17
Times Square is lit up brighter than the Celebrity Dance Off ballroom as our cab crawls to the theatre in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“Hey, check it out!” Dominic points to a three-story high billboard of Tom's show, Crossing Lines.
I gawk at his familiar silhouette filling the side of a building. “I had no idea.” My eyes trail the sign as the cab rolls by more billboards, ticker-type news reels, and souvenir shops before turning. There are brightly lit theatre marquees on every block. We pass Hamilton, Wicked and numerous other shows before arriving at the theatre for Crossing Lines.
The cab pulls up and I let Dominic pay the fare. The show is paying our expenses for two days in New York and then I’m on my own. We’re needed back for the finale rehearsal on Saturday, but Dominic and I both agreed we wanted a couple extra days to enjoy New York.
We step onto the sidewalk into a crush of theatregoers bustling up and down both sides of the street with anticipation. Taxis and town cars drop off more ticket holders. We take a selfie in front of the marquee with Dominic looking his normal amazing self, and me grinning like an idiot. I don't care. Who would have guessed that the first Broadway show I see, the leading man is actually my friend? Date? Boyfriend? I'm not really sure I can call him that yet, but he's certainly more than a friend.
After texting the photo to Tom, so he knows we made it, we find the Will-Call line. I give them my name, and sure enough, the ticket agent hands me an envelope with two tickets. I wave them at Dominic and squeal.
A woman interrupts my euphoria. “Excuse me. You’re Dominic and Chelsea from Celebrity Dance Off? Could I get a picture?”
Dominic shifts into performance mode. “Of course.” We quickly pose with her standing between us as her husband takes the picture.
“Can I get one with just Dominic?” She asks all gooey eyed. I quickly step away, a little embarrassed that I stood in the first shot when he’s the one she’s really interested in. “Thank you, so much!” she effuses to Dominic after her hubby snaps another shot. And as we’re walking away, I hear her say, “I can’t believe I just met Dominic Yardley.”
I laugh. “See, it’s you the viewers were voting for all this time.”
Inside, we follow a grand staircase, and an usher leads us to first row balcony seats. I stare at the grand stage. The massive curtain is lit with the logo of the show. I soak in the ornate decor of the opulent old theater. There are gorgeous frescos on the ceiling, gilded box seats, and glittering chandeliers. I open the program and see Tom's picture, the first one at the top of the page. I elbow Dominic and grin.
The lights dim and the audience goes quiet as the overture begins. It's a relief to watch a show, versus having to dance in one, but my nerves are still as jumpy as if I were performing. I wonder how Tom is. What is he doing at this moment? Is he right behind the curtains? Or in the wings? What's he wearing? I know so little about this show, just that one song I saw on the Tony awards.
The curtain rises, and I grab Dominic’s arm. The stage lights come up, and the opening number begins. I search the stage, but can't spot him. It's a big group number with colorful costumes, and a rousing song. Just as it ends, Tom makes his entrance and my stomach flips. He's playing a younger man and it shows in the way he walks and acts. I'm surprised when he speaks his first lines with an American accent, but it sounds perfectly normal, and the rest of the world falls away, as I'm mesmerized by this new side of him.
Two and a half hours later, the show culminates with Tom belting out raw passionate vocals laced with angst, grief, and even hope. His powerful tenor voice fills the theatre giving me goose bumps, and when the song ends, I swipe away tears I didn't realize I'd shed. The theatre erupts into applause.
The stage goes dark and I can't believe the journey I've just been on. When the lights come up, Tom is gone. The cast comes out for bows in small groups. First the ensemble, then the smaller roles, to the principal players, and finally Tom runs out for his bow. I'm immediately on my feet along with the rest of the audience. He smiles and bows, back to the charming guy who occupies all my thoughts. The rest of the cast join him, gesture to the orchestra, and take a final group bow.
He gazes up to the balcony, and even though I'm sure he can't see me beyond the bright stage lights, he smiles and waves. I wave back, as the curtain closes, not caring if I look silly.
"Oh, my God." I turn to Dominic.
He’s just as razzed by the show as I am. “That was incredible.”
