Tremor

by Tonya Plank

  Arabelle wanted to go back and watch Drew. The ballroom was packed, and completely alive. There were practically no free spaces, even for standing. The crowd was raucous, everyone cheering for their hero and heroine. The band was on fire, the dancers exploding with energy; it was like how I imagined the Olympics to be. It was so different from the crowds at a concert dance performance, where everyone’s generally pretty quiet until the end. This was a very different world from mine. It was, in a word, thrilling.

  Arabelle somehow found us some space with a decent view. We watched all the way through to the finals. I had to admit, Arabelle’s ex-partner was pretty awesome. And the judges thought so too, as he and his new partner came in second—a step up from his and Belle’s rank last year. They placed right after last year’s second place champs, Michaela and Jonathan.

  “This is enormous for him!” Belle squealed. “Even though everyone knows when Sasha and Rory return they’re going to take first again, and Michaela and Jonathan may well take second, it’s still huge. They could be the champs someday.” She cheered louder than everyone. I wondered how she’d be able to talk the next day.

  After she hugged Drew, we took a cab back to our hotel, since we were staying so far out of the way. We could have walked, but we decided to save all of our energy for our rehearsal and performance tomorrow night.

  We woke up early, had a nice big breakfast at the quiet little hotel, showered, and were off for practice. The ballroom had a rehearsal area in back. We went over the routine a couple times, first marking it out, then dancing it full out. Then we did the same thing in the ballroom before it opened to the public, wanting to mark everything in the space where we’d perform it so there’d be no surprises. Fortunately and surprisingly, we didn’t run into you-know-who and her people. I was thinking they might show up to harass us more, but they didn’t. I have to say we danced the routine as perfectly as possible. There were no flubs, no missteps. And no tremor. We were perfectly in time to the music, and perfectly in character. Everything felt so right. Everything felt so beautiful.

  “That was simply awesome,” I said, after I let her down at the end of the last lift.

  “You are the antithesis of crazy, demanding Sasha in a wonderful, wonderful way,” she said, giggling. I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant and had a hard time taking it as a compliment given he was a world champion and all. But her giggles were priceless, as was the kiss she planted on my lips right after she said it, ever so briefly but ever so certainly, and so non-platonically. Hmm. I tried not to focus on how that made me feel—like I’d shot straight to the moon.

  And that’s when the coven made its pathetic entrance. I heard a “tsk, tsk, tsk,” coming from the side of the room. We both turned to see Natalia standing in the corner, shaking both her head and wickedly long-nailed index finger at us as if she’d caught us red-handed doing something we should be very ashamed of. Luna and Cheryl stood on either side of her with twin expressions, hands on hips, nasty glares in their beady little eyes. Another big difference between this world and concert dance—the degree of sabotage attempts.

  “Get lives, psycho ladies,” I whispered to Arabelle, leading her away, before Natalia could say anything. We heard only harrumphing as we went. At first I’d thought we should stay and watch our competition, since we were allowed to. But when I’d mentioned it to Arabelle, she’d shaken her head.

  “Why bother? It’s not like we’re going to be wowed by anything and change our routine last minute. Too risky to change at this point.”

  I actually agreed with her, which wasn’t like me at all. Risky had been my middle name. But she was right. If we changed last minute a new trick wouldn’t be in our muscle memory well enough and we might flub it. Plus it probably wouldn’t be in the character of the dance. Our routine couldn’t rock any better than it already did; I was sure of it.

  So we went back to the hotel, relaxed, ate a good meal, and took a nap. We were on at eight o’clock sharp. Best to get a good rest in.

  When the alarm woke us up, I was spooning Arabelle, cradling her closely in my arms. Interesting, because we hadn’t fallen asleep that way. She smiled and I could see her trying to cover a little blush with her hand while she made her way to the bathroom to wash up. When she turned toward me just before shutting the bathroom door, we made eye contact and I raised my eyebrows. She squinted playfully at me. “Okay, enough goofing. It’s show time,” she said, and shut the door.

