by Tonya Plank
The audience oohed and aahed. And that’s when it happened. That stupid twitch. I felt it in one wrist, growing stronger and stronger, and finally beginning to trickle all the way up my arm to my shoulder. Talk about ruining the beauty of the shape, of the bird image it evoked. A fluttering bird maybe. The Dying Swan. Not what we were going for. The audience slowly grew quiet and I knew they could see.
Drew released me, pushing me back into an upright position on my feet. We did a couple more basics, and now I could feel the tremor snaking its way through our entire connection. I felt it flow from my shoulder through my fingertips straight into his and all the way up his shoulder. I could tell he was trying hard to steady me, to steady both of us.
Drew held his arm up so I could do several spirals. It meant my shaking hand was up high above for everyone to see. Still, applause returned. I was good at spins. About halfway through the turns, which were supposed to extend across the stage, Drew had to briefly let go of me. My trembling was so bad I had to steady myself by holding my wrist as strong, and therefore, inflexible, as possible. The quick continuous turns meant our connection had to be as light as possible; if he was holding me too strongly, he could damage my wrist by keeping it from turning with the rest of me. I’m not completely sure what happened, but I could feel my wrist straining. Seeming to know he was going to hurt me—or I was going to hurt myself—Drew let go. It was so embarrassing. Fortunately, my dance skills enabled me to continue with the spins by myself, not needing him for balance. But it was such an obvious mistake.
After the spin sequence, he lunged again, this time on one knee as if proposing. This was one of the most beautiful moves. I was supposed to look down, hold my hands in prayer, then slowly open my palms and press them into his, while standing on one leg, and lifting the other up and back in a beautiful arabesque penchée. Done right, the move was absolutely beautiful. But of course my tremor mucked it up. I pressed my palms into his with my shaking hands—both of them were vibrating now—and he pressed back. But our connection was so tenuous, so literally shaky, that I could have fallen again. Good balance skills prevented that. But I definitely wavered.
The rest of the dance didn’t contain any difficult tricks or evocative shapes, thankfully, but every line I tried to make was messed up my jittery limbs. I was a madly shaking mess. I couldn’t wait until the dance was over. I knew the audience could see not only my foibles, but my emotions too. It was only too obvious how horrible I felt we looked. People still clapped, but it was definitely a polite cheering. As we took our bows, the chants slowly began again, the “Belle Arabelle’s” and “you are the bests,” and all. But I looked into Drew’s eyes, which were as deeply worried as mine. We would be in trouble if I didn’t get this figured out soon.
I finally stopped trembling after we sat down and Alessia announced Mitsi and Billy. As they took the center room, I had that eerie sensation again; that someone was here who hadn’t been here in a while. That I was being watched, or watched over. That someone could see deeply within me, knowing not only that I had a problem but how badly I felt about it. That I believed I was letting Drew down, and Willem too. Though the tremor had abated, my heart now raced. Was this what paranoia felt like, I wondered? Had I developed that now too?
Alessia announced Sasha and Rory last.
“Before they perform for you, they have a little announcement to make,” Alessia said.
“Well, I don’t know how little it is,” Sasha said, taking the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are announcing that we will not be competing in Blackpool this year.”
Gasps filled the room. The audience disappointment was palpable. Disappointment and shock. They were the current champions. Why were they not performing?
“We will be taking a year off. Because we are…” Sasha wrapped his arm around Rory. Her face was radiant. There was a good reason they were taking a year off. And I knew what it was. The whole audience did before he announced, “We are expecting a baby!”
Now all the gasps turned to squeals and the room filled with applause. This was our star couple and they had been through so much together. There was no way to not feel their joy.
For a moment, I felt a bit sick. How I’d wanted to make that announcement some day for myself and Willem. I closed my eyes, trying to keep back tears. I wanted to get up and run out of the room, but I couldn’t. It would be too obvious what I was feeling. And I shouldn’t be having these feelings anymore, anyway. It had been long enough. I needed to be happy for this wonderful couple, who deserved the world. And I was. I opened my eyes, blinked away the wetness, and raised my arms in the air, hooting and cheering along with everyone else.
I took a deep breath as they began their routine. They performed a rumba as well. Their Blackpool-winning rumba. It was simply mouthwatering. They were so in love. And they were both such spectacular dancers and performers. She was a diva. And he was her support, her man, her strength. Far from being shaky, Rory radiated confidence and steadiness, steadfastness, and constancy. She was brilliant. I wanted so badly to be like her right now, to dance rumba like her, to be the consummate Latin dancer like her. And right then, I knew I never would be. I felt my stomach sink all over again. For everything I would never be. Again, I forced my pain away. This was ridiculous. I could never be Willem’s wife or mother to his children, but I could be a great Latin dancer. I just needed huge amounts of practice. And the key to ending my tremor.
And then my stomach took its last—and biggest—nosedive of the night.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alessia began. “We now have a special surprise for you. We have a temporary instructor who will be spending the next couple of weeks with us teaching contemporary dance, specializing in lifts and other tricks. He’s a big star with a company called Beauty in Motion in Las Vegas and he’s currently in L.A. on tour, performing just up the street at the Hollywood theater. He and his partner in the show will be doing a contemporary show dance for you tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Jett Ridley and his partner, Belinda Baxter!”
