Marina brings my macchiato. I take a small sip, being extra careful not to spill any on my new Trina Turk jumpsuit that Tony bought me. He spent twenty thousand dollars on a new wardrobe for me. After all, I had to upgrade my look from ballroom trophy wife to rock star mistress.
I place my drink on the coffee table and kiss Tony’s neck. “Let’s run through the paso one more time.” I turn on the stereo.
The classic Spanish Paso Doble song “España Cañi” plays, like a frenzied military march. Tony struts to the middle of the floor. He starts in the center, his feet planted wide, his chest erect. I circle around him and he twirls me to the floor. Then he drops to his knees, just where I like him. Chasing after me, still on his knees, he slides across the floor. He rises to me and clutches my wrists. I challenge him and he chases me. Turning into him, I wrap my body around him, and he pushes me to the floor. Damn, these moves are hot. I can’t believe I ever thought I needed Benny. I came up with this routine on my own.
The song ends. Baba strolls into the room with Draven and Dallas during our final steps. They all start clapping.
“Yeah, daddy!” Draven shouts. Both boys run onto the dance floor and start dancing with us. I twirl Dallas around and we wiggle together. He’s as adorable as his father. And this time, I don’t even run for my hand sanitizer.
Tony switches the song to the boys’ favorite—YMCA—and we all dance for a little bit. Baba even joins us.
When the song ends, she kneels down and takes their hands and tempts them to the kitchen. “Malchiky moyey, vwe hotetchye vatrushki?”
They jump up and down and run to the kitchen. In the two weeks Baba has been here, they’ve already learned enough Russian to know that vatrushki are fresh baked, small, sweet pies filled with fruit and cheese.
Tony watches them bolt off. “They love her.”
We walk out of the studio into the family room. Marina strolls in carrying a tray full of Tony’s favorite snacks: freshly made quesadillas; bacon and cheddar filled potato skins; spinach artichoke dip; Buffalo wings; and his new preferred delicacy, fried pirozhki filled with meat, mushrooms, and onions.
She sets the tray on the coffee table and then scoots the dogs outside. “Here Antoshka, for football game. Xavier called and said he is on way.”
“Xavier Viramontes?” I ask. “Since when are you two friends? He almost killed you.”
Tony digs into the platter and grabs a plump pirozhok. “That was nothing. Xavi’s super cool.” He takes a big bite. “C-bac-ee-ba, Marina. These are amazing.”
I will never understand men. Even in Ukraine, one minute they are beating each other up and then next minute they are best friends. I wish it were that easy with women. I grab a Buffalo wing and drench it in blue cheese. This time I don’t feel a tinge of guilt. I’ve gained three whole pounds since I moved in with Tony, and he couldn’t care less.
After I’m done devouring my wing, Tony kisses me. “I have a surprise for you.” He takes the bandana off his head and blindfolds me.
“Aw, Antoshka, you’re ruining my hair . . .”
“Not possible.” He leads me out to the driveway. Or at least he tries to—I’m peeking out the bottom of the blindfold and as soon as I see what’s beyond it, I stop dead.
Tony has bought me an orange Lamborghini.
He unties the blindfold. “Ta da! It’s a Lamborghini Murciélago. Do you like it?” He trots to the passenger side door, which shoots up like a pop tart, and jumps into the seat. “Giddy up, girl! Put that tushy in the command chair.”
Like a shiny bottle of Fanta, the Lambo stands out amongst all of Tony’s toys. His black Harley, Hummer, Porsche, and Range Rover don’t seem to know what to make of their new florescent friend. I slowly make my way to the driver’s side, open the door—being careful that it doesn’t hit me in the head—and get in.
Then I ball like a baby.
“What wrong? You don’t like the color? We can trade it.” Tony digs in his pants pocket for his phone.
I put my hands on his pocket, stopping his hand. “No, Antoshka. It’s not that. I love color.” I sit back and put my hands on the steering wheel. It’s leather and fits the grooves of my fingers perfectly. “It’s ... it’s just like with Benny, that’s all. I don’t want to owe you anything. I am totally in love together with you. I just don’t want to be anyone’s possession. I need to take care of myself.”
