“I don’t know. You can’t tell a soul until I figure this out. No one can know. I don’t want the tabloids to find out and ruin Bret’s life.” But I knew that it didn’t matter. Dima would tell the world.
There was a big sigh on the other end of the phone. I tightened my towel and looked longingly at my bath.
“Are you going to tell Bret what happened with Dima when he was in boot camp?”
It was my turn to sigh. “Yes, of course, I am. I tried, but he didn’t want to talk about it.”
There was no talking Jenny down a tree once she’d climbed it high enough. “Fine, Selena. But you need to tell him soon if you want this to work out.”
“I know. I’ll figure it out.”
Jenny was the only person I had told about what happened when Bret left for the Marines. I was engaged and madly in love with him. Dima had just broken up with Carrie. He was pressuring me to leave Bret, but I refused.
Until one night.
“Selena, are you still there? You realize your competitive career is over, don’t you?”
She was right. “Of course, I do.” But I didn’t want to deal with it. I considered dropping the phone in the bath and pretending I got disconnected.
Luckily, Jen’s tone changed. “I’m still happy for you, Sel. But you better make sure there are no paps around, or it will be all over TMZ.”
My bubbles were popping in the tub. Enough waiting. I took the phone to the bathroom and slipped into the foamy heaven. Ah, bebita. This was the life. “Don’t worry,” I said, settling in, “we’ll make sure to keep a low profile.”
“Sounds good. I’ll let you know if Dima starts running his mouth. You need to get Dima to agree to release a statement. And you need to tell Bret as soon as possible.”
“Okay, okay.” I lifted a pile of bubbles on my palm. “I’ll catch you later. Love ya, kisses.”
“Yeah, love you, bye.”
I turned on the tap to let in more hot water then sank lower into the glorious warmth.
I blew the bubbles off my palm and watched the glistening cloud float to the water. Maybe after Blackpool, I could take a few months off and enjoy life. I would practically kill for a heaping plate of chorizo nachos with mounds of guacamole, sour cream, olives, and cheese, not to mention chicken mole verde and my mom’s fresh homemade pumpkin empanadas. My nana made the best empanadas ever. The meal-plan Dima had me on was horrible: egg whites, spinach, tofu, and veggies. That was it. At least the chef I had was great.
“And I chose that?” I muttered to my bubbles. “What an idiot.” Maybe Bret was right. How about a normal life? What would that be like? Falling in love and not worrying about choosing between him and my career. And starting a family. I would love to spend my days playing with my kids at the park.
Ooh, and drinking Starbucks Venti Caramel Frappuccinos with whipped cream, and eating plates and plates of Round Table’s King Arthur Supreme Pizza with shrimp and anchovies, and inhaling chocolate pecan pie a la mode and Pina Coladas without reporting to barre classes five minutes later. And letting my natural hair color grow out. That would be something. I hated being blonde. I was Latina—it wasn’t right. I could also stand not being a tanorexic. And how about saving the lives of the minks who had died for my fake eyelashes. And a vacation, what was that like?
I wanted to find out. I wanted to live my life my way.
I wanted a life off-camera, period.
I scooped up bubbles with both hands and lifted them to my face, staring into a billion sudsy prisms. I loved the glimpse into this world that Bret had. I wanted more.
Hell, I deserved more.
The bathroom light twinkled in the suds.
Yeah, I could stand this life.
I closed my eyes, made my wish, and blew hard.
Bret
We arrived back in Los Angeles three days before the first show. There was so much to do—Selena had begun the process of separating her businesses from Dima, as I was preparing for my time in the spotlight.
I pulled the truck in front of Selena’s house. I scanned the driveway—no Lamborghini in sight. Dima must’ve been hiding out somewhere.
“You sure you want to go in by yourself? I can stay with you, just in case Dima comes back.”
Selena gave me a warm kiss. “No, babe. It’s okay. I doubt Dima will show up. He’s probably auditioning his next partner. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. But call me if Dima shows up. Or if you need anything. I’ll only be two hours away so I can come back if you need me to.”
