by Frank Downey
They collapsed on the bed. After a couple minutes, Warren spoke.
"My... ribs... HURT!"
Sophia couldn't help but giggle. "Between the skating and that, you might've overexerted yourself a bit, sweetie."
"It wasn't the skating," he said. Sophia cracked up laughing.
"You needed that in any case," she said simply.
"True. It's just that I'm too sore to do my usual thorough job on you."
"That's OK. I came twice, what else can a girl ask for?"
"You're right, though, I needed that. I'd apologize for being a bit rough at first if it weren't for the fact that you like it that way."
Sophia giggled. "You're right, but tonight was for you in any case."
"Thanks, Pookie."
"Thank you. It's been a while."
"You've been patient."
"Horny, but patient," she giggled. "Good night, my love."
"Good night, ruler of my heart."
* * *
They got back on the ice in earnest, and word spread throughout the skating world. The messages of support and encouragement poured in.
Warren, with Mary's help and Sophia's support, slowly got better. The nightmares came much less frequently. And, he decided to fight back. Preacher Watson held a rally on campus, hoping that the ruckus had died down. Warren, and his friends, made sure it didn't. They made up a pamphlet, entitled "This is what 'Reverend' Watson's hateful words can do," detailing what had happened to Warren, and he and his friends handed it out at the rally. The crowd thinned considerably.
The University community as a whole was very supportive. Their practices started to fill up with people supporting and encouraging them. Sophia joked they should start charging admission.
Shortly, it was time for Worlds.
Chapter 77 - Something To Grab For
They landed in San Jose on a Saturday afternoon for their second World Championships. Their practices started on a Sunday, and their competition was Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.
They were not in their room an hour, when there was a knock at the door. "Hi, Liz!" Sophia greeted her.
"Hiya, Soph. Hi, Warren!" She ran over to him and wrapped him in a bear hug. "I'm so happy you're here."
"So am I," he grinned at her.
"We're all getting together in the hotel restaurant for supper, a whole bunch of us. Six o'clock. Everyone starts practice tomorrow, so we unwind a little tonight. And you guys have to be there," Liz informed them.
"Sounds great!" Sophia agreed.
* * *
They walked in to be greeted by an impressive array of skating talent. Evan Pogdar was the first to greet them as they walked in.
"Ev. Thanks for all the support. It was appreciated more than you know," Warren told him.
"Aah, it's nothing."
"It wasn't nothing, trust me. Too bad you don't get to skate."
"I'm glad I don't get to skate. You earned the spot. Remember what I said, though--three spots next year!"
"Aye aye sir."
They continued into the room, being waylaid by well wishers at every turn. They finally grabbed a table with Jack Garrison and his wife, Chris Arsenault, and Liz Cushman.
"Varren, Dahling!" It was world champion Olga Bradochkina.
"Olga! Dobriy vyecher! Kak Dela?"
"Ochen khorosho, moy drug, a tyi?
"Ni plokho, maya podruga Olga, spacibo."(*)
"Ah, Varren," Olga switched to her accented English, "is good to see you here. After that horrible thing..."
"It's over, Olga. I'm here."
"Is good thing. You feel good?"
"Yes, I do. Pretty much all healed. Ready to go and kick your ass!"
Olga cracked up laughing. "Tenth to first, Varren? You dream big like Siberia, yes?"
"Yes! Nope, it's just good to be here. I just want to skate."
"Good. I vill be vatching."
"Nice to see you, Olga."
"You also, dahling. Do svidanya."
"She is a trip and a half, that lady," Jack opined.
"That she is. The phrase 'her bark is worse than her bite' should have been invented for her," Warren agreed. "Underneath the bluster that the TV audience sees, she's a dear."
They greeted other friends, and chatted with the folks at their table into the night.
* * *
"I hate early morning practices," Warren grumbled, as they stepped onto the ice at 7am.
"You never were a morning person, Snugglebear," Sophia said.
"Well, yeah."
"It's not that early, though, you know. It's 9am in Wisconsin."
"True. Still too damn early." Warren looked up in the stands. "There's a lot of people here for an early morning, early week ice dance practice, isn't there?"
"Yeah. The French are on this practice though." Sophia was talking about Nicole Borisina and Michel Dravouche, fourth in the world last year and poised to move up. "They've been attracting a lot of attention. And Steve and Sharon are here, too, and they're the National Champions."
It was a free dance practice. Sophia and Warren watched the other couples run through their free dance. They were second-to-last to skate. The French, Nicholas and Coleman, and some other teams skated before them. They noticed that, if the crowd were here to see the French, or Steve and Sharon, they didn't seem to pay much attention when they were skating.
"How you feel?" Sophia asked him as they prepared to run through their program.
"Ask me after I've had about three more cups of coffee."
"No time for that, sweetie, we're on," Sophia giggled at him.
"Next to skate, representing the United States of America, Sophia Daniels and Warren Kelleher," the rink announcer intoned.
Sophia noticed it first. The applause. The cheering. A group of teenage girls yelled "WE LOVE YOU WARREN!!!"
"Oh my God," Sophia realized. "They're here for us."