“I want to see it again.”
It takes a few minutes to file outside. The stage door is surrounded by a mob of people. Dominic leads the way past stanchions set up to keep the crowd back. I feel rude barreling past people, but I guess this is how it’s done. I hear comments, “Is that Dominic Yardley and Chelsea Barnes?”
Dominic knocks at the stage door and a security guy opens it a crack. The people in the crowd are craning their necks to see who we are. More people call out to us. I smile politely as Dominic gives our names. The security guard is a middle-aged guy wearing a flannel shirt and beat up boots. He swings the door open.
We step into an entryway of concrete steps, scuffed gray walls, and exposed pipes. It’s pretty bland after all the glamour of the show.
"Tom's dressing room is on the second floor at the top of the steps." The security guy points to the narrow staircase. This place is a lot like the studio in L.A. with a barren, industrial feel, except this theatre has got to be a hundred years old.
Dominic gestures for me to go first, so I climb the stairs, my pulse racing faster with each step. Tom was amazing, and the show was epic, leaving me moved beyond words.
A couple people wearing street clothes and stage makeup pass us going down. I know they were in the show but don't recognize them out of costume.
We reach the second floor landing and a grey door marked Thomas Evan Oliver, Crossing Lines. I hesitate and turn to Dominic.
I chew at the edge of my lip. Tom is now more than the guy who sang for me on Celebrity Dance Off. He's more than the cute guy I flirt with long distance, or steal kisses with now that I'm here in the same city. He's a huge Broadway star who just carried this show. Intimidated doesn't begin to describe my feelings.
Dominic raps on the door.
Tom opens it with a grin and tousled hair. "You made it!"
“Great show, man. Incredible.” Dominic shakes his hand.
I say, “Wow.” Because no words can express my feelings.
His eyes soften. "Thanks. Come on in." He holds the door wide.
He's lean and lanky wearing a fitted navy T-shirt. His costume is draped over a chair and he's wearing dark jeans but no shoes or socks. "Sorry, I'm running late. I got caught up by the stage manager."
"The show was amazing. You were...I don't even know what to say, other than phenomenal," I gush.
His smile is tender. "I'm glad you liked it."
"I don't know how you do it. I'm wrung out from the experience. You must be exhausted."
"Usually I am, but tonight I'm jazzed to have you guys here." He pulls a black button-down shirt out of his closet and slips into it.
I take in all the chaos and coziness of his dressing room. There's a love seat and two comfortable chairs around a coffee table, art on the walls and a colorful rug on the floor.
"Pretty nice space you've got," Dominic says.
"It's the nicest dressing room I've ever had. My sister decorated it. I spend enough time here, so I wanted it to be comfortable." He buttons his shirt.
I notice a Drama League Award on a shelf and another for opening the show.
He sits down to put on his shoes and socks. "Are you guys still up for a late dinner?"
"Absolutely." I squint at pictures of Tom with true A-list celebrities tucked into the side of his mirror. There's the lead guy from Star Wars, a couple of people from Game of Thrones, and is that T-Swift?
"Would you like a tour of the theater?" He asks, maybe to distract me from the wall of fame.
"Are we allowed?" I decide to play it cool and not comment about his famous meet and greets.
"Of course." He grabs his coat and backpack and leads us down to the backstage area. It's incredibly organized and crowded with set pieces pushed back against the walls, small prop items set on shelves, and white tape marking the floor. "I had no idea how crowded it was back here."
"If you look up you'll see more."
Sure enough, above us the air is filled with hanging set pieces and backdrops.
"It can be a real obstacle course just trying to get off and on stage. One wrong move and someone gets hurt, but the setting and acoustics are phenomenal."
We go another level lower and he points out the wig room, laundry room, several group dressing rooms, and the trap room where he disappeared to after a fight scene. We pepper him with questions, which he patiently answers.
When we come back up, the stage is empty except for a tall floor lamp with no shade. A single bulb casts the stage in an eerie light.
"What's that for?"
"It's a ghost light," Dominic says.
I glance at Tom. "What’s that mean?"
