“First of all,” she says and comes to her feet. “I have to say that rednecks rock!” She raises her hands over her head and the crowd goes nuts for so long that Ben holds up his hands.
“I agree but we are live!” He gives Myra a look of warning.
Myra dutifully sits back down. “I’ve made no bones about the fact the you two are my favorites.”
Oh no, another but! Rio feels it too, because he squeezes my hand harder.
“But this wasn’t my favorite performance. While I liked the dance itself and even the cheesy costumes I too felt a lack of your usual zing. Granted, it’s a difficult dance but as Carson says these are the semifinals. I also give you an eight.”
Boos erupt from the audience. Out of the corner of my eye I see my mama on her feet with her hands cupped around her mouth. I don’t know what she’s hollering but Jesse pulls her back into her seat. He leans in and says something to her and she wags her finger in his face and then points at the judges’ table. In other circumstances I would have found my mother’s behavior amusing.
Ben raises his hands for silence. “Peter? Make it short because we’re running out of time.”
“Abby, you know I love . . . you.” He draws out the word love while giving me an apologetic smile that lodges my heart in my throat. “But I hated . . .” He draws out hated. “The costumes. Hated the song.”
“Peter . . .” Ben warns.
“Oh, all right already. I deserve my turn. Anyway, beyond that the dancing was superb if a little lacking in emotion. You and Rio usually have that special something that heats up the dance floor but tonight, Abby, I felt you holding back. I hope that you do the very sexy rumba next week if you make it to the finals, because it is your chemistry that sets you apart from the others. Tonight, at least for me, you didn’t have it.”
“Peter, your score!”
My heart skips a beat as he whips up his paddle. “I also give you an eight.”
The booing and disgruntled yelling from the crowd is cut short when they show clips of our dances for the home audience.
“Remember to vote online or call one-eight-hundred REDNECK with your votes. Combined with the judges’ scores your votes will determine who will go on to the finals next Saturday night. Tune in Monday for the results. Until then this is Ben Sebastian . . . see ya!”
I’m shaking like a leaf and want nothing more than to hightail it out of there but Mama and Jesse are waiting to speak to us. Rio leads me through the boisterous crowd. Mama throws herself at me for a huge hug. “Those judges stink!” she says in my ear. “You and Rio were amazing and I personally think that your outfits are cute.”
She pulls back for Jesse to give me a hug. “You’re still solidly in second place, Abby. Keep your chin up. Next week is the week that counts.”
“If we get there.”
“You’ve been the favorites all along. You’ll make it.”
“Hang in there, Babycakes,” Mama says and gives another hug so hard that my head threatens to pop right off. For a little thing she sure is strong. She backs away when others are pushing forward for pictures and autographs. I smile and pose until I think my face might crack. Finally it’s announced that our limo is waiting and we are whisked out the door surrounded by big beefy guys talking into headsets. Overkill, but looks impressive.
Except for Danny none of us performed the way we wanted to, making for a mostly silent ride back up to the lodge.
“Whew, that was brutal,” Julia finally mutters, shaking her head. Danny puts his arm around her and draws her in close.
“Tell me about it,” Mac agrees. “Damn, that was scarier than a hairpin turn on a slick mountain road.”
Danny chuckles and that sort of lightens the mood just a bit. When we reach Rabbit Run Lodge Julia pulls me aside. “Come on up to my room and we’ll have a glass of wine. I know I could use one.”
“Okay. Just let me change into some sweats.”
I drag myself up to my room, peel off my tight jeans, and tug on some comfy sweatpants and a hoody. I slip on some flip-flops and head to Julia’s room.
“Hey, girl, you doin’ okay?” she asks and hands me a glass of white wine.
I shrug but feel a definite slump in my shoulders.
“Tell me.”
“Rio’s rich.”
Julia almost chokes on her sip of wine and sits down on the bed. “Really? Like how rich?”
“I dunno. Millions, I think.”
