Stripped

by Allie Juliette Mousseau

  I say, “I need to find a restroom. I think you can handle this part without me, slugger.”

  The line to use the bathrooms is almost as long as the one outside. I’d normally text someone or play on my phone, but I didn’t want any distractions so I turned it off and left it in the Jeep.

  It takes a long, boring while, but finally, I’m back looking for Stone amidst the sea of people in the lobby.

  When I spy him, his mouth tugs up at the corners. First hint of a real smile all morning.

  He strides over to me. On the hip of his jeans is pinned a white rectangular piece of paper with a number and the anagram and logo for TPYCD.

  “We get to go sit in the auditorium now.”

  With just those words, I feel like I’m going to bust out of my skin!

  Stone laces his fingers through mine and we find a couple of seats together.

  “You okay?”

  “Never better.”

  Now I see him start to come alive. Whatever nerves he’d been working through seem to have vanished.

  “There they are.” He indicates the judges’ table with his gaze.

  The panel consists of legendary choreographer Sir Alastair and pop sensation Babycakes, along with their guest star, actor and WWE wrestler Ripped.

  While the wait seems to take forever, it feels like only a few seconds since we got here when they actually call Stone’s name.

  Suddenly it feels like someone released a swarm of bees in my stomach. I can’t sit still to save my life and fidget in my seat as he takes the stage.

  “Hello, Mr. Wright,” Sir Alastair begins with a prominent British accent. The man is perfectly coiffed—his hair is trimmed short and combed neatly, he wears a designer suit and tie, and he sits up with perfect posture.

  “That’s an advantageous last name,” Babycakes says with a wink. She’s in her early thirties and dressed for attention in a leave-nothing-for-the-imagination jumpsuit.

  “Where are you from?” Sir Alastair asks.

  “I was born and raised in Australia.”

  Babycakes starts fanning her face with the paper in front of her. “Whew! Lord have mercy on us all. Oh, I just love a man with an accent. How old are you? I need to be sure you’re legal.”

  Everyone laughs and Stone answers, “Twenty-three.”

  “Tell us your story. What makes you want to dance for us today?” Ripped—whose name describes him perfectly—is wearing a red t-shirt that is ripped in all the right places to show off his physique. It gives the illusion that his muscles are hulking out of his shirt. I wonder what his pants look like and then hope he doesn’t stand up.

  “A few years back, I had a scholarship and a promising career as a football player until a serious injury and long recovery time tore the rug out from under me. But see, I’ve always believed in serendipity, and maybe even fate now too. From the time I was five years old dance was my deepest expression. Footy was fun, but dance was my oxygen. I wanted to perform professionally, but my loving and often meddling folks demanded I choose a real job. Standing here today—along with one other important development in my life—it feels like even my injury wasn’t necessarily an accident, but rather another event that led me to this stage and this moment.”

  “That’s a gripping tale, Stone. I’d like to inquire about the one other development in your life, but we’re running out of time. Perhaps we’ll get to hear the rest of the story in Vegas,” Sir Alastair declares, and the crowd around me sends up their applause. “Ready the music.”

  Stone stands in the middle of the stage with his back towards the audience. It instantly brings me back to the moment I first saw him perform this piece—at Foreplay, surrounded by a platform of spraying water.

  Like a shooting star, he soars.

  The audience watches, riveted. So do I.

  I’m on the edge of my seat! The suspense is killing me—I can’t take another second! This is the culmination of everything he’s worked so hard for. It’s right here, and all of it is hinged on this one moment.

  It’s Stone’s do or die.

  For seventy seconds—I’m holding Stone’s watch in my hand and counting the seconds as they tick by—the judges sit captivated with his performance.

  When Sir Alastair lifts his hands for the song to stop, the audience leaps to their feet.

  “Look, honey.” Babycakes is the first to speak. “You just earned a standing ovation. The crowd loves you and so do I.”