"There are lots of myths about how ghost lights are to keep the ghosts company or to ward them off, depending on who you ask; but their real purpose is to prevent anyone from accidentally falling into the pit."
I peer into the orchestra pit. It would be a nasty fall in the dark. We make our way back to the stage door where a couple of cast members are zipping up their coats.
A ginger-haired woman smiles at Tom and slides her hand up his arm to his shoulder. "There you are. Some of us are going for a drink. Join us."
I'm a little taken aback by her familiarity and reminded of how little I know him.
"Thanks, Tanya, but I'm going to dinner with friends." Tanya pouts, but Tom is unfazed. "Chelsea, Dominic, this is Tanya and Rhonda. They're in the ensemble."
"I love you guys on Celebrity Dance Off," Rhonda, a short brunette, says. “Sorry you went off after your costume mishap.”
"Thanks. We had a good run," Dominic says. “You guys were great tonight.”
It's strange that she watches the show. I guess I should be used to it, but I'm not. They are the real professionals. "I loved the show. All of you were amazing."
We say our goodbyes and they head outside. A cheer erupts from the waiting fans.
"Hey, Ed. How's the crowd look?" Tom speaks to the man at the stage door who let me in.
He checks his monitors. "Still a decent-sized crowd. Tomorrow might be another story. I hear a snow storm’s coming in."
Tom frowns, pulls out his phone, and texts something. "Let's go through the front of house and avoid the crowd."
"Is everything okay?" I follow close behind.
"Oh yeah, but if we go out the stage door, I'll need to stop and talk to fans. Sometimes it takes a half hour or more."
"Won't they be disappointed when you don't show?"
"Probably, but I just tweeted an apology that I couldn't stay," he says with a crooked smile. "Tonight is about you guys." He guides us through back hallways and corridors, until he opens a door and suddenly we're at the back of the theater, looking over the seats to the stage with the ghost light.
"This place is a maze, how did you ever figure it out?" A few steps more and we're in the lobby, cleared of everyone but a couple employees closing up.
"I've spent a lot of time here." He pulls a gray beanie from his pocket and tugs it on low over his forehead. With his hair covered and his collar up, he's difficult to recognize.
Placing a hand at the small of my back he leads us into the cold and steers us away from the stage door where there are still stragglers hoping to catch the departing star. But I've got their man tonight.
The streets are emptying as theatregoers from the various shows have all rushed off for a cab or the subway. I'm flanked by Dominic on one side, and Tom on the other. How unreal is it that I can call both these guys friend? Six months ago I never would have believed this could be my life.
We walk a couple of blocks and duck down a staircase to a lower-level restaurant. The lights are dim and the warmth is a treat after the chilly night air. We're seated in the back at a corner table with a flickering votive candle.
“I’m starved,” Dominic says, opening his menu.
Now that I smell the aromas wafting from the kitchen, I'm ravenous. I haven't eaten anything more since breakfast than a vending machine bag of chips. Staring at the menu, I can't concentrate. I'd rather be focused on Tom than the fine print. "What do you recommend?"
"Everything is amazing, but my favorite is the cedar plank salmon."
"Sounds great." I close my menu.
The waiter arrives with crusty bread and a ball of butter. Tom orders a bottle of wine because it's that kind of place.
I'm still a little blown away by Tom's immense talent. I should have expected it after his performance on Celebrity Dance Off and the many YouTube videos I watched, but sitting in that theatre and watching him live was beyond epic. "I can't get over the show. I don't know how you did that, all those emotions in the course of two and half hours.”
“And it was your second show today," Dominic adds.
"And I do it again tomorrow night, and the next, and two times on Saturday." He says with a weak smile.
“Now I feel like a total wimp. Two dances a week for a total of about three minutes,” Dominic says.
"I know. I can't believe what a whiner I was. Dominic, you should have brought me to New York at the beginning and I would have cooperated more."
"You and me both," Dominic laughs.
The waiter brings our wine, and pours us each a glass. I savor the rich smooth taste.
"What happens next, now that you’re off the show?" Tom asks Dominic.
"Pavel and I are putting together a dance tour for spring, so once the finale is over, I'll be working on that. Occasionally here in New York, but mostly in L.A."
