by Tonya Plank
I knew he’d eventually return to his company, to all the risks. And that’s why I knew we’d never be more than dance partners. And the dance partnership was only for now, for the immediate purposes of winning Blackpool for Alessia and for the school. We’d never be more. I’d accepted that he wasn’t going to change for me, or for anyone, and I was at peace with it.
We made our team solo a shortened, much easier version of our Blackpool showdance, which meant we were able to get a lot of choreography done in the short amount of time we had to get our routine down solid. We also got a huge amount done without Jett having to do his performances every night. I hadn’t realized how much those took out of me—not even so much the actual time he was away at the theater, but the worry I had if something were to happen to him. I now realized how much of that trepidation I had always carried around with me, long before he was actually injured.
Amazingly, we argued very little, only having minor disagreements. Jett agreed to let me have my way—to trust me about focusing on the lyricism and poetry of the relationship we depicted, and not do tricks for tricks’ sake. Of course, it may have been somewhat easy to agree with me at this point since it was all in theory, as we weren’t yet dancing full out.
But, unbelievably, wonderfully, nothing changed after we did begin dancing our routine in full. He didn’t try to fight me and make the lifts or tricks flashier or more risky than they had to be. Maybe he trusted me now, since we won our first team competition without all the flash.
Honestly, he’d kind of amazed me when he agreed to let me come with him to his doctor appointments. Initially, I’d told myself I wanted to go because I didn’t fully trust him. I needed to know for myself what the doctor’s orders were, so I, along with Alessia—whom I’d report back to—could prevent him from further injuring himself. But at that appointment, I realized that wasn’t at all why I’d really gone.
I’d gone because I actually cared about the man. The realization kind of hit me all at once. I saw the doctor examining his foot and Jett’s range of motion, and the look on Jett’s face when the doctor pronounced it healed. His dimpled smile oozed that boyish energy, his youthful elation at the world, which I’d so fallen for. His sheer happiness, his joy of just being, was palpable and contagious. I felt it travel as a heat wave throughout my entire body, warming me from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. Then his devilishly dreamy brown eyes connected with mine. And a tingle went through my body. A different kind of warmth. I forced myself to push that feeling away immediately. No, I wasn’t going there again with him. But I would enjoy his dance partnership. That, I would fully embrace.
Chapter 35
Jett
Finally, I could dance full out again. Nothing felt so good as to be able to lift Belle high above my head, hold her in my arms, and whisk her around the floor till she felt a good kind of dizzy. Amazingly, everything went perfectly the very first time we went through the routine completely. Not a step out of place. And it all felt so right.
“Wow,” Arabelle said, as I released her from our ending hands-free fish dive, the beautiful and difficult trick we decided to end our routine with.
“Wow, what?” I was slightly out of breath. But only slightly.
“I’m just surprised you remembered it all.”
“Now you’re accusing me of having memory problems?” I laughed, knowing what she meant.
“No, I just mean since we never danced full out before, you never had a chance to solidify everything into your muscle memory.”
“I could never forget such a beautiful dance. It doesn’t have to be only in my muscles.”
She blinked and looked away, a slight smile crossing her lips, one she seemed not to want me to see.
Of course there were a few places where I wanted to go further than we had—but just a few. In our initial lift, I managed to convince her to let me carry her onstage without her wrapping her arm around my shoulder to lift herself. This made it look as if I were cocooning her. It looked equally as beautiful as when we’d wrapped our arms around each other, but now the difficulty was back. The judges might or might not notice.
“Okay, I’m letting you win this one because it’s not necessary for my arm to be wrapped around you; it looks just as nice your way,” she’d said.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it for any other reason,” I maintained.
“But I don’t want to do that in the team comp. Let’s do it my way there, so we’re the same as the students.”
I nodded. We had won that competition as far as I was concerned, so the judges were very happy with the team’s level of difficulty. They didn’t want us to make it harder for the students, nor did we. And we would have looked off if we did something other than what the students did.
