Ice Games (2 page)

Ooo, someone got busted.

“You’ll be assigned the same choreographers as last year.”

Assigned choreographers? I felt my enthusiasm dim a little. I loved doing choreography and expressing myself artistically through routines. Having someone else pick out that stuff for us took a little of the joy out of it. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I was certainly the beggar here. I said nothing.

“The celebrities for this year have been selected. I realize not all of you will be pleased with your choice of partners, but we’ve made every attempt to be fair to all involved. We trust that even if you don’t appreciate your choice in partner, that you will maintain professionalism and make the best of things. Your role as the skater is to make the celebrity look good. That means that the choreographer will be choosing routines designed at a much lower level of expertise than you are used to. We expect you to pace yourself accordingly.

“Schedules will be provided by the production assistant assigned to you. As a reminder, since we are working on a truncated timeframe, all parties have agreed to stay in the assigned production dormitory. There was an issue last season with alcohol and a few missed practices.” Again, she cast a scathing eye down the line. “So I trust that will not be an issue this year. As a reminder, camera crews will be filming any and all interactions. You will essentially have no privacy for the next eight weeks. Again, I trust this will not be an issue.”

She flipped more papers. “You’ll meet with your celebrity later this afternoon. From there, you can get started. Any questions?”

I raised my hand.

All eyes turned to me. “Yes?” The woman’s voice was cool.

“You say this is ice dancing, but I’m a figure skater. Does this mean we’ll have no throws or jumps at all? Those are against the rules in ice dancing.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she gave me an imperceptible shake of her head.

Uh oh. I began to babble again. “I mean, not that we can’t do that. I’m totally fine with that. I was just curious, because the rules of ice dancing are different than regular pairs skating, and the skates are different. Ice dancers use a different toe pick, and—”

“It’s just a name,” the woman executive said in a voice that so wintry that I expected ice cubes to fall from her mouth. “You’ll do regular figure skating. The name is simply for the show. Now. Do you have any
other
questions?”

I had a million, but even I knew when to keep my trap shut.

The executive smiled. “Good. Welcome to season two of
Ice Dancing with the Stars
.”

CHAPTER TWO

I can’t believe my management team stuck me with this ice dancing bullshit. I might as well turn in my man-card now. Ice dancing. Seriously? I plan on getting drunk the entire time and staying that way.
— Ty Randall, Pre-Show Interview

~~ * ~~

The ‘dorm’ was an interesting set-up. It wasn’t an actual dorm, but a series of houses about an hour outside of LA. A driver took us to the residences, and we were assigned numbers. I had ‘cabin’ number six, which turned out to be a small ranch-style house larger than my parent’s home back in Kentucky, and it was fully furnished. The style was an interesting sort of trendy deco, complete with checkered tile on the floor, kitschy rugs, and weird lamps hanging from the ceilings. Hey, at least it was free.

I explored the house, my suitcase parked near the door. The kitchen was state-of-the-art and stocked full of health foods. Fresh vegetables, organic whole grains, oatmeal, fruit, the works. Good. I’d filled out a questionnaire with the production assistant assigned to me prior to being flown out for the show, and they’d wanted to know the kinds of foods I liked to eat. They’d listened well, too.

There were two fridges, though. I pulled open the door of the second one and peeked inside to get an idea of what my partner was like.

It was full of beer. Jesus. Corona, Red Stripe, Guinness, Rolling Rock—you name it, it was in there. I scowled at the sight. Was I being stuck with a drunk? It was important to me that we looked good when we competed. I wanted to be asked back for next season, damn it. The fridge was also full of prepared foods, and I pulled out the first box. Pizza rolls? Hot dogs?

This would not do. I immediately pulled out my cellphone and called the production assistant assigned to me.

“Hi Zara,” Melody said eagerly. “What can I get for you?”

“The other fridge. It’s full of garbage.”

I could hear Melody flipping through her notes on the other end of the line. “Garbage? I’m not sure—”

“Beer, Melody. It’s full of beer and pizza rolls. How am I supposed to ice skate with someone if they’re full of beer and pizza rolls?”

“Well, you each filled out a questionnaire,” Melody said uncertainly. “Your celebrity requested those things—”

“Come and get it all out,” I told her. “I’ll have a nice chat with my partner when he gets here. But I want it gone.”

“I can’t do that, Zara,” Melody said. “I’m sorry. My orders were to stock the fridge with the requested items.”

