Dance of a Lifetime

by Frank Downey

  Then, it was time to march.

  The folks from the USOC that were with the American team got them lined up and ready to go, with Warren out in front. As they were lined up, waiting to march, Warren heard the unmistakable sound of Sophie’s voice: "Nice buns, flagbearer!" Warren laughed, and thought to himself that Sophie must have made it up front.

  The countries ahead of them started filing in, and Warren got ready. There was a belt he wore around his waist, and in the front of the belt was a cup. That’s where the end of the flagpole went, to steady it. The country in front started moving—Estonia, L’Estonie being ahead of Les Etats-Unis D’Amerique in French alphabetical order. So, Warren put the flag in the little cup, and they started moving.

  He had to steady himself at first. This wasn’t as easy as it looked, and Warren felt all the nervousness coming back. But he managed, keeping the flag steady and sure as they marched into the stadium.

  The ovation for the US team was loud and strong—with the Olympics in Canada, there were quite a few Americans in the audience. Warren just tried to drink it all in—the sights, the sounds, all the people, the pageantry. This was his second time marching in an Olympic opening ceremony, and he still remembered the first one vividly. This would be the last, and he wanted to remember every second. And you only get to bear your country’s flag once.

  He carried the flag surely in one trip around the stadium, then veered into the infield. The athletes would gather there in the infield, but the flagbearers were directed to go to the edge of the infield, so they formed a ring around the infield and the outside marching area (what would be the track if this were the summer Olympics). As Warren veered off, he looked back, caught Sophie’s eye, and threw her a kiss. Then he took his place.

  He stood there for the duration, eagerly watching the rest of the nations march in, chatting amiably with the woman next to him—the Estonian flagbearer. A luger named Marta, this was also her second Olympics and she was having a ball. She spoke perfect English and had Warren cracking up with her pithy comments about some of the uniforms the other countries were wearing. They talked about their respective sports a bit.

  "That’s the cool thing about ice dancing," Marta said, "you can do it with someone you love. Well, doubles luge is theoretically co-ed, but it’s never been done that way."

  "Doubles co-ed luge? Now that would be close quarters," Warren teased.

  "No doubt," Marta laughed. "My boyfriend, unfortunately, is not a luger. He’s a biathlete."

  "Ah, men on skis with guns," Warren said, getting a laugh out of Marta. "I think I’ll stick to ice dancing!"

  Afterwards, Warren met up with Sophia, who was waiting for him.

  "You were wonderful, Snugglebear," she said, kissing him.

  "Were you OK by yourself?"

  "Sure," Sophia told him. "I marched with Liz and Evan. I had to listen to Evan make comments about your ass the whole time. And you thought I was bad!"

  They headed into the athletes’ dining hall for a late snack. The various American athletes there were quick to congratulate Warren.

  "Nice start to the Olympics," Sophia observed.

  "Very nice. Now all we need is a nice ending!"

  Chapter 167 - Renewing Aquaintances

  Saturday, the day after the opening ceremonies, was the day the Olympics began in earnest. It was also the first day of figure skating—the pairs’ short program.

  It was considered the most wide-open contest of all the figure skating events. The field was led by the defending Olympic champions and the home country favorites, Jenny Sellers and Denis Poulin. However, they’d had a rough year. They’d lost the last World Championship to Andrea and Brett, and had had a rough time at December’s Grand Prix final, finishing only fourth.

  Brett and Andrea were the defending World Champions, but had also had problems at the Grand Prix, losing to the young Czech pair of Trogonickova and Kepul. Another impressive pair were the young Russians, Yaskovarina and Chebinskiy, who had won the bronze medal at the Grand Prix. And, then there were the Chinese, Yin and Li. They’d had a disastrous Grand Prix, but were the defending World bronze medallists and couldn’t be counted out.

  Any of these pairs could seize the moment in the short program. However, the initial gauntlet was thrown down by none of these. Skating early in the order was a second-tier German pair, Dagmar Lachen and Johann Schusster. They came out and laid down an absolutely flawless short program. With all of the big guns yet to come, their marks were a little lower than might have been expected—but the top teams were going to have to be excellent. The room was there, but the Germans had set a high standard.

