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I'm the king of fun
Let me show you how we do it
(Nadav Guedj: Golden Boy)
Lars Erickssong was the first one to leave Lemtov’s party, wanting to focus on Fire Saga’s upcoming performance in the first semi-final. While he enjoyed the song-along and was happy to see the Eurovision superstars of the recent years, he was genuinely surprised by the presence of almost all the contestants: they were dancing and drinking, as if they were on spring break from some American university. Was he the only one who had come here to win this thing?
On the top of that, Sigrit stayed with them, too, and that was what hurt Lars the most. Fire Saga had it all to be the winners with Sigrit’s perfect voice and Lars’ excellent song-writing (and costume designing) skills. Yet she let herself be taken away by this eccentric Russian who could not see further than his own ding-dong. Really, how could he not notice that those statues looked exactly like him? Lars opened a can of soda (Schweppes, of course) and took a huge sip, trying to wash Alexander Lemtov and his smug smile out of his head. He was sure Lemtov was kind to Sigrit only to distract her from the contest, because he saw a threat in Fire Saga. And this could only mean that they had a chance to win the contest.
Which meant that he had to save Sigrit from that Russian predator. Or at least, watch over her. This thought gave Lars an energy boost, making him drink up all the soda in one sip and crush the can with one hand. Then he took his jacket and left the hotel running. Beware, Lion of Love! The Whale of Winning is coming at you!
When he saw the stars of Eurovision and this year’s contestants together on the dance floor in the club, for a moment Lars forgot why he had come: he just stood by the counter, watching them having the time of their lives. Then he spotted Sigrit with Lemtov and Mita Xenakis, and he remembered. Putting on a smile he headed towards them, but Sigrit noticed him before he could get there.
“Lars!” she exclaimed, welcoming him with a hug. “I’m so glad you’ve come! The party is great!”
She was clearly drunk, he stated in mind, hoping that Lemtov had not put anything into her drink.
“Lars, good to see you!” the Russian greeted him with a smile that reminded Lars of a hungry anaconda’s last look at its prey before eating it. He forced another smile, and nodded at him, but before he could speak, Mita grabbed his hand, leading him into the dance.
“Hello,” he mumbled, feeling a little awkward, because this wasn’t in his plan, but he didn’t object.
The four of them danced together for a couple of songs, and despite he didn’t plan that either, Lars Erickssong began to enjoy himself, perhaps for the first time ever since the contest had started. But then his eyes met Lemtov’s and he realized he had not come here to have fun.
As the first chords of the next song filled the club, the Russian and the Icelandic contestants were circling around each other like two predators, with their eyes still locked. Sigrit tried to talk to them, but they didn’t seem to hear her. Mita gently pulled her away, hoping that the two men wouldn’t start a fight. She knew Lemtov wasn’t that type, but she had no idea about Lars.
“Let’s settle this,” the Icelander said. “For once and for all.” Then he took off his jacket and threw it on the floor.
“That was dramatic,” Lemtov stated with a small smile. As he had taken off his coat earlier that night, he lifted his hands to his neck and tore off his waistcoat in one move. Lars could hear the Velcro ripping apart.
“Stripper waistcoat?” the Icelander raised a brow. “Smooth.”
The now topless Russian nodded and when Lars prepared himself to take off his T-shirt, too, the music became faster, and Lemtov began to dance. A smile touched Lars’ lips, partially because he had just recognized the song: it was Golden Boy, Israel’s entry from 2015, and because he could do those disco moves way better than Russia’s Love Lion. And he wasn’t afraid to show them.
“Oh my God,” Sigrit mumbled when she realized what was going on there. She was relieved that the two men didn’t attack each other, but she still worried that they eventually would. Standing next to her, Mita was equally surprised and amused by this turn of events. She was curiously watching the two dancing men, not wanting to miss any of their moves.
Pull me baby, I’m your trigger
You know that my love is bigger – Nadav Guedj sang, and Sigrit gasped as Lemtov pointed at her at that part, while Lars was drawing a huge heart in the air behind him, making Mita chuckle next to her. At that point other people in the club began to notice what was going on and joined the two women in the audience to witness hell breaking loose at the chorus.
Eurovision folks had never seen anyone shimmying as aggressively as Alexander Lemtov and Lars Erickssong did it. The latter also added some head circles to it, making his long hair flip. Running a hand through his own locks, Lemtov hit back with some hip moves. Seeing those thrusts and circles Sigrit had to cover her eyes as it was way too much for her, even at Eurovision. Standing next to her, Mita was clearly enjoying the show, cheering for her friend.
When the second chorus started, Lars tried with some hip lifts he had learned during their endless Just Dance sessions with Sigrit back in Húsavik. He could do them fairly well, even though his joints were stiffer than Lemtov’s. The Russian was at least ten years younger than him, if not more, so no surprise here.
The Russian did an aeroplane turn and continued with some body undulations that the Icelander would never be able to repeat. Indeed, Lars’ eyes widened with astonishment at the sight – he wasn’t expecting this. Nor was their audience: he made Mita’s mouth drop open and his personal assistant choke on her drink, plus, he earned a thumbs up from Johnny John John, the contestant from Sweden.
