It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  "Yeah, right."

  "Really, Veronica, I'm being honest."

  "Wow, that's a switch." Great to be able to talk to your boss like that when you know he would never fire you. "Let me get going before you burst into flames."

  ***

  Layla met me at the door of the health club. "I had a feeling you'd be here."

  I moved through the door, followed by the photographer. "So what the hell is going on?"

  Her face beamed. "It's really cool. C'mon, follow me."

  "Where are we going?"

  "The olympic pool."

  "The pool?"

  "You'll see in a minute."

  Layla was dressed in a one piece bathing suit with a towel wrapped around her waist. She led us down a long hallway toward the huge swimming pool I knew was at the end. I had no idea what to expect. Was this the Dance Off bathing suit competition? It wouldn't surprise me. Would Dexter and the others be synchronized swimming?

  My question was answered as we moved through the glass door and the humid air mixed with the scent of chlorine filled my lungs, while a waltz played from a boom box.

  A dozen or so wheelchairs were parked around the perimeter of the pool. Along with a few sets of crutches and metal leg braces.

  Dexter Bishop and several of the professional dancers were in the pool, paired off with what appeared to be a bunch of teenagers, moving to the music.

  Layla tossed the towel on a chair and beamed. "Isn't this cool? They're dancing in the water with a bunch of kids who can't walk."

  My jaw slowly dropped as I took in the scene. Couples moved around the pool to the music. It was clear the professional dancers were supporting the kids, who had become almost weightless in the water. Their smiles were off the charts as they were temporarily free of their physical challenges. "When did you find out about this?"

  "When I got here this morning. Apparently it had all been arranged last week by Dexter. They really didn't want any publicity, but I guess the secret's out."

  "This kind of secret needs to be out. Have they done this here before?"

  "Nope." She reached out with one finger and turned my head so I was facing her. "I think you really pegged this guy wrong. You should have seen him with the kids. Damn, Savannah hit the jackpot."

  My photographer began moving around the pool, shooting video of the couples as they did the water dance. The waltz came to an end, and applause filled the air.

  "Think you guys can do the tango?" asked Dexter. He got a unanimous approval from the kids, then turned to Layla. "Would you play cut number four, please?"

  "Sure," she said, as she moved toward the boom box.

  Dexter finally noticed me. "Oh, Veronica, I didn't see you there. I also didn't know you were coming." He turned and spotted the photographer. "There wasn't supposed to be any publicity about this."

  "Gavin sent me. You can blame him. He supposedly got orders from upstairs."

  "Ah."

  A teenage boy who looked to be about seventeen looked up at me. "Hey, you're Veronica Summer!"

  "That's me. What's your name?"

  "Jim Larsen."

  "You having a good time in there?"

  "Yeah. Hey, you're my role model. I want to be a reporter when I get out of college. Your stories are the best."

  I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Jim, you're very kind."

  "I don't suppose you can get in the water and dance with me?"

  "I didn't bring a suit."

  The kid's face dropped.

  And then it hit me. Yes, it hit me in my fifteen hundred dollar dress and six hundred dollar shoes with the red soles whose brand I couldn't remember that the network had provided. It hit me that Gavin likes reporters to get involved with a story. Besides, we could use a consumer piece of the effects of chlorine on silk and leather.

  "Then again, who needs a suit?" I said.

  Layla grew a worried look and lowered her voice. "Geez, Veronica, you can't skinny dip in here."

  "I said no such thing." And with that I tossed aside my purse, took off my watch, handed it to her, and jumped into the pool fully clothed.

  "Oh. My. God." said Layla.

  "You are full of surprises," said Dexter.

  I moved toward the teenager, my green silk dress clinging to my body while thinking my drowned rat hairstyle would no doubt make the rounds of the Internet. The kid currently had his arms around the neck of one of the female dancers. "May I have this dance?" I asked her.

  "Absolutely," she said, as she helped the young man slide over to me. He snaked his arms around my neck and I could feel myself supporting his weight, which wasn't much in the water. I couldn't tell how tall he was, but he was slender.

