by Tonya Plank
She was not going to go back to him. She was not. I knew she was not.
“Are you trying to get your old job back, then?” Rory asked, her voice devoid of emotion.
“Already did!”
“Well, good. I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “It’s important to do what you want, to be happy. No point being miserable, is there?” Poor pathetic asshole; this so wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
There was silence for a moment, and then he said, “Is that…I mean, are you really together?”
“Yes,” Rory said firmly. “Sasha’s both my dance partner and boyfriend now. And I’m really happy.”
Jacqueline loudly harrumphed and stomped around the room in her high heels. But now Rory ignored her. “By the way, what happened to that girl you were seeing?” Rory said.
“What girl?” James asked.
“James!” Rory laughed. “That girl I caught you having sex with on the couch!”
News to me. Major, major asshole. I should have known it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Rory. We weren’t…” He tried to laugh it off. She wasn’t having it. “It was over, like, right after that. It was never serious. She was just… Anyways, so you’re dancing in the world’s biggest championship? Is that what you said? It sounds cool.”
This guy was about fifty times worse than I thought. Don’t fess up to anything. Try to pretend you care about her. After you fucking cheated on her. You bastard.
“It’s the biggest and most prestigious ballroom competition in the world,” she chirped, not caring too much, apparently, about what a shithead he was, instead excited to talk about Blackpool. “It’s in England. The winners are like royalty. Sasha won in the junior division a few years ago and he’s been second in the top pro division ever since. Second only to his old partner. You should see the offers he gets to perform all over the world, and choreograph for TV and movies and teach at big ballroom boot camps. He practically has another house in Tokyo, he’s there so often performing.”
I swallowed hard. She still didn’t know what was going on in Tokyo. I’d have to tell her. Someday.
“We’re going to do it this year. We’re going to get there together. We’re going to win.”
This was worth standing at the door eavesdropping for, to hear this certainty, this expression of commitment, of absolute devotion to what was now not only my dream but hers as well. I knew she would overcome her problem. There was no way she was letting it get in our way. She was going to be perfectly fine. How could I have ever doubted?
But no one inside the room said anything. Not a word.
“Excuse me, sir,” the nurse said, nudging me away from the door. I thought he was going to admonish me to keep farther away, but apparently he needed to see Rory.
“They’re going to release you soon,” he said, darting in. “In preparation, I have to take your blood pressure again. Your friends can stay for this, if they like.”
“No, they were just about to leave,” Rory said.
And I loved her for that. Making their decision.
“I really appreciate you coming, Jax, you guys. I promise we will keep in touch better and I’ll keep you updated on my progress. And, yes, we can remain friends.” The latter was obviously to James, as she emphasized the last word, which was still, in my opinion, being way the hell too nice to the guy.
“Of course,” James said.
“I’ll be checking in on you frequently. You can count on that,” Jacqueline said, her voice drenched with supremely condescending bitchiness.
Poor Rory. The shit I had to deal with from my family was of an altogether different sort. Hers was pretty bad too.
***
“Are you a celebrity or something?” the nurse asked, sounding completely serious as he walked beside me while I wheeled Rory out to the lobby. The nurse had insisted she be wheeled out instead of walking, which Rory tried to contest, but neither of us would let her. She finally gave in when I promised I would be in control of the chair.
“Of course not!” Rory said, embarrassed. “Why?”
Her question was answered when we rounded the corner and she received a huge round of applause. All of her friends from the studio were still here, waiting, hours later.
“Oh my gaaawd,” cried Samantha, running toward her.
They hugged, Rory still seated. “What? Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you came!”
“By this point, I think you know me.” Samantha laughed.
Rajiv stood next to her, and Rory hugged him, followed by Kendra, Pepe, Mitsi, and each of her teammates in turn. “Everyone’s so nice to…to care…” Suddenly, she burst into tears.
“No, don’t cry, florecita. You’re okay. Sasha says you’re going to be okay!” Pepe yelped.
“No, I’m just so sorry I let you all down. You guys are so great and, just compared to my fam— You guys are just great, that’s all—”
“Nah, none of that,” Pepe insisted. “I know what you’re going to say and no worries. Believe me. We didn’t place, meaning we didn’t place last. So our record’s still clean. And they felt sorry enough for us that the competition organizer’s letting us compete without paying any fees at his next one. In Miami. In July. You see what I’m saying, chiquita? You ended up saving us a shit-ton of money! That competition is way the hell more expensive than this one!”
