When she finally looked forward again after coveting the bathroom, the most famous area of the Emerald Starfish, the magical bar, loomed ahead. The Starfish, a huge, amazing, circular work of art, lay on the ground in front of the bar. There were a few tables around the fringes, some set back in the bushes as most of the walls were nothing more than jungle vegetation. The actual bar sat around a large tree with a roof while the leaves of the tall trees overhead made up the only ceiling over the rest of the place. It felt like being in an elaborate tree house, and Rhees fell in love.
They proceeded straight to the bar to sign up for the contest, and Rhees almost changed her mind when they said the contestants were required to drink a shot of tequila and two bottles of beer before they could dance.
“It’s free! It’ll help you dance a little better.” Tracy didn’t waste time downing her shot. She picked up one of her beers. “It helps if you drink it fast.” She guzzled the whole bottle in one attempt.
Regina followed her lead so Rhees gave in and did what they did. It was all she could do to swallow the burning tequila. Christian stood nearby and pushed a lime into her mouth to help. She thanked him when she finished cringing. The milder beer actually tasted good after that, at least for the first few gulps. She downed it fast, like Tracy said, but had to stop to take a breath. The next attempt didn’t taste as good and she had to drink the rest one gulp at a time.
She self-consciously waited for the contest to get started, watching more and more male spectators show up, plus a few girls. She tugged at her dress, pulling it down, pulling the sleeves up, folding and unfolding her arms, leaning, then not leaning against the bar. Typical island style, they took their time, giving all the men time to ogle the dancers—her.
She regretted wearing the dress. Several of the girls wore colorful sarongs and a few wore colorful skirts. She was the only one in a solid dark-color, tight-fitting dress, and she felt very out of place. Mrs. Michaels had been wrong. A little black—or dark brown, in this case—dress might be a must everywhere else, but not on this island.
She stood with Regina and Tracy at the bar, drinking her beer. She looked around, concentrating on the beauty of her surroundings instead of her crumbling nerves. She really liked this bar. Her eyes reached the northeast corner, and her stomach did a somersault when she noticed Paul at one of the tables set back in the foliage, making out with a girl she’d never seen before.
Before she could turn away, wishing she hadn’t noticed him, he got up and left with the unknown girl in tow. Rhees blew out a breath of relief. Her nerves frazzled already, she didn’t need him there. She imagined trying to dance while he gave her his usual murderous glare. She shuddered.
When one of the bartenders, doubling as a contest official, gathered the contestants to explain the rules, she realized her head seemed a little fuzzy. She took note of the way the alcohol affected her ability to think straight. Her chest felt warm and her muscles relaxed, but her courage still waned. She’d heard alcohol bolstered your courage, but she’d need more courage than she had at the moment. She ordered another beer.
A man pinned a piece of fabric with a number on each of the contestants.
“The DJ plays the songs, and you dance. It’s that simple. If he decides to change the song during the contest, to see how you adapt, it’s his choice, but as long as the music is playing, you should still be dancing. When it stops, it’s over. Anything goes girls . . . and guy. Work the crowd,” he said, looking disgruntled in Christian’s direction.
“Hey, girly guys like to dance . . . and win a little money,” Christian said and everyone laughed. “I made the regional ballroom dance finals every year of secondary school.” He leaned over and whispered to Rhees, “They don’t like it when I dance, but there’s money in my cup every time I compete, so they won’t tell me I can’t.”
The bartender continued, “Once the competition starts, stay on the starfish or you’ll be disqualified. Have fun and win us all some cash.”
He told them the contest would start in about fifteen more minutes and encouraged them to warm up—or warm the spectators up, if they wanted. Rhees followed Regina, Tracy, and Christian onto the dance floor and waited. There were six other girls as well, but Rhees didn’t know any of them.
A few of the girls were already dancing—if you could call it that. Tracy was one of them. They moved around the edge of the dance floor jiggling their breasts and making lewd gestures, already soliciting votes from the men standing around the circle.
“That isn’t dancing or sexy. That’s just gross. Of course, I may be wrong. I don’t know the first thing about being sexy,” she mumbled, not meaning for anyone to hear her.
“Oh, please, you are sexy,” Christian answered.
She broke into laughter, a sign the alcohol might be doing its job. “And are you a good judge of a woman’s sexiness?”
He acted coy and grinned, knowing what she meant. “Hey, which one of us is driving Paul crazy? You must be sexy . . . to have a man that fine all sweet on you?”
She stopped laughing. “I’m not doing anything to Paul, and he is not sweet in any way, shape, or form.”
They both laughed and she was grateful for the distraction, but once he turned his attention to one of the other girls she didn’t know, her jitters returned. She began to feel queasy. The nervousness and the alcohol were not a good mix for her. She rushed off the dance floor, toward the bathroom that had made such an impression on her, hoping she would make it before she threw up.
She reached the bathroom just as Paul opened the door and backed out of it. The girl he’d been making out with earlier hung onto him, coaxing him to come back inside by trying to unzip his pants.