  "I cannot believe you just did that," he said, his ice blue eyes beaming. "You rock, Miss Summer. You're even more incredible than I thought."

  "I'm just an average girl," I said.

  "Yeah, right." His eyes were misty, and not from the water. "I'll never forget what you just did."

  The music started. "Hold on, kid." I wrapped one arm around his waist, entwined my fingers with his and stuck our arms out to one side. While I'd never taken a tango lesson I'd seen enough movies, and if Arnold Schwarzenegger could do it in True Lies, how hard could it be? "Here we go." We began to circle around the pool, following the couple in front of us, which happened to be Dexter and a young blonde girl.

  "So, you wanna be a reporter, Jim?"

  He nodded. "I do. I've got a ton of your stories on my DVR. I already write for the school newspaper and I've applied to several journalism schools. I want to be an ethical reporter, like you. You're one of the few people on TV who isn't biased, and I want to be the same way."

  "Well, good for you. If you ever need help, or a recommendation, feel free to give me a call. I could set up a summer internship for you at the network."

  "Seriously?"

  "I don't kid around about journalism."

  "That's very kind of you."

  We continued around the pool to the music, making small talk along the way until the song ended.

  "I can't thank you enough," he said. "Maybe someday we can tango on a real dance floor."

  "Oh. So you're not—"

  "Doctor says I'll walk again, but it might take several years. I can get around a little on those braces, but not much. I was in a car that got hit by a drunk driver. I'm still a lot better off than some of these guys, who are permanently paralyzed."

  "Well, you seem to be a very determined young man and you have a great attitude. I'm sure you'll be on your feet in no time."

  "You two make a nice couple," said Dexter, wading over to us, still supporting the young girl.

  "He's a good partner. And he wants to be an ethical journalist."

  Suddenly the girl leaned over and whispered something in Jim's ear. He shook his head. "No way, Heather, I can't."

  "Go ahead," she said. "She'll probably do it."

  "Do what?" I asked.

  "Nothing," said Jim. "It's too much. You already ruined your outfit for me."

  I shrugged. "It's not mine. It belongs to the network. They have deep pockets and they'll agree it was worth it."

  The girl leaned toward Dexter and whispered in his ear. "I think it's a marvelous idea," he said, turning to smile at me.

  She looked back at Jim. "Ask her. Any woman who would jump in the pool fully clothed for you would do it."

  "Is anyone gonna let me in on this?" I asked.

  "Fine," said Jim, who then looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he looked back at me. "We have a big dance coming up at our school. Would you be my date?"

  In the space of three days I'd gone from what I thought was a great evening with a hunky dancer to getting dumped for another babe to being asked to the prom by a teenager. The kid looked into my soul and I knew I couldn't say no. "Sure, Jim. I'd be honored to escort you to the dance."

  "See, I told you!" said the girl.

  "Bravo!" said Dexter.

&nbs
p; I turned to the girl. "So are you going to the dance?"

  "I haven't been asked yet," she said, her eyes tinged with a bit of sadness.

  I looked right at Dexter and flashed a smile. "You know, I'll bet if you asked Mister Bishop to take you, he'd do it." I playfully batted my eyelashes at him.

  His lips quivered a bit.

  Gotcha.

  He turned toward the girl. "I would, uh, be happy to escort you."

  She pulled her body close to his and gave him a huge hug.

  Then Dexter looked over her shoulder at me, eyes slightly narrowed. "We can make it a double date."

  ***

  My hair was still a bit damp as I headed toward Bradley with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He looked up and smiled but I refused to return it.

  "Hey. I heard you got a nine-point-five from the Russian judge at the pool."

  "Yeah," I said, practically spitting the word at him.

  He noticed. "You okay?"

  "Let's just dance, Bradley."

  He studied my face, then picked up his clipboard. "Let's, uh, go over our stuff for this week."

  "Fine."