What, what, what? This had to be my Jett. But who was Belinda? Mandi was his partner. And why hadn’t he told me he was coming to L.A.? It had only been two weeks since I saw him. He had to have known then. And why was he at my studio? Did he even know this was my studio? Of course; it would be too much of a coincidence otherwise. My blood began to boil so I felt my whole body redden.
The audience clapped excitedly, people now regarding each other with inquisitive looks. The lights dimmed until the room was completely black. A few seconds later, a spotlight slowly lit up the center of the room.
A very pretty young woman with long brown hair, wearing a light pink dress stood center stage. She looked down at the ground sadly, clasping her hands together, as if remembering something. Then, Jessica Simpson’s version of the song “Take My Breath Away” began. Jett slowly walked up behind her. Yes, it was my Jett, as I knew it would be. I mean, of course not mine, but the one I knew.
He circled her a few times, doing rumba steps around her, which I had to admit, were very sexy. He knew how to move and seemed to have a natural instinct with Latin. Damn him. He caught her attention. At first, she looked away, but then she couldn’t stop looking at him. It was like she was smitten. Of course that would be their story: sexy guy, smitten girl. He convinced her to take his hand. And then his touch appeared to work magic, as he twirled her around him, at first slowly, and then speeding up, way up, making her dizzy with lust.
When the lyrics swelled into the song’s title and Jessica’s voice carried throughout the room, he swept her off her feet. Turning around and around, he held her up, looking straight into her eyes, neither of them spotting as they turned. The audience went wild with applause. Of course, the lack of spotting was a good trick.
Then came a stunning sequence of lifts that literally took my breath away, in both a good and horrifying way. He went straight from that waist-high lift, to raising her over his head. When she g
ot there, she took a bird-like position, like the lift made famous in Dirty Dancing. But it was harder for both of them because she started from a still position without using the momentum from the movie where Jennifer Grey ran up to Patrick Swayze and jumped into his arms. As she soared above his head, the music swelled again.
What nearly made me choke was that I recognized the whole sequence, from the pedestal to the bird lift. It was choreography Willem and I had done, many times at Blackpool. The first time we did it, it drove the audience into crazed cheers. The second time, it had the same effect. The audience began to expect it. It became our signature move. I’d soar above Willem in his big strong arms. But, unlike Belinda, I’d arch back and bring my legs up so that I could grab the back of my foot. She didn’t do that; perhaps she didn’t have the flexibility. But everything else was the same. The idea of transcendence, of being able to soar from someone’s love. The bird lift was nothing new of course, but the sequence was, and I wondered how he knew it. The memory of performing it so many times, and of feeling so secure and free in Willem’s arms, made me queasy.
Jett brought Belinda back down into a waist-high lift, swinging her around him, first in front of him, then behind his back, her feet never touching the ground. I had to admit it was spectacular, and the man must have major abdominal strength. When her feet did finally touch the floor, she swung back, lifting her arms high above her in joy—but a kind of joy that made her lose her sense of footing. She almost fell but he ran toward her and threw his arms around her right before she hit the ground.
Again, my stomach did a nosedive. This was another one of our moves, Willem and mine. From Blackpool, again. I knew what he was going to do now before he did it. He swept her up into his arm, again overhead but this time only briefly, before placing her back down. As soon as her feet hit the ground, he knelt, as if proposing. She placed her hands on her chest, in prayer, and then he lifted her from a sitting position, raising her above his head. She took her hands of out prayer and again extended them forward, bird-like. Like she was soaring. This time, he slowly stood up, still holding her. Once standing, he took one of his arms down and lifted her only with one hand. It was extremely hard to do. The woman had to make herself extremely light, basically holding herself up in the air through her muscles alone, and the man had to be very strong and extremely centered. Willem and I ended that lift with him taking one foot off the floor, then going on demi-pointe, balancing only on the ball of one foot and holding me only with one arm. But Jett didn’t do this. It was smart of him, as it was damn hard and very risky. He could so easily have dropped her. And the floors were solid here; there were no springs because dangerous lifts weren’t often done at the studio.
I could swear he made brief eye contact with me for one instant. I know the lights were bright and I was very probably mistaken, but I could have sworn it. He’d seen me dance, and he knew where I was sitting. Now I felt as if he were saying that he knew Willem had done that lift and he wanted to do it too, but Belinda wasn’t me and he wasn’t Willem, so he didn’t dare go there. That’s what I sensed anyway—but I sensed it strongly.
He brought her back down, rolling her along the way, dropping her into what’s called a fish dive, holding her almost upside down, her arms and head nearly at the ground, her legs in the air up above his head. Yep, exactly how we ended one of our lifts sequences. Damn him! He had to have watched recordings of the Blackpool dances. I felt violated.
Jett went so far as to end the lift the same as us. Or at least, he tried to. He took Belinda all the way down into the dive, then wrapped her back leg around his body. He was supposed to let go of her, let her support herself in the air using only the strength of her leg and her back. That’s what I did. But she didn’t seem strong enough to do it. He didn’t let go. Again, I felt him look at me, as if to say, I could do it with you.
