Dancing with the Stars

He sat in the office of the series producer asking himself, genuinely, if he had lost his mind.

A TV show where celebrities do ballroom dancing?

This is not for me.

His agent had arranged the whole thing. "Your star is waning," she had said, "haven't been in a good movie in...."

So he had agreed, reluctantly. Very reluctantly. If only to get his name out there again.

He felt he had more to give, felt there were more great performances in him. There was an Oscar in him. He knew there was.

The breakup of his relationship with Alice had sealed the deal. At 32, he felt it was time to be settling down. Alice, 24, didn't agree. While he sat there in the producer's office, she was off travelling the world with her girlfriends. It was an amicable parting, amicable enough anyway, but it left him feeling lonely and isolated nonetheless.

"Chris, great to see you!" the producer exclaimed as he crashed through the door of his own office like a triple rigged tall ship under full sail. "We worked together on that movie, you remember?"

"Oh... yeah... great to see you again Marty," Chris replied, unsure of every having met the man. Clearly picking up on Chris' mood, Marty continued.

"Chris, listen. Your agent make it clear you're not totally excited about this and I know you're here to get yourself back on the must-cast list and that's fine with us, we have lots of folks on every year for the same reason. We'll make sure this is a great experience for you, just like a big Hollywood job, totally professional in every way. Your pro dancer is outstanding, multiple national and international titles..."

Marty droned on. Chris tuned out.

The mention of the pro dancer befuddled him. He hadn't even considered that part. What if she was some tabloid slut mad for media exposure of any kind, hoping to use him as her ticket to the kind of online exposure he wanted to avoid? What if she dragged him in the opposite direction he wanted to go, straight into the gutter? Marty's eventual conclusion broke his reverie.

"...so, you ready to meet her?"

"Sure thing Marty, can't wait. Lead on." He managed a brief smile and Marty put an arm around his shoulder reassuringly as they walked into the corridor and made their way to the set.

"She's just on set, getting a feel for the space, ya know."

As they moved through the double doors into the vacant, cavernous studio, Chris gently murmured a pleasantly surprised "hmm", much to Marty's happiness.

"Hey Charlie, he's here." At Marty's call, Chris saw a long legged blond turned to face them. She stood in the center of the dance floor and, Chris thought, looked right at home.

She wore a loose fitting red hoodie with a zip down the front combined with a pair of skin-tight black three-quarter length leggings that accentuated her powerful looking legs. She wore no make-up he could notice and her slightly curled blonde hair was tied in a loose bun.

Clearly, she was ready to start work immediately and Chris' thoughts moved with dread to having to learn to dance.

"Chris, this is Charlie, your pro dancer; Charlie, meet Chris, your celeb dancer." Marty made the introductions and marched off in the direction of his office.

Charlie extended a hand and Chris shook it fairly absent-mindedly, trying to count the seats and wondering how many people he'd be making an ass of himself in front of.

"Great to meet you Chris" she said.

"Shit."

"Excuse me?" She hadn't seen him in an even half decent movie for years and this first impression only served to confirm her suspicion that he was grumpy about it and about having to stoop to dancing to try to sort it out.

"I'm sorry," Chris said, startled a little by her clear indigence. "I was just... I was thinking how many people I'd be making a fool of myself in front of and... well, then I realized I hadn't even considered that... well, that we'll be on TV."

"Oh, right," she smiled, more than a little condescendingly Chris thought. "Well, I guess it'll be my job to make sure you don't make an ass of yourself then."

"Hmm, you've got your work cut out for you."

"Just do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you and we'll be fine." Her smile had been replaced with an expression much more steely.

"Right." He dwelt on the 'i' in a way that seemed to make his reply an accusation of some kind. His concern only deepened. What kind of weapon have I been assigned to here?

"So, ready to start?"

"Ah... well... I guess... I mean... ahm... Marty, ah, nobody told me to bring any sweats or anything-"

"Whatever, we'll find you something in the rehearsal studio. Did you drive?"

"Ah... no, I, ah, I took the bus."