  We walked over to our spot out of the network's prying eyes and grabbed a spot on the floor. Bradley clicked his pen and began to write, then turned the clipboard toward me. "So, here's what I'm thinking."

  I looked at his scribble. Are you mad at me for some reason?

  I took his pen and began to write. "How about this?" I asked, as I wrote How was your second date Friday night?

  He grabbed the pen. What are you talking about?

  I yanked the pen back, squeezing the life out of it and practically tearing the paper as I wrote The girl you ditched me for when you said goodnight. The name Sweets ring a bell?

  He rolled his eyes, said, "You gotta be kidding me," then started to write. And write. And write.

  He handed it back to me.

  Sweets is my sister Janice. Her babysitter could only stay till ten on Friday and I told her I'd stay overnight and watch her daughter. The girl I ditched you for is five years old!!!!!

  Beads of sweat blossomed on my forehead. "Oh my God," I whispered, just before burying my face in my hands.

  He stood up and extended a hand. "C'mon, we've got a lot of work to do."

  I bit my lower lip and looked up at him like a little girl who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I mouthed one word. "Sorry."

  He wasn't buying, giving me back my own death stare. "Let's go, network. I'm gonna work you so hard today you'll want to quit."

  ***

  "All is not lost," said Savannah, swinging her leg provocatively and showing off the red soles of her shoes as she sat perched atop a barstool. A guy across the room was following every move, his head going back and forth like a metronome.

  "Oh, please," I said, taking a swig from my bottle of beer. The place was crowded and too many people had already recognized me so I lowered my voice a bit. "He obviously thinks I'm the most insecure girl in the world. He barely spoke to me during our session and worked my ass off like a drill sergeant."

  "But your reaction was normal. Any other girl would have reacted the same way."

  I shook my head. "Doesn't matter in this case. The guy can have any girl he wants. He wants perfect, he doesn't have to settle for someone who turns into a clingy teenager and gets jealous after pizza and a movie."

  "Y'all don't know how to play the game up here."

  "Up where?"

  "Here. Yankeeland. You're so career oriented and so obsessed with being equals to men that you've forgotten how to be women."

  "I haven't forgotten—"

  She waved her hand. "Pffft. Y'all are amateurs. We're more than equals, sweetie. We play men like fiddles in the South and you don't even have a music store up here."

  "What, am I supposed to act like Scarlett O'Hara?"

  "You could learn a thing or two from that movie."

  "Savannah, it was made in 1939."

  "The basic rules of courtship never change."

  "Oh, so you're trying to tell me I can apply civil war Georgia cotillions to New York City a hundred and fifty years later?"

  "Let me ask you something. Complete this sentence. The way to a man's heart is … "

  "Through his stomach."

  "Wrong."

  "Wrong?"

  "Wrong. The way to a man's heart is through the bedroom."

  "So, what, I'm supposed to seduce him and then I'll have control?"

  “Sweetie, when you got ‘em by the Johnson, their hearts and minds will follow. And at that point you can serve a man ramen noodles and he won’t leave.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  So, after four years of broadcasting school, countless award-winning stories, and a reputation that would be the envy of most reporters, my career has come to this moment of truth.

  Would the journalism It Girl glide around the dance floor like Ginger Rogers, or simply fall off her four inch heels and land on her ass with her skirt over her head?

  Inquiring minds wanna know.

  Millions of inquiring minds.

  But I've been in glass-half-full mode (said glass being filled with wine) and am counting my blessings. I could have ended up on some of the network's previous lame attempts at reality television before they hit ratings gold with Dance Off.

  Imagine this intrepid reporter being cast in one of these:

  -School of Ink: In an attempt to attract the body-pierced tattooed demographic, the show's hidden cameras served as flies on the wall of a not exactly accredited institution of lower learning. "Students" learned the basics of applying tattoos to women, some of whom posed challenges due to significant amounts of fat. The show infuriated the network's "standards and practices" department (one old biddy who had last been kissed during the Nixon administration) when one customer with back boobs decided she would share with the world the fact that she had not made it through high school by having "flunked out" tattooed above the bra strap. Unfortunately when she stood up some rolls of flab obliterated several letters, leaving only the "f" "u" "k" and "u", thus offering a permanent phonetic version of a four letter word insult.

