He yanked me forward and pulled me into a hug, plastering my smaller form against his big, naked chest. The audience cheered even more, and we hugged even more, and then we gave another wave to the crowd as the host skated over.
Maybe I hadn’t been paying attention to the show itself, but the host I recognized. Chip Brubaker, who hosted a ton of these types of shows, moved over to us, a little wobbly on his skates. He wore a tux, a pound of makeup, and a fake smile. “Ty and Zara,” he announced. “Our first skate of the evening. Give it up for them!”
We smiled and waved as the audience cheered again.
“Let’s give our judges a minute to tally their scores,” Chip said, and moved closer to us. “Ty, I notice you’re missing half of your costume.”
The host shoved a microphone towards Ty for him to answer.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ty leaned in and spoke. “I am.”
Chip took the microphone back, all goofy smiles. “Any particular reason for that?” Again, the microphone went right under Ty’s nose.
“Sequins,” Ty said immediately. “I’d rather be naked than wear sequins.”
The audience gave a startled laugh, and I could hear whistles from one section.
Chip chuckled, as if pleased with our answer. “All right then.” He turned to the cameras. “For those at home, just a reminder of how the scoring works. Fifty percent of the ice dancers’ score will be based on our judges’ criteria. They’ll be looking for artistic performance, originality, and technical expertise, and they’ll be scaling our dancers on a score of one to ten. The other fifty percent of the scoring will be based on your vote. If you like a couple and want to save them, vote. The phone number for voting for Zara and Ty will be on your screen.” He pointed at the air, and I guessed that was where the phone number would show up. “Your favorites need your vote. And with that, let’s go to our judges’ panel and see how Zara and Ty did!”
We turned, and the spotlight went to the first person in the judges’ panel. Penelope Marks, my old nemesis. When I’d walked off the ice at the Olympics? She’d gone on to medal despite having a totally inferior program. I hated her. She also got two of the endorsement deals that had been courting me until that moment. To say that I wasn’t a fan was putting it mildly.
She looked gorgeous, if a little too tanned. Her limp blonde hair was cut in a jagged style, and she dripped with designer jewelry. She waved to the audience when they cheered, and then gave us a bright, pastel-pink smile, clasping her hands together. “So, Ty and Zara. First of all, I want to say that I appreciate how hard it is to come out here and perform.” She gave us a polite smile. “I know it’s tough, and ice skating is not for everyone. That being said, I do think you both need to work on your form and your footwork along with your artistry. I just wasn’t feeling it at all.” She held up a scorecard. “Sorry.”
She’d given us a two.
Bitch.
The audience gasped. A few courteous ‘boos’ echoed.
Penelope shrugged. “I just didn’t love it. Better luck next week.”
The spotlight moved to the next judge, Irina Brezhlova. She was a Czech coach from back in the day, and very famous. Her motherly smile beamed down on us. “I thought you both did very well for being the first team to come out onto the ice. I wasn’t a fan of the music, but I enjoyed your colorful costumes and the fun routine.” She held up her card. Six. Getting better, at least.
The audience clapped politely.
The third judge was Raul Pacheco, a male skater that I vaguely recognized from the decade before mine. He studied us for a minute. “Your timing was off, but I think you both have potential. I’d like to see what you bring to future performances.”
He unveiled another six.
“All right. That’s a total of fourteen points out of a possible thirty.” Chip patted me on the back since I was closest to him. “We’ll see how that stacks up against the rest of our contestants. Thank you again, Ty and Zara.”
We waved to the audience and then skated away, heading back to the Crash Room.
We were hosed.
Bad juju had totally nailed us.
~~ * ~~
The rest of the show went by in a blur. The others performed, but I barely noticed except that Michael Michaels completely fell on his ass at one point. They had come back to us for one more question, which Ty had glibly answered while I’d sat there, numb. My mind kept playing back the scores. Penelope Marks had given us a two. I seethed at that two. It was like she was deliberately trying to torpedo us. We hadn’t been great, but we hadn’t been that bad. The score had been totally unfair.
Most of all, it bothered me that she’d openly screw Ty just because she didn’t like me. That wasn’t fair to him.
