Page 152 of Naughty Dreams
He came to the edge of the stage. “Roy, if you’re not doing super important security stuff, can I borrow you for two minutes?”
“I’m always doing super important security stuff.”
“You look like you’re just chatting with G and Warren.”
Roy glanced toward his people. “Were we chatting?”
“You never chat, boss,” G responded. “If you tried, your head would explode.”
Despite the banter, Roy headed toward DJ, using the portable steps on the left side of the stage to reach him. “Plus,” Roy added, “When you’re just standing around, you’re writing the next hit song. In case you live to be a thousand and run out of money.”
“My part’s easy.” DJ shrugged. “I dump raw data on my producer and engineer, and they man the boards and make it a hit record.”
“Like handing your accountant a shoebox full of receipts and telling him to do your taxes. Sounds like you should pay them more. What do you need?”
DJ gestured to his dancers and an intent-looking Marshall. “The lift in this piece is set up like a fight scene, where the dancer tosses me a few feet away. I spin, stumble, land on one knee and raise my head. I rush at him, and he grabs me, flips me down to the ground, and stands over me, hands on hips.”
As DJ described it, Marshall mimicked the DJ portion to demonstrate. “Since I’m so tall, we’re figuring out the dancer who will aesthetically and technically work best for the move. These guys, great as they are, aren’t a good fit. I told Marshall we need a dancer with your size and build, but it’s not that common.”
“I don’t have time to put on a sparkly costume and dance while protecting you.”
DJ laughed, a warm sound that had heads turning. It had been too long since he’d laughed like that. Roy appreciated hearing it as much as anyone. Maybe more so.
“What that would do to the order of the universe terrifies me. No, I’m wondering if you would do the sequence with me soMarshall can see if I’m right. He’ll walk you through it. It’ll take all of five minutes.”
A squeaking sound had Roy glancing over his shoulder. G and Warren had dragged folding chairs over and taken a central seat in the audience area. G made a reasonable attempt at a poker face, but Warren was grinning. Roy scowled.
“Pull out a phone and I will break fingers.”
“Oh.” Marshall hastily started to put his away, but DJ arrested him with a quick hand to his arm. “That’s different. They work for him. You can film it for your technical requirements.”
DJ looked toward Roy to be sure he was okay with that, and got a nod. “Do I need to change?” Roy asked.
“You might want to take off the jacket, but the rest is fine. Right, Marshall? Is his footwear okay? He’ll be beyond pissed at me if he breaks an ankle.”
Marshall took a closer look at Roy’s shoes, and confirmed they would work. The veteran choreographer was fifty-four, with a frizzy gray mane, a stubbled jaw and perpetually squinted eyes. The graceful way he moved confirmed his history as a professional dancer.
He took Roy quickly through the steps. He also had Roy lift him and execute the move several times, which Roy appreciated, since the repetition was intended to safeguard their show headliner from injury.
If he broke DJ, he’d be way more pissed than if something happened to himself.
DJ stepped forward. “Okay, now with me. Marshall’s one-forty-five. I weigh about one-sixty.”
“You’re one-forty-nine right now,” Roy said. “You’re aspiring to look like a strung-out aging British rocker.”
DJ lifted his lip in a half sneer. “Bite me. Ready?”
“Yeah.”
The choreographer counted it off, and DJ leaped at Roy. Roy caught his hips, did the turn and tossed him—carefully—several feet away. DJ landed in the roll and came up on one knee, then charged him.
The move was so lifelike, Roy’s training overrode the few minutes of instruction. He caught DJ by the waist, spun, lifted and flipped him to his back onto the stage, holding him pinned with a knee and a hand to his chest. Then he remembered and quickly straightened to stand over him.
“Jesus…” someone murmured.
DJ stared up at him for half a second that felt much longer, then Roy offered his hand. Roy lifted him to his feet, and held on an extra moment to steady him, but also really because he wanted to touch him. He made himself step back. “Did that help settle the debate?”
DJ glanced at Marshall, whose mouth was open. He closed it with a snap. “Yes. Yes. DJ, I’ll contact our talent agency and see if we have someone with the body type to pull it off.”
