Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (28 page)

“I don’t understand. Then why can’t we?”

He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Because, you see, we’re talking about it right now. I’ve been doing this for a long time and my gut is telling me that we need to keep on task. There is just too much at stake.”

I would argue but maybe he’s right. I owe it to Jesse and Mama to listen to his expert advice. But then a thought occurs to me and I say in a small voice, “You’re not letting me down easy, are you? Because if you are, just say so and—”

In a flash he snakes his arm around me and reels me in for a hot, breath-stealing kiss. “I want to push you up against that wall and make crazy love to you until our legs give out. Does that answer your question?”

“Um . . . yeah.”

“But we must save the passion for the dance floor until this thing is done. I think it will make our chemistry even more palpable, you know?”

“Do you think we can . . . ?”

“Keep our hands off each other?” He leans his forehead against mine. “Not really. But I owe it to you to try . . .
again.
”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

He laughs. “Ah . . . Abby, what am I going to do with you?”

“Uh, I think you just mentioned something about that wall . . .” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder.

He gives me a swift kiss on the forehead. “All in due time.” He flicks a glance at the wall and moans.
“Ayuda de Dios mío.”

I don’t ask but I think he was throwing a prayer up to God. Smart man. We’re going to need it.

You would think that freestyle would be easier than one of the actual ballroom dances but in fact it’s harder since the sky is the limit and yet we have to incorporate classic ballroom dance steps with new and inventive moves. Rio has decided that after my little break-dancing episode we would incorporate a bit of hip-hop and floor spinning into our routine.

And then there’s the music. After listening to about a million songs we finally agreed upon “Here for the Party” by country sensation Gretchen Wilson to play up to the hometown—okay, I’ll just say it,
redneck crowd.

Finally we have to choose our costumes. Jackie and Maggie are technically in charge of this but Rio has strong opinions about what we will and won’t wear. Jackie did her best pleading to us to do a character theme, but Rio resisted although he did give in somewhat by agreeing to wear cowboy attire with me in Daisy Duke shorts and a red-and-white-checkered shirt tied beneath my breasts. I suppose after my costume
last
week it will appear tame.

“Okay, Abby, let’s get back to work,” Rio says after I chug the better part of a bottle of water.

Rio might have said back to work but what he really meant was back to dancing until you want to weep. I do believe my butt has a blister on the left cheek from our hopefully crowd-pleasing, song-ending, break-dancing spin that we have done about a million times in the last hour. I have to admit, though, if I pull it off it’s going to be sweet.
If.
It’s sort of a redo of my near disaster. I slide through Rio’s legs and then go into the spin except this time it’s planned. Rio is hoping the irony won’t be lost on the judges or the audience. The problem is that most of the time I go off all cock-eyed instead of the tight and controlled nifty little move.

“Had enough?” Rio asks with a tired grin.

“No, just one more time,
please.
” I put my palms together as if praying.

“You’re pulling my . . . uh?”

“Leg?” I supply the correct limb with a grin.

“Yes,
leg.
I’m never quite sure although I’m getting better.”

“Yes,” I confess.

“Thought so. Hey, you’re being a trooper, you know. If you don’t win it’s not for lack of trying.”

“Thank you. What I lack in talent I make up for in moxie.”

“You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for.” He looks at me tenderly as if he wants to kiss me and I stand there letting him know that I want him to but after a long, heated moment he says, “Well, I suppose we should call it a night.”

“Okay,” I agree with a nod but Rio remains standing there as if waiting for me to argue or plead with him about the no-sex rule being reinstated. I’ve decided that I’m prepared to do a little bit of both because this is doggone stupid. My pleading argument is going to be that being together won’t hurt our dancing one bit as we’ve already proven. He will argue that there is more at stake now that we’ve come this far and I’m racking my brain for a rebuttal when Angelina comes bursting into the room like a little tornado . . . or maybe the Tasmanian Devil. Yeah, that’s it. The Tasmanian Devil.

Angelina slides a glance over to me and gives me a curt nod before returning all of her attention to Rio. “Because there are only six couples left in the competition,” she says in her heavy accent, “Mitchell Banks wants us to perform a dance to fill in the gap. I told him that our specialty is the tango.”

