“LAST NIGHT, THE ballroom was ablaze with our first night of competition. Who will be the first couple to go home tonight?” Matt says over the opening credits. “But first, we would like to ask the judges which dance they would like to see again. Benny, what dance would you like to see tonight?”

The camera pans to moy mysh. “Well, Matt, there were many delightful numbers last night. But we have decided that we would love to see Tony and Viktoria’s maam’bo one more time,” Benny says.

Vroom, vroom. On cue, Tony rides his black custom Harley Davidson motorcycle onto the dance floor as his hit song, “Chicks, Chicks, Chicks” plays in the background.

Chicks, Chicks, Chicks,

at O’Farrell Brothers in the city by the bay

Chicks, Chicks, Chicks,

at A Touch of Class in the state of hay

Chicks, Chicks, Chicks

at the Brass Flamingo in the Florida Cay

He whistles at me and I pose on the side of the stage looking like an eighties vixen, dressed all crazy in a fluorescent pink and green lycra stretch dress with my hair singed pink and my bangs teased a mile high. Tony climbs off the bike and we start dancing our mambo. The crowd goes crazy.

I’m fucking brilliant for thinking up this act.

Tony beats on my ass like it’s his drum. I swivel my hips around him, and we do some saucy body rolls. A few side by side basic movements, a few more—and he totally keeps up with me. Which, believe me, is not easy to do.

We go for the finish and he drops to his knees then lies on his back. Shaking like a martini, I strut over him and give him a sexy view.

The audience gives us a standing ovation. We jump to our feet with Tony pumping his fist in victory.

“How did that mambo feel, Tony?” Matt asks.

“First can I get a hell yeah?” Tony asks the audience.

The audience goes mad and starts screaming and some girl even throws her panties on stage.

“Dude, it felt totally amazing. To dance to “Chicks, Chicks, Chicks” was an unbelievable high. And Vika is so smoking hot, don’t you think?” Tony asks the audience.

I receive roaring applause and do three fast chaîné turns to show off.

“What about you, Viktoria, how did the mambo feel for you?” Matt asks.

I give Tony a big bear hug. “It was so wonderful to show new way to interpret one of my favorite songs. I’ve always been big Möxie Cörps fan, and it was fabulous to dance together with Tony to “Chicks, Chicks, Chicks.”

“Thank you, Tony and Viktoria. Coming up, see who will live to dance another week and which couple will be the first to be eliminated from the competition.”

We saunter off the stage. When we get out of the camera’s view, Tony pins me against the wall and kisses me.

“Vika.” He licks my face. “I’m so crazy about you.”

I shove him off me. Oh Lord. I did not want to get paired with a man who would fall in love with me.

Safely back in the score room, Jenny gives me a dirty look. I blow her a kiss, the bitch. Luckily for me, she and Tim will probably be the first couple eliminated.

* * *

“WE ARE BACKSTAGE live at the Dancing under the Stars set with the female professional dancers,” says Maria Hernandez, reporter for Access Hollywood. “Ladies, tell me about this season?”

Nicole, Iza, Jenny, Salomé, Diana, and I are posing side by side like contestants for Miss Universe, complete with heels, breast tape, and fake smiles. But that’s what makes this show so great—there are thirty-one adaptations of Dancing under the Stars around the world and over ninety million people have watched a version. But America’s version is the best.

“Well, Maria, this season is so exciting,” Nicole, Miss Australia, says. “We’re dancing with the most dynamic bunch of celebrities yet. And even more exciting, we have the best group of professional dancers.”

I roll my eyes.

“Viktoria, you’re the two-time reigning Dancing under the Stars champion. How does it feel to share the stage with new competition?”

Miss Ukraine’s turn to shine. “There is actually no competition, Maria.” I focus on the camera and try not to blink at the blinding light in my face. Nicole digs her long nails in my back. “Ahh, what I mean is that we have all known each other for so long and we’re such good friends, that it’s great joy to me to have them on show.” I flash a smile.

“How do you feel about the new girls, Izabella?”

“It’s great all us girls from different countries can be brought together through dance.” Good answer, Miss Poland. “I’m so happy to be representative of Poland.”

Maria turns to the other runners up. “Salomé, Diana, and Jennifer. Is there anything you each would like to tell your new fans?”

Miss China steps up to the podium. “Of course, Maria. I’m thrilled to be a positive role model for young Asian-American girls everywhere.”

“Thank you, Jennifer. Diana, same question?”

Miss America gets a great big smile on her face. “I just want to say I love you to my fiancé, Robert, who is a Corporal in the United States Marine Corps and currently deployed to Iraq. To all the men and women in the military, I’m competing for you.”

Maria seems especially delighted with Diana’s Miss Congeniality act. Why everyone loves her is beyond me. “And finally, Salomé, what would you like to say to your fans?”

Miss Mexico looks lost. “Uhm, I don’t know. I love dancing and Dolla is great and all. So far it’s been real cool.”

See, I told Benny she would be a mess.

