Read Generations 2.7 kindle Online
Authors: Lori Folkman
Jackson knew the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for the other half-dozen people huddling around Ben. And when Ben moved on, so did the huddle. Jackson felt invisible.
But Kat stayed behind. “Jackson, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with this. I was totally shocked ….” she stopped talking and looked away. Jackson could see the tears pooling in her eyes. She blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want this,” she continued. “I didn’t want to take this away from you.”
“Yeah? Well, you did. Congratulations.” Jackson turned and walked away, his mouth feeling like he’d just eaten a spoonful of grapefruit. He headed to the craft services table where he grabbed a bottle of water. He chugged the entire thing, not caring if his manners looked crude. He even wiped the excess moisture from his lips on the sleeve of his shirt. What were they going to do—kick him out? Bring it on.
Jackson noticed a buzz of noise coming from the dressing room area. A large crowd was gathering. And Ben was still on the other side of the studio.
The crowd swarmed away from the dressing rooms and into the center of the studio. People seemed to be following a skinny man with white hair. Seriously: not gray, but glowing white. But—excluding the hair—the man looked like he was only forty. And when the man broke free of the crowd, Jackson laughed out loud. He was glad he wasn’t still drinking water, or he would have sprayed like a busted bathroom pipe. That—Jackson deemed—would have got him kicked out for sure.
The reason Jackson had laughed out loud? He saw what the man was wearing. A baggy pink sweatshirt, shiny leggings, and leg-warmers.
Leg warmers
. Was the crowd teasing the man? Were they chasing his scrawny silver legs out of the studio? No. Of course not. Jackson could see that the crowd adored the man. Like he was some kind of god, even more powerful than the great Ben Wilder.
Speaking of Ben, Ben practically ran across the studio to meet the man. And then they embraced! Ben hugged a man wearing leg-warmers. Maybe Jackson hadn’t lost Kat to Ben after all.
“Who is that guy?” Jackson asked one of the nearby assistants.
She looked at Jackson like he was a pesky toddler asking questions. “Ernie Dixon,” she said. Even though she didn’t say, “Duh,” her voice certainly reflected it.
Jackson was still in the dark. He knew he’d look even more foolish if he inquired further. But, at this point, he didn’t care. “Who’s Ernie Dixon?” Jackson asked.
Her mouth popped open. She even gasped. She didn’t hide the fact that she was seriously astonished by Jackson’s lack of knowledge. “Ernie Dixon is only the best choreographer in the business. He’s saving this video.”
“Saving the video, huh?” Jackson spied some slices of cake. He put one in the palm of his hand—without putting it on a plate (or even a napkin) first. “He’s going to make this video look like every other dance video out there. I’d call that destroying it. Not saving.” Jackson took an enormous bite of cake, knowing full well that he’d just smeared frosting across his face. But who would care? He was just the pathetic kid who had made a mess of the video.
He walked away, feeling momentarily satisfied. He’d shown that coffee-fetching assistant. But then he thought about what he was doing. If he tried to get fired, or walked off the set, he wouldn’t be who he wanted to be ten years from now. He’d be a coffee-fetching grunt. A voice trickled through his mind. “It’s still a great experience.” It was Kat’s voice. Jackson clenched his teeth and groaned. Why did Kat have to be right?
The crowd—which had been coagulating around Ernie—had spread out into a line, as if there was something for everyone to see. Jackson went to the edge of the row to take a look. Music started playing, big-band style. And suddenly Kat and Ernie Dixon came spinning past.
They twirled, they kicked—their feet moving faster than any of the Galaxy’s players. Jackson was impressed. He had no idea that Kat was that good. The last time he’d seen her dance was at a recital two years ago. He didn’t remember her being so … graceful. Then again, he hadn’t really paid that much attention to her. There had been at least a dozen other girls on stage—all in tight leotards. He had spent more time ogling their curves than he had watching Kat’s skill level. But what he saw right now was exceptional, and a complete transformation from the Kat he’d seen just minutes ago. She no longer had that scared to death look on her face. She was smiling her huge smile. Her eyes were sparkling. And those kicks … wow. They were more like standing splits. She should audition for one of those dancing reality shows.
