Chapter 11 - Nadia

I hadn’t expected them all to be there; it was an hour before rehearsal, when the theater was usually empty. I was in a shitty enough mood from getting fired that I just wanted to practice alone, losing myself in the steps around the stage while the show music played in my headphones. I didn’t want an audience. I didn’t even want to talk to anyone, let alone these three.
But hearing the music played out of the stage speakers made everything feel a lot more real. And as I began moving through my track on the stage, I was grateful to have Dorian running along his track too because it gave me a reference point. Especially for the parts where our tracks crossed, or the couple of times where we held hands and moved together. With him there, I could almost imagine doing it with the full cast.
Dorian was graceful as he danced around the stage. His dark pants and shirt clung to him like a wet suit, showing off his slender frame and lithe muscle. Sexy, but in a different way than Braden. Even his man-bun was kind of cute.
After just one song, my mood was much improved.
“Care for some constructive feedback?” Dorian asked when the song ended.
“Always,” I said, and meant it. The point of practice was to get better, not be showered with praise.
Dorian set his feet and pointed for me to watch. “When you cross like this, hold your back foot just a smidge longer. Then explode through the motion.”
He demonstrated by side-stepping through his track in a half-dance, half-walk. Rather than smoothly moving across the stage, he kept his back foot planted a little longer than the rest. Like a stutter-step. When he was done, he grinned at me.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“No,” I said. “I’m just not sure that would look better.”
“Andy, replay the last song. Start about two minutes in.”
The brass instruments and drums of the song kicked in, and Dorian moved across the stage, ignoring his track. Now that the music was playing, I could see that the stutter-step synced with the double-drum snare in the music. It looked perfect now.
I set my feet and tried mimicking the motion. The first few steps were rough, but I quickly got the hang of it as I kept my back leg planted. It was unnatural at first, but I knew with enough practice it would become second-nature.
“Better,” Dorian said as he watched me, “but you’re not shifting your weight as quickly. Here.”
He stepped up behind me and put his hands on my waist, one finger sliding into the waistband of my yoga pants. A firm, yet gentle, touch. He jerked my body along while my feet moved, showing me how I should be moving my upper body.
“Like this,” he said, breath warm on my neck, “but not as exaggerated, obviously.”
He let go of me, though the ghost of his touch lingered on my skin. I tried the motion again without him, and this time the muscle memory helped me move through the song more easily.
“She’s a fucking natural,” Ryan said from the catwalks above. I’d forgotten he was even up there. His compliment made me flustered.
“Thanks.”
“He’s right,” Dorian said with a small smile. “It took me a few days to pick that stutter-step up just right. It took you two tries.”
My blush deepened, and more than just from a professional compliment. Dorian’s beautiful face smiling at me made the words twice as meaningful as they otherwise would have been.
And this is the guy who just wants to be friends with someone?
Andy came out of the tech booth in the back with a big grin on his face. “Can you imagine Tatiana taking constructive criticism?”
Dorian almost choked with laughter. “She’d kill me! And I mean literally kill me. Like, with a gun.”
“No way, bro,” Ryan called down. “Tatiana’s more of a knife girl. She’d gut you and twist the knife.”
“Claws!” I said, eager to share in their humor. “Have you seen her fake nails? Those things could rip someone to shreds.”
“Like Wolverine, but with bolt-on tits,” Ryan said, roaring with laughter.
“We ought to start a pool,” Dorian said. “My money’s on her hiring someone to do it. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who does her own dirty work.”
“Or any work, for that matter,” I said. Dorian’s grin split his face in half and made his green eyes sparkle.
“Is that so?” said Director Atkins. He emerged from backstage with a clipboard under one arm. His glare moved to each of us in turn. “What the hell are you four doing?”
“We came in early to practice,” Dorian began.
“It looks like you’re practicing being a bunch of gossipy assholes,” Atkins snapped. “Tatiana is the lead actress in our show, and she is to be respected.” His gaze settled on me. “Especially from her understudy.”
All the shit I’d dealt with so far today came bubbling up and threatened to make me lose my temper. I wanted to insist that Tatiana only deserved as much respect as she gave, which was minuscule. I wanted to demand to know why Atkins was defending her, and why he treated her like she was better than any of us.
But I’d already had one fatal outburst today, and I cared a lot more about my role in The Proposition than I did about my job selling shoes. Challenging the director was a surefire way to end up cut from the show altogether.
And beyond that, he was right. An understudy shouldn’t be criticizing another actress behind her back.
“You’re right,” I said in a meek voice. “I’m sorry, Director Atkins.”
He stared at me a moment longer, then the anger dissipated. But only a little bit. “I’m glad you’re here early. I’m interviewing spotlight operators, and you two can be stand-ins on stage.”
Dorian and I shared a relieved look as Atkins went backstage.

