by Cynthia Dane
“Whoa,” Rick said, putting one hand on Clara’s back. “You really don’t look so good. Sure you want to continue?”
Clara forced a smile, although Olivia doubted that anyone was falling for it. “I’ll be fine.” She handed a staff person the Solo cup. “Let’s get this over with.” Whatever that meant, Olivia didn’t want to know.
Grumbling, the director had everyone return to their places, including Rick, who begrudgingly put a hand on Clara. She looked even worse now. Completely white in the cheeks and pouring sweat down the side of her face. Rick nodded that he was ready to go. Olivia returned to the sidelines with the other backup dancers and watched with trepidation.
“Music!” The same tune started over again, and the director called for Rick and Clara to begin their journey across the floor.
This time they went a whole thirty seconds. Although Clara did not smile, her footwork was fine and she followed Rick’s lead like the professional she was hired to be. Olivia blew out a sigh of relief. The next thing on the docket was some solo shots of Rick dancing on his own with the backup dancers behind him. Olivia was antsy to get back to moving. Watching everyone else have fun with the music blasting wasn’t her idea of a good time. The sooner she could…
Olivia gasped. When Rick lifted Clara to spin her at the beginning of the chorus, time came to a still. The look on Clara’s face was not one of concentration or even fun. In fact, Olivia was very familiar with that look – the scrunching knows, the turning lips, and that look of sheer panic before vomit came hurling out and landed on the floor.
Rick put her down and jumped away, unscathed. Clara sank to her knees and heaved once more before clutching her stomach and whimpering in pain. The music stopped. People were silent. Poor Clara was left in her designer outfit ankle-deep in her own vomit, and she knew damn well that everyone was staring at her. Although Olivia was properly disgusted, she couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor woman. Especially when the director let out a string of curses that would make anyone blush.
Someone came forward to make sure Clara was okay. She began to cry, and nobody knew if it was because she was embarrassed or because she was about to be sick again.
Rick walked off the set. José chewed on his knuckles and whipped out his cell phone. The director held his face in his hands. Some unlucky staff person in black was volunteered to clean up the vomit. In the midst of this, Clara was gingerly led off set, her blubbering lips conveying how ashamed and upset she was. Once she was in the dressing room, the set fell quiet.
“You don’t see that every day,” Olivia muttered. The other girls were silent.
“Well what the fuck!” Once the vomit was cleaned and the floor disinfected, José leaped out of his seat and put his phone away. “What are we going to do now? It was Clara or nothing. We don’t have time to train a new girl right now.”
Rick was back on the set, hands on hips and face stern. “We’ll think of something.”
The staff fell into a tizzy as they all realized that their jobs for the day may be on the line. With no one to take Clara’s place, the filming could not continue. That was until Olivia remembered what she had been doing for the past two weeks. Once this realization settled in, she stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she prepared to make an ass out of herself.
“I know the routine,” she said, garnering no reaction. Her voice had been too quiet – how could anyone hear her above the rabble now going on between the director, José, and Rick? “I know the routine!” This time Olivia’s voice was louder, echoing in the cavernous studio. The three men, plus anyone else within earshot, stopped talking and looked at her. Way to call attention to yourself. “I said that I know the routine. I can do it.” What am I saying? It would’ve been one thing if she had been hired for this role – it was quite another to suddenly have it thrust upon her! Wait, except she was the one volunteering. What am I doing? Olivia took a step back, looking into the confused faces around her. The director threw up his arms and said he didn’t care who did the role, as long as it got done sometime that morning.
José, on the other hand, shook his head vehemently. “No, not you.” His head kept shaking. “Definitely not you. Not after what happened in your audition.” Finally, he halted his head. José then looked to Rick for backup.
So did Olivia. The star of the show merely smiled as he looked upon the chaos around him. “You sure you can do it?” he asked, looking directly at Olivia for the first time since she auditioned in front of him weeks ago. “It’s not an easy routine.”
“The hell it would be easy!” José crossed his arms in indignation before Olivia had the chance to respond. “I don’t choreograph easy routines. Not only do we have to impress the entire world… but we don’t want poor Ricky over here getting bored.”
“I can do it,” Olivia reiterated. “I’m a professional.”
Rick chuckled, his deep voice crawling up Olivia’s spine. “You may be a professional, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who kicked José in the face the other day. We just had a woman throw up everywhere. Last thing we need is your shoes going flying and getting us sued.”
Olivia furrowed her brows. I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or that much of an asshole. Celebrity types. “Pretty sure I’ll be wearing strappy shoes this time.” She pointed to the boots on her feet. “You want me to try it or not? Who else are you going to get to do it? Unless you’ve got understudies for music videos.”
“Hey, she’s got a point.” Rick turned to appeal to José. “We’re on a strict deadline and we only have the studio for today. If we don’t get it done soon, we’re looking at some pretty crazy expenses that are sure to piss off the label. What have we got to lose?”
“Sanity. My nose. Either one is pretty important to me.”
“Would you make a blasted decision already?” The director was back in his chair, ready to roll the cameras again. “Ain’t got time for this. You want to get it done today? Get that girl in the dressing room, stat.”
