The Swan and The Sergeant

by Albertson, Alana

  We walked up the stairs, cameras trailing behind us.

  Four takes later, the introduction was finally filmed. Bret and I stood in the entryway.

  Robyn moved toward Bret, her eyes tracing his body. My stomach clenched. Robyn looked stunning, even better in person. She wore her hair in a natural, short afro. The actress was famous for playing a sexy cougar on her hit daytime soap opera. The tabloids always printed rumors of her affairs with her costars.

  Would Robyn turn her charms on Bret? Or maybe the tabloids were just harassing Robyn the same way they harassed Dima and me.

  “Bret, are you new to the show? I’ve never seen you.”

  Bret nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. This is my first and only season. I used to be a competitive ballroom dancer—Selena was actually my partner. We won the U.S. Championship as teens. I’m currently a Staff Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. I’m just doing one season to raise money for my buddy’s family. He was killed in Iraq. But I assure you, I know how to dance and will work very hard to get us into the finals.”

  Xavier put his arm around Bret. “A Marine, huh? I tried to enlist for ’Nam but I couldn’t because I suffered from tuberculosis. Thank you for your service.”

  Robyn’s lips parted and formed into a slow smile. “What an amazing story, Bret. I’m honored to be your first and only celebrity partner.” She brushed against him. “Please, why don’t both of you come in, and we can get to know each other.”

  The camera zoomed in on Bret’s face. For a second, I thought he would push it away, but he clenched his teeth and walked into the home.

  A strong scent of sage filled the air. We stepped into the sunken living room, with glass walls and French doors leading to the deck.

  Robyn lingered in the hallway. “Can I offer you a drink? Wine, beer, iced tea, tequila, mojito?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Please, Bret, call me Robyn.”

  I held back a laugh—Bret was so cute, all polite and nervous. “I’ll take water.”

  Robyn went to the kitchen.

  Though Xavier must’ve been at least sixty years old, I found him very attractive. His long dark curls hung on his face, covering his soulful eyes. My mother was a huge Quintana fan. Actually, my first concert had been to see him when I was a child. The man played a guitar as if he were seducing a woman. With his rhythm and my talent, we were a shoo-in to make the finals.

  Robyn reappeared with a glass of water with a sliver of lime. “Please, sit down.”

  “Okay—cut!” the director yelled. “We got what we needed. We’ll see you all tomorrow for the first dance practice.”

  Bret relaxed his shoulders. The cameramen packed up and exited the front door. I was so used to the cameras that I had forgotten they were even there.

  Bret tapped his feet. I knew that he wanted to spend as little time here as necessary. “Thank you both so much for welcoming us into your home. Both Bret and I are beat—we traveled from Los Angeles this morning. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d love to get some sleep so we can start early tomorrow morning.”

  Xavier stood up. “Of course. We have a studio in the pool house, so we can both train down there. I don’t wake up too early. Can we start around eleven?”

  “Sure, that sounds great.” I gulped down my water and gave Xavier a hug and Robyn a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so excited about the season. I hope we all make it to the finals.”

  Robyn clutched my hand. “We will. Have a great night. Nice to meet you.”

  Bret waved to Robyn and Xavier and headed toward the door. He took the stairs two at a time, reaching the bottom at a jog.

  Once safely inside the truck, I turned to Bret. “See, it wasn’t that bad. They were nice.”

  Bret’s lip curled. “Sure, they were nice enough. Too bad we got paired with a couple of hippies. Tuberculosis? How convenient. He probably burnt his draft card and then protested the war. True spirit… Man, I can’t stand that New Age crap. And what was with that incense smell? They were probably smoking weed. Next thing you know, they’ll want us to meditate and go on a vision quest.”

  That was it. I’d had enough. “You haven’t changed a bit, huh? You are so closed-minded. Not everyone has to share your views on life. It’s America, Bret. You know, the country that you fight so hard to protect. You’re defending our freedom to be individuals, not self-righteous clones.” Everything was black or white to Bret. Not a single shade of gray. Or pink. When we were young, I thought I could change him. But clearly this older Bret was even more set in his ways.

