“Look out, you almost hit the TV,” Erik said.
“I can’t do this here,” Will said. “I need to get into a studio. Can I get into a studio? What time is it?” He popped the tape out of the stereo. “Who’s coming with me?”
Daisy sat back down on the couch, but James couldn’t get out the door fast enough. He and Will were gone three hours. When they came back Will looked positively feverish. His notebook, so pathetically bare before, was three-quarters filled with scribblings, the whole ballet sketched out in its pages. Will took the idea to Kees who both blessed it and sunk his teeth into it.
Will went into rehearsals with James as his assistant. James was perfect for the job. He possessed near total recall when it came to choreography. Not only every step committed to memory, but the spacing of every dancer at any given moment in the music. Even more valuable was his ability to catch Will’s improvisations on the fly and repeat them back, a human camcorder. He patiently coached the dancers who couldn’t grasp the difficult time signatures. He stepped in for anyone who was absent. If Will couldn’t run a rehearsal, James did, and was careful to be humble and self-effacing about it. Powaqqatsi was Will’s baby and James was smart enough to be unobtrusive even as he became more and more indispensable. Will needed him. Publicly depended on him. James had hitched a ride on a comet and was on a trajectory to the popularity he craved.
He was ecstatic.
The contemporary dancers went crazy over Powaqqatsi. Like a benignly infectious disease, the excitement spread through the conservatory. Ballet dancers showed up at rehearsals either to watch or to learn the choreography. Even the stagehands found time or excuses to wander by the third-floor studios.
“I still can’t count this music,” Erik said, watching.
“I’d kill to dance this,” Daisy said. “I’m serious. I’ll trip someone and not even feel bad about it.”
“It’s brilliant,” James said. “I can’t stand it, it’s so brilliant. Fuck ballet, I’m going to the dark side.”
Kees turned around, grinning. “Better not let Marie hear you.”
“I meant it lovingly.”
Daisy checked her watch and sighed. “We should go, James. Our rehearsal starts in ten minutes.”
James didn’t answer, he was deep in concentration. Daisy tapped his arm. Then pulled it. Finally Kees helped her peel James’s fingers off the barre and she dragged him out.
The classical section of the fall concert was no throwaway. A guest choreographer from Atlantic Dance Theater had come in to stage his ballet No Blue Thing to the music of Ray Lynch. Daisy had a gorgeous solo piece and a pas de deux with James. The program was shaping up to be one of the conservatory’s best. As they moved through October, the creative energy in Mallory Hall shifted from carefree to industrious. The strong pulled ahead and the weak began to flail.
No Lancaster conservatory student could shirk their academic studies. Those pursuing a Bachelor of Arts had to complete eighteen credits from the liberal arts program. A Bachelor of Fine Arts required twenty-four, plus another twelve in dance history and anatomy. Students had to maintain a 2.0 GPA or they couldn’t perform in main stage productions.