  “Man, I wasn’t sure if you were more than a pretty face when you stepped up there,” Ripped tells him, “but you definitely brought your A game today.”

  Stone’s newly acquired fans cheer louder.

  Sir Alastair raises his hand and hushes the crowd. He stares at Stone with a very solemn expression.

  “Well, I guess now I’ll hear the rest of your story in Las Vegas,” he says and waves the Vegas ticket in the air.

  The audience roars. Stone’s cockiest grin rises to the surface as he comes down the stage to receive his golden ticket.

  They usher Stone off stage right and I bolt to the lobby to greet him. When he comes through the theatre’s heavy double doors I can’t stop myself from screaming like his biggest fan! He rushes at me, lifts me into his arms, and spins me around.

  “We did it, Em! We really did it!” He brings me down so I’m level with his gorgeous ecstatic face, but he doesn’t set my feet on the floor—instead my shoes hover just above his.

  “You did it, Stone. That was all you.” I snort happily. “I’m so proud of you.” Damn it, here come the tears. “I knew you’d make it. I never doubted it, not once.”

  I blot my eyes with the heel of my hand and try to get control of my emotions. People are all around us, snapping photos and taking videos with their phones.

  “We still have to get through Vegas,” he says, reminding me of the task ahead. “The competition is going to be tough.”

  “You’ll blow them all away.”

  “Come with me.”

  “I am coming with you.”

  “I mean…” He puts me down, reaches into his bag, and pulls out another registered number tag like the one he has pinned on his hip.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your turn, Em. If you want it.”

  “What…? I’m…” I stammer. “I don’t…”

  “I’ve thought hard about this, Love. Whatever happens, you’re coming to Vegas as my coach… but what if you were to also come as my fellow contestant?”

  I can’t say anything. My mind is blank, literally. I can’t even begin to fathom what’s happening.

  “You are exceptional in every way, Emelie Cartier, and you deserve another shot. Your work deserves to be seen.”

  “I don’t have dance attire or music or…”

  “All right here in my bag.” Stone pulls out a handful of my dance outfits. “Even brought a few for you to choose from. I have the music from the dances you’ve worked on—from your graduation, ‘Pillowtalk,’ our other duet. And Em, I’d be more than willing to dance with you for the audition—you don’t need me to, but if it would make you feel more confident and secure—I’m your guy.”

  “Oh my God, how sweet!” A young teenage girl comes crashing our obviously-not-so-private conversation. “You just have to try.”

  “You’ve got dreams too, Sunshine,” Stone says. “There’s nothing to lose here. Go chase them.”

  I look over at the girl with expectant eyes, along with the rest of our gathered audience who

  watch on with anticipation—most through the screen of their cell phones—then back at Stone.

  I can’t believe I’m saying this. “Only if you’ll do ‘Pillowtalk’ with me—it’s the freshest in my head.”

  His chest releases as if he’d been holding his breath, and our little crowd cheers. “Hurry up then, get changed!”

  He rushes me to the bathroom then runs to get the music to the sound guy.

  We meet back up in the auditorium.

>   “This is crazy,” I say, considering the seriousness of what’s transpired.

  “That’s why it’s so fucking awesome.”

  “How do I let you talk me into these things?”

  His eyes get all soft and his tone sweet. “Because you—”

  I interrupt without meaning to. “I think I’m going to freak out! What if I get scared of getting hurt again and freeze?”

  “You’re not going to get hurt, Em. You’re going to be bloody brilliant. You were principal dancer for the New York Ballet—you’re not going to have stage fright.”

  “But it’s been so long, Stone, and dancing for you and dancing up there are two totally different things.”

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. If you freeze, I’ll carry you offstage and to the room. Then I’ll go get a half gallon of chocolate ice cream and syrup that I’ll smear all over you and lick off.” He comes in closer to my ear. “My personal chocolate covered Emelie.”

  Wow! I’m immediately transported to the scene. “Really?”

  “See, baby, win-win.”

