NoIP: Dancing Queen?

Jon and Madeleine walked into the wings to see if they could find Karyn. Madeleine scanned the lineup of dancers in front of them and turned to Jon.

“We 'ave found 'er.”

“Where?” Jon asked as he approached her position.

“Zere.” She pointed out towards the chorus who were taking up their positions on the stage.

“We have to get her off that stage,” Jon said as he turned to Madeleine.

“Non! It is too late for zat now. We must wait until ze routine is over. It is ze only way not to cause problems.” Madeleine thought it was also the only way to avoid upsetting Henri and to allow them to carry out their plan.

“But she can't dance. Not that kind of dancing anyway,” Jon replied.

“Nevertheless, she must try to keep up with ze ozzers.”

Their eyes turned towards the stage and towards Karyn.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the stage, Simone stood looking at the chorus, her friends taking up positions beside this blonde imposter.

Why can't they see she doesn't belong there? I do. Why?

The orchestra struck up the opening bars of Topsy. The familiar rhythm rolled through the theatre as the curtain rose and the audience's attention settled upon the stage.

On stage, Karyn stood in what she hoped was the right spot. She took a glance towards the side of the stage where she saw Jon and the older French woman who had spoken to her in the dressing room earlier.

She was going to try and wave to Jon to let him know where she was, but what was the point?

He probably would not recognise her anyway.

He had not earlier.

She just wished she had been the one who had slapped him and not the woman who was now standing in the row behind her.

She would have words with him later.

Yes, she would.

And they would not be nice words.

She looked towards the dancer next to her, trying to see what the young woman was doing so that she could copy it.

The two rows of women stepped forward together in small synchronised steps.

Heads held high.

Shoulders back.

They advanced across the stage with practised confidence.

Karyn followed half a beat behind, relying entirely on the dancers around her to tell her what came next.

The steady pulse of the orchestra seemed to guide every movement.

The chorus came to a halt together and struck their opening pose.

Karyn froze a fraction of a second after everyone else.

Then came the slight turn of the torso towards the audience.

Then another.

The audience applauded politely.

Well, they aren't throwing things at me.

“Je ne peux pas regarder ça.” (I can't watch her do this.) Simone turned away from her friends and the imposter.

You have to do this, Karyn. then we can fix things. Jon mouthed the words to his friend, hoping she would understand what he meant.

“Pouvez-vous dire à Madeleine que j'ai besoin d'air ?” (Can you tell Madeleine I need some air?) Simone asked the young stagehand standing nearby.

“Oui, mademoiselle. Et qui dois-je dire lui a laissé le message ?” (Yes, miss. And who do I say has left her the message?)

The question upset her more than she let on.

“Dites-lui... Simone.” (Tell her... Simone.)

She turned and left the wings, heading back towards the corridor that led to the dressing rooms.

Back on stage, the next musical phrase arrived.

The chorus raised their arms together in broad sweeping arcs towards one side before returning them gracefully and repeating the movement on the other.

Long opera gloves and pink feathers caught the stage lights as the movement rolled across the formation.

Karyn copied the woman beside her as best she could.

The dancers then pivoted together.

One direction.

Then another.

Before smoothly turning back towards the audience.

At least no one was laughing at her yet.

In the wings, Jon and Madeleine watched.

Jon could not help thinking how graceful the women were.

He wondered if Karyn had secretly been taking dance lessons without telling him.

To Madeleine's trained eyes, however, the truth was obvious.

Karyn was late.

Not by much.

A second here.

Half a second there.

But always behind.

The young woman was not dancing the routine.

She was watching the others and copying what they did.

The remarkable thing was that it was working.

The dancers around her were concentrating on their own performance and had not noticed.

Madeleine had.

Simone stood outside the chorus dressing room, which was almost empty apart from Claudette and Yvette, who were watching her carefully.

“Désolée, mademoiselle, vous ne pouvez pas entrer.” (Sorry, miss, you cannot come inside.) Yvette said to her.

This almost brought Simone to tears.

She had always liked Yvette, and now Yvette was the one standing between her and the one place she had always considered safe.

She turned and continued down the corridor.

Back on stage, the routine expanded.

The rows separated.

Pairs crossed past one another.

The dancers moved through a sequence of cross-steps and turns before reforming into diagonal lines stretching across the width of the stage.

Karyn concentrated on one thing and one thing only.

Don't walk into anybody.

Somehow she managed it.

The diagonals shifted again.

The dancers flowed through one another before reforming in staggered rows.

The movement looked effortless.

It did not feel effortless.

At least not to Karyn.

Then came the moment she was dreading.

The chorus advanced towards the audience.

She had seen this happen in old movies countless times.

Now she was part of it.

There was nowhere to hide.

The dancers stepped forward together in perfect time.

The audience could see every face.

Every smile.

Every mistake.

Karyn concentrated so hard on matching everyone else that she almost forgot to be nervous.

Almost.

The advance concluded with a modest sequence of synchronised leg extensions.

Nothing spectacular.

Nothing athletic.

Just enough to draw applause.

Karyn copied the movement and was amazed when she remained upright.

Jon attempted to catch Karyn's eye from the wings.

She never looked his way.

“She is concentrating.”

“Okay.”

The routine began to slow.

Movement gave way to presentation.

The dancers opened their feathered costume pieces in unison.

A wave of pink swept across the stage.

Feathers rose.

Turned.

Spread.

The audience responded immediately.

The visual effect was far more impressive than the individual movements that had created it.

Karyn opened her own feathers a fraction of a second after everyone else.

Nobody seemed to notice.

The formations widened.

Rows shifted apart.

Dancers rotated into new positions.

The choreography became less about movement and more about creating shapes.

Posture.

Balance.

Presentation.

The chorus slowly assembled itself into a larger picture beneath the stage lights.

Simone stood at the bottom of the corridor, almost at the exit to the theatre.

She was now about as far away from the stage as she could possibly be.

She laughed softly to herself.

That was what had been happening all evening.

Whatever had happened had been pushing her farther and farther away from the stage, and now she had helped it by walking so far away.

There was nothing she could do.

Somehow this blonde imposter had taken her place within the theatre.

What was left for her?

Back on stage, the chorus continued to rearrange itself.

Feathers shifted.

Lines widened.

The developing tableau grew larger and more elaborate with each passing moment as the music carried the performance forward.

And there, among the dancers who all seemed to know exactly where they belonged, stood Karyn, somehow becoming part of the picture.

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