by Tonya Plank
It was obvious I had a problem. I know it was obvious to the students who watched me dance Latin, and now showdance. But I was fine until Jett insisted on putting that bird lift into the routine. If he just hadn’t insisted. Then he was doing the lift—our lift—in a ridiculously drumroll theatrical fashion, with Belinda. It took so long for him to get Belinda up there. She was so slow, it made them late on the music. If he actually performed it with her, they’d have to stop the regular music and literally do some stupid drum-roll sound for the lift to fill in the gap. What a joke. The move needed to blend fluidly with the lyrics, with both the music and choreography telling the love story. The dance was a story of love, not thrills. Why couldn’t he understand that? I hated this guy. I really did.
And not to sound pompous but Belinda could not really make the proper lines at any point in the choreography, not just with the lift. I could arch my back better. I had a far superior range of motion. My legs were stronger and my thighs and hamstrings more flexible. And when he let her down, she couldn’t roll; he had to take her straight down. Did she not know how to roll? And then when they got into the hands-free fish dive, she couldn’t hold it for longer than three seconds. She didn’t have the requisite strength in her back and leg muscles. She was less practiced on that than even Josie and Judy.
Despite the tremor, it really needed to be me doing that lift, up there in his arms. Simply because it looked way better on me. I should be the one doing the fish dive and the roll down. Because I knew how to do them. Because I was a consummate show dancer. This was my dance. It was me. Not Belinda. But there was no way I could do any of those moves if my tremor didn’t stop.
My thoughts returned to the way he brushed my arm, caressing me. Jett. He’d been trying to calm me. But in a sensual way. Being touched by another man still seemed so wrong. Logically, it did. But it didn’t feel that way. But it should, right? I lay my head on the table for a moment, still looking outside. The world kept on going after Willem died. My life kept on going as well.
“Hey, Arabelle?”
Huh? What was going on? I lifted my head and looked up into bright sunshine. It was afternoon, and the sun coming in through the window was in my face. I’d fallen asleep. That touch on my arm…I turned toward the voice. It was Jett.
“Hey,” he said again. Those little boy dimples, that warm smile. Those eyes that made my insides heat up. Then it all came back to me. He’d chosen his partner over waiting for me to return from getting water, brought her into our class without even checking with me, did our lifts—my lifts—with her. His smile dissipated as he obviously saw my anger grow.
“Now, just hear me out.”
I shook my head. “No.” I picked up my iced coffee. It had soaked through the napkin, the whipped cream had melted all over the table and was now a sticky mess. I reached for my bag. He grabbed it and held on to it. What the heck? Who did this guy think he was? “Are you serious? Give me my bag!”
“Just hear me out for five minutes. Arabelle, I just didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t choreograph on my own and I couldn’t keep going over the beginning with them. We owed the team members the time, and we had to move on with the choreography. They’re paying good money for this, you know. I knew Belinda was probably in Hollywood, since she takes a bunch of dance classes here. I just asked her to finish out the first part of the routine since I didn’t know when you were coming back.”
I stopped reaching for my bag, sat back and let out a breath. As much as I wanted to fight him, I really couldn’t. At least not about his bringing Belinda in. He couldn’t waste the students’ time. I couldn’t just keep walking out of class whenever I got angry at him, or shaky.
“I didn’t feel well. I felt faint.”
“I know. I’m not blaming you for going to get water. But I just didn’t know what else to do.”
“You used her to show me up to the students,” I said. “To show them your crazy lift that I’m…having…problems doing…” My voice fizzled out and I couldn’t finish the sentence.
He snorted. “Arabelle, she didn’t show you up. They all know you’re better. She did no such thing.”
“But you meant for her to.”
“Arabelle, don’t be ridiculous. You’re the best. You know it, I know it, the students know it, everyone knows it. You left me without a choice.”
“I’m not the best though.” My heart pounded, my stomach dropped. The sad fact was that I left, not only because I was pissed, but because I couldn’t do the lift. My hand wouldn’t let me. I must have looked at my hand as my thoughts went there because he seemed to know what I was talking about.
