Fever

by Tonya Plank

  We had another break to watch the ballroom dancers tango. Sasha handed me a bottle of water. “You keep getting better and better. I’m so proud of you, Rory.” His words were heartfelt, his eyes genuine.

  I nearly choked. No, he’d never pronounce anything perfect. But that was damn close for Sasha.

  Our next dance was rumba. My adrenaline was still going strong but my brain was more functional now. I could focus on Xenia and Piotr as they danced without being overcome with nervous energy over our pending performance. They were very good. They were sharp and fast and they worked together well. But I knew in my heart of hearts we had something special that trumpeted their near-technical perfection.

  Our rumba went better than it’d ever gone before. Sasha was brilliantly gentle, giving me more than adequate time to make my lines and do all my stretches and leg lifts full-out. The crowd went crazy again as I slowly lifted my leg up all the way until it was straight, toe pointed at the ceiling, when Sasha grabbed it and wrapped it around his shoulder, then slid me across the floor. It was beautiful and sexy, what rumba was all about. And I felt both in that moment. At the end of that dance, I saw out of my periphery Greta’s red dress bubble up. I looked at her. She’d actually risen to stand and was bouncing up and down, clapping her hands high above her head.

  Is this a dream? Can I possibly be doing this well?

  The paso doble and jive were our two final dances. I envisioned myself as a beautiful, free-roaming gypsy recounting a story of woe and passion for her people as I stomped out those flamenco taps. That got a lot of applause, as did my cape-flying multiple pirouette during Sasha’s magnificent midair turning jump. I think I did an extra pirouette, even. My adrenaline was really taking me to new territory.

  Of course they had the one most physically strenuous dance at the very end. “Drink, drink, drink,” Sasha warned me as we sat down after our paso. “Take deep breaths. Part of this competition is a test of physical stamina. No matter how tired you feel out there, you just have to breathe deeply and keep going.”

  I nodded.

  “Even if you have to open your mouth to get the air in. Don’t feel stupid opening your lips as you smile. I’m serious; this is how people crash.”

  It wasn’t till I was out there that I understood why he’d warned me so. As many times as we’d practiced jive, we’d never done so immediately following the other five dances. The jive was so flipping fast. The kicks and flicks and kick ball changes required razor-like precision, which was really hard to do when you were side-splitting tired. And the supercharged spins required lots of spotting so you wouldn’t get dizzier than you already were. Which by now was ready-to-fall-all-over-myself dizzy. And I had a lot of spins in our routine. They were my strength and the crowd realized that quickly, as the screaming became thunderous whenever I did one. I was so tired I felt like collapsing but I did what Sasha said and breathed deeply through my open-lipped smile. That, and the adrenaline from the crowd’s applause, somehow got me through the dance without passing out.

  As the scores were being compiled, all the couples rose and took several bows, first individually, then as teams, and then as a whole group. By the time we took our seats again, the emcee was ready to announce the winners. Italy came in fourth, then Japan, then the U.S., and Britain won.

  “Don’t worry, the results mean nothing, as I told you. But the individual scores will be very meaningful,” Sasha whispered in my ear as we made our way to the podium and took our places on the second step from the top. I badly wanted to talk to my friends, and to Greta, to get knowing onlookers’ perspectives on what I did out there. But we had to remain on the podium for what seemed like an eternity so every photographer in Europe could shoot us, along with every audience member with a cell phone. I have to admit that was rather fun, being the subject of all the photographs, especially those by the fans. And I was well aware that that sentiment represented a big improvement for me, body image-wise. Before, I would probably have been consumed with worry over how fat my stomach or chest looked. But now I was secure that I looked just fine. It was all about my dancing here, anyway.

  When we finally all got back to the practice room, Bob’s ecstasy level had definitely gone down a notch. “Ugh, I don’t know if we’ll ever beat them,” he said, exasperated. “But here you go.” He passed out copies of scorecards to everyone on the team. I had no idea how to read the graphs and all the little numbers, so I just looked to Sasha for interpretation.

  He breathed deeply, put his elbow on the table and studied the papers for several minutes. I couldn’t read his expression at all, which was a bit excruciating. With one last deep breath he rose and extended his hand toward me. When he did, he lowered his chin to me and flashed me a quick but wide grin, making sure no one else could see. I jumped up and put my hand in his.

  “Okay, we’re going to go home and get a good sleep,” Sasha said to Bob.

  “Thanks so much, Sasha. Very, very good job. Both of you,” Bob said, smile partially returning. “You did it, kiddo, you really did it.” He hugged me. “Bless you,” he added, kissing my head.

  Hmmm, that was nice.

  ***

  “What was that all about? What did the scores show?” I chirped to Sasha after we’d left the Winter Gardens and were out of earshot of anyone on the team.

  “England came in first for ballroom, which is why they won. But the U.S. came in first for Latin.”

  “That’s us! We did?” I squealed, squeezing closer to him in our arm-in-arm walk home.