“And why aren’t you grinning from ear to ear like this?” Pointing to her mouth she gives me a big silly grin.
I flop down into a fake leather chair. “Because it changes everything.”
“I’ll say. I’d be turning a cartwheel.”
“I never could do one of those.”
“Tell me again why this is a bad thing.”
I let a swallow of cold wine trickle down my throat. “I thought he was like me . . . had a struggling family business! Instead he’s this big tycoon with dance studios all over the danged place! And the worst part is that he never let on. He knew I thought he was a regular guy . . . well, aside from the champions dancing thing, but not loaded! He’s not the same person I thought he was. It changes everything. I’m totally out of my league.”
“Says who?”
“Angelina.”
“Fuck her.”
“Julia!” I burst out laughing in spite of myself.
“No, seriously. Say it.”
“I can’t!”
“Okay, then say screw Angelina.”
I hesitate and then say in a rush, “Screw Angelina.”
“Feel better?”
“No . . . well, a little. Seriously, though, she’s right. I’m out of my league.”
“That’s a bunch of bull and you know it.”
I shake my head sadly. “It was hard enough that he’s from another country . . . sophisticated and all that . . . but wealthy?” I shake my head harder. “No way.”
“Look, this week has been stressful. Learning that Rio is well off was a shock and yes, he should have been up front with you. But, Abby, he probably realized that it would scare you off and it seems like he was right. Take it from me, the longer you let something stupid go on, the harder it is to fix and it will get even stupider. . . . Wait. . . . Is that a word? More stupid . . . whatever. Maybe you should cut him some slack.”
I sip my wine thoughtfully. “I’m just a small-town girl with simple dreams. I just can’t see myself with someone so . . .”
“Filthy rich? Yeah, that’s a problem.”
“It is,” I protest but it suddenly sounds stupid to complain about someone being successful.
Julia scoots up into a cross-legged sitting position on the bed. “Come on, give me the real scoop. Yeah, he sort of misled you, but hey, it’s not like he was hiding a prison term or something. So he’s a Spanish hottie . . . not so very different from us when you really think about it, and the accent is so danged sexy. Confess, Abby. What’s the real problem?”
I take a sip of wine to avoid her question.
“Abby . . .”
“Okay! Not that those other things don’t matter, because they do, but . . . I’m scared. I’ve really fallen for Rio and I keep thinking that when the competition is over and all of the hoopla and everything has died down, you know, when our fifteen minutes of fame is over? I’m afraid that he’ll see that I’m just a small-town waitress and nothing more.”
“Like that isn’t enough?” Julia sits up straight and plunks her wineglass down so hard that I think it might break. “Danny thought he wasn’t good enough for me once he wasn’t the big football star. It’s stupid. Do you hear me?”
I grin. “Loud and clear.”
“Sorry. I get a little loud when I get riled up.” She makes an effort to lower her voice. “Abby, don’t do this. Rio is so into you. Can’t you see that?”
“You think?”
“I know.”
“It’s damned scary giving your heart to someone.
” I play with the stem of my wineglass. “I guess it has something to do with my daddy’s death. I never wanted to suffer the heartbreak that my mama did, and putting your heart out there does that.”
“Oh, Abby . . .”
“I know. I’m going to tell him how I feel.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Promise?”
I cross my heart.
“I know, I know . . . you’re not doin’ the hopin’ to die part.”
I giggle and then polish off my wine. “I’d better get going. Thanks for everything.”
“Hey, we’re gonna stay friends after this is over, right?”
“You betcha.”
25
A New Attitude
“I can’t believe you got kicked off,” I tell Julia while riding back up the mountain in the limo. We’re hugging and blubbering while Mac and Danny say silly things to try and get us to stop. But when you get two southern women in hysterics you might as well give it up.
“Mac, I can’t believe you got kicked off either!” I pause in my wailing to tell him this and then go back to hugging Julia.
