“You were always perfect.”
December 2017
The Martin-Garcia wedding had been on the calendar since the two of them got back from Miami. Victor was there shooting a movie all summer, and Andy went with him. But they’d been engaged since spring, and Rory was going to officiate for their ceremony, which meant Dmitri and Patrick knew all about it well before the press did.
It was going to be a private affair, in the backyard at the Faux Chateau. ‘Private’ meant Andy’s parents from Miami, Victor’s father from Escondido, and as many of their local friends as possible. Andy put on quite a show of being pissed off when he heard that Patrick and Dmitri wouldn’t be there. “You are shitting me,” he said, on FaceTime approximately ten seconds after getting the text. “First you skip out and do your wedding all top-secret, and now you’re skipping out on ours?”
“Well, if it helps, we’re missing the Cabaret holiday show too,” Patrick offered.
“Who gives a fuck about that!”
Patrick tried not to completely crack up. “Here’s the thing, though. Dmitri said we could go somewhere for a month. We couldn’t leave till after Vince and Michelle popped their cherry.”
“Eww, Patrick, gross.”
Dmitri was cracking up now too, doing his best to hide behind his husband. Patrick gave him a look. “He can see you, you know. Also, hello, my niece was getting married. Andy, here’s the thing. We’re leaving tomorrow. But we’re going to Buenos Aires. So we thought we could take you out while you and Victor are there. Go dancing, whatever. Is that acceptable?”
“Gaahh, I guess, okay. Really, a whole month? Lucky fuckers. We thought about taking more than two weeks but there’s some other shit we have to manage before the stupid TV show starts back up again.”
“Anything fun?”
“Maybe. No hints. It may be a case of not this year, in which case I need to keep my trap shut. Anyway fine. We’ll see you in the southern hemisphere. Oh hey catnip, guess who’s skipping our big day? Say hi to Dmitri and Patrick.”
Victor leaned into view of the phone’s camera. “You’re not coming?”
“Only because we’re not in town,” Patrick said.
Dmitri finally contributed something. “We will see you in Buenos Aires. We will dance.”
“Oh!” Victor’s smile said he thought that was a fine idea. “We’ll have the whole wedding on video anyway.”
“Is good. Text when you arrive.” They ended the call, stared at each other for a second, and shook their heads.
“What a diva he’s turned into. I totally love it. Let’s go double-check that packing list, sweetheart.” Patrick set down the phone and turned back to his how-to-pack-for-a-month manifesto.
It was more than a year since they’d traveled by air, which was a record. Patrick had booked their flights first class, which was unprecedented. Dmitri didn’t ask about it. Patrick never overspent, and part of the cost could be written off anyway. There would be lessons, lectures, interpreters. Dmitri would take all the new information back to L.A. and pass it on to Vince and Hiro. In between rounds of dancing, they would have art and theater and history. Food and wine and friends.
They had a few days on their own before Victor and Andy arrived. The text came in, a reply was sent suggesting a rendezvous, and then a thirty-six-hour wait. “I hope they feel it the way we did,” Patrick said. “I hope being married makes a difference.”
“It will.” Dmitri gazed at him over his reading glasses, half-smiling, wholly in love. They were spending a lazy afternoon in the hotel garden, enjoying the Argentine summer. That night they had theater tickets. In the morning, another late start because somehow sleeping late on vacation always led to lovemaking. Their hotel was an easy distance from the one their friends were booked into, so they walked over after lunch, and after a text to make sure they were expected.
Victor opened the door to the suite and said, “Come in.” Patrick and Dmitri glanced at each other as they passed, doing their best to stifle laughter. If anyone ever looked like a man on his honeymoon, it was Victor Garcia. He was dressed, but barefoot; unshaven, uncombed, and with a love bite on his neck.
“So is that how you’re planning to go out tonight?”
“Will they let me in?” Victor was smiling. He crossed the room to one of the couches and flopped down beside Andy.
“Shoes,” Dmitri suggested. Victor laughed. “A jacket. Otherwise,” he shrugged. He took a seat across from Andy, who was even scruffier-looking than Victor. He had his feet up on the coffee table next to his laptop, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a bruise on his lip.