"Wow. The bus. Your star really has fallen." Is that a smirk on her face? Chris' initial ambivalence to his dancing partner was now taking a turn towards dislike. "Come on, my car's outside, you can ride with me."

The car ride was fairly cool. She asked him about his dancing experience. It was little. He asked her about her career. It was stellar. Marty hadn't been selling her short.

Their rehearsal studio was a large rectangular room in a building filled with similar spaces, all for use by couples from the show. The floor was not as large as the one they'd have on the actual show, but it wasn't far off. The two longer walls were entirely mirrored and a third was an enormous window that offered a decent view of the generic suburb they now inhabited. Chris was enjoying this view as a sort of intellectual exercise, mentally commenting on modern consumerism, when Charlie returned.

"Hey." As he turned around, she threw some clothes at him: a pair of black sweat pants and a white t-shirt, both at least one size too small. "Put those on." She began unzipping the red hoodie to reveal a highly toned abdomen and a pair of firm looking breasts sitting high on her chest confined by a sleek black sports bra. Chris was a little struck.

This passive aggressive bitch was gorgeous.

"You remember what I said about doing exactly what I say?" She stood glaring at him, hands on hips, chest out.

"Right." Dwelling again on the 'i', Chris looked around for somewhere to change.

"Oh come on Chris, you're not shy are you?" Her smirk was back and she moved toward the bar attached to one of the mirror walls and lifted her leg until it was at right angles to her body as casually as one might flick a wrist to check the time.

"We're gonna have to get real close if this week's dance is gonna work Chris. Seriously, having me see you in your boxer shorts will be the least intimate thing we do all week."

"OK."

Fuck her. He couldn't help a deep chagrin spreading through him, given she was treating him like someone who'd never performed for a living before. Maybe it was time to set the record straight.

He walked to the corner on the opposite mirror wall to where Charlie stretched and he disrobed. Pulling off his shirt, he paused a moment to check if Charlie was looking at him. She wasn't looking directly, though he was certain she was looking at him in the mirror. With not much acting work lately, he'd kept himself in decent shape with little else to do and though he tried not do, he found himself tensing his muscles as he changed. Before he had time to consider laying down the law, Charlie was on him again.

"Not bad Chris, you actually look like you might have the stamina to keep up with me." She'd made her way to the center of the room and beckoned for him to join her.

"I'll do my best," he said as he approached her and before she could jump in with another quip he went on. "Listen Charlie, I think you may have the wrong idea about me here. I've performed live most of my life, I'm no stranger to hard work in rehearsal. I've played Broadway and the West End and I've been in three Oscar nominated films. I know you're the dancer and I'm essentially an amateur here but, I'm ready to work and a quick learner so really, the question is, can you keep up with me?"

"Gotcha," she answered tersely. No dwelling on vowels here. She was smiling broadly now, grinning really, hands still on her hips, her large, firm breasts pushed forward.

Jesus, she was hot. It was going to be very difficult to dislike this woman.

At length, she explained the dance they'd been assigned this week - a sensual rumba. She went through the principles of the dance and began showing him some basic steps. When it got to tight holds and sensual clenches, Chris was a little ashamed that he was definitely feeling more than a touch intimidated.

As an actor, he understood the importance of engaging emotionally with his partner in a scene - of chemistry - and he had to admit, despite all the well-known leading ladies he'd played opposite, he'd never quite felt this out of his comfort zone with someone he was performing alongside before.

He concluded this was because he disliked Charlie more than he thought. A part of his brain tried to insist with a guffaw that this conclusion was patently erroneous, but Chris' ego shut it down quickly enough.

*

By the third day of rehearsal, they were well into putting together their choreographed routine when Charlie stopped in the middle of a segment where they were particularly close, bodies together, heads touching.

"Chris, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You're a fucking actor, right? We've been at this for three days and I've explained again and again that this is supposed to be a sensual dance. You know, sexy?"

"What was I doing that wasn't sexy?"

"Your eyes, asshole. It's all in the fucking eyes. You haven't looked at me once today. How are the audience supposed to buy a connection between us if you won't even look at me?"

