I'm fussed over like a bride on her wedding day, spending three hours in hair and makeup. I'm seated among the authentic stars, 20 professional dancers and celebrities awaiting the show's 5 p.m. start. Kelly Osbourne shows off photos of her and fiance Luke Worrall at model Heidi Klum's Halloween party, dressed as bacon and eggs.
Melanie Mills, head of the makeup department, sits me in front of a mirror and says: "We're going to sex you out, big time."
She's aiming for a smoky look with double sets of false eyelashes and enough bronze and silver color on my eyelids to make my eyes "pop" for those seated in the balconies.
Before we start, Mills sends me off for an additional layer of liquid tanning solution. I spend the morning covered in a thick maroon bathrobe and a deepening tan. Looking like Hugh Hefner in drag -- with my shoulders bared so Mills and an assistant can apply red-and-black body art and rhinestones to my upper left arm -- I'm introduced to Donny Osmond, who confides that a season on "Dancing With the Stars" has been more physically demanding than he expected.
Chief hairstylist Mary Guerrero works a traditional Latin theme with my hair, going for a flowing, voluptuous look. She creates rows of tight pin curls in preparation for a sweeping wave in front, hair extensions to add length and giant red flowers to add interest.
By noon, my nerves are wound as tightly as the locks on my head. The show's publicist, Amy Astley, leads me to the lunch trailer and encourages me to eat, although I have zero appetite.
At 1 p.m., Roberts meets me on the ballroom floor for our dress rehearsal. He has the flu but insists he's well enough to perform. We do the routine three times, trying to move in sync with the faint strains from a boombox. I continue to miss steps as I make the transition to our big spin move. "Something always goes wrong," he says, advising me not to worry. He'll get me through it.
I make a final, frantic swing through hair and makeup for hair extensions and another coat of lipstick and eye makeup. Next stop: wardrobe, for quick repairs to a shoulder strap. At 4 p.m., I arrive backstage in the "red room," familiar to viewers of the show as the place where the celebrities and their pro partners lounge on overstuffed couches.
Roberts and I will perform before the start of the broadcast. I compulsively step through the dance, trying to keep the flight instinct at bay and tune out the sounds of the audience members taking their seats.
"Make some noise for Dawn Chmielewski," announces the show's warm-up host, Cory Almeida, and the audience responds with riotous applause.
I take my mark on the dance floor, back turned to the judges and crowd, and stare fixedly at Roberts, who is beaming a confident smile.
Roberts says some people don't remember their performances afterward. I can recall each 1-2-3 step (and misstep) with clarity, although it seemed as though we were moving at twice our usual pace, propelled by applause-fueled adrenaline.
As we complete the number, Roberts hugs me and escorts me to the judges' table. I hold my breath.
"Dawn, like the rising sun, you were very, very lovely," says judge Len Goodman. "You did a marvelous job."
Clearly, the judges have been nipping at flu medicine backstage.
"I didn't know such a prestigious newspaper would have such slutty, slutty girls," says judge Bruno Tonioli, by way of compliment.
Carrie Ann Inaba, a former fly girl from the variety show "In Living Color," nicely sums up my off-kilter salsa.
"It's not as easy as it looks, is it? I think the hard part for the women are the heels, am I right?" she says. "You were a little wobbly out there, but I think you did your thing."
We receive a score of 21 out of a possible 30. Not bad for a beginner.
My husband, daughter and some friends come backstage to congratulate me. I'm talking too loud and too fast, hugging anyone within reach, juiced on the thrill of live performance. Suddenly, I understand why stars subject themselves to such a stressful, body-punishing ordeal.
The show's executive producer, Conrad Green, says he admires my guts.
"You couldn't have got me out there for love nor money."
dawn.chmielewski@
latimes.com