“Maybe in a few days,” he told her.
“I know, you said that, but we had so much fun,” she said, giggling.
“Behave! I don’t want to miss the contest.” He gently pulled himself away from her and held her hands so she couldn’t try to undress him again.
“How about tomorrow then?”
“That’s too soon. I’ll see you around. Maybe in a few days.” He turned and bumped into Rhees.
Rhees stood frozen. She was astonished that she couldn’t seem to get away from him.
He stood, just as shocked to see her, and they stared at each other for longer than she could handle. She suddenly just wanted to get home, but the bathroom door remained open, blocking the path. He stood in front of the door, making her exit impossible. He would have to move for her to get by, but he didn’t, and she refused to ask him to move. In her flustered, intoxicated mind, she forgot about being sick, and about leaving, and raced back to the dance floor to get away from him.
The second and final warm-up song started and all the other contestants were dancing now. She folded her arms and stood on the edge of the dance floor, bothered that Paul seemed to mess with her life every time she turned around. It angered her. She still hadn’t decided whether she planned to dance or not.
While she fumed, an arm slipped around her waist from behind. She instinctively jumped to get away, but whoever had hold of her didn’t let go. She turned to face him, red in the face and ready to let loose her fury, but she was immediately disarmed to find Paul standing next to her.
“Don’t break yourself,” he said in her ear.
“Break myself?”
“You’re so stiff—what with that stick so far up your ass and all. I’m worried that if you actually move, you’re going to shatter into a million pieces.” His smug grin made her so angry she couldn’t think of a comeback. She stood, shooting daggers at him with her eyes, the only thing she could manage to do. She knew she could dance and suddenly wanted to prove it.
She’d never been drunk before, but she was just drunk enough to realize again, she’d need a little more to do what she wanted to do to prove him wrong.
She sneered and grabbed his glass, tossing his drink back in one large gulp.
“Oh shoot!” she yelped. She doubled over and waited for her mouth and throat to stop burning. Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. “What the heck was that?”
His mouth dropped open, dumbfounded by what she’d just done. “Bourbon, double, neat,” he finally answered with an amused grin, watching her writhe. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe even that’s going to help.” He walked back to the bar to order another.
Rhees was warm, very warm, and by the time the final practice song ended, she felt quite relaxed. The bartender announced it was time to dance and counted backward from ten.
She moved to the center of the circle and gave Paul an arrogant I’ll-show-you glare, her eyes growing glossy as all the drinks she’d downed relaxed her a little more with every second.
The music started and she swayed to the rhythm. It took her a few seconds to get the feel of it, but she started rolling her hands to the sultry beat, like the rolling waves of the ocean, or like a hula. Her waist rolled slightly, but she was just getting into the song when it changed. The DJ decided the song wasn’t getting the girls excited enough. The next one was livelier and started out with a rhythmic clapping.
It reminded Rhees of drill team. She started clapping, slapping her thighs, and marching around the floor, military style. Even though she executed the moves with precision, people were amused with her interpretation of the music and laughed. She didn’t notice anyone else, but she caught Paul’s eye. His lips twitched as he watched and it made her realize how stiff she must look, dancing around like a tin soldier. It incensed her that she was only proving him right. The music changed. She knew the song and smiled.
“Six Underground”, by the Sneaker Pimps. Rhees had been on a high school dance team. One day they were bored and choreographed the song, karaoke style, as a gag. She loved the song and started right into the performance; however, being intoxicated, she forgot to lip sync the lyrics the first part of the song. She promenaded around the dance floor holding an air microphone, singing, and dancing as though she were performing on a stage.
She executed the hip hop moves, popping her body slow and then fast, and then slowly again to the way the bouncy music dictated, and then out of nowhere, she stopped singing, spun to the ground and rolled around seductively without a break in the routine. She arched her back, and then rolled onto all fours, crawling gracefully toward Paul like a cat on the prowl, using her shoulders, bouncing them as well as various parts of her body to the beat. Her spandex dress pulled taut and relaxed again, accentuating her attractive figure.
It was hot, seductively hot. No one had seen such a thing at past dance contests. The spectators and the other dance contestants were so spellbound, they watched with their mouths hanging open. The DJ was so engrossed in her performance, he wasn’t paying attention. The song grew closer to the end, but after getting back up once, she’d dropped again and gyrated exquisitely on the floor.
Someone in the audience started yelling at the DJ to change the song. Others joined in the chant to get his attention. If the song ended, the contest was over, and they wanted more, curious to see what the new girl would do next.
The DJ finally regained his senses and pushed a button at the last second, not caring what song was next as long as the contest continued. The song had a bouncy quality and Rhees grabbed Christian and started doing the bunny hop. The other contestants joined in and everyone laughed, but the DJ was frustrated at his mistake. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to see, and it wasn’t soliciting any money votes. He changed the song again.