I frowned, and then an idea struck me. “No worries. I’ll figure something out.” I hung up before she could ask what, and spent the next five minutes wiggling the fridge out from the wall. When there was enough room to reach behind, I grabbed the plug and yanked it out.

We’d see how my celebrity friend liked warm beer and spoiled pizza rolls. He’d have no choice but to eat health food if that was all that was available.

Satisfied with that solution, I grabbed my suitcase and headed to the rooms. Neither one was labeled, but one was clearly much smaller than the other. That one had to be mine. I looked longingly at the larger room. It had a wall full of windows that overlooked a woodsy, grassy backyard. Pretty. My room had no windows, since I was just the lowly figure skater. Whatever. I spent the next several minutes unpacking. My skates were the last to come out, and I caressed them lovingly before putting them in a place of honor on a hook on the wall. Skates didn’t touch the floor outside of the rink. That was bad juju, and I was mindful of my juju.

Speaking of rinks. I left my room and headed to the back of the house. There was a sliding glass door off of the kitchen, and a concrete path leading through the grasses off into what looked like an enormous shed twice the size of the house in the distance. I opened the door and stepped out, and then looked down the row of cabins. Each other cabin had an identical shed. That must be our private rink. Smart. We didn’t have to share the ice with the other celebrities. I was glad, though I was surprised at how much money they’d put into the set-up of things. This had to cost a pretty penny. Ratings must have been better than I thought. With a skip in my step, I headed down the path and peeked in the door.

The rink was small, but usable. A long row of mirrors lined the wall, and a barre was attached. There was a locker room on the far end of the building and off to one side, there was an electronic stereo set-up for the music. Nothing fancy, totally serviceable. I still liked it, though. My own private rink for the next two months. Heaven.

I just had to put up with some beer-swilling pig of a partner and all of this paradise was mine.

~~ * ~~

My phone rang at 3:00 PM California time, and I yawned, rousing from my nap. I wasn’t used to the hours here, and was still exhausted despite it being early afternoon. “Hello?”

“This is Melody, calling you to remind you that the celebrities will be arriving in a half hour. Please be ready to meet your new partner. There will be camera crews at hand to film your reaction.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

I got up and put a bit of makeup on, and I smoothed my bun again, making sure I looked presentable without being too eager. I hated that I had been dressed so casually this morning. If I dolled up like crazy now, the other skaters would smirk endlessly at my obviousness, and I didn’t want to be on their radar any more than I already was. Still, I added some lipstick, since there would be cameras. Okay, and a bit of mascara. I had big, dark eyes, and it wouldn’t take much to make them pop.

I went outside and walked down the street where the others were converging. There was apparently a clubhouse at the end of our private little neighborhood, and I guessed we needed to head that way. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I sauntered toward it.

Cameras and people were everywhere, and I saw one cameraman split off and immediately head for me. “Zara,” the cameraman said, waving me over. “Let’s do an interview.”

Interview? Bleh. Part of the job, though. I put on my best smile and shrugged. “I’m game.”

“Okay, great. Why don’t you tell us what it feels like to be part of the
Ice Dancing with the Stars
team? Please include the question in your answer and speak in complete sentences if possible to make it easier for the production crew.”

Oh. Okay. “Being on the show is an amazing opportunity,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. It seriously was.

He gestured his hand for me to continue talking.

Oh. Someone wanted me to actually keep going? Normally everyone couldn’t wait for me to shut up. “Well, actually, I’m super nervous,” I said, and gave a little bounce as if to illustrate this. “I’ve never been on TV and it’s been a while since I skated in any sort of professional capacity, so this is a big deal for me.”

“But you were in the Olympics back in the day, right?” he interrupted, still filming me.

“Oh, yeah.” And I grimaced. “We probably shouldn’t bring that up, though.”

“So have you ever skated doubles?”

“I have not skated doubles,” I told him. “This is actually a little different, because it’s ice dancing. Doubles is two people on ice, doing a coordinated routine together. Dancing is, well, dancing.” I didn’t bring up the fact that we weren’t even really doing ice dancing, just a mutated version of skating doubles. “You’re constantly in touch with your partner, which means you both have to be in time with the music, except there are two pairs of skates to keep track of instead of just one. It requires a lot more paying attention, because you’re only as strong as your partner.”

“Let’s talk about partners. Are you excited to meet yours?”

