Rehearsal Rooms

[Deleted]

ooc:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ADyAQUHkr4 bic:


Andi Foster



One, two, three, four, and five…

“Five.”

Andi crookedly looked at herself in the mirror at her profile. Her feet were twisted in what seemed a ball change but was more like a helpless waddling duck, and her knees were buckled, trying to demonstrate what the man’s stance would be like. Her hands, a mangled mess, attempted at conveying both aggression and surrender, but in reality, one was grabbing ahold of her hiney and the mother curved as if grasping a partner’s shoulder- or bicep, for her own womanly needs of imagining.


An exhausted laugh erupted from her dry throat. It was the only thing a person could do when they knew they looked like such ridiculous mess.
Shaking off the obviously messed up five count, Andi raked her fingers through her hair, walking toward the mirror where she had the stereo remote, her choreography notes and jug of water. Intentionally she was not making eyes with that mirror straight on, in fear of what may be looking back at her. Grabbing her hair tie with her teeth around her wrist, she leaned over to look down at her notes while tossing up her hair into messy bun, giving herself a little relief from all the sweat dripping down her neck.

The move she had missed was actually the man’s move not the woman’s. She was getting genders confused. If she could kick herself she would, but that would mean needing a second person so that obviously couldn't happen since she obviously couldn't handle trying to do two things.

Internally kicking herself, Andi glared over her shoulder at the clock above the entrance to the rehearsal studio. Midnight o’ two. Well, good morning was in order, right?

It was one of those nights that felt like midnight for sure. Which meant tonight’s choreography wasn’t going so hot, because if it was, Andi could twirl and kick like the best of em’ until the sun came up. Usually it wasn’t like this. Tonight everything seemed to be not going as planned. The plan was to get a head start on this dance number so Andi could work on other numbers. One performance at the Rouge needed many numbers, and she had been feeling it heavy on her shoulders. She could do this or she wouldn’t have been hired. She had been doing it for over a month now. But something about this dance was tricky. It was easy to choreograph on paper and say what she wanted, but feeling the passion and really working it through would be how she needed to make this happen before presenting it. Andi liked to feel things out and really live in the moment to be able to teach the moment. How could she live the moment in an empty rehearsal space at midnight? All of her men dancers were fast asleep or partying it up, and Myron, who usually helped her, was gone for the night too. She supposed she could wait until tomorrow to have someone help her, but that would mean not having it finished like she had planned and … well, failing. That was not acceptable.

After reviewing, Andi threw done the piece of paper and flipped on the stereo in the corner with the remote. Tossing the remote down, the batteries sprawling out, but her frustration really not giving a damn about a couple AAs, she made her way onto the prop steps where her tango began.

Shutting her eyes and listening to the first beats, Andi allowed herself to embody the woman’s role. Her hands gliding up her hips, to her sides and the curve of her breasts, she glided her way to the middle. There, she grabbed ahold of the imaginary man’s hands, twirling inside his strong arms. Her expression reacted to the ‘power’, and in her mind she was focusing on the male’s moves. Actively, she was the woman, in her mind, she was the man. The emotions and steps were overwhelming. Especially when the second beat came and her ghostly dancing man made his way off the steps, holding out her frame as she would step down the steps sideways.

Not being able to do this, which boiled something acidic in her stomach, Andi stepped down the steps sideways and then embraced herself, shutting her eyes and counting in her mind. She twirled around, holding her arms strong in a frame to the air. In a beat, she began flowing out gracefully and strongly in the middle of the floor. She had last the man’s count though.

“C’mon, Foster!” Andi growled, slamming her palm to her forehead. She needed to get it together. Going to the stereo in the corner, her back facing the door, she clicked the song off and leaned against it, burying her face in her hands.

This was going to be a long night if she couldn’t clone herself. Although, to make this night better she would really appreciate that hottie dancer she was imagining.

Not gonna' happen.

