in the middle of all that, but I’ll take you and the Priestess through those when she’s been cast.”
“Can I try them with you? I want to make sure I’m not rusty.”