Page 19 of Slow Burn

I stood stage right, waiting for the show to begin.

It was Carlos who would be most anxious this evening – finally his vision would be coming together in front of a paying audience.

After tonight, he would have to finely tune the production based on the things – good and bad – he observed on opening night.

My job was to make sure that the only things he had to say were good.

I turned to Lira, who was standing quietly behind me.

She looked a little unsure, as was to be expected after so many years away from the stage.

For the first time in a long while I wondered if we had done the right thing by throwing her back in at the deep end like this, with nowhere near enough rehearsal time.

She was an amazing dancer, and of course – although I was loath to admit it – our chemistry was exactly where it needed to be, on stage at least. Off stage it was…

complicated. We had not found the time to talk about our kiss, nor the fact she had ushered me out the back door of her studio afterwards because she did not want to be seen with me – my ego had been bruised by her all over again.

As a result, there was an unspoken tension between us that I imagined both of us were finding unhelpful for the performance of a lifetime we were expected to give.

‘Are you ready for this?’ I whispered to her.

She nodded. I was not sure if I believed her, but I supposed I would have to take her word for it.

Through the tiniest gap in the velvet curtains, I could see a snapshot of the audience, a thin sliver of faces, some avidly reading their glossy programme, others chatting to the person sitting next to them.

I could feel the atmosphere all around me – the excitement, the expectation.

It was everything I loved about live theatre.

Now, all I had to do was deliver what had been promised.

‘Is it a full house?’ asked Lira.

‘I cannot quite see,’ I said. ‘But Carlos said that all the seats had been filled, yes.’

I turned to face her, softening my voice, wanting to be supportive, to reassure, despite not quite knowing where I stood with her after the other night.

‘You are going to be brilliant out there,’ I said softly. ‘ Magnifico . Trust me.’

She nodded her appreciation and we shared a smile of solidarity, an understanding that we would both go out on that stage and give it our absolute all.

She looked stunning in her costume for the opening dance, a long, navy blue satin dress with spaghetti straps and a slit so long it ran all the way up to the middle of her thigh.

Her make-up was perfect for the stage: polished and simple, except for her mouth, which was ruby red and glossy.

For a second, I imagined plunging my own lips against hers and then I got myself in check.

What the hell was wrong with me, thinking like that moments before we were about to set foot out on stage?

I was seriously calling my own professionalism into question.

‘I’m worried about the rumba,’ she said, biting her bottom lip and unfortunately drawing my attention to her mouth over again.

We had added in a new move that morning, at Carlos’s request. It was risky, but I knew she could do it.

‘Do not be afraid,’ I said. ‘If one of us makes a mistake, the other will cover. We know each other well enough for that.’

And I meant what I said, even if there were many parts of her that were still a mystery to me.

I could feel her ambition, her attention to detail, how much she wanted this second chance at a dance career.

What I did not know was why she had given it up in the first place; why she seemed so scared to be honest with her family; why she had walked out on me that night in Paris.

But these questions would have to be answered another time – we had work to do now.

The house lights dimmed and the audience hushed and settled. I dropped my head, closing my eyes for a second, grounding myself.

Let this performance go well. Let the audience love the show. Let me dance like I have never danced before.

The opening bars of the Argentine tango rang out across the theatre.

This was not the duet Lira and I would end the show with, it was a group number, a recreation of a sizzling-hot night-club scene in Buenos Aires, a city I knew and loved.

Lira and I were first to step out from behind the curtain; for forty-five seconds it would be just me and her, all eyes on us before the rest of the cast joined us and we became a company of dancers, all with the same common goal: to wow, to entertain.

I reached behind me and took Lira’s hand, squeezing it once before stepping out onto the stage, leading her behind me, becoming the character I was playing for this dance.

The lights went up on stage, covering us with an intense beam of light as I pulled Lira into me, running my hand down the side of her body as she bent backwards, trailing her hand on the floor, my other hand supporting her back.

As she came back to standing, I took control, snapping into hold, beginning the routine we had rehearsed over and over, willing it to go well.

The steps that ended the show nearly two hours later – if you included the interval – were some of the most dramatic of the entire production.

Lira was balancing on my shoulder, I was spinning her around, then she slid off, spiralling into my arms. I caught her, seconds from the ground, and held her there, suspended in motion, before pulling her up to meet me, her hand on my cheek – an almost kiss – then her final back bend.

The lights went down, and for a second or two we did not move.

We had done it. We had got through the show with minimal mistakes.

It could not have gone better, not on a first night.

Whether the audience had liked it or not, I was not entirely sure, although if their whoops and whistles throughout the show were anything to go by, it had felt like they had.

Performing was in my blood, it was what I lived for, and I rarely felt nervous, but perhaps tonight had been the closest I had got to it.

It was a strange feeling headlining a show, knowing that no matter how perfectly everyone else performed, if I did not deliver, the whole show would be criticized in the press and there would be nobody else to blame.

My stomach had been fluttering all day, and now I knew what people meant when they said they had butterflies in their bellies.

The stage lights came up again and Lira and I pulled apart, turning to face the audience.

For a beat or two there was a loaded silence, until thunderous applause broke out, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Lira and I turned to our respective sides of the stage, inviting the rest of the cast to join us.

The applause would not stop, and there were more enthusiastic shouts of Bravo!

and More! – that would be the friends and family, no doubt, although, of course, there was nobody here for me.

My parents were in Italy, and the only friends I had in London were the ones involved in this production.

When the whole cast were in place, I took a step forward alone, taking another bow.

I straightened up, spotting that some of the audience were on their feet – lots of them, in fact.

This was always a good sign. Perhaps that was why I got carried away and turned to take Lira’s hand, pulling her with me so that we could take one final bow together.

This moment was supposed to be mine, but it felt wrong not to share it with her – I would not have danced so well with anyone else, I knew that emphatically.

And then together we turned and walked backstage, giving the audience a final wave as we disappeared behind the curtain.

The adrenaline rush when you come off stage is indescribable, and tonight was no exception. The whole company was in high spirits and everyone was jumping around, hugging each other. Carlos threw his arms around me. Lira kept beaming at me as though she could not quite believe we had pulled it off.

‘Yes, Gabriele! Bravo! They loved you out there!’ enthused Carlos.

And then he turned to Lira. ‘And you, my dear! A star in the making!’

Strangely, I did not feel even a prickle of envy or competitiveness. I knew how well I had danced, and of course I had wanted Lira to match me, otherwise what would have been the point in hiring her? The two of us were electric together and I wanted the world to see it.

Having checked my phone in the middle of all the festivities backstage, I noticed that I had several missed calls from my mother that I really should reply to.

I glanced around the room – the cast were not going anywhere: we had much to celebrate.

I slipped out of the bar, heading back to my dressing room, closing the door behind me.

I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror, nodding to myself in appreciation.

The small improvements to be made would be unnoticeable to anyone but me, Carlos and the most highly trained dancers.

Lira had taken only one wrong step, and I had soon spun her back around the other way with a flourish, hoping to draw the eye to our arms and our elegant necks, rather than our feet.

I sunk down into a chair, letting myself relax for the first time that evening. And then I pulled out my phone and called my mother.

‘Darling! How did it go?’ she gushed. ‘I have been searching for reviews to see how it went for you.’

I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, hot now in the enclosed space of the dressing room.

‘They will not be out yet, Mama. The theatre critics will not see the show until press night tomorrow.’

She laughed. ‘Well, then you must tell me the second your first review comes out. Remember how I used to make scrapbooks of all your newspaper cuttings?’