Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Toronto
Saturday
T his was going to be terrible. Sunday’s performance might be tomorrow, but today’s dress rehearsal, after yesterday’s camera blocking day, was not fueling hope of a good performance. At all.
Coco had watched their performance and offered some tips in what was apparently known as a “show-and-tell”, when the couples would dance in front of the others to both gain an idea about what their rivals were doing, and gain the sense of a live audience. Luc kept forgetting his steps and missing his cues, even though he’d been improving. Until now they’d only danced in front of Ella and the crew, and one time when Poppy had “dropped” in, so it must be his nerves. She prayed he’d remember the routine tomorrow night.
The past few days had been insanely busy. Thursday’s flight back to TO had been followed by costume fittings, then another meal with their fellow castmates. Friday had seen a fresh wax and spray tan, then camera blocking, then she’d gone back to rehearsals for the opening number with the other pros while Luc did more interviews, and caught up with his friend Dan Walton, who played pro hockey for Toronto. Luc had invited her, but she’d refused, citing too many commitments for any conversation with a new acquaintance to make sense. She was so immersed in the dance that Harry’s vocals had started wafting through her dreams, where she imagined the big white dress she was wearing to be one she might wear on her wedding day. Crazy dreams. They needed to move onto the jive ASAP so the crazy dreams would stop.
But today’s dress rehearsal was not going well, and as the camera guys chatted among themselves, and the producer spoke to someone else before gesturing for them to begin again, she couldn’t help but worry about what this would mean for tomorrow.
Sunday
The day had started early with makeup, hair, then trying on their costumes. This was followed by another rehearsal before a light meal, more photos, interviews, then a meeting with the cast members for a final run-through. Now they were waiting backstage as the clock ticked down before tonight’s performance. She was wearing a special spangled number, all silver and short, like what she’d worn in their promotion piece. Luc was looking debonair in his suit, even if he looked like he might be sick at any moment.
She nudged him with her hip. He glanced down, his eyes widening, then he swallowed. “Hey Bails.”
Her lips lifted. “Careful. You talk like that and people will think you’re from a farm.”
He frowned, as if thinking about what he’d said, then laughed.
Good. He needed to relax. She leaned closer. “That smile you’re wearing now? That’s what you need to wear the rest of the day. I don’t want you looking like you’re about to throw up or like you’re bored or want to be anywhere else. You need to look excited and bring the energy, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s Sergeant Ma’am to you.”
He snickered.
“What’s got this guy laughing?” Miguel asked. He looked at Luc. “I swear, a minute ago you looked like you wanted to puke, and now you’re all happy again.”
Luc wrapped an arm around Bailey’s shoulders. “She’s good stress relief.”
“Mm-hmm.” Miguel raised an eyebrow.
“Whoa.” Luc released his hold. “Not in any inappropriate way, of course.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Miguel said, before giving Bailey a wink.
Bailey stepped away. No. She didn’t need anyone here getting the wrong idea. Dancers did tend to be more touchy-feely than others, but she was pretty sure Luc’s need to be near her was simply for his own peace of mind. She was like a child’s comfort toy. Nothing else. And she definitely didn’t appreciate Miguel’s attempt to seed Luc’s insecurities right before they were due to go on.
“Okay, places, people. Let’s get this show ready.”
By now they could hear the audience filing in, and she moved to her spot for the dance pros’ opening routine. They’d do this number then it was back to change for her floaty white gown, then she’d need to calm her own nerves before their number started. They were due to perform third, after Miguel’s author, with Coco’s actor going after the other dancers at the very end.
The beats from Jason Mraz’s song filled the studio, and she peeked at the camera standing nearby, ready to record her first action. Thirty seconds in and it was her turn to shake her leg, nod her head, walk two steps then pirouette, then move into a soul train move, smiling at the camera as she held her left hand out and swung her right up and down in a whip motion, then joined the other dancers in a long line as they pivoted and each person shook their tush.
How fun was this? The joy of dance took hold, and as they’d practiced to precision sharpness—no way did the producers want the pro dancers looking sloppy—she knew she could count on everyone hitting their beats. Her role, as this season’s newbie pro, was to show everyone she was fun and talented and totally deserved to be here.