  I considered myself a freethinker. Open, liberal, honest. The more time I spent with Bret, the more I realized that we were way too different to ever make a relationship work.

  “Don’t talk to me about freedom,” he said. “I’ve watched my buddies die protecting our country. Of course, everyone has the right to believe in whatever ludicrous ideas they want to. Just like I have the right not to be forced to listen to their crap.”

  Bret pulled up in front of the hotel and scribbled his number down on a napkin. “Good night, Sel. Call me if you need anything. I’ll just be five minutes away. See you tomorrow.”

  I took the paper and then watched as he drove away. Walking into the lobby, all I wanted was a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, I could focus on dancing, and stop stressing about the life I could’ve never had with Bret.

  * * *

  The next morning, I sat at Caffe Acri in downtown Tiburon sipping my vanilla latte. The rich roast of the espresso beans was divine, and the strong vanilla syrup didn’t have a hint of an aftertaste. If I’d been in LA, I’d have felt guilty that the milk wasn’t fat-free, and the syrup contained real sugar. But in Marin, I was at peace, especially since the barista designed cool latte art in the shape of a heart.

  Bret would be by any minute to pick me up. I looked out on a ferry docked on the bay. I’d forgiven Bret for his judgments last night and was ready to start fresh. I could open up his mind. Maybe on a day off, Bret and I could ditch practice and take the ferry to San Francisco. When we were kids, we used to watch the skateboarders shred around the Embarcadero. Bret always wanted to jump in and join them, but I wouldn’t let him, fearing he’d be injured and unable to dance.

  Last time Dima and I came to San Francisco to compete, I was saddened to learn that all the skaters had vanished, banned by the city. The new generation probably had nice skate parks. But my fond memories of seeing the young teens breaking the rules and living on the edge had always been a welcome change from my life back then of nonstop training and competing. Maybe I should’ve let Bret break the rules, but young me always had been completely focused. My goal had always been to be a ballroom champion—no matter the cost.

  My phone blinked with a text from Bret. I looked outside. His truck was stopped in front of the coffee shop.

  I gathered my latte and purse and walked outside.

  “Hey.” I cautiously climbed up onto the seat of the high-lifted truck. I decided to ease into the conversation, hoping Bret had calmed down from the previous night. “Did you have a good night?”

  Bret looked more relaxed than he had yesterday. A loose polo shirt wrapped tightly around his bulging biceps. Dima had nice, lean, toned arms, but nothing like Bret’s strong muscles.

  I turned my head away from him and stared out the window—afraid he would read my mind and know that I was imagining what his pecs and abs must look like underneath his shirt.

  “Yes. Just ordered pizza, then watched a Warriors game with Banjo. Perfect night. And my neighbor is watching Banjo today, so he won’t be lonely.”

  “Neighbor? A lady, I presume? One night in town and you already have a new girlfriend,” I teased playfully, at the same time praying he hadn’t already met someone.

  “Yeah. She’s a looker. Old enough to be my mother, though I guess that’s the ‘in thing’ these days. Hey, you should get yourself one of those boy-toys that are all the rage.”

  “A boy toy? I
’m twenty-eight. So some eighteen-year-old? No thanks. I want a man.”

  Bret glared at me. “That’s the same age difference of Dima and you. And you dated, didn’t you?”

  Dammit. Yes. When was I going to tell him why I had actually left him? What had happened that night with Dima and me. Didn’t he have the right to know?

  But Dima had sworn me to secrecy. And no matter how many times I replayed that night in my head, I couldn’t come to peace with it.

  “That’s different.”

  “Really, Sel? How so? Because he groomed you?”

  The heat shot through me. I wasn’t going to get into this with him now.

  “That’s your opinion. When I’m ready to be in a relationship, I’d like to find someone my age who wants to settle down. One that likes football and drinks craft beers. I’m so sick of watching hockey and drinking vodka.”