  The announcer’s voice booms through the loudspeakers. “Our next dancer is Emelie Cartier.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Stone

  What happens in Vegas…

  (Nope that saying definitely doesn’t apply this time.)

  “Hello, Emelie.” Sir Alastair takes the lead. “What brings you here to audition today?”

  “He does.” A nervous Em points over at me in the shadows where I’ve been waiting, trying to give her the limelight for a moment.

  “Didn’t we just see him dance?” Sir Alastair asks then leans into Babycakes. “What was his name, Wright?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she drawls with sexy intonation. “Stone Wright.”

  “Come stand next to your friend,” he says to me then turns his attention to Em. “Tell us where the two of you met and how long you’ve been dancing together.” He continues eyeing us with keen interest.

  Emelie gives her most blushy smile ever and stumbles over her words. “Um, I kind of met Stone while…”

  Oh shit! She’s not going to tell the…

  “…he was stripping at a nightclub.”

  …truth.

  Oh fuck! The audience detonates like a brick of C4.

  Babycakes stands up and points at me to drive her question home. “That man is a stripper?!”

  Em laughs. “Yup—a damn good one too.”

  The crowd laughs and the camera crews are having a field day.

  “Anyway, he asked me to coach him in ballet so he could be ready for his audition today and storm Vegas.”

  “Are you very good at ballet, then?” Sir Alastair asks and everyone listens carefully.

  “I was a principal dancer for the New York Ballet.”

  The assembly goes nuts again.

  “Why aren’t you still?” Ripped interrupts.

  “I broke several bones in my foot. One even tore through my flesh.”

  The judges and audience wince.

  “I was told that, because of the amount of strain of en pointe, I’d never be principal again. My dreams died that day and all my hope with them.”

  Cries of sympathy follow from the audience.

  “Stone may have asked me to coach him, but really he taught me—to believe again.”

  The assembly collectively joins together for a long, “Awwwwww.”

  “So the stripper and the ballerina.” Sir Alastair smiles and shakes his head in amazement. “Just when I think I’ve seen it all. And Stone, I guess I don’t have to wait for Vegas after all to learn what, or rather who, that one other development in your life is.”

  I nod and gaze over at Emelie with a huge grin. He caught me.

  “Well, Emelie, are you ready to begin?”

  “Yes.”

  Sir Alastair lifts his hand to cue the sound guy. “Ready the music.”

  In this moment, I experience the great privilege of viewing and participating in the full force of Emelie Cartier’s unparalleled talent—her skilled and proficient technique that only comes from experience and her true stage presence—as her performance resurrects her creative soul. She is pure, poetic, unadulterated perfection. She carries her audience with her, holding them mesmerized with her every move.

  While we dance, here in this place, on this stage, time stops and reality separates into tiny particles dissolving into the greater atmosphere. Nothing else matters. All the conflicts in my mind are silenced. The chaos of the world around us and our personal situations fade.

  As I lose my soul, I find it again in her.

  The amount of time the judges allow the dance to continue is unprecedented. Over two minutes—through the second chorus.

  When the music ends, the crowd leaps to their feet in applause.

  We don’t move—we’re busy staring into each other’s eyes. We know we just delivered the performance of a lifetime. Perfectly executed, flawless.

  As we steady our breaths, the most dazzling smile of pride and excitement radiates from her, causing her entire body to glow.

  Sir Alastair calls us to the mic before I can say a word. The judges are smiling and staring in wide-eyed awe. Ripped stands first, crashing his beefy hands together while he turns to see the crowd’s reaction. Sir Alastair and Babycakes join him.

  “Oh, the chemistry!” Babycakes praises. “We better see the two of you dance again!”

  “Absolutely on fire,” Ripped agrees.

  I take a step back so it’s all about Emelie.

  “You are by far the force to be reckoned with this season, Ms. Cartier,” Sir Alastair exclaims above the commotion. “I can’t wait to watch your performances in Vegas.”

  Em screams and leaps into my arms. I squeeze her hard. “Go get your ticket, Love.”

