The dance master pointed to the tallest girl in the room. “You go with them. And ask Zelda about selling cigarettes and cigars.”
She left with a startled yelp but no tears—only a wide grin. Again, Honoree didn’t understand. “Now what?”
“Zelda will make her a cigarette girl. And if she knows how to work her bottom, she’ll make twice as much money as any of us.”
“And spend ten times as many hours on her feet, too,” added Finger Waves.
The dance master snapped his fingers. “Eyes front.”
He went over a series of simple steps: a routine Honoree already knew. Step, shuffle, ball change. High kick. High kick. Shimmy. Next was a more complicated combination, including fancy arm movements and a series of pirouettes. Once he repeated the sequence, however, Honoree had it nailed.
So far, the audition was a breeze, but then the master started tap-dancing—fast, too. Honoree’s ankles were loose. Speed and rhythm had never been a problem. Honoree kept up with him at first. Until he lowered his torso to the floor, chest to the ceiling, and held himself up with his hands, but when he added the alternating scissor kicks, she was lost.
Honoree almost wept.
Breathless, she turned to Polka Dots. “These steps are impossible.”
Polka Dots landed hard on her bottom and looked as confused as Honoree felt.
Honoree scanned the faces of the other girls in their row, but they were all smiles and giggles. Everything appeared jake to everyone but her and Polka Dots.
So be it. To earn a spot in the chorus, she’d have to push her nerves aside. And if the dance master wasn’t slowing down, neither was she.
Next, he added another sequence to the routine. It began with leg kicks, and then a knee lift, a cartwheel, and a back walkover into a split. “First three girls.” He tapped his cane on the floor. “Let’s take it from the top.”
Polka Dots pulled Honoree into the second row. “Let them show us the rough spots.”
The first row made several mistakes. Then it was the second row’s turn.
Twirling into the last spin, Honoree swallowed a squeal of joy. She hadn’t missed a step. Indeed, the second row even had the dance master raising an impressed brow.
He brushed the group aside with a wave of his hand. Honoree wiped her brow and grinned at Polka Dots.
“Too soon to relax,” she warned. “We’ll be doing this for another hour before he makes up his mind.”
Polka Dots had spoken half a truth.
Two hours later, the dance master had shown them a dozen new routines.
“Take it from the top, ladies.”
His gaze moved back and forth, up and down, scrutinizing each row, each pair of feet, each shoulder shake and shimmy.
Sweat ran down Honoree’s back and soaked her throat. Her palms were slick, her hair matted. If the audition didn’t end soon, she’d surely topple over in a dead faint.
Then the dance master clapped his hands. Once. Twice. The room silenced.
He hooked the cane onto the edge of the piano and folded his arms, his black eyes scanning the room. Then his jaw clicked.
Honoree held her breath.
“Jonah”—the piano player had a name—“play a song fromShuffle Along,” the dance master said. “Scales, ladies.”
Honoree’s jaw dropped.
He must’ve been watching her. “Yes, girlie. You’ve got to sing, too.” He retrieved his cane and tapped out the rhythm. The song was “Love Will Find a Way.”
Honoree knew the words and the melody. Every entertainer on the Stroll knew the tunes fromShuffle Along.
