Buch lesen: «Romance Backstage»
“Come here,” he said, pulling her closer to him.
“I enjoyed spending time with you tonight,” he said. This time he stared deeply into Raven’s eyes. “Did you enjoy me, as well?”
“Yes. Everything was perfect,” Raven answered softly.
“May I kiss you?” Dru asked.
“Yes.”
With his eyes open, Dru moved slowly, dipping his head toward Raven’s. When his lips met hers, he closed his eyes, succumbing to the colorful sensation of their first kiss. The flutter of a million butterflies rattled his rib cage as he drank her in. Their lips locked and tongues danced for endless minutes as they explored one another like harbingers discovering new territory.
When they parted, Raven kept her eyes closed for a moment until the woozy feelings that threatened to overcome her subsided. When she opened them, her gaze met his, and she was lost in a smoldering heat that made the balmy summer evening pale in comparison.
“I’ll call you,” Dru said.
Raven nodded her head, words having momentarily escaped her. She watched Dru walk down the steps and to his black Infiniti sedan. From the curb, he turned and gave her that dazzling smile she’d already begun to cherish.
MILLS & BOON
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KIM SHAW
is a high-school English teacher in New Jersey, where she resides with her husband and two children. In May 2009 she earned a master’s degree in fine arts (MFA) in creative writing at Rutgers Newark graduate school—an example of her lifelong dedication to learning.
Romance Backstage
Kim Shaw
Romance Backstage is the story of a dancer who finds
love unexpectedly while pursuing her passion. I dedicate
this tale to my daughter, who is poetry in motion on stage.
Stay on your toes, Niyala—you make the world a more
beautiful place.
Dear Reader,
The passion of a true performer is immeasurable, built on countless hours of sacrifice and dedication. In writing this story it was important to me to show a great deal of respect and encouragement from Dru for Raven’s passion. In addition, Raven’s struggle with her identity might easily have been a turnoff for an ambitious young man; yet Dru not only supports Raven’s pursuit of the truth, he fights fiercely to protect her from any harm the repercussions of this knowledge may cause. Dru Davis is an amazing man, made more so because he doesn’t even know it.
Raven and Dru are a dynamic couple who work hard, love hard and, most importantly, try hard to be their best selves. I was invigorated by their tale and hope you are, too!
Sincerely,
Kim Shaw
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 1
Warm Up
“Five, six, seven, eight. And one, two, up three, four, down five, six and—stop, stop!”
At the sound of Marvin Barkley’s boisterous voice the thirty-six dancers on stage froze in various stages of motion, like a Norman Rockwell painting. Complete stillness descended.
Barkley was an impatient man, to put it mildly. He was highly critical, demanding and about as tactful as a porcupine engaged in a game of Twister. Yet every dancer, actor, singer or wannabe worth their salt would give their arches to work with the renowned Broadway director. Raven Walker, a recent Julliard graduate, was no exception.
“People, this number only works if it is precise. Crisp and clean is what we’re going for here. Otherwise, it’s simply a bunch of arms and legs flailing about like drunken guppies. Tall guy, you’re missing the up step. Pink shirt, where are the hips? It’s bop, bop, bop…bop,” Barkley bellowed, snapping his midsection from left to right. “You do have hips, don’t you?”
He did not wait for an answer, and Raven did not attempt to give him one. Of course she had hips—sometimes, especially during lifts, she thought she had a little too much to work with in that department. She wiped a clump of hair from her sweaty brow, took a deep breath and set her jaw with determination.
“All right, let’s take it from the top. Meagan, sweetie, why don’t you do it with them again? Maybe following a professional will help them to get this sorry mess together.”
Barkley motioned to the choreographer, Meagan Dawes, to lead the troupe through the number again. A fabulous dancer and instructor in her own right, Meagan had worked with him on his prior two productions and was used to Barkley’s demanding nature.
Raven closed her eyes, envisioning the routine in her mind. She didn’t know why she was a proverbial catastrophe in tights today. True, her monthly visitor had decided to drop in uninvited yesterday, bearing gifts of butt-kicking stomach cramps and searing back pain. But that was nothing to get excited over—she’d danced through that type of discomfort many times before.