Before anyone could argue with him, a staff member led Olivia into the back dressing room, where a team of stylists were on hand to make her as beautiful as Clara was. This is new. Olivia was used to doing her own hair and makeup. To be unceremoniously shoved into a chair and have her long tresses tugged on with a brush as painful as a toothache was a brand new experience. Add to that the woman jumping in her face and applying makeup judiciously, and it was all Olivia could do to not start crying from being overwhelmed.
A man asked her size. When she gave it to him, he clicked his tongue and wondered if he had anything “that big.” Saying I’m fat? Olivia sent the man a stink eye before he could leave the room. By the time the hairstylist finished muttering beneath his breath about how unruly her hair was, the man who insinuated that Olivia should lose a few pounds returned with some tight jeans and a blouse that would more than likely highlight certain assets.
A female stylist went with Olivia behind a partition and helped her change into her clothes without messing up her hair and makeup. Indeed, the jeans were about one size too small and hugged Olivia’s hips to the point they left dark red indentations behind. She huffed and puffed to get them on, and then had to add a belt on top of that. None of this was as bad as the T-shirt, however. It sucked right to her body, making her breasts stick out… at first Olivia was appalled, and then she realized that the T-shirt sort of acted as a sports bra, containing everything so she could move freely without hurting herself. In the end, a jacket covered the T-shirt.
She was afraid that they would give her five inch stilettos like Clara had. Olivia was a talented dancer, but that was a straight up safety hazard. She had her height on her side, since she was a good three inches taller than Clara. The heels she was given to dance in were wide, sturdy, and a firm brand that wouldn’t let her trip. The tight jeans, on the other hand…
“At least she cleans up nice,” José grumbled as Olivia wandered back onto the set. These pants are gonna kill me. She tri
ed her best to not waddle. By the time she reached the dance space, she would have to be on her best A-game. This would be her only opportunity to prove her real worth to the rest of the crew.
“Sure you can do this?” Rick asked, standing firmly in place. “Now is your chance to back out. I mean, assuming you’re all bluff.”
That made Olivia step back before she even got to him. “Excuse me?” For a man who had gone to bat for her, Rick didn’t seem to believe in her much now. He saw me dance at my audition. Didn’t he know what she was capable of? Sure, she wasn’t hired for the lead role, but her skills got her as far as they had already. Why would he assume that they couldn’t take her farther? And why mess with her mind right now? He must have known he was doing it! “I told you that I memorized the routine, and I’m telling you the truth. Don’t believe me? Test me now.”
There were few ways to insult Olivia. One could make fun of her family, and that would get a rise out of her. One could also imply that she always had things handed to her. I worked too hard to be as good as I am for those kinds of accusations! Other than that, she was hard to insult. Even if someone said that she was ugly, talentless, and not worth one’s time, she would take it graciously and be the bigger person. To imply that she was a liar? Rick had no idea what he unleashed.
“Furthermore,” Olivia continued before Rick could open his mouth, “I will have you know that I am trained in the exact kind of dance you want for this video. You think it took me more than a day to learn the routine? Ha! I had to watch her and José for about an hour before I got it down. I’m not saying she was bad… not that I got to see her do much besides puke her guts out. I’m just saying that you not giving me a chance is more about your character than mine. And furthermore…”
Olivia never had a chance to finish her tangent. As more words spilled from her lips, Rick grabbed her by the forearm and pulled her into the starting position.
She barely had time to register their first touch. Olivia was too busy figuring out what was going on and what she should do about it. Namely, letting her body fall into the oldest trick she ever learned. Beginning a tango was second nature to her. When it’s one of the first things you learn… Olivia bent at the knees, slacked her arms, and looked to the left. All of this happened in fewer than two seconds – enough time for her to prove to Rick that she at least knew how to do this without a second thought.
“Very nice,” he said into her ear. Is it hot in here? His breath was certainly hot as it pushed through her hair and brushed against her ear. Rick’s touch was also firm, yet gentle, the marks of a good dance partner. Olivia had her fair share of crappy ones over the years – men who thought that dancing was about dominating the female partner and throwing her around like a rag doll. Few men understood that dancing was an equal partnership. They often led, but that didn’t mean the more submissive position was pointless. The dominant one was supposed to support the submissive one and bring out her greatness. How could that happen if he was flinging her around and treating her like an afterthought? Dances like a tango can be pleasurable, but like sex, they’re not supposed to be one-sided. A mistake many men made in and outside of the dance studio. “You do realize that there is a bit of improvisation in the routine, right?”
“When is there never improvisation in a dance routine?”
Rick’s hands tightened around her arm and the small of her back. “When you’re a backup dancer who has to do what she’s told in order to stay in line. Do you like staying in line?”
“I can stay in line,” Olivia said, her teeth grazing her bottom lip. The more Rick whispered into her ear, the more she understood what women saw in him. He wasn’t just a pretty, attractive face made for television after all. “Although I have to admit that I vastly prefer going with the flow and doing what feels right.”