"It's going to be strange not seeing you everyday. I'm almost going to miss you," I tease.
"See, I told you that at the beginning and you didn't believe me." Dominic smirks and I shake my head.
He laughs. “Is it hard not being in the finals?” Tom asks Dominic. “You usually are.”
I sip my wine, curious to hear his response.
"Honestly, this season has been a roller coaster." Dominic tilts his head my way. I shrug innocently and Tom smiles at me. "It would have been nice to be in the finals, Chelsea earned it against all odds. But it's nice not to be one of the teams rehearsing twelve hours a day to get ready. The poor schmucks. While they're clawing their eyes out with frustration, we're living large." He holds up his glass, and we all clink.
"When do you fly back for the finale?" Tom asks.
"Saturday morning," I say, wishing we had longer. Tom nods, digesting how much time we have together. I'm ready for this long distance thing to be done.
Our food arrives and Tom was right. The salmon practically melts in my mouth. We're well into our second bottle of wine when Dominic's phone dings. He checks it and goes still.
He stares at me with a tense expression.
"What?" I ask.
"It's Larry. His text says, ‘911. Call me!’"
My mind immediately thinks tragedy. "What do you think it is?"
"No idea. Excuse me while I call him back." Dominic leaves the table.
"I hope it isn't something bad," I say to Tom. "God forbid something happened to Hank."
He takes my hand. "No use worrying until you know."
I nod, but I've come to care about those people, even the ones who ignored me.
Dominic returns a minute later. He drops into his seat, tosses his phone on the table, and shakes his head with a smile of disbelief.
I give him about two seconds before demanding, "Well?"
A slow smile curls onto his lips. "We're in the finals."
My mouth drops open. "What!"
"Are you serious?" Tom laughs.
Dominic nods. "Brady tore his ACL, there's no way he can dance. We're the runners up, which means we've been bumped into the finals."
Dumbstruck, I turn to Tom. With amusement in his eyes, he raises the wine bottle and empties the contents into our glasses. "I think you two are going to need this."
Dominic takes a long drink. I can see his mind already going a million miles a second.
"But we don't have a dance or costumes. We can't get ready in time," I say.
He rubs his chin before speaking. "I do have the music and a couple of ideas I'd been working on."
My heart thumps away. It may be stupid, but my first thought is that all I want is to be with Tom. I glance at him, and it’s as if he’s read my mind. He smiles and shrugs.
"Larry will call back when our flights are booked. We leave first thing in the morning." Dominic hails the waiter for our check.
I nod, and fight the urge to throw a temper tantrum. Instead I sip my wine. Tom watches me but remains silent.
When the waiter arrives, the guys argue over the check, but Dominic wins when he promises it's on the network's dime. "I'm heading back to the hotel. I've got to start figuring out our dance. I'll call you when I know more." He takes off, distracted by all the details he now has to handle.
Tom and I linger over our drinks and when it's time to go, he holds my coat. My feelings are a jumble. Being in the finale is great, but I don't really deserve it, and I haven't begun to have enough time with him. Outside, the sky is filled with huge snowflakes.
"Huh, what do you know about that?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Is it horrible if I pray for a blizzard to keep me here?"
“It would make two of us. Do you mind if we walk back to your hotel instead of cabbing it?"
"Not at all," I say, and I'm glad I did when Tom tucks his arm around me. Times Square is still brightly lit, but the crowds are gone with only a handful of tourists unwilling to call it a night, and stray people heading home after work. Normally in a city like New York I'd be nervous around every dark corner or shady character, but with Tom at my side, I've never felt safer.
By the time we reach my hotel, the snow has filled the crevices in the sidewalk. Inside there's a swanky bar with chrome-edged tables and black leather seating. Tom removes his hat and brushes snow off my shoulders. “I know it’s late, but I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
We sit in low chairs. Jazz music plays softly and the seductive lighting gives the feel that we're alone. The waitress brings him a gin and tonic and me a cosmo.
"I wish I didn't have to fly back to L.A. in the morning."
He squeezes my hand. "You'll be back."
“I can’t believe we’re in the finals.”
