Page 33 of Sway

11

Salomé

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, put your hands together for C. Dolla and Salomé, who will be dancing a swing to the Ray Charles classic ‘Hit the Road Jack.’”

Dolla and I glide onto the stage. He looks so damn fine in his 1920s Harlem renaissance inspired digs. The man got into the creation of his costume, big time. He called all of his fashion gurus in to design the perfect authentic outfit: a black and red pinstriped double-breasted silk tuxedo studded with diamonds and rubies, a cardinal-tinted silk shirt, a black fedora with a scarlet feather, and tan shoes with squared off bulldog toes. Classic. And they hooked me up, too: a killer red plumed skirt with a black ruby bedazzled corset and a huge red-feathered headdress. H-O-T, baby. The audience goes wild when we begin to dance. Swing is one of my best dances, and for tonight I choreographed a very Lindy Hop-inspired routine. The two of us flick up our heels in unison and fly across the floor.

Dolla is divine. A total perfectionist. He wants to win and is pulling out all the stops. He’s even planned a huge Harlem Renaissance bash for tonight after the show, where he’ll recreate the scene at Harlem’s historic Savoy Ballroom.

We do my signature sugar push move, with Dolla tossing me away then yanking me back, and I know we’ve nailed this number. As we kick into our final pose, the music comes to a crashing end and applause explodes from the audience. Boo-yah, baby!

We head over to Matt, both of us breathing heavy. It’s pretty stupid trying to interview dancers in the seconds after a performance, but that’s DUTS so here we are, two panting dogs dressed to the nines.

“So, Dolla,” host Matt says, “you look quite dapper tonight. Audience, doesn’t he look dapper?”

“Come on people, show me some love!” Dolla shouts. They do, of course. Loudly. “Well, Matt, I gotta tell ya. This crowd is amazing. Yo, give it up for my girl Salomé! Yeah! Show some love. She is bangin’. Those moves are hot. I mean this dance is very special to me, very special to me, for real. In preparation for this dance, I studied about the richness and culture during the Harlem Renaissance, back in the 1920-30s. How us African-Americans had an integral part in creating the music and dancing of swing. In fact, in honor of what I have learned from this dance, I’m gonna create a special Harlem Renaissance-inspired line of clothing for my line, Jamal Trey Clothing.” Dolla pounds his fist over his heart. “I feel it, Matt. I feel it deep.”

“Dolla, that’s great. It’s wonderful that you’ve taken such an interest in the history of ballroom dance. Salomé, what do you think about Dolla’s new-found inspiration?”

“Well, I don’t know much about the history and stuff,” I mumble. “But Dolla’s the best. He’s so great and supportive to me and I love his outfit.” Yeah, that’ll go down in the history books as the best interview ever. I hate doing interviews. I just want to dance.

“Let’s see what the judges had to say. Benjamin Brooks?”

“Dolla, my good bastard, that was a beaut’. Love your duds. You got the style of the dance down,” Benny says.

“Karen Lopez,” Matt says.

“Dolla, you are a dream. You are so graceful and I can see your years of dance training. You gave such an authentic feel to the dance. I can really see that you made a strong effort to include some Lindy Hop moves into your swing but I really appreciate the fact that you still danced with traditional timing,” she says.

“Steve Samson,” Matt asks.

“Dolla, you’re like a rocket. Taking off fast and furious. It was superb,” Steve replies.

“After the break, the judges will reveal their scores,” says Matt.

Dolla and I head back stage. We await our scores surrounded by the other dancers. The judges give us three tens. Thank God, we’re the last dance of the night. Dolla and I plow through the after show press junket as fast as we can. I rush to my trailer to change. Jenny and Diana are already inside.

Jenny is leaning over my sink, scrubbing off her makeup. Water beads trickle down her forehead. “There you are. Can you please tell Lady Di over here that what she is wearing is underwear and not an actual dress?” Jenny grabs a towel and wipes off her face.

Diana is prancing around in a near see-through pink silk slip. “It is too a dress,” she whines. “It’s a Diane von Furstenberg. Vika let me borrow it.” She twirls around like a princess.

Apparently, Jenny and I aren’t as cool as Vika. Diana ditched us twice last week to attend store grand openings with Vika and Iza. I hate those stupid fashion events. They never have anything in my size. Does Beverly Hills even make anything in a size four?

Jenny whips the towel at Diana. “Oh, well if Vika wore it, it must be appropriate.”

Just one day of peace is all I ask.“Come on, guys. Jen, stop giving her such a hard time about everything. What do you want her to wear? Braids and a cotton ankle length dress?”

Jenny seethes and slips into a navy knee-length BCBG skirt.

“And Di, for God’s sake, please stop taking fashion advice from Vika. She was a stripper.” I back up to Diana and she unhinges me from my corset. Ahh, to breathe again. “You guys both did so much better tonight. Xavier is finding his groove and Tim even stood up straight.”

Jenny zips up her boots. “Yes, Tim’s improving rapidly. But I think overall he’s better at the Standard dances. The swing was okay because it’s kind of slow, but I’m going to need your help when we get to the paso.”

“Got your back, sista.” I throw on my favorite Bebe tiger print maxi dress and fasten my five-inch black stilettos. “This party is gonna be awesome. Dolla’s been talking about it for weeks. Come on. Let’s go.”

Dolla’s Escalade limousine is waiting outside to take us to the jamboree.

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