I bolt out of bed, tripping on the comforter and landing on my butt. Genya laughs. “You klutz. It amazes me what great dancer you are.” He leans down and kisses me on my cheek. “See you later. I love you. Poka.”
“Yeah, love you, too. Poka.” I launch myself up, and dash to the bathroom. Good God, almighty! My hair’s all matted together like cotton candy. I can’t even get a damn comb through it. I whip through my patented ten-minute beauty routine—shower, put on deodorant, brush teeth, and comb some conditioner through my hair then wrap it in a towel. Thank God we have makeup people on set. I throw on some sweats and grab my purse. Damn, my phone’s vibrating.
I pull it out. Twenty-three new messages? What the hell? Half of them are from Diana—in the past twenty minutes. What’s her problem? I’m not late yet.
From Diana (mobile): Sal—check this out
www.perezhilton.com
I click on the link.
Not So Blind Item
Filed under: Not So Blind Item
Which Dancing under the Stars hoofer recently stole her co-star’s fiancé? This spicy salsa queen seduced her fellow professional dancer on her debut season. Developing . . .
3 Comments:
DUTS addict: it’s that slut Salomé Sanchez 1
Dmitri’s lover: She’s got a big ass and no tits 2
Reina Rumba: Dmitri’s an idiot to leave Izabella. She’s foxy 3
Oh my God! I’m so screwed. How does Perez know everything? I’ve only been hooking up with Genya for two weeks. I didn’t tell anyone but Jenny and she would never say anything. Someone must have seen us. Maybe it was that room service guy—he was looking at us funny yesterday morning when he delivered my Eggs Benedict. Why the hell did I ever go on this show? My life is completely over.
I wonder if . . . I lean toward the window and peer below. Holy shit! They are! There are at least thirty paparazzi on the sidewalk. Video cameras and those long extender things. Who the fuck tipped them off? Wait, is that one guy pointing the lens up at this window?
Flashes go off.
I slam the curtains shut.
I’m trapped! And I have to be at the shoot in twenty minutes—with all the girls. Even Nicole, Diana, and Iza, who already got kicked off.
Iza. God.
My driver’s due to pick me up now.
Think Salomé. I could call Jenny. She’d know what to do. I dial her number but it goes straight to voice mail. I wait a few seconds and try again.
Thinking maybe there’s a secret exit to the hotel like in the movies, I call the front desk.
“Hello, Mr. Pavlov. How can we help you?”
Shit. Why do they answer the phone like that? I take the room service menu and crinkle it over the receiver to disguise my voice. “Can you crinkle crinkle me crinkle hotel? I sorry crinkle bad connect crinkle . . .”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” he says. “Should I send someone up?”
“No, gracias.” Shit. Hey, that’s a good idea. “I mean cbacibo nyet. Ah, privet. Eta Olga—Genya’s sister,” I say in my best fake Russian accent. Not for nothin’ I’ve been hanging out with Russians my whole life. “I was wondering if there is back entrance to hotel?”
“Of course. I will send the bellman up to escort you.”
Like hell you will. “Nyet. I don’t want to bother you. Could you tell me donde damn, uhm gde?” I’m pretty impressed with myself. The front desk guy is totally buying this.
“Sure. You can take the staff elevator to the parking level and go out of the service entrance. Are you sure we can’t escort you?” Why is this guy hounding me? He must be one of Perez’s spies.
“Oh. I don’t want to be problem. Sbacibo bolshoy.” I try to throw in couple more Russian words for effect.
“You’re welcome. Please call us if we can be of any more assistance.”
I gather my dance bag and can’t help placing my face on Genya’s pillow. It still smells like him. Then I text my driver to meet me in the service garage, and I head for the door, taking one last glance in the mirror. Oh, good Lord—I still have the towel wrapped around my hair! I reach up to take it off but stop myself—I look like a babushka just in case anyone sees me. The towel stays.
I poke my head out of the room and look down both sides of the hallway. Coast is clear! The Mission Impossible theme song plays in my head as I slink through the door. Super quick, I run to the staff elevator and press the button. A maid is heading my way. Hurry up, elevator . . . Luckily it comes up fast and I hop in, pressing P. Safe.
