Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) (7 page)

The Princess waited at the ball for her Prince. He presented himself to her; she curtseyed and placed herself in his arms. They began twirling around the floor. She was woozy with delight. He spun her in the opposite direction. Other couples came toward them, attempting to box them in. They were cornered, but her Prince broke through the crush and transported them to the center of the floor. All eyes were on her, the belle of the ball.

O
nce they finally hit the road, Bret couldn’t relax. He hated uncertainty. In the Marine Corps, his life was regulated. He knew what time he had to wake up every morning, what time he was supposed to work out, when each meal would be, and exactly what was planned for work. As he drove up the I-5 freeway, his eyes dulled by the endless views of dirt and cow pastures, Bret had no idea how this day, or any after it, would unfold. And he hated it.

Selena looked out the window. Surprisingly, she had been mostly silent for the past three hours of the trip.

“So, Sel, what normally happens on the first day? We just have to meet them today, right? No dancing?”

Selena turned to him, smiling. “Yeah, pretty much. The came
ramen are there when you meet your stars. But sometimes it takes a few shots before they get it right, so you have to keep looking surprised every time they open the door. It isn’t too bad.”

Might not be too bad for Selena—she had always been good at hiding her feelings. Bret was no actor, though, and wasn’t looking forward to faking it for the cameras. “Well, I hope they get my shot on the first try.”

“You’ll be fine. I wonder who our celebrities are? Any ideas?”

Bret couldn’t care less who his partner was. He just wanted to get through this season without embarrassing himself, his friend’s family, and the Corps. “Hell if I know, Sel. I don’t follow all that celebrity stuff. Probably just some washed-up stars like the usual losers that go on this show.” 

Selena scowled at him. “I’m excited. Only cool reclusive celebrities live in Marin. I’m sure they’re awesome.”

“I’m sure they are just as spoiled as the Los Angeles celebr
ities. I’ve met some overseas through the USO. Some turned into jerks the second the cameras weren’t on them.”

“That’s too bad. But by living up here, they are probably more down to earth. Don’t you think?”

Bret decided to stop talking. He had almost forgotten that there was a camera in the back of this truck recording their every word. In five weeks, nineteen million people would be watching he and Selena bicker in his truck.

………………

Three hours later, Bret and Selena finally arrived in Marin. It was two in the afternoon, and they had to meet their celebrities at five. Bret exited on Tiburon Blvd, and headed to the Tiburon Lodge where they were set to meet their hair and makeup staff.

Driving down the winding road, Bret took in the beauty of the San Francisco Bay. He loved it here—the green grass and walking trails of Blackie’s pasture, the view of the towering Golden Gate Bridge. At least he would be spending a few months in this par
adise, and since he had used all his vacation time coming on this show, he had better enjoy it. Ray was right—this definitely beat dodging landmines in Iraq.

They pulled up to the hotel and Bret parked in the lot. He didn’t want a valet to touch his truck.

“Sel, we have two hours before we have to meet production. I’m gonna take Banjo on a walk through Blackie’s Pasture before I have to drop him at my dad’s houseboat.” He looked up, and her eyes seemed hopeful. Bret really wanted to be alone, but he didn’t want to strand Selena. “Do you want to come with us or stay here?”

Her face brightened. “I’d love to take a walk. I’ll just change into my running shoes.”

She walked around to the bed of the truck, and Bret pulled her luggage down. He grabbed a tennis ball, some treats, and doggie bags.

She rummaged through her bag, found her shoes, and tossed her flip-flops back in. Bret placed her bag in the backseat of the truck. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the street and walked toward the path. Bret loved the salty smell of the bay. He really needed this break from the Marine Corps, even if he was still working.

“It’s so nice,” Selena said. “In Los Angeles, there’s so much smog and it’s never clear. I miss it here. Do you ever want to move back?”

“It’s beautiful but I will never be able to afford it. And it’s too liberal for my taste. Anyway, there are more jobs for former military down in San Diego. You?”

Selena sighed. “I’d love to, but
Dima and I own a studio in L.A. But I think Marin would be a great place to settle down and raise kids.”

They came across the off-leash dog park. Bret released Banjo, who scampered with a
Goldendoodle and a Sheltie.