He ran through a string of songs, not playing them very long, but testing Rhees, wanting to see how she would interpret each one. She did the Charleston, the Swim, more hip hop, and some modern jazz moves to songs that most people wouldn’t consider the right music for the moves, but she made it work.
She grabbed Christian again and broke into the cha cha. He happily went along with her, complimenting her on her style. The music changed again. The primal drum beat pounded and Rhees immediately responded to the rhythm. The song was “There, There”, by Radiohead.
Rhees’ style was unique and she didn’t follow Christian’s lead in the traditional sense, but his skill as a dancer helped him keep up and improvise so they both looked good. He stayed at her side with the new song, trying to look good as she ran through the isolation drills she’d learned in belly dancing classes at college. Near the beginning of the song, a long, droning sound, like a guitar being played too close to the amplifier, whined through the quality sound system at the Starfish.
Rhees lowered herself very slowly into a backbend and hung there, letting her hair drape on the floor to the pounding rhythm before leisurely raising back to a standing position, one vertebra at a time. When she’d righted herself again, she glared at Paul, who watched with amused awe.
“Stiff?” she mouthed to him.
The music, and the alcohol, carried her away and she was lost, Paul forgotten as well as everyone else. She let herself go for the first time in her life. She broke into a Latin ballroom style dance and Christian clapped his hands excitedly. He ran to a girl on the sideline, grabbing the fringy wrap she had tied around her waist over her shorts.
“Can we borrow this? Thank you!” He ran back without waiting for the girl’s answer and barely managed to slow Rhees down long enough to tie the wrap around her hips. He offered his hand just as the song’s intensity increased to the next level. Rhees took his hand and, with Christian to use as resistance, she swung her body more arduously than before. The fringe flew, accentuating the way her hips shimmied wildly.
Christian did his best to keep up. It took every bit of his experience, instinct, and senses to know when to support her, spin her, dip her, but he did it all with the utmost respect.
“Shakira has nothing on you,” he said. Rhees didn’t pay attention.
The song reached its final climax, and she danced feverishly, her face beaming as though she loved what she was doing and had fallen prey—lost—to a different world. As the song ended, the tempo slowed and she rolled her waist slowly again against Christian who plunged her into a dip and held her there through the final beats of the song.
That was it. The DJ knew that even Rhees couldn’t top that performance, and he let the music end. The people in the audience applauded and started dropping money into Rhees’ cup as the other bartender made the rounds with the voting tray.
Christian finally let go and congratulated her with a big hug, but then he turned to Tracy and Regina.
“Did you see that? Do you realize how much money we’re going to get tonight?”
Rhees turned and took a step toward them but stumbled. It made her giggle and she couldn’t stop giggling because, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to regain her balance and straighten herself out. She thought Christian had slipped his arms around her again to steady her.
“Whoa, Christian. You may have to dance me all the way home. Apparently, I can dance, but I can’t walk worth beans.” She giggled.
She looked up and realized Paul held her up and not Christian.
“Stick up my ass, my ass! You ass . . . hole!” she slurred and giggled again at what she thought was her outrageous, but creative, vulgar insult. She would’ve fallen if it weren’t for Paul’s arm around her, and she grabbed him back for support. “I might be a lot of things, but I am not stiff.”
“Yep, I was wrong,” Paul patronized her. “You’re anything but stiff. We just need to get you drunk more often.”
Paul took her home.
Chapter 7
Rhees’ alarm went off, and she moaned. Not usually one to sleep in, today she really wished she had a little more time. She rolled over and moaned again. She was suddenly wide awake. She jumped up and barely made it to
the toilet before she threw up.
She rinsed her mouth and turned on the shower, something she didn’t usually do until after work. She laughed to herself. This was supposed to be a vacation. She felt extra grimy and needed to rinse off. She stepped in and her loud, routine gasp-groan escaped. The one that reflexively slipped out every time she voluntarily immersed herself in the cold water pouring out of the open pipe above her head. The islanders didn’t know what a showerhead or a water heater was. Other people might not mind a cool shower in the hot, humid climate, but she’d never liked cold water.
She walked back into the bedroom with nothing on but a towel on her head. She leaned down to her duffle bag to pull out something to wear and noticed the wad of cash sitting on the table. It took a second to remember where it came from. There were too many things she didn’t remember about the night before.
She’d won the contest and her personal take was seventy-three dollars, a dance contest record. A fifty-dollar bill sat tucked in the wad, which could only mean that one spectator had donated fifty dollars to one contestant. She closed her eyes and sighed.
She hoped it wasn’t Paul, but then thinking about a total stranger paying that much sounded even worse. She hoped it was Paul after all. She put on her swimming suit and tried to decide what shirt to wear over it. She realized she was going to be late today. She glanced at her clock to see just how late she’d be.
“Nine forty!” She racked her brain, trying to figure out how it could possibly be nine forty. Had she hit the snooze button, like, a million times? “Crap! He’ll never let me live this down.” She raced out of her apartment and headed toward the shop, stopping once to throw up on the side of the road. “Never again!”
Wet: Part 1 Page 8