The other place I wanted to make a change was where the music swelled, and the lift I wanted to do would—yes—be flashier, but it would also go along with the music. If she didn’t go for it, though, I was prepared to let her win.
“When the music crescendos right here, I think I should lift you higher, like they do in Russian ballets. I’ll hold you by your lower calf while you reach up as if you’re touching the stars.” Right now I was just holding her at the waist and turning it into an overhead bird lift. This would be far better, and more original.
She took a deep breath and thought about it. I could see by the raise of her brows and the intensity in her gaze that she knew it would be beautiful. But then the edges of her lips took a turn for the south. Her eyes took on a glassy haze and she stared off far into the distance. As she folded her arms in front of her, I saw the very beginnings of a tremor in her right wrist.
“What’s going on?” I reached out to her, gently brushing her tremor ridden arm. “Come on, tell me, let me in.”
She shook her head, then uncrossed her arms and shook her hands from the wrist. “It’s nothing. It’s just…”
Her eyes filled with water, but only for a split second. Then she blinked and they were dry again.
“What? It’s just what? Come on, I’m here for you. Not to pressure you. Just talk to me.”
She nodded. “I know. It’s just that Willem and I were thinking of that. We’d seen a new version of The Nutcracker and they did that lift in the end, where Clara dances with the Prince, and it was so beautiful. But then we never got to it.”
I exhaled, deflated. I couldn’t take his idea. It might be like taking his place, which could of course never happen except symbolically in her mind.
“Oh, wow. I see.” I thought a moment. “Okay, then we’ll modify it. We’ll just…” I thought, trying to come up with something just as majestic-looking without it being exactly the same.
“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s really not that. It’s not like anyone’s taking anything from Willem. It’s just that if I get the shaking, then it’s going to be hard for me to maintain a shape and for you to keep hold of me.” She spoke quickly, which made me think she knew what she wanted to say but just had a hard time saying it. Her eyes were darting all around. She took a deep breath. “Let’s just try,” she said. That was my usual line.
Awesome. She wasn’t thinking of anyone replacing Willem. It was just about the tremor, which we could cure. I knew we could. “I won’t let you fall, Belle. If you start to shake, I’ll let you down immediately.”
She held out her arm. The tremor was gone, at least momentarily. She smiled, looking down, like it was like a smile meant for herself and no one else. She blushed and put her head down, wrapping her arms around the back of her neck. She was going through something, something good, something positive, and well worth my wait. I wasn’t about to invade her thoughts. I let her have her time. Finally, she brought her head up again, the smile having grown even larger, and nodded.
“I’m ready!” She threw her hands up.
We did it. I felt the strength in her body. She was solid but light all at once. I lifted her easily. And held her by the foot. I stood with my
feet apart, looking up at her. She stood in my open palms, gingerly lifting one leg up in arabesque, both arms to the sky, her head following. Not a tremor in her entire body, from head to foot. I wrapped my hands around her feet. I was prepared to reach out and let her fall into my arms, if she had to. But she never did.
“I gotcha,” I said.
“I know.” Her words were almost a whisper. But I heard.
“Okay?” she said, calling down, but with her head still lifted toward the sun. As if the words came from somewhere else.
“Ready.”
She brought her other leg down, placing both feet in my hands again, then lowered her arms parallel to her body.
“Okay, fall and I’ll catch,” I said.
And she did just that. I caught her in my arms, swung her around, turning around and around, raising her up and down with each turn. She laughed. Soon, she said, “Wait, wait.”
I slowed my swinging, and then stopped. I had no idea why I had done that. The music had ended and this move didn’t go along with it. It just felt right.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just so happy you went for that and it was so gorgeous and you did it so expertly and…I’m just happy. Dancing for joy, I guess.” I laughed.
