Disclaimer: I don't own South of Nowhere nor any of it's characters. I also do not own the story, this story was originally written by Kim Pritekel.
A/N: This is an AU Spashley story. I got the idea to do this when I read croaker001's story entitled, Lessons, which is also originally written by Kim Pritekel. I absolutely loved croaker001's version of it and Kim Pritekel's original version of it. I ended looking Kim Pritekel up on the internet and found a website where she has more of her stories posted, and I read this one and I loved it and though it would make a good Spashley story. Again though, I make no claims as to own this story or South of Nowhere and it's characters.
Chapter One
Present
I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, the program rolled in my sweaty hand. Looking around me, I see my fellow theatre-goers, and smile. I always felt a kinship to them, even though I don't know a single person.
My heart skips a beat as the house lights flicker, alerting patrons to take their seats. The show is about to begin. My smile is unstoppable as I take a deep breath, my free hand gripping the padded arm of my chair.
"Here we go."
Thirteen years ago
It's not easy having a mother who is creative and artsy, and a human humming bird- never sitting still for more than three minutes at one time. When I was growing up in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado, all I wanted to do was stay at home, hide in my room and read or just ignore the world at large. But noooooo. That would have been entirely too easy, and too much to ask from Christine Davies.
"Ashley!"
Rolling my eyes, I called back, "I'm reading!"
"Help me, won't you?" my mother called back, completely ignoring me.
Muttering most unflattering phrases for a seventeen year old girl, I threw my novel aside and stormed out of my bedroom. Yes, you could say I was your typical pain in the ass, self-centred, absolutely no patience kinda gal. In other words, a typical teen.
Plowing down the stairs as loud as humanly possible, I made it to the living room. My mother was flipping through one of her million and one catalogues. She glanced over her shoulder at me.
Crap. She was dressed for rehearsal- body-hugging leotard with leg warmers. I smirked, always and forever thinking of Jennifer Beals' Alex in 'Flashdance'.
"Don't say it," my mother warned, knowing me all too well.
I snorted, walked up to her. "What can I do for you, Highness?" I asked.
Ignoring my smart ass remark per usual, my mother showed me a page in the catalogue, tapping a picture with a long, manicured fingernail. Knowing I'd lose any way I went, I gave in and looked over her shoulder at the picture she was showing me.
"I was thinking about this for the death scene. What do you think?" she caught my eye, my eyes the exact same colour of brown as hers. Only she and I in the entire family. Dad had blue eyes, and my older brother got stuck with hazel. Both my grandparents had blue eyes, too. Mom and I used to joke about both coming from under the same rock.
My grandmother always said that I was a brunette version of my mother, with her fair Russian features. Oh yes, my mother comes from a long line of Russian dancers. She's a first generation American.
"Will your lead be able to move in that? It's pretty demanding, isn't it?" I asked, taking in the tight fit of the skirt, and the way the shirt fit across the model's bust.
My mother contemplated my words for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. When I realized I was doing the exact same thing, I let my lip go with a little raspberry.
"Hmm. Maybe you're right." With a heavy sigh, she tossed the catalogue to the couch. "Back to the drawing board." My mother walked gracefully across the room to her massive duffel bag. Grabbing the long shoulder strap, she heaved it in place, then looked at me. "You're still going to help out, right?"
"I don't know," I hedged, totally not wanting to.
"You promised, Ash," she reminded me, eyes growing that vibrant colour that they did when she was starting to get angry. I sighed, nodding as I rolled my eyes.
"Fine, yes. I'll help."
My mother smiled, big and bright. She really was a beautiful woman. "Thanks, honey. I'll need you to come with me to rehearsal Wednesday when we start blocking the show."
Nodding, I ran back up the stairs to my sanctuary.
Dance should have been in my blood, as both my parents were dancers. That's how they met- on the New York stage. My mother had been nineteen, my father, Raife, twenty-three. Their futures on the stage had looked bright and promising until one rainy night a drunk driver had hit them he. It had been a sheer miracle that my six year old brother, and four month old me had been with our grandparents. The back end of the car had been ripped away by the much larger truck of the drunk. My father had lost the use of his legs that night, and my mother had lost her dance partner.