At the end of the show, all the scores were tallied and teams were sent back out onto the ice in the order of our scores. At the front of the lineup, Serge and Annamarie were tied with Toby and Victoria Kiss. Next was Jon Jon and Julia, then Emma and Louie Earl. Ty and I were tied with Tatiana and Michael Michaels for last.
The music went down, and the show was over.
CHAPTER SEVEN
So that competition thing? That was a total hoser. What was the point of me coming on this show again? To prance around with a sexy partner and then wash out in the first round? What the hell? Huh? Sexy partner? Yeah, I said that. Have you seen Zara? That tight little ass? It takes everything I have not to try and grab it, because that’d make me a perv. — Ty Randall, Post-Show Interview, Week 1, Ice Dancing with the Stars
~~ * ~~
That night, when we returned to the cottage together, I headed straight for Ty’s fridge (that was now plugged in), searching for beer.
“What are you looking for?”
“A drink,” I told him. “I think I need one after tonight.”
He snorted. “I thought it went better than expected. The audience liked us.”
“Yeah,” I told him. “But the judges hated us, and that’s half of our score.”
“Come on,” he told me, pulling me away from the fridge that was now filled with health foods and bottles of water—curse my interference! —and pulled me toward the sofa. “You didn’t really expect to win, did you?”
I thumped down on one end of the couch and gave him a look that said, “yes, I did expect to win.”
He laughed, sitting on the other end of the couch, and grabbed my feet, pulling off my tennies to make me comfortable. I let him put my feet in his lap. A foot massage was obviously meant to distract me…but I was game for a bit of distraction. I crossed my arms over my chest and wiggled my feet as he tossed my shoes to the ground and began to rub them through my socks.
“That first chick that was the judge,” he said. “What was her name?”
“Penelope Marks,” I said sourly. “A really old enemy of mine.”
“I think she hates everyone. Did you see that she gave Michael Michaels and his chick a one? She’s clearly supposed to be the mean judge.” He rubbed my foot and then frowned at my red-and-yellow-striped socks. “Didn’t you wear these yesterday?”
Maybe I hadn’t been paying attention to the show itself, but the host I recognized. Chip Brubaker, who hosted a ton of these types of shows, moved over to us, a little wobbly on his skates. He wore a tux, a pound of makeup, and a fake smile. “Ty and Zara,” he announced. “Our first skate of the evening. Give it up for them!”
We smiled and waved as the audience cheered again.
“Let’s give our judges a minute to tally their scores,” Chip said, and moved closer to us. “Ty, I notice you’re missing half of your costume.”
The host shoved a microphone towards Ty for him to answer.
After a moment’s hesitation, Ty leaned in and spoke. “I am.”
Chip took the microphone back, all goofy smiles. “Any particular reason for that?” Again, the microphone went right under Ty’s nose.
“Sequins,” Ty said immediately. “I’d rather be naked than wear sequins.”
The audience gave a startled laugh, and I could hear whistles from one section.
Chip chuckled, as if pleased with our answer. “All right then.” He turned to the cameras. “For those at home, just a reminder of how the scoring works. Fifty percent of the ice dancers’ score will be based on our judges’ criteria. They’ll be looking for artistic performance, originality, and technical expertise, and they’ll be scaling our dancers on a score of one to ten. The other fifty percent of the scoring will be based on your vote. If you like a couple and want to save them, vote. The phone number for voting for Zara and Ty will be on your screen.” He pointed at the air, and I guessed that was where the phone number would show up. “Your favorites need your vote. And with that, let’s go to our judges’ panel and see how Zara and Ty did!”
We turned, and the spotlight went to the first person in the judges’ panel. Penelope Marks, my old nemesis. When I’d walked off the ice at the Olympics? She’d gone on to medal despite having a totally inferior program. I hated her. She also got two of the endorsement deals that had been courting me until that moment. To say that I wasn’t a fan was putting it mildly.