"You’ll be brilliant, and you're peaking at the perfect time. And you have the secret weapon of Dominic. As much as I hate to say it, you couldn't be in better hands. At least for the show," he says with a sardonic smile.
"You're too nice. I'm not like you and Dominic. I haven't spent my life performing, but I promise to give it my best shot."
He swirls his drink, the ice clinks against the side. "And that's what I love about you. You never give up."
"Like Dominic would let me." But Tom's right. I've got one last chance to prove I'm worthy of being on the show and I won't waste it. Dominic calls with details of our 8:00 a.m. flight with car service pick up a few hours from now at 5:30. It'll be a long day tomorrow. At least I'll be able to sleep on the plane.
Tom and I talk in quiet tones, our legs brushing together, our eyes lingering on each other. Before we know it, the lounge has emptied, the music turned off, and the bartender is clinking bottles. Reluctantly we return to the lobby. "May I walk you up?"
I'm not about to say no. We take the elevator to the fifty-fourth floor and step inside my room. I toss my handbag and coat on the bed. When I reach to flip on more lights, Tom takes my hand and pulls me close, slipping his arms around my back.
"I hate always having to say goodbye to you," he murmurs.
I lean into his chest, so solid and warm. "We've barely had any time together."
He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, and lowers his mouth, capturing mine in a tangy gin and tonic kiss. He weaves his fingers through my hair. This close, my senses are filled with his scent.
My hands reach inside his jacket and around to his back. His muscles move as his hands roam lower pressing gently at my hips, then cupping my behind and pulling me against him. I let him mold my body to his, reveling in his touch. His mouth ravishes mine in a hunger neither of us can possibly satisfy in one night.
Eventually he releases me. We’ve lost track of time again. His eyes are dark, intense. "I think I best toss myself out of here."
Inside my head I scream, no! But outwardly I’m silent.
He steps away.
"I'm going to miss you so much," I say breathlessly.
Tom caresses my cheek and smiles. "Safe travels, love." With one final kiss he turns and leaves me alone. I lean against the door aroused and frustrated. Should I have asked him to stay? Or would that have been too forward? I don't have enough experience to know how to handle these things. Better to follow his lead, which has me bewildered and turned on. And more than ever I want the show to end so I can spend more time with him, but if it weren't for Celebrity Dance Off, we never would have met.
I get ready for bed. Even scrubbed clean of all makeup, I'm glowing with joy. I pack up everything other than what I'll need in the morning, and set my alarm for only a few hours from now. At the window I open the drapes and the sheers to let in the city lights. Thick snow flies outside the window, blocking my view of the street below. I’m no expert, but it looks like it’s coming fast.
With my fingers crossed, I climb into bed and stare out the window at the fuzzy glow of lights behind the swirling snow, and desperately pray it’s a blizzard.
Dominic calls at 5 a.m. to say he and the hired car will be in front of the hotel in a few minutes. The snowfall has been heavy all night. So far our flight is still on time. We just have to get to the airport.
"Um, okay." It seems only a blink of time since I went to bed.
I wish I could stay to enjoy the snow, but instead I pull on jeans, a long sweater with a scarf, and my boots. I glance in the bathroom mirror at my groggy face and splash cold water on it, quick brush my teeth, and toss the rest of my toiletries into my suitcase.
Yawning, I ride the elevator to the lobby. I picture Tom asleep in his bed with the gray and black comforter and butter soft sheets. I drop my key at the front desk and find Dominic waiting in a black sedan curbside.
"Good morning." Dominic's wide awake but unshaven. He hands me a Starbucks cup.
"Morning," I mumble trying to hang on to sleep.
"Looks like someone has a hangover. How late were you and Tom up?”
I take a drink of coffee. "I'm not hung over. Okay, maybe a little. He threw himself out around 2:30."
"He did, or you did?" he asks, surprised.
"He did," I say, savoring those last moments together.
"I'm impressed."
The car pulls onto the street. It's a winter wonderland with snow coating the city like thick frosting. One lane has been plowed, but there's already a layer of snow coating it.
"Why's that?"
"I was worried he would try to get you in the sack first chance he got."