She went through the choreography, smiling with her hips, knowing her tiny skirt would shimmer and sparkle, that she had to look perky and sassy and fun. So she tossed her hair and threw a flirtatious wink over her shoulder. Then it was time to partner up, to demonstrate some of the moves viewers would see during the series. She did a quick waltz move with Miguel, arching into a tango stretch before Miguel and the other male dancers glided off the stage, and the female dance pros could do some freestyle moves. She, of course, did her ballet steps, including the rond de jambe leading into développé, the Bournonville variation of the grand jeté, a move that always looked impressive and would film well. Oh, she loved to dance.
The men returned, and they continued with their choreography, using light wooden chairs for a series of jazz-like moves, before the routine concluded with a sharp pose.
Hold for three beats, then relax, keeping on smiling. Then, “Cut!”
They were released, and grabbing her chair, she scampered away backstage, glimpsing Luc’s dropped jaw before he gave her two thumbs-up, and mouthed “You were hot!”
But there was no time for that. She had to change into her white dress and get her hair quickly restyled before reentering very soon, arm in arm with Luc. She hurried to the dressing room as the hosts, Jenna and Peter, were being welcomed onstage with cheers and applause, then the camera focus would shift to introducing the judges. Even though the dance part was “live” in that they didn’t get to do a redo, it was being filmed out of “real” time. While this section beforehand wasn’t filmed live, she still only had a few minutes to get changed and have her hair blown out into the big soft curls her costume needed.
Five minutes later she found Luc in the wings, and grabbed his hand.
He glanced down at her, the stiffness in his face easing away. “You’re back.”
“How are you feeling?”
He shook his head. “I’m trying not to throw up.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“You were more than fine. You were smokin’ out there.”
She grinned up at him. “I just love to dance, and it was so freeing to do that performance.”
“One down, and one to go, huh?”
She patted his cheek. “You’ve got this. Just remember, it’s a show, and you’re an actor playing a role to tell the story. Fake it ’til you make it, they say.”
“I’ve never been great at pretending,” he mumbled.
“Well, dig deep and try to find something about this to enjoy, okay?”
“Quiet!” an assistant hissed. “Now, you’re going on, so let’s see big smiles, people. Big smiles.”
Luc pasted on a smile, and she grabbed his hand and squeezed. It was almost their turn to be introduced.
The first couple entered past the curtains, and she drew in a breath, caught Luc’s eyes on her, and she glanced up and gave a reassuring smile. Miguel and Kate, his author partner, entered, to more applause. Then it was their turn.
“You got this,” she murmured, and his grip tightened as they went out, the bright lights hot and glaring.
“And now, please welcome a man known more for giving hits on the ice than for his moves on the dance floor, give it up for Winnipeg’s own Luc Blanchard and his partner Bailey Donovan.”
This was it. She pasted on a brighter smile and waved as they went down the steps and found their mark, Luc’s height meaning they’d been placed on the floor to not overshadow the other, shorter couples. She smiled, he waved, his grip clammy. Oh, she hoped he wouldn’t throw up.
The other couples were introduced, and they applauded, then Jenna asked the judges what they were looking for.
Marco pointed to the dance couples. “You know what I want to see? Amazing dancing.”
John nodded. “Give me some technique, please.”
Cynthia smiled. “Remember, we know you’re not pros, and while you might feel nervous, the most important thing you can do is just enjoy it.”
Dear Lord, help us to enjoy this.
* * *
Luc had never been so nervous in his life. Even going for a shoot-out goal in the playoffs had never made him feel so tense. And he couldn’t let Bailey down. She’d worked so hard with him, but he knew he wasn’t anywhere near the caliber of some of the other celebrities he’d seen. Seriously, who thought it a level playing field to include singers who were used to dancing on stage or in music videos? He’d seen their performances during rehearsals. How were they considered amateurs? He could only hope a few poor souls would pity-vote him through. Bailey had tried her best, and knowing her routine was classy and elegant, he hoped his performance might be okay, provided he nailed the lift.
The lift. How had she thought him up to doing that? He was still getting used to the stupid shoes, and now he was dressed like James Bond in this suit, while she looked so pretty in her white dress it almost made his eyes hurt.
Bailey wanted them to tell the story, and apparently the story they were supposed to tell was of two lovers, and her white dress was supposed to represent a wedding dress. He sure hoped people didn’t get ideas, although he knew he couldn’t really be responsible for what people might think. Her dress was beautiful, but she was even more so, especially when she did that graceful split thing in the air when he lifted her. He clenched and released his fingers, as nausea swirled inside. Everything would probably go okay as long as he nailed the lift.