  Chapter 38

  Arabelle

  What was the man trying to do to me? It was just a couple of hours before the most important dance of our careers, and he was being all flirty! The bolt of electricity that cocky raised eyebrow had shot through my core, to my womb, to my thighs, kept me warm through my entire shower.

  Fortunately, he managed to behave himself the entire time we were getting ready. I had the makeup artist I usually used come to the hotel and help us prepare. I was more of a homebody than many of the other dancers, who all seemed to love getting ready either in the tents in the pavilion near the ballroom or in the ballroom changing areas with the other dancers. I needed to be alone, especially before a competition. It had always been a point of contention between Willem and me. He’d thrived on being the center of attention, clowning with the others until it was time for us to go on. He’d been so uncompetitive, and more the kind of guy who was easily everyone’s friend. He had been far more comfortable in crowds than I was.

  Here, at Blackpool, I could really see the differences between Willem and Jett. Jett was more competitive, and actually, contrary to what I’d originally thought when I met him in Vegas, did not have a need to be in the center of things. Not offstage, anyway. He had a greater need to prepare for the challenge ahead than to play the crowd. He didn’t put up any fight whatsoever when I asked him if he minded getting ready in the hotel room instead of in the ballroom, like the others.

  “I can’t imagine doing it any other way,” he said.

  We arrived at the hotel an hour and a half early, which was perfect. It gave us time to stretch, do a bit of in-place cardio, greet fans and friends, and mentally prepare again, now with the crowd surrounding us.

  Now that I was in show dancer mode and dress, everyone recognized me, and, happily, only had encouraging things to say.

  “So glad to see you back, Arabelle,” said a fan I didn’t personally know.

  “Can’t wait to see what the two of you can do together,” chirped another, eyeing Jett.

  “The start of a lovely new partnership,” pronounced a sweet, white-haired British lady.

  “Arabelle, you look breathtaking, as always,” said Letitia, a show dancer I’d known for a few years who, with her partner, usually placed near the bottom of the finalists.

  Natalia seemed to be the only one fixated on Willem. Thinking of last night momentarily made me shudder—but only momentarily. No thinking nasty thoughts, no letting her get to you, I told myself. This ended up not being tremendously hard, given that she still hadn’t shown up with only minutes before the competition was set to begin. I wondered where she was. I think we all did, judging by the confused looks and noise from the ballroom floor once the emcee took the microphone to announce the showdance comp. There was some whispering among the dancers and judges, and the emcee put the mic down again.

  “Do we know where they are?” he said, perturbed.

  More chatter. The audience seemed to be getting restless as well.

  “I wonder what’s up,” I said to Jett.

  “I dunno. Some drama. Doesn’t surprise me, actually.”

  “She hasn’t done this before.”

  “What’s the protocol—” a judge began, but then stopped. “Oh, never mind.”

  I followed his gaze. Natalia and Duke had just walked through the corner door. She was wearing a purple mesh costume with cut outs strategically darkening certain places, like nipples and her crotch. The rest of the costume was completely see-through. It was a beautiful costume, I ha
d to admit. I’d be too nervous to wear it for showdance, where you’re basically doing air acrobatics, but it would be lovely for staying put on the ground and not being so afraid of costume malfunctions. I felt Jett’s hand squeezing mine. Right, I was paying her no mind. I started to look away, right when I sensed her piercing eyes trying to penetrate me.

  From the corner of my eye it looked like she was trying to come up with something to say to me, perhaps some snide remark about how I was cheating on Willem or some kind of threat. She wasn’t very far from me. But then I felt Jett’s lips press warmly against my left cheek, the side of my face from which I could glimpse Natalia in my periphery. He was preventing me from looking at her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee began. “This is one of our most prestigious competitions, as dancers have to be specially invited to compete by our judging panel. These, ladies and gentlemen, are thereby the best show dancers in the world today.” The audience went wild with applause.