"You are so rude. If I weren't so tired I'd smack you." But inside I'm happy. "So it's good that he didn't try?"
"Very good. Unless, of course, this means he's gay."
I laugh. "He's not gay."
"What makes you so sure?"
A wide smile covers my face. "The way that man kisses me... there's no way in hell he's gay."
I close my eyes and lean my head back to catch a few more zzz's. Dominic on the other hand is rapidly tapping his foot as if that will help the driver make better time. After a minute of the staccato rhythm, without opening my eyes I grab his arm. "Please stop, or I'll hurt you."
It turns out that half of New York had the same idea to arrive at the airport early. The lines are long as hundreds of weary travelers try to get a jump on the storm. Tensions run high as we wait in the security line. But we get through with plenty of time and just as we arrive at our gate, our flight status changes from On time to Delayed. Everyone in the area groans.
"We might as well grab breakfast." Dominic steers me toward a restaurant with a view of the gate. After we order, Dominic's glued to the blizzard coverage on the tablet at our table.
"What happens if our flight is canceled?" I skim whipped cream off my hot chocolate and into my mouth.
"We take the next available flight."
The snow is blowing sideways, the ground crews are bundled up in Parkas, and snowplows are working on distant runways. "Why do I have a feeling I'll be spending my day in the airport?"
"Don't jinx us."
"I'm not. I think it's inevitable." Not to mention that I'd love to be stranded in New York so that I can be with Tom. Just not at the airport.
"We have to get on a plane today because we have do the world's quickest costume consultation and production meetings. Not to mention we need two new numbers, one being the free-style. If we don't win the free-style, we don't win the show."
"You think we can win?" I ask skeptically as steaming plates of food are delivered.
"I always thought we could win," he says.
"No you didn't. Most of the time you thought we'd be sent home," I say, aiming my piece of bacon at him.
"Yeah, but not because you weren't good enough."
"Because I was a nobody."
"Well, you're not a nobody anymore." He hitches his head to the side where a group of girls with their phones take our picture.
After breakfast while Dominic updates Larry about our continued delays, I take a picture of the departure board listing more delayed flights than on time ones. I send the picture to Tom. He's probably still sleeping, which is what I wish I was doing, but last night was so worth it.
My phone rings, I startle, then smile and answer. "I hope I didn't wake you?"
"I left my phone on, hoping you’d call." His voice is low and groggy. I imagine him stretching in bed. "Doesn't look like you're getting out of the city anytime soon."
The crowd of travelers glaring at the departure board is growing in number. "Too bad I'm stuck at the airport."
"Don't I know it. If you were here, I'd take you to Central Park to play in the snow."
"That sounds nice, but I don't really have the clothes for it. In fact, other than my small carry-on, all my stuff is checked and probably buried in a snow drift on the tarmac."
"The weather channel doesn't seem to think it's going to let up anytime soon. Maybe you'll be back after all."
"I'd love that. Uh oh, here comes Dominic with one of his determined looks. I better go."
"Call me later with an update."
"Promise." I slide my phone into my purse.
"Well, the weather isn't letting up, but I heard they're trying to keep two runways open."
"So..."
"So, we keep waiting. I'm set up to get flight updates and until it's canceled, we keep our fingers crossed."
"Great. That means I get to find a corner and take a nap?"
"Ha ha!" He laughs, then snaps, "No. We'll find a corner and start working on our freestyle."
"Here?" I glance around at the crowds of people.
"Never underestimate me. I found a dead end corridor away from the gates."
I frown. A nap sounds much more appealing.
"Cheer up. It'll be fun!" he says with false bravado.
Within ten minutes our coats and carry-ons are piled in a corner next to my boots. Dominic is walking me through the first sequence with the turns and hand holds. Apparently he stayed up most of the night working out choreography.
It doesn't take long before sweat rolls down my back and my hair sticks to my neck and forehead. A small crowd has gathered to watch my torture, snapping pictures and video.
We smile at them as if this is all great fun. "Can't you ask them to stop?" I beg Dominic.
"We need all the publicity we can get. Think of these people as voters. Now smile and play nice." He spins me into a dip and grins at the cameras.