I’ve had bruises like that, Patrick thought, sitting beside Dmitri. He helped himself to coffee, since a carafe and cups were right there. “Let’s see those wedding rings. Wow. Where in the hell did you get those? Are those custom?”
“I found Victor’s in Mexico a year ago. We had mine made to go with it.” Both rings were wide, gold, set with polished emeralds. Andy fanned out his hand, clearly happy with the way it looked. “How long did it take you to stop doing this all the time?” He was rubbing his thumb against the ring.
“About two weeks,” Patrick said. “I think Dmitri got used to it faster than I did.”
Dmitri shook his head. “You see your hands all day. You were reminded.”
“I still like seeing it.” Patrick patted his husband’s leg. “So is the plan still the plan?”
“If all we have to do is put on shoes and jackets, absolutely.” Victor was half-leaning on Andy, as if he needed to stay in contact. “Though seriously, if this place is high-class, we can shave.”
Andy made a face. Patrick snorted, laughed into his coffee cup, and waited to see if Dmitri would say something. After due consideration, he did. “This is your first night. We go to dinner, then to late milonga. You speak Spanish. Much will be forgiven.”
Victor laughed. “So when we go to the salon tango thing, we’d better be shaved and wearing ties? Okay. I see how it is. How about we show you this wedding, since you skipped out on us.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” Patrick said. “Let’s see it.” He and Dmitri crowded down to one end of their couch. Victor and Andy crowded down to the matching end of their couch. The video was already cued up and waiting; Andy turned the laptop so all of them could see it, and pressed play. Patrick immediately said, “Oh my God how cute does Rory look. Don’t tell her I called her cute.” She had her hair shaved to the scalp on the sides, showing off some of the feather tattoos on her head. Wearing a white haori over something purple that looked like a jumpsuit. It was a very stylish and almost-formal look for a woman who mostly went around in tee shirts and jeans. Patrick and Dmitri had seen the same kind of look before; Rory officiated at three studio-adjacent weddings in the past few years. Dana, who was serving as an usher, was dressed to match her wife in a clingy purple top over white jeans. Andy and Victor were both wearing tuxedos. They were holding hands from the moment the recording started.
The ceremony was leisurely. Dana told an Andy story. Tanith, a mutual friend, told a Victor story. Sharon read a letter from Victor’s friend Janis, who was on a European concert tour, and who had been his confidante while he was chasing Andy. Rory wrapped up that section with a few words about Andy’s side of that. There were semi-custom vows. The exchange of rings, an R-rated kiss, and then a whole lot of hugging with everyone in sight. Andy leaned over and paused the video. “There’s a lot of nonsense in here. Do you want to see our wedding dance?”
Dmitri simply raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘you can’t possibly think we don’t.’ Patrick looked from him to Andy and said, “Please.”
Andy advanced the video, found the dance, and re-started it. “We didn’t have a whole hell of a lot of time to work on this.”
“Quit making excuses,” Victor said. “The song choice was mine, by the way.” It was a rumba arrangement of ‘La Vie en Rose,’ specifically the one he and Andy recorded themselves after performing at Chrome together
. They danced Argentine tango.
Patrick glanced at Dmitri again; he was smiling. At the end of the dance, he said, “Was same choreography. From your first tango.”
“We always seem to end up doing that,” Andy said. He was smiling too. “By the time we go back to L.A. we should have some new moves.”
“Lots of new moves.” Victor had his hand on Andy’s back. “It was a good party.”
“Best party ever.” Andy leaned even closer to Victor. “Are you guys ever going to have a party?”
“Next summer,” Dmitri said, surprising Patrick. “July. Will be our fifth wedding anniversary. Fifteenth year together. D’accord, mon mari?”
“D’accord.” Patrick gave himself a few seconds to be delighted that this was Dmitri’s suggestion. Another few seconds to think I hope we get another fifteen. Or thirty. Then he pulled some folded papers out of his shirt pocket, spread them out, and handed them to Victor. “This is our three favorite neighborhoods. I printed out these walking maps. The one on top has the place we’ll be going to later. I have never in my life stayed up so late as when we’re here.” Victor and Andy put their heads together over the maps. Patrick turned to Dmitri, so conveniently close, thought what the hell, and kissed him.