“Hey, I’m not complaining. To tell ya the truth I’ve been missin’ my rig anyway. And I’ve got women from all over the country wantin’ to meet me . . . some even want to marry me,” he says with a good-natured chuckle. “Since startin’ this thing I’ve lost almost forty pounds. With my fame and new svelte figure I’m itching to get back on the road.”
“Can’t say as I blame ya,” Danny says and gets an elbow from Julia.
When we pull up to the lodge we all hug since Julia and Mac will be leaving the lodge in the morning, although Mitchell announced that the entire cast of contestants would be at the final show next Monday.
“Good luck to you both,” Mac says.
“You keep your promise,” Julia whispers in my ear. “And good luck.”
“You’ll be rooting for Danny,” I tease.
“Yeah, but it sucks that Angelina is his partner. And if you win that’s cool too. The money would be nice but we’ll be fine without it. Let Rio know how you feel, okay?”
“I will.”
Letting Rio know how I feel is easier said than done since he’s become all business once again and I become increasingly frustrated as the week progresses. By Friday I’m at my wits’ end.
“Rio, we need to talk,” I plead during a water break.
“I know, but we need to stay on task. We’re so close to winning. The rumba is our dance, Abby. Let’s stay focused.”
“I didn’t know that winning meant so much to you.”
“Of course it does . . . for you, I mean.”
My heart sinks. “Really? For me or do you want to beat Angelina?”
He tosses his plastic bottle in the trash harder than necessary. “How can you say that?”
“Is it true?”
“Of course not, Abby,” he says gently. “We can talk tomorrow after the competition. For now we need to get back to our rehearsal. Let’s start at the crossover break and underarm turn.”
“Okay,” I tell him, “but I really want to talk soon.”
Rio nods and gives me a swift kiss on the forehead before we start dancing again.
I never do get my chance to talk to him, though, since right after rehearsal we have an interview with the local news. From there we’re taken back to the lodge to rest up before the dress rehearsal that evening.
“Wow,” I breathe as Danny and I enter the Bluegrass Dance Hall. The rustic bar tables and stools have been covered in white linen. Bud Light beer signs, the big moose head, the bass fish that talks, and even the dart-boards have been covered in silky silver material that’s been draped over the walls. “It’s elegant!”
“I’ll say.” Like me, Danny is craning his head to take it all in.
“Come here, you two,” Jackie says and hauls us back to the greenroom to do our hair and makeup.
“Where’s Rio?” I ask.
“He and all of the other instructors came in early. They have a big group dance number to open the show. Mitchell wants to add glamour and of course keep the viewers waiting for the final dances from you two.”
“So,” says Maggie, “are you excited?”
“More like nervous as hell!” Danny says.
I nod my agreement. “Yes, tomorrow is it.”
Jackie weaves my extensions back into my hair. “Has Rio seen your costume yet? Very sexy. I do believe I’ve outdone myself.”
I feel a blush heat my cheeks. “No, I haven’t seen much of him except for rehearsals and some of them have been cut short for photo shoots and interviews. Luckily we already know this dance, so it’s just review.”
“Well, the instructors have been working hard on this big dance number. It’s going to be amazing.”
I nod, a little relieved that he hasn’t been trying to avoid me . . . at least I hope not. There’s been something secretive about him lately that has me on edge. He’s been on his cell phone a lot and even let it ring during our last few rehearsals . . . and took the calls! I finally had the nerve to ask him about it and he just shrugged and said that it was business.
I try not to let it bother me but I feel like he’s pulling further and further away. It doesn’t help to watch him dance with the other instructors and see how amazing he really is. In six weeks we’ve come a long way, but to watch the professionals dancing in a circular kaleidoscope of color is breathtaking. Because of my knowledge of ballroom dancing I realize that they are doing a small sampling of each of the dances, changing partners as they progress. When Angelina twirls into Rio’s arms I feel a twinge of jealousy that she moves so gracefully . . . something I will never be able to do. As if reading my mind, Angelina looks my way and raises one eyebrow, hammering my thoughts home, and I suddenly have that awful awkward feeling I used to get at high school dances as I stood on the sidelines.
