by Tonya Plank
Table of Contents
Front matter
Title page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sasha and Rory are working superbly well together, their fiery passions for each other blazing both on and off the dance floor as they compete at Blackpool, the world’s most prestigious championship. But Rory suspects Sasha’s jealous former partner and his student are conspiring to sabotage them. And her increasing fears that Sasha’s mysterious past, which has so intrigued and captivated her, holds something sinister, become a life-threatening reality.
This is part three in a continuing three-book series.
***
Praise for other writing by Tonya
Swan Lake Samba Girl (blog):
“Tonya Plank is one of the blogosphere’s freshest, liveliest, least predictable, and most pleasing voices. Long may she samba!” Terry Teachout, author, All in the Dances: A Life of George Balanchine.
“Tonya Plank [is] one of New York’s most precious assets…” James Wolcott, Vanity Fair online.
Swallow (novel):
“Hooks you from the opening pages with its breathless urgency and captures what it’s like to live in NY now, with money worries and ambition and myriad obligations breathing down your neck… give it a try.” –Vanity Fair Online, James Wolcott, January 15, 2010
“Plank has a knack for combining philosophical opinions, hard-luck family stories, discount shopping triumphs, and gently slapstick humor into a book that makes readers laugh, think, and swallow hard in sympathy.” –ForeWord Reviews
“Chatty and engaging. A great beach read.” Gotham Gal.
“I found it easy to read and finish this book, and I wanted to see what would happen in the end.” IndieReader
“Unlike any novel I’ve ever read before, and I loved it from the first sentence to the last.” Blue Archipelago Reviews
“…I was happy with the way the story turned out and delighted in watching the main character grow. I liked the message of the book also as I think it’s an important one for all of us.”– The Cajun Book Lady
“Wow! This book was a revelation! Tonya Plank’s writing style is captivating and natural, Sophie is a very likable girl-next-door character, Swallow is truly a great surprise novel. would recommend it to everyone.” Ex Libris
“Read it instead of seeing ‘Sex and the City.'” Christy Leigh Stewart (YouTube video)
“Very unique and different, and a wonderful story that was a pleasure to read! I can’t wait to read more by Tonya!” Hanging Off the Wire
“Essentially, Swallow is a coming-to-grips-with-who-you-are story. And it’s a good one.” Basil & Spice
FEVER
A Ballroom Romance
Book Three
INFECTIOUS RHYTHM SERIES
Tonya Plank
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and is not the author’s intent. The Blackpool Dance Festival is a real event, but portions of its layout, rules and organization are fictionalized here for the sake of a good story.
Copyright © 2015 Tonya Plank
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address Dark Swan Press, 8721 Santa Monica Blvd, #335, West Hollywood, CA 90069-4507.
Smashwords edition
ISBN paperback: 978-1-942289-02-9
ISBN paperback: 1-942289-02-2
ISBN Kindle: 978-1-942289-05-0
ISBN Kindle: 1-942289-05-7
ISBN Epub: 978-1-942289-08-1
ISBN Epub: 1-942289-08-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015906778
Edited by Julia Ganis, Juliaedits.com
Cover design by Marisa-rose Shor, Cover Me Darling
For all the Latin ballroom dancers who, over the years, have inspired, entertained, intrigued, and captivated me.
Chapter 1
I felt a strong hand under my legs, another around my back.
“It’s okay. I think I can walk, Pepe,” I murmured. But I looked up into Sasha’s deep, angelic blues. He was crouched over me, and lifted me in one scoop as he stood. Cradling me in his arms, he carried me to a couch in the back lounge area. There was so much commotion, so many bodies around me, voices asking if I was okay, asking what had happened.
“Could you get me some ice, please? And a bandage?” Sasha asked Pepe.
“Of course.”
“I’m so sorry, my love,” Sasha said as he laid me down. “This is…this is my fault. And I’m so awfully sorry.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll get this fixed. We will. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t know why he was apologizing but the words that I played most over and over in my head was the “my love” part. He hadn’t called me that before in public. “It’s not your fault,” I groaned.
I looked up and saw Lilly and Roxy and the rest of my mambo team surrounding the couch.
“That was crazy. I think everyone was all screwed up by that stupid stage layout,” Roxy said. “Don’t feel bad at all, honey. Important thing is your knee.” I looked at her. She was completely sincere.
She took my hand and held it tightly. This was a side of cynical, sarcastic Roxy I hadn’t seen before.
“Oh my gosh, Rory! Are you okay?” I heard Samantha say.
I looked up to see her, Rajiv and Kendra all running toward me. Kendra kneeled down beside me, next to Sasha.
“Is it bad?” she said, looking back and forth between the two of us.
“Honey, honey, I was watching from the wings with Maurizio. You looked absolutely fab and then…you were down. What happened?” This was from Paulina.