He thought what the hell again once they were out on the street, walking through the twilight to the first of the evening’s destinations. Knowing that Andy and Victor would be all over each other, he’d deliberately selected a gay-friendly neighborhood for this first night. They were walking ahead of Patrick and Dmitri, arms around each other, looking around to take in the buildings and people along the way. Patrick glanced at his husband. Slid an arm around his waist. Dmitri immediately put his arm over Patrick’s shoulders, as if he had only been awaiting a signal. He turned his head, smiling. Patrick raised an eyebrow suggestively. That was all the hint Dmitri needed to kiss him.
January 2018
The news that Elena was pregnant again was welcome. The news that she and Tony would be moving to Italy was not. Dmitri understood, though. Two babies, on their own, in a small city apartment versus two babies, with family to help, in a castello in the countryside: there was not really a choice to be made. He made the right noises, assured Elena of his sincere good wishes, and only spoke the truth to Patrick.
“Now is not the time,” he said, glowering into a large glass of red wine. “There is too much to do.”
“There’s always too much to do.” Patrick sat back, swirling the wine in his glass, sympathetic but amused. “You know she’ll leave things in the best possible shape. You’ve got Hiro, Mateo, Michelle, and Vince all ready to pitch in however you need them. Richard’s solid with the group classes and Sundays. Rory’s always saying call her if you need anything. I’ll handle all the bullshit for the new space. And she’s given you plenty of notice.” The Benedettis planned to leave Los Angeles at the end of February, before Elena was too far along. Tony had a few things to wrap up for his Ovation docu-series, or it might have been earlier. “What did Mateo have to say about it?”
Dmitri snorted. Very little that Mateo had said bore repeating, except, “At least he and Sam will have a place to stay in Italy.” Patrick laughed. Dmitri set down his glass and gazed at his husband. “So much change.”
“This past year?” Patrick took another mouthful of wine, then set his glass aside too. “It really was. You got through it.”
“We did.” Dmitri took Patrick’s hand, tugged him close for a kiss, wrapped him in his arms. “Mon amour.”
Patrick rested his head on Dmitri’s shoulder. “Je t’aime mon cheri.”
“Je t’aime aussi. Embrasse-moi.” Another kiss, one of many, that eventually led to lying together on the couch, half-naked and breathless with desire.
Patrick knew he was flushed and sleepy-eyed. Their mutual recovery time was a little longer now, but arousal never failed. Sometimes he thought I’m over sixty, what the hell. He didn’t feel older. Dmitri certainly didn’t allow him to feel less desirable. Especially not at moments like this, when he was stripping off Patrick’s pants with a hot look in his eyes. Then he stood up, throwing off the rest of his clothes. “Jesus, Dmitri. You should post that on the studio website with a caption that says ‘ballroom body.’” Dmitri laughed out loud. Patrick grinned up at him. His husband was heavier now, but still fit and strong. He no longer kept himself artificially slim to suit the ballroom ideal. Patrick reached out to a bare leg, brushing his hand up the inside of the thigh to close around Dmitri’s erection. “Get in my mouth.” Dmitri grunted, and got on the couch with his hips over Patrick’s head, facing south. “Oh God.” That tantalizing hand, skimming over thighs and groin. Then that clever, hungry mouth, and a sound of appreciation. The taste of him in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick had one foot on the floor and the other on the top of the couch, eyes closed, one hand high on the inside of Dmitri’s thigh and the other still closed around him. Feeling that power, loving the rhythm they shared until Dmitri did something with his tongue and Patrick lost it. He had to take his mouth away. “Fucking hell.” A muffled laugh. Patrick took a couple of breaths. “Dmitri.”
That was all he said, but Dmitri knew. One more kiss, another swipe of his tongue, and then he turned around. Off the couch while Patrick scooted down and adjusted a cushion behind his head, and then back in position facing the other way. “This,” he said, the one word seeking confirmation.