Banjo licked Selena’s face, and, for once, she didn’t immediately wipe off his slobber. “I’ll miss you, too, Banjo. Call me later, Bret.”
I headed down the hills. I hadn’t been away from Selena for longer than a dog walk since we’d gotten back together. I needed some time to process everything that had happened.
I pulled to the side of the road and made a call.
Ray picked up on the first ring. “Hey, stranger. I thought you went UA. How’ve you been?”
“Good. You know there’s nothing unauthorized about this absence. Though I have considered taking off to Canada—to escape this show, not the Corps. But I’m back in southern California. What are you doing tonight? Can I buy you a beer?”
A baby cried in the background. “Man, Nia went to her sister’s house. I’m watching the kids. Tell you what, bring over some beer and pizza, and we’ll catch the UFC match.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be over in about two hours.”
It sounded like the perfect night to me: my best friend, my dog, watching guys beat each other up, beer, pizza, and no cameras anywhere.
* * *
“Uncle Bret!” Ray’s three boys were waiting in the driveway when I parked.
“Is this your truck?” Jackson, Ray’s twelve-year-old, seemed hypnotized by the headlights.
“No, buddy. It’s just on loan. I have to give it back soon.”
Jackson’s shoulders slumped. “Man, that sucks.”
I doled out gifts to the boys. I’d bought them bars of Ghirardelli chocolates and toy cable cars.
Ray appeared at the doorway, holding his baby daughter. “Nice truck. Did congress give us a raise I don’t know about? I thought you were giving all the money on the show to Pierce’s family? Keep spending like that, and you won’t have anything left.”
I grabbed the pizzas, beer, and sodas. “Haven’t touched the money. Ford gave me this truck for a promotion. I tried to refuse it, but I’m stuck with it. I’ll sell it after the show.”
A wrinkle crossed Ray’s face. “Seriously? They gave you this truck, and you want to return it? Are you nuts? Give it to me. Man, you should get something for making a jerk out of yourself. I can’t wait to see you on television next week. I know you’re gonna get me some free tickets.”
“I get two free tickets to every show. You want to come?” I hadn’t planned on inviting Ray, mostly out of pure embarrassment.
“Hell yeah! We’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. How about in three weeks—I have duty next week, and that will give us time to find a babysitter.”
“Sure. I’ll put you on the list.”
I led Banjo to the backyard and let him run around. For base housing, this place was pretty nice: four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, two-car garage, laundry room, and a small yard. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture Selena ever living on base with me, in a modest home like this.
The boys each took a slice of pizza and a soda and then went out back to play fetch with Banjo. Ray placed the baby in her swing and settled into the sofa. I took a slice of pizza, sat in a chair, and waited for the UFC match to begin.
Ray eyed me. “So, how’s it been?”
I was relieved to have someone to talk to. “Not too bad. Do you know who Robyn Quintana is? She’s my partner.”
“Are you serious? She’s fine. Nia will freak. She loves her. Is she cool?” Ray took out his phone and texted his wife.
“We get to meet her when we go to your show?”
“Of course. She’s a good dancer. I don’t think we’ll get eliminated.”
Ray paused and checked his phone. “Nia is stoked.” Ray took a sip of his beer, his eyes dancing. “So how’s your ex? You hit that yet?”
I took a sip of my own beer. “Yup.”
“Ahh, I knew it, dawg. I told Nia that you had no self-control. Not that I can blame you—she’s slammin’.”
I couldn’t believe that I had ever thought I’d be able to resist Selena. “You were right. I didn’t think it would happen at all, ever. She’s a spoiled princess. But we started hanging out together, and she’s no longer dancing with Dima. So, yeah, you could say we’re back together.”
Ray just laughed. “Man, you’re crazy. I mean, that’s cool and all. I can’t blame you. But think with your head. You’re still a Devil Dawg. Selena’s not cut out for this life—and you know it. What if your next orders are to the east coast? Are you going to do long distance? Give up that Hollywood lifestyle for life on the base? I mean, we have rats in our house. Rats! I called housing, and they said they were going to look into it. She doesn’t fit in here. Enjoy the ride, but if it explodes in your face, remember I’ll be here for you.”