"Have I mentioned lately how much I don't like you?" I mutter through clenched teeth while faking a smile.
He's sweating profusely too, which improves my mood a little. "Come on. You're living the dream."
"It might be someone's dream, but it sure isn't mine," I complain, longing for a pillow and a bed.
"Sure it is. You just refuse to admit it." He grins and we run the opening sequence along with the next one until he's satisfied I've committed it to memory.
After an hour, I collapse against the wall for a water break. Dominic slides down next to me checking his phone. "Well, there's good news and bad news."
"Lay it on me." I consider stretching out on the cool tile floor but then rethink it when I see how dirty it is.
"The good news is you might get to see a certain sweet talking Brit again soon."
"Really?" I perk up, my exhaustion forgotten for the moment.
"The bad news is that not only is our flight officially canceled, so is every other flight today. We're going to have a hell of a time getting out of here even tomorrow."
But all I heard him say was that I'd get to see Tom.
The line for a cab winds around like a mile-long serpent. After shivering in the blizzard conditions until I no longer feel my fingers, L.A. is sounding pretty good. We finally climb into a warm cab and limp back to the city in snowy traffic.
Dominic is still in business mode on another phone call, but I'm hoping for a nap. I'm grossly disappointed when we pull up in front of a building in an area I've never seen before.
"Why aren't we at the hotel?"
Dominic ends his phone call and pays the driver. "Because we have a show to rehearse for." He gives me a fake cheery smile, but he's got to be dog-tired too.
"And where exactly are we?"
Dominic pushes his door open, and a bluster of snow whirls in as we climb out. "At the Gotta Dance Studio. It belongs to Nathan, one of the pros from a couple seasons ago. He's got an extra space where we can rehearse."
"Lucky us."
"We take the elevator up a couple floors and enter the studio. Photos of celebrity dancers line the wall and a shelf of awards lines the other. I trail after Dominic like a toddler, nodding and smiling to people as we pass.
Nathan gives us a rehearsal room with a lovely view of a brick office building. It's cold and bare and I'm hungry again.
Dominic makes himself at home, cueing up music on his laptop and spreading out his choreography notes on the windowsill. I dig through the lost and found boxes for something a little more suitable to practice in. I score a gray tank top and a pair of yoga pants with the words hot stuff on the rear end.
With a bracing breath we start on the next sequence of our dance. Dominic pauses a lot to rub his chin and rethink things. I'm on autopilot from hunger and exhaustion, not really taking in the meaning of this dance. At the moment it's just one more obligation before I'm free. His phone rings. It's a production call. I jump on the unexpected break and call Tom.
"How's it going?"
" Dominic is holding me hostage at the Gotta Dance Studio, rehearsing a number I don't understand because I'm too tired and hungry to think straight."
"I'm sure he knows what he's doing."
"Since when are you so buddy buddy with Dominic? He's a slave driver keeping us apart."
He laughs. "Only for a few more days."
"I suppose. What have you been up to?"
"I worked out earlier and my appointments for today got canceled, so right now I'm laid out on the couch watching a Mad Men marathon."
"That sounds heavenly."
"When do I get to see you?"
"I wish I knew. We haven't even finished the first number. Every few measures, he says, ‘insert cool lift,’ which makes me break out in a cold sweat. We still have a lot of work." I'm exhausted, and the thought of more hours of rehearsal makes me whimper.
"I'm sorry this is so painful, but it's your last chance to dance. And personally, I love watching you."
"Well, if you like it..."
"That a girl. A week from now it will all be over."
Dominic is finally off the phone. I dig in my bag and find a squished granola bar at the bottom to share with him. He takes that as a sign I'm ready to get back to work.
An hour later, we've been working on a sequence of lifts where I go from his shoulder, swing down his arm with my head barely missing the floor and land in the splits.
"Again," Dominic says.
My muscles are quivering from fatigue. "Why are we doing so many lifts and tricks?"
"Because once you learn what to do, you're really good at them," he says with a pointed look.
"I am?"
He shakes his head as if I already knew that. "Yes, now again."