She’d been dancing since she was five years old and had experienced every phase of growth and development from perched up onto the balls of her feet. As a dancer, she’d grown accustomed to blocking out aches, pains, fatigue and stress. Nothing mattered once she got onstage and the music began. If an out-of-body experience meant that her soul soared up to the heavens each time she slipped on a pair of pointe shoes or gore boots, then she’d been flying high for the past seventeen years. Raven breathed, ate and slept dance, and she was focused and dogged in her quest to be the best at what she did, through it all. And even if she wasn’t at her best on her toes, she knew how to make it appear as if she were. She’d been taking acting and vocal lessons since middle school. She’d learned how to reveal her heart and soul on stage when she performed; she’d also learned how to become a different character, with emotions and motivations alien to her own. This triple threat never let anything come between her and the show.
Today’s dance routine was not overly complicated. It was a sensual number, with lots of short, multi-movement steps that had to be carried out quickly but still give the appearance of being one flowing, leisurely motion. But even though Raven could see the entire piece on her brain’s view screen, and even though she felt the music moving inside of her, she just couldn’t quite let go and flow with it. She told herself that perhaps it was just her nerves. It had only been two weeks since she’d graduated from Julliard and here she was already auditioning for a role in The Salon, Marvin Barkley’s eagerly anticipated new Broadway show. At twenty-two years old, she was faced with a chance to jump-start her career as a professional stage performer—an idea that was equally intriguing and terrifying. The idea of earning the opportunity to entertain a live audience night after night sent an almost electric shock to her heart when she allowed herself to consider the possibility. She was thrilled to even be there at the Minskoff in Manhattan’s theater district, but what was plaguing her was much more than nerves.
Raven was distracted and had been ever since she’d found an old, tattered photograph in a plastic storage bin in her parents’ closet earlier that week. She’d stared at the photograph for the better part of an hour, until she heard her mother enter their two-bedroom brownstone apartment. She’d stuffed the picture into a back pocket, closed the lid on the container and returned it to its place at the back of the closet. Later that night, alone in her bedroom with the door securely shut, she’d stared at the photograph again, seeing herself in the face of the woman who’d given birth to her—the woman who’d abandoned Raven, then a robust toddler, on the steps of the Convent Avenue Baptist Church at the corner of 145th Street and Convent Avenue in Harlem.
Raven opened her eyes, dragging her wandering mind back into the present, and shook her arms violently, attempting to release the tension that seemed to be holding her body hostage. She didn’t have time to dwell on negative thoughts.
Megan began the count with a rapid clapping of her hands and Raven fell in line. The upbeat tempo began, booming loudly from the speakers, and it was on. Raven’s mind got in the zone, and she moved through the routine, not as effortlessly as she would have liked, but she felt more confident in her performance this time around. Barkley continued snapping directions at them, changing steps and counts, and the dancers onstage went through the routine in part and in its entirety nearly a dozen additional times before he finally called it quits.
Ordered to take an hour break and then report to the stage left door where a list of finalists would be posted, the dancers filed off stage, faces aglow with hope and desire. Those who would make the cut were instructed to report for rehearsals beginning promptly the next morning. Some of the dancers left to grab a bite to eat. Others jumped on their cell phones or pulled out their Sidekicks and BlackBerries, itching to get in contact with agents, parents or lovers. A few, including Raven, sat quietly toward the back of the theater. She pulled a five-by-eight-inch leather-bound journal from her duffel bag, opened to a fresh page and began to write.
Raven had been finding comfort between the pages of her journal since high school. On these crisp pages she’d been able to give voice to the emotions that wrestled within her. Her fears and desires were all expressed, along with her pains, triumphs and disappointments. Today’s page needed to shout success—it was the only outcome she would even consider.
An hour zipped by and as the dancers began to file back into the theater, Raven tucked her journal away and gathered her belongings and her nerve. She joined the throng of bodies converging at the stage door, standing on the tips of her toes as she strained to read the list of names that had been taped to the painted metal. It took several minutes of jostling for a position before she was able to scan the list from top to bottom.
The lead roles were the characters Selma and Darren. There was a supporting cast of about five other characters with speaking and singing parts, and then there were a dozen ensemble spots. Nineteen spots to be had, yet there were thirty-six hungry performers eager to devour them.
On the pre-audition application, there were three lines on which the applicant was to place their first, second and third role choices. Raven had only made an entry in the first choice slot—Selma. She was trying out for the lead role and had believed from the start that setting her sights on that role and that role only would keep her guardian angels focused on the goal.
