And Now A Word From Our Sponsor is about a soap opera that is about to sing its last note. The cast and crew is hoping that the return of Frederick Wentworth, reprising his role as a dashing hero, can save the day. Anne is hoping his return doesn’t mean she’s going to have her heart broken again. To begin the story, go HERE.
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Anne looked away, but not before seeing him and a cowgirl partner start a complicated reel of some sort.
“It was Texas Tornado night on Struttin’ With the Stars last night. They did a thing called ‘Bucks for the Blow,’ it’s a benefit for all weather related relief programs.”
Jane raised a brow. “That’s an unfortunate choice of name.” She laughed to herself as she went back to Anne’s hair.
Anne wondered just how many weather related relief organizations there must be in the Untied States.
“Rick and Renny danced a Virginia Reel,” Alice said, staring at the screen.
A Virginia Reel on a Texas-themed night was odd Anne thought.
Anne looked at the screen just in time to see Frederick rip his partner’s fringed skirt off and throw it into the audience.
“Now, if he’d just lose the chaps,” Alice said behind her. “Anne please,” she reached around and moved Anne’s hands so they could get a better view of the small screen. “Aaaaa!”
Anne couldn’t help herself and looked. There was Frederick swinging the chaps above his head while his partner smiling like a fool, slid between his legs. The music stopped and the crowd went wild.
At first glance, it looked like all he was left wearing was a red bandana and his cowboy boots. Then she was relieved to see that he was also wearing a pair of dark blue plaid boxer shorts.
“You must have the grace and sexuality of a Latin lover. You are seducing me with the dance, not lassoing a goat.” Renny Romanov pronounced her words slowly, with great emphasis when angry. She had been speaking very slowly all morning.
Rick Wentworth put up his hands in defeat. “Okay, time to stop.” He bent at the waist to catch his breath. “This routine is going to kill me.”
The studio in which he and Renny practiced had two mirrored walls and one wall of windows looking out onto busy Devonshire Boulevard. For a day or two an episode of Struttin’ aired, fans would gather outside and watch the practices. Today there were more people, particularly women, crowding the sidewalk than usual. He waved and gave them a crooked smile.
Renny waved as well. “I hate having to practice in front of an audience.” She did some arm stretches to keep warm. “They expect full costumes.” Renny had obliged the crowd with a sequined French cut leotard, leg warmers, and a brilliant silk scarf for a headband holding back careless blond curls.
Rick was wearing a plain sleeveless tee shirt, basketball shorts, and tube socks. Renny told him everyday he looked like a peasant. “The powers-that-be put the address out there so I guess we can’t expect they will leave us alone.” He looked up at her.
“Whatever. This routine is going to win us the competition.” Renny high-kicked and stretched her shoulders then took a bow. “I’ve been doing this show for four years and have never won the Golden Toe Shoe. You’re going to help me win it if it kills you.”
He straightened and took her hand. They did a quick succession of spins that ended with her bent backwards over his knee. He smiled for the fans. “Fine, just drag my dead carcass off the stage after they give us the statue.” If he lived so long.
“Deal.” She watched her reflection in the mirrored wall as she swivelled her hips and shook her shoulders. “You better remember that the next time you make wardrobe changes without talking to me.”
Telling Renny about his plans to wear the baggy boxers instead of the skimpy costume designed for the Virginia Reel dance set would have been like telling the director of Struttin’, Willy the Weasel. “I didn’t come on this show to bare it all. I went along with the shirts open to my navel and the peek-a-boo chaps, but the planned wardrobe malfunction was too much.” Thankfully there was only the live championship show to go. If he was to be on the show any longer, he was sure he’d wind up dancing in nothing but his skin.
“So, why did you come on the show, Wentworth?” An impeccable British accent reverberated off the glass and mirrors.
Rick and Renny turned to Liam Elliott, this season’s director of Struttin’ with the Stars.
Elliott’s claim to fame thus far was three controversial music videos and a training film on the ergonomic use of a stepladder. Elliott was an acquaintance of Wentworth’s manager and that was how Rick got roped into struttin’ his stuff.
