His
gut twisted. He couldn't use kissing for his talent. He paced to the center of
the stage, intent on regaining his composure and turned back. Uproars of
laughter gave way to female catcalls and applause. If he accurately judged the
audiences reactions they thought delay tactics were part of the design to build
up his act. He loved attention as much as the next guy, but this?
"You
know what happened the last time I asked for an assistant, don't you?" The
audience roared. Trevor couldn't help himself; he loved having the audience in
the palm of his hand. He didn't know how they'd gotten there, exactly, but he
couldn't deny the high.
"Pick
me!" and "Do it!" were chanted in unison. Trevor swallowed hard
and turned away walking toward the rear of the stage.
Tomorrow
the final swimwear competition for the general audience would take place and he
knew he couldn't win that round. He let his mind tally the previous scores of
the talent portion. He couldn't win this round either, and when added to the
response to his dancing with a judge, his chances resembled a snowball on the
Strip in August—melting fast. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand
holding the mic and put his free hand on his hip. Another approving roar burst
from the crowd behind him.
He
must do what he'd planned. He shifted his weight. Apparently the audience
appreciated the show because the shouts escalated. Well, maybe not exactly what
he planned. Hadn't he already played off Aaron to introduce his talent? He
pursed his lips and blew, intending to whistle 'Dixie.' It didn't work, the
crowd's reactions kept making him burst into a smile. He couldn't possibly
smile and whistle at the same time. He turned to the audience.
"Stop
it," Trevor managed a flirting glare at the first row of females. The
crowd rumbled. His attention riveted to the most verbal heckler, a striking
brunette, and her blonde companion. The vivid white of the spotlight blinded
him. A sharp whistle from somewhere in the crowd cut the yells.
"That's
it," Trevor said in mock disdain.
More shouts. "You realize that if you're not quiet, I can't do this
and I'll be disqualified." The crowd hushed. Tension filled the air.
Another sharp whistle pierced the silence. He stood tall, his feet shoulder
width apart.
"You,"
he pointed the direction of the whistle. If the heckler wanted a part of this,
he could have it. "You, the one with the whistle, could you join me here
on the stage?"
To
his surprise a female stood. The spotlight swiveled to her making the fabric of
her blouse almost translucent. She sidestepped those seated on her row. Wow, I can’t whistle with a siren like her standing next to me. There has to be a
mistake.
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