Page 6 of If Ever

I nod a bit deflated by his comment. The whole experience is a bizarre whirlwind of fabricated stories, fake camaraderie, and phony people. "We're done?"

He laughs. "Yes. Now just hang around the balcony and be sure to look entertained as the other couples dance. Don't look critical of anyone, or the cameras will catch it and you'll come off like a jerk."

Note taken. I have no right to judge the others after my performance anyway. I spend the next hour clinging to the railing that overlooks the dance floor. Hank and his partner Sonya dance an adorable cowboy number. He shuffles through most of it, but his comedic personality shines through leaving the judges in stitches. There's no way the actress Eva Alveraz could dance that well in three weeks. I'm pretty sure she's been dancing all her life, and then the poor newscaster. He has no sense of rhythm and clunks through the number like he's blindfolded with his shoes on the wrong feet.

When all the pairs have danced to varying degrees of success, Dominic and I line up for the closing. Thankfully all we have to do is stand with our partners as clips of each dance are played. After the music ends and the cameras turn off, we're ushered to a spot on the dance floor for media interviews. It's a weird procession as various news outlets from the big guns like Entertainment Tonight to obscure bloggers I've never heard of. It's like a school popularity contest as they pick and choose who to interview. Dominic and I are at the end of the line and I really want to ditch.

"Smile, and stop fidgeting," he whispers.

Of course, pop diva, Candace Capri, has a long line waiting to cover her, and Brady, the charismatic celebrity chef knows how to flex his PR muscles. Dominic and I are finally approached by a waifish, over-glammed interviewer along with an ape-shaped man hiding behind the blinding light of his camera.

"Stacey Phillips with In Touch America," she announces, shoving her microphone in my face. "Chelsea, tell America what it's like to be on Celebrity Dance Off?"

"Um." I look to Dominic for support. He's wearing his boy-next-door smile and waiting for my response. I turn back to her. "It's terrifying," I blurt.

"The judges seem to think you have potential, commenting on your clean lines and musicality."

"They did?" I say. Dominic nods. I don't remember a word any of them said.

She laughs. "Do you feel you deserve to be America's chance?"

"Probably not," I say, followed by a dead silence where she waits for me to elaborate. I don't. What can I say that would sound intelligent? There must be a thousand other girls who would do better than me. Why can't I even come up with a snappy answer?

Stacey turns her attention to my partner. "Dominic, the word on the street is that you were supposed to be paired with Mallory Becker, but she withdrew at the last minute. How does it feel to be paired with a total unknown?"

"Celebrity Dance Off always throws us new challenges, and Chelsea's terrific," he says in a honeyed voice that I don't believe for a second.

"So you believe the Dominic Yardley magic touch can turn Chelsea into a top contender?"

"It's early in the competition. I wouldn't rule us out."

The interviewer thanks us and moves on.

Dominic's arm drops from my side and he frowns. "Chelsea, they're looking for a useful sound bite. Monotone, two-word answers aren't going to help."

"Oh. Sorry."

An hour later I arrive at a local restaurant for the post show party. It's teeming with all the pros and stars and looks like I'm the last to arrive. Pulling off the false eyelashes and swiping away the lacquered on makeup took longer than expected.

Eyeing the boisterous crowd, my first instinct is to run, but Anna's voice rings in my ear. Being here in L.A. and on this show is a once in a lifetime experience, I need to go for it, so I hike my purse strap higher and head for the bar. Candace Capri is with her partner, Raul, and her posse. A tiny white dog peeks out of a giant purse on the center of the table lapping up unattended drinks.

The middle-aged newscaster is chatting with the celebrity chef and the Olympic volleyball champ. The body builder is flirting with the super model and by his expression, hoping to score tonight.

I spot Hank with Shane, a cute teenager who also happens to be a world-class diver, and his pro partner, Cassie, along with a couple girls from the troupe who I haven't actually met. I approach their table and smile. Hank is chatting with Shane and doesn't see me, but the redheaded Cassie does.

"Hi," I say with my best I'm cool laid back voice.

Cassie, still in her stage makeup and wearing a silky emerald top with a daring low-cut back, gives me the once over, making me wish I'd worn something nicer. "This is a private party," she says in a condescending tone.

My face falls. Is it even worth explaining I belong here?

"Chelsea! We survived!" Hank says spotting me from across the table.

Cassie squints at me for a sec. "Oops, didn't recognize you without any makeup." She scoops up her drink and swishes away.

Do I look that bad? I put on mascara, blush and lip gloss before I came. As I look around the room, I realize every woman from the show looks stunning, still in her stage makeup and wearing flashy clothes.

"There's a seat right here." Hank pats a bar stool next to him. I could kiss the old man.

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