Read Tango with a Twist (Smashwords edition.) Page 41
#scenebreak
Son of a bitch! Why’d the wuss have to freak out and puke? After that fiasco, everyone would’ve been certain he’d offed himself, completely to be expected. Twist worked so far behind the scenes, no one would’ve suspected foul play. That son of a bitch was way too lucky.
Huh. Was someone using magic to help Fox?
Whatever. It was time to stop working behind the scenes, time to take action.
Katy was still at the studio. And she was alone.
sixteen
So I had this dream. . .
The music was creepy and weird. Tiempo de Vals or Hijo de la Luna, I think. I wore a stellar black tux and Tango was dressed to kill in a dark red ball gown, her hair pulled up and her make-up competition perfect. We swept across an enormous, crowded dance floor, my friends the only people I could see in any detail. Farmer-C and Monika sailed past us, him in a cheetah-print caveman costume, her decked out exactly like Cruella De Vil.
Tango and I performed a faultless fleckerl, then swooped past K-pop and Cosita, who were drawn like actual anime characters. His hair was taller than usual and his eyes were literal exclamation points.
Dad and Mike spiraled by in matching white tuxes.
Juicy and Woody executed remarkable pivots. They wore g-strings and, for her, pasties. They stopped in the middle of the floor and kissed.
Boom! They exploded in a massive cloud of glitter!
Everyone glanced at the smoke rising from the dance floor, but we’d be next if we stopped so none of my friends even slowed down. Tango back-led me into a series of twinkles to keep us moving. They carried us away as if we were dancing on a cloud.
Dad and Mike weren’t so lucky: they paused briefly where Juicy and Woody had vanished.
Boom! More glitter.
The audience broke into mad applause. They surrounded the floor in rising tiers so high I couldn’t see the top, thousands of people watching, all dressed in full-on Renaissance royal finery, white wigs and all.
In the weird logic of dreams, I had no reaction to Dad’s explosion. I led Tango into a developé and flashed the crowd my biggest I’m-the-man-in-charge smile.
Farmer-C and Monika bore down on us from the edge of the floor, so I ended my pose a measure early and sailed off to another corner. That was the true test of a competitor. We all had our sequences, but how did we manage when we had to break choreo and wing it?
We swung around and trapped our pursuers.
Boom! Insane applause and glitter.
Tango laughed, and we floated off to the next victims. One by one, every couple made some sort of mistake that earned them an explosion. K-pop and Cosita were the easiest kill of all.
Eventually, Tango and I had the floor to ourselves. I spun her out so she could land and curtsy. I gave the deepest bow of my life as the applause rose to a deafening roar and confetti, balloons and flowers poured out of the ceiling.
I rose from my bow. Tango ignored the crowd, hands at her sides, staring at me. What the heck? She was going to offend the judges, and we’d end up glitter-bombed after all.
The tiers of seats slid away, leaving me adrift in the middle of an enormous, empty dance floor. Tango shook her head sadly and faded into smoke.