From that night on, my mother never did another performance, deciding instead to go into teaching and choreography. My father had gone into the business end of things, and when my parents opened their own dance company four years ago, they'd found a brand new partnership in dance.
My older brother, Brian, had inherited the family vocation. He was off dancing in a Canadian company somewhere in the north. He'd won the role of the Swan in Swan Lake this year, and my mother couldn't be more proud, since that had been the show where she had met my father.
Then there was me. I was good at making a mess, and that was about it. You have no idea the kinds of pressure I'm under when my entire family is so incredibly gifted, and I have yet to find any sort of niche, creatively or academically. Hell, despite my five foot eight height, I wasn't even good at sports! That would require a little thing called balance, dexterity and sure footedness. Yeah, no. Not so much.
With a heavy sigh, I threw myself onto my bed, lying on my stomach as I grabbed my novel once more.
Cursing under my breath, I tried the next silver key. What the hell was my mother thinking just telling me "it's the silver key, honey," and sending me on my way? The ring was filled with silver keys!
Trying key number six, I growled in victory. The lock clicking in satisfying defeat, I pushed the door open, flicking the lights on throughout the offices as I went.
Mom had to take dad to get fitted for new legs today, so she had asked me to open up the building for her, as a few of her students liked to come early, before rehearsal, to warm up. Fine.
Snagging a piece of hard candy from the ever present dish on dad's desk. That was one thing he said he didn't mind about not being able to dance anymore- no more having to watch his diet, and it showed in the little pouch he had developed over the years.
I opened one set of the three double door sets that led to the auditorium, kicking wooden stops beneath the door cracks to keep them open. I only flicked on the dim emergency lights in the house, trotting down the slanted aisle toward the stage. With a mighty heave, I jumped onto its apron. It helped to have some sort of advantage to having ridiculously long legs since they were, after all, useless otherwise.
Making my way across the stage, booted heels hollow on the wood, I trailed my fingers through the heavy drapery as I headed into the wings, toward the massive lighting box against the wall. I always felt like I was pulling the switch of an electric chair as I pulled on the stage lights, a loud clack marking the illumination of another set. Soon enough the stage would feel like the heating lamps keeping your whopper warm, and all the performers would feel like French fries waiting to be salted.
"Suckers," I muttered with a smirk.
My breath caught in surprise as suddenly a figure came into view as she got closer to the stage lights. I didn't recognize her, but knew she was a dancer, her huge tote bag hoisted over one shoulder. Her long, blonde hair brushed into her eyes. She said nothing as she walked up the side stairs to the stage, ignoring me as she disappeared stage left.
I hated egotistical dancers, and there were so many. Rolling my eyes, I hopped off the stage, trotting back up toward the lobby beyond the auditorium. I had brought my backpack with me, planning to work on some homework before rehearsals started, and my mother had me running every which way, grabbing extra scripts cause some dumbass had forgotten theirs, or running for this prop or that prop, or even working the lights or sound equipment. Yep, I'd done it all, and could do it in my sleep.
Making my way back down the main aisle, I found myself a seat about halfway back. Clipping the portable book light to the arm of the seat, I flicked it on, then opened my calculus book, tapping my pencil against the smelly text page as my eyes scanned the book, trying to figure out where I'd left off. Have you ever noticed that every single text book smells the same? Kind of like the paper report cards are printed on- smells like carrots.
Running a hand through my hair, I found my place, flipping my notebook over to start working on problem number 14b. My attention was brought up for a moment as music began to play. From this far back in the house it wasn't loud, but I knew it instantly. You couldn't live in a house full of dancers all your life and not know every single musical or piece of classical music created.
'Once Upon A Dream' from the musical Jekyll & Hyde began. Robert Cuccioli's strong baritone began, though it was soft and wistful. As I glanced back to my homework, I noticed the blonde making her way onto the stage, her hair seemingly to glow under the intense lights.