Before he could say anything snide, Elliot held up a small piece of beige material. “This is what you were supposed to be wearing at the end of your set last night. Why weren’t you?” He shook the thong with each word.
Renny looked at each of the men and moved to the far corner of the studio. She started doing positions on the barre, but still watched for the confrontation that was brewing.
Wentworth moved close to Elliott. “Have you ever worn one of those things?” He’d realized early on that the director was afraid of him and that the closer he stood to him, the more nervous Elliott became.
“No, I have not.” He stepped closer to Wentworth. He was evidently mad enough that Wentworth’s physical presence wasn’t as intimidating as in the past. “It was part of the costume designed for you and you are contractually obligated to wear it.” The flimsy bit of cloth flopped in his hand.
Wentworth grabbed the thong and shot it like a rubber band at the floor-to-ceiling windows. It landed in the corner of one of the frames. The women in the front surged forward to look at it and the rest of them clapped jumped up and down. Even through the thick glass he could hear the whistles and laughs of the crowd.
Elliott’s nostrils flared, his lips whitened, and he went to get the thong. He bent to pick it up. Rick could hear the women booing. Elliott straightened, watched the women for a moment and then moved as though he was coming towards them.
They jumped back and booed more loudly.
So much for viewer goodwill.
Elliott again waved the thong at Rick. “Women have been wearing these things for decades with no complaints. Your wearing this would have been a ratings coup.”
Rick backed away a step. No one had worn it as far as he knew, but he didn’t appreciate having it shoved in his face. “Look, women cram their feet into shoes too small and wear jeans that cut off their circulation too, that doesn’t mean I have to embarrass myself wearing that.” He grabbed it again.
He figured he’d auction if off on Ebay for a charity and held it behind his back. “Besides, if I’d worn this itty-bitty bit of nothing, the network would have had kittens. They couldn’t have shown any of me from the waist down.”
“The network doesn’t matter.” Elliott reached around Rick. “This show is about more than the uptight, can’t-stand-any-hint-of-skin American markets.” He tried reaching around the other side. “It’s about Europe, and Asia, and distribution on iTunes, you idiot.”
“So me in the buff is worth something, huh?” Rick smiled.
Elliott actually huffed in failure and put his hands on his hips. “Wentworth, you have been a thorn in my backside the entire time you’ve been on this show.” He tried to run around behind Rick, but Rick took one step and turned around, thwarting him.
“I’m sure I have, Willy.” He jammed the thong down his gym shorts. He lifted up his hands, daring Elliott to make a move.
Elliott stepped back, panting. “My name is Liam.”
“Your name is William. Liam is just an affectation to make you sound cultured. I’ll bet you drink cold beer on a hot day just like the rest of us American slobs.”
Renny laughed from across the room. She was Russian by birth, but had hoisted a couple of cold ones with Rick after a hard rehearsal.
The stare down continued. Liam’s face was red and he was breathing loudly through his nose. It was all Rick could do not to laugh. It was worse when he realized that Elliott plucked his eyebrows. It wasn’t unusual in Hollywood for men to have their brows shaped, and to do a lot more personal grooming, but Liam was getting sloppy about his manscaping and needed a few strays rounded up.
The whole thing was ridiculous. Rick pulled the thong from his shorts and tossed them to Elliot. “This has been fun, Willy.” He turned away. “Renny, let’s get back to work.”
Still grasping the thong, Elliott pointed to Rick. “You listen to me, you don’t want to make me your enemy, Wentworth. I will do everything in my power to see that you lose this competition. Everything. Do you hear me?” He turned and stalked out of the studio.
A soft cheer went up from the crowd outside. Wentworth and Renny took their bows.
“Did he sound like a nutcase just now?” Rick asked.
They assumed the dance position. “Yes, he did.” Renny was frowning. “And if your teasing him makes me lose this time, I will have to drag you off the stage. After I kill you.” She smiled.
“Fair enough,” he said.