Somewhere in California

by Toby Neal

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  The tight, achy feeling in my chest tells me something else might be going on—something like getting more distance from Jade and her family. I really need to shut this thing between us down. The last thing I need is a complication like a relationship with someone like Jade—it wouldn’t be a quick bang in the elevator—and I won’t get attached to another Michaels girl.

  God forbid. It took me four years to get over the last one.

  Melissa’s biopsy went smoothly, according to our phone call today. Now we have to wait on the results.

  She’s still on me about finding her some talent from this crop of dancers, and that led to my proposal that I run a separate talent agency. The idea’s been rattling around in my head for a while, but it really became clear today as I reviewed the dailies and interviews. I’ve identified five, possibly six dancers, all with that extra something that translates into screen magnetism. Jade is one of them.

  “I can keep boosting you print models as I come across them,” I tell Melissa. “But I want to run my own talent agency. The music video industry is taking off here in LA, and I’m in an ideal position to spot dance and acting talent. You have your niche, and this can be mine.”

  The distance between LA and Boston hisses on the phone line. I wait for the frosty, biting rebuttal.

  “All right,” Mom says abruptly. “I’m at a stage in my life when I want to... take some time off. Smell the roses and the like. So that’s fine—let’s move ahead with an agency separation.”

  A possible cancer diagnosis is giving Mom a new set of priorities. I get it. “Thanks for not giving me shit about this, Mom.”

  “Far from it, son. But as you know, I already got the talent aspect of The Melissa Agency started. My former photographer, Chad Wicke, is heading it up. If you like, I’ll hand him and the portfolio over to you. You can build the new agency with him. The man’s got an uncanny eye for seeing past the surface with some of these performers.”

  “Chad Wicke! Seriously, you’d let him go?” Chad’s one of Mom’s secret weapons. That fashionista photographer has a way of pulling amazing things out of models.

  “He wants to get out from behind the camera and do more hands-on development work. He’s been enjoying putting together our portfolios on the dance and acting talent. I’ll turn that whole operation over to you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I think this is a good move for us.” I wish she was closer so I could hug her and read her face, make sure this is really okay with her. “I appreciate your confidence in me.” The Michaels family, hugging and jumping, flashes into my mind. I wonder if I could ever hug and rejoice over a victory like that with Mom. Maybe it’s time I tried to find a way to make that kind of thing happen. “I love you, Mom.”

  A surprised silence on her end, then I hear her sniff. Her voice is wobbly. “I love you too, son. I’ll call you as soon as I hear the biopsy results.” She hangs up softly.

  That’s my mom. Classy. Understated. Loving in her way.

  The lights are coming up on the stage and I refocus on the night’s lineup. Jade and Ernesto are fourth in line of the six couples performing—not that I’m focusing on them.

  The night’s performances take it up a notch from the previous ones, no question. The contestants are getting more confident, learning the ropes and the routine of the show. They know what to expect now, and that shapes the way they throw themselves into the performances. There’s already been one standing ovation by the time Jade and Ernesto take the stage to that MC Hammer song.

  Wardrobe outfitted them according to the theme of the “story” they tell through the dance. Ernesto wears split-kneed jeans, boots, and a chain-laden leather jacket over a tight net shirt, the picture of a bad boy. Jade wears a short, fluffy white confirmation-style dress. She’s made it her own by tying that black ribbon around her waist. Her hair is in two braids, and she looks like a schoolgirl—until she spins, and the audience can see that the whole back of the dress is bare, ending just above her perfect butt.

  The two put on a riveting performance: a blend of styles, trademark Saladin choreography that includes hip-hop, pop and lock and some mean acrobatic breakdancing—and it’s not just moves. The piece tells a tale of forbidden love and temptation.

  Every hair on my body rises at the sensuality and passion of the performance—and something else rises too, mercifully hidden by the desk. The routine ends with a spotlight on the couple as Ernesto, on his knees, embraces Jade’s tiny waist, entreating, pulling her down—and she slowly leans over. They kiss.

