Chapter 14

After we were all made-up and costumed by Daiyu’s people, we walked toward the ballroom. Sasha wanted to stop off and wish Svetlana good luck. She was competing in this comp too, though she didn’t expect to place. She’d texted him that she was in the women’s changing room in the back corner.

“Should we be going through here? I mean, together?” I asked him as he opened the door. He gave me a quizzical look. And I saw why when we walked in.

People—both men and women—were in various states of dress. I saw more than a few pairs of breasts and countless men in dance belts, their firm buttocks completely exposed. No one seemed to think anything of it. No one seemed to even be looking at each other, actually. Everyone was far too busy getting themselves and their partners zipped up, buttoned up, pinned up—dressed, basically. Seeing your fellow dancers half naked didn’t seem to be a thing. I guess that’s how it would have been in ballet if I’d stayed. I felt like such a prude. Sasha was one with the crowd, not seeming to notice a thing besides his destination. A few people recognized him but no one said anything or approached us. Everyone was hyper-focused. I guess I had it easy, being dressed in the sponsor’s tent.

Fortunately, Svetlana and her partner were both fully dressed. She said something in Russian to him and gave him a big bear hug. I looked around. No Cheryl or Luna anywhere in sight.

“Oh Rory, you were stunning last night,” she said to me, in accented but good English. “You stole the show! Go you!” She pumped her fist in the air.

I smiled. I didn’t even know she could speak English. Well, I guess if she lived in the U.S., she had to, but I’d never heard her speak it. And I’d never known she was so nice. Her words seemed completely genuine. “Oh, really? Well, thank you,” I said, now embarrassed for having not liked her simply because of the people she often associated with in the studio.

“Seriously, oh my gosh, it’s all I heard anyone talk about everywhere we went last night. Even Cheryl and Luna were floored. And I mean floored!”

I froze. They couldn’t have been. If they were impressed, they would have hidden it well and voiced only negative things.

“Thank you, Svetlana. That means so much, coming from you. I’ve always admired your dancing since I first saw you in the O.C.,” I said, trying very hard not to suspect she was simply pretending to be nice and that something was up.

“Wow! And that means a lot, coming from you!”

She definitely seemed genuine. I wanted badly to believe she really was sweet.

***

We all walked down the hall and out toward the floor together as the emcee announced the start of the first heat. Sasha looked around politely smiling and mouthing “thank you” to the chorus of “Go, Sasha,” “Good luck, Sasha,” and “Kill it, Sasha.” Svetlana had a look of elation on her face to be walking beside the champ. We weren’t in the first heat, but she was. We wished her good luck and watched as she and her partner were called out to the floor, amidst a bazillion others. When all numbers were called, the floor was absolutely filled. There didn’t seem to be a free square foot of space.

The live big band began its cha-cha music and the couples somehow began moving. Now I understood what Sasha meant about the possibility of us having to revise our routine mid-dance. I didn’t know how people were not bumping into each other right and left.

The music ended and there was absolute chaos as those couples tried to exit the floor and the next heat tried to enter. Note to self to be near the dance floor when our heat was near, I thought as couples scrambled out from the bowels of the practice rooms on hearing their numbers called. Sasha and I were apparently on the same wavelength, as he inched us closer to the floor with each change of rounds. Several more heats of dancers performed their cha-chas while we watched. It was getting tiring just waiting for our turn.

***

The emcee finally announced our heat. By that time, we were right by the dance floor.

“Here we go. Merde, sweetheart,” Sasha whispered to me. He gave me a peck on the lips.

When he did so, the entire ballroom erupted into a fit of screams. It was surreal, like aural fireworks, totally echoing how it felt to be kissed by the king of Latin ballroom. But it was so surreal, at first I didn’t even know the crowd was actually screaming for us. I thought it was just in my head.

Until the chants began.

“Sasha, Sasha, Sasha!”

He led me to a position in the middle of the floor. The other dancers seemed to part for us. Wow. As we walked along the side of the floor, toward the center, I noticed a wave happening in the audience. People in the front area were rising and roaring as we passed. This was crazy. I couldn’t help but laugh.

I distinctly heard someone call out my name. But it wasn’t Rory, it was Aurora.

“Go Sasha! Go Aurora!”

It must have been someone who’d read the Blackpool Daily article. It made me blush. I was a minor celebrity.