They returned out the back, and he was sorely tempted to do the lift one more time. “Hey Bailey, do you think we should practice the lift again?”
“Are you still worried?” she asked.
“I’m not confident.”
She winced, then glanced around. “Look, there’s a space there. We probably have time.”
They moved into position, she counted in then softly sang the words of the section he was nervous about. “It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you, two three four, one two three four.”
Here, where the trumpets would come in, was where he’d swing her around, then she’d pause, and he’d crouch, and she put a knee on his hip then go over his back while he clutched the backs of her thighs. It had looked insane the first time she’d shown him, but when it worked, it looked so cool, and made him hungry to perfect it.
“You missed it,” she said.
“Sorry. Try again?”
She nodded. “Okay, let’s go from wonderful you, it had to be you, two three four, one two three four.”
He grasped her underarms and swung her around, her skirts billowing like a parachute. But he had to count, and concentrate, to make sure he hit the moment when the trumpets changed. There!
He bent, she placed her knee in position and moved behind his neck, and then one, two, three, and she was over. Awesome!
“What are you two doing over here?” an assistant hissed.
“Just practicing,” Luc said.
“There’s no time. You’re on next.”
“Feel better now?” Bailey asked.
“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “We’ve got this.”
She nodded. “Just remember, it’s supposed to be fun. So have fun, okay?”
He nodded, rolled his shoulders, popped his neck.
“What are you doing?”
“This is how I prepare for game day just before I go on the ice.”
“Okay then. Let’s go crush the opposition.”
“I thought we were going to smoke them? That sounds more dancy, especially considering the smoke machine they’ve got.”
“Now,” the floor manager pointed to them. “You two are on.”
Bailey squeezed his hand, then drew him onto the dance floor. “Let’s do this.”
He swallowed. He might be used to bright lights and crowds, yet the churning in his stomach was nothing like what he’d experienced before. But he couldn’t think about any of that. He could only think about Bailey. About the hours and hours she’d committed to helping him look good. This moment was for her. Lord, help me. He realized he probably should’ve prayed with her beforehand, but maybe they could do that next time. If there was a next time.
The studio hushed, the music started, the piano tinkling, then she tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around.
This first part was easy, just a walk across the dance floor, or glide as she had said, with that slow, slow, quick, quick step movement she had drummed into him. Then he held her hand, and she did a spin, and he caught the way she big-smiled at him, which reminded him to smile back. This was supposed to be fun, remember?
His trepidation eased a bit as they did another sequence of slow, slow, quick, quick steps, then a third line before another spin, which was when the music changed into the trumpet section. He clutched her underarms and began the spin. He was feeling dizzy, but he had to concentrate. He had to get this lift right. He lowered, she put her knee into his hip and moved over onto his back, just like they’d practiced minutes ago.
He grasped her legs, but his hands were slippery or something, and instead of hoisting her onto his shoulders, she slipped, sliding down his back while he frantically tried to grab her legs to stop her hitting the deck. Somehow, somehow, she slid from his back in a tangle of white skirts, before she turned and faced him, gritting out a “Luc!” which got his attention, and his feet automatically moved into the sequence they’d rehearsed for hours.
But the feeling of failure sang through the rest of the song, and his smile felt as phony as a pink unicorn. He completed the final move, a spin that sent her to the corner of the floor as she beamed at the camera while he hurried to draw her up again. He held her in an arched back pose while he drew his arm behind him, before the final plinks of the piano saw them swiftly reverse sides and he dipped her at the end.
He was breathing hard, and she smiled up at him, one arm outstretched, the other hand around his neck.
“You did good, Luc.”
He shook his head, pulling her upright. “I messed up.”
“Hey.” She hugged him, like what seemed to be the norm here, and while he was glad the dance had finished, he was still conscious that his performance needed to go on. He had to pretend he didn’t mind screwing up, that he hadn’t wrecked things for Bailey. He’d never forgive himself if his clumsiness was the reason they exited tonight. She needed to get to the third round for her money.
“Come on.”
Jenna, the main host, drew them into position in front of the judges’ box, as the crowd continued their applause. He knew that wasn’t real, either. He’d seen the warm-up guys before, and knew their job was to make it sound like the celebrities had danced better than they had.
“Wow, Luc Blanchard. What a dance. How do you feel?” Jenna poked the microphone in front of him.