But my celebration is short. When I get to the garage, my driver isn’t in sight. I text him again, hoping the voices I hear around the side of the building aren’t the paps. But of course they are. Driver, where are you? The cameras start going off as my limo cruises down the parking ramp. I run to the car while it’s still moving and pound on the door for the driver to unlock it.
“Damn girl, you trying to get yourself killed?” he asks.
“That would be one solution.” I scramble into limo and reach for the Jack Daniels bottle. It’s only ten a.m., but I need it. “Sorry about all that. Just take me to the studio. Fast. And try to lose those guys on our tail.”
“Aye, aye, boss!” He squeals the tires bustin’ outta there, yahoo-ing for good measure. I leave the glass in the rack and just chug from the bottle.
Oh Lord. What am I going to say to poor Iza? I didn’t want her to find out about us yet. She never did anything to me. And she’s been a mess since Genya dumped her.
I get another text. It’s from my sister Ruby asking if I’m back with Genya. Oh lord. I hope she hasn’t told my parents yet. They want me to date someone with a respectable career like Ruby’s businessman husband.
The driver turns on the street at the studio. Dammit. There are more paps at the studio. I almost tell him to take off again, but I don’t know if I could survive another mile with this Mario Andretti-wannabe. Breathe, Sal. You can do this . . . I put on my oversize Chanel sunglasses and open the limo door before the driver can get there.
Immediately a TMZ reporter shoves a camera in my face. “Salomé, are you having an affair with your best friend’s fiancé?”
Best friend? Iza has never even been my friend let alone my best friend. Where do they get this stuff?
I push past him to the steps. A hundred feet more and I’ll be safe.
A Star writer blocks the entrance. “Salomé, Salomé, is it true that Izabella walked in on you and Genya having sex backstage on the show?” Are you kidding me? “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Fuck you! That’s what I have to say. “Uhm. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Genya and I are just friends and we’ve known each other for over fifteen years. Please leave me alone.”
It takes all my strength to plow through the front door. The girls are sitting on the couch in the lobby, in matching blue and white dance shorts and halter-tops, like a trashy version of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. Nicole has her arms draped around a bawling Iza. Jenny and Diana are also sitting close, trying to comfort Iza. Strangely, Vika has removed herself from the drama and is at the other end of the couch.
Jenny hustles over to me. “Did you get our texts? Stupid tabloids.” She puts her arm over my shoulder and ushers me away from the paps in the window. “Don’t worry, Salomé, it’ll all blow over. I told everyone it’s not true.” She winks at me. Jenny always has my back. “Perez just has an overactive imagination.”
Time to come clean. I don’t want Jenny to have to lie for me. “Iza, I . . .” I still have my sunglasses on. I can’t face Iza. “I . . .” Oh, God, she can see right through me. I can’t lie to her face. “I . . . I’m sorry but it’s true.”
Iza lets out a yelp. Jenny steps from my side and faces me.
“Genya told me that you and him weren’t doing nothing,” Iza says, getting up from the couch and walking straight at me. “He said he was breaking up from me because of Playbunny. That was all lies?” When I don’t answer
right off, she rips my sunglasses off my face, setting off a barrage of camera flashes outside the window. “Look at me in the eyes. Was it all lies?”
I stand there with no clue what to say . . . so I don’t.
She flings my glasses at my hands. “Fuck you, Salomé.”
“I’m so sorry!” I burst into tears worse than Iza’s.
“I love how you’ve been a friend with me lately. Comforting me because I am so upset about Genya. I thought you were cool.” She stabbed her finger at the paps smooshing their faces against the window to see us. “I actually defended you to the sleazy reporters. Thanks for making me liar, friend.” She straightens up and sets her jaw. “You’re so stupid, Salomé. Genya just wants you back so he can break your heart like you broke his. His mama blames me for losing so he thinks he can compete with you so his mama will stop nagging him. You should have heard all the things he used to say on you when we were together. Fat. Stupid. Ugly.” Every word is like a rock to my head. “Do you hear me, you . . . you . . . you and that stupid towel on your head!” She starts sobbing again.