Maria obviously agrees and ends the video immediately. “Thank you, ladies.” She signals to the camera crew to set up for another interview for the professional male dancers. They gather all their equipment and corral the men. The minute she is out of eyesight we all drop our linked arms and happy smiles.

Oh shit, I see my babushka, wearing her favorite black Donna Karan dress, chatting up Salomé’s abuela. Those two are probably plotting a way to make Salomé and me best friends again. Baba always took her side.

Jenny pokes my rib cage, her fake smile reactivated. What is Miss China up to?

“So, Vika,” she says, “you seem to have great chemistry with Tony. What exactly is your secret?”

Ah, Miss China reveals her hand. “I’m sexy. That’s all.” I smile right back at her. “I can’t believe they didn’t kick you off show tonight. You’re lucky that Ricardo’s partner broke her ankle and they withdrew.”

Jenny starts coughing.

“Might want to suck on drop for that cough,” I continue. “We can’t have you getting sick. Gabriel says tonight is first night of mandatory fun. Hope you didn’t forget.”

Jenny puts her arms around Salomé and Diana. “How could we forget? We’ve all been looking so forward to bonding. Shall we?”

I see my baba and Señora Sanchez motioning for us to come over. “I’ll meet you girls outside.” I flick Salomé’s shoulder. “You joining with me?”

She reluctantly disconnects from Jenny. “Yeah, guys. I’ll be there in a second.” The rest of the girls disperse. I grab Salomé’s hand, put on a smile, and we walk over to see our grandmas.

“Babula, did you like the show?” I say in Russian. Salomé and her abuela are babbling in Spanish.

Baba kisses me. “Vikochka, darling. You were so beautiful out there. Tony is handsome man.” Her tired green eyes twinkle and reflect off the sparkling emerald ring I bought her after I married Benny. “And I’m so glad you and Salomé are friends again. I always liked her.”

I put my arm around Salomé and squeeze her. “It’s been so great to see her again.” No need to upset Baba.

Señora Sanchez gives me a big hug. “Vika, you look amazing. I almost don’t recognize you. But you’re too skinny. Next time you are in Marin, you come over and I’ll make your favorite tamales.” Oh, I used to love her tamales. It would almost be worth making up with Salomé to have a few bites.

“I’d love to, Senora Sanchez. Muchas gracias. Sorry to run off, but we have to go to event.” We all hug it out and Salomé and I link arms and head to our limo. The minute we’re out of eyesight, I push Salomé off me. “That was dreadful. I hope they don’t come to every show.”

“Well, abuela will be here every night.”

“Dammit. So will Baba. Looks like we’re stuck together.” We head outside and jump into our awaiting limo.

Diana gives me a big smile from the farthest seat. “So, Vika, where are we headed?”

She seems too eager. “Well, Lady Di, we will go to ONE Sunset for some drinks. And for God’s sake, order cocktail and not your damn Hawaiian Punch. I have image to uphold.”

“Leave her alone,” Jenny starts in.

I look around the limo. Jenny, Salomé, and Diana are huddled in the back three seats. Iza is sitting across from Salomé, sizing her up, and Nicole is glued to her iPhone.

Well, isn’t this fun bunch? Time to liven up the party. “So Salomé . . . how’s the diet coming? Did you see you made this week’s US magazine ‘Weight-loss Losers?’”

“Fuck you, Vika,” Salomé spits.

I laugh. “Well, at least you’re talking with me now.”

“So it’s going to be like that, Vika? Fine. I’ll play. What’s it like to sleep with a man old enough to be your grandpa?” Salomé asks me.

Jenny covers Diana’s ears as Iza turns the color of borscht. Nicole drops her phone on the floor and puts her hands over her ears. “Girls, please. You’re talking about my father. For God’s sake, stop.”

I really love my stepdaughter.

The limo pulls up to ONE Sunset. Fans and paparazzi crowd around it, jostling to get a glimpse of me. One guy takes an elbow to the ear and slugs the guy next to him.

We emerge from the limo, holding each other’s hands like we’re in kindergarten. There’s a private VIP entrance but why should I hide? Flashes are going off all around us. Do our publicists know their jobs, or what? Soon we’ll be bumping the president off the front pages.

Once inside, we’re escorted to the upper candle lounge and I order us all rounds of Ketel One Citron Lemon Drops and ONE Sunset’s signature cocktail, the White Orchid, a delectable combination of Canton ginger liquor, white cranberry, and lime juice.

Jenny looks ill—almost as ill as when she was getting those heinous scores last night. “So how long exactly do we have to stay?” she asks.

Salomé checks her watch. “I think just until they get some good pictures of us.”

As if on cue, some photographers crowd our long red booth and take some candid shots of us hugging, gossiping, and dancing around the table. The other diners all stop eating and stare at us and a couple of girls ask us for autographs. We pose for some fan pictures and settle back into our booth. I still can’t believe this show made ballroom dancers famous. I remember ten years ago how jealous we all were of the professional ice skaters. We didn’t have tours sponsored by Campbell’s Tomato Soup. Now we’re the superstars.

