a couple of
group classes every day and usually have at least six or seven private lessons with
my competitive students. Vitaly and I practice maybe ten to twelve hours a week and
spend another couple hours with coaches. We’d do more, except it costs us two-fifty
for a forty-five-minute “hour” of coaching. Then, I weight train, do jazz and ballet
classes, and try to work in a yoga class or two for flexibility.” I ticked the items
off on my fingers. “Running the studio—scheduling classes, payroll, enticing new students,
cleaning, getting the floors refinished, and more—is separate from the dancing and
training. On top of that, we compete in twenty or twenty-five competitions a year,
which means we’re on the road, dancing, almost every other weekend.”
“I had no idea a ballroom dancer worked so hard,” Zane said.
I smiled. “It’s not all false eyelashes and sparkly dresses. I’m an athlete and a
small businesswoman in one; it’s hard work.”
“You make me feel like a slacker,” Zane said, pulling me closer than the dance required
and smiling into my eyes. “Although when I hold you like this, I feel—”
A tingle danced through me, but I put the proper distance between us. “Concentrate,”
I demanded, in a mock-stern voice. We went through the dance another three times and
Zane’s frame was becoming more consistent and he had learned the choreography when
a loud thud came from the small studio where Phoebe and Vitaly were practicing. Looking
at each other, Zane and I hurried down the hall. We slid to a stop at the open studio
door.
Vitaly and Phoebe lay side by side on their backs, breathing hard. Larry stepped in
close with the camera to film their expressions while Nigel clapped. “Excellent!”
“What happened?” I asked Vitaly.
He got to his feet, brushed off his slacks, and gave Phoebe a hand up. “We is trying
lift, but Phoebe is not trust Vitaly, so she fall,
splat
.” He looked wounded by Phoebe’s lack of trust.
“You dumped me on my nose,” Phoebe said heatedly, “so I returned the favor.”
When Zane and I looked puzzled, Nigel explained delightedly, “She swept his legs out
from under him. Brilliant! Larry got it all. That’s a wrap, Lare.” He and the cameraman
walked out, discussing potential setups at Take the Lead later that day.
At my horrified expression, Vitaly leaned in close to whisper, “We is stage it all.
Nigel wanted us to have fight, so we choreograph, just like dance. Is not much real
about this reality TV, I am thinkings.” The thought didn’t seem to trouble him. His
eyes sparkled and his long face was lit up the way it was on the dance floor, with
the kind of vibrancy that made him stand out, even though off the floor he usually
faded into a crowd.
Phoebe scrambled to her feet and winked at me. “Vitaly’s a good sport and he is
strong
.” She turned to him. “How’d you like to come to Hollywood for a small part in my
next film? It’s called
Flashback
and we can rewrite one of the scenes so me and my costar, Chuck Norris, are taking
ballroom dance lessons from you when the villains burst in, trying to kill us, and
we have an amazing fight scene—sort of
Crouching Tiger
meets
The Matrix
.”
“I will stick with the dancing,” Vitaly said firmly. “I cannot leaving Lulu for a
Hollywood career. She will miss me too muches.”
“Lulu? I thought you were gay.”
“Lulu’s his boxer pup,” I explained, laughing.
“See?” Vitaly brought up a photo of the dog on his smartphone and Phoebe and Zane
made the appropriate noises.
“I’ve got a German shepherd—Max,” Zane said. “He’s staying with my sister while I’m
out here. I wish I could’ve brought him.”
“I’m a cat person,” Phoebe announced.
Zane and Vitaly squinted at her with distrust, then Zane looked enquiringly at me.
“No pets,” I said, evoking the kind of “what’s wrong with you?”
group classes every day and usually have at least six or seven private lessons with
my competitive students. Vitaly and I practice maybe ten to twelve hours a week and
spend another couple hours with coaches. We’d do more, except it costs us two-fifty
for a forty-five-minute “hour” of coaching. Then, I weight train, do jazz and ballet
classes, and try to work in a yoga class or two for flexibility.” I ticked the items
off on my fingers. “Running the studio—scheduling classes, payroll, enticing new students,
cleaning, getting the floors refinished, and more—is separate from the dancing and
training. On top of that, we compete in twenty or twenty-five competitions a year,
which means we’re on the road, dancing, almost every other weekend.”
“I had no idea a ballroom dancer worked so hard,” Zane said.
I smiled. “It’s not all false eyelashes and sparkly dresses. I’m an athlete and a
small businesswoman in one; it’s hard work.”
“You make me feel like a slacker,” Zane said, pulling me closer than the dance required
and smiling into my eyes. “Although when I hold you like this, I feel—”
A tingle danced through me, but I put the proper distance between us. “Concentrate,”
I demanded, in a mock-stern voice. We went through the dance another three times and
Zane’s frame was becoming more consistent and he had learned the choreography when
a loud thud came from the small studio where Phoebe and Vitaly were practicing. Looking
at each other, Zane and I hurried down the hall. We slid to a stop at the open studio
door.
Vitaly and Phoebe lay side by side on their backs, breathing hard. Larry stepped in
close with the camera to film their expressions while Nigel clapped. “Excellent!”
“What happened?” I asked Vitaly.
He got to his feet, brushed off his slacks, and gave Phoebe a hand up. “We is trying
lift, but Phoebe is not trust Vitaly, so she fall,
splat
.” He looked wounded by Phoebe’s lack of trust.
“You dumped me on my nose,” Phoebe said heatedly, “so I returned the favor.”
When Zane and I looked puzzled, Nigel explained delightedly, “She swept his legs out
from under him. Brilliant! Larry got it all. That’s a wrap, Lare.” He and the cameraman
walked out, discussing potential setups at Take the Lead later that day.
At my horrified expression, Vitaly leaned in close to whisper, “We is stage it all.
Nigel wanted us to have fight, so we choreograph, just like dance. Is not much real
about this reality TV, I am thinkings.” The thought didn’t seem to trouble him. His
eyes sparkled and his long face was lit up the way it was on the dance floor, with
the kind of vibrancy that made him stand out, even though off the floor he usually
faded into a crowd.
Phoebe scrambled to her feet and winked at me. “Vitaly’s a good sport and he is
strong
.” She turned to him. “How’d you like to come to Hollywood for a small part in my
next film? It’s called
Flashback
and we can rewrite one of the scenes so me and my costar, Chuck Norris, are taking
ballroom dance lessons from you when the villains burst in, trying to kill us, and
we have an amazing fight scene—sort of
Crouching Tiger
meets
The Matrix
.”
“I will stick with the dancing,” Vitaly said firmly. “I cannot leaving Lulu for a
Hollywood career. She will miss me too muches.”
“Lulu? I thought you were gay.”
“Lulu’s his boxer pup,” I explained, laughing.
“See?” Vitaly brought up a photo of the dog on his smartphone and Phoebe and Zane
made the appropriate noises.
“I’ve got a German shepherd—Max,” Zane said. “He’s staying with my sister while I’m
out here. I wish I could’ve brought him.”
“I’m a cat person,” Phoebe announced.
Zane and Vitaly squinted at her with distrust, then Zane looked enquiringly at me.
“No pets,” I said, evoking the kind of “what’s wrong with you?”
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