I watch her balling, and I feel even more awful. I never wanted this to happen. Nicole gets up and gives Iza a hug. Jenny sneaks out of the lobby, motioning Diana to escape with her. But Diana stays put on the sofa with Vika at the other end, both seemingly hypnotized by the drama.
I don’t know what else to say. “Iza, it didn’t happen while you were together, I swear . . .”
She looks up. Her normally hazel eyes are now a piercing shade of green. The blinding lights of the cameras are still going off, trying to get a picture of Iza and me. The fucking ambulance chasers! As if this situation isn’t bad enough, . . .as if I actually did something wrong! For Christ’s sake, they weren’t even together anymore! Iza and those fucking baby doe eyes—she’d do this to me in a heartbeat if she thought Genya would have her back.
I snap.
“But so what if I slept with Genya.” All I’ve ever been is decent and now everyone is turning on me. Some thanks I get. “Everyone screws everyone else in this business, anyway! I hate it! This partner screwing that partner stealing the other partner . . . Hell, Vika married a man old enough to be her grandpa just to get to the top. Don’t you see this is different? I love him. I love him. And I don’t care even if he did say all those things about me. I hurt him so much. And he still loves me. And you know what?” I level Little Miss Victim with my hardest Evil Eye. “He was mine first.”
“Enough!” Nicole blurts. She looks at me with disgust.
Who needs Nicole and her I-have-the-perfect-ballroom-marriage shit? “I’m sorry, Niki, but we all can’t be as perfect as you and Eric.” I pause but then figure, what the hell? “Though maybe you should take a closer look at your own marriage before you get involved in my life.”
Her eyes narrow, then she turns to Iza. “C’mon, luv, let’s go clean up. We still have to film this video.” She takes Iza by the hand and leads her out of the lobby, not looking at me again.
I watch them go, nearly panting with exhausted rage. That’s right—GO. Who needs you, anyway?
Diana leaps off the sofa with a weird look on her face, like she’s just come to some profound realization. “Don’t worry, Salomé. Iza will be okay. You did what you had to do. Nothing works out perfectly in the ballroom world.” She smiles and prances out the room.
What the hell is she up to? She’s been acting really distant since she was kicked off the show.
Vika is the last one on the couch. She sits there, eyeing me.
My rage is draining away by the second, leaving just emptiness and guilt. “Alright, Vika, go ahead. Fire away.” I finally remember the stupid babushka and rip it off. “Everyone else has taken their shot. You’ve never been one to abstain from a good bitch burning.”
“No, I don’t suppose I have.” She stands up, straightens her workout shorts, and then levels a stony face my way. “You don’t see irony, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you, ten years ago, bitching me out for hooking up with Benny. Just like Iza flipped on you. But it wasn’t because you wanted Benny, that’s for sure. You just thought me marrying Benny would hurt your result. And it did.” She smiles grimly. “Fuckin’ sucks, doesn’t it?” Then she walks right past me, following the rest of the girls into the studio behind me.
“My result?” I shout at the empty room. “What are you talking about my result?” Vika’s got it all wrong. How can she think that’s why I was so mad at her about getting with Benny? I did bitch her out back then, yes, but not because I thought it would hurt my result. I just didn’t want her to spend her life in a loveless marriage. Plus she didn’t need to marry Benny. She’s a good enough dancer to make it without lying on the ballroom casting couch.
A director inside the studio claps her hands sharply twice then hollers, “Chop, chop, people. The dance waits for no woman.”
God what have I done? Iza shouldn’t have found out like this. Genya wanted to tell her but he decided to wait awhile until they had some space. And I probably just ruined Nicole’s marriage, if it wasn’t already destroyed. They have a baby, for Christ’s sake.
I walk over to the couch and drop into it, more exhausted than I’ve ever been in my whole life. My ballroom career is over. I’ve screwed myself politically, and now I’ll probably be on the cover of Star magazine. For Genya? I love him, I know I do. But I also know that he’s going to leave me the second he realizes I don’t want to compete again. Ever.
My life is over.
