Fever

by Tonya Plank

  “Okay, costume time.” A young, very thin woman with long legs and a turned-out stance that indicated she had a dance background approached me, took my hand and pulled me into a corner, where she’d set up a Chinese screen to block me off from the now about twenty other people—of both genders—in the tent. “Okay, take everything off and put it on the chair,” she dictated. She had some kind of choppy European accent I couldn’t place. Maybe Eastern European, but not Russian. “The one right there,” she clarified when I looked at her open-mouthed when it was apparent she was going to stand there and watch.

  “Um, okay, where is my costume, though?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get it. Before that I need to make sure you have enough bronzer on. We’ll probably need to put more on before we dress you. People never put enough in the private areas. If I brought the dress in now it’ll make it too crowded in here.”

  Private areas? That would mean she would need to see said private areas. “Uh, okay?”

  I stripped down to my bra and underwear. She looked me up and down, waiting.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when I just stood there for a second.

  “Um, this is just…you want me to take this off too?” I said, fingering my bra straps.

  “Of course.” She frowned, clueless about my cluelessness.

  “Oh. Okay.” As quickly as I could so as to not think too much, I undid my bra and tossed it on the side chair, then slipped off the panties and did the same. Then I stood up in front of her, naked, covering my nipples and pubic area as best as I could.

  She abruptly pulled my arms aside. “Yeah, we should definitely put on a little more tanner,” she said as if she were a doctor analyzing a medical condition.

  I looked away as she sprayed up and down my body. I could see the shadows of all the people filing through the clothes on the racks or the fabrics on the tables outside the tent. I wondered how much of my naked profile they could see. I looked in the opposite direction where if I looked up, I could see over the top of the partition, to the other dancers having their faces and hair done or looking at themselves, now fully costumed, in the mirror. I’d never felt so naked in front of so many people, even though I guess people couldn’t really see me.

  “Okay, let’s let it dry for a few,” she said, putting the can down. Then she went around the partition and walked away.

  A few what, I thought? Seconds, minutes—heaven forbid, hours? No, we couldn’t have that kind of time. I looked back at the shadows outside the tent. A couple of women were turned toward me. It took me a few seconds to see that their attentions were focused on the racks; their hands were sliding the hangers down the metal tube, and they would from time to time hold a dress up to their torsos. There must have been a mirror right in front of my body. It looked like they were holding it up for my inspection but of course I couldn’t see anything but a shadow.

  “How are you doing?” Sasha’s deep voice shook me out of my thoughts and sent a bolt of electricity straight to my lower belly.

  I looked in the direction of his voice. He’d come around the partition and was standing where the thin woman had just left. He was looking at me as if I were totally clothed, nothing out of the ordinary. He was all dressed, in costume, hair slicked back, completely ready to go on. Now a bolt of anxious energy shot down my spine. He was so ready and I was so not. And this was not exactly sexual. This must be what it was like to do a nude scene in front of a camera crew, I thought.

  “Sasha!” I said, widening my eyes.

  He looked nonplussed. Couldn’t he understand how weird it was for him to be looking at me naked in public, basically? I guessed not.

  “Your hair looks beautiful,” he said, nodding and actually looking at my head, no sexual charge whatsoever in his tone.

  What was that about? He was looking at me naked. I wanted to kill him.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready,” the young woman said, returning to me and waving Sasha away. He promptly left.

  As she lightly brushed my pubic area with a blotter, completely nonchalantly, I looked around at the other couples. People—partners—were talking to each other inside and over partitions, in various states of undress, as if they were fully clothed. Ah, this was normal for Sasha’s world, for the world of pro dancers. Nudity and partial nudity were simply partial states of readiness, not at all sexual when you were getting costumed up.

  Even weirder than standing naked in front of her while she assessed the shade of skin around my pubic area was having her hold out the costume for me while I spread my legs and stepped into it, then pull it up, fitting my boobs into the padded cubbyholes that Daiyu’s seamstress had carved out for them. My mind wandered to the movie about Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola and how embarrassed Kirsten Dunst’s character was to be dressed like that. Yeah, I didn’t think I could have been royalty in those times, either.