She looked gorgeous, if a little too tanned. Her limp blonde hair was cut in a jagged style, and she dripped with designer jewelry. She waved to the audience when they cheered, and then gave us a bright, pastel-pink smile, clasping her hands together. “So, Ty and Zara. First of all, I want to say that I appreciate how hard it is to come out here and perform.” She gave us a polite smile. “I know it’s tough, and ice skating is not for everyone. That being said, I do think you both need to work on your form and your footwork along with your artistry. I just wasn’t feeling it at all.” She held up a scorecard. “Sorry.”
She’d given us a two.
Bitch.
The audience gasped. A few courteous ‘boos’ echoed.
Penelope shrugged. “I just didn’t love it. Better luck next week.”
The spotlight moved to the next judge, Irina Brezhlova. She was a Czech coach from back in the day, and very famous. Her motherly smile beamed down on us. “I thought you both did very well for being the first team to come out onto the ice. I wasn’t a fan of the music, but I enjoyed your colorful costumes and the fun routine.” She held up her card. Six. Getting better, at least.
The audience clapped politely.
The third judge was Raul Pacheco, a male skater that I vaguely recognized from the decade before mine. He studied us for a minute. “Your timing was off, but I think you both have potential. I’d like to see what you bring to future performances.”
He unveiled another six.
“All right. That’s a total of fourteen points out of a possible thirty.” Chip patted me on the back since I was closest to him. “We’ll see how that stacks up against the rest of our contestants. Thank you again, Ty and Zara.”
We waved to the audience and then skated away, heading back to the Crash Room.
We were hosed.
Bad juju had totally nailed us.
~~ * ~~
The rest of the show went by in a blur. The others performed, but I barely noticed except that Michael Michaels completely fell on his ass at one point. They had come back to us for one more question, which Ty had glibly answered while I’d sat there, numb. My mind kept playing back the scores. Penelope Marks had given us a two. I seethed at that two. It was like she was deliberately trying to torpedo us. We hadn’t been great, but we hadn’t been that bad. The score had been totally unfair.
Most of all, it bothered me that she’d openly screw Ty just because she didn’t like me. That wasn’t fair to him.
At the end of the show, all the scores were tallied and teams were sent back out onto the ice in the order of our scores. At the front of the lineup, Serge and Annamarie were tied with Toby and Victoria Kiss. Next was Jon Jon and Julia, then Emma and Louie Earl. Ty and I were tied with Tatiana and Michael Michaels for last.
The music went down, and the show was over.
CHAPTER SEVEN
So that competition thing? That was a total hoser. What was the point of me coming on this show again? To prance around with a sexy partner and then wash out in the first round? What the hell? Huh? Sexy partner? Yeah, I said that. Have you seen Zara? That tight little ass? It takes everything I have not to try and grab it, because that’d make me a perv. — Ty Randall, Post-Show Interview, Week 1, Ice Dancing with the Stars
~~ * ~~
That night, when we returned to the cottage together, I headed straight for Ty’s fridge (that was now plugged in), searching for beer.
“What are you looking for?”
“A drink,” I told him. “I think I need one after tonight.”
He snorted. “I thought it went better than expected. The audience liked us.”
“Yeah,” I told him. “But the judges hated us, and that’s half of our score.”
“Come on,” he told me, pulling me away from the fridge that was now filled with health foods and bottles of water—curse my interference! —and pulled me toward the sofa. “You didn’t really expect to win, did you?”
I thumped down on one end of the couch and gave him a look that said, “yes, I did expect to win.”
He laughed, sitting on the other end of the couch, and grabbed my feet, pulling off my tennies to make me comfortable. I let him put my feet in his lap. A foot massage was obviously meant to distract me…but I was game for a bit of distraction. I crossed my arms over my chest and wiggled my feet as he tossed my shoes to the ground and began to rub them through my socks.
“That first chick that was the judge,” he said. “What was her name?”
“Penelope Marks,” I said sourly. “A really old enemy of mine.”
“I think she hates everyone. Did you see that she gave Michael Michaels and his chick a one? She’s clearly supposed to be the mean judge.” He rubbed my foot and then frowned at my red-and-yellow-striped socks. “Didn’t you wear these yesterday?”
