Page 49 of Marisol Acts the Part
“Give it up for your host: the one, the only…Miss Anita Break!”
I didn’t think it was possible for the crowd to get any rowdier, but as the lights dim and a single long, exposed leg steps into the spotlight, my eardrums feel like they’re going to pop. I clap until my hands go numb, scream until my voice cracks, as Anita slowly steps into the spotlight, wearing a fire-engine-redsequined gown that twinkles in the light. The wig that’s been sitting on the kitchen table all week has been transformed, luscious black locks trailing down Anita’s shoulder, her dark brown skin glimmering with a mix of baby oil and glitter.
“How y’all doing tonight?” she says into the mic once she’s fully stepped into the spotlight, and gets a roaring cheer in response. She laughs and demurely tosses a curl over her bare shoulder. In the sliver of space between the left-hand side of the stage and the curtain, I spot Dad beaming like he’s won the lottery.
“We’ve got an amazing show for you tonight,” Anita continues, clapping her hands together. “For any newcomers, tonight is our monthly New to the Saddle competition. I got a peek at some of our contestants earlier, and y’all arenotready.” The crowd gives a few whoops and hollers.
I’m clinging to the edge of my seat as Anita goes over the only rule (no acts over five minutes), and the prize (five hundred dollars and a guest slot at Anita’s next show) before announcing the first performer of the night.
“Please welcome to the stage: Diamond Du Jour.”
“That’s her!” I whisper eagerly to Jamila, gently nudging her in the ribs.
We’d strategically planned for Kevin to sign up for the first performance slot. Maybe not the best choice judgment-wise. People are always harsher on the first few acts in a competition—I know firsthand after doing that celebrity dancing show—but we figured this would prevent Kevin from potentially getting figured out backstage by Dad or Jerome between acts. While the makeup, hair, and outfit definitely transformed him into someone unrecognizable, there wasn’t much we coulddo about the gap in his smile—a dead giveaway if Dad or Jerome paid close enough attention. With how strict they’ve been about not letting evenmecome to one of the shows, I wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked Kevin out before he could even step on stage. And I did not spend over an hour on makeup today to not see Diamond make her stage debut.
Jamila eagerly shifts closer to me as we crane our necks to get the best view of the stage. Anita saunters off to join her fellow judges at the table set up for them at the base of the stage.
You could hear a pin drop as the crowd waits for the night’s first competitor to take the stage. Slowly, almost as dramatically as Anita did earlier, Diamond steps out onto the stage with her arms up in the air, welcoming the immediate applause. As anticipated, the spotlight and disco balls hitting her jumpsuit light her up like a shooting star. She styled her caramel-colored wig perfectly—voluminous and thick with eighties-style curls. And I can see the glimmer of the highlighter along her cheekbones from the balcony.
As she steps up to the mic, I sneak a nervous glance over at Anita, prepared to see recognition slowly dawning on her, but she’s living for Diamond as much as the crowd is.
Diamond knows exactly how to tease the audience, taking her time stepping up to the mic. The crowd quiets down, everyone leaning in with her as she grips the mic, closes her eyes, and snaps her fingers, bringing the music to life. She struts across the stage as the opening notes of her custom remix of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” begins to play, crumpled bills tossed at her before she’s even uttered a single word. It’s impossible to look away once Diamond takes center stage, lip-syncing each word perfectly, gliding across the stage in timeto the music. Somehow, she’s able to move like there’s a fan following beside her, perfectly blowing her hair out of her face and over her shoulder.
What starts as a slow but powerful performance quickly kicks up a notch when she gets to the chorus, whipping her hair like a runway model yet somehow never getting any strands stuck in her gloss. Jamila and I gasp in unison as she twirls across the stage, landing a split so on beat to the song, the entire room erupts. But the split is only the beginning. Diamond kicks into high-gear, dancing and strutting across the stage with a confidence that rivals only the real Beyoncé’s, coupled with dips and moves of her own that still perfectly match the song’s energy. When the performance wraps up in a death drop that makes me gasp again, the audience bursts into hysterics. Screams and cries of Diamond’s name ring in my ears as I bounce on my tiptoes and cheer for her as loud as I possibly can with what little of my voice is left. The stage is littered with bills, from singles to fives to even a few tens, that she gracefully sweeps into her arms as she waves to the crowd one last time.
Anita has no idea who she is, giving Diamond a full-on standing ovation. Or maybe she does know and doesn’t care that we went behind her back. All that matters is Diamond’s showstopping performance.
I immediately pull out my phone.
DIAMOND, CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Diamond is a tough act to follow, but the two performers lined up after her put up a good fight—a queen giving anedgy performance to a rock song I vaguely recognize, and a king who gives a steamyMagic Mike–inspired lap dance to one lucky audience member. Anita steps back onto the stage after the lap dance to announce that they’ll be back with the next three competitors after a brief break. As soon as she snaps her fingers, the DJ turns up the music again.
With the music back, the others in the private lounge flock to the smaller dance floor in the center of the room, no one stays in their seats once the DJ shifts to a remix of a Madonna song.
“C’mon!” I say to Jamila, holding out my hand to her. Who knows how long we have left here? For all we know, Diamond’s real identity will be found out any second now, and Anita will personally escort all three of us off the premises. So I want to make my time here last.
“I’m not great at dancing,” she replies stiffly, tucking her hands beneath her legs.
“You don’t have to be a good dancer to dance.” I point my thumb over my shoulder at where a bald man in a suit is whipping his nonexistent hair to the beat.
Jamila smiles, but it’s gone once she scans the crowd of dancing bodies. “I don’t know….”
“Well, I’m not leaving without getting in at least one dance tonight. So you can join, or you can watch.” I back away from her slowly. “Your choice.” I arch my brow, giving her one last chance to join before fully throwing myself into the pulsing mass of bodies.
My dance skills are nothing to write home about either, but it’s easy to get lost in the music. I let my hands move above my body, my hips swaying to the beat. The others on thedance floor welcome me without a second glance, everyone too caught up in themselves or their drinks or their partners to care who’s in their space because we’re all safe here.
When I close my eyes, the bass lines up with my heartbeat, pounding in time to the rhythm. I’m not sure how long I spend here, letting the music guide me. Seconds, minutes, or hours until a spark makes my eyes open again. The brush of an arm against mine, a familiar smile in the crowd.
“Changed your mind?” I ask Jamila, my smile so wide it hurts to my cheeks.
Despite her protests, she’s a natural on the dance floor. Her moves aren’t over-the-top or energetic, but she’s able to hold her own by two-stepping in time with the music—more than most of the others in the crowd can say. “You made it look fun.”
I smirk, resisting the urge to twirl her over and over until I can hear that laugh again. Instead, I stop dancing long enough to stand on my tiptoes and cup my hands around my mouth. “Attention, everyone! I convincedtheJamila El Amrani to dance tonight!”
Before I can continue, she lunges at me, cupping a hand around my mouth as she fights back a laugh. “Don’t embarrass me more than I already am.”
“Only if you dance with me,” I reply when her hand drops from my mouth and lingers on my shoulder.