The drinks arrive. We all know how many calories are in our cocktails, so we stay away from blended drinks. This is the one indulgence I need to relax. I down mine in a flash. I push one over to Diana. “Here, Dianichka, try little sip. It tastes just like lemonade. You’ll never know difference.” She stares at the drink for a bit and then sinks back into her seat.

Salomé pounces on the menu. Before the waiter can even read the specials, Salomé has already ordered the truffled mac n’ cheese with goat cheese, mascarpone, and thyme. I order the seasonal oysters with pomegranate mignonette and a passion fruit ponzu one cocktail. Jenny orders the Hamachi sashimi and all the other girls sensibly order the asparagus salad.

The newest Dolla song starts pulsating. Salomé’s eyes perk up. She jumps off the sofa and starts grinding to the song. She dances like a stripper. Thank God, no one recognizes me from those days. I guess they weren’t looking at my face. God, I hated working at O’Farrell Brothers. It was so dirty. I only danced for a year. That’s when I decided if I was going to make my living off of teasing nasty men, I might as well marry Benny and at least get a partner and dance title as well.

Two lemon-drops and a White Orchid later, I’m officially buzzed. There are hundreds of candles peeking through the cutout wall behind us, illuminating our table. The waiter brings our food. Salomé doesn’t even come up for air; she stuffs her face and then excuses herself to the restroom. Ten minutes later, she returns—redolent of Reach.

Jenny leans into her and smells her breath. “Dammit, Salomé. You better not be vomiting again.”

Salomé holds her stomach. “It wasn’t like that. I was just feeling sick.”

Jenny clutches Salomé’s leg. “Don’t lie to me. I swear I’ll break your leg so you get kicked off if you start purging again. This stupid show is not worth killing yourself over.”

Damn, I didn’t know she was still vomiting. I thought I convinced her to get help years ago. In everything else, you do what you need to do. But you don’t mess with that shit. The destruction is dreadful. I guess she’s just still too lazy to hit the gym and starve herself like the rest of us.

Iza chews off one of her acrylic nails. “Uh, Vikochka, I’d love to stay together with you. But tomorrow I have dance party for Genya’s mom’s studio.”

Salomé muffles a laugh. I doubt she misses being a slave to Genya’s mom.

Poor Iza never gets to hang out and play. She slams her drink and then gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the Kitson boutique party?”

Diana tugs on Iza’s dress. “Party, what party? I love Kitson.”

I shake my head and mouth nyet. But Iza takes pity on Diana. “It’s just some launch party for their new line of organic clothing. You can come if you want.”

Diana jumps up and hugs Iza. Jenny and Salomé roll their eyes. Iza and Diana exchange party information and then Iza gives me and Nicole cheek kisses and leaves the club.

Nicole looks up from her phone. She frantically texts another message and then stashes it in her purse and stands to leave.

Hey, where’s my party going? “Nikita, you’re ditching me?” I pout.

“Vika, you know I’d love to stay. But I miss Rebecca. I’ve been practicing so much and I just want to go home and spend some time with her.”

Another one bites the dust.

“Okay, Nikita.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Kiss her for me.”

Salomé and Jenny rise. “I’m out,” Salomé says. “Let’s go.” She and Jenny start heading to the exit. “Come on, Diana.”

“Nah, you girls go ahead. I’m gonna hang out for a bit.”

They stop in their tracks. “With who? Vika? You can’t be serious.” I can hear the rage in Jenny’s voice. I love it.

“Diana . . . come on. Let’s go.” Jenny looks at Salomé for back up.

“Naw. I’m gonna stay back for a while. No biggie. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

I pat little Diana’s knee. “Don’t worry, girls. I’ll take care of her.” Not that I want to spend one of my precious nights off babysitting. But it’s worth it to get under Salomé’s skin.

“Thanks for the offer, Vika, but it isn’t necessary. Diana is leaving with us. Now.” Jenny stomps her foot.

Diana’s cheeks turn flush. “Aw, guys. This place is so cool and I’ve never been anywhere like this ever. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at home later. Don’t worry about me.”

“Unbelievable.” Salomé closes Jenny’s jaw and the two head out.

Diana and I sit in silence. She looks around the room and seems hypnotized by lights and beautiful people.

I try to lighten the mood. “So, you’re sick of Salomé and Jenny, too?”

“Oh no, not at all. I love them.” She barely looks my way; we could be talking about the weather in Timbuktu. “I’ve just never been in a really upscale bar, just the ones in Tijuana.”

I slowly lick the sugar off the rim of Jenny’s untouched Lemon Drop. Diana catches me and just stares at it. “Here, try it.” I hold the glass out to her. “One drink will not kill you. Tastes like lemonade.”

She takes the glass . . . runs her tongue around the rim . . . then takes the tiniest little sip. “You’re right,” she says, smiling. “Lemonade.”

“Maladiets.” I pat her on the head as she takes another sip. Though the lights in the background fade, our night has just begun.