“When’s that going to happen? Settling down, I mean. Are you dating anyone?”

She turned away from him and looked across the bay. “No. I have no time, with the show and competing.” Her voice dropped. “And I don’t ever meet anyone who understands my lifestyle.”

Bret knew it wasn’t his place to say anything but he couldn’t resist. “It’s your life. Do whatever makes you happy. But a title from
Blackpool isn’t going to keep you warm at night or take care of you when you’re sick.”

Selena was still turned away from him, and he couldn’t see her face. He knew he upset her. She’d been back in his life for three days and that picture perfect world of hers started to look chipped and cracked the closer he got to it.

“I need to get back to the hotel to get ready,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ll just start walking back. You and Banjo enjoy the view.”

“You sure? I can walk you back.” Bret knew he struck a cord with her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I might take a nap before hair and makeup. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in front of your hotel at four forty-five.”

She waved as if to acknowledge him but spoke no words as she walked away.

Bret threw the tennis ball and Banjo went to retrieve it. He didn’t feel sorry for Selena; she chose her life just as he chose his.
When they were younger, he had always imagined they would have a life together—kids, dogs, a house, the whole picture. But neither of their lives had worked out that way.

Banjo brought the ball back to Bret and dropped the slobbery toy on his feet. After twenty minutes of playing, they headed back to his truck and Bret drove to his father’s houseboat.

Bret was happy to finally be alone. He stepped onto the rickety wood on the dock and walked down the row of houseboats. Each one was unique: one had a Chinese awning; another had brightly colored planter boxes. He was thankful that his dad had purchased this place and he wouldn’t have to spend the next fifteen weeks in a hotel room next to Selena.

He opened the door and scanned the room. It was simple and masculine. His father had been in the Navy before his own dance competition days and had decorated the place with a nautical theme. When Bret joined the Marines instead of the Navy, his f
ather had been furious. Bret would always tease him that the U.S. Marine Corps is part of the Navy, the men’s department.

Banjo ran around the houseboat, checking out his new space. He jumped on Bret and gave him with a slobbery kiss.

“Hey, Buddy!” Bret rubbed Banjo’s ears. Lately, Banjo was the only one who kissed Bret. It had been a long time since he connected with anyone. Bret wasn’t a monk; he’d found comfort over the years with some women. But he had always been upfront about not wanting a relationship and would extricate himself from the situation if they or he became too involved.

He put a leash on Banjo and decided to go for a walk to get a bite to eat.

A lady with gray-streaked hair waved to him. “Hello, I’m Gerta. I live in the next boat. You must be Beckett’s boy. He always talks so highly of his hero son.”

There was that word again. Hero. “Hi. Yes, ma’am, I’m Bret.
Nice to meet you. And this fellow here is Banjo.”

Her long,
flowy dressed shifted in the wind. “Your father said that you were up here filming some television show? I don’t have a television so I don’t keep up with all that Hollywood nonsense.”

At least he met someone else who had better things to do with their time than care about this show. “Yeah. I’m one of the new professional dancers on this season of
Dancing under the Stars
.”

Gerta’s
eyebrows perked up. “Whom are you dancing with up here?”

Bret had no idea but even if he did, he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone his celebrity partner until the big media blitz. But
Gerta seemed harmless enough; she didn’t even own a television.

“I honestly don’t know yet, ma’am. But I’ll let you know when I find out.”

Gerta’s blue eyes sparkled. “Where are you heading?”

Normally Bret would’ve be annoyed by this stranger interroga
ting him, but she was probably just being friendly. “To Fish to get some chowder.”

“Oh I love Fish. Would you mind some company? I’m a widow and get lonely eating alone—though Issaquah dock is the best houseboat community. We are a wonderful group of creative spi
rits. I’m a sculptor. And we’re one of the few docks that’s dog friendly. If you would like me to watch him on the days while you train, I’d be honored.”

Bret smiled. That was the nicest offer he’d had in a long time. He hated the thought of leaving Banjo alone. “Banjo would love
that. And I’d love for you to join me for a late lunch.” He offered Gerta his arm.

Her shoulders wiggled. She took his arm and Banjo led the way.