  -Hands on: A hunting and fishing show designed to level the playing field for the poor creatures being stalked by having the celebrity host of the week catch something with his bare hands. The series crashed in the third episode when D-list celebrity Hank Jolsen waded into an Oregon river and caught a salmon in his arms. Unfortunately he didn't notice the grizzly bear behind him, who enjoyed the network version of surf and turf.

  -Real Soccer Moms of Arkansas: Chain smoking women tote their evil spawn around in the backs of pickup trucks and drop them at local activities, the best of which included a watermelon seed spitting contest in which contestants kept their remaining teeth clenched.

  -Family Pines: A traveling show visits family reunions around the country that are comprised of people whose family tree doesn't branch out. (Savannah loved this show and begged me to get the network to send a camera down to her clan.) Terms like "Uncle Cousin" are commonplace, while the only virgins in the family are those who possess the necessary speed to outrun their brothers. (Mercifully cancelled after one season.)

  There were no ratings problems with Dance Off, as it had plenty of viewers. Three of whom were my closest friends sitting in the front row as we approached our first live episode.

  Layla and Savannah were joined by Scott as a few couples got in some last minute rehearsals on the stage that doubles as a dance floor.

  But I was done rehearsing, as I had no desire to endure another minute of Bradley's glare while he pummeled what was left of my ass into submission. So I decided to deal with my stress by spending the last few minutes before the contest with those who love me.

  "You're up past your bedtime," I said to Scott, who was getting comfortable in his seat.

  "Hey, I wouldn't miss this for the world."

  "Maybe you'll be a contestant next year."

  He shoo
k his head. "Nah. I don't have the legs for it." He glanced down at my outfit. "Speaking of which, I thought you'd be dressed like an NFL cheerleader."

  "It's waltz night," I said. "Somehow hot pants, go-go boots and a halter top don't go with the music. But I'm sure they'll make an appearance in a future wardrobe malfunction."

  "Y'all look elegant," said Savannah, taking in my old school pale blue chiffon dress that ended at my ankles.

  I lifted one leg a bit and pointed at my shoes. "As long as I don't fall off these things. And after this week I don't have any padding left to fall on."

  "You'll be fine," said Layla. "And you know damn well you won't be voted off even if you fall, not with rehab girl in the contest."

  She was right. Rehab girl had that look which told you she was still in direct contact with the mother ship.

  "Ten minutes! Contestants to the green room!" yelled the floor director.

  "I gotta go," I said.

  Scott took my hand. "I'd say break a leg, but, you know."

  "Thanks, partner."

  I turned and headed toward the green room and saw Dexter Bishop heading directly for me, dressed in a tuxedo. I had to admit, he looked dashing. But I would be damned if I'd admit it to him. He smiled as he grew closer. "Best of luck this evening," he said.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. "I thought I didn't need it."

  He cringed a bit. "You look lovely in that dress. I presume it meets with your approval. It's from the Judi Dench fall collection."

  "It's beautiful, Dexter. I appreciate it." Considering his kind efforts in the swimming pool and the dress, I was beginning to think there was some semblance of a human being inside Bish the Dish. I needed to start cutting the guy some slack.

  "Well, best be on your way. The show's about to start."

  He headed for the judge's stand and took the middle seat as the two other judges, both thirtysomething female choreographers from Broadway, grabbed the chairs on either side. I headed back toward the green room.

  As I entered the room I saw Bradley, decked out in a white tie and tails.

  The sight knocked the breath from me. If Dexter looked dashing, Bradley was off the charts.

  I paused a moment, flashed my biggest smile, and headed toward him. "Don't you look like the top of a wedding cake," I said.