  Finally dressed, I buckled my shoes on and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Wow, I really did look amazing beyond my wildest dreams. After being naked for a substantial time, I felt very protected by the strong, thick, many-layered fabric. The toga-esque cut gave the dress a classic look. And the way those crystals inside the material radiated in the light made the gown the epitome of elegance. I looked like a million bucks. And I didn’t pay a cent for it! Daiyu rocked. Sasha’s world rocked.

  The woman who’d dressed me led us outside the tent in the direction of an elevated runway, where several couples were posing for a photographer. I naturally took my place at the end of the line. Until I felt Sasha’s hand envelop mine and gently pull me forward.

  “We go ahead, Rory,” he said, laughing. “We’re on the team. We need to get going for our practice,” he added when it was clear I didn’t know we were expected to cut the line.

  “Oh look, it’s them!” I heard someone shout.

  I turned around to look behind us, from the direction I’d heard the words. I witnessed the most enormous crowd I’d seen yet. The onlookers completely filled the long hallway that led from the runway to the other tents and vendors and out to the main hall of the Winter Garden. There were people as far back as I could see. It was like what I’d imagine the red carpet at the Oscars to be like.

  Oh my.

  “Oh look how gorgeous she looks!” I heard a female voice say.

  I felt an embarrassed smile creep across my lips. I had never been the center of attention before.

  “Rory, we don’t have a lot of time,” Sasha said, placing his hand around my waist and gently turning my body back toward the photographer. As I took the last step up the runway and walked toward the camera, the entire hall exploded with applause. Talk about entering a serious fantasy-land.

  “Go Sasha!” “Yes, Sasha!” “Davay, Sasha!” “Sashaaaaa!” I heard people saying. Then, “Sasha and Rory!” “Go Sasha, go Rory!” I don’t know if either of those cheers came from any of my friends, as I couldn’t make out a single face. But as I turned around, I saw faces looking me not up and down like before, but with genuine admiration and respect. I truly felt like royalty.

  After the onslaught of flashing bulbs, we exited the top of the runway and walked down the Pavilion hall to the point where it connected with the series of practice rooms. We went through each of our routines once more, costumed. It took everything I had to put my nerves aside. Not that it was all that hard to fixate on how hot Sasha looked in those form-fitting black pants, with his shirt opened just enough to reveal a sexy line of skin from the base of his neck to the middle of his rib cage. Just looking at him, touching him, made me feel sexy.

  As we neared the end of our practice, our team members began to file into the room. Immediately I sensed Xenia’s eyes on me. Fortunately we were at the end of our final routine, but I did flub a jive kick. Fortunately, it was on a side-by-side step and I didn’t think Sasha realized it happened. I heard someone snicker though and it couldn’t have been anyone but Xenia. I guess it was more important to her that I do badly than that her team
win. Well, some people are just like that.

  After we finished, Sasha gave me a look that indicated he knew about the flub. Of course he did. Why would I ever have imagined otherwise? “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.

  He shook his head and frowned, a look I read to mean, “don’t think about it.” In fact, he’d spoken hardly at all for the past hour or so. I’d come to realize, though, that this didn’t mean he was mad at me, but that he was just trying to keep his nerves under control as well. And his mental energies were taken up with his extreme focus and concentration. I knew to respect his silence and overcome any neediness for emotional or physical attention at that point. There would be plenty of time for that later. After we won!

  “Okay, looks like we’re on, folks!” Bob said with his now-trademark ginormous smile and a clap of his hands. He told us to get in our proper dance order, as that would be the order we’d walk onstage in. Sasha and I positioned ourselves at the back.

  We walked down a very long, barely lit hallway. I soon began to hear the cheers of the crowd. I felt a spasm of adrenaline in the pit of my stomach. I was simultaneously excited and terrified, just how I’d always imagined I’d feel if I ever walked onto a proscenium stage to perform a ballet. Bob led us out of the hallway and into a large, very dimly lit square box of a room. A door opened and I could now see a rectangular, covered caravan-looking thing on wheels, with a short step. Bob apologized and told us he’d made a mistake; we needed to reverse our order. So, Sasha and I were to enter first so we’d be getting out last. I felt the weight of Xenia’s glare as Sasha escorted me past her and up the steps. I didn’t avert my eyes from our destination in the back of the van. I refused to return her glare. It was ridiculous, anyway.