Bret needed a friend up here. Selena couldn’t be the only one he knew. He couldn’t be around her any more than he had to. In the past twenty-four hours, he had been unable to stop thinking about her. Imagining what it would be like to kiss her, taste her again. But she was completely off-limits. He still wasn’t convinced that she and Dima weren’t involved. And even if she was single, they had nothing in common besides their childhood bond.

Bret couldn’t allow Selena to make him lose focus of what he came here to do. Pierce’s family needed that money. No way could Bret let himself get wrapped up in some childhood love that could and should never be recreated.
 

S
elena leaned back in the chair and allowed her makeup artist to put the finishing touches on her mascara. She loved the first day of shooting. The celebrities were usually so excited, especially since the reality of the training they were about to endure hadn’t hit them yet.

“There you go, Miss
Marcil. Beautiful. The purple eyeliner brings out the golden flecks in your eyes.”

Selena blinked and stared in the mirror. Her eyes did seem brighter than normal, despite the fact that she was exhausted. For the road trip, she had rocked a natural makeup look even though she would’ve preferred to scrub her face clean. But she had been aware of the cameras in the back seat. “Thank you, Heather.”

She had already changed into her greeting outfit. Nothing fancy, the producers wanted to make it seem as if it was a casual meet and greet. Selena wore peach-colored sweats paired with Louboutin high heels and some gold hoop earrings. She left her chair, grabbed her purse, and hurried out to Bret’s truck for their journey up the hill to their celebrities.

As she approached the truck, Bret shifted on his feet. He hadn’t changed his clothes at all. She guessed that wardrobe wanted to portray him as a rough and tough Marine to keep him distinct from the other dancers.

“Something wrong?” she asked. So much for the rough and tough theory; she could see that he’d been doused with foundation and gel. He must’ve been livid.

“Not a thing. Ready?”

She just climbed into the truck. “You know, pink is a great color on your lips. Maybe next time we could add some gloss for shine.”

“Very funny.”

The celebrities’ house was only minutes away, up the street. A van followed behind them, carrying camera equipment. They turned into the tip of a driveway. As if the gates were expecting them, they opened and Bret drove through.

“Here we go,” Bret sighed.

Then reality kicked in. Christian Louboutin heels
hurt
. Selena hobbled along the paved driveway in her heels, praying that she didn’t face plant and crash into the camera. Why did it always need to be an
inch
from her face?

“Okay, Bret,” the camera director said. “You need to pretend that you are a huge fan of your celebrity. Act surprised!”

Bret rang the doorbell.

The beveled wood door opened—Latin guitar legend Xavier Quintana stood in front of them, his gorgeous television star wife, Robyn, beside him.

Selena took the lead. “
¡Dios Mio!
Xavier Quintana? I’m your biggest fan. I love dancing to your music. ‘Loteria Queen’ is my favorite cha-cha song ever.” Selena didn’t even have to pretend—she was thrilled.

Bret reached out and shook Xavier’s hand. He turned his atte
ntion to Robyn. “Nice to meet you, Robyn. My name is Bret Lord.”

“Cut!” the cameraman yelled. “Bret, this is a television show.
Speak a little slower, seem a little more enthusiastic. Maybe give Robyn a hug.”

Selena stifled a laugh. Bret just gave her a dirty look.

The door shut, and Selena and Bret made their way back down the staircase.

Bret rang the bell, again, and immediately Xavier opened the door. Selena once saw on MTV that this guy had s
ome dude whose sole job in life was to hold his boss’s umbrella, yet
El Rey
opened his own door? So much for reality. Xavier wore his own brand
Xavier Tomás
white tracksuit with what looked like 4-carat diamond studs in each ear.

Selena repeated her same enthusiastic intro and Bret stuck out his hand. “Hi, Robyn. I’m so excited to meet you.”

“CUT,” the director shouted. “Okay, let’s do it again. Xavier go back inside.” The director grabbed Bret’s hand. “Bret, son, I want to you scream or shriek. Tell her you’re her number one fan.”

“I don’t scream or shriek. I’m a man.”

Selena rebalanced her oversized handbag and dance shoes, took a deep breath, and made her way down the stairs. She knew Bret’s only hope to get through the shot was for her to project enough cheesiness for both of them.

