Free Leaving by Karen Kingsbury Page B

she’d found a friend in Adrienne. Never mind about Tim. If Bailey ended up in New York City, she could see herself hanging out with his girlfriend, if not him. Tim had already explained that Adrienne shared his faith, so they’d have that much in common.
    Bailey was dressed in a V-neck white T-shirt and black dance pants, and in her bag she had her character shoes and a folder with her headshot and resume — all that was required according to Francesca’s message a few weeks ago. The audition was only eight blocks away, so they made the trip on foot. The warm-up would be good for her. They walked on the sunny side of the street and Bailey began to feel herself loosening up. She could hardly wait.
    As she expected, there was a line of girls stretched out the door and halfway down the block in front of the studio hosting the audition. Bailey wasn’t bothered by the numbers. After all, Francesca Tilly had called her personally. Certainly she’d be looking for Bailey today. And now that she’d worked so hard, she was bound to catch the director’s eye sometime today.
    Her mom caught a car back to the hotel. She was working on an article for a women’s magazine, so the hours alone would be good for her. “Call me with any updates.” The routine felt familiar, much like last time they were in New York City for an audition. But this was different. Bailey was on her own, without Tim, and she wasn’t nervous — not at all. The information from Adrienne played in her head as she signed in and found a spot on the expansive studio dance floor to stretch.
    Again the room was filled with dancers — all of them about the same age and build. She would have to shine very brightly to win a part today. Father, You know this is my dream … I feel You’ve created me for this, to shine for You. So please help me do my best. Help me sing and dance and act in a way that brings You glory. Thank You, God …
    Francesca was bringing order to the room. Bailey guessed there were two hundred girls there — and maybe another two hundred still down at the street level waiting for the next round. Francesca was a petite woman, angular with wiry gray hair. She dressed much like the dancers — black tights, a black leotard, and a spandex skirt with bright orange and blue swirls. Her hair was wound tightly at the top of her head, and her quick pace and hurried movements made it clear she was on a mission to get the auditions over with.
    “Line up,” she snapped. “Everyone.” She waved her hand like she was casting a spell, and immediately three assistants jumped into motion, organizing the girls in even rows. Bailey tried for the front, but she wasn’t fast enough. She wound up in the third row instead — two from the end. Francesca planted herself front and center, her hands on her hips. When the girls were in place, she barked a single word at them.
“Hairspray!”
    For a long half a minute no one dared speak. Most of the dancers — including Bailey—resisted the urge to look around the room for some shared bit of empathy. Maybe they’d all heard what Bailey had heard. That Francesca Tilly was a little eccentric.
    Finally Francesca drew a full breath and stared them down, as close to one at a time as she could. “You know this show — at least I’d like to hope you know it.” She clapped her hands, fast and sharp. “It’s energy, energy, energy.” She stood on her tiptoes, shielded her eyes, and stared over the center of the formation. “That’s who I’ll cut first. Anyone without energy.” She began topace across the front of the room. “Show me your energy, girls, or you’re done.”
    Bailey was ready for this. She’d been jumping rope and doing Zumba classes in her family’s gym every morning and practicing dance each evening. She was in the best shape of her life and bursting with energy. She shook out her fingers, keeping herself loose.
    “My choreographer Suzanne will teach you the Corny Collins dance, and you