Whisper Bay: Rachelle & Brett: The Self Portrait

A Portrait

I could feel his eyes on me. The lights of the stage were so bright that I could barely see the first two rows of the theatre, but I knew he was there. Somewhere in the balcony, concealed by the dark, he was sitting watching. He always was.

At first, I hadn't noticed him, it was Bridget who had brought him to my attention four weeks ago when the spring semester had begun. Since then I had seen him at every rehearsal. How could I not? Decked in black from head to toe, with pale skin, a book, and a scowl, he was hard to miss. It seemed no matter what time the rehearsals were called, he was there.

At first, I had found his presence unnerving, as did some of the other girls, so much so that they'd asked one of the male dancers to do something about it. He had spoken to him, but nothing happened. Apparently, he had special permission from the director to observe us. Still, it was more than a little strange to have him there, especially when I knew he was watching me. I knew it was probably ridiculous, there were more than two dozen female performers and half as many males, he could be looking at any one of us, but I knew it was me he was watching. As sure as I knew my name was Rachelle Maverick, I knew his eyes were only on me.

"Rachelle?" I heard the sound of fingers snapping, "Earth to Rachelle?" Steven called from the front row. He was the director for the next production the USC dance conservatory was set to perform - a shadow play of Katy Perry's California Gurls. It was an intricate performance of coordination which required countless hours of rehearsal by all involved. Each dancer had to make his or her marks perfectly to cast the right shadow on the lighted screen. One elbow out of place or a foot and suddenly your candy cane had a nose or some other questionable looking appendage. The pressure to get it right was intense, especially since the performance was only weeks away. It was especially difficult for me. This was my first time as lead, and I wanted to give my best performance.

"Sorry Steven."

"I'd say you're sorry. Where were you just now? You completely missed your cue," he asked, getting to his feet and approaching the stage. I slowly stepped towards him with my shoulders hunched, feeling like a child under his intense scrutiny.

With my hands rested on my hips I swallowed in an attempt to catch my breath. "Sorry, I was distracted."

"Pray tell, what has you so preoccupied? I'm sure everyone else who was on cue and waiting for you to continue would love to hear it." His sarcasm was biting, and his fake British accent was ridiculous. I looked at the other dancers who were standing nearby, all eyes focused on me. The expressions on their faces said they were not impressed, to say the least. I couldn't tell them what had distracted me. Steven was right, this was more important, the guy in the balcony was not.

"Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." The finality in his words made my stomach feel sick. I knew this show was important for him; it was redemption for a failed Broadway show, which had led him to California to hide. He took this very seriously. So seriously that I was sure that if I didn't give the performance he wanted, I'd be replaced, without warning. I didn't want that.

"From the top!" he shouted and reclaimed his seat.

"Great work Rache," Daphne whispered in my ear as we took our markers. I refused to answer. Daphne Konig was not one of my favorite people, and I wasn't hers. We had both auditioned for the lead, but I was the one who was selected, and she was still angry about it. Daphne was like me, a Whisper Bay native, but we had never been close even before we both left home to attend USC. She hated me, though I had no feelings towards her one way or the other. She saw me as a rival both on the stage and for the attention of Graham Lockerby. She had the strange and completely erroneous misconception that I was after him. I couldn't care less for the overly muscled walking landmass, with the lowest grade point average in our class and an ego larger than the state of California. It was he who kept coming after me. No matter how many times I told the lummox that I'd rather drink bleach than go out with him, he still didn't get it. He thought I was playing hard to get. I promptly rolled my eyes in her direction and took my place.