She pulled the Dorothy wig over her hair, pushing her stray locks up under it, as she snapped, “Don’t be silly, Snow. That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, not the way he tells it.”
“He can tell it any way he likes. I am not interested in a reproductive contract with anybody. I’m just beginning to get lead roles, why would I frangle it up?”
He blinked at her like a big cat. “Well, Ellin, if you do decide to … frangle … keep me in mind.”
And he moved lazily away, glancing at her over his shoulder. Snow danced the role of the Wizard—not at all the kind of Wizard who had been in Ellin’s book, but then she wasn’t exactly the kind of Dorothy who had been in the book, either—and the two of them had a long, sultry pas de deux in Act II. Snow was not a contractee. Snow had been hired from outside, and the word was he had a sole-use reproductive contract with two licensed nordic type women in the Wisconsin Urbop. So why was he here flirting with her? Why did men get themselves into sole-use reproductive contracts if they didn’t intend to honor the terms? That’s all Ellin needed, getting dragged into some contract violation case.
She put him out of mind as she put the finishing touches on her wig, tied her shoes, and padded down the stairs. There was a rehearsal studio behind the stage where they could warm up. Below her, she could see Snow arguing with Beise Tonkoff, the choreographer. Probably about that really ugly sequence in the last act, where Dorothy had to choose between staying with the wizard or going home. Both she and Snow hated it. It was ugly! Beise swore it was the same as written originally for the ballet, back right around the end of the twentieth century or start of the twenty-first, though back then it was called Homage to Dorothy, based on the book Ellin had been given.
Snow looked up, caught her eye, and grimaced. Her inclination was to stay away from Snow and never to confront anyone, but in this case …
Beise was saying, “But I can’t simply change something that’s authentically in period … “
“It isn’t,” Ellin said. “There’s nothing authentic about the ballet. In the first place, in the book and the two-dee, the wizard is a fat old man and Dorothy is a girl, a child. They never dance together at all. In an authentic version, Dorothy would dance with the metalman, the strawman, the beastman, and possibly one of the witches, but not with the wizard. So for heaven’s sake, look at it, and let us fix it!”
He sighed, much put upon. “What in particular?”
“The whole sequence! Look at it. The good witch has just told Dorothy about the red slippers, and Dorothy comes forward, sur les pointes, arms widely back, raising the working foot a little higher each time, looking down at the slipper. She’s amazed. She does a grande battement, ending with an attitude an avant, to get the closest possible look at the slipper. That’s fine, but all this time the Wizard just stands there like a lump, waiting for the pirouettes, and then he walks around her like a robot, clunk, clunk, clunk. He’s not the metal man, for heaven’s sake! Both characters look robotic, and there’s no motivation for what he’s doing! He ought to follow her, then as she pirouettes, he should reach out to her. Maybe a slow lunge and glissade. Something! If he wants Dorothy to stay, his body ought to say so.”
Snow raised his eyebrows at her and grinned, leaning toward her yearningly.
She ignored his intent and said, “Yes, maybe like that. Then when we get to the lifts, it’s up down, up down, like someone doing exercises, and Dorothy’s not even paying attention! The whole sequence makes him look like a robot with ugly legs.”
Snow scowled at that, and she quickly turned away. That ought to do it. Snow was very vain about his legs. He wouldn’t let go of Beise from now until the end of time. As she stepped away, she caught the director’s amused eyes on her. He’d heard her.