I wasn’t even annoyed; I knew Ray was right.
I changed the subject. “So, who’s fighting tonight?”
“It’s gonna be great. Rogelio Viramontes is taking on Josh Cutler. Rogelio is a former jarhead.”
“Awesome.” I relaxed and tried to clear my mind of Selena and the show. I didn’t need money, a nice truck, a beautiful house. I was happy just hanging out with my best friend, my brother-in-arms, and enjoying life.
I looked over at his baby, and she gave me a goofy grin. I envied Ray’s life—kids, a beautiful wife, a stable home life. Did Selena want the same things as I did?
I couldn’t let go of the nagging feeling that she would never be satisfied with my life, or with me.
Bret
I studied myself in the mirror before I took the stage for the show’s season premiere. I frowned and shook my head.
“I hate this outfit, Sel.”
Selena laughed.
I was dead-on about this costume. An open, lemon-and-lime-colored silk shirt with orange feathers sprouting out of my arms—I looked like the mutant offspring of a parrot and a bottle of Squirt soda. If I started flapping, I’d probably lift right off the ground.
“Yeah, you do kinda look like you might fly away,” Selena admitted as she walked over to the stereo and turned on the music for Robyn and me. “But, no, it’s good. Very traditional mambo. The judges will love it.”
“At least someone will. I’ll never hear the end of this. They’ll be calling me Staff Sergeant Peacock.” I shrugged. “Well, at least my partner looks beautiful, even if she’s also covered in feathers. One more time?” I grabbed Robyn’s hand.
We started to dance our routine on the small black practice floor behind the main set. Xavier and Selena ran through some steps for their routine. A couple of random key grips and assistants roamed around.
Robyn was a perfectionist. She was the one always asking for one more practice round—my dream celebrity partner. And she could totally dance.
Robyn’s face lit up. She twisted and shook to the music in perfect beat.
We just might win. Then this nightmare show will be worth it.
The music abruptly stopped.
“Hey!” I snapped.
Dima was at the corner of the practice floor, changing the track. “Oh, I’m so sorry, guys. Were you not done? Here, I’ll put it back on for you.” He flashed a dirty look at Selena.
I needed to get through my first night without a confrontation.
“No thanks, Dima, we’re all done.” I extended my hand. “Good luck tonight.”
“Okay. See you guys out there.” Dima squinted, and then suddenly smiled like he was plotting something. He took the hand of his teen celebrity partner, Laura. “Ni pukha, ni pera,” he tossed our way as I ushered Robyn toward the red room.
Robyn cast a confused glance toward Dima. “What was all that ‘pookie knee parrot’ stuff? What did he say?”
Selena answered. “It’s like break a leg in Russian. It actually means ‘neither down from a duck, nor feather.’”
“Duck? Who’s he callin’ a duck?” she cried, straightening her back and adjusting her fluffy yellow costume. “I’ll have you know, I’m a bona fide canary.”
I laughed. “Oh, see, and here I was thinking parrot.”
Xavier turned toward Selena. “So, you speak Russian, too?”
“No. But I understand a lot. You have to in my line of work.”
We all headed back to the red room, the official backstage viewing area. Sparkly gold valances adorned the walls, and an opulent crystal chandelier blinded me as I entered. Jenny sat on one of the brown velvet couches, hugging a red pillow as if it were her teddy bear. Soothing ballroom music streamed in from the overhead speakers.
But the noise wasn’t enough to drown out Selena and Dima, who began ripping into each other. Again.
“I told to you that my lawyer will distribute your money,” Dima snapped.
“Dima, you put a hold on our business bank account. I can’t believe you did that!”
No way would Dima be stupid enough to lose his temper with the cameras on and me standing there. “Selena, we will handle this later.”
Selena gave me a “please don’t get involved” look. But I couldn’t resist.
“Hey.” I put my hand on Dima’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just cut her a check for now and let the lawyers deal with it later. There’s no need to be a jerk.”
