It all goes pear shaped!
Minutes after I had pressed the 'submit' key on last week's article, the director called me. I could tell from the tone of his voice that this was not good news. As I'd begun to suspect, it was between me and a former professional dancer for the lead role. As I'd also suspected, she got the part. As I had NOT suspected, I didn't get any other part. I was devastated, although I managed to keep my cool to him on the phone. I graciously accepted a walk-on one-line part, to prove my continuing enthusiasm for the play and the group. I sympathised with the director when he said how hard this call was for him to make. I promised to come along to rehearsals for other bits and pieces that are in the offing. Then I hit the 'end call' button and cried.
I found it very hard to stop agonising and feeling sorry for myself. I tried to tell myself that this didn't matter - it's only an amateur production in a cultural backwater. I reminded myself that one of my friends was going into hospital, and that I should be more concerned about her. But I could see those little fantasies I had allowed myself to have - pictures in the paper, glowing write-ups, rapturous applause, ex boyfriends agog at my fabulousness - all going Pop! pop! pop! like so many bubbles of soap. As I mulled over this in the shower, clutching my best jar of body scrub, my fingers slipped and the glass jar smashed on the shower floor. I cried some more.
A New Hope
I console myself with a number of things: firstly, I get to do Steam Heat. It was mentioned in the past that those doing Stepping Out would not get priority in Steam Heat, but that remains to be seen. I also get to be involved in the show, with no lines to learn, reaping the benefit of all the after show parties and backstage crack for minimal effort. I don't have to suffer the paranoia induced by the thought of my flabby bits on stage in leotard and tights. After growing it in case the director had certain ideas about how Mavis's hair should look, I can now do what I like with it - and I never have to do that awful double toe tap again.
Best of all, I get to come up with some evil conspiracy theories with some of the other rejects over a few drinks!
Dates for your diary
Well, Steam Heat is still on for September. I'd feel absolutely bereft if I had no dancing at all to do. I catch sight of my sad little black tights on the washing line, and my eyes water. Tuesday night comes along, and I sigh as I think back to 'this time last week'. It's like the end of a relationship. But future plans are bright. A major musical extravaganza is being scheduled for next year (complete with a rendition of Springtime for Hitler...) so I can go back to fantasizing about me singing a number from Cabaret to tumultous applause...