“Arabelle, what’s wrong?” he said softly. “I know it’s not the lift, I know it’s not me. I know that because I saw you shaking when you were dancing with Drew. And it didn’t happen yesterday when we danced. It doesn’t happen all the time, only at certain times.”
I so didn’t want to go here with him, to let him in. Not him. Not now. I was going to get over this in my own time.
I shook my head and frowned.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Come on.” He still spoke a little above a whisper.
“I don’t…it’s none of your business,” I said.
He touched my arm, the arm of the hand that had trembled first and still trembled the most. But I pulled away.
“Is it maybe because dancing Latin brings back what happened at Blackpool last year?”
How the hell did he know about that? And how dare he try to psychoanalyze me? Who was this guy?
“I was thinking…I know there’s so much pressure now to win—”
That was enough. He was not my shrink, thank the Lord. I grabbed my purse from him and stood.
He exhaled audibly. “You gotta stop doing this. Walking away from the problem.”
That really got me. The problem? How dare he tell me how to act. How dare he act like my problem is all about him, something that he can solve. Walking away from the problem? I was walking away from him. I finaled at Blackpool in Latin with Drew. We lost partly because someone threw a frigging water bomb onto the floor. Hello? I’d think Latin was my thing if I got that far at the world’s biggest competition.
“Okay, okay. Before you leave, at least tell me what you want me to do about Belinda. Should I ask her to come tomorrow to help out again?”
Help out? He made me sound like an invalid. I couldn’t think at all. “Tell her she can be your partner permanently,” I said.
“Arabelle, don’t do that. Just don’t.”
But I was off.
I got home, picked up the mail, threw my bag on the table in the foyer and collapsed on the couch. My emotions were a mess. I got up and flipped on the TV and DVD player, popped in last year’s Blackpool video, and watched myself dance with Drew. I saw myself take that horrible fall, my face all bloody. I threw the DVD jacket at the TV screen.
Poor Arabesque was so scared of me, she darted to the top rung of her cat tree and wouldn’t come down. “Oh, I’m sorry girl. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I made her a bowl of Fancy Feast and put it on the floor beneath the cat tree. But she just looked at me wide-eyed. Fine, she’ll come down in her own time, I thought.
I needed a serious glass of wine. I poured myself some Cabernet, walked back to the couch, plopped down, and watched the scene again. And again. And again. Until it all just became a laughable cartoon.
I turned the TV off and went back to the kitchen for more wine. On my way, I glanced at the bar, realizing I hadn’t opened the mail. I’d just thrown it down. I usually received mostly junk mail so not a huge deal. But this time I saw the return address on the first envelope. It was from Winter Gardens, in Blackpool. It was from the Blackpool organizers. My breath caught and my heart stopped. I ripped it open.
Dear Ms. Fonseca. Again, we are so sorry for your loss. We hope you are feeling better and have recovered as much as it is possible to recover from a tragic loss.
We continue to mourn dear Willem, as he was such a valued member of our community. He will always be dear to our hearts.
The point of this letter is that we would like to invite you, and a new partner, to compete in the showdance championships at Blackpool. As you know, this is an incredibly prestigious event, and one only open to invitees. Again, as in years past, you are one of them—you and whoever you have chosen as a new partner. If you do not yet have a new partner, you are invited to do an homage dance on your own again. You may not enter the competition alone, but you may perform a dance in honour of Willem, like you did last year, which all of our attendees would love immensely. He was beloved and had so many fans here. Please let me know your decision as soon as possible. We would love to see you grace our floor again. Until then, God Bless you and the spirit of Willem.
I grabbed my glass of wine and collapsed on the couch. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly in and out, in and out. I lay my head back on the back of the couch and continued just to breath. I remembered the last time we danced at the Winter Gardens. I went over it again and again. We were so happy. The routine was beautiful. I was so proud to dance it with him. I had no tremor. I had Willem. I was whole. I inhaled, concentrating on my breath, on getting that air to all parts of my body, as I’d learned in yoga. I sat up on the sofa, criss-crossed my legs and placed my hands in meditation position. Suddenly, I felt a ball of vibrating fur jump into my lap, followed by small but sharp claws kneading straight into my center.
