Erik smiled. He expected Marie would be out of her seat in two minutes, going crazy with the spacing.
The dancers took up positions onstage and the Bourée started.
Sure enough, Marie was already down by the apron, jumping around and waving her hands, yelling directions. Leo kept calling her back to talk to him about the design. She would come back, effusive with apology. After engaging with Leo for barely a minute, the dancers would distract her and she would wander off again.
This happened several times, and Erik found it more entertaining than watching the dancing. Cornelis was no help. He made a thing of holding Marie’s hands behind her back, seeing if she could talk without moving them.
“David, my love,” he said, after setting Marie free. “Introduce me to your disciple?”
“Erik Fiskare, chick magnet,” David said. “Cornelis Justi, gypsy queen.”
“Call me Kees,” the black man said, shaking Erik’s hand. “Or Keesja, but only if we’re dating.”
“Don’t scare the child,” David said.
Erik wrote Cornelis—Kees in a corner of his notes.
In the midst of all this clowning, Leo was muttering either to himself or over his shoulder, and Erik was scribbling anything he could pick up, making more lists:
Both low and mid shins.
Blue cyc on opening.
Cut new gels for bars.
Pink wash for first transition, poppy red for first male solo, maybe. Definitely maybe?
Remind Leo to inventory Fresnels.
Back to blue for second female solo.
Remind Leo to fix lens on follow spot.
Start of the duet needs to be in silhouette.
The dancers gulped water and ran the Bourée again. This time Marie stayed by Leo, keeping only a token knee on the seat of a chair, but at least she held still. Leo had less to say, so Erik was able to watch.
Despite the invitation for artistic input, he had nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at or for, except Daisy. It took some time to be able to pick her out of the group, but during the third run-through, he’d gotten a general feel for when and where she was on the stage. Even then, he only watched her as a male attracted to a female. He had no true interest in or appreciation for what she was doing. He simply liked how she looked doing it.
Ironically, it was during the section of the Bourée which featured all the male dancers when Erik was finally moved to speak up. He leaned into David. “The guy with the ponytail. Front row, far right, who’s he?”
“Will Kaeger. He got the Brighton last year.”
“The what?”
“Brighton scholarship. Full free ride for two incoming conservatory freshman. Daisy’s got one of them this year. Not that she needs it—little rich girl from Gladwyne.”
“Don’t be a bitch, David,” Kees said.
“What? It’s true. Her father made a killing laying pipe along the Main Line, now he owns a zillion-acre farm out in Amish country.”
“It’s an orchard, dumbass. And her father working hard is not her character flaw.”
With half a mind, Erik recorded all these details about Daisy. But he was still looking at Will, squinting beneath wrinkled eyebrows. Will had the moves. Erik didn’t even know the moves but at a rudimentary level he could still grasp Will’s talent. Observing the other boys dance, Erik felt a prickling defensiveness, some primal affront to his own masculinity. He watched as though a pane of glass were between him and the stage. Fine, I’ll look at you, but it doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it.