“Registration is this way.”
The moment Gina arrived at the audition venue and stepped through the entrance of the grand hall, she felt eyes landing on her from every direction. She had learned in her adoptive hometown of Lausanne that her black hair and dark eyes made her look different from everyone else. From the time she was too young to remember, her adoptive mother, Liz, had explained everything so Gina would never feel frustrated or confused.
Liz had told her that she’d adopted Gina from a small, beautiful, mysterious woman in a country across the sea. Her birth mother had been Liz’s closest friend, a dancer who wandered all across Europe.
Though they had always lived in poverty, Liz had been the best adoptive mother Gina could have asked for, and Gina had spent her own childhood in a small rural town. Liz was a Roma woman who had only recently settled down, and she supported them mainly by doing the neighbors’ laundry. During the day, she sang at a café, and at night, she sometimes danced for money at a tavern.
Gina had loved following Liz around from the time she was a baby, and she had shown an early talent for dancing herself. The people in the little country town were captivated by the black-haired, dark-eyed girl’s talent, and they became her friends without reservation. She had realized early on that dance was the best language for forming connections and bonds.
It was Liz’s urging, after Gina came of age, that changed the course of her otherwise peaceful life. A grand opera house that could hold a thousand spectators was being built in the major city of Oxpin, a place Gina had only ever heard about. They were going to establish a dance company directly affiliated with the theater. If she was selected, she would receive not only a generous salary as a company member but also a dormitory where she could live and eat in the city.
Could she really do it? She worried for only a moment before leaving East Lausanne, a place as dear to her as her hometown. Liz’s severe asthma weighed on her mind, but Gina understood her completely: Liz wanted to send her into a wider world, didn’t want to pass on the poor and barren life she had lived, and wanted Gina never to hesitate before an adventure.
Liz was a fiery, strong-willed woman. Gina, you’re the wonderful daughter of two women. Be proud. This was the first time Gina had ever left the shelter of Liz’s arms. She was a person utterly honest about her feelings.
In truth, the separation had been so painful and sad that she’d sat on the train to Oxpin and sobbed loudly and miserably. She couldn’t bear to let Liz see her like that, partly because she was afraid of upsetting her and partly because she had her pride.
“Gina Grinnell.”
“Go warm up in the rehearsal room and wait. We’ll call your name when it’s your turn.”
“Yes.”
Gina scribbled her name on the sheet the receptionist held out and handed the pen back. The names already packed into the register in a variety of handwriting made her a little nervous. She had traveled eight full hours from Lausanne. She had felt it when she first stepped off the train onto the platform, but now it truly sank in: for the first time in her life, she had come to a major city.
A grandeur she had never seen or even heard of before permeated the dignified stone building. Gina hurriedly looked around before entering the rehearsal room prepared for them. Dancers who had arrived early were warming up in front of the mirrors. A few turned to look her way, then whispered among themselves with startled expressions.
It wasn’t the first or second time this had happened, so she was used to it, but in an unfamiliar city, the situation was still painfully awkward. Pretending not to care, she set down her trunk.
Every dancer had the same pale, willowy figure, dressed in tights or leotards with tutus and petticoats layered over them. Silk pointe shoes completed the look. Gina happened to catch sight of her own reflection in the mirror.
Her tanned skin, tightly braided black hair, loose short sleeves, and generously cut cotton trousers made her look downright shabby beside the others, who looked as if they had grown up in upper-middle-class homes, eating only the finest food.
Gina remembered learning ballet from Liz for a few months, then giving it up because the dense rules and techniques had seemed boring. Now she regretted having given it up so lightly. The notice in the local newspaper had called for a dance company, not specifically a ballet company, which was why she had set out on this journey. Had she made the wrong choice?
Back home, she had never been the type to get nervous no matter where or in front of whom she danced. Maybe it was because this was the first time she was being properly evaluated, but a slight unease had settled over her.
“Next, Gina Grinnell.”
At the attendant’s announcement, everyone’s eyes turned toward her. A few were still huddled together, openly whispering as they watched her. Let them. Steeling herself, Gina stood and headed for the audition room. She thought only of how happy Liz would be when Gina got to live in a good dormitory here in Oxpin and received her first paycheck. She imagined returning home in triumph. She wanted to become a daughter Liz could be proud of.
“Hello. I’m Gina Grinnell.”
She entered barefoot and felt the roughly five judges quickly scan her from head to toe. As she watched them in turn, her gaze met one of them. A man with pomaded hair slicked straight back and eyes as deep and black as obsidian.
Could she be seeing wrong? It was the first time in her life she had seen someone with features like her own, and she could not hide her astonishment. It was impossible. Her heart pounded wildly. The man sat among the others, silently swirling a glass of red wine.
“Begin when you’re ready.”
“Miss Grinnell.”
Gina had been so lost in troubled thoughts as she stared at the man that she only came to herself when an older woman among the five judges spoke to her again and again. Soon, the accompanist seated at the piano began to play a ballet piece. Gina didn’t dance ballet, but she danced along with the music anyway. It was the free, easy movement she was most comfortable with, the kind she had danced all over Lausanne.
After the few minutes came to an end, she was still watching only the man, even as she caught her breath. If there was anything remarkable about him, it was that he had features like hers, yet seemed separated from her by an immeasurable distance. His haughty, arrogant eyes suggested a background and pedigree completely different from her own. His irritable expression, as if he could never be satisfied, and his dry manner, as though everything in the world bored him, seemed like high society itself—something she had never experienced.
“Gina Grinnell.”
“Yes.”
“When did you start dancing?”
“When I was two.”
The judge at the far left was the first to speak and ask her a question. Gina wasn’t making it up; Liz had been living proof. She had been amazed when she saw the child dancing along with her birth mother at the age of two. Gina answered as she knew to and waited for the next question, when she heard a faint, deflating sound from somewhere.
She turned her head and saw the man with the wine letting out a quiet laugh. He laughed for no apparent reason, but remained silent with his lips closed. The others filled the awkward silence with a few coughs before continuing with the next question.
“Who taught you to dance?”
“My mother.”
“Then is your mother a dance teacher?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem to have done ballet.”
“No. I only studied it for a few months.”
“We’re not a ballet company, but in that case, someone like you might have trouble with group dances everyone performs together.”
“If you give me a chance, I can do anything you ask.”
“Miss Grinnell.”
Then a heavy voice rang through the room. It was the man. As he spoke, he set down the glass in his hand with a resonant clink, and everyone fell silent as if on cue.