  The Chinese couldn’t meet it. The problems from the Grand Prix reasserted themselves, and Yin and Li found themselves well behind the Germans. The next of the pre-contest contenders to skate were the Russians. They were good, but had a few minor flaws. They defeated the Chinese handily, but were behind the Germans.

  The final group contained the Big Three. Andrea and Brett were the first to go, and they nailed everything in their program. Skating with verve and flair, they went to first place on every judge’s card. The next up were the Canadians, under extreme pressure for being the home country’s best gold medal hope in figure skating. They responded to it well—except for one flaw. Denis two-footed the landing on their side by side triple toes. Minor, but since Andrea and Brett had skated perfectly, it was enough to put them in second.

  Then came the Czechs, on a roll after their Grand Prix win. And they were wonderful. As flawless and Andrea and Brett, with a style all their own. It was as close as it gets, a 5-4 split, but they moved into first place. Andrea and Brett were in second and the Canadians in third. The Russians and Germans, fourth and fifth, would join the top three in the final group for the free skate, two days hence.

  Sunday, Sophia and Warren gathered Betsy up and headed to the same place they had found themselves four years before—the ski slope, for the men’s downhill.

  And, to their delight, they found themselves again in the midst of a bunch of Austrians.

  They had kept in contact with their old friends Otto and Wilhelm, and were pleased to find them here. "The last time we talked, you weren’t sure if you were going to make it," Sophia told them.

  "Right. Well, it’s harder, going to Canada instead of Switzerland. It costs more. So, we decided to make this the family vacation for this year," Otto told them, smiling. He introduced Sophia and Warren to his wife, and Wilhelm introduced his. All four fawned over Betsy.

  "So, Gerhard Weichenbauer retired," Warren said, "so I suppose this is the Ingo Buell fan club now?"

  "Got that right," Otto said. "It’s gonna be a battle between him and your American guy, Alan Zimmer. They’ve been trading the World Cup Downhill championship back and forth since the last Olympics."

  "Yep, I know. Go Alan!" Warren joked.

  They chatted easily as the first couple of skiers came down the slope. Then it was Ingo Buell’s turn. He skied impressively, and easily went into first place, to the delight of the Austrian contingent.

  Three skiers later, Alan Zimmer roared down the slope. At the first checkpoint, he was very close to Buell’s time. At the second checkpoint, he was even closer. He came flying down the final stretch, and crossed the finish line. Everyone looked up at the clock, and then it flashed: he’d defeated Buell by half a second. The large American contingent, including Warren and Sophia, went nuts.

  "Dat guy win?" Betsy asked.

  "Not yet, sweetheart, but he’s in first place," Sophia told her.

  "Ah, well," Otto laughed. "Can’t win ‘em all. Zimmer ran an excellent race."

  They kept watching. Nobody else approached Buell or Zimmer’s time. Otto, a pretty big guy, had put Betsy on his shoulders, to Betsy’s delight.

  The way big time skiing races go was that the top 15 skiers, based on the year’s results, were seeded. They drew lots for the first 15 places in the order. They went first so they could ski on the freshe
st snow. So, the winner of big races almost always came from skiers in that top 15.

  Almost always. Warren and Sophia and their friends were chatting, when they heard a roar drift down the hill. They looked up, and saw that the skier on the slope was ahead of Zimmer’s time at the first checkpoint, even though he was skiing in the nineteenth slot.

  They checked the scoreboard, and saw that it was Ed Lazlo, who was Canadian. At the second checkpoint, he was still ahead. "Man, this place is going to go berserk if he wins," Warren said. The shouting was already building at the bottom of the hill as Lazlo came into view. He came down the final stretch, pushed over the finish line by the shouts of his countrymen. Everyone looked up at the scoreboard—and it quickly showed Lazlo in first place. The place just erupted; and Lazlo, a definite underdog, was jumping up and down on his skis in delight.