He bent down. “Relieved?” That was safe enough, right?
Jenna laughed. “Relieved it’s over or that you didn’t drop her?”
“Can I say both?”
Bailey wrapped her arm around his middle and squeezed. That’s right. He was supposed to bring perky fun to the situation. He slapped on a grin.
“Okay, well, let’s hear what the judges have to say. Over to you, Marco.”
His stomach tensed. Please Lord, let them be kind. For Bailey’s sake.
“Ah, well, Luc Blanchard. I have to say you cut quite a dashing figure in that suit.”
Okay, well, that was nice enough.
“You moved across the floor reasonably well, but you need to work on your posture. You need to tuck in that big butt—”
Yeah, good luck with that. He didn’t lead his team in squats at training camp for nothing.
“—and work on your frame and upper body. Sometimes your shoulders are going in one direction, your hips in quite another.”
He didn’t know what that meant, but hopefully Bailey did. If they stuck around for next time.
“The lift was a disaster, darling, but I liked the physicality you brought. Hopefully the viewers liked that too so we can see more next time.”
“I agree,” Cynthia said. “You’re a powerful, strongly built, good-looking man, you’ve got so much potential. I would like you to engage in the story a little more and work on your musicality. Listen to the song every day and feel it so you can work on your timing.”
Luc nodded. He had so much to work on. Maybe it would be better to get eliminated and not have to go through this.
John read from his notes then glanced up. “Hands like spades, my boy. Hands like spades. If there’s one thing I cannot tolerate it is hands that are splayed like little garden forks. And there was little connection, little rise and fall in the steps, your progression across the floor is supposed to be a glide, not a walk. You’re supposed to be light on your feet, and I have to admit that I didn’t see anything of the swing and sway that epitomizes the foxtrot. You’re a big man, but you should be projecting elegance. Bailey, if he survives this round, then I really want you to work on that, and focusing on what strengths he has. There might not be many—”
Ouch. The crowd booed.
“—but I’m sure they’re in there somewhere, okay Bailey, dear?”
Bailey nodded, and Luc felt so bad.
“We won’t talk about the lift. It’s obvious it did not go as planned. Wouldn’t you agree?”
So much for not talking about it. Luc nodded. “We worked so hard at it. We even nailed it just before.”
“You did?”
Bailey’s honey-blonde head bobbed up and down. He wrapped an arm around her. He’d disappointed her so much.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” Jenna said, “But I think we’d all like to see the lift. Who’s with me?”
“Do it, and that’s an extra point from me,” Cynthia said.
Oh no. Now he really needed to get it right.
“Come on.” Bailey pivoted, her smile soft. “You’ve got this.”
He sucked in a breath, then nodded, and amid cheers and applause they moved to the dance floor.
“Ready?” Bailey asked. He nodded. “It had to be you, two three four, one two three four.”
He grasped her in the spin hold, then completed the maneuver as he should’ve done in the actual dance, with Bailey flying up over his shoulders and then down in a flow of white feathery skirts, exactly where she should’ve landed in their actual routine. Thank goodness it had worked this time.
As the cheers rang louder, Bailey hugged him close. “See? You nailed it.”
He nodded, his face pressed close to hers, as the judges clapped their sympathy claps, and Jenna released them to the skybox where Peter, Jenna’s cohost, waited.
Peter smiled at them. “Ready to hear your scores?”
Nope. He pasted on a smile and nodded anyway. “Bring it.”
Marco held up his paddle. “Three.”
Ouch. He kept smiling.
“Four.”
That was better.
“Two.”
How humiliating. Poor Bailey.
She hugged him again, then Peter turned to them, the cameraman right behind him. “Well, Luc Blanchard, I’m guessing nine out of thirty isn’t the score line you’d like to see.”
He tugged Bailey closer. He needed her close. Needed to feel her nearness, that she wasn’t too upset with him. “Look, I’m frustrated that I didn’t nail the lift, especially because poor Bailey here has worked my butt off this week.”
“Not enough butt, it seems,” the cheeky cohost said.
He winced. “I never expected this to be so demanding. But Bailey here is amazing. I really hope viewers will vote for us so they can see how great she is.”
“Well, viewers, you know what to do. When the voting opens up, make sure you vote for Luc.”
He smiled, tilting his head to Bailey, as he waved at the camera.
“And that’s a cut.”
The cameras fell, as did his smile. And he prayed this wasn’t the cut that meant the end.