Free LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) by Jane Harvey-Berrick Page B

griped. “And I’m slightly worried about my ability to father children.”
    She gave a cute little giggle and sat next to me, hot and sweaty, as she leaned her head on my shoulder.
    “I’m really sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow. Maybe you should, um, you know, wear a dance belt. Under your costume.”
    Did she think I was a fucking amateur?
    “I am, Alice,” I said impatiently, “But by tomorrow, I’ll be wearing full body armor.”
    “Ugh, was it that awful?”
    She looked so guilty I felt bad for making her feel that way.
    “I’ll survive,” I said, winking at her as I climbed to my tired, bruised feet.
    The afternoon was spent working on two more routines. I could have done the show for those numbers that night, but it was obvious that Alice wasn’t ready, and I wasn’t sure that rehearsing for the rest of the week would be enough for her.
    “Kathryn hates me,” she whispered.
    “No, she doesn’t,” I lied.
    “Well, I do. I hate being so terrible,” she mumbled, tears starting in her eyes. “I’m used to being good at everything.”
    I sighed and gave her a pained smile.
    “It’s only the first day. You’ll get the hang of things tomorrow.”
    She threw her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.
    “Thank you, Luka!”
    And she skipped off to the changing rooms looking much happier.
    “You should get a medal,” Kathryn scowled. “If I had time to find someone who could take her place, I’d do it, I’d fire her arse. But I need her. Bloody hell, she’s supposed to be learning all the female roles—how the hell will she do that when she can’t even learn one all the way through?”
    It was standard practice for the backup swing dancers, chorus singers and musicians to have four or five deps, deputies, who could stand in for them at short notice.
    On the long-running shows, the musicians would have at least three guys covering each chair, so if you were sick or even if you just wanted to have a night off, there was an approved list of people that the fixer, the producers’ main contractor, could call.
    Being a dep isn’t as bad as it sounds, and a lot of the musicians do session work during the day, so they make pretty decent money.
    And also, we’re creative people, so doing long shows can get boring and you get stale. Being a dep gives you variety. Musicians don’t generally stick around much more than a year or so. The ones who do tend to lose their edge.
    A few get fired. I knew one drummer who was cutting lines of coke on his drum kit during a show. He got canned when he didn’t turn up one day.
    I’ve also known people hook-up during the show, just to see if they can get away with it. It’s a stupid risk. If you’re that bored, move the fuck on. Because if you get a bad rep, you won’t get work again when the word goes out.
    For actors in a long-running show, the producers try to avoid the boredom factor by making it standard to change the cast every six months. A few get asked to stay on, but not many.
    It’s different for dancers—we’re not going to be getting work much past the age of 30, not like musicians who can go on forever. We cover in-house as much as possible with the swing team, but there’s still a roving team outside the production, and you might even be down as a dep for more than one show. I’d done it once, and it was fucking hard keeping several roles in your head in different shows—and you might have last danced them a couple of months ago. But the backup swing dancers are the lowest rung in the theater—we’re pretty much just fodder for the stage world. If you act, your career is longer, but if not . . . hell, sometimes I wondered why any of us did it.
    I preferred tours—a short blast, and on to the next thing.
    “Alice will be fine,” I said stoically.
    Kathryn looked at me critically.
    “You’d make a good Dance Captain—maybe a teacher one day. You were very patient with her. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting that.”
    I shrugged,