“Arabesque is back! Unafraid now!”
“Mrrreeoww,” she responded in a bass purr.
I closed my eyes and remembered our last dance. The pumping of my heart echoed in my ears. I tried to cry, but I had no more tears. I’d cried my heart out too many times. I only had the sound of my heart pumping blood throughout my body, to every organ, to every extremity. I was still alive. Somehow by the end of the dance, I felt a warmth fill me. A happiness and peace over what we’d had. And, for the first, time, I felt a hope at what could be again. Jett was right about one thing—showdance was my soul, not Latin.
Chapter 19
Jett
I had no idea what to expect for the team the following day. Arabelle was pissed at me—that was clear. I didn’t know whether she’d show up, whether she’d told Alessia she’d quit the team, or whether she’d told Alessia she wanted me off the team. I heard nothing from Alessia or Arabelle. So in case Arabelle didn’t show, I asked Belinda to help again, and told her I’d pay her again from my own funds.
Belinda arrived to the team meet all chipper. She did love doing this. If Arabelle really wanted a replacement we’d have a good one. She wasn’t as gifted as Arabelle but she was a damn good dancer. She was also a dancer who wasn’t much into choreographing, who wouldn’t counter me on anything I wanted to put into the routine. I had every logical reason to want Belinda to replace Arabelle, to hope Arabelle wanted off the team. Yep, every logical reason.
But Arabelle showed up. She eyed Belinda the moment she spotted her. She looked around, took a breath, nodded, and walked toward me.
“Belinda offered to help just in case—” I began.
“It’s totally okay. It’s good for her to be here. She can…she can help you demonstrate the choreography in case…in case I can’t. Thank you, Belinda.” Arabelle looked down as she spoke, her voice shaky. But her body was not. When she looked up, I noticed smudged mascara under her eyelids, as if she’d been crying.
“You’re welcome,” Belinda said. “Oh honey, are you okay?” Belinda obviously noticed the mascara too.
Arabelle self-consciously wiped the area below her eyelids with her finger and nodded.
“Hey, Belle!” Kendra shouted on entering the room. “I’m so happy to see you in here! I was worried when I saw you and…well, I’m just…you rock, girl! Let’s do this, J!” I’d never heard Kendra’s words so jumbled before. She seemed to know something I didn’t. She walked straight up to Arabelle and wrapped her arms around her in a big bear hug.
Arabelle laughed. “Thank you, Kendra. Really, thank you.” Arabelle’s face wasn’t visible inside Kendra’s embrace but I could hear her crying. What was going on?
“I am so psyched you’re here as well,” Josie said. “We are really going to rock!” Her tone was more subdued but still genuine.
The other students entered and Kendra released Arabelle from her embrace. Arabelle wiped her eyelids again and nodded at me to begin class.
“Okay, instead of going over what we already have—which is pretty dang good,” I started, “let’s continue with the choreography. I’d rather get this whole thing mapped out as soon as possible so we have plenty of time to work out any kinks and get it all polished and into our muscle memories. What do you all say?”
A chorus of yes’s filled the room.
“That was a pretty resounding affirmative.” I laughed. Before going on, I glanced at Arabelle. She looked at Belinda, which I took as an indication to choreograph on her.
I held my arm out to Belinda. “Okay, so give me one, two, three beats to let her down, and then all the ladies will come out of the smaller lifts and we’ll go on as a group. Sound good?”
“Sounds awesome, sir,” Kendra said.
I played the music again to figure out where we were so I could choreograph to the beats. I closed my eyes and envisioned the steps we should be doing with that section of music. When I opened them, I saw Arabelle standing in the corner of the room, watching. She had her arms folded in front of her. It didn’t look like she was trembling at all.
