Change Partners (The L.A. Stories)

by Alexandra Caluen

  After the final round of awards the emcee cleared the floor and said, “Please welcome to the floor Ohio Star Ball show-dance champions, World Professional Smooth champions, Dmitri Vasko and Michelle Matsumoto!” The ballroom lights dimmed to almost full dark, held for a few seconds while the audience applauded, and then increased enough to reveal Dmitri and Michelle in the center of the floor. Dmitri’s costume suggested a military uniform; Michelle wore a simple tea-length gray dress. Her blonde hair gleamed as a spotlight faded in, gaining strength as the music began. A few seconds more, and they started to dance. It was slow, melancholy, and beautiful. Patrick had seen it several times and it always got to him. He had a handkerchief ready.

  At the end, the dancers swirled into a last embrace. Dmitri lifted Michelle, spinning, then slowing as he set her foot back on the floor, to end on his knees with his hands on her hips. Her hands were in his hair. Patrick could see tears on both faces. Dmitri got to his feet, kissed Michelle, and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around his head and hid her face against his neck. Patrick buried his face in the handkerchief.

  Ten minutes after the applause finally stopped, Patrick shook an instant cold pack and held it to Dmitri’s trapezius. Dmitri muttered something in Ukrainian. Patrick was watching friends approach. “He says hello and thank you for coming.” Dmitri turned his head, hissing a little, and nodded an acknowledgement. Paul and Kevin exchanged a glance and a suppressed smile; no doubt they could guess that was not what Dmitri had said.

  “We won’t keep you,” Paul said. “We wanted to say thank you for that beautiful dance. Michelle, I’m very much regretting that I never came to see you dance before. Patrick’s been talking about you for years.”

  “I’m sure he has,” she said, half-laughing. “Patrick’s been fantastic, putting up with this for so long. So has Kenji.” She patted her husband’s leg. “I’m glad you enjoyed it tonight. I could hardly see what I was doing for the last thirty seconds.” Her eye makeup was smudged; Dmitri’s was too. Patrick was now addressing that with a tissue. Dmitri sat still, looking patient and somewhat amused.

  There was a round of handshakes, then Paul and Kevin left. Kenji got Michelle ready to go. Patrick gave the cold pack a few more minutes to work, then put it away. “Well, sweetheart. I’ll go get that video before they’re completely shut down over there. You stay put.” He would have run his hand through Dmitri’s hair if there wasn’t so much product in it. Instead he let his knuckles brush over a cheekbone, implying a kiss. Dmitri glanced up, smiling. As if that were a reminder, Patrick thought you’re right, and bent down to kiss him for real.

  December 2014

  Since Elena came to work at the studio - a development that still amazed Patrick - the quotidien business was off Dmitri’s shoulders. His staff instructor Julia handled many of the group classes, another instructor with studio privileges was often available to fill in, and Dmitri promised that the only rehearsals he’d have for the foreseeable future were for the Underground Cabaret productions. He and Michelle were currently working with a new couple, adding theater-arts elements to a contemporary routine for the holiday show. She was leaving soon with Kenji for an unspecified amount of time, traveling out of the country. Patrick was fond of both of them, but he was also thoroughly tired of sharing his husband.

  “I know you have coaching with the new kids,” said Patrick, “but after the show let’s get out of town for a minute.” He handed Dmitri a glass of wine and sat down beside him on the couch. It was time to make some plans.

  “Yes.” They hadn’t had a pure vacation for over a year, and that had been only the long-weekend trip when they got married. Even though Dmitri’s work schedule was still full, he finally felt able to block out time for them. He gazed back at Patrick, wearing the expression that on anyone else would be a smile. “I have engaged a coach for Elena and Mateo.”

  That was good news; it meant Dmitri wasn’t coaching them for competition himself, which meant more time for Patrick. “They’re really doing it? Rising Star Rhythm? Is she going to be ready?” Elena was pregnant, due in approximately six weeks. Patrick had an interest in her state of health. Ever since Dmitri did the baby thing with Sharon and Vicky, their get-togethers had taken on a whole new flavor. Patrick now knew more about all the possible pregnancy-related disasters than he ever wanted to.