[The Exodus]

Alexander Sokoll

Alexander hated being the last one out of the Rouge at night. He didn’t complain about it, since it was his job to lock up, but there was something draining about reorganizing everybody’s dressing rooms after mother-henning all the performers. The dancers didn’t clean up after themselves and they left ripped costumes and clumpy make up brushes in their wake. Alexander had plenty of parenting to do when he got home, without playing house mom to irresponsible twenty-somethings. And this was the one week he really should have elected to take off. Serena and Jules started school on Monday. What time Alexander had spent at home had been spent shopping for school clothes, getting the kids on a regular sleep schedule, and testing out lunch recipes on his picky eaters. What time Alexander spent away from the twins, he spent feeling frantic. He told himself that it was normal for a dad to worry about whether his kids were getting along all right at school, but it gnawed at him. Sometimes, Alexander wondered if that was what was chomping a hole in his gut or if there was something else that had him worrying about ulcers.

He wished he could be home more. If he blinked too much, he’d miss everything going on in his life outside of the Rouge. And it rested squarely on Alexander’s shoulders to raise his children and to document their lives, since he couldn’t depend on anyone else to do it for him.

He had friends. Rafael and Jen were great people, but Alexander couldn’t—didn’t—expect them to co-parent with him. He had a babysitter. Mercedes was phenomenal with the twins, but Alexander didn’t want her to be some sort of surrogate mother for them. Jules was affectionate with everyone, but he clung to Mercedes when she left last night and Alexander always worried that Jules would start calling her “Mommy”. He missed Esperanza. And she was missing out on their children’s lives. And their children were missing out on having her.

The impending school year brought her to the forefront of Alexander’s mind. Before the twins were born, he and Esperanza had fantasized about every birthday and every milestone they would celebrate. Together, Alexander and Esperanza designed cupcakes with fondant décor—balloons and gift boxes for birthdays; apples and rulers in autumnal colors to stick in lunch boxes for the first day of school. The money wasn’t there to hire someone else to do that now and Alexander hadn’t had the time to take up baking. He didn’t have someone to make cute plans with. He didn’t even have someone to run to the grocery store if he forgot to pick up jelly for sandwiches or to even talk about the kids and weekend plans with. He needed his partner. Desperately. Without her, what good was he?

Not that the kids noticed Alexander’s clumsy slip-ups. He improvised new steps with each tempo-change thrown his way. When they didn’t have peanut butter, he chassed to the refrigerator and dove into the crisper for apples to put on the sandwich instead. When he needed to take a phone call and put the kids to bed, Alexander could lift Serena with one arm and carry Jules on his back. And when he was just too tired to do any more, he plastered on a smile and let them lead him where they would. He wasn’t a graceful parent, but he was damn good dad. He didn’t miss a beat. Even when he did, he knew the rhythm well enough to catch himself without falling.

Maybe he just really missed Esperanza for selfless reasons, after all.

Or maybe something else was really bothering him.

The week was about to get crazy, too. The school shopping and schedule making was a quiet interlude. Soon, he’d be thrust into the world of chaperoning for field trips, parent-teacher conferences, and PTA meetings. These nights locking up at the Rouge—nights he professed to dislike—would start to look rather nice in a few months.

Alexander made his way to the rehearsal room, where the lights were still on. He stood in the door frame and saw Andi Foster leaning against the stereo with her head in her hands. It wasn’t unusual to see Andi during lock up. The Rouge’s chief choreographer was nothing if not dedicated. Sometimes, when Alexander felt jealous of her plum job, he reminded himself of that fact. Andi lived and breathed this place. He lived and breathed his kids. She was a more attractive candidate for the job for that fact alone.

Of course, Alexander didn’t know if she had kids. It hadn’t come up in conversation. They often had brief exchanges after-hours. He would have thought that if Andi had kids, she would have said as much by now. Not that he’d brought up his own brood. Telling a woman he had twins usually did one of two things: endeared him to her immediately or alienated her entirely. Alexander liked his (relatively) hassle-free interactions with Andi. Since he wasn’t exactly going to snatch her job from her any time soon, Alexander didn’t want to complicate things.

And then he realized he was staring at her from a doorframe for no apparent reason. And she might be crying. Both things could quickly complicate things just by being awkward. He cleared his throat and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder when they stood side by side. He cast a surreptitious glance at the clock. He had time for this.

“I don’t mean to interrupt or whatever,” he said. “But I was locking up for the night and—Are you okay?”

[The Exodus]

Practice Room

In this room, stars are made. However, blood, sweat, and tears aren’t all it takes to become a sensation in this city. In the Moulin Rouge’s practice rooms, performers practice, schmooze, and do whatever it takes to reach the top