“That’s funny.” Rick raised his eyebrows and smiled, the lights from the set making his skin glow. “I like doing what feels right too.”
Something akin to warmth returned to Olivia’s skin, and she didn’t think it was from the tight clothing or the lights shining upon them. She had a feeling that she would be sweating as hard as Clara was by the time this bullshit was over… hopefully minus the sick, however.
“Are you ready to go?” The director was back in his chair. The moment José caught wind that they were about to film, he went into the back rows shaking his head and mumbling that he wasn’t going to be around for another foot in the face. “Cue the music! Hopefully this will be the last time we have to do it.”
Still in their starting position, Rick and Olivia kept their eyes on each other, the beats of the song pounding the floor beneath them. On the count of eight they were supposed to start moving. Nerves battled in Olivia’s heart, but she quickly pushed them down into her stomach where they belonged. Thankfully, Rick gave her a soothing look that kept her relaxed for those first eight beats. “Ready?” His limbs grew taut. “Don’t throw up on me.”
Smiling, Olivia said, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” The eighth beat sounded, and the next thing she knew she was snapped into his embrace, everything coming undone.
3
Don’t screw it up. Don’t screw it up.
The routine lasted the entire song. Even though they were allowed multiple takes from various starting points, Olivia was a professional – this meant she had every intention of running through the whole choreography before making a single mistake.
How could she concentrate on her footwork and where her hands were supposed to go when one of the hottest men to ever come into her personal space was not only touching her, but twisting her body around, and lifting her into the air… all to the sounds of his own voice?
The music pumped through Olivia’s veins. Although she heard the same instrumental during her audition and dance practice, hearing it in tandem with Rick’s sultry vocals belting out a slew of dirty lyrics made her legs shake whenever both of her feet touched the ground at the same time. It didn’t help that the man was built for dancing. I’m not used to this… When Olivia thought of strong male dancers, they tended to be tall, stocky, and hitting one of two extremes: terribly aggressive or too demure for the job. Rick was neither – a healthy balance in between. When he put his hands on Olivia, it was with the strength of an athlete about to follow through on a commitment. That pressure was reassuring in the sense that Olivia didn’t have to worry about him dropping her or losing his momentum at the wrong time. It also wasn’t forceful. Some men could be like that. They thought using their strength to dance with a partner meant bruising her until she couldn’t breathe the next day. The best partners used strong arms with delicate fingers.
Even though this was their first time dancing together – and Rick and Clara had practiced multiple times before the cameras rolled – Olivia felt a kinship with the rock star that she never counted on. From far away Rick was another good looking face attached to a fit body. Up close she could smell his biting aftershave and the musk of his sweat. Coupled with how his hands ran across her body – touching her abdomen for this dip and her thigh for that spin – and Olivia was feeling something she didn’t normally experience when she danced with the finest men in her business: arousal.
Dancing was erotic. So erotic that sometimes Olivia had to turn off her brain and focus on the technicalities of the movements. Like thinking of baseball, or the queen. Luckily she was rarely attracted to her dance partners and this was never a problem, assuming they weren’t attracted to her as well. Most of them are gay, so who cares? With Rick, though? How could she have seen something like this coming?
The end of the second chorus required a lift. They were both sweating, the tight jeans digging into Olivia’s skin, serving as a reminder that she easily weighed more than Clara. Would it be possible for Rick to easily lift her? Olivia knew how to move into a lift. She didn’t doubt that Rick did too. Yet the variable of her weight could cause problems at best, injuries at worst. I’m not a ballerina. I’m a modern dancer. Muscles were he
r allies. As they grew closer to the end of the second chorus, Olivia flashed Rick a look that said he best prepare for how much she weighed.
On cue he held out his hand. Olivia had only one shot to get her leg up in time. She hooked her arms around Rick’s shoulders and jumped, alleviating herself from the title of “dead weight” as Rick caught her and spun her in a half circle before spinning in the other direction. If he was put off by her weight, he did not let on.
It was also possible that Olivia was too distracted by the man who now held her for a few seconds. The song disappeared. The scent of aftershave and musk overwhelmed her. Hot breath that once nourished this man’s muscles exhaled onto her bare skin. Olivia’s hands held fast to the solid body beneath them, amazed at how strong Rick felt although he didn’t appear muscular at first. He didn’t smile – he was concentrating too much to smile. In those brief few seconds in which Olivia glided through the air with the aid of a professional dancer, she felt that heart-pounding emotion that ruined careers like hers.
She landed most unceremoniously on her feet. Now that she knew she could wholeheartedly trust him, Olivia let herself go to the movements of dance.
There were few opportunities in life to find a fantastic partner. That went for both the realms of romance and art. Olivia had a few partners in each realm over the years. Some were better than others, few of them hardly stellar. The ones who were happened to already be spoken for or had no interest in pursuing something with her. I’m really talking about both, still. Boyfriends came and went with the wind. Dance partners were finickier than the boyfriends. And then came Rick Rodriguez, a freakin’ pop star who made Olivia feel more comfortable on the dance floor than anyone else. Shit, more comfortable in front of a camera!
