Sway

by Alana Albertson

  Focus, Vika, focus. “Antoshka, it’s good to see you’re in dancing spirit.”

  “Antoshka?”

  “It’s Russian nickname for Anthony. Like “Tony” in English. And you call me Vika.”

  “I like it.” He grins and pulls me to my feet. “Vika. I want to show you how fucking committed I am to this show.” He puts his hands on my hips and does some hip-hop maneuver, probably left over from his brief musical foray into rap/rock. Then he stops and just lets his hands sit on my hips. “You are so smoking hot, baby.”

  Oh, good God, this is my puberty fantasy coming true! Benny, Benny, Benny . . . Yeah, that’ll calm a girl’s libido in a heartbeat. “Thanks, Antoshka. So, we must get started. I hear Dolla and Salomé will practice eight hours a day. We must beat them. Dolla wants to win. You know that he’s the former dancer and he recently ran marathon in New York. He’s committed.”

  “Yeah, that dude’s fucking crazy. I love Dolla. We party in the Hamptons together. But there’s no way they can win if I am dancing with you.” Tony winks at me. I get hot in places the camera can’t see.

  “So,” I reluctantly step out of his hands, “where are we going to practice? The producers told me that you don’t want to practice at studio?”

  “Naw, Vika. I want to stay at home so I can be near my babies.”

  Babies? No one mentioned anything to me about having his babies around. I assumed they’d be living with their mother. The kids will probably be running around disrupting our rehearsals.

  “But don’t worry, babe. I’ve got us covered.” Tony’s eyes glisten. “Vika, I fucking built a dance studio!”

  “You built one? In here?”

  “Yeah. It’s sick. I’m gonna try really hard. I don’t want to let you down.”

  Love the dedication.

  Behind his big brown eyes, Tony looks just like a little boy trying to find his way. He’s a Libra, I know, which means he simply exists for being in love. And I’m an Aries, so we are astrological opposites, everything I have he lacks and vice versa. Perfect match—if it weren’t for Benny, of course. Hillary, a Leo, was so selfish and focused on her career and wouldn’t give him the family he desired. And Penelope, a Cancer, completely ignored him after she gave birth to their sons. Anyone can play a bitch on TV or put on a red bathing suit and run slowly on a beach—but it takes a lot of dedication and hard work to be the two times undefeated United States Professional Latin-American Dancesport Champion.

  “Okay. Antoshka,” I twirl Tony around so he’s facing me and make sure my good side is toward the camera, “we’re gonna start today with rumba. Our first dance is actually mambo, but rumba is basis for all Latin dances. Rumba is dance of love. It was created in Cuba, back when women wore veils and they couldn’t talk to men so their only communication was through dance.” I seductively sway my hips back and forth.

  Tony laughs. “That’s crazy. That would suck to not be able to talk to a chick and instead have to dance. I’m so glad that I didn’t live in Cuba then.” He picks up the couch arm cover and holds it across his face. “Though I do dig veils. She’s still a mystery, you know? I was at The Seventh Veil last night.” He starts wiggling like some kind of belly dancer, waving his “veil” around.

  Uh huh . . . . I can see this will be a long day. The guy can’t pay attention. At least I know what The Seventh Veil is. It’s a strip club that Möxie Cörps had made famous in its 1989 hit, “Chicks, Chicks, Chicks.” Tony hasn’t seen a thing yet. I can turn him on more with my clothes on than those tramps can wearing crystal encrusted thongs. Believe me, I know. I used to be one of those girls.

  Time to focus. “Antoshka, here, put down veil.” I pull it out of his hands. “Now listen. You have to pretend that you love me. That you want me, lust for me, dream of me. That every time you think you have me, I leave.”

  “That won’t be hard. Let’s do this.” He throws me over his back and carries me into the new dance studio. The cameraman nearly flips over the couch racing after us with the camera at his face.

  I pat Tony’s ass as we turn the corner. “Good boy.”

  He flips me down on one of the couches that he has put in the “studio.” This studio is unlike any that I have ever seen. It’s got a hardwood floor as you’d expect, but it’s jet-black maple—hardly a ballroom standard. And there are crazy crimson pentagrams on the ceiling, with black velvet curtains ensconcing the windows. He also put in a BOSE sound system.

