Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (12 page)

“Oh!” I try to pull my foot from his firm grasp and he laughs.

“Just kidding, Abby.”

“You’re becoming quite the jokester. Ha, ha,
ha
.”

“I guess you bring it out in me.”

“In other words I’m an easy target.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Mmmm . . .” Whatever comeback I was going to shoot at him is lost when he starts the magic massage once again. “You must know what’s it called . . . ? Oh yeah,
reflexology.
”

“Some,” he admits and sounds surprised that I asked. “The feet and hands are much more sensitive than most people realize. There are detailed charts about places on the foot that mirror organs in the body and are supposed to deal with all sorts of ailments. There are claims of everything from losing weight to removing toxins from the body.”

“Do you believe in all of that?”

“I simply think that it relieves stress and feels good,” he admits and continues to massage my foot.

“Y’all got that right.”

He chuckles.

“What?”

“You talk funny. Long and lazy with extra syllables.”

I sit up from the wall. “And you don’t?” He does something to the arch of my foot that makes me shiver and I slide weakly back against the wall.

“I speak a foreign language. That’s different. Don’t be offended. I think it’s cute.”

“No offense taken,” I tell him but for some reason I suddenly think of him dancing with the dark-haired beauty and cute isn’t how I want Rio to view me. I don’t want to be cute and sweet. I want to be hot and sexy. Then I remind myself that I shouldn’t be thinking in those terms anyway. Closing my eyes I let my mind and body relax and simply enjoy his hands on my feet . . . Oh, it feels so good . . . I could do this for a living. “Mmmm . . .” I inhale a deep breath and try to control the silly smile on my face while the tension drains from my body like water through a sieve.

“Abby?”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Course not!” I tell him but do believe that I dozed off for a moment there. “I was . . . practicing my dance moves in my head.”

“Ah, so that explains the snoring.”

Of course I gasp. “Oh no,
really
?” I sit up straight and check the side of my mouth for drool. It’s dry, thank the Lord. I hope it was a girly snore and not like a freight train. “Was I loud?”

“I was merely teasing,” he answers with a chuckle. “You’re easy.”

“You!” I give him a playful shove in the shoulder but because he’s holding my foot on one leg he loses his balance and topples sideways. “Whoa!” I squeak. Since he’s still holding on to my foot I’m pulled from the bench with him, giving him an unintentional elbow to the gut and a knee to the groin in a pro-wrestling-worthy move.

With a hiss and a grunt he says,
“La mierda santa que usted me agarró en la ingle.”

Oh, that can’t be good. “Ohmigod, Rio, you okay?”

“I’m not sure what you just said but I’m taking that strained sound in your voice as a no. Did . . . did I catch your family jewels?”

“That means yes . . . right?”

“Yes, Abby.
Yes
. . .” With his eyes closed he does a pitiful little moan that has me biting my bottom lip between my teeth. “Please, mother of God, get off me.”

“Oh . . . right.” After rolling off him I prop myself up on one elbow and ask in a very timid voice, “Is there something I can do?”

“No. Please, dear God, no.”

“An ice pack maybe?”

He groans. “Abby,
apenas me da un minuto y permitió que mí agarrar el aliento que jode.
”

“You have to speak English,” I patiently remind him.

“I said give me a minute to catch my fucking breath.”

“Oh.”

Wincing, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry.”

“That’s my line.”

“About the”—he pauses to gasp—“language. It just . . . slipped out.”

“Think nothing of it. And if it’s any consolation my elbow smarts. Your gut is rock solid.”

He manages a half grin. “That helps a little. So, how is your knee? Must hurt too.”

I think about this for a second and then start laughing so hard that my elbow slips on the hardwood floor and I land on my back. When the laughter ends there is an awkward moment of silence and I have this compelling need to reach over and hold his hand. Of course I don’t but I feel a sudden emotional tug that I don’t quite understand. There is just something about Rio Martin that makes me want to fall into his arms. I know that he’s my dance instructor. I know that he’s out of my league. And I just bet that he more than likely has a hot Latina girlfriend waiting for him somewhere. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting him.