  She runs down the stairs, laughing and crying and jumping about. Sir Alastair gives her a hug as he hands her a renewed dream in paper form.

  ***

  “Good morning,” Em says with a sweet sleepy grin as she opens her eyes and catches me watching her sleep in the early morning hours.

  “Mornin’.” I sweep her messy hair back with soft fingers.

  “Have I told you that you’re wonderful?” she coos.

  “A few times last night when I had your legs up in the air, that I can recall, but a bloke doesn’t tire of hearing it.”

  “Then, you’re wonderful.” Her face beams like the sunrise. “I never even thought of auditioning. It was the greatest gift anyone ever gave me.”

  “All I did was register you; you did the rest.”

  “But that… that was everything. I wouldn’t have done that for myself.”

  “Guess I’m good for you then, like green veggies and orgasms.”

  “As long as it’s not the green veggies giving the orgasms.”

  I burst out laughing. “Hey, you never gave Clancy a chance!”

  She just giggles and cuddles in closer.

  “Stone, how are you going to tell your folks about Vegas?”

  “I’m not.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not? You’re going to breeze through the eliminations—and even that’s an entire week long process—then you’ll be going on tour with the show. They’re going to find out at some point.”

  “I’ll keep it from them for as long as I can. If I do get cut early in the week, I’ll just go home like nothing ever happened. No need to cause an uproar. I’ve already prepped them that you and I have been talking about running away for a week retreat in the Sierras. They’re cool for now. If I make it through the culling process, I’ll level with them,” I say. “I think the real question here, Sunshine, is what are you going to tell your dad?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” she admits. “I’m still caught up in the whirlwind of it even happening in the first place.”

  “Maybe he’ll be happy for you,” I try.

  “No.” She shakes her head solemnly. “He’ll think it’s a big waste of time.
”

  “I think we should stop caring what they think.”

  “Yeah, okay, you go first.”

  ***

  “By the way, Stone, great bathroom hook. Raphael wants one for his birthday,” Violet quips as the two of us hang out helping Emelie pack for our week in Vegas. We leave in the morning.

  This past week has gone by in a blur, between avoiding our parents and practicing every possible waking moment.

  “I’m so proud of you, Emelie, for taking this risk, this leap, and putting yourself out there again! I told you Stone was good for you,” she continues.

  I pipe in with, “I’ve been telling her that this entire time”

  “And thanks to him, your room looks great.”

  Your room? “You’ve decided to stay?” I ask with a jolt.

  “I’m still working on that one,” Em admits.

  That’s a disappointment.

  “I wish I could skip out to Vegas to watch you guys. You’re going to be incredible,” Vi says as she hands Emelie those silver strapped stilettos I like. “But alas, this lowly peasant college student has to work. Here, wear these out and have fun. And I swear, if the two of you decide to get hitched while you’re there and you don’t call me so I can at least be a Skype maid of honor I will kill you both.”

  “No one is getting married, Vi!” Em bursts out, flustered, turning a lovely shade of capsicum.

  I think I could cozy up to the idea.

  We check into our adjacent rooms at Planet Hollywood in Sin City.

  “Two rooms because?” Em asks as we put down our gear.

  “Because I booked them extra early on in our proposition negotiations and the rooms were nonrefundable.”

  “You were that sure you’d make it through, huh?”

  “I wasn’t about to let the chance to take you to Vegas pass me by,” I say. “Besides, with you on my side, I was sure I could make it this far.”

  She just laughs at that, but I know she feels it too. Like we’re invincible together.

  We each choose a room and unpack. Now that we’re actually here, my mind demands I pay attention to the issue I’ve been trying to side-step. “It’s going to get crazy, you know. There are nearly two hundred dancers to compete with to make it into the top twenty. And there are only four days and eight brutal rounds of varying choreography to do it in, culminating in our final solos to prove our mettle. Reality check, it’s going to leave us very little time for sex.”