I saw Eduardo behind her, along with Mitsi and Bronislava. Wow. I’d honestly never had so many people who cared about me before.
Pepe returned with a big bag of ice, a beach-sized towel, and a large Ace bandage.
“Thanks, man,” Sasha said, taking the ice bag and towel and gently placing the towel on my knee, which was now a lovely shade of black and blue. On top of the towel he placed the ice pack, and held it there. He looked me in the eye. “I love you,” he said.
Not mouthed, but said. For everyone to hear.
“I love you too,” I said back.
Everyone was quiet but I could see my friends smiling and mouthing things to each other. I guess this was the best possible outcome to an injury.
I spent the night at Sasha’s. Mostly in his tub, which he loaded with Epsom salts. He gave me four Ibuprofen—prescription strength, he said, and as a dancer, insisted he knew. And a glass of sparkling water, which he sweetly told me to pretend was champagne. He’d transferred my after-party party from my apartment to his house, so that I could soak while everyone else mingled and danced. While I lay in the tub with my lime Perrier, all my friends drank actual champagne and danced on his gorgeous pine ballroom floor, with the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canyon, to his magnificent sound system. I could
tell they were having the time of their lives down there with all the laughter. And not just the friends I’d invited over to my place—Samantha, Paulina, Rajiv and, after she showed unexpectedly, Kendra. But the entire mambo team, Eduardo, Mitsi and Bronislava, and their partners, and even a few others I didn’t know. Kendra invited Josie over and she came. A good portion of the studio was now at Sasha’s. All except Cheryl and Luna. I still didn’t know exactly what’d happened, but figured Sasha would explain what he meant about my injury being his fault after the party ended.
Sasha made quite a bed for me. He had all manner of pyramid pillows and long Styrofoam roller pins ideal for massaging aching muscles and, it turned out, for raising your leg while you slept. Of course he had all these things designed for an athlete—he was the world’s greatest dancer. And I was determined to help him prove it in Blackpool come May, injury or not.
Kendra told me later that night that she saw the whole thing. Kendra saw Cheryl eyeing me. She’d apparently seen which side of the floor I was dancing on, and made her way, stomping through and even on top of people—those who were sitting in front—to get to the corner closest to where I was. She sat on the floor really, really close to the space where Pepe and I were dancing. Since there were already audience members lining the perimeter of the stage, she actually sat on the space of floor clearly marked as the stage, placing herself directly in my line of dance. It was obvious to anyone watching there was going to be an accident, Kendra said, as close as she was to me. Kendra of course kept focused on her, and saw her subtly try to stick her arm out as soon as she saw me moving in her direction. When she saw me coming up from the splits, she actually reached out and put her arm out, right underneath my leg. It was her hand, not a teammate’s foot, that I’d felt.
“I mean, it looked like the bitch actually grabbed your foot with her claw. I kid you not, Rory,” Kendra said.
“I figured she was involved in some way, since I heard her squawking so much, but I can’t believe she’d actually do that. I mean, hurt herself in order to really injure me. I can’t believe she’d go that far. Are you sure?”
“Rory, so many people saw it,” Kendra said. “Everyone was talking about it afterward. Didn’t you hear people yelling about it? You could totally sue her. You have the evidence.”
Sasha stood next to me as she told me this. His bottom lip was trembling; his eyes were black as they fixated on something in the distance. His face looked more contorted with anger than I’d ever seen.
But as soon as everyone left, when we were alone, I told him I didn’t want to discuss Cheryl that night. I just wanted to talk positively about me healing, and our winning Blackpool. Because that’s what was going to happen.
Sunday morning, he took me to the urgent care center. They took some x-rays and thankfully, so thankfully, pronounced nothing broken or torn. It did, however, look like the ligament was stretched and could tear if I didn’t heal properly. The doctor who saw me told me to stay off it for two weeks, or as close thereto as possible. I could walk short distances, but no dancing. And do the RICE thing—rest, ice, compress, elevate—every day and night with prescription doses of Ibuprofen for the first five days. He advised me to see my regular doctor as soon as possible, who might want to send me for physical therapy in the event it didn’t heal properly.
“It’s okay. It could have been worse,” Sasha said on the way home, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my shoulder. “Two weeks is nothing. You can prepare mentally. You’ll be healed just in time for your team competition.”
I could tell he was deeply worried. But he was making every effort he could muster to be calm and supportive. He was doing an amazing job. I had thought about leaving the team to focus on Blackpool. But I’d made a commitment and the team was depending on me, and I wasn’t one to renege on something like that. Plus, it would be a good warm-up for the far more serious comp. It seemed Sasha knew this, and wasn’t going to make me explain. Well, that was a given. He seemed to know everything going on in my head!
