Page 39 of Supernova

"Okay," Jo says reasonably. "How about donating it to a cause? Make it a fundraiser?"

Of course--a fundraiser! Frankie knows in an instant what she'll do with the money, assuming that there is actually anymoney, and that anyone is willing to buy a ticket to this show. "You're a genius, Jo. I know exactly what I'll do. Thank you."

NINETEEN

frankie

It comes togetherin bits and pieces: the music is a mix of classical and contemporary, and Frankie plays sections of various songs over and over in her little dance studio, lifting the needle on a record, writing something in her notes, and setting it down again as she listens and then moves to the music.

The lighting needs to be simple: a spotlight that stays focused on her, following her around on stage. There are no other performers; she doesn't need them. Every time she leaves stage to change costumes, the music will create a mood that weaves one scene together with the next. She's gone over to the Cocoa Beach Performing Arts Center on two different occasions to look at the various set designs they have in storage from other performances, and she's found a few that are perfect: a stark white backdrop; a bleary, rain-soaked city scene with lights and taxi cabs that will work as scenery; and a plain black velvet backdrop.

As for costumes, she has so many in her boxes and bins at home that after a day spent trying them on one by one for Jo, who sat on her couch approving and vetoing them, Frankie has her full wardrobe selected. She's nervous, she's apprehensive, she's fearful of giving herself away, but she's also invigoratedand energized. It's been too long since the thrill of dancing and being on stage has filled her heart with this kind of joy and anticipation.

"Knock knock!" A woman with a handbag dangling from one arm and a hat in her hands is standing in the doorway to the dance studio as Frankie jots notes and listens to the same segment of a song for the umpteenth time.

"Oh!" Frankie sets her pen down and smiles. "Hello, can I help you?"

The woman steps into the studio, looking around as she does. "I heard from a friend that you're enrolling for your dance classes."

"I am," Frankie says, feeling a thrill as she walks over to the woman. "I'm Frankie Maxwell. How old is your daughter?"

The woman smiles. "Actually, it's not for my child--it's for me. Do you do adult classes?"

Frankie is taken aback; she hasn't even begun to consider teaching adults to dance. "I'm not sure," she says with a laugh, hoping that her honesty will be disarming rather than making the woman feel awkward. "I don't have one set up because I honestly had no idea that I'd have any takers for something like that."

The woman tucks her chin-length hair behind one ear shyly. She's younger than Frankie had thought when she first caught a glimpse of her in the doorway, and Frankie notices that she's not wearing a wedding ring.

"I'm Ophelia," she says, looking at Frankie through her eyelashes. "My mother thinks I need to be more graceful if I'm ever going to find a husband, so I thought maybe taking ballet or something might help me." She looks around the empty dance studio. "Do you teach ballet here?"

"I will," Frankie says. "I'm actually teaching my first class next week, and it's full of girls who are under the age of eight."

Ophelia giggles. "Okay, well I could be the only girl over eight, if you'll let me join."

Frankie puts one hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side. "I don't know, Ophelia. You're actually giving me an idea--I think I should offer an adult class. I really do."

"I would be your first student," Ophelia promises. "And I think I have some friends who might want to join, too."

"Really?"

Ophelia nods eagerly. "Definitely. If you tell me when you can teach a class, I'll spread the word. I promise."

Ophelia looks so earnest that Frankie has to laugh. "Okay, it's a deal," she says, eyeing the young girl up and down. "And if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Are you working at the moment?"

Ophelia shakes her head. "No. I want to be a teacher, but I haven't started college yet."

"How would you feel about being both my first adult student and my stage manager?"

"Sorry? How do you mean?" The younger woman's brow creases.

"I'm putting on a one-woman show this Sunday at the Cocoa Beach Performing Arts Center, and I need someone to help me backstage. All my friends will be there, but they'll be watching the show. If you would be willing to help me, I could pay you."

"You don't need to pay me!" Ophelia says, looking stricken. "I'd be honored to help you, Mrs. Maxwell."

"Please, call me Frankie. And how about if you help me out on Sunday, your first month of dance classes will be free."

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