“You should head on back or you’ll miss your dinner,” Rio says.

I’m relieved that his strained voice is sounding more like his raspy sexy self. “I can wait for you.”

“There’s no need,” he tells me in a casual and dismissive tone that’s disappointing.

“Oh, okay.” I mentally chastise myself for thinking of him in any other way other than my instructor. I’m only setting myself up for heartache. When am I gonna learn?

“See you bright and early, Abby.”

I scoot up to my feet and smile down at him, hoping that I don’t look too wistful. God, he’s gorgeous.

“What?” He props himself up to his elbows with a slight wince.

“What do you mean?” I try to look innocent but it’s hard when I’m feeling anything but.

“You were giving me a funny look.”

“Goes hand in hand with my funny talkin’.”

With a low chuckle he shakes his head. “Scoot, Abby. You need your dinner.”

With one last look over my shoulder to make sure he’s okay I leave him and hurry to the dining hall. It looks like I’m the last one to enter the room but I notice a vacant chair next to Danny. When he spots me, he smiles and waves me over. Wow, what I would have given for him to do that back in the high school cafeteria. But then I tell myself that those days are over and that I need to live for today. With that thought in mind I head to his table and sit down to a very nice tossed salad.

“Hey there,” Danny says with a weary smile. “Tough day, huh?”

“Tough doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Daisy Potter chimes in with an exaggerated groan. Then again maybe it’s
not
exaggerated. She looks too pooped to pop. “Who knew that dancin’ was so hard?”

“I hear ya,” I agree with a sympathetic nod. I’m met with tired greetings from everyone else as well. Travis Tucker looks plumb, well, tuckered out and even Julia doesn’t look so cheerleader perky.

Looking around I notice that several cameras are placed around the room but no one seems to care. Muted background music and the tinkling of silverware against glass as the servers bring out some sort of chicken dish are just about the only sounds in the big room. For long-winded southerners this quiet conversation, yawns, and scattered groans are unusual but understandable. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one dead on my feet, but then again it tells me that we are all taking this competition seriously. But with fifty thousand dollars on the line, who wouldn’t? I only hope that this remains friendly and that no one gets hurt during what I’m sure is going to become the adventure of a lifetime.

One thing is for sure: my rut is officially over.

Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

The next week can only be described as a whirlwind and of course before this
nothing
I’ve ever been involved in could ever be described as such. When we aren’t rehearsing, which fills up the bulk of the day, we’re getting fitted for costumes, or being interviewed for the clips that will be shown as teasers for the upcoming show or for fillers in between the dancing just like they do on
American Idol.
It’s all so . . . surreal. I still can’t get over the fact that there are cameras
everywhere
filming
all
of the time. It seems like a waste to me but I suppose it’s how reality shows are done. Jesse called to tell me that the families and friends of the contestants are also being interviewed and that a film crew has been hard at work all over Misty Creek. They were in the diner yesterday doing little snippets about me! I can only hope that people are kind and don’t divulge my rather clumsy nature.

With a long sigh I prop my sore feet up on a couple of pillows and lean my back against the headboard wishing I had the nerve to call Rio and beg for one of his magic foot massages. But I don’t since nerve is something I’m sorely lacking, so instead I point the remote at the temperamental television and surf through the channels. Like everything else in this here lodge the TVs need some serious updating. At least they have satellite so I have about a million channels to choose from but nothing seems to catch my attention until I reach channel 69 which is Comedy Corner, and . . .

“Ohmigod. Th—there I am! There I
am
!” I point the remote at the TV and giggle when the caption THE WAITRESS waves across the bottom of the screen. For the few seconds that I’m dancing I look hometown and dorky while bumbling around with the suave and sexy Rio . . . Hey, when did they film that anyway? Those cameramen are a sneaky lot. I can cha-cha better than that, can’t I?
Then
I trip and Rio has to catch me. Oh no, I guess not. “They should have cut that part,” I mutter with a little sniff.

