Free Long Legs and Tall Tales: A Showgirl's Wacky, Sexy Journey to the Playboy Mansion and the Radio City Rockettes by Kristi Lynn Davis

that I often tried to imitate. Already my day’s quota of stimulation was nearly reached.
    I found myself becoming intimidated by Steps with its famous teachers, throngs of exquisite students, and multiple studios running several types of dance classes simultaneously. It took extreme willpower to make myself stay, let alone walk to the front desk and pay my drop-in fee. There was no backing out now. I put on my spanking new tap shoes and bravely took the ninety-minute tap lesson, my only test drive before the real race. Although my performance wasn’t my best ever, I made it to the finish line nonetheless. I just hoped that this brief warm-up session would be enough to dust the spider webs off my long-dormant feet.
    Highly aware of the clock ticking down, my anxiety escalated as audition time drew near. I pried myself away from the relative safety of Steps and scurried south through the buzz of busy Broadway to Broadway Dance Center. My heartbeat quickened, and I felt infused with energy on my way to who-knows-what-might-happen? Now this was an adventure. The closer I got to Broadway Dance Center, the more my adrenaline kicked in. Time seemed to stand still with my heightened awareness of the momentousness of the occasion, as if every cell in my body knew this was the start of something life changing. Finding the place without a problem, I took a deep breath and walked in.
    “If you’re here for the audition, sign in please,” instructed a toned dancer who must have been an assistant of sorts. Hand trembling, I signed my name on the paper, then looked for a spot to sit down. The lobby was already filled with dancers stretching and chatting with their friends. I scoped the competition. Skinny, beautiful, extremely flexible. What did I expect? A bunch of overweight ogres who couldn’t touch their toes? And they all knew each other. What the heck was I doing here? I felt more nervous and insecure with each passing second. Squelching that negative voice in my head before its devilish derision derailed me, I invoked my inner cheerleader. “Get a hold of yourself, Kristi. You have nothing to lose. It’s just for fun. The outcome doesn’t matter. At least you’re doing something exciting. You can do it.”
    After what seemed like an eternity, the moment finally arrived when we were called to audition. “As you hand in your headshot and resume, you will be given a number to pin onto your leotard, and then you may head into the studio,” instructed the assistant. “I just flew into town and don’t have my headshots finished yet, but here is my resume,” I babbled nervously as I made my way to the front of the line. “That’s fine,” the assistant replied. Jenny was right. It worked. I was in!
    There was no time to celebrate, I soon realized, as I watched the boldest dancers quickly claim the best spots in the front of the room leaving the rest of us to scramble for any leftover space within view of the choreographer. Once the room had filled to capacity, everyone automatically spread out and shuffled about so that they could see themselves in the mirror. Every woman for herself! By the time I figured out what was happening, I was lucky to secure a spot where I could barely catch a glimpse of my right arm in the mirror. Oh well. At least I had staked my territory. Now all I had to do was stay focused for the next few hours. I just hoped the tapping wasn’t too far above my ability level, or I was going to look like a complete imbecile. “Who cares? You are never going to see these people again anyway,” I consoled myself bringing out my imaginary pom-poms for one final, silent “Rah! Rah!”
    The choreographer began teaching the dance combination: a smiley, cheesy, fairly easy tap number that suited my training perfectly. “I can do this! No problem,” I realized, delighted and relieved. My confidence rose, and I laid on the charm. When the audition was over, I was on the high of highs. I was so proud of myself