She scanned top of the list once and then twice, her disappointment at not seeing her name causing her chest to constrict as if all of the air had been expelled from her lungs. She turned halfway, prepared to move away from the list, but stopped, her gaze returning to the white sheets of paper once more. She forced her eyes to move downward for the first time, away from the top of the list. In the middle of the page, her eyes stopped roaming. She’d found her name, written directly below as the first entry beneath the word Ensemble.
Raven’s disappointment was numbing. It was not until that moment that she realized how terribly strong her desire had been to land the role of Selma. She’d known that there would be more seasoned performers at the audition than she, but she’d also known that her talent as a dancer and her considerable singing and acting skills set her apart from most. She had put her heart and soul into the two-minute videotape she’d submitted the week before, performing a short soliloquy from Porgy and Bess that ended with her singing a few bars from “Summertime.” She was good, damned good. She’d obviously impressed Barkley’s people because it was based on that tape that she was even called in for the dance auditions. She believed with every inch of her being that despite her inexperience and her age, her strength was dance. It wasn’t arrogance that made her feel that way. Her confidence was born from the sheer passion that burned inside of her for dance. She honestly believed that, given the chance, she could bring a fire to the role that no other performer there could. But apparently, there were eighteen other people who were just as talented and at least one who Barkley believed would make a better Selma than her.
Now that her hopes had been summarily crushed, Raven wanted nothing more to do with the production. She would not settle for a two-bit position in the background. She pushed her way back through the sea of bodies and moved rapidly toward the exit. Raven kept her head bowed, her eyes cast downward to avoid making eye contact with anyone lest they see the tears lining the rims of her sockets. In one instant she was at the theater’s back exit door, reaching out to push the door open. In the next second she was in a head-on collision that left her pink leotard covered with frosty brown iced coffee.
Raven lifted her astonished eyes from the mess that dripped down the front of her body to two outstretched arms and hands now holding virtually empty extralarge Starbucks coffee tumblers. Her eyes continued to travel upward until they landed on the person’s face. At that moment, instead of feeling the chill of the cold liquid seeping into her pores, all she felt was a flush of heat. Deep brown, apologetic eyes gazed into hers and her pulse quickened.
“Miss, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I…I’m fine…I’m the one who should be apologizing. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Raven stammered.
She looked at the liquid pooling on the floor between them.
“Jeez, I can’t believe this. Here, let me pay you for the drinks,” she said with a sigh.
“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal,” he said.
Raven shot him a look that was a mixture of suspicion and confusion.
“What? Don’t be silly. It was my fault, and I’ll cover it. Why should you have to pay for my recklessness?”
“Perhaps because crashing into you is the single most thrilling thing to happen to me all day,” he said.
This time he allowed the smile that had been toying at his lips free reign. Full, sensuous lips spread, his face opening up like a flower blooming right before her eyes. His brown eyes absolutely twinkled, and a dimple in his left cheek deepened.
Raven was momentarily speechless, caught off guard by both the accidental collision and his graciousness about the whole thing. The fact that he was more scrumptious than a decadent chocolate dessert had a little bit to do with her loss for words.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I’m just a little wet,” she said.
“There’s a ladies’ room right over there,” he said, pointing. “Maybe you can clean yourself up a bit.”
Raven stared at him for a moment longer and then turned toward the direction in which his extended Starbuck’s cup was pointing. She spun on her rubber soles and quickly moved toward the restroom, disappearing inside. In five minutes, she’d removed the saturated leotard, used wet paper towels and hand soap to wipe away the stickiness that had settled on her torso and arms, and donned a black T-shirt and a pair of gray yoga pants. She risked a glance in the mirror and when her eyes focused on themselves, the disappointment registered in them was crystal clear.
Raven turned away from the mirror. Two deep breaths and her stomach muscles seemed to stop clenching. Two more and she felt the weakness in her knees subside. She’d wanted that lead role with every fiber of her being. She lifted her head, stuck out her chin and marched out of the bathroom. She had no intention of being a part of anyone’s ensemble, so walking out of the Minskoff Theater without looking back was something she had to do.
The calls from Mr. Starbucks were no match for the speed with which Raven moved as she strode across the theater and exited onto the busy Manhattan street. She’d had enough disaster for one day.