Tony reaches over and puts the keys in the ignition. “I didn’t buy the car because I think you owe me anything. It’s just a gift. I’m fucking crazy about you. You’re so talented and sexy. You deserve this because of all the hard work you’ve put into the show. We’re going to win.”
I eye him. Yes, I married Benny to succeed. So what? Singers marry the heads of record labels and actresses sleep with their directors, and that’s the way it is sometimes. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get her foot in the door. And I needed to take care of my baba. She’s all I have left of my family. But there comes a point when the singers and the dancers and the actresses get to show they deserve the spotlight once they get it. Getting your foot in the door is one thing, kicking ass when you get there is another. And this girl’s ready to kick ass.
And finally here’s a boy who will let her.
I relax and stroke the steering wheel. All I need now is George Michael blasting from the speakers.
Tony opens the glove compartment and takes out an envelope. “I’ve got one more present for you. Then I promise never to buy you anything again.” He hands me the envelope.
I open it up and there are two round trip tickets to the Dominican Republic’s Sun Village Resort and Spa. Tucked behind the brochure is a signed power of attorney from Benny consenting to a mutual divorce. Dated for the weekend after the finale.
“I just can’t wait for six months,” Tony says.
I squeeze Tony and give him a kiss. “Now that is a best present I have ever received.” I close the envelope, amazed at how light it feels. “Good God, what’d you do, tie him up and torture him with hours of your heavy metal? I thought for sure he’d make this as miserable as possible.”
He winks. “I have my ways . . .”
“That you do, milay.” I kiss him one more time then turn the keys in the ignition to start up my new car. The engine sends vibrations through my spine. “Strap on that seat belt, boy. Mama’s taking this baby for a spin.”
Viennese Waltz
The Princess waited at the ball for her Prince. He presented himself to her; she curtseyed and placed herself in his arms. They began twirling around the floor. She was woozy with delight. He spun her in the opposite direction. Other couples came toward them, attempting to box them in. They were cornered, but her Prince broke through the crush and transported them to the center of the floor. All eyes were on her, the belle of the ball.
23
Salomé
I PEEK THROUGH the backstage curtains to look at the audience. Holy shit! The place is completely packed, including my parents, sister, and abuela along with my four crazy tias and my cousins in the front row. They flew out to see their baby compete in the finale. They haven’t seen me dance in years.
I’m gonna puke.
Twenty-one million people watched last week. Twenty-one million people have watched me gyrate half naked with my big booty hanging out. I even received two marriage proposals. They were from jail, but still.
Someone get me a bucket . . .
I jump up and down and shake my head and arms to loosen up. Dolla grabs my hands and gives me a kiss on the head.
“It’s ours, babe. Don’t you worry. Here, let’s say a prayer.”
“A prayer? You just said don’t worry.”
“Shut up and pray, girl.” We bow our heads and thank the Lord for all our blessings. “Amen,” Dolla says. “Okay, booty, let’s go show them how it’s done. Boo-YA!” Dolla gives me a high-five.
Behind us, Tony and Vika are kissing on the sofa. Tim is rummaging through Jenny’s purse
trying to find her damn inhaler. That’s one job I’m happy to hand over.
A producer hustles into the room. “Everyone in the red room! We’re on in five minutes,” he says. I grab my ankle and stretch it to my butt. Vika props her leg on the couch and leans over into a split. Jenny takes a big puff on her inhaler as the guys start barking and chest-bumping each other like a bunch of high school jocks. Tony slaps Dolla playfully on the back of the head. Guys are weird.
I grab my other ankle and lean toward Jenny, who’s holding in the medicine. “We made it through the season. Can you believe we’re in the finale together?”
She nods, her eyes wide, and then finally exhales. “No, I can’t believe it. How we didn’t get eliminated that first week I’ll never know. No, wait, I do know—” she slaps me on the back of the head like Tony just did to Dolla, “you helped me.”