Warren couldn't speak. All he could do was grin and blush.
"Can you skate in the face of all this adoration, my dear?" Sophia smirked.
That brought him back down to the ice. "I think I can manage," he grinned. The music for their Sinatra program started, and they flew through it almost perfectly. They never stopped smiling, and the folks in the stands never stopped cheering.
* * *
It was like that all week. Every practice, there was more people there, apparently to support Warren and Sophia. There was even a decent crowd for the compulsory dances, which is unheard of.
"You see what I told you?" Sophia told him in their room one night after they had discussed it. "You chose love over hate. You chose hope over despair. And you're getting it all back."
"And then some," Warren agreed, a little teary-eyed at the thought. "I'm so glad you kicked my ass into getting back on the ice, Pookie."
"You just remember that," she smiled at him.
* * *
Politics is an ever-present reality in ice dance. It reared its head in the compulsories.
At Worlds, there are three different judging panels. One for the first compulsory, a completely different one for the second compulsory, and a third one--drawn from the first two--for the original dance and free dance.
The first compulsory went almost to form. The first seven places were exactly where they had been at last years' Worlds: the two Russian pairs one and two, the Canadians third, the French fourth, the Germans fifth, Nicholas and Coleman sixth, and the Italians seventh. Warren and Sophia finished eighth, and were thrilled.
However, there was some maneuvering with the judges for the second compulsory. This panel included the Russian, French, Italian, and German judges, and they found a fifth to work with to control the panel. The two Russian teams were still one-two in the second compulsory, but the Italians and Germans were three-four, with the Canadians down to fifth. The Italians were put in sixth, with Nicholas and Coleman dumped down to eighth. The unwitting beneficiaries of this skullduggery were Sophia and Warren, who were placed sev
enth, above the perceived "greater threat" of Nicholas and Coleman.
This irony was not lost on either Sophia or Warren. Neither was another--this was the Golden Waltz. "From eighth at Nationals to seventh at Worlds. Nice thing, this bloc judging, eh?" Warren laughed.
"Good thing I didn't fall down!" Sophia cracked.
* * *
The judging panel for the original dance and free dance must have disappointed the conspirators. Only the French and the Italians were drawn for the third panel. Both the Americans and Canadians were on it, plus a bunch of judges representing nations with no big stake in the outcome. It was rumored that strong efforts by the French to form a coalition fell on deaf ears.
Sophia and Warren were in the middle of the pack, in terms of skate order, for the OD. They were after the second Russians and the Germans, but before all the rest of the teams above them. They knew that mattered, but not as much as some fans seemed to think it did. They just wanted to skate well. They knew the program was a winner, especially after seeing the parade of typical march music that most of the other teams were skating to. They knew their upbeat pop song would grab the crowd, at least.
Little did they know, until they stepped on the ice, that there was no need to grab the crowd. The house was packed, and when their names were announced, it erupted.
"Oh my God," said Warren, looking incredulously into the stands, disbelieving.
"It really is something," Sophia. The loud applause and cheering didn't let up until they had maneuvered into their starting position.
"Let's give 'em something to cheer about," Warren said.
"Damn straight," Sophia agreed.
The music started. If they had attacked this program at Nationals--well, then, here, they grabbed it by the throat and strangled it until it surrendered. They went at the program like two people possessed. It was intense, and furious, and altogether fantastic. The crowd hammered their hands together on every beat, spurring them on. Their usual smiles were replaced by expressions of furious intensity--especially for Warren, who was seemingly trying to use the power of the adoring crowd to purge himself of two months of pain with two and a half minutes of skating. It worked. When they finished, the crowd went nuts--but the loudest scream came from down on the ice, from Warren, who let out a bellow as he raised his hands above his head in a moment of glorious triumph. The crowd roared its approval.
They took their bows with even wider than usual smiles on their faces. The crowd sent them off with a standing ovation, and a hailstorm of flowers and teddy bears. Warren grabbed one, which he had seen thrown on the ice by a girl in the front row who was no more than eight years old. It was a teddy bear, embroidered to say "Get Well Soon Warren." He threw a kiss at the little girl as he carried the teddy off into the kiss and cry.
"I'm dumbstruck," June, their coach, said.
"I'm exhausted!" admitted Warren with a laugh.
Their marks came up. They were very high. "And we earned every damn five-eight," Sophia quipped. When the ordinals came up, they realized something. They were in first place in the OD.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Warren realized. "Yatserova and Vaglach already skated. We beat them! They were second in the world last year and WE FUCKING BEAT THEM!!!!"
By the time the evening had ended, they had beaten everyone except for Bradochkina and Zhargov. They had finished second in the OD, and were fourth overall. "Hey, we get to skate in the last group in the free dance!" Sophia realized excitedly.
They did what they always did on the night after an OD--they made love. It was playful and joyous--the perfect end to a perfect day.
* * *
It wasn't until the next day that they really realized where they were. They were eating breakfast, when Sophia said the M word.
"You know, Warren, we have a chance to win a medal tonight."
"No way. The French are right behind us. They'll pass us, we'll finish fifth. Which would be an astounding outcome."
