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A Dancer's Path
by
Genie Nakano
The audition was grueling, over three hundred dancers with numbers on their backs and dreams in their pockets. A whole day of triple pirouettes, high kicks, grand jetes, falls, floor work and fast syncopated jazz foot work--harder than any audition Lenny ever endured.
Around 4 PM, it was narrowed down to Lenny, Blondie and twenty other girls. The dance combination was simple. Run across the floor, strut your stuff and break into free form. Just dance to the music, with free spontaneous movement. And freedom was Lenny’s forte. But during the simple strut, Lenny twisted her ankle and fell. As she limped off the floor, she knew she was out. Moments later Blondie was jumping up and down and screaming, “I got it. Oh my god, I got it. I’m a ‘Love In’ dancer.”
Lenny puffed real hard on her cigarette. She could hardly fake a smile.
“Congrats, Blondie.” Smoke was coming out of her mouth as she spoke.
They parted; Blondie was going out to celebrate. Lenny was going home.
Entering the apartment, Lenny heard a crash in Tyrone’s room. She ran and barged into his room. Tyrone had just come back from San Francisco. Patchouli incense permeated his room and Indian music was playing in the background.
“What happened?” Lenny cried out.
“Oh, nothing,” Tyrone said. “Just doing the “King Cobra” yoga head stand and lost my balance.
“You should try yoga, Lenny. Kundalini rising—better than drugs,” Tyrone huffed, as he kicked his legs up back into the headstand.
Lenny stared at Tyrone’s beautiful body, bronzed legs and toes pointing straight upwards in perfect grace and form. Tyrone and Lenny could read each others minds. They would just look at each other and burst out laughing. They understood and saw the world with the same eyes. Couldn’t he see they were meant for each other? Lenny tried to convince him once. With silk veils, oiled perfumed skin her Delilah dance was a disaster. “Oh, girl, you need to get out of my space. Get those jugs out of my face he said”.
“Just try a real woman once,” Lenny pleaded. She caught herself in deep fantasy staring at this unforgettable and untouchable man. Coming back to reality she said, “No thanks, Tyrone. Yoga is for weirdoes and gay people. But can I borrow your record? I like the music.”
Inside her room, Lenny threw off all her clothes, and put on the music. She never heard anything like it. The eternal drone lifted her into a state of bliss. And the tabla rhythms (Indian Drums), how could anyone play that fast? She was exhausted, but a powerful force took over and she started to move and dance with the music. Somewhere in her distant past, she danced, celebrated and made love with this music. Her feet were moving in perfect time with the rhythms and her body was melting into shapes and forms choreographed hundreds of years ago. Every pore and fiber down to the cellular level of her body responded with memories forgotten but now fully awake and alive. She played the music over and over again and danced for hours. Rivets of sweat poured down her body as the room heated up into another time and dimension. Then suddenly she fell on her bed, was out like a light and didn’t wake up until the next afternoon.
The next day, as Lenny sprawled out on the living room’s shag rug, she worried.
She worried about her and Blondie. They used to be ‘best friends.’ Nothing could come between them-- friends for life. They declared. Lenny would die for Blondie and almost did. Blondie was so naďve; Lenny always had to protect her. Blondie hadn’t changed. She was always Pollyanna. But Lenny was changing, and it scared her.
Blondie with all her giggles and girlish ways was stronger than Lenny. She floated above all the drama and posturing. Even Tyrone, with his occasional outbursts of rage, had his yoga and a grounded belief in himself. But where and what was Lenny?
She remembered how the Indian music affected her body mind and spirit. Once again she decided to let her body’s instincts guide her. First thing was to learn to cook Indian curry and secretly she studied yoga and meditation at Self Realization Temple of Hollywood.
In October, the winds of change blew extra hard. Blondie’s agent wanted her to live in a bigger and better place—Beverly Hills! Tyrone wanted to move to San Francisco, “Better opportunities,” he said. “LA is plastic.” And Blondie broke the exciting news that the “Love In” choreographers were holding an “exclusive” audition.
“They need lots of us,” Blondie said. “Most of the time you’re in a bikini. They paint your body and the steps are real easy. Boogaloo, twist, skate and the jerk, you hardly even sweat.”
“So what was that blood sweat and tears audition for?” Lenny asked.
“Oh, just a way of weeding out the riff raff,” Blondie explained.
The producers remembered Lenny and wanted her. Lenny got “Love In” and all that Lenny ever dreamed finally came true. Rehearsals started Monday.
A one, and a two, three, four, and … Lenny imagined herself and Blondie laughing and wearing bikinis and jerking to the music -- sock it to me, sock it to me. But instead of celebrating, Lenny shook with doubt--a sleepless night for sure.
Lenny would always dance, but she couldn’t imagine herself ‘boogalooing” forever. Her chronic ankle problems were telltale signs. Most of all her growing interest in yoga and meditation were leading her down another path. At the temple, everyone said she looked Indian. “You’re a reincarnation of Radha,” Guruji, said. She yearned to discover that missing link.
When Monday came, Tyrone, Blondie and Lenny were in the kitchen smoking cigarettes and downing coffee when Lenny announced, “Tyrone you’re moving on to San Francisco, Goldie, you’re moving to Beverly Hills, and I’m moving to Bombay.”
“Bomb what”? Goldie said.
Tyrone said, “India, are you crazy?” But Tyrone had done a lot more crazy things then this, so he stopped his ranting and raving. “Ok, Lenny. Explain.” he said.
“I’m going to Bombay,” Lenny repeated. She was talking fast now, “I‘ve got enough money to live for a year in India. You can live on 50 cents a day. I’ll stay in an Ashram. I’ve been corresponding with the Self Realization Temple of Hollywood. They found a place for me. And Bombay also has Bollywood.”
“What’s Bollywood?” Blondie asked.
“Oh, it’s a fusion of Hollywood and Indian Dancing. And from what I’ve seen, Bollywood needs a lot of Hollywood help.”
“But what about “Love In”? Blondie asked.
She looked to Blondie, “Believe me. This wasn’t an easy decision. I’m still not sure.
It started with daydreams. Whenever I had a bad day, India was a nice fantasy. And then I started seeing India in my dreams at night and everything got clearer. I started reading about India and talking to Indian people. I didn’t know there were so many Indian people living in Hollywood.”
No one said a word. Tyrone, Lenny and Blondie all stirred their coffee at the same
time in the same direction. Clank, Clank, Clank. Tyrone and Lenny looked at each other and “busted up” laughing.
Then Tyrone said, “Go for it, Girl!”
Blondie sang out, “I second that emotion.” And she giggled.
So that’s how it was back in 1967. Right before the Christmas Holidays Tyrone went North, Blondie to Beverly Hills and Lenny went around the world.
As Lenny looked out the airplane window, she saw miles and miles of make shift
Card board houses surrounding the Bombay airport. She held her breath. She had never seen real poverty. Breathing slowly, ten breaths in and ten breaths out-- like she always
did before the curtain opened--just like a dancer, she was clearing her mind and warming
up. She would find what she was searching for here. She was sure now. Lenny could feel her muscles coming alive and her toes wiggling in her shoes. She was ready to perform. Her plane was landing in ten minutes.
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Just to be perfectly clear!
All Rights to this piece reside with the Author