I saw Mr. Gatson’s knowing smirk on his face with his arms folded as if he was waiting to be impressed. I don’t know if what Jimmie said should’ve eased my nerves or increased my fears. But man, when I heard the beat drop as I sat in the black wooden chair with my back turned to the audience it felt as if something coated my mind and body and I was no longer surrounded by an audience.
The song that I did my number to was Vanity 6’s 1980s hit, “Nasty Girl”. And that night I was just that. The beat was electrifying and easy to be guided by. Jimmie chose it believing it complimented my passive mannerisms. Little did he know, there was a wild side to me—it just wasn’t for everyone to experience.
I twirled, lunged, arched, pumped, dropped it, spun, hurled, teased, and popped. I demanded the stage. When Vanity would sing about living in a fantasy and asking if I was a nasty girl, I was that nasty girl. It felt so natural; I forgot where I was and focused on my inner sex-goddess. The experience was invigorating.
I had to be careful not to emulate a stripper but a dancer with grace and dignity instead. So there were no shirts coming off like in other numbers performed here tonight. And I did more than feel the beat, I was one with the beat. When I ended the number, I commanded the audience. I could tell by the expressions on their faces. That snatched me from the trance I was in. I heard applauses, screams, and whistles.
When I walked off stage Jimmie was there clapping and yelling, “She’s found! She’s found! I knew it! Bravo!”
He grabbed me into his arms and held me for dear life. I was trying to calm down. That was quite an experience up there on stage. After recieving my evaluation from Jimmie, I hurried and changed. I was ready to get home because I had an early morning the next day, but Jimmie would kill me if I were to leave before they announced the winners. I knew I wouldn’t win, my competitors had been at this for years. They relied on this talent. And me? Well again, it was just a hobby.
I went out to the bar figuring I’d get a nice cold drink while they called the winners. I moved my way through the crowd to an unoccupied seat. I motioned for the bartender and ordered a sprite with lots of ice. That’s what my body needed at the time. I heard them announce the third place winner. It was Wendy, last year’s first place winner. She didn’t seem too happy about her ranking as she took to the stage to collect her trophy. Big deal! I thought to myself then I felt someone grab my arm. I looked up and it was Richard.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
“I just wanted to surprise you by showing up to offer a little support. You were hot, mami!” Richard’s hands were clasped together as he tried to mask his enthusiasm.
“I don’t need any support. Just a little privacy as I told you earlier! How did you even know where—”
I started to rip him a new one when he shrieked and drew in a hefty breath, “Rayna! They called your name, mami! You won! You won! Go!”
I looked up and heard the MC announce, “Again, number 77, Crème!?”, as he searched the crowd.
I was so stunned my body trembled as I went up to collect my trophy. As I approached the stage, I saw Jimmie jumping up and down as if he’d won the lottery. I had to remind myself this was a win for Jimmie. This is what he dedicates his life to; so I tried to act excited.
“You worked that, baby!” the MC said in a slick and greasy way. I cut my eyes at him and looked into the crowd for Jimmie. He was right there in front with his hands locked in front of him with the look and stance of a proud father.
I won second place. I couldn’t be happier for him. After all, he chose the song and the moves. I debated him on the song fearing it was too impish. But he was adamant about the combination and I couldn’t fight him anymore after a while. When I came down from the stage, as the MC was announcing the first place winner, I walked over to Jimmie and gave him the trophy and certificate.
“You earned it, Jimmie.”