  After I fasten my heels, I slowly stand up and make sure Tony is looking at me. It’s time for teacher to take charge of her student. I gracefully slip my navy Juicy Couture sweat suit off my body, pausing as I peel it off my tight ass. Tony is mesmerized. Underneath, I’m wearing nude fishnets, black skin-tight cotton boy shorts—with my ass cheeks hanging out ever so tastefully—and a fitted, black, ribbed Möxie Cörps tank top with hot pink writing, my cleavage spilling over the top. The cameraman lies on the ground to get a better shot.

  I’m getting paid for this? This is too easy.

  “You know,” Tony says, “I was thinking we could dance to “Take My Breath Away” from Top Gun. I can add a new drum track and make it wicked. I love that movie. I can dress like Maverick.”

  I pause. “Top Gun?” Lame. Tony is stuck in the eighties. “It’s good idea, Antoshka,” I lie. “But if we do that, producers will make us go to military base for one of their stupid clips.” Last season, I had to go to a rodeo so that my celebrity could better understand the paso doble. I stepped in horseshit. Twice.

  “That would be awesome!” Tony says. “I’ve done a ton of shows on bases. I have nothing but respect for the men and women in the military.”

  How sweet. Who would’ve guessed he’d be so patriotic? “Sure, okay. That’s great idea.” I point to the floor in front of me. “On your feet, warrior. It’s time to move those toes.”

  I start the arduous task of training his feet. Tony is tall and gangly, but he has rhythm, which helps. And despite my original fear that he’d be hard to keep focused, he is a really hard worker. Luckily, it’s easier for the male celebrities on the show because we can just dance around the man while he stands there.

  Liking his early promise, I decide to get to the goods. “All right. We’re gonna start with walks. In rumba, we walk on two, three, four, and we hold one. Like this.” I put Michael Jackson’s song “I Just Can’t Stop Loving You” on repeat and start doing my rumba walks around the floor. “Keep your legs straight, your shoulders still, and don’t worry about your hips right now.”

  Tony starts clod hopping around the floor. Then again . . . I put my hands on his shoulders and press them down.

  “Point your toes, ankles together. Davai, Antoshka.” Dolla probably already has it perfect. “Keep your feet on ground.”

  “I’m trying, Vika.” His hips are jetting side to side and his feet keep flicking off the floor.

  I can’t take it anymore. “Antoshka. You look like duck. Smile, keep your back straight, chest open.”

  We work on the same thing for the next hour. The camera guy dozes off on the couch.

  After I restart “Just Can’t Stop Loving You” for the umpteenth time, Tony stops cold. “Vika? Can we take a break?”

  Are you kidding me? “Break? I doubt that Dolla is taking break.”

  He looks crushed. I guess most people don’t talk that way to an aging rock star. But Vika is not most people.

  Still, Tony is new to this, I have to remember that. I change my tune. My baba always says, “you do not need a whip to urge on an obedient horse.” “One more song, Antoshka, and we can take the break. You’re doing better. Good on timing.”

  He takes a deep breath and hobbles around the floor one more time. Like my dog, he definitely responds better to positive reinforcement. Thank God we have five weeks until the first show.

  When the song ends, Tony’s feet freeze. He’s done. “Thanks, babe. Let’s sit out by my pond for a bit. I like to go out here and meditate.” He grabs my ha
nd and we sneak outside, careful not to wake the snoring cameraman. Tony sits me down outside on a stone bench.

  Six koi fish are dancing around the lotus blossoms in the water. The scent of the jasmine plants around the pond tickles my nose. I can’t help but smile. “It’s beautiful out here.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Thanks. My life used to be so crazy and all, then I started meeting with a spiritual teacher. He told me to let everything go and just be here now.” He looks into my eyes. “You’ve got such a cute accent.”

  I grimace.

  “No, I mean your English is really good. When did you come to America?”

  Oh hell no. This isn’t a first date. “When I was twelve.”

  He tries to make eye contact but I look down. “What made you start dancing?”

