Waltz Time – Entry 18: Blinking Light, Beating Heart

Waltz Time – Entry 18: Blinking Light, Beating Heart

“In the city that never sleeps, even the smallest light can hold a dream.”

Back in my first New York apartment, a red light flickered. On the other side of it waited my dream and the sound of a voice I’ll never forget.

The light on my answering machine was blinking when I walked into my apartment, that tiny red pulse, steady and insistent, like a heartbeat waiting for acknowledgment. I dropped my dance bag by the door, the strap leaving a faint sweat mark on my shoulder, and stood there, staring at the machine as if it could sense me. The city hummed faintly outside,  sirens, taxis, some couple arguing below my window — but inside it was quiet, almost sacred.

For a moment, I thought it was you. I always thought it was you. That hopeful part of me, the part that hadn’t learned yet how to stop expecting, wanted it to be your voice on the other end.

I pressed play.

“Hello Ms. Bruno, I am calling on behalf of Ed Blum Casting. We are excited to offer you a spot in the movie A Chorus Line, under the direction of Sir Richard Attenborough. This job will require you to become a member of the Screen Actors Guild. Please contact my office and make an appointment to review the contract at 212-xxx-xxxx.”

Click.

The machine fell silent again, the small wheel inside spinning to a stop. I just stood there, my hand still hovering above the button, as if the message might play again, as if hearing it once wasn’t enough to make it real.

I sank to the floor, back against the wall, legs folded beneath me, and let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding since the audition. It was real. That long line outside the 890 Broadway and then the Minskoff and call back at the Mark Hellinger Theater, the freezing wind cutting down 45th Street, the endless combinations, the callbacks, the waiting, it had all led to this single, blinking light.

And yet… the first person I wanted to call was you.

But instead, I called my sister.

She answered on the second ring, her voice bright and familiar, a thread that pulled me straight back to the kitchen table of our childhood, coffee brewing, records spinning, and dreams so big they could barely fit inside our little New Jersey house.

When I told her the news, she screamed. “A Chorus Line?! Are you kidding me?” 

She was already imagining me on set, maybe in heels, maybe in gold lamé, living the dream we’d both whispered about for years.

Then she said it, that she wanted to move to New York. I didn’t even hesitate. 

“Of course! Stay with me! We’ll make it work!” I said, glancing around my studio apartment, all four hundred square feet of it. 

There was barely room for me and my thoughts, but suddenly I wanted to share it all, the noise, the energy, the magic of this city that both chewed you up and taught you how to shine anyway.

She was three and a half years younger than me, but somehow, I’d always seen her as my twin flame in spirit, bold, funny, endlessly talented. She had just started performing with a new girl group called Exposé, and their sound was catching fire in Miami. I remember thinking how the world was finally opening up for both of us, two Jersey girls chasing rhythm and light in our own ways.

But as I kept talking, I realized that my excitement about you had quietly swallowed everything else. I was telling her about the job, but my heart was still speaking your name. Every word was painted with the echo of that thought, what would you say if you knew? Would you be proud of me? Would you still be here?

By the time I hung up, the room felt full and empty all at once. The message still sat in the machine, its tiny red light gone dark, and I remember thinking how strange it was — how even in a moment of triumph, love could haunt the edges of every celebration.

That night, I left the phone on the counter and let the silence fill the room again. Outside, the city kept moving, indifferent, relentless, alive — while inside my little apartment, a dream had come true.

And somewhere between the light on that machine and the echo of your absence, I realized something quietly extraordinary: even the loneliest moments can shimmer when they’re touched by love.  You were the next person I called. 

To be continued…
The city was calling — and this time, I wasn’t dancing alone.

💗

Anna

Historical Note:

In the early 1980s, A Chorus Line auditions for the feature film directed by Sir Richard Attenborough were held in New York City at renowned rehearsal spaces such as Minskoff Studios and 890 Broadway, both legendary homes to dancers, choreographers, and casting calls that shaped Broadway history. Hundreds of hopefuls lined the corridors, mirroring the very story the film sought to tell: a dancer’s relentless pursuit of one moment in the spotlight.

Author’s Note:
Anna Bruno (Anna F. Villa-Bager) was a member of the cast of the 1985 film A Chorus Line, directed by Sir Richard Attenborough.