“Salomé—NOW!” the director yells. The beat of a techno tango rips through the speakers. In a few minutes I’ll have to smile for the camera like life is just a peach. A happy, joy-joy, this-is-so-fucking-fun peach.
Shit.
20
Vika
TONY’S RANGE ROVER jostles me with the curves of the roads leading to the Hollywood Hills. This curve, that turn, up, round . . . I think I’m going to be sick—but it’s not because of his driving.
“Relax, babe,” Tony says, “we’re just gonna get some of your things and then we’ll split.” He squeezes my thigh.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re sick?” His eyes brighten. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
Yeah, right. And ruin this six-pack? Not a chance. This body is the only thing that’s still mine. I point toward the windshield. “Just drive.”
I’ve always loved that all the houses up here are nestled away like in an enchanted forest. Long, winding driveways that lead up to hidden paradises.
We pull up to the wrought-iron gate. That stupid cast-iron “B” Benny commissioned for it last year is nearly as tall as I am. I have Tony enter my code but the damn hunk of steel remains shut. That bastard must have already changed it. Tony presses the intercom button.
“Hello?” Benny’s voice cracks.
“Dammit, Benny, open a fucking gate,” I yell.
“Ah, Vika,” Benny says. “I see your English still hasn’t improved. As eloquent as always.” The intercom cuts to that irritating hang-up noise. Still, the gate draws open. Tony rolls through then steers up the long driveway, finally wedging in between Jared’s black Porsche Carrera and a salsa red Volkswagen Eos, license plate RMBAGRL.
“What is Diana doing here?” I slam the door of the Range Rover and charge up the stone-laid entry path. There’s a new potted planter box on either side of the door with twisted palm trees looking perky and fresh. I ring the doorbell and then swat at a branch that keeps poking me in the ear. Finally, I rip the fucking thing off.
Benny answers the door. “Hello, Vika. So great to see you again.” He’s got the schmaltziest smile on his saggy old face. So that’s how he’s going to play this.
As I’m racking my brain for the perfect comeback, Tony steps forward, lifts Benny’s left hand up, then gives him a high five. “Nice pad you got here, dude.” Then he sarcastically waltzes into the foyer.
It’s almost funny, seeing Benny caught off guard—he’s normally the King of Control. But then the distant thump of tango music comes from the ballroom and laughing is the farthest thing from my mind. I shove past Benny, leaving Tony stranded with him in the grand foyer, where the commissioned portrait of me is conspicuously absent.
The music gets louder as I close in. I can hear the tap-tapping of dance shoes. Oh, no, she didn’t . . . I sprint the last feet to the ballroom. She did! Jared and Diana are locked in a tango embrace, with the little bitch dressed in my favorite Cynthia Rowley frock.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” I scream.
They pop apart like a cork from a bottle. Tony and Benny arrive in time to referee.
“Oh, hey, there, Vika. Nothing, really.” Diana looks down at hard maple floor, which I personally picked out. “Jared and I are just practicing.”
“Practicing? This looks like a try-out!” I get in her face and yank on the sleeve of my dress. “Great dress, Diana. What did he make you do to get that? Having fun pretending you’re me?”
“Enough, Vika.” Benny squeezes his beer belly in between Diana and me. “This is my house and you will not earbash my Diana like that. I’ve had Marina pack up some of your things. She’s bringing them to the front and then you can shoot through here.”
I turn my rage to Jared. “So, you’re going to dance with her? She sucks, Jared. Sucks. You’re just going to throw away the four year winning partnership because you can’t stand up to your ol’ man?”
His thin upper lip turns up. He looks more like his dad every day. “Four years of Latin, for Christ’s sake. That’s on top of fifteen before you. I’m sick of it, Vika. Diana and I are going to try Smooth.”
“Well, that actually makes sense, since Diana’s too damn slow to ever win in Latin.”
“Vika,” Diana starts, “I—”
“Uh-uh, nyet. You don’t get to talk.” I nearly flip when Benny waves me off like some kind of gnat and signals Jared and Diana to follow him out of the ballroom. “You don’t just walk out on me!”
Sway Page 15