Take three. Bret rang the bell and Xavier opened the door.

“Oh my GOD!” Selena shrieked as brainlessly as she could. “I can’t
believe
I’m dancing with you. I
love
your music.” She leaned in to hug Xavier. His breath reeked of rum.

Xavier’s head cocked to the side and he embraced her. “Thanks, girl,” he said, way too loud. “I hear you’re the best
chica on the show. I need to win this
fiesta
. You game?”

“Hell, yeah—”

“CUT!” The producer waved them back. “Selena, that was great. Bret, I need you to at least smile at Robyn. You look like you’re at a funeral. One more time, people.”

“How long is this
gonna take?” Xavier yelled at the producer. “I don’t have time for amateurs.”

Selena could see a vein in Bret’s bicep bulge. He had been right—celebrities in Marin were just as spoiled as they were in Los Angeles.

“Don’t worry, Xavier, I’ll take care of it.” Xavier slammed the door on the producer’s face.

The producer leaned in to Bret. “Bret, this time, just lean in and give Robyn a kiss. You don’t have to say anything. C’mon, people, let’s try to get this before I die of old age. Hustle, hustle!”

Selena stumbled back down the driveway for take number four, nearly killing herself twice. Stupid shoes.

They walked up the stairs, cameras trailing behind them.

Four takes later, the introduction was finally filmed. Bret and Selena stood in the entryway.             

Robyn moved toward Bret, her eyes tracing his body. Selena’s stomach clenched. Robyn looked stunning, even better in person. Her mocha skin contrasted with her green eyes. She wore her hair in a natural short
afro. The actress was famous for playing a sexy cougar on her hit nighttime soap opera. The tabloids always printed rumors of her affairs with her costars. Selena wondered if Robyn would turn her charms on Bret. Maybe the tabloids were just harassing Robyn the same way they harassed Dima and Selena. “Bret, are you new to the show? I’ve never seen you.”

Bret nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. This is my first, and only, season. I used to be a competitive ballroom dancer—Selena was actually my partner. We won the U.S. Championship as teens. I’m currently a Staff Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. I’m just doing one season to raise money for my buddy’s family. He was killed in Iraq. But I assure you, I know how to dance and will work very hard to get us into the finals.”

Xavier put his arm around Bret. “A Marine, huh? I tried to enlist for ‘nam but I couldn’t because I suffered from tuberculosis. Thank you for your service.”

Robyn’s lips parted and formed into a slow smile. “What an amazing story, Bret. I’m honored to be your first, and only, cele
brity partner.” She brushed against Bret. “Please, why don’t both of you come in and we can get to know each other.”

The camera zoomed in on Bret’s face. For a second, Selena thought that Bret would push it away, but he clenched his teeth and walked into the home.

A strong scent of sage filled the air. They stepped into the sunken living room, with glass walls and French doors leading to the deck.

Robyn lingered in the hallway. “Can I offer you a drink? Wine, beer, iced tea, tequila, mojito?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Please Bret, call me Robyn.”

Selena held back a laugh — she thought Bret was so cute, all polite and nervous. “I’ll take a water.”

Robyn went to the kitchen.

Though Xavier must’ve been at least fifty years old, Selena found him very attractive. His long dark curls hung on his face, covering his soulful eyes. Her mother was a huge Quintana fan. Selena’s first concert had been to see him when she was a child. The man played a guitar as if he were seducing a woman. With his rhythm and Selena’s talent, they were a shoe-in to make the finals.

Robyn reappeared with a glass of water with a sliver of lime. “Please, sit down.”

“Okay—cut!” The cameraman yelled. “We got what we needed. We’ll see you all tomorrow for the first dance practice.”

Bret relaxed his shoulders. The cameramen packed up and exi
ted the front door. Selena was so used to the cameras, she had forgotten they were even there.

Robyn handed Selena the glass of water and then settled next to them on the sofa. “So Selena, what’s your ethnic background?”

Selena almost choked on her water. She hated questions about race. Selena was proud of her heritage but she didn’t like the way the media would use her Latina background to paint her into some spicy tamale stereotype. “My mom is Mexican-American. My dad was French.”

