Grabbing his sunglasses and ball cap, he walked back into the hall. A little boy who looked around 4 or 5 with curly brown hair had materialized in the short time he’d been in the room. Beckham wondered how he’d gotten through security, but he didn’t mind him being back there. He wasn’t bothering anyone. He was playing with a ball on the floor and didn’t look up until Beckham was standing right by him.
“Hey there. Whatcha playin’?”
“My mom says I can’t talk to strangers,” he lisped all his S’s, “but I know who you are, so I guess it’s okay.”
“Well, she’s right. Is she here?”
The little boy nodded and then a smile took over his face. And Beckham was finished, done for, smitten.
“Wanna play jacks?”
He showed Beckham the metal pieces he’d been squeezing in each hand. The ball went bouncing out of one hand and Beckham leaned down and caught it on its bounce up.
“Sure. I haven’t played with jacks since I was little—I never see kids play it anymore.”
“I do. All the time. Mom says I have a ’diction.” He caught the ball Beckham bounced his way.
“Hmm, well an addiction to jacks wouldn’t be the worst thing, I don’t suppose. So, I’m Beckham, and who are you?”
“I’m George.”
“Really? George? Like Curious George?”
He laughed. “No, I’m Harry.”
“Harry. Oh, okay. So which is it? George or Harry?”
“I’m Mavid!”
“Mavid? Is that even a name?”
“Nooooo, you’re crazy. Mavid’s not a name.”
“You’re starting to look like a Mavid, actually. I can see it now.”
That wiped the grin off his face. “I do not. Take that back.”
Beckham held both hands up. “Whoa, dude. Just playing the game here.”
The little boy laughed. “Just kiddin’. Whoa, dude, loosen up.” He looked at Beckham then and stood up. “And you can call me Leo.”
Leo, or whatever his name really was, looked so stinkin’ cute, Beckham couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He could hang with this guy a few more minutes before getting some air. In fact, maybe he’d just skip going out.
“You got any whiskey sours?”
Hearing that come out of his mouth, especially with the lisp of all lisps, was too much. Beckham’s laugh echoed through the corridor.
“Where have you heard about whiskey sours?”
“I heard my mom saying that’s her favorite drink. Joey says it’s a girly drink. Mom also likes marragritas sometimes.”
“Marragritas … oh yeah, I like those too.”
“You know my mom?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, she knows you.” He mimed the words of Beckham’s song that was still coming from the auditorium and knew every word. “My mom listens to you all the time.”
“Ahh, that’s nice of her. Maybe I can meet your parents. Where are they, anyway?”
They were just coming to the side doors of the auditorium. “Getting work done. I’m supposed to stay right here and not move an inch. I went and came right back though.” He said it like Beckham might tell on him.
“Hey, I think they’d understand you getting a drink. No worries.”
The door opened and a cute blonde came out. She gave a startled look to Beckham and then to Leo, and back to Beckham.
“Sorry I was gone that long, Leo.” She shuffled nervously behind Leo.
Beckham smiled, trying to make her more comfortable. She didn’t crack a smile; in fact, her eyes just grew larger as she stared at him. The kid’s mom seemed a little uptight. Not exactly what he was expecting with such a cool kid.
“It’s okay,” Leo lifted his thumb toward Beckham, “he kept me company.”
Just then Jodi, one of Anthony’s assistants, stuck her head out and said, “Beck—Anthony’s wondering if you can take a look at a small group he’s put together, since you’re still here…” She smiled, knowing he was trying to escape.
“Ohhhkay,” he dragged it out, “I guess I can do that.” He looked back at Leo and the girl. “You’re welcome to come into the auditorium...”
“Oh, that’s okay. We’re good here,” she responded quickly.
Leo shrugged and with a smile he walked to Beckham and held out his hand. Beckham gave him a firm handshake. “Thanks for playin’.”
“Well, thank you, Mavid … I mean, Leo.” This got a laugh out of the little boy. “It sure was great to meet you.” Beckham walked to the doors and gave Leo another wave before going inside. What a fun kid, he thought. Manners, too.
When he entered the auditorium, the tension in the air was thick. The room had cleared out, with nine still on the stage.
Anthony motioned him over. “I think I’m ready to call it but wanted to see if you agree with the three that I want to cut.”
“K, man. Let’s do it.”
Anthony turned on the music and for the first song, they all did the routine Anthony had shown them. On the second song, they each had about twenty seconds to freestyle.
Anthony and Beckham talked it out and were in agreement with every dancer. There were three that just didn’t have the same deep groove that the rest did. And six who were so tight, you could feel every pulse of the song. And then, the girl, she was the one all eyes would gravitate toward. She just had it.
“I’m thinking that girl for the solos, mirroring you,” Anthony said. He turned on a slower song and yelled, “Roxie Taylor, show me what you can do on this one.”
Beckham nodded, unable to take his eyes off her.
Sensuality oozed out of her when she moved. More than being sexy, it was the emotion she provoked with her movements. She became every word of the song. It was impossible to not be mesmerized watching her. Graceful, but funky. Fluid and strong, even in the more intense moments of the song.
Beckham forced his mouth closed when the song ended. Roxie stood up straight then, and for the first time, looked self-conscious.
“Excellent! Okay, everyone, I think we’ve seen what we need to see. We’ll discuss things and get back to you within a few days. If you don’t hear from us, thanks for trying out … maybe we’ll see you again in the future.”
Beckham cringed. This was why he didn’t like to be here for this part. He didn’t want to feel bad for the ones who were let go.
“Just a reminder, for those of you who are selected—we will begin two months of rehearsals in L.A. in a month from now. We expect you to be ready to work hard. No distractions. Also—make sure you’re able to survive being on a crowded tour bus with people you don’t know … for long, exhausting months at a time. You think you want this now, but imagine if you don’t like someone, the close space, the exhaustion, the wear and tear on your body. Be sure about this before we call to tell you you’re selected. Otherwise, your future career as a backup dancer is already over.”
“Okay, Anthony, enough,” Beckham muttered.
With a clap and a complete change of tone, Anthony said, “All right, folks! We’ll see some of you in a month!” He turned to Beckham and raised an eyebrow. “What?” he challenged.
“No one will want to do it after that little speech.”
Anthony waved his hand, openly scoffing Beckham. “Please. Everyone dreams of touring with you. And dancers are all about torturing themselves. Trust me, my little speech just made them want this all the more.”
Beckham smirked. “Whatever you say.”
He turned around to leave and saw his manager, Nate, walking toward him. It had to be important for him to show up during tryouts.
They did their usual half-shake, half-hug greeting.
“What’s going on, man? You’ve got my attention, showing up here,” Beckham said.