“You know, in a weird way, that works,” she said once I let her down. “I mean, swinging me around like that, turning for more beats than the music. Like we’re not done just because the music is—like we have so much more. I mean, sometimes extending beats, or not doing things exactly to the music works well.”
I thought about it. She was right. We could totally make my spontaneous choreography, derived from sheer elation, work for us.
As we were walking out of the practice room, something came over me. I couldn’t help it, but I pulled her toward me and kissed her. It was quick, very, very quick. And it was only one small peck. But it was on the lips. I couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” I said immediately. “I don’t know what came over me. Well, I do, actually. It was the dance.” I looked into her eyes. They were alight. She said nothing. I didn’t give her much of a chance, I guess. I did it again. And then I rushed out the door, wanting to kick my heels up like Gene Kelly.
Chapter 36
Arabelle
This was going to work—Jett and me and Blackpool and the team. It was. He—Willem—had told me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s not. When Jett told me of the lift he was thinking of, I was thinking the exact same thing. Like we were on the same wavelength. Willem and I had been choreographing to completely different music, but with him I’d thought of it at the same time he did, too. For a moment my mind turned fully on Willem and the thought of him brought chills, and the tremor.
Initially, I cursed myself. I could never two-time Willem like that. And then, I swear, the most amazing, incredible thing happened. I felt a warmth spread throughout my body at the thought first of Willem and me doing the lift, then of Jett and me. My whole body became warm and strong. No chill. And no tremor. No cold, no shaking in my toes or in my fingers, no madly coursing blood. Everything was comforting, like I was cocooned in a diaphanous shell. And I felt Willem saying, “Go ahead. Do this. It’s right.” I felt it so strongly, I almost heard it. I sensed it through vibrations rippling through my body.
Thankfully, Jett gave me plenty time to think it all out and have that mental experience. When I looked into his eyes again, I knew it was right. I felt the warmth again, the soothing vibrations. And then we did it, and it was so, so special. We were inside, in a building with a ceiling, but I felt like I was right under the sun when I was at my highest during the lift. I felt my foot solid in Jett’s hands, and I felt my entire body, warm and strong. I lifted my hands and face up to the sky and realized this was the absolute perfect tribute to Willem. I felt the sun on my face—his warmth—from Heaven.
When Jett let me down and began swinging me around in his arms—it’s funny, but even though it didn’t at all go with the music—it was like we were on the same wavelength again. He was perfectly expressing my joy at connecting with Willem, as he twirled me around and around. Jett felt happiness too, for his own reasons, in his own way. And he expressed it exactly the way I wanted him to. Major meeting of the minds, of the souls.
* * *
I never asked and Jett never told me, but I assumed Veronique gave him the time off for Blackpool because he didn’t return to his job. We spent the next several weeks practicing hard, both as a partnership and with the team. And practice made perfect as can be. We looked good, solid. We were ready.
* * *
Blackpool had finally arrived. Jett had taken to kissing me every time we finished the routine. But the kisses were always short and sweet. It was clear—to both of us I think—that our relationship was platonic. I loved being with him, practicing, working on something we both wanted so badly, working towards a common goal. We had twin goals of making art and performing it on a world stage for everyone to see, and winning a big competition—both for Alessia’s studio, and for ourselves. I was beginning to see I wanted to win not only for the sake of Infectious Rhythm and the team, but for myself, for Willem’s memory, and now for Jett too. He was worth working for, winning for, even if he was just a good friend and dance partner, and always would be. Friendships and dance partnerships were just as important as romantic partnerships. Who ever said they weren’t?
As Blackpool neared, I realized this was the first time I’d be there competing in the same competition Willem and I had, without Willem. I knew it was going to be difficult for me, to put it mildly. But I also knew Jett was going to make it okay.