*

Tatiana was on time today, which allowed us to have a normal rehearsal. Braden was actually the last of the cast to arrive, rushing onto stage and apologizing right before we began.
He glanced back at me, but only for a second. Which was good, because even that glance was enough to make me blush. The kiss was still fresh in my head, along with the heavy press of his muscular body against mine. It had happened right over there, on the mattress prop now leaning against the wall. I wanted to do more than just practice…
I missed the first few steps of the dance number because of it, and quickly had to catch up.
Rehearsal was good, for once. Tatiana didn’t complain as we went through the two numbers we were practicing tonight, and her footwork was better than usual—although still sloppy for a lead. Dorian grinned at me as we went through the steps we had practiced before rehearsal, and he even gave me a muttered, “Nice!” as he brushed past me. The stutter-step was starting to feel natural, and I could tell it was a more crisp movement for the song.
That was the kind of thing a normal choreographer would help a dancer with during talkbacks—the feedback given after rehearsals. But we didn’t have a choreographer, or any other specialist to help with the singing, dancing, and stage directions. It was just Director Atkins and his two assistants. Having Dorian giving me pointers actually helped me improve. It made the rehearsal feel like it was worth our time and effort, rather than just stumbling through the motions of a show destined to tank.
The only exception of the great rehearsal was Braden himself. He stumbled through his track during the dance numbers, and he forgot his lines twice. A couple of times he shook his head awkwardly and muttered something under his breath, like he was trying to give himself a pep talk.
“Get your shit together,” Atkins told him after the third or fourth miscue. “It’s like your focus is elsewhere.”
“Yeah, no, I’m just having a bad night,” Braden said. “Let’s keep going.”
With my footwork to focus on, along with mouthing all of Tatiana’s lines during the songs where she had vocal parts, the rest of rehearsal flew by. Everyone was sweaty and spent by the time Atkins called an end to the night, and when he said, “Good work everyone,” it was clear he actually meant it.
I glanced at my cell phone. Tonight was one of the few nights where I didn’t have a bar shift, but after losing my job this morning I could use the extra cash. And I wasn’t thrilled about going home to my cramped, dirty apartment.
I started texting Robbie to ask if he needed another hand tonight, but I stopped halfway when I realized Braden was standing right behind me.
“Hi,” I said, caught off guard.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a motion which flexed the muscles in his arm. “Hey, Nadia. Got a second?”
“Sure.”
He took a deep breath. There was something close to shame in his beautiful eyes. It made me want to reach out and hug him. I made myself hold back.
“I wanted to apologize for last night,” he said.
Apologize? For what—giving me the strongest orgasm I’ve had in months?
“Oh?” I said, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing.
“It was really stupid,” he began.
I shook my head. “No! Not stupid at all.”
He continued on over my protest. “It was a stupid suggestion. Four of us and one of you, all in some weird pseudo-relationship…”
Oh. He’s not talking about the sex in the subway room.
“I can see why you rejected it outright,” Braden went on. “It was insulting. I don’t blame you for laughing in our faces, and honestly? We deserved it. Especially after leading you on with the Tinder profile. So let’s just forget—”
“I’ll do it!” I blurted out.
Braden opened his mouth, then closed it again so quickly his teeth clicked. He seemed shocked. Behind him, Ryan paused his work with the lighting cables and stared over at us.
“You what?” Braden asked when he found his voice.
“I’m willing to give it a try,” I clarified. “Being your fake girlfriend, and maybe the other stuff. How about a trial run? Just to see if it’s a good fit for all of us?”
I cringed at the phrase a good fit and the double entendre it implied. Braden didn’t seem to notice. Behind him, Ryan went back to coiling the lighting cables without a word. His expression didn’t give anything away.
“Sure,” Braden said. “A trial run.”
“Okay then,” I agreed.
As we stared at each other, I couldn’t help wondering what I was getting myself into.