Chapter 2
God’s Favor
“Starbucks Iced Café Mochas are meant to be drunk and not worn,” Raven said emphatically when talking to her best friend, Carley, on the phone that evening while taking a bubble bath.
“Says you,” Carley replied devilishly.
It had been an excruciatingly disappointing day, and Raven was not in the mood for Carley’s antics. She shifted in the steaming water, causing the bubbles to lap at the sides of the tub, threatening to spill out onto to the salmon-pink-tiled floor.
“I don’t know why I even called you,” she hissed.
“Of course you called me. I’m your best friend and closest confidante. Who else would you have called?”
“And I curse the day that I borrowed those stinking tap shoes from you in Madame Aubourg’s class freshman year,” Raven snapped.
She’d hoped that Carley would make her feel better when she shared how she had failed to land the lead role in Marvin Barkley’s new show. Instead, Carley had fixated on the part about how she’d had to take the subway home smelling like a cup of coffee and laughed hysterically.
“Look, Raven, need I remind you that at least you are dancing?” Carley shot back.
Raven sighed, a wave of remorse washing over her. She wanted to scrub her mouth out with the entire tub of bubbles for being so insensitive. In her own misery she’d forgotten that Carley had suffered a dancer’s worst nightmare six weeks back—a torn ACL. She was on a long, tough road trying to come back, and it would be months before she’d be able to even think about dance auditions again.
“I’m sorry, Carley,” she said meaningfully.
“No, don’t be sorry. The last thing I need is one more person feeling sorry for me. I had a bad break, but the fight’s not over. What I want you to do is to just be grateful that you’ve got this shot. I know it’s not the role you wanted, but at least you get to be on stage. Come on, Raven, you have to go for it.”
“I know you’re right. In my head I know it, but…damn,” Raven said, unable to find the words that could encompass what she was feeling.
Raven lay in the bathtub for over an hour, until she began to shiver from the now tepid water. Before going to bed at seven, she left a note on the kitchen table for her parents, who were out for the evening. In the message, she succinctly informed them that she’d landed an ensemble role and would be out of the house for rehearsals by dawn every weekday, starting the next morning. While her talk with Carley had not lifted her spirits very much, it had forced her to adopt a more optimistic attitude about the show.
Raven let the cumbersome duffel bag slide from her shoulder, down her arm and onto the gray concrete of the sidewalk. She glanced up the street toward Seventh Avenue and then turned her face in the other direction toward Eighth. There were more than a few others out and about like her at the ungodly hour of six o’clock in the morning. Men in business suits, women in skirts and matching jackets with running shoes on their feet, all marched like eager little ants to midtown offices, laden with briefcases, bluetooth ear pieces and tall cups of steaming hot energy boosters. Manhattan was indeed the city that never slept, and taking a curt sip of her own cup of joe, Raven recognized that it was also a city that was high on manufactured stimulants.
The sun was beginning to rise between the tall, imposing buildings which enveloped the theater district. By the time the maintenance crew arrived to open the stage doors, Raven’s back felt as if it had been imprinted with the brick pattern of the wall she’d been leaning against for the better part of an hour.
“Do you guys generally get here around now?” she asked the first worker she saw.
“Me…yeah, but Burke’s usually here by six o’clock. I heard there was a big pileup on the New Jersey Turnpike this morning, though. Are you part of the new cast?”
“Yeah.” Raven smiled wanly.
“Well, you’re bright and early. Come on in,” he said, smiling back as he held the door open for her.
Raven entered the dark theater, taking slow steps as she maneuvered backstage among the equipment, cables and props. She exited onto the stage, which was dimly lit. Dropping her duffel bag to one side, she stood center stage, looking out into the darkness. In her mind, she visualized a packed house, with an audience full of eager theater-goers whose eyes were trained on her. If she hadn’t known it before, she knew now, deep within her soul that the stage was where she belonged. Standing there, she almost felt like crying out with excitement as she realized that her dreams were actually beginning to come true.
