Chapter 10: Auditions

Fortunately Yvonne and I remain friends, even though we are now competing against each other for opportunities to perform in public. Neither of us are wealthy, and our quarterly allowance from the von Herrschaft Foundation doesn’t go much beyond covering the replacement of worn or torn clothing, and personal items like toiletries. Consequently we both need the fee a public performance will provide.

Our costumes arrive on time, and we wear them for our practise sessions for the audition. Our new costumes emphasise our different style of dancing as much as our physical appearance. Yvonne has chosen a sleeved top and harem trousers while I’ve picked a more revealing costume of bra and gauzy skirt. We both prefer to dance barefoot, although Yvonne has purchased a pair of light sandals in case she needs to dance on a rough surface. I add sandals to my list of future costume purchases should I progress that far.

Although Yvonne and I practise together, we have started performing with a screen between us. Aaliyah says the screen is to prevent us from becoming distracted by the other’s dancing. However, I think it has more to do with developing our own style, free of the other’s influence. Whatever the reason, we are no longer able to compare each other’s progress.

My relationship with Nita is passionate but spasmodic. Like me, Nita is having to compete with others in her class for the right to perform in the show. It’s harder for her as there are nine in her class, and only one of each gender will be performing in the show. Similarly only four of the thirteen doing modern dance will perform; two of the four ballroom dancers; while three of the five folk dance students will be picked.

As the day of the audition approaches, the mood among the students becomes more competitive and tempers are on a short fuse. I’m nervous, but I remain calm. Yvonne and I manage to remain friendly towards each other. The same can’t be said of the group studying modern dance. The rivalry is plain to see and it sometimes spills over into arguments in our dormitory at night.

“Please tell me we are never going to fight like that,” I say to Yvonne after a particularly bad dose of name calling from our room-mates.

“I hope not,” replies Yvonne. “As you said before. You and I are rivals, not enemies. I don’t think the modern dance class know the difference.”

The next morning we appear before the selection panel. We must each perform a five minute solo, or in the case of the ballroom dancers, as a pair. The performances are done one class at a time, with the oriental dancing the fourth class to perform. Consequently we aren’t required to turn up at the small theatre until eleven o’clock.

“The performances are running about twenty minutes behind schedule,” says Madame Brigitte in an atypical bout of helpfulness. “You can wait here in the corridor, or return later.”

We decide to stay since we are too nervous to do anything useful with the extra time. Four other students from the ballet class are waiting ahead of us. Half an hour later, Yvonne is called through to the small theatre. Saying ‘good luck’ would be inappropriate in the circumstances. I’m left in the corridor with the group of five from the country dancing class who arrived at their scheduled time and like me, must wait.

“Don’t you get cold dressed like that?” asks one of the male students, moving closer to me.

“No talking,” growls Madame Brigitte. “And if you want to ogle women you can try your luck with me. That’s assuming you don’t mind losing your balls in the process.”

It’s the first time I’ve been grateful to be in Madame Brigitte’s presence. Normally we all avoid her like the plague. I wait patiently for my turn before the selection panel.

I’m called into the theatre through the stage door. The brightly lit stage and dark auditorium prevents me from identifying who is on the selection panel. All I can make out are five dark shapes of the people sat in the third row. As instructed beforehand, I announce my name to the panel. The music I’ve selected begins to play and I start my routine. Knowing the importance of this performance, I use every skill I’ve been taught to deliver one of my best routines so far. At least, that’s my opinion. Nobody on the panel provides any feedback beyond a polite ripple of applause.

“Thank you Rebecca. You may return to our practise room,” says Aaliyah from the wing of the stage.

I return to our practise room to find Yvonne nervously pacing about.

“How did it go?” asks Yvonne, clearly hoping I’ll say ‘awful’.

“I did my best, but the panel didn’t provide any indication of the outcome.”

“Same for me,” replies Yvonne. “I guess we’ll need to wait until after lunch for the result.”