Cat In A Topaz Tango

Her supposed-to-be-proud neck bobbles onto her shoulder. Her legs remain splayed and inert, not moving to assist gracefully in her own resurrection for a bow.

While everyone there on two legs freezes in position, possibly passionate, I am there like a bullwhip on a horsefly, sniffing at her mouth and nose. I smell scented lipstick, metal and sweat, and nothing telltale. I think I feel the slightest stir of breath.

And then I am near trampled as the tardy security detail surrounds Mr. Matt and his partner, who will be taking no bows and getting no judges’ ratings tonight.

Postmortem on

a Pasodoble

Temple raced from the greenroom to the stage, only to have Crawford slap the mike in her hand as she headed for the clot of security uniforms that surrounded Matt.

“We’re off-air for two minutes, ZC,” he said. “Get ready to bring on the kids waiting in the wings. I’m out of here. I’m going on my radio station live on the latest Dancing With the Celebs mishap. This has become the most suspenseful reality TV nightly gig in history. Audience numbers are skyrocketing. I’m off to do a national pickup on the ‘cursed celebrity hoofers’ story. See you tomorrow night. Ta-ta.”

Temple stopped on a dime, not willing to be Zoe Chloe to the rescue again.

Then she spotted Rafi directing his troops and Matt carting an unconscious Wandawoman offstage amid a circle of security uniforms. Not to mention Dirty Larry following them with a video camera in hand.

She was stuck announcing the final acts: Sou-Sou’s “special, secret” makeup solo dance and Patrisha and Brandon’s jive. It meant the world to these kids.

So she heard her amplified Zoe Chloe voice tap dancing through some nonsense patter. What caught her attention was Sou-Sou’s costume for her jazz ballet solo.

She came out as “Baby Phat” Barbie, all in hot pink with spandex thigh-high spike-heeled boots, skimpy miniskirt and halter top, with flowing hair and chunky earrings, slinging around a stuffed purse pooch on a leash as she pranced and posed.

Temple could only gape in horror. Sou-Sou’s “secret” routine was as a Barbie doll, with the possibility that the Barbie Doll Killer was in town?

The ninety-second routine seemed to take a year, as did the judges’ warm comments to the little girl.

Only the sight of Patrisha beaming hopefully from the wings with Brandon right behind her wound Zoe Chloe up again. She was beginning to feel like a Barbie doll herself and was relieved to see Molina waiting to pounce on Sou-Sou as soon as she left the stage, the girl’s mother in tow with Dirty Larry behind her. Temple would love to eavesdrop on that quartet, but couldn’t desert her post.

The judges looked dazed too, but Patrisha and her Hermanos brother gamely poured their energy into the lively jive dance, distracting the audience with their show-must-go-on verve.

Lousy Crawford didn’t bother to show up again for the closing, as advertised, so Zoe Chloe winged that one, so torn between concern for Wandawoman, Matt, and Sou-Sou that the usual spirited ZC babble must have been incoherent.

As the cameras blinked off and drew back, people pounded her on the shoulders as if thinking she needed to start breathing again, saying what a “fab” job she’d done. One of them was Danny Dove, who extracted her from the judges and the scrambling tech people and guided her through the noise and lights to a relatively quiet hallway.

“Matt’s fine,” he said. “He handed Wandawoman over to security and the EMTs. She was breathing and en route to the hospital. They’re getting tape of the routine from all the covering media as soon as possible and want to go over it with Matt. Apparently the costume young Sou-Sou wore has really riled up the undercover police people. You okay?”

“Incoherence never killed anyone. Wandawoman?”

“The theory is drugs. Probably not voluntary. We’ve got two dance nights to go. We need to stop this dirty trick stuff, but the producer’s in love with the numbers and the police are even more gung ho about using the competition to nail the trickster and they’re particularly revved by Sou-Sou’s nauseously Barbie outfit.” Danny’s worry-wrinkled face softened. “The judges have decided to view their pasodoble again privately, if Wandawoman recovers, and rate it uninterrupted. It was killer, Temple. Matt was out-Joséing José.”

“I think winning this thing is the last of his worries.”

“Maybe. But he was in it to win it, and he still could. And he knows it.” Danny grinned at her. “I admit his paso knocked me out. I’m damn impressed. Heart is always the key to dance.”

“And everything.”

“And everything.” Danny hugged her. “I think that interesting two-person ‘posse’ of Zoe Chloe’s wants to see her ASAP.”

“Danny, they’re—”

“Enough already.” His voice went Humphrey Bogart. “I recognized the dame the minute I saw her.” He knew Carmina was Molina.

“I want to see Matt.”

“The security people are having him go over all the recordings of the routine. I’d save the best till last.”