Backstage, and the dressing rooms already smelled like sweat and sweet perfumes to mute incipient funk. Cypress just about shoved Sassafrass into Malik’s arms trying to get to a table with a mirror; Sassafrass was feeling in the way, and decided to sit in a corner until the dancers were ready to get into costumes. Cypress sat down and proceeded to pile all different containers of stage makeup in front of her; she had to paint her face for the dress rehearsal, to see how a new design would look. When she finally finished, there wasn’t a flesh-colored speck from her shoulders to her hairline. Cypress was the blue of prize Navajo turquoise, with yellow spirals racing down her cheeks; she was the Milky Way at dawn. And Malik was painted scarlet with comets flaring across his chest. Lallah and Melissa were passionflower orange with flame tips around their eyes; Eddie and Guy were brazen sunlight yellow. In tights and knitted leotards, everyone went through warm-ups on the floor with Ariel, who insisted on wearing his sequined and satin cape for good luck with the spirits. Stretches and lifts were mostly what Ariel had them doing, and Cypress managed to ease over to Malik in the back line, so she could discuss some business. In the middle of the high kick series, Cypress stage-whispered, “Malik, you got any corners on some blow?” Malik smiled, but braced up real quick, because he had missed a kick trying to listen to Cypress. Malik was one of those thin dancing men, but without knobby bones sticking out of every crook of his body. Malik was lithe like nobody since the Step Brothers, and he was in love with Cypress . . . as much as any dancer loves somebody besides dance herself. Malik was puzzled by Cypress’ inquiry; she didn’t ever buy any dope at all, she was just around when somebody had some . . . or maybe she wasn’t. Cypress didn’t yearn for any snow, and Malik was very cool about his business off the dance floor. “I don’t now, Cypress; maybe. I’ll let ya know.” Meanwhile, Ariel had focused on the pair whispering in the rear, and shouted clear across the room, like an unexpected blow-out.

“Malik. Cypress. Get those legs up. And keep your hips front!” Cypress stopped thinking about anything besides her body movement until after the performance.

BLACK OUT