“It
was
our specialty.
Was.
You danced your last dance with me a long time ago.”

“But Mitchell said—”

“There’s nothing in my contract that mentions dancing with you, Angelina. Find someone else.”

She narrows her eyes but Rio doesn’t see it since he’s already turned his back on her. She turns the glare on me and I try not to flinch. She has some serious eye venom going on there. Not knowing what to say I simply shrug and this seems to annoy her.

“Pah,” she says to me and I wonder if it’s a Spanish cussword. Jesse has a dictionary that has cusswords in eight different languages and used to say them and Mama thought some of them were cute. Little did she know. I’ll have to ask him what
pah
means.

“Right back at ya,” I say and wrinkle my nose even though I know it’s childish. Hey, I’m tired and cranky and can’t have sex with Rio, so I can’t help myself. But she just frowns like she doesn’t know I tossed her maybe cussword back at her. With a little flip of her hand over her head she exits as quickly as she blew in here, letting the door close with a thud that seems to echo in the room.

I’m waiting for Rio to comment, hopefully with something like “that little bitch” even though I haven’t heard him curse since he dropped the F-bomb the very first day unless he’s been doing it in Spanish but he seems a little preoccupied with gathering up his things and my heart sinks a bit. “Does she still have the power to get to you, Rio?”

He turns around with raised eyebrows. “Is that what you think?”

I shrug. “I don’t want to appear petty or jealous. But I’m just a small-town girl and I want to know where I stand.”

He comes over and gently tucks a damp lock of hair behind my ear. “Abby, the simple truth is that I don’t want to dance with her. Angelina trampled on my young love and tossed me aside when I was no longer of value to her. But believe me, what I once thought was love I now realize was just infatuation. She only wants me back now because . . .”

“Because what? Because your knee is better?”

Rio hesitates a fraction but then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is winning this competition. Now go get some dinner and a good night’s rest, okay? Forget about Angelina. She doesn’t deserve your time or energy.”

I want to ask more but he has a closed, weary expression on his face, so I don’t have the heart. “Okay.” It’s so hard, though, not to slide my arms around him and kiss the lines of worry away. He puts on this tough guy act but there’s a vulnerable edge to him that shows in his eyes and squeezes my heart.

But as I walk back to my room I can’t help feeling as if Rio is holding something back from me although, for the life of me, I can’t put my finger on how or why.

Instead of going down for dinner I decide to have a tray sent up. I’m simply too tired to smile and make conversation. I kick off my shoes and wiggle my weary toes and then flop down onto the bed to call for some dinner. I hope it’s real honest-to-goodness food and not some fancy stuff drowning in sauce. That done, I ponder calling Mama for no other reason than just to hear her voice but in my tired emotional state I might end up in tears, so I don’t make the call. I ease back against the pillows and point the remote at the television for a little connection to the outside world.

After a few minutes of Katie Couric letting me know that the world hasn’t changed much my food arrives. When I remove the domed silver cover I’m relieved to see that it’s lasagna, garlic bread, and a nice regular tossed salad with mostly normal stuff except for the black olives that I pick out and put to the side. The aroma makes my mouth water and it tastes heavenly. Now if I can only stay awake long enough to eat it . . .

 

Rio is just as relentless the rest of the week and every night I fall into bed with my body feeling as limp as a wet noodle. When I attempt to fall asleep sometimes I feel as if I’m still spinning, sort of like when you spend a day boating and then feel like you’re still floating in the water when you close your eyes. Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder if my equilibrium is permanently damaged when it really wasn’t all that good to begin with.

So, now here I am standing in the wings at the dance hall in my Daisy Duke jeans and the bouncy pigtails that Rio fought against but Jackie insisted upon. He also battled against wearing a black cowboy hat but Jackie and Maggie tag-teamed him on this issue. I tend to get ignored in these situations but I finally butted in and suggested that Rio wear the hat for our beginning pose but then toss it into the audience as soon as the music begins. He agreed with a bit of a scowl and something muttered in Spanish.