Raven pressed Play on the iPod that was in the armband strapped to her right biceps. She closed her eyes, raising both arms above her head. Her body swayed slowly from side to side, moving to the beat as Anita Baker’s jazzy voice flowed through the earbuds. Reaching for the heavens, she let the music invade her body and order her movements. She went through a series of lyrical steps, languid sensual progressions that carried her across the stage—a solitary butterfly floating on a rhythm all her own. By the time her body came to rest, she was filled with the sweetest emotion. The greatest joy she had ever known came when she was dancing, and it seemed as if that feeling only got better with time. A thin layer of perspiration covered her radiant face, and as she strode across the stage to retrieve a hand towel from her duffel bag, she saw him.
“Do you need me to clear off the stage?” Raven asked, removing the right ear piece.
He rose from his seat at a corner of the fifth row. Raven watched as he made his way toward her, moving into the dim stage lights.
“It’s you. Starbucks,” she gasped.
“Dru…Dru Davis,” he said, extending his hand.
A warm smile spread across his face. Raven shook his hand, unable to disengage her eyes from his.
“And you are Raven Walker, correct?”
“Yes, I am. How’d you know my name?” she asked skeptically.
“Well, I was planning to file a claim with my collision insurance yesterday, so I asked around about the freight train that hit me.”
Dru’s sexy smile betrayed him, causing Raven to laugh out loud for the first time in days.
“What are you doing here so early? I thought rehearsals didn’t start until nine o’clock,” he asked.
Raven shrugged her shoulders.
“By nine o’clock I’m usually catching my second wind. Got it from my dad who’s friends with the early bird and his worm,” she replied. “What about you? How early do the stagehands have to report?”
Dru didn’t respond right away. He studied her face silently.
“You’re an amazing dancer,” he said at last.
“Thank you,” Raven responded, noting the conspicuous change of subject.
“How long have you been dancing?”
“My mom says that I danced before I walked, but I think she’s exaggerating.”
Because most people did not know that Raven was adopted as a toddler, Lorraine’s exaggerated boasting about her daughter’s talent went unchecked. However, lately Raven found herself bristling under it. She shook that thought from her mind and returned her attention to Dru, whose piercing eyes were still studying her as he leaned against the side of the stage’s steps.
“What were you listening to?” he asked, pointing to the iPod on her arm.
“Anita Baker.”
“Anita Baker? What could you possibly know about Miss Baker, as young as you are?”
“I didn’t know you had to be a certain age to enjoy good music,” Raven countered indignantly. “Besides, you don’t know how old I am, and you’d better not even think about asking me.”
Dru laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “All right, no need to punch my lights out, Rocky.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Raven reminded.
She’d grown increasingly curious about this Dru Davis, especially since this game of twenty-one questions had become completely one-sided.
“I’m not part of the stage crew,” he said simply.
“Oh, I just assumed…”
Raven looked more closely at Dru’s face, trying to figure out if he was one of the dancers who’d auditioned yesterday. She dismissed that theory, realizing that a man as good-looking as he was would have been hard to overlook, no matter how preoccupied she was by the grueling audition.
“I’m sorry, but should I know you?” she asked finally.
It was Dru’s turn to shrug nonchalantly.
“I don’t see why you would. I’m just a regular guy who works behind the scenes.”
The theater flooded with lights just as Raven opened her mouth to reply.
“Hey, Dru, my man, you’re here already. I was just about to give you a call to see if you wanted to meet for coffee since we didn’t get to talk yesterday. How’s it going?”
“Marv, I’m good, man. It’s great to be back in the city, that’s for sure.”
Marvin Barkley approached the stage and the two men shook hands and embraced, smacking each other on their backs.
“I guess it would be a nice change of pace after spending an entire year abroad. You’ll have to tell me all about your trip. Your father’s doing a great thing over there.”
Barkley turned suddenly to face Raven. “Good morning, Miss Walker.”
Raven’s surprise that the man knew her name registered all over her face. She quickly recovered, flashed a smile and said, “Good morning, Mr. Barkley.”
“Marvin. Call me Marvin. We’re going to be working together every day from now until what will seem like forever.”
Raven nodded. “In that case, why don’t you call me Raven. It certainly beats ‘pink shirt,’” she said, smiling.
“Touché,” Barkley replied. “I see you’ve met the illustrious Dru Davis?”
“Sort of,” Raven said, her eyes linking with Dru’s once again. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business.”
Raven retrieved her duffel bag and headed backstage. She was well aware that Dru’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight, their warm rays caressing her retreating frame as she departed.
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