THE DARE (G!P Freenbecky)

Chapter 21

The news was not good, Becky thought as she sat around the large circular table in one of the offices offstage and chewed on a fingernail.

The roof was leaking again. One of their dancers had fallen down at a party over the weekend and severely twisted her ankle. And they were behind where they should be in rehearsal for their dance recital that opened the last week in January.

"I'm going to suggest—" Becky began.

"No," several people said in unison. Becky bit her lip, then smiled wryly. The answer never changed, though she had access to a veritable ton of money, no one in the dance troupe would let her use it to help finance their struggling group. They had long ago decided that they would make it on their own effort or not at all.

"Okay. Can Sonya take Anna's part?" She said, Anna being the dancer in question who had twisted her ankle.

"She'll pick it up quick," Barry said. He was her right hand man, and had been waiting for her outside the theater.

"Sounds like a plan," said Walter in a slight monotone. He was a big, burly, bearded bear of a man, who usually dressed in flannel plaid shirts and overalls. Married with five children, Walter didn't dance, but his oldest daughter, Natasha, did. So he came down to the theater on a regular basis, helping by selling tickets before their performances, then punch and cookies at intermission. He did a ton of odd handyman jobs around the place.

Walter had a resigned, sorrowful outlook on life, as if he didn't expect much good to come of anything, and he reminded Becky of the donkey, Eeyore, in Winnie-the-pooh.

But he was no match for a leaky roof.

The plan had been to take the monies received from the recital in January and use them to help fix the roof. But now with their main dancer out of the show—

"Okay!" Becky said, standing up. "Let's not worry too much; these problems have a way of working out. I say we go for a killer rehearsal."

Murmured approvals and nods met this suggestion.

"Let's get our blood going with some jazz," Becky suggested. "Walter, can you manage the music and lights?"

"Sure thing," he said gloomily.

"Thanks!" She gave him a swift hug before heading for the dressing rooms they'd built in the drafty basement of the building.
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Freen knew she was playing with fire, but Freen found herself sneaking in the theater, then walking through the large lobby and into the back of the actual theater itself.

All the lights were focused onstage, on the dancers, and she found that she could hide in the shadows. Trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible, she quickly sat down in the very back row, in one of the side sections, and hunched down in the seat, pulling her baseball cap back down over her face.

The music was jazz, hot jazz, and the movement on stage was thoroughly modern and lively. And very, very sexy.

It took her mere seconds to see Becky.

Becky was dressed in a black leotard with a shocking pink and orange filmy piece of material tied around her middle like a belt. Another scarf was tied around her head, tight, keeping her hair out of her eyes as she moved. And she was infront of all of them, leading both male and female dancers through an intricate jazz routine.

"And one and two and— that's it, that's it!"

She noticed that Becky seemed to be focused on one particular woman in the back, more a girl really, a chubby brunette in a red leotard who seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the routine. Freen watched, fascinated, then  frowned when in the middle of the dance number, the chubby girl stopped, a look of desperate resignation on her face.