Rio makes a really hot cowboy but, then again, he would make a really hot mailman. Not that there has been anything steamy going on between us other than dancing . . . Rio has stuck to the no-sex plan like Krazy Glue.

“Are you okay, Abby? You look tense.”

“We should have had . . . you know . . .
sex
,” I whisper. “That’s why I was so loose and relaxed last week.” I roll my shoulders and gripe, “Your plan is stupid.”

He looks at me like I’m one wrench short of a toolbox. “This is not the time to get upset, Abby. You’re going to lose focus.”

“A little hanky-panky wouldn’t have hurt,” I say but no one wants to listen to Abby.

“Abby . . .”

Rio looks at me like the pressure has finally made me crack and maybe it has because I persist with, “A little roll in the hay wouldn’t have done a bit of harm and I wouldn’t have been lying awake at night wishing I was making love to you.” I throw my arms up and say, “Now look at me. I’m as stiff as a board and I have to do that doggone spin and—”

Rio shocks me but effectively shuts me up by pulling me into his cowboy arms and kissing me senseless. Mercy, it’s like giving water to a wilted plant. I lean into the kiss, not caring that my carefully applied lipstick is getting smeared, and forget about the fact that in just about thirty seconds Betty Cook will be finished dancing her wild and wacky freestyle dance to “The Time Warp” from the
Rocky Horror Picture Show
.

When Rio pulls back, leaving me a bit dazed he says, “That help?”

I nod but then hear a little squeal. Jackie and Maggie come running forward with their little touch-up kits. “What were you thinking?” Jackie hisses and frantically starts reapplying my lipstick. “Are you
crazy
?”

Maggie swipes at Rio’s mouth with a tissue. “Put your hat on.” He obeys but she adjusts the angle.

“I can’t see.”

“But it looks cool that way. Like Tim McGraw.”

“Shh!” Jackie hisses even though we’re whispering.

While we’re getting touched up Betty Cook and her partner are getting their scores. The judges were not impressed with their “Time Warp.” Carson is especially cruel. “I found it inventive but a bit creepy,” he says. “I give you a five.” The crowd boos but Myra and Peter aren’t much more generous with sixes.

“Next up are Rio Martin and Abby Harper dancing to Gretchen Wilson’s ‘Here for the Party.’ ”

Rio and I hurry to our spots and strike a pose while waiting for the music to begin. When Rio tosses his hat the crowd cheers. Because of the distracting, bone-melting kiss I’m relaxed and have a smile on my face. Although it’s freestyle Rio incorporated a lot of cha-cha moves into the dance that fit the sexy, sassy song. The audience knows the words and chants along, giving us an extra kick. Knowing we have them in the palm of our hands, I put some extra Cuban motion into my Daisy Dukes and I’m rewarded with cheers and catcalls.

But the spin is coming up and my heart starts to race.
You can do this
, I tell my scared little self, and the look in Rio’s eyes tells me the same thing. After a crossover break and a walk-around turn Rio releases me and tugs hard, propelling me through his open stance. I give myself an extra heave and zing through his legs and begin a brain-scrambling spin while Gretchen belts out “here for the . . .” and hangs on to the word “par-teeee . . .” When she sings the final word, “Yeah!” Rio grabs my hand, stopping my mad spin, and hauls me to my feet in one fluid motion.

The audience is on their feet . . . Some of them, my mama included, are jumping up and down . . . or maybe it’s the dizziness but they’re screaming, whistling, shouting, clapping, basically going nuts.

“Amazing! Simply amazing!” Ben’s toothy smile seems to take up his entire face as he points the microphone at Rio, who probably knows that I’m dizzy as hell.

“Thank you. Abby worked nonstop on that spin. It was a risk since it’s so difficult to control but we knew that with the competition winding down we had to pull out all the stops.”

“The audience certainly was entertained. Let’s see what our esteemed judges have to say. Carson?”

“Well, I have to say that I was leery when the song began but boy oh boy you certainly changed my mind in a hurry. You had some cha-cha with a touch of old-school disco and modern hip-hop. Excellent choreography, Rio. My hat goes off to you if you don’t mind the pun. And, Abby . . . oh, Abby. Let me tell you that you can dance!” He whips up a nine.