The music began and we started with a bang. Oh my gosh, it was so crowded. We really needed to make our steps as small as possible. We couldn’t dance full-out at all. Now I was being thrown by this. My muscle memory was used to dancing as expansively as I could. I had to concentrate to make sure I was getting the steps not only right, but as small as possible, and the same length as Sasha’s to match him. The music ended before we were even halfway through our routine, and we were directed to exit the stage. The crowd kept screaming until we were completely off, so I guessed they liked what we did. But I felt like it didn’t go very well. I was concentrating way too hard on not bumping into anyone. I had no idea how we looked. And now I worried about the other dances—the traveling ones like samba and paso doble, where we really had to move about the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sasha said, reading my mind as he led me back to the practice rooms.

“Awesome!”

“You rock!”

“Sashaaaaa!”

Well, judging by his fans, who were holding their hands in the air as we passed, as if he was the Pope or some other religious figure, we did just fine.

“The first couple of rounds are always crazy, until they go through the first series of cuts. Half of those people won’t make the first cut, and half of those the second. So by the third round, only a quarter of us will remain, and we will be more than able to dance everything full-out.”

“Yeah, but that’s assuming we make the first two cuts.”

He shot me look of utter sarcasm. The look was so severe, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, Mr. God’s Gift, but—”

“No, I don’t really mean it that way. I mean, that’s why it helps to be known. They know we are finals material.” He shrugged. “That’s why it can be very hard to get your start here at the huge competitions. It gets more and more impossible each year for new people to be seen. I hope Svetlana makes it, but I’m not sure if she will,” he said soberly.

There were many people—too many—approaching us to talk, including some people with microphones.

“We can’t handle this right now,” Sasha said to me under his breath.

I was glad he felt the same way I did. He politely excused us, and led me down to Daiyu’s tent where we fanned ourselves and drank bottled water while six more heats happened. I had no idea there were this many people competing at Blackpool.

We returned to the floor several rounds early, of course, to make sure we would be ready to go on when our heat was called. Every other heat, there was a roar emanating from some side of the room. It was kind of fun to see who was on the floor at that time. The first roar I heard, I looked toward the area from whence most of the cheers were coming and spotted Xenia’s blonde head. Two heats later, when the roars came from every which way, I looked all about and finally espied Micaela’s shiny onyx mane. I didn’t have to whip my head this way and that to know when the cheers were for Arabelle because of all the chanting.

“Belle Arabelle. Sweet, sweet belle Arabelle!”

She was clearly a very well-loved figure here. There was a big crowd cheering for Bronislava as well. She’d dyed her black hair a bright red, and when she spun that bob really flew. She looked like a fireball.

We managed to get through the first two rounds without having to alter our routine and without smacking into anyone. We didn’t dance full-out at all, though, and it felt strange to start the biggest competition in the world dancing down. But, as Sasha had said we would, we made it through anyway. Svetlana made it through the first round, but not the second. She was thrilled nevertheless. I hung out with her a little bit on the sidelines and it was quite nice. We were both nervous and seemed to put each other a little more at ease. I couldn’t help but trust her. Maybe she really wasn’t a part of Cheryl and Luna’s consortium. I’d never really seen them talking together, now that I thought about it. They were just all in the same classes at the studio, and in the same vicinity at comps, since they were all Sasha’s students. I could tell Sasha genuinely liked her too and wanted her to do well, even though she was no longer his student. I didn’t see or hear Cheryl or Luna once, which put me at ease, but also made me wonder what they might be up to. I didn’t mention them to Svetlana. We were having a nice time together and I didn’t want to bring up anything negative.

It literally took two hours to get through those initial rounds, one hour for each. We were definitely going to be here well into the night. Between the first two rounds and the third, there was another, smaller competition, this one for amateur couples thirty-five and over. It was called the senior division, which made me chuckle. In the American competitions, the oldest category, the C division, was for competitors over fifty. And many prima ballerinas with the top companies danced well into their forties! Margot Fonteyn famously danced until she was in her sixties. So to call a thirty-five-year-old a senior was kind of funny to me.

Sasha was starting to get overwhelmed with fans in the ballroom so we congratulated Svetlana again and headed to the tent for some downtime and snacks. When I got to the tent, I had ample time to read texts and emails.

Ha! You would not believe how much you stood out, dear! Paulina texted me. All those bazillions of people out there at once and you could make Rory out in heartbeat!

Thanks! I was worried because it was so crowded we weren’t able to dance full-out, I texted back. So everything was truncated.

Yeah, but everyone was doing that, she wrote. And you were still REALLY moving—especially in samba. Roll those hips, girl! Swan Lake Samba Girl is no more!