  It looks like a real kiss.

  “Zoom in with camera three,” I snap at Brad. The camera’s merciless eye flies in to spy on the lovers.

  Yes, their lips are touching.

  Jade’s eyes are closed, her cheeks flushed from exertion. There’s a dew of moisture on her skin. She’s luscious as the peach she reminds me of. Ernesto’s dark and dangerous good looks set her off even more—and that jerk’s hands are sliding down her hips, pulling her into him even more.

  I’m pretty sure this whole section wasn’t part of the choreography.

  The audience is standing and applauding. A rose whacks Ernesto in the back, and he finally lets go of Jade and stands, turning with an insouciant grin and a flourishing bow. Jade curtsies.

  I want to kill that bastard for taking advantage of Jade to cop a feel and a kiss during a performance on national TV. Hopefully he’ll get voted off tonight. But it’s not likely, with that performance. The girls are going nuts for him, if the screams of “Ernesto!” are anything to go by.

  “Camera four on the audience, middle section,” I direct. The camera’s eye zooms in on the Michaels family, yelling and jumping. Jade’s mom Maggie is openly crying as the sisters hug, the husbands clap, and Peter waves the sign.

  Kate the emcee reminds the audience of Jade and Ernesto’s numbers for voting, and ushers them offstage.

  Ernesto is still holding Jade’s hand.

  Damn it.

  But I made my choice in the elevator. I walked away. She’s not mine to claim—or protect.

  The rest of the show passes in a blur: the final two performances, the appeals at the end. During the highlight recaps from each performance, Brad runs a clip of Jade and Ernesto cartwheeling over each other, not the kiss at the end.

  Good thing, too. I don’t think I could stand to watch that again.

  Jade

  I barely make it backstage before I’m pulling the tiny vial of hand sanitizer out of my waistband and rubbing my hands briskly thirteen times, and then wiping my lips with another dot of it. Ernesto spots this. “What the hell? Hand sanitizer on your mouth, really?”

  “Germs,” I say. “That kiss wasn’t in the choreography.”

  “It went along with the story, and I didn’t see you fighting it,” Ernesto grins. “We killed it tonight. Even better than the practice.”

  “I agree.” But I still want to get distance from him.

  I go to stand beside Alex. He’s dressed in black ballet tights, no shirt, and looks amazing. He performed second in the lineup with that girl Selina, who’s terrific and is shaping up as one of the top female talents of the show. They earned the first standing ovation of the evening.

  Alex turns his back on me.

  I touch his shoulder. “Alex.”

  He twitches my hand away and walks off without looking at me. I swing back to Ernesto, who winks and shrugs.

  There’s no time for more communication as they call us out for the final appeal for votes, and we all bow, and confetti and balloons fall as we break out into some improv moves and a great cut of music ends the show for the night.

  I change out of my “confirmation” dress and into some sweats backstage, and meet the family at the cafeteria for dinner, as we planned the day before. Little Peter runs across the dining room to hug me.

  “Your dress was so pretty, Auntie,” he says. With all that’s going on, I’ve hardly had time
to think about Ruby’s pregnancy, but looking up at my smiling sister, I’m so happy for them.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I sit down with the group, registering that Pearl isn’t there though Magnus is already seated, digging into a mounded plate of meat and vegetables.

  “You and that Ernesto guy were smokin’ hot,” Ruby says. “Great performance.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got our votes,” Rafe says.

  “I don’t know about that kiss,” Magnus rumbles beside me. “That didn’t look like part of the program.”

  “It wasn’t. Ernesto—he got swept away by the moment, I guess, and I didn’t have much choice but to go along.” I can feel how hot my cheeks are. “How was everyone’s day? Where’s Pearl?”

  “She went up to bed right after the show,” Magnus says. “She wasn’t feeling well today.”