  “They have worked on routines since March. They will be ready.”

  Patrick had been so entwined with Dmitri’s ballroom life for so long that he could guess at Tony’s state of mind. He was in the position Michelle’s husband Kenji had been in: married to someone who wanted a career in dance, who would be working very closely with another man. And now there was the complication of a child.

  The plan was for Mateo to debut with Elena at the Emerald Ball, at the end of April 2015. He was out and proud, committed to Sam, and a fixture in the studio. Patrick wasn’t sure whether all of this would suffice to say ‘not here for your wife.’ At least the inevitable jealousy over time and commitment wouldn’t have that extra, sexual element. He said, “How is Tony handling it?”

  “He is making a film.” Dmitri leaned back on the couch, openly smiling now. “A documentary film. He is calling it Change Partners.”

  “Oh, that’s why he wanted your rehearsal tapes!” Patrick had, on request, dug up a carton of video recordings of Dmitri’s previous work with Elena. “Okay. Well, where do you want to go?”

  “Vienna,” Dmitri said. He set down his glass and made the gesture that meant ‘come here to me.’

  Patrick leaned over to set his own glass down on the other side table, then went into his husband’s arms. “Are you going to make me wear that tail coat again?”

  “Yes. But not for long.” Patrick laughed against Dmitri’s mouth.

  Tony wanted to hear from Dmitri about the end of his career. Not as a dancer, of course, but as a professional competitor. He asked for an interview, and managed to get on Dmitri’s schedule before they left town. “You are almost as busy now as before,” Tony said when they were set up in the studio office, and the camera was on. “You are satisfied?”

  “This was my dream, always,” Dmitri said. “To win one time, I was satisfied. To win twice, I don’t have words.”

  “And Patrick is happy?”

  Dmitri almost laughed. Tony could tell. He stifled it, though, as he usually did. “Patrick is happy,” he said after a moment. “We go to Vienna soon. Kenji and Michelle also travel soon.”

  “Both husbands have made sacrifices, eh?”

  “As you know. Is unavoidable.” Dmitri performed a gesture that wasn’t quite a shrug; it said ‘I wish it were not so.’ “We are fortunate to have all been friends. And to remain friends.”

  Tony had been hoping for something along these lines. “You have known Kenji a long time, yes?”

  “We meet at church, after I move here with Patrick. Kenji’s mother was active in the church. Long before we could marry, we had a ceremony. Akiko helped to organize. Kenji’s business then was growing, like mine. We helped each other. When Michelle agreed to partnership, I sent her to Kenji for ballgown.” This time the gesture was a very French shrug, one that said ‘and you see what happened.’

  “And now your business changes again. You are coaching almost full-time.” ‘Coaching,’ in the ballroom world, typically meant working with competition couples. These might be amateurs or professionals, but they were always dancers with specific goals. It was a very different type of instruction from that sought by social dancers.

  “Almost.” It could have been more than full time. Dmitri was routinely approached by dancers from outside the ballroom community, dancers who wanted to add ballroom elements to contemporary or jazz numbers. If he didn’t have Patrick, Dmitri might have taken on even more work. “I have many opportunities now. But is good to have time for life again. Patrick and I will dance in Vienna.”

  Tony smiled at the glint in Dmitri’s eyes. “What will Michelle do next? Will she find a
new partner? Perhaps here at Shall We Dance?”

  Dmitri looked at him, eyes narrowed, head turned slightly away as if he were considering not answering. But after a few seconds he said, “She has an interest. Nothing is discussed.”

  Tony understood from this that while he might well guess who that interest might attach to, speculation was untimely. He would ask Michelle himself sometime. For now he nodded, and moved on. “Is there anything you still wish to achieve as a ballroom dancer?”

  This required some thought. Tony didn’t push. Eventually Dmitri said, “To train a world champion.”

  “Another champion,” Tony suggested, because after all Dmitri had trained Michelle.

  “Yes.” A hint of a smile. “Another champion.”

