“Yes.”
Maybe.
“Do you have a problem with my choreography, Kathleen?”
“No,” I said.
Yes.
“How about this,” he said. “If we can’t get it right after tonight, we’ll give that old number a shot.”
“Over my dead body,” I said.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
I glared at him.
“What are you trying to prove, Cal?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not Bob Fosse or Jerome Robbins,” I said. “You don’t need to kill your actors to make yourself feel like a real director.”
It was a low blow, but I was tired and sore and extremely, extremely annoyed.
“Funny,” he said. “Because I was just going to say that you don’t need to act like a fucking diva to feel like a real actor.”
A throat cleared.
Cal and I turned to find Harriet standing in front of us.
“Yes?” Cal asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harriet said. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Actually—”
“Because what it looks like to the rest of the room is the two of you standing here and bickering like a pair of very bitter squirrels.”
I took a quick glance around the space, and the way that everyone’s eyes—which had been focused on us—darted away indicated that Harriet was right. Everyone was watching us fight.
“We were just discussing choreography,” Cal said.
Harriet crossed her arms.
“We are,” I said.
“Which is apparently too difficult for our leading lady,” Cal said.
“Because Cal here thinks he’s Michael fucking Kidd,” I said.
“Maybe you should be grateful I’m not making you do this with axes,” he said.
“Maybe you should be grateful that I don’t have a sharp object in my hand right now.”
“Jesus,” Harriet said.
We looked at her.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Grow. The. Fuck. Up. Both of you.”
There was nothing like being chastised by your best friend. Especially when she was right. It was a bad look to be fighting with the director in front of the cast. It made me seem like a diva and made Cal look like he couldn’t control me. Which he couldn’t, but the illusion was important to the power dynamics of this whole situation.
“This whole combative thing isn’t as cute as you think it is,” Harriet said. “It’s embarrassing and unprofessional.”
Both Cal and I hung our heads.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Sorry,” Cal said.
“Don’t be sorry,” Harriet said. “Be adults.”
She stalked off. I realized, looking back at Cal, that we had moved progressively closer and closer to each other. If I turned to face him, our noses would be practically touching.
I took several steps back.
“Okay!” Cal clapped his hands, addressing the whole room. “We’re going to go again. From the top.”
He looked back at me.
“Ready?” he asked.
No apologies. No concessions. Fine. He wanted to work? I could work.
I gave him the biggest Katee Rose smile I could muster.
“Ready,” I said.
CHAPTER 13
I still wasn’t getting it. I knew the steps, but I couldn’t make my body do them fast enough. Every time I tried, I seemed to miss a step. I knew it looked sloppy and unprofessional, and I was trying my best, but it just wasn’t working.
It was especially embarrassing because today was the day that the producers had decided to come in to watch a rehearsal. I kept fucking up the number and now had to face the unsmiling, gray-tufted Statler and Waldorf, who I could practically see recasting my role in their heads.
“Let’s take five and reset,” Cal said, and headed straight toward me.
I liked being special in most situations, but not this one. I didn’t want him to think I needed hand-holding. Especially since I did.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Just peachy,” I said.
He hummed and nodded.
I waited. Adjusted my weight.
“Cal?”
“Hmmm?”
“Spit it out,” I said. “Whatever you’re trying to say, just say it.”
He offered the floor a crooked smile. One dimple.
I stood there, hands on my hips, waiting for him to tell me the truth. That I was fucking up and it was his job to tell me that it wasn’t acceptable. That I needed to get my shit together.
“I know you’re doing your best,” Cal said.
I stared at him.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, and you’re right,” he said. “The number is too complicated.”
Shock wasn’t even the right word.
“I’ve worked on an alternative,” he said. “Take out that last turn and the kick-ball-change in the middle. That should give everyone enough time to hit their marks.”
Not everyone. Me.
“I know it’s not ideal, changing something at the last minute, but I know you all can handle it.”
He turned his whole body to face me.
“What do you think?” he asked.
It took a moment for me to compose my thoughts.
“I think it’s bullshit,” I said.
Cal blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not the number,” I said. “It’s not the steps. It’s me. I’m not getting them. I’m screwing up.”
His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead.
“You should be telling me to get my shit together and be prepared to rehearse the number until my feet bleed,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m not going to do that,” he said, voice low. “I’m not Ms. Spiegel or Diana. I’m not going to threaten you.”
“Maybe you should,” I said. “Because this whole Mr. Nice Director thing? It’s not getting results.”