  I feel a quiver of worry—is she avoiding me? I feel guilty all over again for my mean thoughts and feelings yesterday. “I hope she feels better.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.” And Magnus pins me with a dark glance that tells me he knows all about the friction between us, and doesn’t like it.

  The next day’s dance is the waltz, and my newest partner is a blond Adonis named David, a classically trained ballet dancer from a rich New York family that “would rather I did anything in life than dance ballet,” he tells me, and our new choreographer, an Argentine ballroom coach named Pedro.

  Even though waltz is one of my weakest steps, David and I move well together and our similar background training makes for a relatively mellow day of practice that flies by.

  Throughout the day, I wonder what’s going on with Pearl. Mom told me the whole family was leaving extra early for a day at Disneyland, and they’ll just be making it back in time for the results show processing the voting from the night before, so there’s no way to tell what’s happening with them until after.

  And Brandon? Well. After that scene in the elevator, it’s better to just stay distracted.

  The show is beginning to feel like it has a rhythm to it—an intense rhythm, but a real one. Every time I get a partner, I experience a new relationship with a guy. I’ve never been around so many this intimately before. My life until now basically consisted of school, home, and the Eureka dance studio. Now I feel like I’m on a fast-forward track, learning to deal with people.

  Due to time constraints, I haven’t gotten to know the other women on the show. They all paired up as roommates and know each other well by now. By rooming with Alex early on, I cut myself out of the female herd—and staying with him at the top of the hotel is a distinction not lost on anyone. I’m competition, not friendship material.

  I don’t think I’m imagining the cold shoulders and whispered comments I hear as I walk through the cafeteria and look for someone to sit with.

  The only person sitting at a table alone today is Selina Sefton, the girl everyone’s talking about as the best female dancer on the show. She’s usually alone, and today she’s seated at a round table in the corner, forking up salad.

  I sit down with my tray. “Is this seat taken?”

  “Does it look taken?” She has icy blue eyes and black hair and looks like she eats diamonds for breakfast.

  I forge ahead with the niceties. “We haven’t really met. I’m Jade.”

  “I know who you are.”

  This is not going well. I put my head down and scoop up my soup, chosen because it’s low-calorie but makes me feel full. After the morning’s workout with David, my stomach is rumbling.

  She seems to relent. “I’m Selena. You and Ernesto were amazing last night.”

  “He’s an exceptional dancer,” I say carefully.

  “He’s exceptionally hot. Everything he does is hot. I can’t wait to partner with him.”

  “He knows how hot he is,” I warn Selina, meeting her gaze. I don’t know how to say anything more about Ernesto, his confidence, his appeal, how he pushes things—and how he doesn’t care who he hurts.

  She seems to read my expression. “I’ll be careful. I can take care of myself.”

  “That I believe.” I address my soup. I’m surprised to hear Selina chuckle, and it’s a small gurgling sound like a happy baby makes. “What’s your dance background?” I ask her.

  “I’ve been dancing ballet since I was three. I’ve had my eye on this contest since this show started, so I’ve been working with coaches for three years, hitting all the styles pretty thoroughly.” Selina uses her knife and fork to cut her lettuce. “You?”

  Selina’s like an Olympic athlete that’s trained her whole life and only had one goal: this show. I’m totally intimidated.

  “Nothing like your background. I started dancing at fourteen, taking ballet at a storefront studio. I’ve pretty much lived there ever since, but only had a few ballroom lessons and I taught myself other styles by watching MTV music videos.”

  Selina’s mouth hangs open, a forkful of lettuce halfway there. She puts her fork down and shakes her head. “That’s amazing. Shows how talented you are.”

  I blush. “Just found something I love to do more than anything else.”

  “So are you and Alex—together?”

  I remember that they partnered last night. “No. He’s gay.”

  “I thought he was. But he sure knows how to turn on the x-factor dancing.”

  “You got that right. We met in San Francisco during the tryouts.” We discuss the various competitors. It’s a relief to have someone to talk it all over with.

