Casting About #2
One gusty February morning, while balancing rehearsals for the New York Baroque Dance Company and Beverly's Body Voice Theater Company, I saw a notice that the Jose Limon Dance Company was holding auditions the following Thursday afternoon. Limon himself had recently died, but his work lived on with his appointed heirs. Their company manager had booked them an extended US tour for the following year and they needed to replace an injured male dancer.
What a great opportunity, I thought. Perfect for me, and one I felt definitely ready for. My technical training in Boston, and with Gregg especially, fit perfectly with Limon's technique, based as it was in a constant flow of drop and rebound, fall and recovery, wind-up, spiral and fling. And my experience learning and performing a variety of repertory was exactly the experience level they said they were looking for.
I walked with confidence into that audition, well warmed up and excited. The excitement faded only a bit when I found myself surrounded by forty other men with the same eager look in their eyes. The bustle of our arrival all at the same time filled the studio with nervous laughter, surprised greetings, and good-natured complaints about the weather.
Boots were abandoned by the door and outer layers piled in corners. Dance bags began to disgorge their array of tattered warm-up garb. What emerged was a ragged herd of lean-muscled mustangs--variously-trained dancers who roamed mostly alone, threading through the canyons of the City looking for any dance gig that might pay. Endlessly hopeful and often heartbroken, their lives intersected with only a hint of edginess at round-ups like this. As I stripped out of my street clothes, not bothering to hide my momentary nakedness, tugged a dry dance belt up around my hips, pulled on the only pair of tights I owned that didn't have holes and the bulky ankle warmers that were all the rage those years, covered the dingy leotard with a more colorful baggy sweatshirt, and synched the waistband that held it all together, I felt proud to be part of that tough and scruffy band.
"Gather 'round, please, gentlemen." A striking woman with curly dark hair called out with a clear, direct voice. "I am Carla Maxwell, Artistic Director of the Company. Thank you for coming. It is good to see this turnout. Please distribute yourself evenly in the space."
With a bit of shuffling, we spread out behind the company members standing in front. Arms were spread to check our nearness to neighbors on either side.
When the room quieted again, she continued. "We'll begin with some warm-ups and short technical phrases in the style pioneered by Jose Limon. We'll try to be as efficient as possible, and get most of you out of here within the hour."
A couple of the company members led us through our paces. After only fifteen minutes, Carla thanked us all, and half the group was sent home. After another fifteen minutes half of the remaining group was cut. Each cut was accompanied by a few minutes of grumbling chaos as those men who'd been cut donned their layers to head back out onto the cold streets.
The ten of us who remained were taught some longer phrases, one in place, one across the floor, and one with a complex floor pattern. After we performed each of them, Carla and a couple of the long time company members huddled in a corner to compare notes on what they had seen--on who they were still interested in. While most of the guys took these opportunities to rest or sip coffee, I kept moving to keep warm. In those cold winters in Boston, I had learned not to let myself cool down if I expected to dance again soon. And I noticed another dancer doing the same as I. He was about my height and build, probably a few years younger, with intense concentration and an animal magnetism when he danced. He'd introduced himself as Doug Varone.
After each huddle, more dancers were cut. By the end of the first hour, only Doug and I remained. Carla called the two of us forward and asked each of us to describe a bit more about our training and experience. I learned that Doug was fresh out of an MFA program in dance, where he had learned and performed an array of styles including one of Limon's dances, I think. I rattled off the list of well-known choreographers whose work I had learned and performed--Bill Evans, Richard Bull, Pilobolus, Phoebe Neville, Art Bauman, Rudy Perez, Doris Humphrey, Kathy Posin, Anna Sokolow, and Beverly Brown.
Then, so politely it surprised me, Carla asked us if we could possibly stay a while and learn some of the repertory. She said they really liked the way each of us had handled the technical stuff, and they wanted to see what we might be able to bring to the dramatic expression so inherent in Limon's dances.
Was she kidding? Of course I would stay. This was what I was living for. There was no way I would bow out now, even if I'd had another appointment or rehearsal.
As Doug and I started learning various parts of the dances, each part taught by a different member of the company, it became apparent from the raised eyebrows and surprised looks darting around the room that we were astonishingly well paired. We attacked each phrase with the same dynamic power. We covered the same wide space with each stride or leap. We hovered for the same split second at the crest of each wave to let the weight suspend. We dove to the floor with an equal fusion of thrust and abandon. Our reach and flow looked and felt as if we were twins who had been dancing together for years.
Dancing next to Doug was exhilarating for me and, I guessed, just as exciting for him. At one point, as we finished a really tough passage in unison and with matching exhilaration in our giddy grins, we broke into laughter and hugged. The air in the room grew electric. The attention on us intensified as a second hour passed and we kept learning and dancing new material. The huddles grew frenetic.
"Just one more section of one more dance?"
"Sure. Absolutely."
Finally, Carla called a halt. "We don't have the studio past 4:00. We have to stop. Please get dressed and we'll meet out in the hall."
When Doug and I stood together with the group, all of us now bundled up to head out into the cold, the company members looked sad and strangely awkward.
"We loved watching you dance together." A tall lanky man mumbled through his scarf as the other dancers nodded silently.
"We really want to bring both of you into the Company right now." The wispy older woman was clearly attempting to bring some lightness into their sullen group. They all nodded again vigorously this time.
But with a finality that must have been hard for her, Carla addressed the two of us, "Thank you both for all the time you have given us. I know you must have had other places to be this afternoon. It has been a real joy to work with you and an inspiration to see you two move in unison with such clarity and power. But for this season, we only have a budget for one more dancer. We can't take you both." And then she turned her sad eyes directly to me. "Thank you, again, Roger, but we have decided to take Doug."
Walking out into the snow, alone, I just couldn't be dejected. My body, still in the rush of endorphins from the afternoon of blissful, exhausting connection, would not let me feel the crush of defeat.
When I shared the whole event with Warren that evening, he saw the truth immediately. "You say you are devastated, but really, you don't look it. All you're describing is how exciting it was, how much you grooved on dancing with this guy. Looks like you are more in the amazement and joy. And by the way, it looks pretty sexy on you." He grinned.
"OK, you're right. Of course I'm sad at not getting asked into the company for the tour. But even more, I am just astounded by the whole experience. They wanted me. They really, really wanted me. They told me that." To camouflage my joyful tears, I shifted to lean back in his arms. "So I know I am good enough to get gigs like this. I have to believe there will be another opportunity, soon. Perhaps an even better one, one with more creative potential for me."
Warren's voice hummed into the back of my shoulder. "The whole thing could have a silver lining, you know. Maybe now you'll start re-focusing your energy on creating your own work. It's time, don't you think?"
My heart knew he was right, but my gut was not so sure. The New York dance world seemed an exposed and unwelcoming tundra for giving birth to vulnerable creative offspring.