“Excited? I’m not sure if excited is the word I’d use. Nervous, yes. But not sure if excited is the right word. I’m mostly ready to get this thing started.” I bounced around again, unable to contain my anticipation. “I know everyone says they’re here to enjoy themselves, but don’t get me wrong, I’m here to win this thing. I’m ultra-competitive, and I tend to hyper-focus on things. So I plan on working from sun up to sun down to make sure that we totally rock this thing and get all the way to the end. I’m not going to settle for second best. Not from myself, and not from my partner.”

“Great, thanks, Zara.”

“Of course. Any time you need an interview, you just let me know. I aim to please.” And I’d kiss all the right asses if it meant being here next season.

He left my side and went to go stand with a few of the other cameramen, so I wandered back to the other skaters. Emma beamed a smile at me. “You ready to meet your celebrity?”

Man, everyone was sure focused on the whole celebrity thing. “I guess? I just hope he can skate.”

Emma didn’t look worried. “They can. That’s one of the criteria for being on the show. They have to pass a physical and a rudimentary skating test. That, and they have to be someone people would be vaguely interested in seeing compete.” She gave me a fainter grin. “But their idea of skating prowess and ours is a little different, so just be sure to have low expectations.”

“Low expectations. Got it.”

“I am really glad that you’re here, Zara,” she said in a soft voice. “I wasn’t kidding. I always thought you got a bad rap. I mean, how many of us have wanted to walk off the ice after a bad performance?”

“Yeah, but I was the dumbass that did it.” I shrugged. “And I learned why you don’t, but I learned the hard way.”

“Well, I don’t think you should be punished for the rest of your life just because of something you did ten years ago,” she said softly. “Oh well, anyhow. I’m glad you’re here. Svettie was wanting that baby for forever, so I’m really glad she’s getting it, and I’m glad you’re getting your second chance. Just hope you don’t get stuck with a loser for a partner.”

Emma sure was being friendly. It was good to have someone on my side. “How do they pick the partners?”

She made a face at that, her eyes still scanning the horizon—likely for the incoming celebrities. “Oh, that. They pretend like it’s all random, but it’s really not. They select who you’re going to be paired with based on who they want to succeed.”

My eyebrows drew together. “You mean it’s rigged?”

She laughed. “It’s TV. Of course it’s rigged. They’re looking for optimal entertainment value, you know. Like you? They picked you because even though they want a good skater, they also like drama. You have the potential for drama. That’s also why they like Serge.” She nodded down the line at the men, who stood in a cluster, talking together. “Ten bucks says they’re going to give him someone sexy because he slept with his partner last year. Made a lot of tabloids. My guess is that they want him to sleep with his partner again.”

“And you? What kind of partner did you have last year?”

“I got paired up with a guy that played a dad on TV. Older. Very sweet. If I get paired up with an older guy again, I’m guessing that’s my demographic. Feel-good.” Emma shrugged, but she didn’t seem upset by that.

“And Tatiana?”

“Tati is…” she trailed off, then looked over at me. “Well, looks like we’ll see very soon. I see the limos pulling up. Come on.”

The group moved into action. Cameramen surged forward, and I followed Emma as a line of black sedans pulled in. They stopped, and the first driver got out, tricked out to the nines in a black suit and hat. He adjusted white gloves on his hands for maximum effect, and then went to open the back car door.

A woman got out. Tall, beautiful, slender. She was dressed in a white pantsuit that left her entire back bare, oversized designer sunglasses, and too-bright red lipstick. It was immediately obvious who it was—Annamarie Evans, who’d been on the cover of every fashion magazine for the last five years or so, until she’d been usurped by a bustier, younger model. It happened a lot in her business, and my guess was that she was here to try and get herself a bit of attention.

The cameras loved her, though. She smiled and nodded and gave a swing of her lovely hair, stepping gracefully toward a chalk-marked X that had been drawn on the asphalt for her to go stand on when she’d exited the car.

I was guessing I’d just spotted Serge’s partner. She was gorgeous.

The next limo contained another familiar figure—Michael Michaels. His black hair was cut into a mohawk, and spikes stuck out from both of his ears. Tattoos covered his neck, and he wore a black t-shirt that had the arm holes cut all the way down to his waistband, which was also covered in spikes. He wore a pair of tight leather jeans and big, buckle-laden boots. He also looked incredibly skinny and pale. I had his CD in my car at home.

Next was a woman I didn’t recognize. She had blonde, wavy hair and wore a dark polo shirt and jeans. She wasn’t exactly dressed like Annamarie the model. I wondered what she did.