We were flying to the Ivory Coast on the same day that we were performing. Travel and performing is not the ideal but after so many years of travel – you get used to it. While waiting in Dakar for the plane, Brian got hungry. He announced that he was going to go to the airport restaurant and get something to eat. I asked him if he thought that was smart and he blew me off saying that the food in the airport is bound to be safe. We arrived in the Ivory Coast with just enough time for one of two options: Go to the hotel and take a shower or go directly to the theatre and warm-up. This is when you know that you’ve been on the road a long time. Rather than go directly to the theatre and prepare for the performance like good little dancers, we unanimously voted to go the hotel. We raced to our rooms, took quick showers, raced back down to the lobby, got driven to the theatre, slapped on our makeup and quickly set up our costumes and props. The performance began. The first piece that we performed was a twenty-minute work costumed in velour track pants and sweat shirts. At the beginning of this piece, we would dance across the stage in either duets, solos or trios. Brian was first. I was second. Brian did his thing and left the stage. I made my entrance and soon followed him to the other side the stage where I found him hunched over the grand piano that was stored backstage and violently vomiting his guts out. Hmm… so much for no problem with airport food in Africa. As the performance progressed, the stage manager located the company manager who came to the rescue. Brian was bundled up and whisked off to the hospital.
Meanwhile, the performance continued. In the first piece Brian’s absence wasn’t obvious. The problems started with the next piece. Brian had a major solo. At the time, I was the company rehearsal mistress. I also knew most of the dancers’ roles – but – not all of them. See – remembering all that choreography can be a little mind boggling and after so many years in the business, I had developed a habit of only remembering what I deemed as absolutely necessary. Like every business, our company was a mixture of brainiacs and idiots. With the idiots (who were also injury-prone), you would always have to keep their routines in your head. Inevitably – they’d have a moment where they would forget what they were supposed to be doing and you would have to be ready to refresh their memories. They’d get re-injured and I’d be either teaching their part to someone else or performing it myself – at least until they were fired when it became evident to the director that they weren’t capable of physically handling ongoing performances. Definitely a high maintenance group of dancers. But with brainiacs – life was different. These are very competent people. They learned fast, they retained the choreography and they were smart about maintaining their bodies so they never got injured. I loved the brainiacs! I never had to learn their dances. Why bother? Unfortunately for me – Brian was a brainiac. We were about to start the second piece where Brian had a long and complicated solo. Everyone is looking at me and I said, “No problem, I’ll fake it.” Not only was his solo complicated and long, it was also extremely energetic and full of wild jumps. At the end of Brian’s solo, the rest of the cast would join him on stage for the finale group scene. I jumped out onto the stage and threw myself into a wild rendition of what I thought would capture the general feeling of Brian’s solo. When I finished, I turned to the cast waiting in the wings, expecting them to join me. Lorraine mouthed “Not yet.” My eyes widened in surprise. OK – no problem. Just add a little more. Again I went through another wild routine and again I turned to the cast. Again Lorraine shook her head and said “Not yet”. Shit – now I’m in trouble. I’ve run out of ideas and the adrenalin running through my body has put me into overdrive. I’ve just thrown myself all over the stage and right now I’m really getting tired. I take a deep breath and throw myself around one more time. I look at Lorraine and she is still shaking her head. That’s it – I’ve had it. No more energy and I’m not going to make it. I stare at Lorraine and growled “Now.” Lorraine threw me a quick smile and led the cast onto the stage. I haven’t a clue what the rest of the evening was like.
Brian woke up the next morning to find a lizard staring at him a few inches from his face. He was in a hospital, still dressed in the despised velour costume, with a note pinned to his chest. “We’ll pick you up in the morning.” He realized that he didn’t know where he was, where the theatre was, or where the hotel was. He would have to wait for rescue. He did manage to pantomime to the hospital orderly that the lizard was bothering him. The man picked up the offensive lizard and tossed it across the room. I too suffered the consequences of Brian’s illness. My desperate and wild dancing had taken a toll on my body. My feet had swollen beyond recognition. Who knew the stage was concrete? I couldn’t even get my shoes half way on and as a result, I continued the tour for the next couple of days shuffling through the airports in Brian’s size 10 sneakers with the director begging me to take them off because I looked like an idiot. I finally had had enough of her constant nagging and told her she had two options of which either would work for me: Brian’s shoes or barefoot – It was her choice. She shut up.