  “Yes. But don’t get too excited. It’s mainly because Xenia and Piotr were better than their second couple. The scores they gave us and Micaela and Jonathan were very, very close. In fact, neither of us actually won. That’s why I was taking so long to read the score sheets. We tied in samba, cha-cha, and paso doble and we scored one point higher in rumba and one point lower in jive. And Xenia and Piotr were very close behind. They were only a quarter point behind us in samba and paso. It’s going to be a very serious competition tomorrow night, Rory.”

  My stomach jolted, this time in an upward rather than downward manner. My adrenaline was doing all kinds of crazy things with my body.

  Sasha looked at me. His smile was crooked and mischievous. He really got off on this kind of thing. He stopped and turned toward me, planting his lips hard onto mine. He lifted me by the waist. I let my right leg brush off the ground, did a little arabesque in bent attitude position and pointed my toe. He bent over and dipped me, wrapping his arms more fully around me. I felt like that couple in the famous photograph of the lovers after the soldier had returned from war. I giggled. But our battle was far from over.

  Chapter 13

  “Oh my gawwwd, baby. You looked soooo gorgeous out there!” Paulina was sitting at a lounge table in the bar closest to the entrance waiting for us to return, her legs crossed and her patent leather red pump swinging in the air. She wore a bright green dress and dark red lipstick to match the pumps and her little scarlet evening bag. She looked really hot.

  I’d texted her, Raj and Sam about the after-competition parties in our hotel lounge, while warning them I wanted them to come and enjoy themselves but I couldn’t stay for very long tonight. And I couldn’t drink. The real party would have to wait until tomorrow night. And hopefully we would be in the mood to party. Of course, the nanosecond we entered, Sasha was rushed by his bazillions of fans. So I was so happy to see Paulina.

  “Come here, you,” she said, enveloping me in her huge arms.

  “Thank you for being here!” I sang.

  “Honey, you took my breath away. I was actually jealous of you, and I’m not the jealous type.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Never been more serious. I couldn’t believe that was you. You’ve just…transformed yourself.” Her eyes were actually moist. She was on the verge of tears.

  “Your feedback is so important because my body was just on auto-pilot. Especially at the beginning. I have no idea what I did du
ring the cha-cha and samba. My body was just going on muscle memory. Well, and Sasha’s lead.” I felt my face redden into a crimson blush, which was kind of funny after all this time.

  “Well then Sasha’s lead and your muscle memory are in awesome working order because, honey, it was more than clear you knew exactly what you were doing out there. You were so in your element. You owned that floor.” Her face was completely sincere.

  “Oh good, I’m so—”

  “Oh my gawwwed, Rory!” Samantha bounced in, pulling Raj as if he were on a leash. He looked happy to be so led, though! “Rory, I, oh my gawd, words can’t say…I just can’t believe that was you out there. I honestly can’t,” Samantha began. “I mean, I don’t mean that in a bad way. Obviously, I knew it was you, but I just couldn’t believe how you danced. You looked like, oh my…you looked like a total star. You looked like just as much of a star as he did, I swear.”

  “It was amazing. Simply amazing. You were just our little Rory, the beginner,” Rajiv said, shaking his head then nodding, basically rolling his head all around, looking completely stunned.

  “Oh my gosh, you shared the floor with Micaela and Jonathan—I mean, the current stars. And you guys looked better. You did. I’m not kidding. I’m not just telling you that. I’m in disbelief myself,” Sam said.

  “The girl tells the truth,” said Paulina.

  It honestly hadn’t even occurred to me that we were on the floor the same time as they were. I couldn’t see anyone else when we were dancing, so I’d plumb forgotten there were even other people up there with us. Silly me. That meant all the cheers weren’t for us though; a good number of them were for the reigning champions. But wait, I heard a lot of “go Sasha” and “go Rory,” I remembered. I did. Wow. This was surreal.

  We’d begun to analyze the differences in the top couples’ routines when some men and women approached. I recognized some of them as Sasha’s friends.

  “Very, very good this night,” said the one in front of the others in heavily accented English.

  “Yes, thank you,” said the man behind him.

  Thank me? Thank them for accepting me! “Oh, thank you!” I cried.

  “Yes, yes,” others said, nodding at me.

  As soon as they left, yet more people stopped by and did exactly the same. I was beyond elated to be well-liked by Sasha’s friends and fans. I’d clearly entered another realm of being.

  “Ooooh, you’re getting a little fan base of your own, girlfriend!” Paulina chirped.

  I giggled. But then my cell phone’s alarm clock beeped, indicating I had to be in bed in about five minutes.

  “Party pooper,” Paulina joked when I got up to leave.

  “Tomorrow night, same place same time! And we’ll hang out all night, no matter what happens, I swear!”

  “If we don’t see you before, good luck, honey. Just keep your head up and keep focused on us all being here to support you,” Samantha said, hugging me.

  ***

  The next morning, my adrenaline was really bouncing off the walls. I’d showered but not made myself up, as I knew that would happen later in Daiyu’s tent. I was sitting at the breakfast table forcing myself, over my nerves, to ingest my baked beans, tomato and bananas—my now-customary breakfast here, when my phone indicated I had a text.

  It was from Samantha. Have you seen the headlines of the Blackpool Daily? If you haven’t, get it right away!!!