  The roar of the crowd became stronger as the caravan inched its way along.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” I heard the emcee saying. “Blackpool is a small holiday seaside town on the coast of Britain. And look what you’ve done to it. Every year from late May through early June it becomes the world’s most international city. We have registered in our hotels right now people from a total of one hundred and two different countries all over the world.” The applause grew. “The most common first language spoken in this small English town right now is Russian, followed by Mandarin. English is third.” Even though most here spoke English as a second language, they seemed to understand what he was saying, as the applause grew even more. “Also spoken widely here right now are Japanese, Dutch, Polish, German, Italian, Hungarian…” The list went on and the applause continued to grow as each new language was announced.

  How cool it was to be a part of this, I thought. Sasha was so right. Cheryl and Luna were absolute no ones here. Everyone was basically a little out of their element here, even the British, who once owned this competition, this dance form. This was not what I had expected—this kind of crowd, this kind of international audience. This was grander than anything I ever imagined from watching those videos.

  We were the second-to-last team introduced. First was Japan, followed by Italy. Then we were announced. As we exited the caravan and descended the steps to the main ballroom floor, the applause went nuts. The lights were so bright, I couldn’t see a thing. Lucky for me, I had Sasha to lead me, and several teammates to follow.

  We’d definitely received the biggest ovation so far. But our ovation was nothing compared to the final team introduced: Great Britain. Britain always won, Sasha had told me, not because it was the home country but because it simply boasted the most dancers who placed in the finals. England’s standard ballroom pairs placed first and second respectively in last year’s competition, plus they had the top Latin couple—Micaela and Jonathan. Micaela was Russian but was now a resident of England with her longtime partner Jonathan. Sasha told me not to be disappointed if the U.S. didn’t win; we weren’t expected to. We should be very disappointed, of course, if we didn’t win the individuals on Wednesday night, though.

  We took our seats around the dance floor. First was a waltz. From our side, Maurizio whisked his lovely pro partner, Alexandra, out onto the ballroom. They shared the floor with the first competing ballroom team from each country.

  My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might leave my body. I knew we had basically two dances before we went on, since we were the last couple to go and each couple danced half of a dance. But my adrenaline was so high, I just wanted to get it over with now. Once we started I would feel better, I knew I would. It was the waiting that killed me. The skyrocketing adrenaline made me feel like I was bouncing in my seat. When I felt Sasha’s hand on my shoulder blade, I knew I actually was. So I stopped, but then my knees started to wobble. I heard Sasha laugh under his breath.

  “Glad you are so excited to move,” he whispered.

  The lights were so blindingly bright, I couldn’t see anyone out in the seats. I couldn’t really see anyone on the other side of the dance floor, either. I hoped I wouldn’t lose my sense of direction when I got out there like I did during the mambo team’s performance, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

  I felt Bob’s footsteps approaching. I raised my back, ready to take off. But he stepped around us and tapped Oleg, the leader of our second ballroom couple, on the shoulder. He stood elegantly and held out his hand for his beautiful partner, and they began waltzing. Maurizio caught Oleg’s eye and returned with his partner to their seats. It was almost time for Xenia and Piotr, then it would be us Bob tapped. I felt like I had spiders crawling down my legs and I needed to shake them off. I was also glad the adrenaline excited me rather than rendered me immobile. Very, very glad.

  Soon, my sight began to adjust to the shock-bright lights. I began to be able to see figures in the audience, although I couldn’t make out faces. All except one. She sat smack in the middle of the first row and wore a long, absolutely drop-dead gorgeous scarlet-colored dress. She stood out so far and above anyone else, it would have been impossible not to see her. She was holding up a finger, and I soon realized it was pointed at me. It was Greta, of course, one of the guests of honor, former longtime champion that she was. She simply pointed at me and nodded as if to say, “You’re the one. You can do it.”

