Page 38 of Sway

13

Salomé

DOLLA’S EYES LIGHT up the minute he catches me bouncing through Brooks Ballroom studio modeling the new line of his Jamal Trey women’s hip-hop dance wear. “Ah yeah, yo! Salomé’s in the house.” He twirls me around and we dance a few steps of the waltz we also have to perform this week. “Damn girl, you look fierce.”

I smile and break into some crunking moves. I’m so stoked. Today, the six remaining couples are practicing our group hip-hop dance. And Gabriel made me the official choreographer for today. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I’ll have to spend seven hours listening to Vika’s snide remarks, avoiding Iza’s possessive glances, and playing referee to Jenny and Tim.

I know this studio is Vika’s turf, but I woke up super early to help the set designers give it a street vibe. I hung up some paper on the walls and got some hip-hop dancer friends of mine to spray paint urban graffiti, swapped out the blue velvet curtains for some black rayon ones, and hired a DJ to set up a real booth. The cameramen and sound guy are milling around the room after they hooked up the LCD flat screen television I requested. Dolla brought in his newest designs for everyone to try on and the crew even set up some strobe lights. I hope everyone can feel the vibe.

Tim walks into the studio and Jenny immediately starts checking out his butt. “Tim, why are you wearing jeans from Abercrombie & Fitch? You know they’re racist.”

Oh lord, here we go.Apparently she wasn’t just admiring the view.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, boo.” He pulls at his pants to check the label. A few wisps of dark hair at the top of his happy trail peak out of his boxers. I can see why Jenny has the hots for Tim. His body is slamming.

But happy trails aren’t enough to distract Jenny from a tirade once she sinks her teeth into it. “How do you not know? Years ago . . . racist t-shirts . . . Abercrombie & Fitch . . . ring a bell?” She shakes her head when all he does is stare at her blankly. “Tim, the shirts had pictures depicting stereotypical drawings of Asian men smiling with slanted eyes and wearing rice patty straw hats. They had slogans like Wong Brothers Laundry Service: Two Wongs Can Make It White, and Rick Shaw’s Hoagies, Good Meat, Quick Feet with a short Asian man delivering a giant hoagie on a rickshaw. Hello? Offended?”

Tim shrugs, puts his earbuds in, and turns up his iPod, blasting his music. Big mistake. It’s never a good idea to blow off Jenny. Especially when you have to spend the next seven hours within two inches of her. I swear we’re gonna see blood in a minute, the way she’s biting her lip to keep silent.

I set about fishing a hip-hop CD out of my workout bag. The other dancers and their stars start piling into the studio, two by two as if getting ready for a trip on an ark. As soon as they walk in the studio, the costume girl hands them their Jamal Trey workout wear to put on. But Genya and Iza, who normally arrive at the studio arm in arm carting matching Starbucks lattes, head to opposite corners of the studio. Iza’s normally perfect doll-shaped face looks pale and her usual shellacked ponytail is askew.

Jenny can’t take the silent treatment from Tim for long. Big surprise. When the final dancers arrive, she’s in Tim’s face and yanking the headphones out of his ears. “I personally organized the boycott of the store in Cambridge while I was at Harvard. You were at Stanford when they came out. There were boycotts of Abercrombie & Fitch throughout the Bay Area.”

I swear, I love Jenny with every cell in my body, but the woman could argue with a corpse. Diana runs to my side to watch the cyclone.

Tim just smirks at the crazed woman in front of him. “Actually, Jen, I bought all those shirts. I love ‘em. Wear ‘em all the time.”

Jenny starts wheezing and motions to me to get her inhaler.

Tim’s smirk disappears and he steps forward instantly, caressing Jenny’s back. “Relax, baby. I’m just playing with you. I honestly didn’t know about all that. All I cared about at Stanford was basketball. If you want, I won’t wear the jeans. Look.” Before anyone can bat an eye, the guy unbuttons his jeans and drops them around his ankles. He stands in the middle of the floor, showing off his tight butt in his grey boxer briefs.

Jenny starts wheezing like a teakettle and finally purses her lips and becomes silent.

Hell, yeah! Now that’s the way to shut her up. Jenny’s lips finally close, probably trying to hold in the drool. Tim’s no dummy. Good move. And an even better ass.

Vika walks up with Tim’s set of Jamal Trey clothes. “Whoa Tim, I had no idea what you were hiding under those clothes.” She pinches his butt then slaps the clothes bundle into his belly. “Yummy.” She steps over to Tony, who whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle. If I didn’t know Vika better, I’d swear she and Tony were hooking up.

Okay, enough of this shit already. “Alright, people!” I clap my hands. This ball is mine and I’m running with it. “Let’s do this. Tim, hon, pull up your pants, will you? We’ve got some hip-hopping to do.”

Tim takes off his shirt and then puts on his Jamal Trey gear. He throws his old clothes to the wall and smiles sweetly to his partner. For once, he’s the Alpha Dog in the pair. He bows to Jenny. “May I have this dance?” His shiny straight black hair just grazes his eyebrows in a rock star-like razor edged cut.

Jen stares at him dumbly a second, then finally takes his hand and follows him to the right corner of the floor, where he leads her in their waltz. And I do mean lead. Man, they look perfect together. Maybe that’s what Jenny needed, a good drop of the pants. Hats off to basketball boy.

At the back of the studio, Tony is showing off Vika and Iza’s Playbunny pictorial to Dolla. Genya walks by them and rips the magazine out of Tony’s hands.

“Hey, man,” Tony protests. “Buy your own copy, dude.”

“I had my own copy—burned it.” Genya gives Iza a crushed look.

“Give it.” Tony trips over a chair trying to retrieve the magazine.

“Po'shyol 'na hui.” Oh no he didn’t! Genya almost never swears let alone using those words. So that’s what Genya and Iza are fighting about. Genya tosses the Playbunny into the trash. Drama. Thank God I didn’t pose. Not that they asked me. Still, I would never do it. I have zero desire to show off my goodies to the world. Who would even want to look at me anyway when they can ogle at Vika and Iza?

I walk over to the music booth and give my CD to the sound guy who is playing DJ for us. “Is everyone here?”

“Xavi isn’t here, yet,” Diana says, her eyes glued to the door.

“He’s not?” I look at the clock. It’s nearly nine o’clock. Gee, wouldn’t want Joe Boxer to lose out on beauty sleep or anything. He of all people really needs to be here since they finished in the bottom two last week.