14
New York City
Sitting on my couch in sweats and a T-shirt, I'm waiting for Celebrity Dance Off to start. My nerves are jumpy as I wait to see Chelsea perform. It's been two glorious but torturous weeks limited to phone calls and occasional video chat. Finally the show's theme music plays and the screen is filled with spotlights, mirror balls, and the host Marcus MacIntyre.
I lean forward as he introduces the contestants one by one. First is Pavel and Haley, then there's Dominic, but he's with a different partner this week. And suddenly Chelsea's gorgeous smile fills the screen as she enters on the arm of Ivan. From the joy on her face, it's impossible to tell that she doesn't like him.
In a flash Chelsea's gone as the remaining contestants make their entrance, but then the camera pans back and shows the line up of teams, each bopping to the music and grinning for the audiences at home. Chelsea's wearing a sequined leotard with silky cream-colored fabric draped around her body in a deliciously provocative way.
The door to the flat flies opens and Ryan bounds in. "Hey, man."
"Shh!" I motion impatiently to the telly.
"Sorry," he mouths, heading for the fridge.
"Just started." I watch for any glimpse of her as the host explains the switch up and the stress on the dancers to get to know new partners. When he introduces the first dance, which isn't Chelsea or Dominic, I turn to Ryan. He settles on the other side of the couch with a light beer and observes me with amusement.
"Geez, dude. A little obsessed? It’s just a TV show."
But who am I kidding? I've been looking forward to tonight all week. Chelsea's become a habit I don't want to kick.
Brady and Cassie finish their routine and get their scores, which are higher than I like as I want Chelsea to win this thing. The show goes to commercial. I lean back and relax and finally speak to Ryan. "Any luck today?"
"I had to wait all day to be seen, but I nailed the routine and the director actually seemed interested. But now I sit on pins and needles praying to the casting gods that I move on."
"You're a great dancer. You're bound to hit one of these times."
"I've auditioned enough that the odds should be on my side."
The show comes back on and next up is Shane and Leyna. They do a decent job, but I just wasn't feeling it.
Ryan agrees. "Watching this show is killing me. They have no chemistry, for Pete's sake, show a little emotion."
"You should audition for Celebrity Dance Off. Show them a thing or two."
"Nah. Their dancers all have to be national or world ballroom champions."
Between the judges’ comments and reporting the scores, the camera shows snippets of the other teams. I'm rewarded with a three-second shot of Chelsea applauding for the last team. Her hair is artfully pulled away from her face, and falls down her back in loose curls. Damn, she's gorgeous.
It's forever before she and Ivan take the dance floor. Their video package shows their first meeting and him falling all over her calling her honey, baby, and kitten. I instantly despise the guy.
The package wraps and a stream of light shines on Chelsea alone in the center of the dimly lit ballroom. I lean forward in my seat.
“Isn’t she the one you sang for a couple of weeks back?”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes glued to the screen. Sultry music begins and Ivan approaches her from behind, sliding his hand up her arm and turning her face to him. They perform a few steps and her hands sweep up his chest as she gazes at him with a desire that makes me squirm. He whips her into a few more rumba steps then spins her in front of him, her back arched against his chest, and he runs his hands over her body.
"Damn, they're good," Ryan says. "I bet they’re sleeping together."
“They’re not,” I snap. But Ryan’s right. Ivan dances with Chelsea as if he's about to take her to bed and from what I see, I wouldn't put it past him to try. My jaw clenches.
"Now that's how you show emotion." Ryan waves his beer at the screen.
Her filmy wrap floats with each move as they step and spin, him catching her leg and pulling her to him. This guy's getting way more action with her than I have and he's on national TV. But he's a professional dancer I remind myself. It's all for the show. But still, I'm jealous as hell.
The dance ends and I breathe easier when Ivan releases her. The judges praise them and their scores are good enough I think they'll be safe. God, I just lost five years off my life.
A minute later Chelsea texts, "What did you think?"
That I want to kick Ivan's ass, but instead I message back, "You were exquisite. And a tease. I miss you!"
Los Angeles
"We have the team dance this week. That ought to shake things up a bit. We're on a team with Brady and Eva," I tell Tom the next evening after I learn I’m safe for another week and finished with Ivan.
"The chef and the soap star. They're both really good."
"We had our first rehearsal and the pros spent over an hour arguing how to choreograph the number. Honestly, I didn't even need to be there." But Eva was friendly and even complimented my last dance, which made my day. It was nice to feel part of a group for a change. "Brady is wrapped up in his partner, Leyna. I'm pretty sure they're doing a whole lot more than dancing."
"His wife won't be happy about that," he says. "Whoa!"
"What?"