“I did six months of bellydance but could never do this so well!” Sigrit cried out in surprise.
“Didn’t know there was any bellydancing in Iceland!” Mita replied.
“It’s everywhere!” Sigrit assured her but didn’t tell more about it. Perhaps it would be better if Mita didn’t know that the Húsavik bellydance club got closed down in six months because the instructor was caught with embezzlement, and the only members were three teachers and a school librarian.
By that time about half of the club was watching the dance-off, and someone started clapping to the beat to encourage the contestants. Soon the whole audience joined in, drawing a wide grin on both men’s face. Lars showed off his moonwalk, while Lemtov did a bit of Cossack dance during the last chorus. They both finished with a twirl, and when the song ended, the only sound was their heavy breathing. Then their audience started to cheer which blended into the next song, but they couldn’t hear what it was. The two men’s eyes met again and they both chuckled seeing each other with messy hair, sweaty face, still panting. Lars swept a few damp locks out of his face, then placed a hand at the small of his back, hoping that Lemtov wouldn’t notice it. His body might not be fit for dance-offs like this, but the Russian didn’t have to know that. On the flip side, he looked quite worn-out as well.
Then they were ambushed by Sigrit and Mita, both being overly excited about the dance-off. Once they congratulated to them, and the female half of Fire Saga made sure her bandmate did not get injured, Lars could finally pop the question:
“Who won?” he asked. “Is it me or him?”
“It has to be me,” Lemtov said calmly with a slight disdain in his voice. “She has good taste.”
“That’s why she’ll choose me,” Lars replied. “As the winner.”
“So? Who is it?” Lemtov turned to the woman, giving her a mesmerizing look to make her decision easier.
Sigrit bit on her lower lip, feeling extremely uncomfortable, as she appreciated Lemtov’s moves (except for the thrusts), but didn’t want to hurt Lars’ feelings either. Then led by a sudden idea, she grabbed Mita’s hand and pulled her closer to themselves.
“I need your help,” she told her. “I cannot decide on my own who should win,” she explained, being surprised, flattered, and embarrassed at the same time for having two men dancing to impress her.
“We have to discuss this,” Mita announced, then she went to the counter with Sigrit, leaving the Lion of Love and the Whale of Winning on their own.
“Are you OK? Didn’t you hurt yourself?” Lemtov asked after a short silence, again with his smug smile, in a slightly mocking tone.
“I’m fine,” Lars replied. “You?”
“Oh, I didn’t break a sweat,” he said.
“Really? Your chest is so shiny that I can see my face in it,” he pointed out.
“It’s the heat,” Lemtov said, fanning himself with his hands.
“Of course,” Lars grunted, not believing a single word of it.
Luckily, the girls didn’t take long to decide who would be the winner; however, none of the participants were satisfied with the results.
“It’s a draw,” Mita explained. “We couldn’t decide. You have those crazy belly rolls,” she turned to Lemtov.
“And your disco moves have no parallel,” Sigrit said to Lars. “So, we came to the conclusion that both of you should win.”
“Or neither of us,” Lemtov stated. He wasn’t happy with the result either, but since he enjoyed the dance-off, he didn’t get as upset as Lars.
“Then I guess we should settle this with something else,” he suggested, straightening his back.
“Shall I bring my sword or my pistol?” Lemtov raised a brow. “I have both.”
“You’ll just need your hands,” Lars said, clenching his into a fist.
“Oh, no,” Sigrit sighed, and she was about to step between them to stop the fistfight when she realized what the two men were doing.
“One, two, three!” Lars counted, then formed a pair of scissors with his right hand. Only to see Lemtov having scissors, too. A relieved sigh escaped Sigrit’s mouth seeing that no-one had thrown a single punch. On the other hand, this rivalry was getting a little bit annoying.
“OK, one more time!” the Russian said, making a fist again. “One, two, three!”
This time they had two rocks.
“No way!”
“One more time!”
Then two scissors again, and no matter how many times they tried it, they always got the same results which soon started to become more tiring than the dance-off itself.
“I think the Elves want you to accept the draw,” Sigrit said, unable to see any other explanation of the current situation. “Otherwise they would have let one of you win.”
“The Elves?” Lars echoed. “Oh, come on, how could something I don’t believe in sabotage my winning?”
“Do you have any other ideas to explain this?” Sigrit wondered. Lars began to think, but it wasn’t necessary, because the mention of the Elves made Lemtov change his mind.
“If the Elves say so, I’ll accept the draw,” he announced, and as a good sportsman, he offered a hand to Lars.
A smile touched the Icelander’s lips as he glanced down at the Russian’s open palm. Seeing his opponent backing off because of something that didn’t even exist made him want to laugh out loud. However, he decided to keep it in, knowing how important the Elves were to Sigrit, and he didn’t want to push her further into Lemtov’s arms, so he just smiled. Alexander Lemtov backing off due to a non-existent thing meant that Lars was the winner. He won the dance-off. Which was a step closer to fulfil his dream. Today a dancing duel, tomorrow the Eurovision Song Contest! Now he would be able to sleep well at night.