"I agree with that part, but you never know. The panel is all over the place. We got ordinals in the OD from first to seventh. With this set of judges, anything's possible."
"I don't even want to think about it," Warren stated.
"Don't want to get nervous?" Sophia teased him.
"I'm already nervous! Skating in the last group makes me nervous!"
"Not just that--remember, sweetie, we're skating dead last."
"That's right. Thanks for reminding me. Now I'm really nervous! Look, you don't win a medal in your second World Championships, not in ice dance, not unless you're Russian."
"We'll see."
* * *
They took their warm-up that night, then grabbed a seat near a TV backstage, so they could watch the proceedings.
Nicholas and Coleman were first. "They were great," said Warren. The French came next, and beat Steve and Sharon handily.
"I'm not much impressed," said Sophia. "More overacting to bad movie music."
"I agree, but they beat Sharon and Steve."
The Canadians were next. Renee Damphier and Christian Gaudler were fan favorites, especially in North America, and their program this year really danced.
"You know, they're my favorite dance team that isn't us," Warren joked. "And, look, the judges did the right thing. They're in first. They beat the French."
The second Russian team was next. They had a rough go, falling once and stumbling another time. "And I am distinctly unimpressed by that program." Sophia said. They fell behind the Canadians and French, but ahead of Nicholas and Coleman.
"They're setting us up. They're going to slot us right in between the French and the Russians, because that's the only way the French get on the podium."
"You're a cynic." Sophia teased him. They were walking towards the ice, preparing to skate their program. Bradochkina and Zhargov were skating now--their winning was a foregone conclusion, they were so far ahead. Sophia and Warren barely watched them.
"You know how my sister Kate is a huge college hoops fan?" Sophia asked Warren. He nodded. "She's got a quote on her wall. It's from the late Jim Valvano, and it's something he said at halftime of the national championship game, the one where his North Carolina State team won in an upset. The quote says, 'All that's left to do is to go out and win the whole damn thing. There's no reason not to, now.'" She looked up at Warren. "Warren, my sweet Snugglebear, let's go out and win a damn medal. There's no reason not to."
He smiled at her, and took her hand. Olga and Nikolai were ending their program. They skated off the ice, and Sophia and Warren, greeted them with handshakes. Olga shouted, "Good luck, Varren and Sophia!" as they stepped onto the ice. They waited at the end of the rink, until their names were announced.
The place absolutely exploded. A standing ovation, before they had even skated a step.
"I don't believe this, I really don't believe this." Warren said. He was trying desperately not to cry. He swiped at his eyes. He didn't want to wave at the crowd to shut up, but this was overwhelming--and he had to skate, and soon.
Sophia realized what was going on. She looked into his eyes, with a twinkle in her own, and said to him, "Just think, Snugglebear, if we win a medal, this place is going to go into orbit!"
Warren cracked up laughing. That was all it took. He composed himself, and he and Sophia took their starting positions. Frank Sinatra filled the arena, and they were off.
It wasn't like the OD--this wasn't an attacking program, except a little near the end, so they didn't attack. They glided, gracefully and surely, staying right on beat, dancing around the ice. It also, unlike the OD, wasn't perfect--there was one little bobble, and one place where they almost missed a handhold but covered up well. Who knows what the judges saw. But it was good, damn good, and they finished up happy with how they had skated. The crowd was insane. More screams, more flowers and teddy bears. Warren and Sophia ate it up.
"I done all I can, I canna do no more!" Warren said to June and Sophia as he climbed off the ice. He wasn't kidding
. It had all caught up to him, and he was exhausted and in pain.
"How you feeling?" Sophia asked him.
"Who, me? Besides the fact that it feels like I just rebroke my ribs, I feel just ducky. Oh SHIT this hurts. It hurt last night after the OD, but this is worse. I was skating on pure adrenaline at the end."
"Oh, poor baby," Sophia said, wrapping her arm in his. "We'll get you back to the hotel room and I'll rub something on it."
"Just have Garrison get me something that I'm too young to buy, and I'll be fine," Warren quipped.
The marks came up. They were good. "You're definitely in there," said June. It was close. They waited, looking at the scoreboard, for the final standings to be posted.
First--Bradochkina and Zhargov. Second--Damphier and Gaudler. Third--Daniels and Kelleher.
The crowd went absolutely bonkers.
"I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU!" Sophia screamed. "WE WON A MEDAL, I TOLD YOU!"
"That you did, Pookie," Warren said with a broad smile. "I'm not quite sure I believe it yet."
They may have been the happiest bronze medal winners ever.
* * *
(*)Translation? You want a translation? Nobody speaks Russian? Sigh...
"Olga! Good evening! How are you?"
"Very well, my friend, and you?"
"Not bad, my dear Olga, thank you."
Chapter 78 - Glory Days
Sandra Willis, the television ice dance expert (and former dancer herself) later said it was perhaps the most delightful interview she had ever conducted.
"It is only your second Worlds," she began, "and you win a bronze medal, the first medal by an American Ice Dance team in almost twenty years. How does it feel?"
