asked.
“Yes,” Will said.
“No,” Daisy said.
“Maybe,” Will said.
Erik made a careful note. “No splinters, no sharp edges, no sticky surfaces.”
He threw all his ideas and concepts into the stockpot and stirred in the memory of the forest scene his father once built in his bedroom. The result was a cross between construction scaffolding and a psychedelic playground. Three levels of space for the dancers to move in, on, under and through. Steps, ropes and cargo nets bridged the gaps between.
He brought the final sketches next door and sat at the kitchen table with a beer while Will went through them.
“I should be able to make a model this week,” Erik said.
Will hummed absently, his eyebrows pulled low, his fingers running along his hairline. Erik smiled as he caught sight of Will’s new tattoo: a small, black fish on the inside of his forearm, leaping ahead of a cresting wave.
“Why?” Erik said, when he first saw it a few weeks ago.
“Because I hate your guts,” Will said, which was the extent of the conversation.
Erik watched now as Will unconsciously folded his fingers into a fist and relaxed them, over and over, making the fish ripple. He set aside the last sketch, exhaled heavily and looked at Erik.
“What do you think?” Erik said.
“I think I’m in love with you again.”
“I know, but what do you think of the set?”
Will slid the drawings across the table. “If you build it, I will come.”
Daisy was deep in a creative zone as well. The first time Erik saw her dance “Hey, Joe” was in the empty nursery at Barbegazi. It brought him to his knees, staring open-mouthed and stunned at the raw emotion. One minute her body was a mirror of Hendrix’s signature guitar sound, the next it was the undercurrent of percussion. Barefoot, strong and glorious, dancing from her unapologetic guts, she squeezed the music tight in her limbs and wrung a story out of it.
“Has Will seen this?” he asked when it was over and he felt like a truck had hit him.
She shook her head, sucking wind. Hands braced on her knees, back and chest heaving and sweat dripping onto the hardwood floor.
“You have to show him,” he said.
“It needs a little more work.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t need anything except Will’s eyes.”
The three of them went over to the quiet Imperial Theater. Daisy wanted to try the solo on the stage, to see if it translated from a small space to a larger one. Erik sat with Will in the back row to watch. At the end of the second verse, Will dropped his head in his hands, fingers clenched tight in his hair and shoulders quivering.
“Fuck. Me.”
“I know,” Erik said.
“Jesus Christ, Fish.”
“I know. It’s so many things. It’s her after losing Kees. Or it’s me after she slept with David. Or her father trying to get his son back.”
Will’s dropped his hands and his face flicked to Erik with a look that was almost angry. “The fuck are you talking about?” he said, eyebrows pulled in a single straight line. “It’s James.”
Erik felt his face widen as his brain scrambled, rewound and started over again with fresh perspective. He looked at the stage, looked back at Will. “Oh my God.”
“You see it?”
“I see it.”
“Where was he going with that gun in his hand?”
Erik folded his arms on the seat back in front of him and set his chin down. “Unbelievable it wasn’t the first thing I thought of.”
Will hitched forward as well. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m kind of glad it wasn’t.”
Erik glanced at him. “You mean the shooting’s been replaced by better tragedy?”
Will smiled and shrugged. “Maybe that’s life. Trading in one tragedy for a better tragedy.”
Erik looked back to the stage where his wife was dancing and had to agree.
Being part of Experience helped heal Erik’s soul like nothing else. When the company took to the set in a rough, technical run-through, a pure, clean delight swept through him. The first unadulterated happiness he’d known since they lost Kees.
The rock ballet was a smash, selling out its three-week run. It earned Daisy and Will a prize for choreography at the Canadian Ballet Festival. The gala performance was staged at Fredericton Playhouse. From the lighting booth, through a raucous, standing ovation, Erik watched his wife and best friend collect their award.
He reached and pressed his palm flat to the glass. From the stage, Daisy touched her fingertips to her mouth and turned her palm back out to