Jenny looks over at Tim, who is now squeezing his feet into his giant custom made dance shoes. “Thanks for making me do this show. You were right, we needed this. God help me, Sal, I love Tim. Who would have thought it? And I’m glad you’re back with Genya. You seem really happy.”
I give her a reluctant nod. Now’s not the time to go into my doubts about Genya. “You’re welcome,” I say. Then I thwack her head right back. “Now stop messin’ with my ‘do and get outta my way, I got a crystal-encrusted dance shoe trophy to claim, be-yotch.”
“We’re on in three, two, one,” the producer says.
Matt’s voice booms over the speakers. “In a season filled with triumph, scandal, and travesty . . . Now, the final three standing will prove to you why they should be the winners. Tonight, our finalists will come together for a Paso Doble Pow-Wow, and the always exciting freestyle. Tomorrow, we will crown a new champion. Twelve couples started and only three remain. Live, it’s the Dancing under the Stars finale!”
We all walk out when the intro music starts and take our places side by side on the stage, dressed in complementary black and red paso doble outfits. I notice my abuela holding hands with Vika’s baba. Those women are thick as Abuela’s mole poblano again.
We have to stand there while long clips roll of each of us babbling about which were our favorite dances of the season. Dolla and I picked our opening night mambo and our Viennese waltz. I watch our clip of the Viennese. I look so graceful, flying across the stage effortlessly. Dolla and I skate around the floor as if we’re walking on water. Tomorrow, the nine eliminated couples all come back to dance for the finale but tonight the producers fill up the air time by torturing the audience with these videos. By the time Tony and Vika, and Jenny and Tim’s clips air, we’ve been on stage for forty-five minutes. I have to pee, big time. We haven’t even set a toe on the dance floor and my feet are killing.
“Dancing together in our first ever Paso Doble Pow-Wow.” Matt waves his arm with a flourish. “Our finalists.”
The music rips through my body as I stand onstage with Vika on my left and Jenny on my right. The men start on their knees and rise in unison. They strut toward us. Our partners swing each of us around them before throwing us into splits. Jenny and Tim start their solo and Vika, Tony, Dolla and I slip off stage, where we’ll watch them from behind a curtain. Though Tim is six foot five, they look well matched. Jenny is five foot ten and in heels she’s six foot one. I used their height to their advantage in the choreography. Jenny is giving it her all and parades around Tim. His shoulders relax and he drops his head toward her and they prance around the stage. Her shiny black hair reflects off her satin red gown. Tim and her collapse on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. Their steps may have been perfect, but they were too reserved and never lost control. They sprint off stage and Tony and Vika start their solo. The mood is totally different—they’re on fire. The passion between them is electric and they move in unison. Tim and Jenny’s dance was right for them, but Vika and Tony—man, only two sex pots could pull that off. Tony taps his feet like a matador and Vika teases him with her dress. Totally playing the moment, Tony swaggers around Vika and then gives in, lowering to his knees. But even there, he stays in charge. Clutching her waist, he rolls her into his arms. Yeah, Vika took her solo to a totally different place than Jenny. Good job—but this audience has seen nothing yet. My turn!
Dolla and I rush on stage and stand alone on the floor. Two beats into our solo music, Dolla thrashes his cape around, his chest erect. I arch my back in defiance. The music starts cascading as he beckons me to him. I twirl into his arms and he seizes me as the music explodes to full beat. We charge across the floor, bodies perfectly in sync. I feel like I’m in a real bullfight, with my eye on the prize. Jenny and Tim were flawless, Tony and Vika were passionate, but Dolla and I are fierce competitors and we attack the floor. The bass rips through my body and Dolla throws me into a death drop. Spinning around, I land perfectly on my toes. This is my dance, my night, my life. And I’m alive.
The audience gives us a standing ovation. The camera pans to my parents and my abuela, all crying in the front row.
“Now what did the judges think?” Matt says. “Benjamin Brooks?”
Benny eyes my outfit like he’s scouting out a backup just in case it doesn’t work with Diana. Think again, old man. “Definitely the best Paso Doble we’ve ever seen on this show. Tim and Jennifer—of all the Latin dances, this is where you shined. Your height gave you both a strong presence. Tony, your feet dragged across the floor but at least your posture was strong. And Dolla and Salomé, bugger me dead! That was bloody amazing. You’re the team to beat.”