I laughed. Wow, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

We saw you despite that crazy crowd! Of course it was hard not to see you with all those cheers and your beautiful ballet body :) :) :), texted Samantha.

Ah, if only!

You look awesome, Rajiv wrote.

The floor was still crowded during round three, but a lot less so. We were able to move much better. My adrenaline started back up and I did my best to do every step, every move, as fully, dramatically, and beautifully as I possibly could to tell a story and entertain the crowd. Amazingly, my nerves were dissipating more and more as the rounds went on.

Things started moving faster after round five. A lot of couples had, by then, been eliminated and the senior competition had concluded, so there wasn’t as much waiting time between heats. Amazingly, I was actually having fun, the cheers were getting crazier and crazier, and were for both of us now and not just Sasha. And, as tired as my body was getting, my adrenaline was really coming through for me in a big way, driving me more and more so that I was actually getting stronger and faster with each passing round.

What was so wonderful, though, was that the cheers seemed to be for our partnership—and not just our professional one. At the end of every rumba, Sasha would give me a little kiss on my forehead, and it was getting longer and more pronounced each time. As the rounds progressed, the crowd was coming to expect it and was starting to go crazy before he even did it. I couldn’t believe how supercharged I was, how on fire we both were, how in love we were. What took me so long to become part of this world, I thought? I hadn’t lived until now!

After about the tenth round, it became clear to me what Sasha had meant about this being an endurance test. Holy crap, I really was getting tired. At the end of every dance, we’d rush off to the tent, and I’d down practically a half bottle of Evian, a banana, and a bag of almonds or walnuts. And suddenly it seemed that each dance was now shorter, that the orchestra wasn’t playing a full song, so that the heats between ours were taking only half the time as before. Sasha said that was just an illusion, though. He could tell I was getting tired, and I could tell he was getting worried.

“Don’t worry, we just have to get through one more round. Then they will announce the senior winners and have some general dancing for the audience while they compute the scores to decide who will advance to the quarterfinals. It’s an important cut and they’ll take their time on it. We’ll have a good break. And we’ll have another one after the quarterfinals round, into the semifinals, and that’s when we’ll change costumes.” Sasha’s English was so clear and crisp and his grammar and vocabulary impeccable.

That made me know he was mentally sharp; his nerves and emotions were totally under control. And feeling that sureness from him totally calmed me down. It was going to be okay. If Sasha said it would be, then it would be.

And he was right. Of course. We sat in the tent and Daiyu herself fanned me down with this lovely little Chinese hand wand that worked amazingly well for such a small, delicate thing. And the fun makeup guy returned and touched up my face and hair. I took sips of Gatorade and popped grapes in my mouth in between lipstick blots. I was downing so much food, it was hard to believe I’d been on the verge of an eating disorder.

Starting with the quarterfinals, all of the couples took the ballroom floor at once. Talk about a wild, roaring audience. Every single couple who would remain for the finals in a few short rounds was up there right now; all of the stars of the ballroom world were on the floor at once now. For the first time in my Blackpool experience thus far, it was impossible to ignore Micaela, Xenia, Arabelle, and Bronislava. There was so much screaming, so many names being called out at once. All the cheers for Micaela, Xenia, and Arabelle drove home how close this competition was, how we were all fierce competitors with each other. I began to feel like I was in a boxing match. My nerves started to prickle.

Stop it, I told myself. Stop it now.

Since we were all on the floor at once, there were no more individual heats, so we went through the dances one by one, with no break time. Somehow my adrenaline kept me going strong. I honestly didn’t feel the least bit enervated. I just prayed my adrenaline could keep my nerves and confidence issues at bay as well.

Sasha knew what was going on in my head. “I love you,” he said this time after our rumba as he kissed me now on the lips, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing me close. The crowd went so crazy, the band actually delayed the beginning of the paso for a few seconds to let all the cheering die down a bit. That was all I needed, that crowd and its encouragement. Now, Sasha and I—and his fans—were the only ones out there on the floor.

They gave us another short break between paso doble and jive, which I know knew was customary. Micaela walked around, waving to her fans. She didn’t seem out of breath at all. She didn’t seem to have an ounce of sweat on her at all. Her strut was quite magnificent too. Arabelle stood in place, smiling radiantly to all the “Belle Arabelle” cheers. Sasha wrapped his arms around me from the side, and pressed his lips to my temple in response to our cheers, as if to tell the audience and the judges that we were the couple in love; that he felt I was the true partner for him, the one who would save him, and bring him glory.

