Page 5 of If Ever

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An hour later with the dress rehearsal over and Dominic having marked the dance with me three times, I'm on my own. He insists we need to think of anything other than the show for a while, so he's off shooting hoops with a bunch of the other pro dancers. I wander back to my trailer to call Anna so she can talk me off the cliff, but on the way discover Hank dressed in his sequined cowboy outfit, lounging in a lawn chair outside his trailer. He holds up his glass in salute.

"You've got the right idea," I lean against his trailer, envious of his ability to remain calm.

"After that torturous experience, I feel like a damned fool. I deserve a couple stiff ones, don't you think?"

"Absolutely."

"Join me." He gestures to a stack of plastic tumblers on the steps.

I eyeball the bottle of amber-colored liquor. "Is it allowed?"

"Everyone around here's strung tighter than a virgin on her wedding night. Candace Capri is screeching in her trailer over the shade of her spray tan, and someone's smoking some wacky tobacky in the trailer behind me. As long as we show up on time, I'd guess anything goes."

I help myself to a glass. "I've never tried bourbon."

"No time like the present." He pours and sitting in the late afternoon wearing my sparkling costume, I have to agree that a bit of scorching booze down my gullet takes the edge off.

Just before show time, it's more than the dancers who are bursting with nerves. The crew, producers, and techies are running around trying to hide their panic. Clearly they haven't been to visit Hank. I'm introduced to the rest of the stars. Most say mild hellos and others appear too nervous, or in one case too altered, to pay much attention.

"Whatever you do, stay out of the way," Dominic instructs. "Otherwise you're likely to get bulldozed by a crew member or set piece."

I nod numbly both excited and terrified, watching the monitors backstage showing the packed audience. My shoes are squeezing off the circulation in my feet, my costume is creeping up my butt, and the adhesive pasties that are supposed to prevent a wardrobe malfunction are pinching my left nip. If only the effects of Hank's bourbon hadn't begun to wear off. The announcer warms up the crowd and suddenly it's all lights, camera, action as the band strikes the first note and the pro dancers take the stage for a mind-blowing opening number that leaves me feeling even more unworthy to be here.

Suddenly Dominic is at my side, leading me on stage for our four-second twirl and pose as each celeb and pro are introduced. Of course, this exposes me as an incredible fraud, as I'm the only person in the cast without an actual celebrity status. I'm "America's chance to dance."

We take our place with the other contestants, all bouncing to the music like a bunch of strung-out bobble heads. Cameras pan the line while I try not to puke on national television. Dominic is all smiles, totally at ease. I fake smile to the guy next to me, a pro partnered with an Olympic gold medalist in volleyball. He smiles brightly, and for a moment I feel part of the group. Before I know it, Dominic pulls me aside and the host, Marcus MacIntyre, introduces the first couple to dance, Molly Gibson, a reality dating show reject and her partner Pavel.

While we wait for our cue, Dominic marks through the number with me one last time. Others are stretching or having their hair and makeup retouched. Then I'm chewing on my newly painted nails and counting the minutes till this is over. Dominic slaps my hand away from my mouth.

Before I register what's happening, Mary Kay touches up my lip gloss and Dominic tugs me to the dance floor. Marcus, a tall man with a goofy expression, high forehead, and flat hair, commands the microphone with ease as he introduces me to the viewers.

"Since our debut, fans have begged for a chance to be on the show and when fans speak, we listen. For the first time on Celebrity Dance Off history, we bring you Chelsea Barnes, a college student from Iowa City, Iowa, dancing with pro Dominic Yardley. Watch the clip on how Chelsea came to the show."

I cringe because I'm no longer a college student. I left my job at an international business acquisitions firm because I couldn't stand the oppressive climate, and now I've landed myself in this insanity.

The screen flashes through pictures of me from college and then the audition tape of me dancing at Anna's engagement celebration rolls. They make it out as if I worked long and hard to get picked for the show.

"None of what he's saying is true. I never even planned to audition," I mutter as the announcer says I won the spot over tens of thousands of other people. I was drunk and did it on a dare.

Dominic's head snaps around. "You didn't?"

Footage rolls of our rehearsals and me fumbling to learn the steps, stumbling, and always appearing uncoordinated. As I stand here in a risqué college dance team costume, having never been on a dance team in my life, I feel the blood drain from my face. My heart pounds in cold stark fear. This is a colossal mistake.

"Chelsea? Look at me," Dominic squeezes my hand. "Ignore the tape. They always take the promo package on some tangent. It's you, me, and the dance now. Tune out everything else. Can you do that?"

"I'll try," I whisper.

"Remember to relax, long lines, and smile."

I take a deep breath. This is supposed to be fun. I force a smile on my face as the music plays and we begin. I focus on Dominic and pretend I'm in the dusty rehearsal room. He guides me around the floor, feeding me the steps as we go. The dance flies by. I don't think I messed up anything major but honestly can't remember a thing.

Dominic guides us to Marcus in front of the judge's table. There's the perky Nikki LaFlash, a tiny brunette; Stephen Harris, a balding, more serious fellow with distinguished good looks; and Brice Zimmer, an exuberant former dancer with a goatee that thinly trails his jawline like an eyebrow pencil.

My heart is pounding and my breath heaving. The judges speak, but I don't hear them because my mind is flooded with the relief that it's over. I did it! I danced on national TV! Dominic's arm is on my waist in a show of friendly camaraderie that surprises me. He grins and pulls me closer as if we're besties. My fake smile is pasted on as I suck in air and try to catch my breath.

Our scores are announced, two sevens and a six. Dominic gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. The show goes to commercial break, and he steps away. "Not bad. I expected worse."

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