Chapter Seven
I didn’t dress differently for practice the next day because I knew that Ben was going to be watching, but I did put some extra thought into my outfit. I was in my usual black Lululemon leggings, black zip-front fleece, gloves, and ratty
black legwarmers. But underneath, for when I no longer felt the cold? A strappy, open-backed, ridiculously complicated black
leotard that looked like something a dominatrix would wear. And makeup. Just a little, so I didn’t look as exhausted as I
felt.
I think I’d slept four hours total the night before, reliving every second of our conversation at the diner. Our surface-level
truce was the only way to make the show happen. I’d have to bottle up all my unresolved bullshit for the week.
Easy.
I’d woken up to a text from Mel this morning letting me know that the four-person camera crew that was supposed to be arriving
later in the day was going to be delayed a few hours, and reduced to two people thanks to a biking doping scandal that had
just hit the news. I tried not to feel offended that my story had been one-upped by human growth hormones.
That said, I still didn’t know how the week was going to play out. For as long as I could remember, my life was basically mapped to the minute,
especially when competitions were on the horizon. Once again, Ben had muscled his way back into my life and flipped it upside
down.
Even though I wasn’t due on the ice until eight, like always I’d padded in forty-five minutes to stretch, foam roll my body,
put pads on my blisters, and tape myself back together in the locker room before I even looked at my skates. I tried to focus
on what my body was telling me in the moment, without getting obsessed about the new twinges I kept feeling as I stretched.
Ben was already at the rink when I made it out to the ice, chatting with Mel in her usual spot in the players’ box. I skated
across the ice to them, hoping that the stuff I’d picked up in my acting classes was making me look convincingly nonchalant.
They continued their conversation but eyeballed me as I got closer.
“Damn,” Ben said, staring at my feet. “Black boots and blades? You’re gonna be starting a new trend at rinks all over the country.”
I swiveled back and forth to show them off, a little surprised that he hadn’t seen them yet. I’d been wearing them in competitions
for the past year, and they were a symbol of my new “fuck tradition” attitude. How good a reporter could he be if he hadn’t
done his research?
“Aren’t they great?” Mel asked. “I was against them initially but Quinn wore me down. And when you think about it, she has
a point; if she’s wearing a dark costume why wouldn’t she cap it off with black skates? Would you wear a black gown with white
shoes?”
“I haven’t worn a gown in a while, so I’m not sure what the trends are these days,” Ben joked.
Switching up my skate color was one of the many changes I’d wanted once I had the freedom to actually have opinions.
I knew it was a risky choice given how traditional and stuffy my sport was, but I was banking on my skill to take the focus off my costume choices.
The judges couldn’t have a problem with skates that were helping me nail every jump.
“It’s an evolution,” I said with a shrug.
If the cameras had been recording our little prepractice chat I would’ve come up with some sort of sound bite-y response.
For now I could still lean into my petulant teenager vibes.
I glanced down at Ben’s feet. “You brought skates?”
“Well, yeah.” He looked between his skates and me, confused. “Why wouldn’t I? I thought it might be fun to get some footage
of us out there together.”
“As long as it doesn’t interrupt my practice, fine,” I said as I squeezed by him to drop my stuff on the bench.
“Such a great idea,” Mel said. “Love it, Ben.”
I could tell that she was already under his spell. I wasn’t the only one looking all shiny and cute for practice; Mel was
in her fancy competition jacket with lipstick on. She was happily married with two kids, but clearly we were all powerless
to resist the Martino Magic.
“I’m warming up,” I said as I stepped back on the ice.
“Sarah will be here in two minutes,” Mel called after me.
I nodded and tried to ignore the fact that everything in my body felt extra tight this morning, from my shoulders down to
the balls of my feet. My power pulls were choppy and it wasn’t because of divots in the ice. Frank would never allow them,
so I reluctantly took the blame. I actually tripped doing a simple backward jump swizzle, but Mel and Ben were too busy gossiping
to notice.
“Hey you,” Sarah shouted from the far side of the rink as she pulled off her guards and sped across the ice to me. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
I hid a laugh as she skated to me, because Sarah had gotten the “look cute” memo as well. She was in a white parka that I’d
never seen, and her blond hair was blown straight and half pulled back, the way she used to wear it when she was competing.
She was an ice dancer who’d done the circuit in the early nineties in the shadow of Tonya and Nancy, and the era still had
a hold on her.
She caught up and skated backward in front of me as I continued warming up, glancing over at Ben. “What’s he like? Is he nice?
Is there anything I need to know?”
“He’s fine, and you already know that the rest of the crew is running late. That’s it.”
Sarah looked over to where they were watching and waved. “Damn, he’s even hotter in real life.”
“I think he looks older.”
She made a face at me. “Get your eyes checked. He’s sex on skates, now and forever.”
“I’ve got bigger things to worry about,” I said as I rolled my neck. “I feel like the Tin Man. I’m tired. And a little grumpy.”
“Yikes,” she laughed. “I’ll give you a few more minutes and go say hi, then let’s get to it.”
I went through the rest of my warm-up, avoiding going back to where Ben had my coach and choreographer laughing their asses
off.
At least someone was having fun.
The first quiet notes of my short program song echoed through the rink and I felt myself relax a little, until I remembered that Ben was going to hear Sarah yelling at me to remember my sex appeal.
As much as I loved our new direction, the old training that had been pounded into me was tough to short-circuit.
