Jenny stood on her toes and closed her eyes. An empty stage, threadbare curtains open. Rudolphus was working on the light fixtures near the back of the house. Klaus and Gina were at the piano, working on the latest song for the new performance. It was a love song, and Jenny had heard so many different versions of it that the chords were in her veins, and every time Klaus knocked against the clunky ivory keys, something pulled in her heartstrings. She couldn’t stop herself – she danced.
She danced with her bare feet against the uneven stage, not a concern in her mind about getting splinters in her feet, or falling off the edge. Jenny swayed and spun with the music, her auburn hair falling around her shoulders in waves. Someday, she would be a real dancer, and fill theatres much finer than this one. Ones with cushioned seats and fine costumes and women who wore white gloves, men with walking sticks. No more lusty creatures coming only to paw at her scantily clad breasts, to gawk at her as though she had no feelings. Someday, she would be an object of desire no more.
The music stopped as Gina started squabbling with Klaus about the crescendo or something else of little importance to Jenny. She just kept dancing, as if nobody could see her, as if she really believed she could escape.