  “Good luck with that, Selena. What kind of man would put up with you dancing with Dima, having your ex run his hands all over your body, you two sharing hotel rooms together?”

  “Whatever. Dima and I are just friends.”

  “Really? Then text him now, ‘Let’s fuck.’”

  I seethed. “You’re an asshole, Bret.”

  “Never said I wasn’t. You’ll never quit dancing until you win Blackpool—right?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Right. But dancing isn’t cheating. The emotions aren’t real.” Winning the Blackpool professional Latin championship had been my goal since I was a little girl. Dima and I had finaled three times, and each year we were closer to winning the title. Even though we’d ended our personal relationship, we still competed together. I had spent ten years training for this goal. What sense would there be in starting over from scratch?

  “Well, maybe for you,” Bret said. “When we danced together, there was nothing fake about my feelings. Training a celebrity student is one thing. But competing around the world, traveling, sharing hotel rooms with another man, wouldn’t be acceptable. Not to me—not to most guys.”

  We pulled up to the Quintanas’ house. I blinked back tears. When the truck stopped, I jumped out and slammed the door.

  I jogged up the front stairs. I would focus on training Xavier today. I needed some clarity, and everything would be back to normal. Like it had been before Bret reappeared into my life.

  Bret

  The sunlight from the bay bounced off the mirrors in Robyn and Xavier’s ballroom. This room was normally used as their yoga/meditation studio, hence the crimson-colored velvet fabric draped under the ceiling.

  “That’s it, Robyn. Four and one, two, three, four and one, two, three.”

  Robyn’s hips shimmied across the floor. For her first day, I was impressed. Robyn worked very hard and had an excellent sense of rhythm, not to mention killer legs. I had taught her rumba walks and cha-cha timing.

  “Thanks, Bret. This is so much fun.” Robyn grabbed her bottle of water and sat on the sofa.

  Across the room, Selena trained a struggling Xavier. Unlike Robyn, he was clumsier than I had thought he would be. Selena sure had her work cut out if they wanted to final—or even make it past the first week. I didn’t wish to see Selena eliminated, but I had to admit it would be so much easier to focus if she wasn’t around.

  I gazed at Selena. Robyn put her hand on my shoulder. “So, what’s the deal with you two, anyway? Have you kept in touch over the years?”

  I had planned a standard answer regarding my relationship with Selena, just in case anyone in the media asked. But I wanted to be honest with Robyn. I turned off my mike, motioned for Robyn to do the same, and then sat next to her.

  “We danced together for ten years until we were eighteen. We got engaged, and then I joined the Marines. We were supposed to get married after boot camp. But she left me and decided to dance with Dima. We haven’t seen each other since, until a few days ago.”

  “Well, if you two are soul mates, you’ll find your way back to one another. If not in this lifetime, then in the next.”

  I swallowed and hoped the camera didn’t catch my look of unease. I liked Robin and didn’t want to disrespect her beliefs, but there was no next lifetime for me. Though I wasn’t raised with a faith I became very religious during my first tour in Iraq. I’d attended church every week, and when I’d returned, I got a tattoo of a cross on my back. Every day during my most recent deployment, I prayed Psalm 91 with some of my men; we’d suffered no casualties. I believed in one life, one God, one Heaven. I only had one chance to do things right.

  “We aren’t soul mates. We were both very young. It’s clear now we have nothing in common and very different beliefs.”

  Robyn’s beautiful lips curled. “Maybe you are meant to learn something from each other. We don’t always fall in love with someone who is like ourselves. It would be too easy. I’m from a very different background than Xavi. But he completes me, and I’ve experienced such amazing growth with him. Twenty years together, and we’ve raised three beautiful children.”

  I was pleased that their marriage seemed to be the real deal. I had hoped that I wouldn’t be paired with a cheating Hollywood housewife who would look at me as if I were a piece of meat.

  “You two are fortunate. I hope to find that someday—once I get out of the Marines. But it won’t be with Selena.”

