reason thought it was the most hilarious thing ever. They rounded up all the kids who lived on our street and had them hide outside our living room window. Then, after I’d been dancing alone for a few minutes, Yvonne threw open the curtains, and they all began pointing and laughing at me. For months afterwards those kids would call me names and say my dancing was terrible whenever they saw me on the street. I wasn’t terrible at all, but Yvonne and Claudia had put them up to it. Nothing but a pair of bullies. After that I stopped dancing in the living room, only in secret in my bedroom. I lost my desire for an audience completely. By the time I became a teenager and started taking lessons from Iggy, I still had this weird aversion to dancing in front of lots of people. I just wanted to be behind the scenes. That’s where I’m happiest.”
Damon was frowning as he listened to me speak. “Those sisters were probably jealous of your talent, but I understand how weird little things like that can give you a complex.”
I nodded. “It’s like when people have a fear of toothbrushes or toilet paper. Everyone thinks it’s silly, but it usually stems back to some random traumatic experience from childhood. Now you know mine.”
“I still feel robbed I’ll never get to see you on stage. You were made to perform, Rose. Perhaps one day your desire for a cheering audience will return,” Damon said kindly.
“You see me dance every day,” I replied before motioning with my hands. “All you need to do is imagine a stage beneath my feet.”
He didn’t say anything, only stared at me over his cup as he took another sip of tea. A small moment of quiet elapsed before he let out an exhausted sigh. “Those photographers outside are pissing me off. I can put up with it for a day or two, but if they plan on being out there every day, I might have to move.”
“Then they’ll just find out where you’re living the same way they discovered you were staying here. You know what I think? I think you should embrace it. Go out there, smile for the cameras, let them take a few shots, and then they’ll leave you alone. It’s the mystery that has them so eager to find out more, you know.”
“Smile for the cameras?” he asked. “I can’t see that going over well. I’ll end up looking like a sociopath when it doesn’t meet my eyes.”
His dry tone made me laugh. “Then you just need to practice. Work it into your daily routine. Every morning after you’ve brushed your teeth, spend a couple minutes practicing your smiles in the mirror.”
“I’m not doing that,” he scoffed.
“All celebrities do it! How do you think they perfect those sassy poses they do in their designer dresses when they’re walking the red carpet?”
“If I ever walk the red carpet again, I can guarantee you I won’t be wearing a designer dress,” he said, and I chuckled.
“Damon, be serious for a second. Practice takes away a good portion of your nerves. It’s the powerlessness, the feeling that you don’t know what you’re doing that makes you anxious. Very few people have natural confidence. In most cases it comes from experience. Why do you think we rehearse and rehearse and rehearse for the show? It’s so that once you go out there on opening night you’ll be confident and prepared to dazzle the audience, rather than a nervous wreck hiding in the corner.”
Damon wasn’t looking at my face now; instead, his gaze was trained on my mouth as I spoke. I cleared my throat to garner his attention, feeling oddly aroused by how he lost concentration like that. His dark eyes met mine.
“Anyway, the most urgent issue facing us right now is getting you through this interview,” I said as his focus returned.
He rubbed at his stubble. “Playing a part in front of a camera I can do. It’s being myself that’s the problem.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. This is why you need to forget about the audience and pretend you’re playing a part. Pretend you’re acting as an actor being filmed for TV.”
“That could work,” he said, his attention drifting to the clock on the wall. “It’s not like I have another choice.”