Page 47 of Maximum Bet

“Vi,” the woman pleads, “I promise they’ll stay out of your way. Can you please try it again?”

Violet rolls her eyes but turns and shoos her dancers away. From the grim looks on their faces, I get the impression this isn’t the first time they’ve dealt with complaints.

The music resumes from the chorus. Violet picks up instantly, singing into her headpiece microphone. Her voice is surprisingly good for someone who producers constantly autotune.

She slinks forward on stage while her dancers hit poses in the background.

I cock my head, scrutinizing the choreography. The fast movements and chaotic line changes don’t fit the song. Hell, I’m not sure they fit any song.

Violet reaches the part where she paused earlier. She tosses her hair, pops a hip, then slides to the right, heading to the side of the stage.

I understand her complaint. Two of the dancers spin downstage, with one headed directly where Violet is walking. He’s doing his best to avoid her, but with the choreography, it’s hard for him to see.

He stops short, off count, so he doesn’t hit Violet, but still causes her to flinch and get off beat.

“Damn it!” She motions to cut off the music while she turns to her choreographer. “This isn’t working.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dominic grumbles.

Sensing that things are about to go off the rails, I take a deep breath and start down the aisle. I’m not usually one to step on toes, but if this production doesn’t figure itself out, my fiancé is going to lose it.

“Hey, Violet?” I call out when I’m about halfway to the stage. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Violet squints to see me through the stage lights while her choreographer scoffs.

“Uh,” the choreographer says. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone who’s trying to get this show opened as soon as possible,” I snap back.

I don’t wait for an invitation when I reach the side steps leading up to the stage. I have to make my way around a platform where a sweaty background dancer cocks a brow at me. I smile back, and she shrugs.

“Okay,” I say as I approach center stage. “I’m not going to lie,” I whisper to Violet, who’s glaring at me. “The choreography for the entire song needs work, but I think I can at least help you with this part.”

She snorts. “Be my guest. It’s not like anyone else is going to fix it.” She sneers at her choreographer.

I ignore her and turn to the two dancers who are just as frustrated as Violet.

“Whatcha got for us?” the one on the left asks. He’s lean, but muscular, with a dark complexion and a shaved head. The man on the right comes close, his dirty blond hair in a low ponytail.

“We can leave in the turns,” I say. “I actually don’t hate them, but we’ve got to change the direction. Show me the choreography that comes right after the turns.”

I motion for Violet to step out of the way as the two dancers get ready to take on the troublesome turn combination. She sips from a bottle of water with an unimpressed expression.

The men start their turn sequence, spinning down stage. Four turns, then they stop abruptly, hit an open second position squat, and go into an isolation sequence with their torsos moving side to side.

“Um, okay.” I wave my arms, telling them to stop. “What are the rest of you doing during this sequence?” I address the six other background dancers.

“Two of us are on the front platform,” the girl I passed when walking onto the stage says. She indicates to the dancer opposite her. “We’re doing this.” She shows me a movement I can only describe as something a sixties Go-Go dancer would perform.

“Huh.” I shake my head and turn to the rest of the group. “You guys?”

The four dancers get together; one in the middle counts down, 5-6-7-8, and they show me a turn sequence similar to the firsttwo dancers, but they stop after two and then walk in individual circles, high-fiving a partner as they pass.

I glance around the group, muttering, “What the fuck.” I might not have an extensive background in hip-hop, but I know enough to understand this is a mess.

“Okay.” I rest my palm on the top of my head as I think through changes. “You two.” I point at the first two dancers. “You’re going to keep the turns, but you’re going to turn toward each other instead, staying mid-stage. Do you feel comfortable switching sides for the rest of the dance?

“Yeah, sure,” the first dancer says, a hopeful glint in his eyes.