“What’s next, what’s next, J?” Kendra shouted excitedly.
“Okay, let’s do a…” I thought about going into another lift but then decided we needed something lyrical and soft in between. So I decided on a ballroom-esque Waltz spin, where the partners twirl in unison.
“Ooh, pretty,” Judy said.
“Very,” Charlene echoed.
“They have to be wearing gorgeous, twirl-y dresses,” Kendra said.
“Okay, everyone try.” I nodded at Kendra’s suggestion. Yes, gorgeous dresses were so right. We all tried it to the normal beat of the music. Some students definitely needed practice spotting, especially the men. But I had every belief they’d eventually get it, and felt it better to go on at this point.
“Okay, now, we spin the women out like this,” I said demonstrating with Belinda.
“Wait,” Arabelle called out. “Aren’t you going to work on spotting with them? They need to know how to spot if they’re going to turn like that.”
“Yes, definitely. But right now I wanted to go on with the choreography. Work on details later.” It initially annoyed me that she was directing me from the back of the class, but I also realized if she cared how the students looked that meant she was staying on the team.
“Okay, okay, go on,” she said, holding up a palm. “I’m just watching.”
“So then, the music is going to crescendo soon. The ladies will spin out and then they’ll look back at us, hold that for, let’s say, four beats, and then run toward the man, and jump. We’ll do a lift-spin. Once we reach momentum, the lady can take her legs off the ground and slowly extend them into a split. Okay?”
“Better than okay!” Kendra shouted.
I could see Arabelle’s eyes widen. But she didn’t say anything.
“Okay, here’s how it looks.” I demoed with Belinda, to expected wicked applause.
“Mr. J., you are so incredibly awesome. You just don’t know!” Kendra said.
“Beautiful!” Judy echoed.
“Gorgeous!” Samantha sang.
“Crazy hot!” Paolo added.
“Okay, then, let’s do it. First, slowly, without the music,” I said. “Opening position. Guy just let the girl down and now we do the dual spin.” I demoed with Belinda, watching as the students followed us. “Slowly so no one gets dizzy this time. And then, spin her out like this.” No one seemed to have a problem yet. “She stops and looks at the guy for four be
ats. Okay, excellent. And now she runs toward him and we lift her up—”
“Wait.” It was Arabelle again. I put Belinda down. “Just to make sure no one gets hurt, why don’t you do little things to simplify that. Just at first, and then they can see if they can do it the exact same as you.”
“We’re not going to do any overhead lifts. This is just a small one. The overheads are only for you and me.” I said this without even thinking. She looked me straight on, those big beautiful doe eyes penetrating mine. “I mean, me and...my partner,” I corrected.
Arabelle blinked then looked at Kendra and the other students. She shook her head as if shaking off a thought. “Okay, now that it’s on my mind, there’s been something I want to correct, a while back. Do you mind? Just something I noticed that I want to make…a little easier, okay?”
There were murmurs around the room. I knew the students didn’t like the word “easier.” She was going to have to come up with a different term. I nodded anyway. She walked toward me, into my closed hold embrace. Belinda moved out of her way. I felt no tremor as I held Arabelle.
“Okay, so there’s that part where the guys are turning the girls and it gets faster and faster.”
“Love that part, and it’s all on the ground, Ms. A!” Kendra said.
Arabelle nodded. “I know it is. But I noticed a lot of you are not turning in a straight line. You’re veering toward the front of the room. So your partners have to raise their arms high and follow you, and you’re all out of line and it looks like everyone’s struggling. It’s just not a good look. And I think it’s happening because you are facing the audience and when you spot during turns, you automatically veer toward the direction you’re spotting. It would be easier to keep in line if you all spotted forward, in the direction you’re actually going.”
I thought about it. I was so used to dancing with all professionals I hadn’t even thought that students would have difficulty with something that wasn’t very hard. But she was right—it was more natural to spot in the direction you’re traveling. It was just cool to have them face the audience. It wasn’t that hard. They could learn it. Probably.
