Red(34)
In a moment of nostalgia, Ginger had insisted that Felicity dance to the same song she had used for her own tap routine in the pageant twenty-five years ago. Seventeen-year-old Ginger had tapped to a big-band classic called “Red Is the Color of My Heart,” sung by jazz legend Ella-Mae Finch. Everyone knew the song, which often played in department stores and dentists’ offices, but Felicity didn’t know anyone besides her mother who actually liked it. It was maudlin and saccharine, exactly the opposite of Felicity’s personality. She had put up a fight, but Ginger was persistent and had talked of almost nothing else for ten days straight. Finally, Felicity had chosen surrender over losing her mind.
At Ginger’s urging, she had learned the routine over winter break, long before Miss Scarlet applications were due. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she still knew the choreography, but it was hard to practice when Ella-Mae’s crooning made her wish she were deaf. The last time she’d given the routine more than a cursory run-through was weeks ago, and she knew her mom wasn’t going to be happy when she discovered how much Felicity had been slacking.
Felicity dressed in a tank top and yoga pants and stumbled downstairs. Before she’d even finished her waffle, Ginger whisked her plate away and announced, “Time to get started! Go on down to the basement. I’m going to make sure the boys are okay helping Victor in the yard, and then I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Felicity shivered as she descended into the clammy air of the basement. The room smelled vaguely of cat litter, though they hadn’t had a cat since she was in seventh grade. The sunlit living room would have made a cheerier rehearsal space, but she couldn’t very well tap on the carpeting. Soon Ginger appeared with a sunny smile on her face. She cued up Felicity’s music on her iPod, which she connected to the speakers. “You ready, baby?” she asked.
“As ready as I’m going to be.” Felicity struck her first pose.
The opening trumpet riff began, and she started dancing, trying to block out Ella-Mae’s voice and concentrate on the steps. Ginger, on the other hand, swayed to the music with a blissful expression on her face and hummed along:
Red is the color of my kissable lips,
and red is the color of my heart.
Red is the color of the pain I endure
whenever life keeps us apart.
Red is the color of my passion for you,
it’s been this way right from the start.
Red is the color of my sizzlin’-hot love,
and red is the color of my heart.
Felicity’s muscle memory kicked in, and at first the routine went surprisingly well. But when she reached the difficult series of Maxie Ford turns near the middle of the second verse, she stumbled and lost her place. Ginger clapped to emphasize the downbeat and shouted, “Shuffle ball change! Cincinnati flam! Come on, Felicity, pick it up!” But once Felicity lost the flow, she had a hard time getting back into her groove. Even when Ginger started tapping along with her, she didn’t get back on track until close to the end of the song. Her last sets of scissor wings were crisp and impressive, but when she struck her final pose, she wasn’t surprised to find her mother scowling at her.
The fog of resentment receded, and panic rushed in to take its place. She should have practiced more, regardless of what she thought of Ella-Mae. If she performed like that at the pageant, her art school dream would be dead in the water faster than she could say “national redhead sanctuary.” Plus, she had made her mother furious, and she wasn’t about to get away with it.
“What was that?” Ginger demanded. “Have you been practicing at all? God, Felicity, I’d have kept a much closer eye on you if I’d known things had gotten this bad! You are really far behind, and you’re going to have to work your little butt off to get back in the running!” She massaged her temples.
Felicity squirmed, amazed at how small her mom could make her feel. “Mom, it’s going to be fine. I’ll work harder. I’m just a little rusty, that’s all. But the pageant’s not for two weeks, so I have plenty of time to get it perfect, and I will. I swear I’m not going to embarrass you.”
“You’d better not. How does it look if the pageant director’s own daughter can’t even stumble through a three-minute routine?” She thumped the table where the speakers were sitting for emphasis. “Jesus, you can do so much better than that, and you know it. You could win if you just worked harder! But you have to want it, Felicity. The judges have to see that fire in you. Do you want to win? Do you care at all about helping this family, after everything I’ve sacrificed for you? Or are you just going to let this prize slip right through your fingers? Because if you’re not willing to work, I’m wasting my time trying to help you.”
Felicity looked deep into her mother’s eyes and saw the fear that lurked behind the anger. It wasn’t just her own dream that was on the line. Ginger had put everything she had into preparing her daughter to be Miss Scarlet. And now that dream was crumbling to pieces, and it was all Felicity’s fault.
Felicity swallowed hard. “I want to win,” she said.
“Good. Then let’s get to work.”
If there was one thing Ginger knew how to do, it was whip a pageant girl into shape. For more than a decade, nearly all the pageant mothers in town had hired her to coach their girls. But business was lagging this season, as all the other parents feared Ginger might sabotage their daughters in favor of her own. As Felicity practiced her Maxie Ford turns over and over, she cursed the fact that she was being subjected to twelve girls’ worth of attention. But she also had to admit that her mom’s methods worked wonders. Two hours later, she was drenched in sweat, and her tap routine was flawless.