So maybe Ben hadn’t ruined the entire video because he was crushing on Kat. Maybe having her dance in the video was a good idea. But this type of dance? Hmm. Not so hip. Not so hop.
The dance ended, and of course everyone applauded. Jackson saw Kat’s cheeks flare slightly. This surprised him. He thought praise wouldn’t embarrass a performer. But then he saw the way Ben was cheering; he was standing at the front of the crowd, his hands clapping faster than anyone else’s. And Ben’s eyes were locked on Kat, drawing her in like a tractor-beam. Oh. That’d be why she’s blushing.
Ernie Dixon silenced the crowd. When he spoke, Jackson was surprised. Ernie had a deep, booming voice. A commanding voice. Not one like Peter Pan, as Jackson had imagined. Ernie explained that, while the choreography was still incomplete, the essence was there. “Each decade’s dance will be modernized. But discreetly, with just enough variance to make it new: fresh.”
The dance guru kept talking, but Jackson got lost in the language of dance speak. Everyone else was nodding their heads. Music started again, and Ernie said, “Let me demonstrate.”
This time, he grabbed the hand of a different dancer. This lady was tall and lanky … built like a dancer. She was a professional—Jackson could tell this instantly. And the dance was taken up a notch too. Like Ernie had said: it was modernized. Double steps, body grooves, and shoulder rolls were added here and there … subtlety. It was kinda cool.
Jackson glanced at Kat again. She had that scared look again. In fact, she looked like she was holding her breath.
Breathe, Kat. You’re gonna pass out
.
The song ended. He saw Kat give Ben a concerned look—a look where her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pursed. Ben gave her this huge smile and put his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a shake. He was probably saying “You can do it, Kat.”
Jackson wanted to yell, “Get your hands off my sister!” from across the studio. And not because he wanted to keep the lie in check, but because he wanted to protect her. This kind of camaraderie with her long-time unobtainable crush just couldn’t be good. And Jackson knew it was only going to get worse. He saw how closely Ernie had held that professional dancer to his body. And that was going to be Ben and Kat. Great. Just great.
……
E
xhausted. Two weeks later and Kat was ready to find a cave and hibernate for the rest of the season. But they weren’t done yet. All the scenes where she and Ben dance together had yet to be filmed.
The practices had been grueling. The dance steps were complicated. She had to completely turn her focus to learning the routine. She practiced at home each day at the end of rehearsals, and every morning she’d wake up an hour early so she could practice before school. But she’d gotten it down. And the filming was going well. It’s just that everything took so long. The hair and make-up. The costume changes. It was becoming so tedious.
But it was fun too. Way fun. And she never imagined that she could have so many different looks. She especially loved the twenties era character: she, Katrina Hayes, actually had straight, smooth hair for this set. This was the part that Ben sang:
Flapper girls
Short skirts
So carefree
Hiding the booze
Feeling liberty
But the love’s still there
The pain we share
The days are lost
But your story’s not
Before the filming of that scene, Katrina couldn’t stop running her hands down her hair. It felt like silk. Like it belonged to someone else. This was hair that she’d always dreamt about. Most of her hair was pinned up—leaving only the top, shorter layers—creating a sleek bob. Talk about a major transformation. Her stylist should get the Noble Prize for Hairstyling.
If only Heather—the Nobel Prize winning hairstylist—could move in with
Kat. Like yesterday. Kat could have desperately used some help getting ready today.