“This,” Patrick said, and took him again. Dmitri set his hands on the arm of the couch and watched himself, watched them. Moving slowly at first, because he loved the way it looked. Then faster because he needed to, and Patrick wouldn’t bite, he was always perfect. He was vocalizing as he nearly always did, driving Dmitri even crazier until that moment of peak. He came hard, deep in Patrick’s throat, with a Ukrainian obscenity that produced a stifled laugh from below. Patrick swallowed and Dmitri’s body jerked again. A few seconds later he disengaged, moving back to stretch out and lie flat against his husband. Mon mari, he thought, smiling. Patrick reached behind his head and pulled the cushion away. He stretched his neck, adjusted his jaw, and said, “You’re such a beast.” Dmitri laughed silently against his chest. “I’m glad you don’t dance with anybody else like this.”
“I too.” Dmitri moved up enough for one more kiss. “My best partner. My only love.” They smiled into each other’s eyes.
April 2018
“Is not what I expected,” Dmitri said, after due consideration. Patrick bit his lip, trying not to laugh out loud. Things were bound to be different; they lost Elena at the same time they gained more space for the studio. Neither of them had expected the deluge of change over the past few months.
“‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,’” he offered, and got the semi-exasperated eyeroll that deserved. They were at the Italian restaurant down the street from Shall We Dance. He’d met Dmitri there after work and immediately demanded a report on the new developments. Those were many. After the spectacular debut of Vince and Michelle’s Smooth partnership, he and Dmitri had their nearly-month-long vacation in Argentina. As soon as they returned, they had a real-estate deal to finalize. Since Elena told them she and Tony would be moving to Italy - only days after they’d closed the deal on the new space – Dmitri had been preparing to do without a full-time manager. Patrick had been dreading it.
But then Tomás happened. Or, more accurately, the movie that their acquaintance Tanith Salazar was writing happened. A movie about Carlos Gardel, an early and eternal star of Argentine tango. Andy and Victor would be co-starring in the thing. Tanith wanted Tomás Calderón, the man who’d covered for Vince two years ago when he was on family leave with Kelli and their twins, for another part. Until March, it was very much up in the air whether that would happen. Dmitri was involved with the movie only to the extent of advising on casting the dancers. He had, to Patrick’s delighted surprise, mercilessly delegated the choreography to Vince. Then they got Andy’s profanely happy text, informing them Tomás was not only cast, but m
oving to Los Angeles.
In very short order, their friends Dana and Rory consulted Hiro and Kristine (now tenants of the big house Dana owned) about a house-sharing arrangement. The four of them met with Tomás, who then consulted his wife Rosa. They moved into the house with their young son Fidelio not long after Patrick’s typically-insane tax season wrapped its first act. And now they were both working at Shall We Dance. Tomás was the Argentine tango specialist – a relief to Vince, who was fully occupied with the movie, his other students, and his Rising Star Smooth campaign with Michelle – and Rosa was the new manager.
“So,” Patrick said after a few minutes to address their meal. “She’s going to work out?” Rosa had been on duty for less than a week. Dmitri did not hire capriciously. Patrick knew that her family connection alone wouldn’t have gotten her the job. “How’s she handling the backlog?”
Dmitri shook his head, conveying amazement. “She says, this is nothing. She says my schedule is loco.”
Patrick laughed. It had been slightly loco since Elena left, though nowhere near as bad as in years past. Mateo, Vince, and Michelle were all good at managing their own time within the studio’s available hours. Hiro was an expert. Anya was proving very capable. And Richard, their new social manager, was performing well beyond expectations. “Are you looking at your calendar already wondering how to fill it up?” Dmitri gave him an amused look. “Not till the movie is done, huh.”
Dmitri gave half a shrug. He would be dancing in the movie, at Andy’s request. Principal photography was scheduled for July. Until then, he’d be rehearsing with Vince, Tomás, and others. Including Patrick, because there were two tango mobs planned. He drank some wine, set down his glass, and almost-smiled at his husband. “I will love dancing with you.” He always did.
Patrick had to admit that he loved it too. It wasn’t a thing he thought about when he was working, or during their normal life. But his first dance with Dmitri, at that Halloween party more than ten years ago, was etched on his memory. His own incompetence at the time hadn’t mattered. Since then Dmitri had taught him four dances: Viennese waltz, Argentine tango, foxtrot, and rumba. He said those would serve for all types of music, and so they had. Especially since the way Dmitri danced with him, they all felt like making love. “You could dance with me tonight,” he suggested.
Change Partners (The L.A. Stories) Page 22
