Romance Backstage. Kim Shaw
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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