"For fuck's sake Charlie, it's dancing! I'm looking at my fucking feet so I don't fall over myself, I'm still new at this."

"You are not new at this. It's been three fucking days. And didn't you play Broadway and the West End? Weren't you in three Oscar nominated movies? What happened to 'the question is can you keep up with me'?"

She was being outwardly aggressive now, her body language and tone were a good match for her words. If her negativity up to now had been an attempt to create some kind of teacher-student dynamic, that was long gone. She was pissed off.

"Let's go from the top again and this time, remember what you do for a fucking living."

"Got it."

As the music began once again, Chris took a deep breath. He couldn't allow this woman to affect his performance negatively any longer. She was right: he had allowed himself to be intimidated by the prospect of dancing, and by her, without considering bringing the skills he already had to bear on this new situation.

So he concentrated hard on getting himself into character. There was a simple technique a veteran actor had imparted to him years before, on his first major production, that he'd always found effective. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then another, in through the nose and out through the mouth. He concentrated on clearing his mind and focused instead only on the emotions of the dance, just as he would were he about to perform a tense, dramatic scene on camera or on stage. Another deep breath and they were into it.

He felt his confidence return immediately and resisted the urge to smile as it coursed through him. He glued his eyes to hers this time, held her a little closer in the clenches this time, moved his hands along her more sensually this time.

By the time they reached the point she'd stopped it on the previous attempt, Charlie was breathing hard, her chest was heaving and her eyes were glued to his as well.

For just an instant, he was conscious of a new look on her face, an expression he'd never seen there before. He hesitated to think about the look too much, but without any thought he was one hundred per cent certain he wanted desperately to kiss her more passionately than he'd kissed anyone in his entire life. Holy shit, he thought to himself, dancing is fucking awesome.

She seemed to be lost in the moment too and she forgot to move on to the next step. Each startled from their momentary distraction, they stepped back and Charlie paused the music.

"That... that was... Yeah... That was better...." Chris saw now that her face was flushed and she was out of breath. "Let's... OK... Let's go again..." Chris smiled to himself. It was the first time he felt like he'd been able to put her on the wrong foot since they'd met, if even only for a moment.

And for the remainder of the week, their rehearsal became more and more intense, almost to the point of aggressive. It was as if they were trying to out-do each other, be more professional and committed to the performance than the other. They worked up more and more of a sweat each day.

One chilly evening, Chris noticed that he was literally steaming as he left the building afterwards.

*

The result of their increasingly intense rehearsal, in the live show at the end of the week, was an exceptional performance.

When the music finally stopped, Chris almost couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the audience until that moment. All of a sudden he was aware they were cheering wildly, a standing ovation. As they'd been instructed by the production team, he and Charlie hugged and proceeded through the formalities with the hosts and received a glowing review from the judges. Saved by the public vote, they ultimately found themselves alone together for the first time since they'd gone on air, in his dressing room at the end of the evening.

It was an ample space, fit for a star. Opposite the door, a long, plush couch hugged the wall at the end of which was a door to the private bathroom. Perpendicular to the couch, next to the bathroom, a well-stocked bar was set into the wall.

"That was fucking incredible". It was the first time Chris had been able to be 'off' for hours and to just say what he felt. He had decided early on in the evening he much preferred a film set to a reality TV one. At least on a film set the cameras get turned off sometimes. Still, he recognized the familiar high and knew that he'd missed it, the thrill of a live performance.

"Wanna drink?"

"Sure." Charlie lay casually across the couch in her loose, flowing dress that revealed her long, shapely legs which she crossed slowly and deliberately. The remainder of her outfit accentuated her other outstanding features with a plunging neckline exposing her cleavage in a way that was sensual without being tasteless.

"So," she continued, "still think dancing is beneath you?"

He paused from pouring a whiskey at the bar and turned to face her. "I never said that. Is that what you think I think? Is that why you've been such a bitch all week?" he said pointedly.