  “Arabelle!” I heard. Then chants began. “Arabelle, Arabelle, Arabelle, Belle, Arabelle!” They were accompanied by clapping, which soon grew to be in rhythm. Jett smiled, and put his arm around my waist, doing a little side hug. He then kissed my temple. The audience went wilder. And I heard several, “Awwws.” No one seemed to mind that Jett was not Willem. They were happy that I was here to dance with a new partner.

  There were no chants for Natalia, but it was almost worse that way; I could really sense the heat of her anger. She was only two couples down from me and I could literally feel ire radiating from her body.

  The emcee graciously waited a few moments for the chants and applause to stop, then laughed and said, “Okay, okay now, let’s get to the issue at hand.” He called the names of the ten contestants and in the order we would dance. Natalia and Duke were second to last; we were last. More crazy applause when our names were called—and more heat from Natalia. I heard her speaking in Russian, either to Duke or to another couple. I didn’t know what she was saying but they were angry words. She was not happy to be dancing second to last. It was always worst to dance first since the judges couldn’t give you top scores; they had to reserve room for better performances. It was best to dance last, but close to last wasn’t bad either. They could give Natalia and Duke almost perfect scores and if we weren’t perfect, then we wouldn’t win. It was that simple. It actually put pressure on us, if you looked at it that way—which she, it seemed, wasn’t.

  “Come on,” Jett said, leading me off the floor so the first couple could begin. I actually didn’t like to watch other performances until I’d gone. Early on in my career, when Willem and I had danced first or closer to first, I’d watch everyone after I’d gone. I loved watching the other dancers because I still had so much to learn from them. But when we started doing well and began winning and the judges placed us farther to the end, I didn’t want to watch until we’d danced. Instead, I’d get whatever learning I needed by watching the videos afterward.

  “You want to go into the practice room?” Jett asked me. It seemed he already knew how I felt, though I hadn’t remembered telling him.

  “You read my mind,” I said.

  “Of course I did. I’ve been doing that for a while now.” He laughed.

  Hmm, was that true? I wondered.

  “Just as long as you-know-who doesn’t show up here,” he added as we walked into the empty room.

  “She’s usually a watcher,” I said. And I was right. She didn’t show up to torment us.

  We did basic dance moves to keep us warmed up, along with a bit of stretching. Soon, the judge’s assistant popped his head in and told us to start making our way out to the deck; there were only two couples ahead of us. It always surprised me how quickly these dances went. We were limited to three minutes of music, so, allowing for audience applause and sweeps of the floor in between each dance, the whole comp lasted under an hour.

  The bad thing about Natalia and Duke going right ahead of us meant we had to be in the ballroom and ready to go on deck during their routine.

  “We’ll stay in back, keep focused on the deck, and go over when it clears,” Jett said, again reading my mind. I nodded. We walked into the ballroom, where it was quite warm due to all the bodies and all the excitement. Several heads turned when we came through the door.

  Natalia and Duke’s music began. Fortunately, we were in the back and couldn’t see the dance floor over all the heads.

  “Belle, Arabelle,” one man said, giving me a little wave. I smiled and waved back. A few other heads turned and several people clapped in our direction and waved.

  “Good to see you back, Belle Arabelle,” someone said. It was a little embarrassing given Natalia and Duke’s dance had begun, but I smiled at everyone. Jett squeezed my hand.

  “Shhh,” someone else whispered.

  Suddenly, a chorus of ohhhhhhhs took over the room. Something happened on the floor. It didn’t sound good. I could see Leticia and her partner from where we stood. They were watching as well. She covered her mouth; her partner was open-mouthed. Something had happened to Natalia and Duke. A bolt went through my body. They’d messed up. But were they hurt? I didn’t want to know this right now. I didn’t want to be out here right now. Someone else screwing up and possibly getting hurt, even if they were my adversaries, made me very uneasy. Jett squeezed my hand more. I looked up at him. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t see anything either.

  “You want me to go look?”

  I shook my head.

  There was a strained silence followed by clapping. The music swelled to its crescendo and there was silence. The audience seemed nervous. The music ended and the applause began.