  Lazlo and the Canadian fans watched closely as the other skiers came down the slope. Of course, Lazlo was also besieged by the TV folks. He did one interview standing right in front of Warren and Sophia and their friends, and was completely thunderstruck. "I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it," he kept telling the interviewer.

  "He sounds like us, the first time we medalled at Worlds," Warren laughed.

  "Or that first silver at Nationals," Sophia laughed. She turned to the Austrians. "He screamed so loud he punctured my eardrum."

  "I remember that," Warren laughed.

  After the last skier had descended the slope, the standings had held up. Lazlo won, with Zimmer and Buell filling out the medals. As the first Canadian gold medallist in a Canadian Olympics, Paul Lazlo became a very popular guy.

  "The Super G, on Tuesday?" Otto asked Warren and Sophie.

  "We’ll be here!"

  The free skate for the pairs was Monday night. The Russians and Germans were the first two in the final group. Both skated well, the Russians just a little bit better, and they moved into the lead.

  Andrea and Brett were next—and they skated an absolutely perfect program. It all came together, and they were even better than they had been when they had won Worlds last year. Warren and Sophie, watching from the stands, were ecstatic.

  "I love it when a program we choreographed is skated that well," Sophia said.

  "I know, it’s like seeing it the way you saw it in your head," Warren agreed.

  The Czechs were up next, and the pressure got to them, just a little bit. They didn’t make any major errors, but were slow and laboring. They were still young, and, with the pressure of leading the Olympics when they had never even won a world medal, their youth showed. They finished behind Brett and Andrea. That would keep them in the medals, but it would be silver or bronze.

  Last to skate were Denis and Poulin. Under a lot of pressure from the Canadian crowd, they dealt with it. Trying to repeat as Olympic champions, they dealt with it. From the beginning, they were strong and sure, hitting every move perfectly.

  The crowd noise was building, trying to bring them along, and they just seemed to get stronger and stronger. Until, with about 40 seconds to go in their program, they attempted their last tricky move—a throw triple loop. And Jenny boofed on the landing.

  She didn’t fall—but she was wildly out of control, her free leg swinging frantically trying to keep her upright. Her landing leg skidded off the edge. She finally dropped the free leg and came to an almost complete stop. It took them a couple of seconds to get back into the flow of the program.

  That was all it took. Since Brett and Andrea had skated flawlessly, that one mistake took the Canadians out of it. They finished second, with the Czechs third. Brett and Andrea became the first American pairs team to win an Olympic gold medal.

  "There we go," Brett told Warren and Sophia afterwards. "We got the first-American-pairs thing taken care of—so you guys have to do the first-American-dancers thing."

  "Damn right," Warren said.

  "American sweep! American sweep!" Sophia chanted, laughing.

  "Let’s not count our chickens," Tom Bellamy, who was there, interjected. "There’s this little obstacle known as Lavrenti Bladanikov to worry about."

  "You beat him at the Grand Prix," Warren pointed out.

  "Fluke, complete fluke," Tom laughed.

  "No way. Mark my words," Warren argued. "You’re going to beat him."

  "Well, we’ll find out, starting tomorrow," Tom said.

  Chapter 168 - Another Surprise For Warren

  That Monday night, after the pairs’ long program, Sophia pulled Warren into the bedroom.

  "I have a confession," she started. "Remember back in January, where there was a stretch of about a week that I was too tired for fooling around?"

  "Yeah," Warren said.

  "That was a lie. I wasn’t too tired. I was waiting."

  "Waiting for what?"

  "Waiting for now," she said. "Which leads me to my other confession. I went off the pill after my period in December. That’s why I didn’t want to have sex that week, because I was ovulating. And I didn't want to get pregnant then." She grinned at him. "I want to get pregnant here, at the Olympics. Well, give it our best shot, anyhow."

  "Really?"

  "Really. And I should be ovulating today or tomorrow. So, whaddaya say, big boy? Wanna make a baby?"

  Warren answered her by pulling her towards him and kissing her. As their lips melded, he reached for the buttons on her blouse. "I guess you like the idea," Sophie giggled, then went back to kissing.

