‘Hey,’ she said, sleepily.
I rolled over so that my naked body hovered above hers. She was here now, looking sexy as hell. What difference would another ten minutes make?
‘This is a very pleasant way to be woken up,’ she said, pulling me on top of her.
If we were quick enough, I could be at the gym by 8.30.
Several hours later, I tried to look enthusiastic as Carlos ran through the names of the girls I would be paired with that afternoon, but I could not help thinking this casting session was going to go just as badly as all the others. Maybe I was the problem? Maybe it was not that the female dancers could not connect with me, but that I could not connect with them?
Not a single one of the routines I had performed as part of this audition process had felt special enough, which was strange, because all the dancers were professionals – exceptionally talented and capable ones at that. They were perfect, just not perfect for what Carlos and I had in mind. I would be headlining a show on the West End stage for the very first time and I wanted it to be unforgettable; to have the audience flying to their feet, screaming for more. Was that too much to ask? Was I setting my standards too high?
I recognized most of the names from years of competing, and some I had even been paired with before.
‘Daniella Thompson?’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I have told you that is not going to work.’
Carlos put on his best soothing tone. I had never known a man who could go from terrifying to charming so quickly; to be screaming instructions at dancers who were not performing his steps properly one minute, to getting exactly what he needed from you the next.
‘She might be our best option, Gabriele. You have said no to absolutely everyone we have put in front of you. We have given you world champions, West End stars, Italian, British, American – you name it, you have danced with them all.’
‘But you agree with me, right?’ I said to him. ‘Not one of these girls has blown us away. Come on, admit it, we are in trouble here. And it sounds like you think we are going to have to compromise.’
Carlos sighed. ‘I am still hoping not. But Daniella you know very well. You were partners once, you know what makes each other tick, what your weaknesses are.’
‘I do not have any weaknesses,’ I said. Carlos raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Not on the dance floor, anyway,’ I added.
Off of it there were many, but that was another story.
Dancing with Daniella again would be fine, even if it was a complicated situation that I did not particularly want to get myself into again. But in my opinion, fine wasn’t going to be enough to sell out every seat of every night of our West End run, followed by a European tour.
‘And who is this?’ I said, poking my finger at the last name on the list. ‘Lira James? I have never even heard of her.’
Carlos cleared his throat. ‘That is an interesting question…’ he said enigmatically. ‘I want you to trust me on this one. I’m not going to tell you too much because I know what you are going to say. Just dance with her. And then I’ll tell you how she ended up on my list.’
I sighed. ‘Fine, but she had better be worth whatever it is you’re hiding.’
I knew I was being difficult, but getting it right was important, and we were already running way behind on rehearsal time. We needed to find a leading lady and fast, otherwise the entire thing was going to be a disaster, with my name attached to it. If it went wrong, I doubted I would be cast as the lead in a show as big as this ever again.
While Carlos taught the steps to the ten girls in another room, I stood alone in front of the mirror that covered the entire front wall of the studio. I went over and over the routine Carlos and I had created, checking every movement, the placement of every hand, of each foot. I had a photographic memory for dance steps – somebody only needed to show me once and they were locked in, which had always served me well for auditions. And it meant I could focus on connection and performance rather than remembering where I was supposed to be putting my feet.
After I had run through the routine several times, Carlos’s assistant, Emily, rushed into the room and turned on the music, ramping it up loud.
‘Sound check,’ she explained. ‘We’re nearly ready to start.’
I took a few glugs of water and towelled myself down. I would try not to be negative – perhaps the perfect dance partner was in the next room, waiting to audition. Maybe one of them was going to surprise me.
‘How are they looking?’ I asked Emily.
‘Not bad. One or two standouts.’
There was this mysterious woman on the bottom of the list that I didn’t hold out much hope for, but at least I knew that everyone else was talented and established. If the chemistry was there as well, we could hopefully make it work, but the problem was, it never seemed to be, not to my standards.
Evocative Argentine tango music pumped through the studio and I used the hairband on my wrist to tie my shoulder-length curls back into a pony tail, getting them off my face, preparing to begin.
This could be the moment the dance partner of my dreams entered the room, and rehearsals forSlow Burncould really get started.
Carlos swept in with his clipboard, scraping back a chair and taking a place at the table. Three men in shirts and smart trousers followed suit: the show’s producer, director and tour manager.
‘Okay, Gabriele, we begin,’ said Carlos, picking up his pen, preparing to make notes. ‘Be nice,si?’