"I know that's what you think." She uncrossed her legs and stood now, approaching him as he held out a glass for her. Taking the glass from his hand, she went on. "And if I've been a bitch to you this week, it's because you've been a self-indulgent asshole."

One hand held the solid, heavy-based glass of golden liquid, the other was parked firmly but deftly on her hip, slightly cocked. Her chest out.

Christ, she was fucking amazing.

Following right behind that thought, Chris was conscious suddenly that he hadn't replied to a clearly provocative statement for several seconds. He decided it was time to change their dysfunctional dynamic.

"Charlie, this is crazy. We can't carry on like this. There's no way we can last another week going at it like this."

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Marty said he's never seen a better opening week performance than ours. We can win this thing! You think you're the only one hoping to improve their career with this show? There's no way you're bailing on me now." By now she was right up in his grill. Her breath was heavy again and he was conscious of her heaving breasts. The overwhelming urge to kiss her passionately was back. "Well?"

Time to try another tack. A very risky one. He took a long, deliberate sip of his whiskey. It gave him courage.

"I've got it. I can't believe I missed it." He chuckled to himself, taking another sip and sliding past her toward the center of the generously proportioned room.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's not that you think I think dancing is beneath me or whatever bullshit you just said. I know why you've been so fucking aggressive all week." It was his turn to smirk.

She definitely wasn't smirking anymore. He thought for a second he saw a flash of worry or concern pass across her face, and it emboldened him, then the passive aggression was back.

"Oh, this should be good. Tell me, why have I been 'aggressive'?" She put the glass down. Both hands on her hips now, she threw some curls behind her shoulder with a practised, subtle toss of her long, supple neck.

He took a few small steps toward her and continued moving as he spoke. "You're attracted to me."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing? This is fucking crazy. Fuck. What if I'm wrong? This is a terrible idea. Fuck. How can I walk this back? Fucking shit. Fuck.

He immediately began to formulate exit strategies and compose groveling apologies as headlines that included his name and the words 'inappropriate behavior' flashed in front of his eyes. Someone would surely dig up a photo of him standing next to Harvey Weinstein. Peas in a pod, they'd say.

For some reason though, he didn't stop. For a moment, he thought Charlie looked stunned so before she had a chance to regain her composure and respond he threw caution to the wind and continued speaking and moving towards her.

"It's understandable, I'm quite a catch." She guffawed and was trying to subtly back away from him now as he continued moving slowly towards her. It reminded him of that third day of rehearsal, the rare feeling of having the upper hand in their dynamic. "And I'm attracted to you too."

She couldn't back up any further, her ass was against the bar. He was still moving towards her, slowly. Her guffaw turned serious again. He reached around her to put his glass on the bar, leaving his hand leaning there. He moved his other to lean on the bar on the other side of her, effectively pinning her against it, their bodies now almost touching. Internally, he made a note of how small the distance was between desire and panic.

He experienced the moment as a kind of out of body experience, his rational mind screaming at him to stop but some other part of him, one unfamiliar to him, encouraged him forward.

"It was in the rehearsal studio. I don't think I noticed until we got to the rehearsal studio..." His eyes were glued to hers and hers to his, whether genuinely emotionally involved in the moment or in an attempt to reinforce her perceived dominant status, Chris remained uncertain. Still, he felt any opportunity to back out of this mad strategy had long since passed. He was committed.

Her hands had left her hips and now hung listlessly by her sides.

"...that you were so... incredibly sexy. Your body, your legs. My god, your eyes." His left hand now moved to run - to graze really - down the left side of her body and rest solidly but deftly on her hip. "And then that moment on the third day, when you went crazy about my not looking at you? Every rehearsal since then getting more and more intense...?" He shook his head at the memory, their eyes remaining focused together.

His right hand now took the same journey his left had taken and, Charlie making no attempt to stop him, he tightened his grip, lifted her bodily and deposited her with some force in a sitting position on the bar, rattling its contents. In the same movement, he pressed himself forward again and her legs opened and allowed him to occupy the space between them. He moved his hands behind her and pulled her towards the edge of the bar so that their bodies were touching. Her hands gripped the bar's edge tightly.