The audience went wild anyway. The music ended, and they got a standing ovation. There were so many people around me standing and clapping, hands held high above their heads. I couldn’t join them. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t help but feel the memory of Willem, of Willem and me, had been violated. It made me sick. The room became chaotic by all the applause, so I was sure no one saw me slip out the back door.
I ran down stairs, into the locker room. I fumbled with my lock—my whole body was shaking now, not just my hand—and finally got the damn combination after about four tries. I grabbed my bag and ran to the large bathroom stall to change back into my street clothes. I normally changed in the general room, but I didn’t want anyone to see me right now.
Tears streamed down my face as I was brought back to our final Blackpool, to our last dance—although of course we didn’t know it then. The way he held me in the air. His solidity, his strength. The breathtaking, risk-taking lifts we did that made everyone ooh and ah. But I knew he’d never ever drop me. He was the only one who could ever hold me like that, who I’d ever dance with like that. He was the only one I’d ever trust.
Jittery as I was, I managed to text Lucia, telling her about Jett and Belinda and asking what happened to Mandi. She didn’t text back right away. I took a deep breath, and left.
On my way out, one of the students, a popular, advanced girl named Kendra, stopped me. “Aw, no, you’re leaving already? We wanted you to dance more!”
I had to catch my breath to answer her. But I couldn’t. I could only shake my head.
“Hey, are you all right?” She frowned and gently touched my arms.
I nodded, finally able to speak. “Yes, thank you, honey. I’m just not feeling well.” At that point, I seriously felt like I might throw up.
“You sure?”
I patted her on the shoulder and nodded, whispering “thank you,” my voice gone again.
I jogged down the street. I lived close by so I often walked to the studio. When I rounded the corner of my block, I had a text from Drew. What happened? Kendra said you didn’t look well.
Yeah, sorry, I don’t feel well. Suddenly came on. Going home. It took me about ten minutes to type those three partial sentences because I was shaking so much. I stood at my corner, held onto a light pole, breathing deeply. I closed my eyes, placed my jittery fingers in meditation mode, and tried to focus on my breathing. I really needed to go back to meditation.
My phone sounded, indicating I had another text. I had two actually. One from Drew telling me he hoped I was okay and to call if I needed anything, and the other from Lucia.
Yeah, weird thing, he…oh never mind, I’m calling.
The phone ringtone sounded just then, like clockwork. Lucia’s name popped up.
“Hey,” I muttered, trying to regain my voice.
“Hey, it’s me. So, yeah, weird thing. All of a sudden he wanted to go on tour. He gave Mandi like, a week’s notice to get comfortable working with a new partner since she’s just getting used to Vegas and doesn’t want to tour yet. But I think he’s still supposed to go back to Vegas every other weekend or something, and he’ll be her partner then. What’s he doing at Infectious Rhythm though? I texted Mandi. She didn’t know anything about that. She thinks he’s after you!” She said this with an inflection at the end as if it was a good thing. “Honey? You there?”
I breathed, still having a bit of a hard time catching my breath. “Yeah,” I finally made out.
“Hey. You okay?”
Another breath. “Yeah, just a little freaked out by everything.” I began walking again.
“By what?” she asked.
“You know, by seeing him…with Belinda…dance…”
She laughed. “What? You’re so freaked out about seeing Jett in L.A. you can hardly talk? Hon, I don’t get it?”
“They just…did a performance that was…really similar to one Willem and I did at Blackpool. Many times. Like he…like he saw the routine and totally…copied the choreography. I’m just…weirded out.” Inhale, exhale, I reminded myself. I was almost home.
“Holy shit. Wow. I can’t believe he did
that. The tremor must be horrible.”
“I’m shaking so much I can’t even feel my usual tremor.” I made myself laugh, which actually felt good. My usual tremor. How ridiculous.
“I’m coming over.”
“No!” I nearly shouted. “I mean, I’m sorry, I think I just need to be alone tonight. I mean with Arabesque.” The last sentence made tears well again in my throat. Dancer cat, Willem’s cat.
“Oh Belle! Gosh, you’re really worked up.”
“I know.”
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything. I’m not far away.” Joke of the century, that you’d probably have to be an Angeleno to get. She lived in Studio City, just a few miles north of Hollywood. But on a Saturday night in L.A. it would take well over an hour.
“I will,” I said. “Thanks Luce.”
“Oh honey, any time.”
I was thankful for good friends who cared about me so much. But tonight, I really needed to be alone with my thoughts.
When I got home, I made myself jasmine tea, turned on the TV and DVD player and got out all my old Blackpool videos, watching them well into the night with Arabesque curled up at my side.
Chapter 9
Jett
Our L.A. premiere was excellent. My traveling partner was Belinda and we worked fantastically together. Opening night was a total blast. No hitches. Everything went smoothly—better than smoothly. The theater was perfect; it was more than spacious enough, and the audience was full and very appreciative. They gave us a standing O that went on for quite some time. Belinda and I totally ate it up. And afterwards, people actually waited outside the stage door to meet us and get autographs. It was amazing. I signed for well over an hour.
