Las Vegas, spiritual home to the sequin and diamante. Couldn't say I rated the place much myself. The place was loud, fast and the dry heat was killing me.
Putting down my book I sighed, stretched my neck and looked around the hotel lobby bar. We've been in Vegas all of three days now, my friend Sally and I, with another eleven before we get on the plane back home. Coming to Vegas is the culmination of sixteen years hard work and strict training.
Every three years Las Vegas plays host to the over eighteens International Freestyle Dance Championships. Of the hundreds of thousands that compete year in year out worldwide this contest is the goal, the absolute defining moment of years of bone tiring training for three hundred lucky individuals. This is what I have been training so hard for over the last four years and come what may, win or lose, after tomorrow's final round I am hanging up my dancing shoes, saying "sayonara" to my sequins. From the age of six it has been a constant round of classes, competitions, strict diets and hours of costume fittings.
The one thing I never understood about the whole damn thing is the costumes. For something so fast paced and based on the lines of your arms, the extension of your legs, keeping to the beat, why the heck did the costumes have to be so extravagant? Dressed up like Vegas showgirls to dance, how ironic that the pinnacle of all that training they hold the finals in Vegas. Over my years on the circuit I have seen many girls, and boys come a cropper to their costume.
But this is it for me, after tomorrow I'm done. Not saying I won't ever dance again, just not competitively. Maybe I'll open up my own dance school, try and bring some fun back to the sport rather than the mire of competition it has become. And oh man I can't wait to have a proper drink tomorrow, I want to get proper shit faced for the first time in my life without having to worry about injury or what the hell my coach will put me through for the next week as punishment.
Sally makes her way back from the toilet and sits down with a huge grin on her face
"What or should I say who has put that grin on your face?" I ask her. Her face lights up.
"Serious hotties on the other side of the bar, seven of 'em." I just shake my head at her, can't bleeding take her anywhere without her eyeing up the talent. We sit around and chat for a while, most of the other entrants will be doing last minute run throughs of their routines and costume checks but I just want to relax and get an early night, I've been working on my routine for four years another couple of hours aren't going to make it any more perfect.
Our conversation is interrupted a while later by a waitress holding a tray bearing two obnoxious looking cocktails
"Courtesy of the gentlemen at the bar" she simpers. Sally reaches out and grabs one while I ask for mine to be sent back with a thanks but no thanks. I've never taken a drink from a stranger before and I'm not about to start now in Vegas of all places, plus I'm strictly teetotal until the contest finishes tomorrow. For the next hour or so this happens three more times, Sally guzzling hers and me sending mine back.
Deciding to call it a night I ask Sal if she is coming up with me but she decides to stay for another half hour, the gleam in her eye tells me she will be heading over to the rowdy group at the bar the minute I'm out of sight. I don't worry about her, over the years I have seen Sal floor guys three times her size and drink them under the table. They sure broke the mould when they made her.
My alarm blares at 5:30am, we don't have to be there until nine but it takes two hours to do my hair, makeup and get into my damn outfit. I just hope Sal didn't get too shit faced last night, I don't fancy getting poked in the eye with the eyeliner.
Sal groans, sits up and swings her legs out of bed.
"I'm sure not gonna miss these early wake up calls Cas." Bless her; she's been with me for all my competitions since we were sixteen, traipsing all over the country with me to fix my hair and makeup. During a contest you can always find her on standby with a can of hairspray, a makeup bag, baggie of sequins and tube of fabric glue. She's my best friend and I wouldn't want to be here without her.
As we set to work on getting me ready she fills me in on her night after I went to bed.
"Oh my God Cas, you should have stayed. I got talking to the cocktail guys and boy were they a scream. They're out here for their buddy's last hurrah before he becomes a dad next month. And get this, some of em are in a band. We've got tickets to their show tonight if we want em"
"Depends where it is Sal, you know I'm gonna be knackered after the comp. I just wanna shower, change and get shitfaced" I gripe
She pats me on the head "Aren't you full of the joys this morning. It's at the bar next door so not far to walk at all. Pleaaaaseeee can we go. I was getting one hell of a vibe from one of em and I wanna see where it goes. Plus babydaddy is fit as fuck. I know, I know, he's gonna be a daddy so hands off but damn girl there is nothing wrong with looking" I let her continue to ramble as she intricately braids my hair, getting lost in the gentle pull and tug, this is the part I enjoy, having my hair done zones me out and helps me settle into the right mind frame to compete.
8am, a few more stretches and I will be ready to go, Sal is already hanging out the hotel room door, dying to get downstairs for a smoke before the long day ahead. I'm stood with my back to the door, bent forwards and pulling my left leg backward until it touches my scalp. I have always hated this move, when I hear Sal shout
"Morning G man how's the head?" I hear a mumbled reply and then a louder
"Holy shit! She's fucking flexible." Knowing the comment is aimed at me. I hold the pose and seethe, I hate comments like that, and I've heard many over the years. By the time I lower my leg and turn around Sal is in full giggle mode
"Get the fuck outta here G. Oh and we will be taking you up on those tickets later"
I grab my bag and walk out of the room, glancing down the corridor as Sal locks up the room I swear I know that retreating back from somewhere.
10am: I'm not due on the floor until 11:30, I hate the waiting so I sneak outside for a smoke, usually I don't smoke during a comp but like I said, this dry heat is killing me. I'm used to being around other UK contestants and these internationals are killing me with their bitching and sniping and this fucking costume is killing me. Why the fuck did I think it would be cool. Black Lycra leotard, back held together by laces, front cut so the black only just cover my breasts and overlaid from neck to just under the navel with sheer black chiffon. The legs end at hot pants with sheer chiffon again down to the ankle looking like stockings. The black of the lycra is infused with thousands of white, silver and black sequins and diamantes. And it chafes like a mother fucker. I never proclaim to be classy but even I have to admit I must look like a cheap, crass whore. Stood out the back of a casino ballroom, smoking and trying to fish my thong out my arse and hoping to fuck I don't dislodge any sequins.
I've just got a handle on the elusive, annoying string of cotton when I hear "You got worms twinkle toes or you lost something up there you really want back?"
Fuck. Me. I would know that fucking voice anywhere. Here I am stood by the bins behind a Vegas casino, dressed like a two bit show girl, trying to fish my thong outta my arse and none other than Benjamin Orion Graupner is talking to me. A year ago I would have welcomed it. A year ago I stood in front of this man and all I could say was "Eeep" and thrust my ticket at him to sign. Today, today I do no better, I squeak, throw my smoke to the floor and run, run like the devil himself was chasing me