Dolla picks me up and swings me around. I can’t believe this is happening. The other judges basically repeat what Benny said. Even though it was a group dance, we get individually judged because of our solos. Tim and Jenny score straight eights. Tony and Vika get two nines and an eight from Benny.
It’s finally our turn, so Dolla and I head into the red room, which the other dancers have already vacated. Deborah interviews us. “Salomé, how does it feel to be in the finale on your first season of Dancing under the Stars?”
I look right into the camera and smile. “Well, it’s such a blessing to be here. And I’ve met the most wonderful people on this show. Dolla has been such an inspiration. He’s such a brilliant man and so successful.” Damn, sista, you’re getting this shit down.
“That’s wonderful. And the scores for Dolla and Salomé?”
I hold my breath.
“Ten,” Benny says.
Karen jumps out of her seat. “Ten!”
Steve holds up the number. “Ten.”
“A perfect thirty and in the finale,” Deborah says. She sticks the microphone in front of Dolla. “How do you feel?”
“I owe it all to my girl, Salomé. She’s the most talented dancer here, or anywhere. She’s a master of her craft.” Dolla winks at me.
“And Salomé, any final thoughts?”
How about, Could somebody pinch me? I can’t believe that twenty-one million people all have tuned in to see me. I finally get why everyone loves this show. I love this show. It’s changed my life. “All I can say, Deborah, is that this is the happiest night of my life.”
Jenny pops her head around the corner and shakes it slowly, my girl’s smile better than any trophy could ever be. Be-yotch, she mouths at me.
You know it, sista.
24
Vika
“WELCOME BACK TO the live finale of Dancing under the Stars. You saw the final three couples battle it out last night. And right now, one of our three finalists is about to be eliminated. Last night, millions of you voted online, called, and texted your votes,” Matt says. “With those votes combined with our judges’ scores, we can now reveal which of our couples will be the first to be eliminated tonight.”
Tony has his arms around me on stage. Tonight is much tenser than last night’s group dance orgy. No chest-bumping backstage tonight. None of us is ready to fly the white flag now. Tony barely slept last night—I know, because he kept me awake the whole time, tossing and
turning. And I was fretting because I just know that Benny is going to sabotage my chance to win. I had to use Preparation H to cover the bags under my eyes.
The ominous elimination music begins to play. “Tony,” Matt begins, “last night Karen said your freestyle was the most creative she’s ever seen, but did the viewers agree?”
Our freestyle was amazing. I strung a medley of Tony’s greatest hits together, and we danced this cha-cha, rock fusion number. Tony was flipping me over like a blini.
“Tim, last night Steve said your Viennese Waltz was exquisite, but did the viewers think it was enough for you to win the trophy?” Tim is holding Jenny, who despite the layers of tanning cream looks very flush. They’re out for sure. Her Latin actually really improved this season, but it was her Standard that got her to the finale. Their Viennese Waltz was exquisite—perfect lines, feet, and body posture. And she looked great during Salomé’s paso doble. It was her freestyle that killed their chances. She tried to dance a tango/cha-cha combo that just didn’t flow well at all.
“And Dolla, Benny said you’re the team to beat and you received a perfect thirty. But will the viewers send you to the finish line?” Salomé and Dolla look confident and aren’t even breaking a sweat with the hot lights shining in their faces. Even I have to admit that Salomé has done well this season. Her paso was perfect. But in her freestyle, she went one hundred percent hip-hop, and the judges marked her off for not including any ballroom moves. But it doesn’t seem to faze her. I have to say, it’s kind of nice, to see her smile again. Haven’t seen that since her Genya days. Since our days.
“The couple in third place is . . . ,” Matt pauses and the drum rolls. “Tim and Jennifer.”
Yes, yes, yes! We’re in the final two! Tony throws his arms around me, and I swear I’m gonna suffocate. Dammit, now I got glitter all over his white shirt. Salomé and Dolla are comforting the losers.
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