The orchestra broke into their jive music, and Sasha brought me back to earth. Judging by our scores in the team competition, this was our weakest dance. But Sasha’s little display of confidence in our partnership to the world made my adrenaline surge through my entire body, from my small toe to the crown of my head. As soon as we started that backward slide and those jive kicks, I knew I was going to nail it. And when I heard my name—“Aurora, go Aurora! Yes, Aurora”—I knew the audience knew it too.

We made it through the quarterfinals and nearly flew back to the tent amid the wild applause from the ballroom. Daiyu and her assistants had our new costumes all ready. This time I didn’t care who all saw my body in its semi-undressed state. I was in a rush. As the assistant zipped me in and patted down bubbles and wrinkles in the fabric I realized how hard my heart was pounding, how my calves were beginning to ache and hamstrings were beginning to feel overstretched. Oh no, I had the two most important rounds to go. My body couldn’t fail me now. Just two more rounds, I told myself.

Just two more. You can do it.

Once in the makeup chair I again downed fistfuls of dark-chocolate-covered almonds and slugs of Gatorade in between lipstick blots. The powder puff was drenched with sweat after the makeup guy used it to blot my cheeks and forehead. I didn’t think I’d sweated so much in my life.

Keep it together, Rory!

The cheers were even louder as we took the floor for the semifinal round, probably because of the costume change, which everyone had done. I noticed Micaela even did her hair differently. It was now in a long French braid instead of a twist. How had she had the time to do that, I wondered?

The big band began their cha-cha rendition and my muscle memory took over. I couldn’t feel the aches and pains I’d felt in the tent because, I swear, I couldn’t even feel my body. The cha-cha seemed to blend right into the samba. It was all becoming a blur. Thank goodness for muscle memory. Thank goodness for all that practice. I felt Sasha’s hands on mine, on my waist and shoulder and back, but other than that, I felt like I was dancing out of my body. The only thing I felt was sweat flying from my face with each shake of my head. I swear I must have sprayed the back of Xenia’s head when she and Piotr passed us with their long, sprinting promenade runs during our short-stepped, hip-swaying samba rolls. I heard Micaela laugh, likely not at me but just because she was having fun. It was fun, her laughter reminded me. It was a thrill. I laughed with her.

The crowd was going so wild now, cheering back and forth for the eight of us—Sasha and me, Arabelle and Andrew, Micaela and Jonathan, and Xenia and Piotr. I now saw why they had a live band at Blackpool. If they didn’t, I don’t know how I would ever have heard the music, how anyone would have heard it. And you needed to hear the music to be on beat.

Finally, samba ended and they gave us a few moments of rest to reboot for the rumba. Thank the lord for a slow dance, I thought. I remembered how my hamstrings and calves had ached in the tent and I just prayed I made it through all those leg lifts without pulling anything. Well, I had to. If I tore something, I’d just have to deal with the pain. It could heal. This was my chance. Something a dancer should never tell herself, I knew from ballet. But that’s what I did.

The rumba music began. Sasha and I did our opening move: his deep lunge/my slow leg lift, followed by him pulling me passionately into him and me backing slightly away so I could bow down to him while extending my leg up high behind me. The crowd cheered like crazy. I was happy—it was one of our most beautiful moves and we could do it so full-out now, with so few people on the floor. No pain in my knee, thankfully. Then we went into our series of fast, impassioned underarm turns. He led me into the first, then second, then third whipping turn. I was spotting his big beautiful eyes and felt like one with the gust of wind we’d created. The applause was so loud it nearly blacked out the music even with the live band.

Suddenly, Sasha pulled me back sharply. He’d taken me off guard and I stumbled.

What? My mind exploded with a cacophony of thoughts. What happened to the gentleness? Was he changing the routine at the last minute like he’d warned he might? Why, at this stage, with the floor so bare? Was I just so fatigued my muscle memory had faltered and I’d forgotten the routine?

The alarm had to have shown on my face. In my panic, I lost my center of gravity and thus my balance. Because of the strength of his pull, I wasn’t able to développé my leg all the way up, and I ended up sliding into him, my unfolding knee landing not in his groin but smack in his rib cage. Somehow he didn’t stumble backward, like a lesser dancer would have. Sasha had the strength and balance to correct us. But I heard a loud crack. The audience moaned collectively. They’d heard it too. Oh my God, I’d really injured him. It wasn’t going to be me, but he who had to make the choice of dancing through the pain and possibly harming himself further.