Act 2 (Jack & Louisa) by Andrew Keenan-bolger, Kate Wetherhead Page A

those jocks with my dance steps. Even
I
began to worry that they might never figure it out, but you just swooped right on in there and set them straight,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I could tell I was watching someone who was used to thinking on his feet, and I have to say, it was pretty fun to see.”
    I had a feeling this was what Belinda wanted to talk about. Admittedly, I’d been on a bit of a high since successfully convincing the boys to stay and finish the dance call.
    “So I just wanted to have a chance to tell you that in person,” Belinda said. “You know? Face-to-face.”
    “Sure thing.” I nodded. “Hey, I was happy to help.”
    Belinda sat there for a second just looking at me, which made me begin to feel a little tense.
    “So, Jack,” she said, breaking the silence. “Have you ever heard of a show called
Top Heavy
?”
    “Um, I don’t think so,” I replied. It wasn’t often that a musical was mentioned that I hadn’t at least
heard
of.
    “I’m not surprised. Neither has anyone,” Belinda said dryly. “But would you mind if I told you a little story?” she asked, folding her hands on the desk.
    “Sure.” I nodded.
    “Well,” she began, “
Top Heavy
was the show in 1994 that everyone wanted to be a part of. It was a new musical directed by Gladys Franklin with a cast of
thirty
dancers, can you believe it?”
    “Wow, that hardly ever happens on Broadway,” I replied. “Not since—”
    “
A Chorus Line
. Exactly,” she said, cutting me off. “So you can imagine everyone in New York was breaking their backs to get an appointment.
Literally.
”
    As she spoke, she began tapping her fingernails against the desk like a metronome.
    “After three months of callbacks, they finally chose their cast and shipped everyone up to Boston for the out-of-town tryout. Each dancer was at the top of their game, and the producers began throwing money at it like high rollers at a casino. Everyone kept saying it was a dream job. And perhaps it was”—she leaned back in her chair—“until rehearsals began.”
    I felt a chill rush up my back. Like many actors, I had a guilty fascination with Broadway flops. I leaned in closer.
    “Now Gladys Franklin was one of those
downtown
directors. She encouraged everyone to find their own style, and when it came time to stage numbers, she tried to showcase every dancer’s specialties, even allowing some of them to choreograph entire phrases. A dream job indeed, right?”
    At this point Belinda reached into her purse and pulled out a shiny black tube of lipstick.
    “Week three, she began to assemble the show.” Belinda began dabbing lipstick on her bottom lip between sentences. “Gladys began to realize that because everybody had contributed choreography, the whole thing looked disjointed. When she tried to make cuts, people began freaking out.
Why was my number scrapped while hers was four minutes long?
Dancers started sabotaging one another’s numbers. The dressing rooms turned into war zones, and by opening night all they had to show for themselves was a big, old, hot mess,” Belinda said, smacking her lips together. “The
Globe
came and reviewed it, called it out for the disaster it was, and we closed by the end of the week, scrapping the entire Broadway run.”
    “
We?
” I said, sitting up in my chair. “You were in that cast?”
    “Oh yeah,” Belinda said, raising an eyebrow. “I was one of the leads. I was told I would finally be catapulted out of the chorus and into the spotlight, where I belonged, maybe even land a Tony nomination.”
    “Whoa,” I whispered under my breath, genuinely stunned.
    “So the reason I’m telling you this, Jack,” Belinda said, replacing the cap of her lipstick, “is I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you don’t have a clear leader—someone that everyone respects and looks to for guidance.”
    Belinda leaned forward in her chair, bringing her face close to mine.
    “It becomes