  Robyn put her hand on my knee, but not in a creepy, seductive way. More motherly. “Bret, you can’t choose your path. You should just be open to your surroundings.” She stood up, walked to the stereo, and turned off the music. Selena and Xavier stopped dancing. Xavier looked as if he might fall to the ground.

  “Please, Bret and Selena. Would you both care to join us for lunch?”

  Selena gave Xavier an encouraging hug. “Sure. I’m starving.”

  Robyn led everyone to the redwood deck and then went inside the French doors to bring out lunch. I was also impressed that I hadn’t noticed any maids or cooks in the home.

  Robyn brought out a pitcher of iced tea, a plate of sandwiches, and a bowl of pasta salad. Everything looked delicious, though I noticed that there was no meat to be found.

  I piled my plate. “Thank you, Robyn. You didn’t need to do this.”

  “It’s my pleasure. The sandwiches are hummus, avocado, sprouts, and tomatoes, and the pasta is organic, gluten-free, and vegan. Enjoy.”

  The food tasted great and was surprisingly filling.

  We ate quickly and engaged in meaningless conversation about the show. Robyn went to get dessert, and Xavier followed her into the house.

  Selena and I stared out into the three-tier rose garden.

  “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I offered.

  “It’s fine. You made a good point. It’s a hard lifestyle for others to accept. I understand. It would be so much easier to be involved with my partner.”

  “What happened with you and Dima? The truth, please.”

  Selena pushed the last piece of pasta around on her plate. “What do you want to know?”

  The burning question in my head for years couldn’t be held back any longer. “Why did you leave me, Sel?”

  She looked up at me, her bottom lip trembling. “It’s complicated.”

  The pain was surprisingly as sharp as it had been when I’d received her Dear John letter. “Can’t even tell me?”

  “Not now, not here.” Selena turned to me and placed her hand on my thigh. A warmth shot through my body. She had a tear in her eye, and she didn’t even bother to wipe it away.

  “Are you going to get back with Dima?”

  “I don’t think so. I want children. I know Dima wouldn’t make a great father. He gets frustrated with kids. You remember how he was with us. Always yelling at us when we made mistakes. Kicking our feet ’til they bled. No patience.”

  “Dima’s abusive. Always has been.”

  “Not always.”

  Damn, she didn’t even see it. I couldn’t handle her defending him. My resentment toward her melted into an e
merging protective streak that had never gone away. “You deserve better.”

  She took a deep breath. “I just don’t know what I want anymore. My life is so different since when we were together. I’m different. I was so ugly back then. I hated myself so much. I still do.”

  My heart broke for her. How did she ever believe that?

  “Sel, you were beautiful back then. Perfect. It’s this world that makes you feel ugly. But it’s fake, not real. I know you, babe. The real you.”

  She quivered. “You always made me feel beautiful. Thank you for that. And you are right about this world. But I need this title, Bret. I could get kicked off the show tomorrow. My mom sacrificed so much for my dancing lessons. All those competitions and costumes weren’t cheap. If I win Blackpool, I’ll be able to judge.”

  A few more tears stained her face. I wasn’t sure what to do, but my instinct to comfort her took over. I pulled her toward my chest and just held her.

  A rush of feelings came back. I wanted to kiss her but held back.

  Was it just nostalgia? Something more? Why did she get to me? It wasn’t just looks. She was truly the most beautiful woman in the world. But I knew the girl underneath the extensions, the makeup, the fillers. The only thing I didn’t know was if I’d ever truly stopped loving her.

  Selena

  After Bret held me the other night, I had hoped that he would ask me out.

  But he hadn’t.

  I wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway—I had plans.

  Dima was coming to visit.

  I took an Uber to the San Francisco airport to meet Dima. He would be judging at the competition, so he didn’t come just to see me. I was halfway to the terminal to greet Dima before I realized that I needed to use the bathroom. Darn. I looked at my watch. I was late again. Busting left, I cut around a corner and made a beeline to the restrooms. I ducked into the ladies’ room, freshened up, then dashed back out again, making a left in front of the men’s room—running smack into two guys making out.