  Chapter 9

  January 2015

  “Mmm,” said Elena, biting her lip. Mateo looked at her sharply. They hadn’t done anything rough or strenuous but she looked distressed.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. Then, “Oh my God, oh shit, is it happening?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said. He let go of her hand and she walked, fairly fast under the circumstances, to the bathroom. Luckily nobody else was in there. Mateo dithered for a minute, waiting for her to come out, because he didn’t have a clue what to do. Then he remembered oh hell Tony and went to get his phone out of his dance bag.

  He woke it up and scrolled to the number. Tony’s phone rang once … twice … answer it already … he picked up after the third ring. “Tony? It’s happening. Elena just went in the bathroom. I don’t know, whatever happens? Like I know?” Dmitri overheard him and came out from the office. He gave Mateo a questioning look and got one back that said ‘it’s time;’ then Mateo stared at the bathroom door with an expression of incredulous impatience. “Do you want me to call 911 or what? No she’s still in there. Tony I am not an expert on this. I have cats. Neutered cats. Tony I have been in a state of blissful ignorance and I would like to stay there.” Dmitri had a hand over his mouth; Mateo glared at him. “Tony do you want me to do anything, that’s all I’m asking, otherwise please get your ass over here and take care of your wife, for fuck’s sake. Okay, see you in a few.” Mateo disconnected, still glaring at Dmitri, and made a cut-it-out slash gesture across his own throat.

  Dmitri shook his head in denial, but went back into the office. Mateo knew he was laughing. He shook himself, trying to wipe out the memory of some of the things Tony had sputtered into the phone, and went over to knock on the bathroom door. “Elena, Tony is on his way.”

  “Okay,” she said from inside. “I’m okay. I’m … Santa Maria … ugh. Okay.”

  Thank God I have cats, Mateo thought, and edged away from the door. Everyone else in the studio had been watching him, he realized. “Get back to work,” he said irritably. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies. And apparently neither do any of you.” Somebody laughed, somebody else cued up some music, and Mateo just leaned on the wall with his eyes closed, there if Elena needed him, until Tony finally got to the studio and took charge.

  Dmitri came out again then, intervening when Tony showed signs of interrogating Mateo. “Tony, her phone.” He handed over the phone, sent Mateo into the office to recover, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Elena, Tony is here.”

  “Oh! Okay. Great. Just a second.” It was more than a second but less than a minute before she exited, looking disheveled but not distressed. “Tony, you got my bag? Great. Let’s go. Dmitri?”

  He raised his eyebrows, rapidly sorting through the expressions he’d seen from her before. This one was new. All of a sudden he knew what she needed. “Elena.” He stepped close and hugged her. She dropped her forehead onto his chest for a moment. Dmitri patted her back. “All will be well. Go with God.”

  She sniffled a little. “Thanks.” Then she stepped away, gave him a slightly watery smile, and reached out for Tony’s hand. Dmitri watched them go out the back door. He sent a text to Patrick later, to let him know. It reminded him his husband had gone for a physical that day. He would ask about that at home.

  Patrick shrugged back into his shirt and said, “Well, Doctor Bob? Am I going to live?”

  “For someone who’s going to be sixty in a few minutes you are looking an awful lot like a forty-five-year-old.” The doctor was studying Patrick’s chart. “Still getting to the gym?”

  “I walk to work four days a week, do bodyweight exercise at home, and yes. Elliptical and whatever other stuff I feel like doing while Dmitri is running his miles and pumping his iron. He makes me stretch.” And we fool around kind of a lot these days, he thought smugly.

  “How’s your nutrition.”

  “We mostly cook at home. Get takeout somewhere local once or twice a week. I can honestly say that I haven’t been to a drive-through since we moved to WeHo.”

  Dr. Clifton laughed. “That’s probably your secret, right there. Though I expect some people think you sold your soul for that hair.” He was nearly bald himself. “Any issues or concerns?”

  “Not really. I feel great most of the time. Headache occasionally when I’m at my desk too long.”

  “Getting your eyes checked?”

  Patrick made a face. The likelihood that he needed prescription glasses now was high. “Yeah. Doing that. I got LASIK but that was a long time ago. Hearing seems to be fine, though with all those years going to ballroom things I should probably get it assessed so I know where I am.”