  Sasha was in the shower. I had no idea what the Blackpool Daily was, but I figured the hotel clerk might. I took the moving crate downstairs. I didn’t even need to ask the clerk; there was a giant stack of small daily newspapers on a table next to the first floor shaft. I looked at the title to make sure I had the right paper, grabbed one and headed upstairs.

  I almost tripped stepping into the wooden box because I was flummoxed as I unfolded the paper and saw the cover. It was a full-page photo of Sasha and me doing my favorite rumba stretch where he’d wrapped my arabesque’d leg around his neck and was sliding me along the floor.

  The headline read “Mystery Woman Steals Sasha Zakharov’s—and Blackpool’s—Heart.”

  Oh come on, this can’t be serious. My first thought was that this was some kind of a bad prank. But I kept reading on.

  Last year’s second place Latin finalists—Sasha Zakharov and Xenia Lupinski—are both sporting brand-new partners this year. But where ballroom enthusiasts have seen Lupinski’s new partner—Piotr Smekalov—before, as he is three-time Amateur Latin Champion here at Blackpool and two-time Amateur Champion at the World DanceSport Championship, Zakharov appears to be dancing with an unknown. An unknown who wowed Blackpool audiences last night at the country team championships with her stunning, plunging arabesques and mouth-watering, ear-high développés. But she’s not just full of balletic tricks; she managed to keep up with the great Zakharov in speed and technique. Their side-by-side jive kicks and flicks were perfectly in sync and her lightning-speed American and simple spins were the best—and most thrilling—this viewer has ever seen. She’s probably the best partner Sasha’s ever had. It’s clear why she wowed him and stole his heart.

  Oh stop. Was this for real? No, it was a dream. It had to be.

  But it wasn’t. Under the words “stole his heart” they had a picture of Sasha caressing my knee and whispering into my ear during the team comp while we were waiting to go on.

  And we’re thankful she did, the article continued.

  Zakharov is a longtime favorite here for a gold medal, something he hasn’t attained since he broke up with Micaela Dermansky half a decade ago. Many, including this writer, think Zakharov is the greatest Latin ballroom dancer alive right now and quite possibly the best ever. Tragically, he just hasn’t met someone whom he can partner well. Well, he well may have found that in Ms. Aurora Laudner. All we’ve been able to find out thus far about this new woman in Zakharov’s life is that she’s American and appears to have a ballet background. She was a student at the prestigious School of American Ballet. We will update our reporting as we find out more. But the biggest question is: can Mr. Zakharov and Ms. Laudner upset Ms. Dermansky and Mr. Banks’s longtime winning streak? We’ll find out tonight at the World Open Professional Latin Ballroom Championships.

  Eeek. My emotions were flipping back and forth between being elated that this writer called me Sasha’s best partner ever, and fearing what he might unearth about me. I actually hadn’t entered the SAB program; I’d been about to when Mom pulled me. So I’d been accepted but had never actually been a student there. Well, it wasn’t my fault the reporter got the facts a little wrong. But it was going to be a let-down if it was revealed that I actually hadn’t studied at the most prestigious school in the U.S. and, more, that ten years had elapsed since I’d been at the good, but less flashy North Carolina School of the Arts. Would it look like I wasn’t a serious dancer, that I’d taken all that time out of my life to go to college and law school? And what if they really dug around and found I’d been fired from my first law job? And what if they found out about the anorexia? And the fainting at my first real dance performance?

  Okay, calm down, I told myself. I really didn’t have many skeletons in my closet. A lot of ballet dancers suffered from anorexia. Maybe ballroom dancers would see that as a valid reason to leave and not return for years. And maybe since it wasn’t regular media, or a real gossip mag, they wouldn’t care to dig up dirt about my law job. Maybe they just cared about things in your background relevant to dancing. I sincerely hoped so.

  Sasha was standing at the mirror fluffing dry his curls when I walked in. He wore only a towel and it was hanging quite low on his waist. He looked insanely hot and for a moment I forgot my hysteria and just wanted to push him back down on the bed and jump on him. He initially looked at me with that cocked smile as if he were thinking the same thing. But we’d agreed not to do any of that until after the comp. It would be kind of a present to ourselves for having gotten through it all. For having won! We’d just have moments
of smoldering passion until then, I guessed. Like we’d had in the studio before I’d ceased to be his student.

  But then his eyes traveled down to the item in my hand and his expression flattened. “Oh no, Rory. Don’t ever read those things during competition. Ever.” He reached over and grabbed it from my hand, then threw it in the trash. “I’m serious. You read it after the comp is over. Only after. Otherwise it will really screw with your head.” He took a breath and closed his eyes. “I see it already has. What? What was it?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  He was right. It had screwed with my head.

  I was not going to think about anything. I was forcing the entire article from my mind. I needed all my mental faculties right now. There was no part of my brain I could devote to thinking about anything other than performing my very best at the competition tonight. And I couldn’t bring him in on my inner drama either.

  He looked at me, wide eyed, his pupils growing in intensity. “I promise we will talk all about it tomorrow, whatever it is.”

  “It’s only good,” I interrupted.