“Oh no!” I have to laugh when huge Mac Murphy “the Trucker” does this twinkle-toe thing that I think is supposed to be the quick step. He’s surprisingly light on his feet but the contrast between his twinkle-toe dancing and his size is too funny. Betty Cook “the Lunch Lady” has a bug-eyed Olive Oyl expression as she does the tango with her very tall, serious-looking instructor. The commercial blends into a scene with Mary Lou Laker “the Maid.” Mary Lou is led into a spin with a move that for a shining moment looks pretty impressive but unfortunately she keeps spinning right out the door while squealing. Her horrified partner stands there with his hands to his cheeks. When we hear a crashing noise he then hurries out the door after her.

“Oh, so
that’s
why she had that bandage on her forehead,” I mumble as I watch. The clips end with a “more to come” promise from the deep-voiced announcer followed by the Web site address and the upcoming date for the reality TV spoof
Dancing with the Rednecks.
The commercial concludes with one more shot of Mary Lou spinning out of control. I have to laugh but then feel guilty and put my hand over my mouth to hide my grin. “Oh my Lord,” I mumble behind my hand.

My cell phone rings, bringing me out of my oh-my-God-this-is-really-gonna-be-on-TV shocked state. I smile when I see that it’s Jesse.

“Abby! I just saw you on Comedy Corner.”

“I know,
I know
! I caught it too.”

“That was so damned sweet!”

I’m so excited that I don’t even tell him to watch his language. “Did Mama see it?”

“You know it’s past her bedtime but I rewound it and taped it for her.”

“Good.” The cable television remote is still a mystery to me but Jesse had TiVo mastered the very first day we got it. I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes. “Oh, but, Jesse, we all looked so . . .”

“Redneck?” He has the nerve to chuckle.

“Yes! And heaven help me but I admit that I laughed. Jesse, when Mary Lou twirled out the door . . .
Lord have mercy
. . . but until now it didn’t hit home that this is really gonna be on TV, ya know?”

“It’ll be fun, Abby. It’s just entertainment.”

“At our expense.”

“Aw, get over it, Abby.”

“I know,” I grumble. “How’s Mama? The diner? I’ve talked to her briefly a few times but we’ve mostly played phone tag.”

“She’s fine.”

I swallow the sudden emotion clogging my throat. “I miss her.”

“Hey, how about me?”

“Never, squirt,” I say but my darned voice cracks like a CB radio.

“Even grumpy old Pete was asking about ya.”

“No . . .”

“Way!”

I giggle while swiping at a tear but then say, “Hey, you’re doin’ your homework and everything, right? Not fallin’ behind?”

He sighs loudly. “Don’t worry. It’s handled. You just concentrate on dancin’. Look, we’ll see you in a couple days when you come in for the show. Mama and I have front row seats.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Mitchell Banks. You know he’s kinda sweet on Mama? Can you believe it?
Mama?”

I smile at the thought. She deserves some attention and pampering.

“They even went out to dinner. Mama got all gussied up in a dress I’ve never seen before and made her hair bigger than I thought possible.”

“Well, good for her. I guess she’s broken out of her rut too.”

Jesse chuckles and I’m glad that he seems okay with Mama dating. “It would appear so. I’m keepin’ an eye on him, though,” Jesse assures me in a manly way that reminds me that my baby brother is growing up.

“That’s good to hear. I love you, squirt. And I have to admit that I miss you terribly.”

“I love you too, sis. Sleep tight.”

“You too and go to bed right this minute. It’s late.”

He chuckles. “Okay. Oh, and, Abby, I’m really proud of you.”

Jesse says this in his usual laid-back way but his comment makes my heart swell. “Really?” I ask and then feel foolish like I’m fishing for compliments.

“Of course,” he says like he can’t believe I’m asking. “I always am. Mama is too. You know that, right?”

“Sure I know,” I scoff but I really don’t. “Course you haven’t seen me dance yet. You might change your tune after that.”

“I know you’ll do us proud.”

“All I can promise is my best.”

“I know you always do.”