To add to the fatigue, Katrina had been allowing herself an extra half-hour every morning to get ready for the day. Just in case Ben saw her before she got made over. She always wanted to look her best. But, she was getting to the point where she didn’t even hear her third alarm anymore. Today, she’d royally overslept. She didn’t have time to do her hair. Result: two puffy looking pom-poms on the sides of her head. Not that it looked that bad: if she were just going to cheer camp or something. She only had time to apply powder and mascara. And then her clothes—oh boy. This was a really bad morning. She hadn’t had time to do laundry in like ages, so she was out of clothes. She did have some goofy hot pants that she’d bought and never worn. But what to wear with it? She remembered that shirt of her dad’s that she loved but was forbidden to wear. It was vintage, from a concert he’d been to in the eighties—for The Clash. Way cool. So she “borrowed” it and accessorized it with a chain belt. Add her go-go boots and she was out the door, looking like a wannabe rocker girl. If only she had black lipstick and pink streaks in her hair.
She reassured herself that she was safe looking like this: she hadn’t seen Ben before she got into costume the last four days. She hadn’t seen much of Ben period. It was rather disappointing. And troubling.
They’d spent that first week in rehearsals together, with the entire cast of extras, learning all the steps. That put him in the same room with Kat for most of the day. But when it came time to practice the dances with just the two of them, Ben was never to be found. Kat always danced with Ernie. And she was told that Ben practiced with Ernie’s assistant (that tall and lanky gorgeous dancer Kat had met on the first day) earlier in the day. When Kat asked when she was going to practice with Ben, Ernie told her that he thought she had the moves down and didn’t need any more practice. Kay. Whatever. She couldn’t imagine just winging it with Ben during the filming. He was so particular with everything. Weird.
Then she began to notice that she didn’t see Ben at dinner or breaks either. He spent most of his time in his dressing room. With Jackson. Jackson got invited in a lot: to play video games. When Kat had questioned Jack, he’d just said that he didn’t have much else to do at this point anyway. “Who, you or Ben?” she tried to clarify.
“Both,” Jackson had said.
The star of the show had nothing else to do besides playing video games? Huh. Something wasn’t right.
So Kat had begun to worry. Big time. Maybe Ben had already filmed the dances with Elizabeth, Ms. Gorgeous professional. And no one knew how to tell Kat that she no longer had the lead. That they were just stringing her along and then would tell her that she hadn’t made the final edit. She’d questioned Jackson about it. He’d laughed at her. “Stop being stupid. You’re still in the video.”
Then she had begun to worry that it was worse than not being in the video. Ben must not like her … as a person. He must be going to great lengths to avoid her. Because she annoyed him. She was lame. She giggled too much. And said stupid things. She’d probably insulted him! Crap. Ben hated her. And she soooo liked him.
She had drilled Jackson about this as well. “So does he say anything about me … when you are in there playing video games?”
“We’re playing video games, Kat, not talking.” Jackson had said.
“But does he say anything at all? Like if I offended him or something?”
Jackson had laughed. Really laughed. “You’re messed up,” had been his only response.
“Will you ask him,” Kat had begged, “If there is something I have done wrong? Or could do differently? Will you ask him if he still thinks I’m cute?” Yeah, she was that desperate. She’d fallen from Ben’s grace. And landed on her butt. It hurt. Bad.
“No, I will not ask him,” Jackson had said. “You do it.”
No way. ‘Cause #1. She never saw him. And #2. She didn’t want to look pathetic.
So anyway, she thought she was safe to arrive at the studio looking like a Taylor’s most loved (most disheveled) Bratz doll, minus the good make-up. But of course, it would be the day that Ben was waiting near her dressing room. He smirked when she approached. At least he didn’t all out laugh like Jackson had done when he saw her. “Hey,” Ben said.
“Hey.” Katrina immediately reached for the door, kinda keeping her head down so he couldn’t get a very close look at her skimpily-done face.
“You ready for today?” he asked.
“Mmhmm.” She opened the door, trying to make it obvious that she didn’t want to have a conversation right now.
She glanced up. Ben was looking at her … chest? Well, at the writing on her shirt. “Wow. Cool shirt. Is it an original?” He sounded really enthused, like he’d just seen priceless Rembrandt or something.
“Yeah. It’s my dad’s. He got it at their concert.”