Pencil beginning to tap in time with the slow, yet powerful song, I glanced up. The girl was dressed in a pair of trunks and sports bra, the kind that reach to mid-stomach. Looking at the girl, I knew she couldn't be in mom's ballet classes. Her body was all wrong for that; she looked to be fairly short, and her body was very muscular and compact- powerful. She didn't have the long, lithe bodies of mom's ballet girls.
Leaning forward in my seat, I watched her. She moved with an easy grace, belying everything I just said. Her flexibility was incredible, as was her balance. Pirouette after pirouette she did across the stage, perfect timing and form. From that she launched into a perfect jump, legs spread wide, landing with cat-like grace and silence.
I was captivated as the song moved to 'Dangerous Game', Linda Eder's sultry voice speaking of desires she dare not seek, but could not stay away from. Soon Robert Cuccioli's voice joined in.
The blonde's movements matched the sexy song perfectly, so aware of her body, and where it was on that stage. The girl's head thrown back, her hands ran down her own body before she threw her leg into the air, whipping around, then landing on her knees, upper body thrown back, hands running through her hair seductively.
I was transfixed, eyes glued to her every movement, every thrust, every counter thrust. She was incredible.
This song morphed into 'Confrontation', which in my opinion is one of the most powerful songs ever written for the stage. The intense words and music to back it up were caught in the girl's every move. She leaped through the air, seeming to have springs built into those incredible legs, landing on the bare tips of her toes, only to spin with dizzying speed and agility, never seeming to tire. Hell, I was exhausted just watching her!
As the song hit its climax, she was a blur of nonstop movement, her body flexing and unflexing, muscles bursting with use and the strength it took to launch her into the air over and over again. She had the jumping ability of many of the best male dancers.
I couldn't blink, couldn't breathe. Who was she? Why wasn't she gracing a stage in New York somewhere?
The song came to an end, and the girl stopped, hands on her lower back as she walked it off, flexing her legs now and then, almost like a pink flamingo, pointing her toes before stepping and switching to the other leg. She stopped, slowly bending her back until she was making a bridge with her hands and feet on the floor, then walked over backward, adjusting her shoulders once she was on her feet again.
"Jesus," I muttered, feeling like a total loser as I stared down at my math homework.
It turned out that little Miss Twinkle Toes was part of the show, though why I hadn't noticed her before was beyond me. She sat with the rest of the cast on the stage, her legs pulled up against her chest as she listened and watched as mom explained a scene and how she wanted it done.
Homework stowed away, as it was entirely too much of a hassle to get into something, then being interrupted every couple minutes to do mom's bidding. So, I sat in one of the seats, second row back, my booted feet resting on the chair in front of me. I watched, arms reclined on the backs of the chairs on either side of me.
I couldn't keep the pride out of my eyes as I watched mom, centre stage, demonstrating how she wanted the sequence in act two to be done. Her body was lithe, muscular yet still extremely graceful. Though she was well into her forties, she looked not a day older than twenty-five. Wonder if that's in the genes.
The two dancers that were dancing the roles mom just went over, stood, and took their place. As they started to dance, my eyes drifted back to the blonde, wondering what she had to say during all this. She now sat Indian style, and was leaning over her lap, looking at something on the floor in front of her. When she turned a page, I realized she was probably looking over the script.
I watched as the blonde suddenly stood, disappearing into the wings for a moment before returning, a bottle of water in her hand. She had put a pair of mesh shorts on over the trunks, but her beautiful legs were still very visible, and I couldn't keep my eyes off them. I loved the way they moved and flexed, the quads coming to life with every step-
"Ashley!"
"Huh?" Tearing my eyes away, I noticed my mother standing at the edge of the apron, hand on her hip.
"I've called your name three times."
"Sorry." I flushed deeply as the cast chuckled at me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the deep hollows of the blonde's eyes as she too looked at me, the intense overhead lights darkening her features.
"The music?" my mother said, pointing toward the sound booth at the back of the auditorium. It hadn't even occurred to me that it was silent. Jumping from my seat, I ran into the darkness of the house, pushing through the door to the tiny sound booth.
Changing the music out, I decided to stay in the booth and be embarrassed all by myself.
I could also watch the blonde unfettered.
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