***
Since I couldn’t dance for the following two weeks, I tried to use the healing period to put in as many hours at work as possible, since after my knee was better I’d be seriously jamming for Blackpool. And despite my having easily finished the research Gunther had wanted me to do over the weekend, he was still annoyed when my time sheets showed I hadn’t billed as many hours as he’d wanted me to. It just hadn’t taken me that long to finish his research. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Pretend it had taken me longer so I could bill more hours? That would be unethical. I was really beginning to feel like I was playing mind games with Gunther and wasn’t sure what he wanted from me.
As it was, the firm didn’t have a huge amount of work for me. I worked late most of those nights, drafting will after will, bored out of my mind. Gunther hadn’t given me anything to do on Jamar’s case in a while.
Sasha would pick me up from work and I’d spend the night at his place where I could take a bath, use his arsenal of healing devices, and watch him and Greta practice from the couch, taking careful note of everything she did and said. I felt like an invalid, but kept telling myself I was still training, in this slightly altered way.
It took me about a week to realize Sasha didn’t have a problem picking me up closer to seven than ten, and the second Saturday morning Greta came over and stayed right through Sasha’s regularly scheduled morning lessons. With Sasha.
“Honey, don’t you need to go to the studio?” I said, confused.
“I’m just taking a little break,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, trying to cover my shock. Since I’d met him, he was nearly always at the studio. “Is everything okay?”
He shrugged. “Okay for now.”
By now I knew not to push Sasha when he didn’t want to talk. I looked at Greta. She raised her eyebrows, and kept them there for a few seconds, indicating something big had gone down.
That night in the bathtub he told me what had happened. He knew Cheryl had tripped me. Right before I performed he’d had a bad run-in with her in the hallway. She said she knew he’d “lied” to her and was fuming mad. He asked about what. She said about his relationship with me. He said he’d never lied about anything. He’d told her the truth: that I was no longer his student at the studio. She countered that he’d “led her on” by acting as if he and I were no longer together, period.
Led him on? It then became clear to me that that’s what she was going on about at Drucilla’s the day the mambo team had been fitted for our costumes and I’d run into her. He’d simply told her I was no longer his student, so she assumed we had nothing to do with each other, not realizing he’d made me his pro partner.
Anyway, at that point, Sasha explained, he really laid into her, telling her his personal life was none of her business and she didn’t own him. She started crying, said she was going to go to the studio head and tell her he’d treated her badly, made her extremely upset, and that she no longer wanted to be his student. She threatened to convince Luna and Svetlana, Sasha’s main Russian student, to act likewise and he’d be left with no top students, no students to bring money into the studio through the bazillions of privates and competition wins he’d enjoyed. He’d certainly lose his job, lose his immigration status, and have to return to Russia, she’d threatened.
“She actually said that?” I asked, astounded she’d go that far. That she’d want to hurt him that badly.
He nodded. “Some of these women, the rich ones…it’s like they start to think they own you by paying so much money for your time. And sometimes students really want to have a romantic relationship. The studio’s policy is actually good for that—it protects the teachers as well as the students. But never—I’ve never had a student as possessive as she is. I’m beginning to think she’s crazy. I mean, she said I led her on. What does it even mean?”
I shifted in the tub uncomfortably. Yeah, those words were scary. “It implies you led her to bel
ieve, at least in her mind, that you were going to develop some kind of romantic relationship with her,” I said.
“I did absolutely nothing to make her think that.”
“I know. And she knows the studio’s policy. And, hello? She’s married.”
He massaged my shoulder with one hand, handed me my kale apple celery drink he’d made for me with the other. “Anyway, I didn’t know what to say at that point,” he continued, “but I told her I would speak to the studio about it. If she no longer wished to be my student then fine. But my partnership with you had nothing to do with her. I firmly told her she was to stay far away from you. To never come near you. I could see venom in her eyes. When I saw her walk toward the stage, I felt something was up. I tried to follow. That’s what all the noise was. When I saw you falling I knew exactly what was happening. It was my fault. My words to her made her want to rebel against me.”
“It’s not your fault at all. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not your fault you got stuck with a crazy lady. I mean, it might be going too far to call her a sociopath, but she really tried to sabotage me. That’s probably legally actionable. If we could prove it. And from what Kendra says, it sounds like we can. I mean, if she tries to get you fired, like she threatened, we should definitely use it.”
“Well I am now un-stuck. She told the studio I mistreated her and she and her two friends cancelled all their lessons and transferred to another studio in Beverly Hills. I think she’ll leave us alone now.”
But I wasn’t so sure about that. Sasha was the best; everyone knew that. Those three weren’t going to take second best. And Luna and Svetlana had been at Infectious Rhythm for a long time. I didn’t doubt for a second Cheryl had something up her expensive little designer sleeve.
“What about Infectious Rhythm? Are they mad?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, they’re pissed. They pleaded with me to repair my relationship with them. To do everything in my power to get her and the other two back.”