Insecurity washes over me like a cold splash in the face and I get a panicky feeling that I’m way out of my element. “What am I doing here?” I whisper. My hands get clammy and icy fingers of dread claw at my stomach. For a horrifying moment I think I might throw up. Hoping that some fresh air will help, I slip outside and take big gulps of cool night air. Feeling weak I start to lean against the wall but I’m afraid that the rough brick will snag my beaded costume, so I prop one hand against the building and pray for the feeling to pass.
“There you are.”
I look up to see Rio approaching me.
“Are you okay?” His brows are drawn together in concern.
“No . . . my stomach is . . . upset.”
“Do you feel queasy?”
Ew, I hate that word. Just hearing it makes my stomach lurch. I nod.
“Was it something you ate, do you think?”
“Could be.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly a lie but better than telling him I’m never dancing again, at least in front of millions of people. No, make that never.
“What did you have for dinner?”
My hands are shaking and my mind is blank but I feel compelled to answer. “A meatball hoagie.” Of course I don’t really remember what I ate, if anything.
“A hoagie?” He shakes his head in confusion like a hoagie is a foreign object or something.
“It’s like a sub sandwich,” I explain even though I didn’t eat one and I don’t have food poisoning but I think it’s better not to let him know that I’m having a panic attack or a nervous breakdown or that he’s going to be dancing the rumba solo.
“So you think you can dance? We’re next.”
“No,” I answer in a small pathetic voice. Not now, not ever, but I leave that part out.
“You should go back up to the lodge.”
I nod. “I think so.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No! You stay. I’ll be fine.” Someday.
“You’re shaking. Abby, I’ll go with you.” His look of concern is almost my undoing.
“No . .
. just help me over to the limo.”
He doesn’t look convinced but nods and slips his arm about my waist. The limo driver is leaning against the hood of the car but straightens up when he sees Rio helping me.
“Everything okay, Abby?”
“She’s not feeling well,” Rio says, answering for me. “Can you take her up to the lodge?”
“Sure thing.”
He opens the door for me but I hesitate before getting in. “Will Mitchell be angry with me? Missing this rehearsal is a big deal.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Rio assures me.
“Okay, thanks.”
“Just get some rest. Do you want me to call a doctor?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
He looks uncertain but I fold myself into the backseat. To my credit I hold it together during the ride up to Rabbit Run Lodge and long enough to take off my costume and carefully hang it in the closet. But then I dissolve into a quivering puddle onto the bed.
I really want my mother. I need her strength, her wisdom.
“My God, they’re counting on me,” I whisper into the darkness. “They believe in me and I’m letting them down!” I think of my mother, who at a young age was left with two children and a pile of debt. She was able to scrape together a decent living for us and here I am with the opportunity of a lifetime and I’m screwing it up.
Hot tears slide down my cheeks and soak onto the pillowcase. Ticked off at my sorry self, I flip the pillow over and finally drift off to sleep . . . and dream that I’m dancing. I know it’s a dream because I’m me but a little girl and I’m not on the ballroom dance floor but dancing in a field of wildflowers . . . with my daddy. He spins me around and around and I’m laughing without a care in the world.
“Spin me again, Daddy,” I plead in my little girl voice.
“You’ll get dizzy.”
“I don’t care. I love to dance. Spin me again.”
He does because he’s my daddy and I’m laughing and twirling . . . with my eyes closed. I can smell the clover and feel the sun on my face and I’m so happy . . . but when I open my eyes my daddy is gone and I’m dancing alone.
When I wake up the next morning I remember the strange dream. I wonder if there is any truth to dreams having meaning. Try as I might I can’t think of what the dream might be telling me. Life is short? Happiness is fleeting?
Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues Page 24
