Thursday Afternoon - One Day before the Benefit
Debbie pounded the wooden stick she had in her hand against the hardwood floor a couple of times to get everyone's attention. When everyone in the main studio continued to talk and ignore her, however, she finally took two fingers between her lips and let out a bloodcurdling whistle, which immediately caused everyone to quiet down. She smirked, grateful for her Italian blood and her good lungs.
"Shit," she muttered to herself. "They're like a fucking kindergarten class." Raising her voice and addressing the six couples now lined up on chairs spread out on opposite sides of the spacious room, she told them, "Now listen up! This is the last day you can practice your dance routines for tomorrow night. Make sure you take advantage of it." She slowly swept her gaze around the room, studying how solemn the participants all looked as they sat in pairs next to their instructors. It had been a hectic, sometimes frantic and arduous four weeks while her employees tried to whip these amateurs into shape, but she had to admit - they had all taken their tasks seriously and each pair could be a genuine contender for the trophy and prize money being awarded tomorrow night. Her gaze settled briefly on two pairs in particular who she saw as the strongest potential winners: the graceful athlete, Drew Boyd, and his dancing partner, Kenny Meyers, along with her personal favorite, Justin, and his enigmatic pupil known as Brian Kinney.
She had watched over the past week as her tenant and Kinney had gone out each evening after their dance practice for - she could just now even speak the word to herself - dates. She would have never in a million years figured Brian Kinney as the 'dating' type - she had seen plenty of his kind before; the type that knew how handsome they were and played it for all it was worth, the 'fuck-'em-and-leave'-em' type. The type that did not care for entanglements and simply existed to assuage their pleasure, however and wherever they liked. But apparently she had been wrong about this one, at least when it came to her youngest instructor. It had been written all over Justin's face the next morning when he had come down the staircase with a spring in his step and a smile that had rivaled the Empire State Building lit up at night.
She had already known what time he had come home that first night - she had heard Crazy Man Wilkins, as everyone in the neighborhood called him, screaming for someone to move their car around 1:30 a.m., and she had known instinctively who he was yelling at. She had walked over to her bedroom window facing out onto the street, just in time to see two shadowy figures - one tall, one slender and shorter - walking hand in hand toward her front door. Smiling at the romantic gesture, she had heard Justin opening the door several minutes later and then climbing up the steps to his room. Not able to resist cracking her bedroom door open a few inches to make sure he was alone (somewhat surprised to find that he was), she had quietly closed her door behind her, not wanting Justin to think she had been spying on him.
The next morning, her tenant had come bounding down the steps in response to her call to him that breakfast was ready; his eyes alit with a radiance she had never seen before. And while he had not been overly generous in describing his date with his pupil - even blushing at some point when Debbie asked him about whether or not they would be going out again - she could tell by the animation in his voice and the way that his face almost glowed that he had had a glorious time.
She had initially been concerned that Brian might be toying with Justin like a cat does with a mouse in an attempt to merely get into his pants, but as the next few days went by and Brian religiously came to the door each evening to pick Justin up, the look on his face began to take on the same expression that Justin wore - one of tenderness, fascination, and even adoration, despite the older man's attempts to disguise it when Justin was looking. She could still see it, though, whenever Justin turned around to pick up his keys and Brian's eyes followed his every move, and in the way that Brian helped him with his coat or lightly held his hand protectively at Justin's waist as they turned to leave.
Now as she peered over at the two of them, their bodies turned at an angle so their knees were lightly touching, she wondered how much of that mutual attraction would transfer onto the dance floor tomorrow night when they finally had a chance to dance in front of a crowd. Something told her that they would capture everyone's attention immediately and would definitely be the couple to beat, a fact that couldn't make her happier. As the owner of the studio, she was supposed to remain impartial, and to everyone there she appeared to be just that. Silently, though, she couldn't help hoping that Justin would ultimately come out the winner and go home with the prize money so he could fulfill one of his biggest dreams - obtain enough money to go to art school. She knew it wouldn't pay for it entirely - she had already assured Justin that he could continue to work at least part time at her studio to supplement his tuition - but it would at least allow him to start taking classes there.
She pounded the stick down onto the hardwood floor when the voices started up again. "Okay! Get to work! And remember - you all need to be at the auditorium tomorrow night no later than 6:30 p.m. sharp! Now get your asses in gear and get to it!"
She watched as everyone rose to their feet and wandered off toward the private studio rooms; everyone, that is, except for one of the contestants - the one known as Marilyn - who lingered behind and stared over at her intently.
"Yeah?" Debbie asked, one eyebrow arched in question.
"It's not going to happen," Marilyn told her bluntly. "But don't worry; he'll still come out a winner."
Debbie furrowed her brow; this one had been an odd cookie ever since she had shown up that first day, constantly making these cryptic, crystal-ball-type comments whenever they spoke. But this one was the strangest of them all.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Debbie groused as the woman's dance partner fidgeted nearly, clearly anxious to get on with the last dance rehearsal.
Marilyn smiled mysteriously. "You'll see. And you'll be partly responsible for it, too." Nodding briefly, she turned and walked toward the door leading to the private studios, leaving Debbie shaking her head as she watched her go.