  Alex walks in with Ernesto. Ernesto’s got his arm over Alex’s shoulder in that sexy, “you’re mine” way he has.

  “Alex is mad at me right now,” I tell Selina. “But I hope that’s over.” I gesture with my chin to the door.

  “I get it.” She’s sharp, this girl. I scoot closer to Selina as Alex and Ernesto, carrying loaded trays, join us. I hate the way the guys eat like horses, and we have to count every fat gram.

  “Yes! We get to sit with the two finest ladies on the show.” Ernesto smiles with patented charm, but Alex still evades my gaze. I never saw him at all last night—his bedroom door stayed shut, and we missed each other in the morning.

  “You two make up?” I ask.

  Ernesto leans over and kisses Alex’s cheek. “Getting there. He knows I just like to get into character.”

  “You’re a character, all right,” Alex mutters, sounding intentionally light. “Slut.”

  “Jealous bitch,” Ernesto says calmly, picking up his burger.

  “Whore.”

  “And you love me for it.”

  “Well. This has been great.” Selina wipes her mouth on her napkin. “I’ve got to get back to it. I’m dancing with Hal this round—got any tips for me, Jade?”

  I’m done with my soup, so I get up too.

  “See you later, boys. Yeah, I have a few ideas.” I follow Selina out, telling her about Hal’s tendency to land heavy on his left foot and that he can get a little handsy. “What style are you two doing?”

  “Contemporary. It’s a really emotional piece, and he’s pretty stiff, which is making me freeze up too. Really wish I had either of those two at the table for this number. Our choreographer is amazing, though—Rhiannon.” I’ve seen the woman around—she wears nothing but black, and sports a huge, rainbow-colored Mohawk. I’ve been impressed by the contemporary dances that she’s choreographed so far.

  “I don’t know what to tell you—slip Hal a Xanax?”

  Selina laughs again, that baby burble. “I might have to try that! He leaves his water bottle lying around...”

  I like her. It feels like a triumph. We talk and joke as we make our way to our practice rooms, and I hope that I might be making a friend.

  Brandon

  Another long day. I head for the monitoring booth to work the evening’s results show, coffee and clipboard in hand.

  I feel like I’ve been slogging through tar all day. Maybe it was the sleepless night last night, the room feeling way too emp
ty—but when I looked through my address book of contacts for female company here in LA, none appealed. I just wanted to forget Jade and get laid, but it was all too much work.

  I ended up going to the gym late and crashing in the sauna after my workout, hoping Jade would somehow show up.

  Which, of course, she didn’t. Girl had to get to bed early, as she’d clearly told me.

  Not that I care, of course.

  I’m pissed that I was disappointed last night, pissed that this sore tooth of a feeling is interfering with my concentration, and pissed because I should be happy right now.

  The numbers came in today from the ratings company, and we’re gaining viewers at an exponential rate every time the show airs. We’ve had moderate, steady growth each year, but this year looks like the one Dance, Dance, Dance officially becomes a hit. All of which looks good for another season next year. Now that I’m building my talent agency, another season is another opportunity for a rich fishing pool of possible clients, a likelier long-term success strategy than running a television show and hoping for a string of hits.

  I’ve always known that directing a TV show wasn’t my thing long-term, and after this season, with the crazy long hours and all the travel—I’m feeling a weird kind of exhaustion deep down.

  I only forget it when I’m with Jade.

  Screw that thought.

  I reach the booth’s door and push in. Tad from Yale jumps up out of my seat in the cockpit next to Brad the video editor. “Sorry, Boss. I was just getting a look at the dailies. Gonna have some interesting segments for tomorrow’s competition.”

  “That better be the case.” I slap down my coffee and clipboard on the desk. “Where’s Clay? I want him down with the director tonight, helping him out and learning the ropes.”

  “Yes sir. I’ll tell him. I have some items that need your attention, myself.” Tad holds out his clipboard. “Had some deliveries that still need your signature, and here’s a list of the injuries treated on the set.”