  I cross my legs and turn away from him. “Everyone does it back in Ukraine. I’ve always danced.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I mean with drumming. But I’ve been trying to find other outlets.” His hand brushes against my thigh. “That’s why I wanted to do this show. Plus it gives me more time to spend with my kids than when I’m out on tour.”

  “Where is their mama?”

  Tony shrugs his shoulders and stares at the pond. “All she cares about is her career. She gave me full custody.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Now I feel bad for them. I know what it’s like to grow up without a mother. She sent me here with my baba so I could have a better life. All women make their choices, I suppose. Benny creeps into my mind but I push him away. He’s out of place on this patio.

  Tony shrugs again, this time more lightheartedly. “It’s all good. There’s nothing I would rather do than be with my boys.” As if on cue, a boy runs outside and leaps into Tony’s arms.

  “Draven.” Tony scoops him up in his arms and swings him in the air. “Draven, this is Miss Vika. Miss Vika is teaching daddy how to dance.”

  Tony’s mini-me stares up at me, and snot trickles down his nose. “Hi, Miss Vika.” He reaches out his sticky, chocolate-stained palm for me.

  Of course, this is the moment the damn cameraman chooses to stumble out here looking for us. But I’m all over it. Never one to miss a photo opportunity, I high five Draven and give him a hug.

  Tony raises an eyebrow. “I can tell you really love kids. Do you have any of your own?”

  I give a fake smile. “Actually I have two.” Granted they are my stepchildren and both older than me—but he doesn’t need the details. I pat the kid on the head. “Dravyenka, malchik moy, it is great meeting you, but I have to go inside and teach your papa to rumba.”

  “Okay, Miss Vika.” Draven gives his daddy a big kiss and runs back inside to his waiting nanny.

  I take Tony back into the studio. While he works on the music, I rummage through my Louis Vuitton bag and grab my makeup bag. Ah, there it is, right at the top! Bath & Body Works Tahitian Vanilla-scented anti-bacterial waterless hand foam—the child had snot on that hand, for Christ’s sake. Then I take an extra moment to swipe on a fresh coat of Chanel lip-gloss #116. My compact mirror says it all: lips perfect for kissing. I’d never cheat on Benny, but if I’m going to spend the next thirteen weeks in the arms of my childhood crush, the last thing I’m going to do is go frumpy and lipstickless. A little flirting never hurt anybody. And really, Tony may be childlike, but he’s endearing. This is one little boy Vika doesn’t mind touching. Antoshka, here I come.

  “OKAY, ANTOSHKA. LET’S go through rumba one more time.”

  I start the music. Tony stands in the middle of the floor, his legs slightly spread, attempting to move his hips. I seductively walk toward him and clasp his hand, then lead myself into a back break and fan. I double rope spin and circle around Tony, sensually rubbing my hands over his back and shoulders. Tony scrunches his face like he’s thinking too hard.

  “Antoshka,” I whisper, “don’t think about steps. Just follow my body.” I place his hands on my waist.

  My words do the trick. Tony starts moving his hips in rhythm with mine. His hands drift over my body, exploring every inch of my curves. I get moist. Even though I’ve danced these moves daily with Jared or Stas, with Tony it’s different. I’m drunk on his scent.

  “I can almost taste you.” He breathes in my hair, rubbing my hips, grazing my thighs. I turn away from him. He kisses the back of my neck. He leads me into a spiral turn and spreads me—one heel on his shoulder and one between his legs. I drape my leg around him and he presses into every inch of my body.

  I detach myself and rise to turn off the music and try to regain my composure.

  “Maladeits, Antoshka. That was fabulous for your first time.”

  “That was so hot, Vika. I love the rumba. It’s so sexy when you speak Russian.” He straightens out his clothes and waits for, uhm, everything to calm down. “Man, I’m wrecked. You wanna go to this party with me tonight. It is going to be fucking amazing. Some Kabal la la thing where we dress in white like babies.”

  I would LOVE to go to the party. But I have to play it cool—this is only day one of a long training period, and I’ve got to stay Alpha Dog to keep him focused and working. The first days are critical. I certainly can’t risk going into his world right now and seeming like another fawning groupie. Plus, I have to walk around the Emerald Ball while Benny judges. Tonight, I must play the perfect loving trophy wife.

