CHAPTER THREE
To
Trevor's surprise the judges of the semi-finals were not from an older
generation. If they had been, he wouldn't have felt a whisper of
self-consciousness. This group of judges appeared to be a group of very loud
and man-hungry women in their twenties and thirties. Of course it made sense.
This 'eye-candy' festival in Las Vegas paraded as an opportunity to promote
small businesses. An attractive male owner or employee, preferably single,
represented local businesses, each vying for one of the generous advertising
packages. Trevor knew only the top prize would tide the company over until the
season rolled into full gear. He compressed a snide smile on his lips, willing
himself to put on a good show in the name of promoting Prestige Pools.
Trevor
joined the other forty odd men in Speedos as they paraded around the beautiful
pool at the Nugget. Each man wore a number on his right hip. Trevor measured
himself against the rest. He stood at six feet two inches, slightly above
average. Several of the guys sported obviously spray-painted tans. He knew his
was all natural, even if the calendar read the end of March. Spending time in
the cooler sunlight seemed warm after his polar dip last month.
Brodie
had spent hours with Trevor at the gym and the results were impressive. Trevor
hadn't been flabby to begin with, but they'd done a bit of sculpting, and
Trevor felt confident, until number thirty-one paused in front of the gaggle of
women and entertained them by making his pectorals dance. Whoops and screams
filled the air leaving Trevor with little doubt as to the favorite. Several
more of the guys joined the dancing pectoral display. Trevor considered it but
decided he needed to find a more unique talent for the female audience. He
considered what his talent might be as he sauntered past a group of panting
females. Dang, this was demoralizing.
Still, as luck would have it, he found himself between two apparently less
appetizing guys for the duration of the early competition.
The
first cut made, he found himself in the next round where he knew he excelled.
He looked good in his tuxedo and he knew it. A group of ten guys made the cut.
In this round, the guys presented their dancing skills. Trevor's jaw dropped to
observe a few of the guys did little more than shake their butts and snap their
fingers. Number five did some kind of pole dance ending with him ripping off
his shirt. Trevor scowled, hoping the guy had at least had the decency to own
the tux rather than rent it. For the first time in his life he appreciated a
mother who insisted he learn how to dance and take her across the ballroom
floor in a tango.
Trevor
approached the women on the panel of judges, his music playing.
"Would
one of you ladies care to dance?" Two of the women scowled at him;
apparently they either didn't know how to dance or doubted his ability. He
noticed the slender judge, closer to middle age, wearing the backless evening
gown, squeeze a smile from her lips, a smile denoting her interest. He
approached her and offered his hand. "May I have this dance?"
She
nodded and stood.
"Would
you prefer an open form or a closed one?" Trevor asked hoping he wasn't
making a major mistake.
"Closed."
He
gathered her close, her chest next to his, the inside of their right thighs
together. To his surprise, she had obviously danced the tango in the past.
Together, they covered the floor. The sultry movement of dancers as an
impromptu team flowed with fluidity, although unrehearsed. They didn't share a
single word, conforming to the competition policy which discouraged contestants
and judges to mingle. The last chord faded as she leaned away from him, their
thighs still anchored for balance. He brought her upright. She tilted her head
in a modest thank you, and he escorted her back to her seat with a, "Thank
you for your assistance."
He
smiled and retreated to the wings of the stage to wait. His marks were mixed,
some high and one or two extremely low. Apparently there were mixed opinions
amongst the judges on how involved any judge should be with the actual
competition, not merely the judging of it.
The
talent portion followed. Trevor wished he could share his true talent but the show demanded performing arts, not visual,
which meant his designing of pools, even the one here at the Nugget where this
contest would finish on the morrow, remained out of the question.
He
stood in the wings watching and listening, an opera aria in need of a little help,
and a love song inaudible due to the swooning audience, maybe because the guy
ripped off his shirt again. Vocal talent followed a jazz trombone. A drum solo,
and a strip tease dance lacked timing. The humorous story telling stole the
show, followed by a ventriloquist act and knife juggling. Trevor knew trouble
loomed but the last act before his own sealed his fate. Aaron, the guy who had
started the pectoral muscle dance at the pool,strutted on stage without his
shirt. Trevor shook his head. He couldn't see the display but by the whoops and
hollers from the audience, Aaron out did himself. He turned toward Trevor to
leave the stage, his sculpted abs accentuated by the spotlights.
"Ladies
and gentlemen please welcome Trevor Palmer," the emcee announced as the
screams faded.
Trevor
carried the microphone on stage. He looked good in his tuxedo, his shirt
popping with bright whiteness. At the pool, his rich brown hair had been
relaxed, as though he'd run his fingers through it, but tonight his hair
exemplified perfection.
"I'm
not matching that performance. I wonder if Miss America could." Trevor
meant his comment as a snide remark toward Aaron, but the audience ate it up
with an approving roar.
"Maybe
a duet?" Trevor knew he could make his pectorals dance, maybe not to the
music as Aaron had, but enough. He tightened his muscles, causing his shirt to
go tight with each flex. The crowd cheered.
"Naw.
That's just a cheap rip-off on his talent." A few cheers. Were they expecting him to rip his shirt
off? He didn't intend to.
"This
is more my style." Trevor pursed his lips, wetting the inner edge with his
tongue. The women seated in the front squealed. A smile ripped across his face.
He couldn't do it. He could feel his eyes twinkling under the spot light. He
shook his head, wiggling his lips in an effort to get his smile back under
control. More screams. He walked over to the five women in the front row who
seemed to be leading the screams.
"What
is it you think I'm going to do?" he whispered as he leaned down. The
microphone caught his words.
"Kiss."
"Show us how you kiss." Came the responses. Trevor stood up and
looked into the spotlight, amplifying his surprise as it played across his
face. He looked at the women, pulled his mouth into an 'O' and exhaled. He could only think of one way out of this
expectation--play it up.
"Seriously?"
he asked into the mic. "You want me to do that here?"
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