  Sasha’s hand still rested atop my shoulder blade. His fingers now gently massaged the muscle beneath it. Her finger and his palm made my confidence surge.

  The music changed to a cha-cha and Piotr and Xenia rose. My heart did a backflip. At least my legs didn’t feel weak anymore. I started quickly going over our routine in my head. Suddenly my head was a blank. I had no idea how we started. My heart was jumping faster, now doing continuous flips, both forward and back, and the light was getting brighter somehow. It was even more blinding. Sasha gave my knee a gentle pat and rose, holding my hand. I hadn’t even realized Bob had tapped him.

  As we stood, the crowd absolutely exploded with cheers. I suddenly had no idea what was going on. Why was everyone suddenly screaming? I must have gotten up because I found myself walking with Sasha toward Piotr and Xenia. After we passed them, Sasha did a quick spin to the side, then whisked me around in front of him, placing us in our starting position. The crowds were roaring so I almost couldn’t hear the music. Crap, I needed to hear the music to catch the beat. I tried to concentrate on hearing it. But suddenly Sasha pulled me toward him, then whipped me out to his right, catching me in his right arm. The beginning move of our cha-cha. I must have moved my feet even though I didn’t feel them because I got to my proper positioning somehow. I tried to think of what we were supposed to do next and the instant I felt Sasha shift weight and hold his opposite arm out, I naturally cha-cha’d toward it. It seemed like the cheering was getting louder and crazier. Damn, there seemed to be way more Latin fans here than ballroom.

  I couldn’t think at all. I had no brain cells whatsoever. But somehow my feet and body were moving, and in the right direction, and with Sasha. We were doing our dance, just as planned.

  Thank you, muscle memory.

  “Sasha!!!” I heard th
rough all the roaring. Then, I swear I thought I heard my name screamed. Yes, I did hear my name. “Go Sasha, go Rory!” Someone was chanting it. More than one person. A whole group of people. A huge group. Then I remembered the competition in O.C. and how the crowd roared whenever Sasha and Arabelle went anywhere near the ballroom floor. I was Arabelle now. People were even saying my name. This was all for us. I met Sasha’s eyes. He had his sexy cocky smile amped all the way up. He directed it to me, then out to the crowd, then back to me, as if he was saying he belonged first to me. Also to the crowd, but first to me. He was on fire. Was this really my partner, my man?

  Suddenly, he pulled me into a split, our snazzy ending position. I got there, ended perfectly, just as we’d planned. The music stopped abruptly and the crowd went absolutely wild. Sasha pulled me up from the splits and wrapped his arm around my waist, and holding me beside him, then took a deep bow, bringing my torso down with his, so I’d follow his movement and take my bow as well. The cheering was making my ears ring. It was like being at a rock concert. Then, he turned toward me, lips brushing mine ever so briefly, the crowd going even wilder. He somehow turned my body around, held my hand in his, and led me back to our seats.

  The music changed to a foxtrot, and we sat. The applause didn’t completely die but toned down a lot.

  He caressed my knee. “You did very well,” he said. “Really well.”

  “What? Are you sure? I couldn’t remember anything.” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  “Your muscles did,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  Our second dance was the samba. The adrenaline was still making me high, but I was now much more ready for the blinding lights and eardrum-shattering cheers, which happened the second Sasha stood and reached for my hand. This time he didn’t wait to get to the center of the floor to begin our routine since samba was a dance that traveled around the ballroom. We faced each other and did hip/pelvic rolls toward each other. He went down all the way, and I held his hand while lifting my back leg quickly in a high arabesque penchée. This was not a traditional samba move—it was one of the steps Greta and I choreographed as something that would be unique and suit my balletic background. We were unsure how it would go down. As my pointed toe rose to the ceiling, the crowds burst into applause. They were even louder now than with our cha-cha. They gave me everything I needed with those cheers. They accepted us. They accepted me. I suddenly understood how Sasha derived so much energy from the audience, how they filled him with such passion. And I was just like him. I barreled through the rest of the routine, giving it more than my all, relying on muscle memory for the steps but pouring so much more than just footwork—everything I possibly had—into them. Samba was a happy, fun, sexy dance. I’d never felt happier, or sexier.