  “And how about between the ears. Insomnia? Anxiety or depression? Nothing like that?”

  “Once in a blue moon I’ll have trouble getting to sleep. I wouldn’t call it insomnia, really, it’s more like I can’t switch off. There is still a lot going on in our lives and it all runs on a loop sometimes.”

  “Very normal. If you want, I could write you a scrip for a sleep aid. Sometimes it’s better to take the drug than to tough it out. Lack of sleep has a lot of cascade effects.”

  “Mmm.” Patrick was aware. “Whatever is the least habit-forming.”

  “So I have to give you the speech again about statins.”

  “Fuck statins.” The doctor laughed again. Patrick leaned back in the chair. “I did your stress test, I will go get the colonoscopy, but my cholesterol can mind its own business.”

  “Fine. I’ll make a note that you’ve been counseled. Let’s see.” Reviewing the chart, making sure everything was covered. “Oh yeah. Sex life.” He glanced up, saw Patrick’s expression, and said, “Evidently doing fine there too.”

  They were doing more than fine. Dmitri hadn’t been aware of exactly how worn down he was by the grind of competition until it was over. Since Thanksgiving, the only dance thing he’d taken on that went beyond teaching was a foxtrot routine he was working up with Julia. One show number was nothing. Patrick had already told him to feel free to do something with the Cabaret every month if he wanted to. He knew Dmitri would miss competition. It was part of his life for a very long time. Performance would fill that void, provide the motivation and the adrenaline-rush reward. And it was good for the business, anyway. Every time he did something at Chrome, the studio’s social media followers jumped on it.

  But one show number per month – even if that was the pace he eventually settled to – was nowhere near enough work to wear him out. Dmitri was home already when Patrick returned from the office. Dinner was in the oven, wine was breathing on the counter, and he greeted Patrick at the door with a kiss. “You saw my text?”

  “Yes, I did. Any news yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. You look amazing.” Patrick leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Dmitri pour the wine.

  “You as well.” Dmitri handed Patrick a glass, touched his own to it, and drank. “What did your doctor say?”

  “He says aside from the hair I look like a forty-five-year-old.” Patrick was smiling. “And he likes my numbers. Tried to sell me statins again anyway.” Dmitri made a disgruntled sound. “I think it’s a requirement
. He didn’t try very hard. Aside from Elena, how was your day?”

  “Short.” Dmitri set down his glass. “Easy.” He put his hands on the counter, one on either side of his husband. Standing very close. He bent his head and spoke against Patrick’s neck. “I was thinking of you.”

  “Oh you were.” Already a little breathless, because that mouth was doing things to the skin under his ear, at the hollow of his throat, at his temple. Patrick was vaguely aware of Dmitri taking the glass out of his hand and putting it somewhere, right before the kiss.

  A week later, Tony was back in the studio to do another interview for the documentary. Mateo was sitting in a guest chair in the office, across from Dmitri at the desk. Tony’s camera was on a tripod, ready to swivel from one to the other if necessary, though the room was just deep enough for a two-shot.

  “Well, so obviously it’ll be a challenge, but Elena swears she’ll be in condition in time for Emerald,” Mateo said to the camera. He was so used to it at this point, it was basically like talking to a person, or to Robo-Tony. “She looked great the other day. Except she was holding Gio and I was like, ow ow ow.” He grimaced. “I mean she’s so little, how did that come out of there?!”

  Tony couldn’t help it, he laughed. Then he paused the camera, because Dmitri had a hand over his face, shoulders shaking. After a moment he said, from behind the hand, “Not to include, Tony.”

  “Non ti preocupare,” said Tony. “I cut away. The world must not know that Vasko laughs.” He didn’t very often, always tried to hide it.

  Mateo was grinning. “I talked to Patrick about that once. He said it was his life’s work to crack this guy up. I always feel like I’ve accomplished something when I do.” Dmitri waved that away with his free hand. “But you know, it’s true. The students would be so disappointed if Dmitri wasn’t El Kapitanski. It’s like, you’re not an authentic Ukrainian unless you’re wearing an invisible uniform, I guess.” Dmitri had himself in order. Tony un-paused the camera and they went back to the interview.