Xavier became silent, now that the cameras were gone. Was his arrogant bravado just part of his image? But even though he spoke no words, Selena connected with him.
Their culture, their dedication to their artistic passions. They way he looked at her, Selena thought that he would be able to understand her.

Robyn looked into Selena’s eyes. “Both
Xavi and I feel that it is very important to remain connected to your culture, your true spirit. We work with a guru that has helped us realign with our respective African and Aztec ancestors. We would love to help you do the same.”

Selena glanced at Bret, praying he wasn’t rolling his eyes. She bit her lip. “That would be wonderful. Sign me up.” Bret tapped his feet. She knew that he wanted to spend as little time there as necessary. “Thank you both so much for welcoming us into your home. Both Bret and I are beat—we traveled from Los Angeles this morning. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d love to get some sleep so we can start early tomorrow morning.”

Xavier stood up. “Of course. We have a studio in the pool house, so we can both train down there. I don’t wake up too early. Can we start around eleven?”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Selena gulped down her water and gave Xavier a hug and Robyn a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so excited about the season. I hope we all make it to the finals.”

Robyn clutched Selena’s hand. “We will. Have a great night. Nice to meet you.”

Bret waved to Robyn and Xavier and headed toward the door. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the bottom as if at a jog.

Once safely inside the truck, Selena turned to Bret. “See, it wasn’t that bad. They were nice.”

Bret’s lip curled. “Sure, they were nice enough. Too bad we got paired with a bunch of hippies. Tuberculosis? How convenient. He probably burnt his draft card and then protested the war. True spi
rit? Man, I can’t stand that new age crap. And what was with that incense smell? They were probably smoking weed. Next thing you know, they will want us to meditate and go on a vision quest.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, huh. You are so closed-minded. Not everyone has to share your views on life. It’s America, Bret. You know, the country that you fight so hard to protect. You are
defending our freedom to be individuals, not self-righteous clones.” Everything was black or white to Bret. Not a single shade of gray. When they were young, she’d thought she could change him. But clearly this older Bret was even more set in his ways.

Selena fashioned herself a freethinker. Open, liberal, honest. The more time she spent with Bret, the more she realized how well matched she and
Dima were. They shared the same beliefs and values. Maybe Robyn was right and Selena needed to use this experience to find her true spirit. Being forced to be close to Bret was part of her spiritual path. It would force her to defend her views and maybe challenge his.

“Don’t talk to me about freedom,” he said. “I’ve watched my buddies die protecting our country. Of course, everyone has the right to believe in whatever ludicrous ideas they want to. Just like I have the right not to be forced to listen to their crap.”

Bret pulled up in front of the hotel and scribbled his number down on a napkin. “Good night, Sel. Call me if you need anything. I’ll just be five minutes away. See you tomorrow.”

Selena took the paper and then watched as he drove away. Walking into the lobby, all she wanted was a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, she could focus on dancing. Bret would have to deal with Robyn on his own.

……………….

The next morning, Selena sat at
Caffe Acri in downtown Tiburon sipping her vanilla latte. The rich roast of the espresso beans was divine and the strong vanilla syrup didn’t have a hint of an after taste. If she’d been in L.A., she’d have felt guilty that the milk wasn’t fat-free and the syrup contained real sugar. But in Marin, she was at peace, especially since the barista designed cool latte art in the shape of a heart.

Bret would be by any minute to pick her up. She looked out on the ferry docked on the bay. Refreshed, she’d forgiven Bret for his judgments last night and was ready to start fresh. Maybe she and Bret could ditch practice and take the ferry to San Francisco. When they were kids, they used to watch the skateboarders shred around the Embarcadero. Bret always wanted to jump in and join them but Selena wouldn’t let him, fearing he’d be injured and unable to dance. Last time she and
Dima came to San Francisco to compete, she was saddened to learn that all the skaters had vanished, banned by the city. The new generation probably had nice skate parks. But her fond memories of seeing the young teens breaking the rules and living on the edge had always been a welcome change from her life back then of non-stop training and competing. Maybe she should’ve let Bret break the rules, but young Selena always had been completely focused. Her goal had always been to be a ballroom champion—no matter the cost.