Sometimes I defaulted to my “placid princess” face when what I needed was to bump up my smolder.
Sarah skated back out on the ice and paused a few feet away from me. While Mel and I worked out the critical technical aspects
of my programs, it was Sarah who brought the artistry.
“Okay, it’s time to woo me, Miss Albright,” she joked as the music started again from the beginning.
I looked over to the players’ box and found Ben leaning on his elbows, locked on to me. Mel was beside him with her phone
ready to record.
Showtime.
I rolled my shoulder and did full-body undulations in time with the opening, then began my step sequence. The song was a slow
burn of a ballad that started off quiet, allowing me to slowly bloom with my spins and jumps as it built to the first crescendo.
Then, at about minute two, the song built to a gospel-like swell that gave me the tempo to clear the length of the rink for
the more impressive, score-heavy jumps to come.
First up? A flawless triple flip toe loop combination.
“Take your time . . . and good!” Sarah yelled and clapped as I landed. “Gorgeous.”
I loved skating the piece because I was finally able to show off a side of myself that audiences had never seen. Sweet and
soft had left the building.
“Let’s see that sexy melt,” Sarah yelled. “Give me face.”
It sounded like nonsense but I knew exactly what she meant. In this program, I was stepping into my power.
“Yes, seamless . . . gorgeous, Quinn . . . and there’s that one, two, three,” Sarah said as I went into my spin combination. “Nice!”
I smiled because I knew I was nailing it. When I glanced over at Ben he was practically drooling.
More jumps, spins, and general perfection. It felt like Ben was my lucky charm, because I was skating like I was being scored
instead of doing my first run of the day on achy joints.
“Bah, bum-bum-bum,” Sarah sang along to the final few beats of the song. “Yes. Love it.”
I grinned as my audience broke into applause.
Sarah and I skated over to the box and Mel immediately went into a slice-and-dice debrief of my performance, which was mostly
positive. I’d always have issues to address—perfectionism was a disease without a cure—but I sure liked it when the praise outweighed the criticism.
I tried to ignore the fact that Ben was more focused on taking notes in an actual notebook than paying attention to the feedback.
I’d expected some sort of reaction from him, but he kept his head down, scribbling away. He finally glanced up at me.
“Well, that was fun.”
I couldn’t keep from scowling at his word choice.
“Seriously? All of that,” I gestured to where I’d just melted the rink, “was fun?”
It wasn’t like I’d skated to a Disney tune. Suddenly, I felt silly for leaning into my sex appeal, especially if it didn’t
translate.
“She’s been competing with this program for a while,” Mel explained. “Was that the first time you’ve seen it?”
I wondered if the weight of three sets of eyes would impact his answer.
He bobbed his head and grinned, clearly immune to our glares. “Yeah, it was. I wanted to come to this week without preconceived notions about your new programs, so I wouldn’t be influenced by what the media has been saying so far.”
Mel, Sarah, and I scowled in unison.
“Back in my day, reporters prepped for important interviews like this with a packet of information about their subject, so
they’d have a framework for the story they want to tell. They usually did a ton of research beforehand. Is that something
that . . .” Sarah trailed off.
“Yup, I get that,” Ben replied good-naturedly. “I’m taking a different approach, and my team at The Score is okay with it.”
It felt like he was a student getting called out for not doing enough work for a presentation. Why was I trusting him to chart my comeback?
Then again, Ben knew more about my origin story than anyone. He knew nearly all the truths I’d never shared, and despite agreeing
to come to this week with a clean slate, there was no way he could truly avoid incorporating everything I’d confided in him.
He didn’t need a packet filled with media-friendly pull quotes, because he’d gotten the real story directly from the source.
My pageant queen, borderline-narcissist mother; my absentee, workaholic father; my struggles with disordered eating triggered
by abusive coaches; my disdain for the system that valued medals over mental health. I’d spilled it all to him.
And now the regret I’d felt at a low simmer since Switzerland was about to boil over.
In the months after the Games, once I realized that Ben wasn’t going to be the lifeline I so desperately needed, my anger shifted to embarrassment. I’d exposed my soft, white underbelly
to him and he’d rejected me. I was needy, and weak, and a disappointment to the entire world. His rejection of me validated
every negative feeling.
Until therapy. With the help of my counselor I was able to reframe what had happened between us. It didn’t make me hate Ben any less for drop-kicking me when I needed him most, but it did prove that his actions weren’t a reflection of my value.
“Okay, let’s go again,” Sarah said, breaking me out of my self-doubt tailspin. “You’re on a roll.”
I nodded and glided back out to the center of the ice. Fun? Allow me to expand your vocabulary, Mr. Martino.
My second run-through was even better than my first. Rather than trying to seduce an entire arena, my focus was solely on
Ben. His pen hovered above his notebook while he stared at me.
The fleece came off right before my third run-through. The notebook sat on the boards, untouched.
More feedback from Sarah, some refining, a few laughs, and I was feeling even better than normal. We wrapped up as more skaters
started to dot the ice. I prepared for the squeals of recognition when they realized that the mighty Magic Martino was at
our humble arena.
Ben seemed to sense it as well and pulled on a baseball cap.
“I’m going to cool down now,” I said to Mel and Sarah, even though they already knew what came next.
“Hold up,” he replied quickly, frowning at me. “Can you and I go skate for a bit? Please?”