We arrived a couple of days before our competition. Blackpool lasted for a week and was so much fun for ballroom people. It boasts the world’s largest collection of dance costumes and paraphernalia, dance music CDs and DVDs, shoes, bags, makeup artists, and hair stylists. It’s a mecca for ballroom enthusiasts. And everyone goes—professional dancers, students, and fans. I knew I’d see all my old friends there. I was worried I’d have to deal with everyone’s looks of sympathy and sadness, and that I might have a hard time holding up. But Lucia convinced me that it had been long enough since Willem’s death that people would be over it by now, and they would know I needed to move on as well. “They’ll be thrilled to see you dancing with a new partner,” she’d insisted.
Our competition was the second to the last night. Willem and I had always gone for the whole week anyway, just to revel in the glory of being ballroom dancers. But I didn’t want to overwhelm myself. Last year was rough, mainly because I’d made the mistake of trying to commit myself too fast to a new dance style that I now admitted didn’t fit me. Being so overwhelmed last year weakened me, which may have been partly why I hadn’t seen that water bomb coming until it was too late.
Anyway, bygones are bygones, and I knew the same wouldn’t happen again. In terms of the water bomb, I mean. But I also didn’t want to weaken myself by getting too emotional, and that could easily happen right now. This year, we’d arrive two days before we danced, giving ourselves just enough time to unwind from the long flight, get our energy back, and practice a few times in the actual ballroom. I’d go for the full week next year—if there was a next year.
I booked us a hotel that was a little out of the way, not the hotel Willem and I and many of the other competitors stayed at. It was an idea that had good results, because we didn’t run into anyone checking in, and the owners of the hotel didn’t know me. It was nice to be anonymous for a while. Plus, I didn’t want Jett getting bombarded with questions and looks the way newcomer Rory did last year when she went with Sasha, the star. Jett would be able to handle it for sure; he’s a seasoned performer, and knows how to act like a star even if no one knows him. That’s an art, I was beginning to realize. It was more that the attention given to us might enervate me. I didn’t need to take any chances right now; chances would be for later.
After we checked in—blissfully, sans fanfare—I showed Jett around the little seasid
e town. I took him to my favorite little pub, far enough away from the Winter Gardens, which housed the ballroom, that we didn’t run into anyone. We walked to the farmers’ market and loaded up on some snacks, walked around the perimeter of the little mall, and then on the boardwalk by the sea. The night air in late May was chilly, but we dressed for it. I wrapped my heavy sweater around my shoulders and Jett wrapped his arms around my entire body. We walked side by side. I had to admit, it felt good being cocooned in his arms. Jett got a kick out the Ferris wheel and little amusement park down the boardwalk, the constant onslaught of advertisements for casinos and Vegas-style shows that were so not-Vegas, and the loads and loads of pinball machines.
“I know, cheesy. But, seriously, wait till you see the ballroom.” I giggled.
“Are you kidding? No one knows cheese better than me. I lived in its capital.” He laughed.
I laughed with him, agreeing that Las Vegas was, indeed, the cheesiest place on earth. But then it hit me what he’d just said. He “lived,” as in past tense. Had I heard him properly? The Los Angeles tour was only for the spring. It would be ending very soon. We hadn’t talked about the future—and we didn’t need to since Blackpool was the only reason for our partnership, and it was happening now. I’d assumed he’d be going back to Las Vegas to work with Beauty in Motion. Unless he was going on tour again? Well, I wasn’t going to broach it now. We needed to get through this first.
Of course a huge part of me didn’t want him going back—either to that style of dance with all the risks, or to another city away from me. But why did I feel that way? We were friends. Our friendship wouldn’t be hampered by miles. I thought about him performing with Beauty in Motion again, and my pulse momentarily stopped. But why? He wasn’t mine and never would be. I couldn’t worry about him. And I wouldn’t, as long as we were only friends. I’d been so focused on Blackpool for the past several weeks I hadn’t thought at all about the future, but I began to feel shivers making their way down my spine. I could feel tingling in the nerve endings in my wrist and fingers. No, I couldn’t let this happen. No tremor, no thinking about Jett and Beauty in Motion, no thinking about the future. Only the here and now.