“Serious?” Ben touched her shirt and pulled it away from her a little bit, so he could read the writing. “This is a really rare
shirt, Katrina. It’s from when? 82?”
She didn’t know the year. Early eighties sometime. Forever ago. Her dad was just a goofy guy with feathered hair and preppy polo shirts. A guy who spent nearly every dollar he earned on records and concerts and backpacked halfway across America. How he landed her mom—a classical oboist—remained a mystery. Somehow opposites attract: look at Ben’s parents. But as different as they were from each other, Lena and Dan somehow fit perfectly. They were America’s dream couple. Like an American version of Charles and Diana, except that Dan and Lena loved each other. They had even made-out in public frequently. Kat had seen all the pictures. They were hot, even though Kat had laughed at the styles they had worn back then. But back then, they were IT. No couple was talked about more than the Wilders. For years after Dan’s death even.
“You know I collect concert T’s?” he asked.
No, she didn’t know that one fact about Ben. It was never printed on his website, or in any of the magazines. He told her how he watched for them on on-line auctions and occasionally even got them from industry insiders. But he said how it was always a struggle to find a good one. The most desirable ones were too worn—too disgusting to put on his body. Or smelled of weed or something. But he never knew until the shirts arrived, and by then he was out a couple hundred bucks.
“You know there is a guy at the flea market who sells vintage T’s. All kinds. Not just bands, but from TV shows and community events and stuff. They’re really cool. And not that expensive.” Not that money was an issue for Ben. But why pay a couple hundred bucks when you could pay fifty?
Turns out that Ben didn’t even know about the flea market held in Redondo Beach each weekend. “You mean where people sell their
old
stuff?” he asked with a tone of distaste.
“Well, yeah. There’s a lot of junk. But you can find some really awesome things too. All kinds of vintage clothes and décor and stuff.” She was going to add the word cheap, but decided against it. It looked like Ben was ready to reach for hand sanitizer just from thinking about used junk. “It’s kind of cool, ya know, to see what things people treasured at one time. It kind of gives you a glimpse into other people’s lives.” She was serious for a second, because she really did like wandering through those old, odd collections at the flea market. But then she had to joke. “And when you see some of that stuff, you have to wonder who would have ever owned it. And
why
.” Really, much of it was perplexing. The strangest stuff. Especially the stuff that was homemade. Who would spend their precious time making things that were so … tacky? And weird. Like Barbie dolls with yarn stitched skirts—skirts that opened to reveal a hidden box of Kleenex. Who would want Barbie with a huge hoop skirt sitting on their coffee table? Like a tissue box looks worse than that? And they weren’t even real Barbies … just those cheap knock-offs.
Ben smiled at her last statement. “Yeah, I’ll have to go sometime,” he said. “See if I can help you figure out why people are so weird.”
Did he just say that he would go
with
her sometime? Or was he just being polite?
“You excited about the filming today?” he asked her, changing subjects.
“Ah, sure,” she said. She didn’t know exactly how to say that, no, she was actually apprehensive about it. They really should practice together. But it
had
been his call. She didn’t want to offend him. But. It just felt so wrong to do it this way. “You think we’re ready to film? You don’t want to do a practice run first?”
“Nope.” He sounded confident. Sure of himself. Like always. “We both have it down. I’ve seen tapes of you and Ernie. It’ll go great.”
He wouldn’t practice with her, yet he’d watch the videos? Weirder. “Kay,” she said half-heartedly, “see ya in a few.”
She went into her dressing room, where she would spend the next hour and a half getting made over. Something occurred to her once she closed the door. She must stink. Not dancing-wise, but literally. B.O. Or bad breath. That had to be why Ben wouldn’t dance with her. Something was keeping him at bay.
Or wart
s
!
Had he noticed that teeny tiny one growing on her palm? She hadn’t had time to go get it frozen yet. Maybe he didn’t want to touch it. If he ended up wearing gloves for the filming today … she’d know.