"A guy just streaked down Tenth Avenue. That's new."
"Where do you live?" I can't believe I've never asked before. I have no idea if he's in a fancy sky rise, or a cramped apartment.
"Hell's Kitchen."
"Isn't that a cooking show?"
He laughs and I picture his smile. "It's also a neighborhood."
"Sounds sinister."
"It's a dangerous part of New York filled with criminals," he says in an ominous tone.
"Oh, great. Now I'm going to worry about you every time you step out your door. Why do you live there?"
"It was a cheap sublet. It's not so bad. There are bars on the windows. No worries though. I'm unlocking the door now. See, I'm safe inside."
"Good."
And that's how the days pass. We talk whenever we can and I focus on rehearsals.
Come show night, our team is in a panic because we haven't been able to rehearse together since Tuesday night. I thought working as a team would bring me closer to the other contestants, but Brady was in New Orleans promoting his new cookbook, and Eva had a location shoot for her soap.
"This is a mess," I whisper to Dominic, when Brady misses his cue again as we run the number in the back lot area where the guys usually shoot pre-show hoops.
He pulls me aside. "Put your blinders on. Either he pulls it together or he doesn't. As long as you shine, that's all that matters."
But I know we need the bonus points a team win would give us. I hate being in the bottom every week and this could help.
Worrying about the team dance helps take my mind off our jive. We sail through it, and during every commercial break, even though Dominic said it didn't matter, I mark through steps with Brady. The other team performs a futuristic dance that's more robotic than graceful with them wearing sleek silver bodysuits. It's a cool number with precision movement.
Our team huddles together and Dominic gives us a last pep talk. If we're judged by appearance alone, we'd win easily. Our dance is a Bollywood meets ballroom fusion with bright costumes and great music. We're introduced and take our places. The pros have choreographed a creative crowd pleaser with the ladies skirts swirling in unison to the upbeat party song. By some miracle Brady hits his marks and the number is a blast.
Out of breath and relieved that we did so well, we face the judges to glowing comments and scores.
When I talk to Tom later, he gushes about our performances. "Could you stop getting better? I'll never see you at this rate."
And he's right when we learn we're safe the next night. It’s Molly, the reality-dating chick, who goes home. Dominic is bummed because she was partnered with his best friend Pavel, but it also means we made the semifinals and no one is more surprised than me.
"Come on, Chelsea. You'll look great," Dominic says the next day, trying to convince me to agree to a skimpy costume the wardrobe designer has sketched out.
"No freakin' way! It's basically a string bikini with a bustle of ruffles on the rear end."
"Cassie wears stuff like this all the time and she looks amazing."
"She also has a dancer's body and a lot more body confidence than I do."
"Look in the mirror. You have a dancer's body now too. We could use the extra votes a costume like this will bring in."
Dominic is good at pushing, but I'm equally stubborn. "I have to get a job in the real world when this ends, and having perspective employers see me in outfits like that will insure I don't." I cringe at how difficult I've already made it for myself. Who's going to take me seriously after this show?
"You'll get jobs with that outfit, just not the kind you were hoping for."
I picture myself stuck as a cocktail waitress for the rest of my life. "No!"
Later when we’re back in the rehearsal room, Dominic barks, "Again!" But he's not mad, he's just intense because he wants to make it to the finals and so do I. We work through the intricate steps of the paso doble and he whips me from one move to another. My muscles ache from holding the rigid frame all day. Tom and I talk on the phone as often as possible, but between the time difference and our busy schedules, I'm always left desperate for more of him.
Dominic has us in the rehearsal hall until eight o'clock each night, but the work pays off. Our dance is beautiful and I love the graceful elegance. My stunning form-fitting dress that we compromised on doesn't hurt any either. Now between the late nights with Tom, and Dominic doubling up our rehearsal time, I'm exhausted.
We run the number repeatedly until each move is perfection. I want to score tens again, and Dominic thinks we can do it, but I'm ready to drop.
"Please, can we take five," I beg, my arms quivering with fatigue. We've been rehearsing since 8 a.m. with few breaks, and it's now past dinnertime.
Dominic nods. "Good job."
I collapse against the wall.
"But remember it's all about the emotion of the dance now. We’re almost out of time. I need you to act the part and show it on your face. That's where Eva has you beat."
"But she's also an Emmy winning actress."
"And you need to act like one too. Remember, this number is all about aggression. I want to see fury in your eyes."
"Too bad they didn't give us this dance early on. I wouldn't have to fake hating you."
He grabs his heart. "How can you say that?