  They ended up on the bed, attempting to keep kissing while they also tried to take each other’s clothes off, a charade that ended with them side-by-side on the bed, laughing uproariously.

  "Hmmm. Maybe I should just get these off and then kiss the daylights out of you," Warren said, pulling at her blouse.

  "Yeah. It was worth a shot, though," Sophia laughed. She went for his belt buckle. She pulled his belt out of his pants, as he slipped her blouse off of her. He went for the bra as she went for the snap on his jeans.

  They ended up in a squirming heap, grasping at bits of the other’s clothing, which somehow managed to come flying out of the writhing mass of arms and legs. They ended up giggling again, but finally naked, and then started making out.

  They were kissing, and Warren moved off of Sophie’s lips and went to nibble on her earlobe. "You sure you want to get all big again?" he teased, whispering in her earlobe.

  "Yes," she hissed. "You love me that way and you know it."

  "True, all true." He kissed his way down her neck, and then moved lower, taking her boob into his mouth. He sucked on her nipple, making her groan, and moved his hand between her leg. "Oooh, baby-making turns my Pookie on," he said, after feeling how wet she was.

  "Uh-huh," she groaned. Warren slipped a finger into her and it slipped right in. "Oh, God, honey!" she gasped. After a minute or two of that, she rubbed the back of his head and said, "I don’t think I need any more foreplay tonight."

  Warren pulled off of her boob. "Need and want are two different things," he grinned.

  "True," she grinned. "So, I want you to fuck me."

  "Ah," Warren said, then moved up so he was between her legs. He aimed, and easily slid into her.

  "Oh, God," she moaned. "Oh, Warren!" He started moving in and out of her, slowly at first, working up to a rhythm. "Oh, God," she gasped, "I’m so turned on I’m gonna cum real soon!"

  "Oh, yeah," Warren hissed, and picked up the pace. She was right—it didn’t take long at all before she stiffened underneath him, screaming his name, as her hips came up off the bed. Warren held himself deep inside her and ground against her clit, as her pussy clenched around his dick.

  After she settled down a little, he started moving again. She moaned. "You close?" she asked.

  "Getting there," he grunted.

  "C’mon, baby," she chanted. "Cum in me. Make me a baby. Do it, love. Make me a baby. Cum in me, cum in me…."

  That was all Warren needed to hear!

  Afterwards, curled up in a heap on the
bed, Sophie giggled and said, "That was quick for us."

  "Goal-oriented fucking," Warren quipped, making Sophie crack up. "Of course, you were so turned on that you were halfway there before we got the clothes off."

  "And you weren’t?"

  "OK, I admit it," he laughed.

  "Well, honey, just to make sure, you know—we’re going to probably have to do this for the next couple of nights, at least."

  Warren chuckled, and said, "I do believe I can deal with that."

  Chapter 169 - The Way Things Work Out

  They started Tuesday on the mountain, with their skiing-fan friends, to watch the men’s Super Giant Slalom. Another chance for Alan Zimmer and the Austrian champ, Ingo Buell, to battle it out.

  "As long as we don’t have any more pesky Canadians getting in the way," Otto joked.

  They didn’t. Ingo Buell skied excellently. However, three skiers later, Alan Zimmer skied the Super G of his life, beating Buell by a full half-second. When all was said and done, Zimmer had won his first Olympic gold medal. The Austrians good-naturedly grumbled—and celebrated with Warren and Sophie. Buell took the silver.

  That night, on the ice, was the men’s short program.

  Sophia and Warren sat in the stands with a very nervous Kristin. "I think I’m more nervous than Tom is," Kristin confessed with a giggle. "God, I so want him to skate well."

  "He will," Warren assured her. "He’s ready for this."

  He skated fairly early, and did skate well. He was perfectly clean, and skated with verve and flair. He took the early lead.

  However, looming in the later groups was the three-time World Champion, Lavrenti Bladanikov. He was one of the last skaters to skate. Tom was still in the lead when he took the ice.

  Everything started out well. He did a fine spin, and some choreography. Then he took off into his combination—the quadruple toe-triple toe. He went up into the quad, landed—and put a hand down.