  “Antoshka, I would love to, but I’m busy tonight. Don’t party all night—we have to work hard if we’re going to beat Dolla. I see you tomorrow, da?”

  “You bet, babe.” Tony lifts me up and gives me a huge hug. I can feel all ten inches of him hard against me. My body aches for him, to feel a real man inside me, and I can feel myself hollow out from the fantasy.

  And we’re only on the first dance.

  Official Press Release

  TWELVE STARS LIGHT up the dance floor when Dancing under the Stars returns for a spectacular twenty-sixth season.

  Twelve celebrities—six men and six women—attempt to outshine one another on the eighteenth season of the hit series Dancing under the Stars. The twenty-sixth season cast includes some of our most lauded stars yet: two Grammy Award winners, an Emmy award winner, a Playmate of the Year, two Olympic Gold medalists, and the NBA's current sixth Man of the Year.

  Today, the producers are revealing the names of the first six celebrities on the show. The remaining stars will be disclosed later in the week.

  The first six stars making their ballroom dancing debut are:

  LILIA GARCIA—Filipina-American model, Lilia Garcia is YouTube’s most popular artist. Lilia stars in her own reality show, Lilia’s Love Life, where both men and women vie for her affection.

  DION JACKSON—Dion made history as television’s first African-American man on the hit dating show The Suitor. Dion is a financier and has a MBA from Harvard and a BA in Economics from Stanford.

  TIM LEE—Tim Lee was the first Asian-American player in the NBA. He also has an Olympic gold medal in basketball as part of Team USA.

  XAVIER VIRAMONTES—Xavier Viramontes is a mixed martial artist. He is a former UFC Light Heavyweight champion. He also designs and operates his clothing line, Salvation.

  JAMAL “CASH DOLLAR, C. DOLLA, DOLLA” WATKINS—Dolla is a media mogul; he is the CEO of Mogul Man records, head of Jamal Trey clothing, and is also a rapper and actor.

  TONY ZAVE—Tony is the drummer of the glam metal group Möxie Cörps. Tony has recently been a top reality star, with shows such as Tony Zave Goes to College and Metal God.

  Hosted by Matt Brinkman and Deborah Mares, the celebrities will perform choreographed dance routines, which will be judged by renowned ballroom judges Benjamin Brooks, Steve Samson, and Karen Lopez.

  Mambo

  She flipped up her skirt. Enticed, he danced up behind her and put his hands on her waist. She shimmied her hips as he turned her toward him and they pounced on the beat. Flicking her heels up, her movement became frenzied. Just when she caught her breath, he dipped her. Her lo
ng hair swept the floor and he brought her to his chest. They gazed into each other’s eyes as the music died.

  7

  Salomé

  DOLLA STUDIES HIMSELF in the mirror before we take the stage for the show’s season premiere. He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t know ‘bout this outfit, Sal.” I laugh. He’s dead-on about that—the poor guy looks like the mutant offspring of a parrot and a bottle of Squirt soda. He’s all done up in an open, lemon-and-lime-colored silk shirt with orange feathers sprouting out of his arms. If he started flapping, he’d probably lift right off the ground.

  “Yeah, you do kinda look like you might fly away,” I admit as I walk over to the stereo and turn on our music. “But, no, it’s good. Very traditional mambo. The judges will like it.”

  “Really?” he asks. Then he shrugs. “Hey, you’re boss. What you say goes. One more time?” He grabs my hand.

  We start to dance our routine on the small black practice floor behind the main set. A couple of random key grips and assistants roam around.

  Dolla is a machine. He is the one always asking for one more practice round. My dream partner. And he can totally dance. He started giving me respect once he realized how fierce I am about my dancing.

  Dolla’s face lights up. He twists and shakes to the music, in perfect beat. We just might win.

  The music abruptly stops.

  “Hey!” Dolla snaps.

  Vika is at the corner of the practice floor changing the track. “Oh, I’m so sorry guys. Weren’t you done? Here, I’ll put it back on for you.”

  She puts on a big, doe-eyed innocent face, which contrasts with the God-awful stripper costume she’s wearing, probably rummaged out of her closet. But she’s not gonna shake me. “No thanks, Vika, we’re all done.” Make nice, we promised. “Good luck tonight.”