But I can't hate anyone. Not when there's so much joy in my heart, and if we can stay in the competition this week, we make the finals. Either way I have a guaranteed trip to New York and to Tom, then a few weeks later there’s Anna's bachelorette party, and after that I haven't figured anything else out yet. Everything good is happening in my life
But after my spray tan on Monday, I put on my costume, and I'm ready to kill Dominic. It's a combination steam punk meets tribal. I'm wearing a leather bustier cinched so my boobs are pushed up like a Vegas showgirl. There's a sheer overskirt with a fringe border and I'm in high-heeled ankle boots. My makeup is dark lipstick and smoky eyes with my hair pulled up and crimped. I grumble and complain, but he insists it'll get us votes and when I whine to Tom on the phone he heartily agrees and can't wait to see it.
When show time rolls around, I'm a good kind of nervous for our number. Dominic is wearing high-waisted leather pants with a vest hanging open over his bare chest. He has a black cape that he whips wildly in an intricate pattern at the beginning of our number.
"You've got this. We're on a roll. Just focus on your aggression. No smiles."
I grin wide, just to stress him out.
"Stop thinking about your eye candy out in New York. He's there. You're here. Focus."
I stick my tongue out at him and he shakes his head. Our intro begins and we take our positions on the upper stage, both of us fixated on the next ninety seconds. The cameras are in place, the lights come up, and the house band plays. We open with a daring face off, then spin away from each other and glide down the stairs, while I dramatically swish my skirt and Dominic flips his cape in testosterone-filled dominance.
At the main floor, his cape catches and wraps around my ankle. I'm forced to step on his cape. It stops his forward motion. He trips and careens to the floor so fast that I have no time to react other than brace myself as I tumble on top of him.
"Shit!" he exclaims trying to untangle himself from the cape and my limbs.
"We don't look so intense now," I mumble as we scramble to our feet and the music plays on.
Dominic tosses the cape away, takes my hand and pulls me into hold, staring me in the eye with real intensity now. "We're fine, keep going!" We start forward, but my heel is caught in my overskirt and I can't take a full step.
"Dominic! My boot is stuck."
"Ignore it." He takes my hand and tries to lead me on, but I can't take a full step before being hung up. Our eyes lock in panic. I kick out with my foot, ripping the fabric, which gives me more mobility, but my boot is still caught and we're way behind the music.
"Keep going. Ignore it." He calls out the steps, something he hasn't done in several weeks. We're rushing to find our spot in the music, not to mention on the dance floor. The cameras scramble for angles because we're in all the wrong places.
It's useless. There's no way to save this dance. I start to giggle, and Dominic, who is trying hard to pull it together, glares at me for breaking character. But when I stumble against him when I can't take a full step, he glances down at my caught up boot, and sees the problem.
"Hold still." We stop in the middle of the catastrophe and he crouches to my feet, rips the fabric edging from my skirt, finally freeing my boot. He rises and we take up our proper hold, and continue with the dance, hopefully salvaging the last thirty seconds; but the trim he tore away is attached by a thread and trails after me like toilet paper stuck to my shoe.
I can't stop giggling and lose all concentration, forcing him to drag me through the final moves. At the end he sweeps me into a grand dip and holds the trailing fabric in the air as if in triumph.
After the obligatory five second hold, he lifts me to my feet and we crack up on our way to the judges' table.
I try to get serious, but one look at Dominic and we burst into laughter. His hand is at my side and we hunch over trying to get control, but it's no use. We're slap happy, and it's not going away.
Nikki LaFlash chuckles along with us. "I want to say nice recovery, but I guess the best I can do is say that at least you tried."
Stephen Harris shakes his head. "Such a shame. You two had just hit your stride."
Brice Zimmer rubs his goatee. "I would have liked to see how you did with that number, but sadly, we must score on what we saw, which was a whole lot of stumbling and fumbling."
Dominic pats me on the back, but neither of us is upset. When dismissed, he leads us across the dance floor and up to the scoring room. "This is going to be bad," I say.
Nikki gives us a six. Dominic and I nod and shrug. Stephen gives us a six, and we look at each other and grin. There's not much we could do to fix that dance. And then the final judge, Brice gives us a six. Dominic and I high-five and laugh at the unanimously pathetic scores.
"If you want Chelsea and Dominic to stay in the competition for the finals, they'll need your votes."
But we're beyond saving and we both know it. It would have been great to go on to the finals, and I'll miss being on the show, but tonight was still a blast. We dance out to the music as the band plays to the commercial break. The other contestants are either laughing with us, or visibly relieved that we'll be out of the competition. Once at the commercial break, I have three minutes to myself, so head backstage.
"Off to call Tom with the good news?"
I flash my eyebrows and grin. Tom answers on the first ring, and before I can say anything, he blurts, "You're coming to New York!"