Page 72 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘Fay. That is Fay’s costume. Where on earth is she?’ I cry.
Cath dashes to the door to look down the corridor. We all stop in our tracks and look anxiously at each other. We need Fay.
‘Panic over. She’s coming,’ Cath shouts.
Fay races in, her face glowing and eyes moist.
There is no time to ask where she has been as we help her strip off her red costume and get into her pinstripes.
‘What on earth has happened here?’ Fay surveys the mess of our previous costumes haphazardly strewn about the room.
‘Sheila’s group. They trashed our outfits,’ I tell her.
‘What?’
‘Come on, we can tidy up after. We are on after the next dance.’ Monica points to the screen where the next troupe is assembled and ready to start.
I quickly pull a brush through my hair and tie it into a low ponytail, which will not interfere with my hat. We all put on new lipstick and head back to the stage carrying our brightly coloured bowlers.
‘We need to show those bloody women they haven’t phased us or put us off,’ Ruby calls as we run. ‘Are we going to give “Dancin’ Fool” our all?’
In unison, we respond, ‘Yes we are.’
We make it to the green room just as the official is calling for us.
My heart is racing, and I feel a little sick again as we rush to our places on stage and each of the ladies places her hat down on the floor before assuming a jazz pose and freezing above each hat.
I lean slightly back, one knee inverted. My arms are raised, elbows bent at shoulder height, the fingers of each hand are splayed with my palms down high above the yellow bowler. We joked in rehearsal it was as if I waspoised to levitate the hat upwards to meet my hands.
I know all the other ladies are all in different stances, a leg or arm outstretched or bent at a jaunty angle. We are briefly backlit, giving us a silhouette shaping as we look intensely at our own hats, a wide smile fixed on each face.
Awaiting the first note, I am aware of the audience watching with bated breath. You could hear a pin drop were it not for my heart thumping in my ears.
The first beat starts. The lights blaze. Monica and one of the other ladies reach for their hats first with a variety of sharp kicks and flicks and freeze with one hand on their hat rim. Then the next two launch into their steps to each hat and finally my group executes our precise moves to place a hand on our hats before we all pick them up in unison.
I quell the nausea and tell myself to focus and stay sharp.
At this very moment, nothing else matters.
21
Monica
The “Dancin’ Fool” routine is fantastically high energy. We are all dripping when we come off stage. It was going perfectly, but then Ingrida made one major mistake, which could have thrown us all. However, she dealt with it brilliantly. It happened near the end of the dance. At the point where we all travel stage left, one behind the other in those crazy back-bent-forward-at-right-angles-walks, swinging our arms with our heads turned to the audience, Ingrida went stage right. At first, I hadn’t noticed. I was at the front of the line. But as I led the walks round full circle, I could see she was the wrong side of the stage. Ingrida acted spontaneously and, as if it was part of the dance, she gave an exaggerated move, raising her hand to her open mouth and did an about turn. Speeding up the walk to double time, she raced to the end of the line and tagged on just in time for the fast Charleston sections. It was inspired. In fact, as we returned to the dressing room, we all joked it should be included as part of the routine next time.
‘I was so shocked I had danced to wrong side, I had to think – how you say – on my feet what to do to make it look as if it had been put in the actual dance. I still cannot believe I managed to hide mistake. I hope Clarissa willnot be cross.’
‘Cross? She’ll be delighted. It was brilliant, Ingrida. Completely in time with the music. What a pro.’
Although it’s just what I would have said, I’m tiring of Ruby taking every opportunity to reaffirm her new best buddy. However, nothing can take away the sense of euphoria which started when we threw our hats into the air on the last note of the music. There was incredible applause, and I had turned to smile at all the dancers before indicating when to take our choreographed exit. Ruby had winked at me. She had tears in her eyes and for a split second I forgot why I was so angry with her. I had to fix the wide smile to my face for the audience before I gave her the nod, the cue for a few bars of music to replay and for her to clown-act gathering up the hats. We each placed our hats individually into Ruby’s hands, one on top of the other before dancing to the exit and Ruby pretended to almost over balance with the topsy-turvy stack held at arm’s length. We watched her from the wings as she milked this for everything she could, and the audience laughed and clapped in time to the music when she pantomimed catching up the precariously teetering pile as if it was out of control.
Watching her, my jaw momentarily tensed but I have vowed to put thoughts of her betrayal out of my head. I’m here to dance and immerse myself in the positivity it creates. My life is going to take a different direction and I’m going to dance to a tune of my own making from now on.
The others chatter happily down the corridors to thedressing room but quieten when we approach the door. From the shouts and shrieks that greet us, it is clear Sheila’s group is back.
We arrive in the vestibule to see them changing into skimpy black and red costumes. The split black skirts are teamed with tight crimson tops, half-torn-half-ripped in what I think is a punky goth style. They also wear red lacy wrist gloves with no fingers and black fishnet stockings held by bright red suspender belts.
Heavens. There’s a lot of flesh on display.