  There were a few moments where there seemed to be chaos. Chatter, angry words spoken by someone in Russian. There were lots of Russians here—both competitors and audience members—so I didn’t know who said what. Natalia and Duke had exited on the other side of the ballroom. I still couldn’t see what was going on, and I didn’t want to see. I continued squeezing Jett’s hand.

  After they exited the commotion continued. I heard more angry words spoken in Russian, a few yells, and some chatter. I still didn’t look out on the floor. As long as the floor was safe from water bombs—I’m pretty sure it was, or there would be a little more chaos than this—I was okay with remaining in the dark about things in the moments before we performed.

  Finally, we were announced. The angry words were overtaken by applause and “Belle Arabelle” chants. Jett gave my hand one final squeeze, shot me one final charmingly dimpled smile, and led me to the center of the ballroom floor.

  As usual, the lights on the audience dimmed and the spotlight centered on us. Once we were out there, I couldn’t see anything or anyone but Jett.

  “Okay,” the emcee said, indicating he would start the music in a couple seconds.

  Jett gave me a nod and a smile, then took me in his arms for our beginning pose.

  The crowd filled with awwwws and applause as he wrapped his arms around me and slowly began to lift me.

  The music began, slowly, and we started our cradle lift that would turn into the overhead bird lift. The crowd was right there with us, already cheering before we’d hardly even begun to dance. He lifted me higher and I turned my face up, to the heavens. Something happened at that point. A light began to shine down, but it was a soft light. Like it wasn’t real in the sense that anyone else could see it. It flooded my whole body with warmth, producing a comfort that told me no matter what happened, it was all okay. Everything was good. Everyone was happy and at peace. My life would be full of peace. I almost couldn’t even feel Jett underneath me, but the music told me we were right where we were supposed to be. I knew it was another of Willem’s blessings from above, and at the most important time. It was a blessing that made it all worth it to come here, to have found Jett, to be alive.

  The music changed to a faster tempo and I was back with Jett, right on point, right on the beat, being lower
ed in his arms into our fish dive, before being placed on the floor. I was grounded again. The crowd went wild for our opening lift sequence, which felt perfect.

  I brought my eyes back to Jett as he whipped me around into a series of turns. The cheering grew louder as we danced faster. We both knew the steps backward and forward; they were so totally in our muscle memories—or muscle memory, singular, since it seemed to be a collective one. I hadn’t felt that for a while, not since Willem. Jett and I were dancing as one, just as Willem and I did.

  As we went into a slower part and began another lift sequence, I felt Jett guiding me, taking care of me. I knew what I was doing, of course, but I felt so secure in his arms. I knew he would take care of anything that got in my way, any outside attempts to sabotage, like a water bomb. I’d thought of what had happened last year to Drew and me before we went on, but forced myself to banish it from my mind. But now it was as if I didn’t even care. Nothing could hurt me because I was dancing with Jett.

  The music swelled and the lyrics about the woman following the man wherever he went, even into eternity, began. I loved these words, and knew them so well. They were like a favorite poem to me. I’d loved this song since I heard it over a decade ago, I think. But Willem had always wanted to dance to faster music. Funny but it hit me only now that Jett and I were finally doing the dance I’d envisioned for so long.

  We did a snazzy quickstep sequence and I felt like I was gliding on air; it was all so smooth. Jett really was an amazing mover. He could do smooth ballroom, rhythmic Latin ballroom, and ballet and lyrical dance with equal amounts of ease and charisma. He could make anything look flashy. I could tell by the way the crowds went wild over our Viennese Waltz portion, where we did lightning fast turns though our feet never left the ground.

  We were nearing the end, with our most challenging lift sequence. This is where my tremor, if it happened, would really kill us. I concentrated on balancing, on strengthening my core, and helping Jett get me into the air. But his arms were so strong. I knew he could hold me up completely. Somehow his strength told me, without him having to say it, that it didn’t even matter if my tremor happened. We’d be okay; he’d make sure of it.