Dima turned his charm on me as a cameraman approached. “Sure, friend. Sounds good.”
She just turned around, grabbed a brush from her bag, and started scaling the suede sole on her shoe.
When her soles were brushed out, Selena put her arm around me. “You nervous?”
“No. I just hope none of my Marines are watching this.”
“Ha! Don’t worry. I think you’re safe. They don’t know you’re on the show yet. I doubt a bunch of Marines are crowded around a television set in Fallujah, watching Dancing Under the Stars. Isn’t Monday Night Football on?”
A director ran through the door. “Okay, everyone, five-minute warning for the opening.”
A makeup girl started brushing my face with foundation as I winced.
A costume assistant eyed me suspiciously. “Do you think he’s stoned enough?” she asked Kendrick, the costume designer.
“Absolutely not. More stones. More stones!” Kendrick pushed Selena off of me and attacked me from behind with a Bedazzler and shot me up with more rhinestones. I didn’t know whether to duck or cover.
“Are you nuts, Kendrick?” I asked. “I already have fifteen thousand stones on this outfit.”
“Fifteen thousand and one, fifteen thousand and two…” Kendrick counted as he blinged me up. This guy didn’t mess around. Kendrick had already made sure my shirt was cut open because it was more flattering for “someone with my manly chest,” after I had won my battle to keep my chest hair. Thoughtful guy, that Kendrick.
As Kendrick bedazzled me, I made sure to breathe.
When he was done, Selena rubbed my back. “Are you ready?”
“Not sure. This is serious. I don’t think I can go out there and humiliate myself.” My hands shook.
Selena rummaged behind the sofa, found her purse, and handed me a flask.
I took a gulp of whiskey, hoping it would calm me down.
She whispered in my ear, “You’ll be fine, babe. You won’t humiliate yourself. And before you know it, this season will be over.”
I pursed my lips until they turned white. I prayed I wouldn’t screw up so I could get enou
gh money for Pierce’s family. After all they had been through, even dancing dressed up like a peacock was worth it.
“Live, from Hollywood, it’s Dancing Under the Stars!” the British voiceover said on the other side of the curtain like the Wizard of Oz. The audience screamed and clapped on cue.
“C’mon, soldier, suck it up,” Dima hissed.
“I’m a Marine, asshole.”
But Dima was right. This was no time to be coddled. I was a former champion; I could do this.
Dima shoved his partner ahead of me. The annoying theme song started playing, and the pros marched out one by one with our partners. We all arrived on the floor, and the camera panned across our beaming, nervous faces. Selena started bopping along to the music. Vika blew kisses at the audience. Robyn popped on her most beautiful smile. And I stood up straight like I was in formation.
It was showtime.
The host, Matt Brinkman, was in his glory. “This is our best year yet with Olympic medalists, Grammy Award winners, and reality and network television stars! And we also have a new professional dancer. This is your first chance to see our competitors. Now for our first dancer, Emmy-winning television star Robyn Quintana!”
I presented Robyn to the audience to a roar of applause. “Robyn is the star of the long-running daytime soap Delicious Divas,” Brinkman said. “She’s won seven daytime Emmys. Robyn is paired with our newest professional dancer, American War Hero Bret Lord.”
American War Hero? Who wrote that? My cheeks flushed.
The overhead monitor cut to a clip of Robyn and me as the rest of the dancers scurried back to the red room to watch our montage and our performance.
“I’m Robyn Quintana, and I’m the star of Delicious Divas. I’m also a wife and mother.” Her charm bounced off the TV screen. Clips of her television shows graced the screen.
“I’m Bret Lord, and I’m a former amateur United States National Latin Champion. I’m currently a staff sergeant in the United States Marine Corps.” I looked at the screen and saw competition footage of Selena and I winning our championship, and then later on the road trip in the truck, talking about Pierce. A short segment played of my Marine unit, with me yelling at my men in formation. I had told my men that the cameramen were just filming a documentary about the Marines.
The Swan and The Sergeant Page 11