Chapter Three
Rory returned to work on Monday, with a doctor’s note that she’d spent Saturday in the ER. Of course she was still worried Gunther would be pissed she wasn’t able to prepare for Jamar’s case and, worse, that they’d lose important hearing issues because of her.
“It’s not your fault, sweet,” I insisted. “If he actually had left it all up to you last minute, it’s his fault. But I’m sure you can get the court to give an extension. You were in the friggin’ ER, Rory.” I threw my hands up. This would make a mockery of the justice system here if they didn’t give her a break. “Text me as soon as you have time. Let me know what happened.”
She nodded.
The hearing didn’t happen today! It’s not for another week. He lied. Can you believe it? she texted an hour later.
Y E S, I wrote back. The man was a psycho, to put it mildly. How did this woman get these people in her life?
He said he already did the hearing papers since he knew I wouldn’t. Now he’s having me do all this stupid boring work. He didn’t even ask me how I was, she wrote. I was just about to write back when she texted again. Can’t talk. G’s here. Talk 2nite.
“If I didn’t want to work on Jamar’s case so badly, I’d have no problem leaving,” she said that evening before Greta arrived. Tears lined her lower eyelids but she didn’t allow herself to cry. “I know he’s crazy. He said he’d never told me that the hearing was today. He claimed he’d just needed it done by then. He lies through his teeth. I’m working for a pathological liar. I don’t know what to do. Maybe something to talk with my new shrink about, as soon as I see her.”
“Definitely.” I hugged her and held her in my arms, running my fingers gently down her back. I’d worked for plenty of crazy people. That was part of being a dancer, part of being Russian. You just took their crap and did it. But this was another place. And she had choices. But she had to make them herself. She knew what I wanted. An objective third party would be good.
Greta gave her an awesome lecture when she arrived later that night. Rory had agreed to let me tell her about the situation, especially when I told her Greta had already figured something was up.
“I can’t believe everyone saw it,” Rory said to me, sounding bewildered.
“Not everyone. Just people who care. And, I mean, I guess that’s not uncommon with psychological stuff, you know. Others see it before the person suffering does. That’s why it’s a psychological thing. Logic doesn’t always apply here.” My turn to blabber. I had to admit I’d personally feel like an ass if I had a psychological problem that everyone saw but me. But it was different with her. Ea
ting disorders among dancers were sneaky.
“That makes sense. You always make sense.” She smiled, burrowing herself into my chest. I kissed the crown of her head.
“You don’t win a competition for being thin,” Greta boomed. “You don’t win a competition for the way you look at all.” I stood behind her, nodding in agreement. “At least not in Latin. Seriously, look at all the dancers who have won. Look at me. Look at this.” She flexed her bicep, making Rory laugh. “I am serious. Look at my thighs. They are not skin and bone. I work out hard for these muscles. And look at Micaela and Xenia. We all have muscles, we all have curves. They look far better than skin and bone in Latin,” she said with a sly smile.
Rory raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“And how do you get these shapely muscles?” Greta continued. “Protein plus working out. If you want to obsess about everything you put in your body, please be my guest. We all do that. You don’t need white bread, you don’t need potatoes. So eat spinach. It weighs nothing. You don’t feel fat after you eat it. You feel like you eat nothing. You eat the green leaves, you eat the nuts, you eat the salmon. You’re not going to get fat, I promise you,” she finished, her English grammar becoming sloppier the more excited she became.
“With you around, I’m not going to need that nutritionist.” Rory laughed.
I went to the kitchen and returned to the ballroom with a bottle of tasty carrot-celery-apple juice in one hand, and a champagne glass in the other. I looked at Rory with puppy dog eyes and held both out to her. She smiled and took them.
She’d agreed to drink all of the juices I prepared for her. Three a day, plus two balanced meals. She’d made it more than clear she was so focused on winning Blackpool that she’d never let something stupid like this—her words—ruin our chances. So we’d agreed I’d make it easy on her and at least prepare the juices, if not the meals. I was a half-decent cook, if I did say so myself.
We started our practicing slowly, as the doctor recommended. The first few nights, Rory simply regained her strength, watching Greta and me. While drinking my juice, of course.
We’d planned to ratchet everything up that weekend. But of course Friday night, Gunther’s inner mental case reared its ugly soul. Although he’d told Rory he did Jamar’s papers himself since he couldn’t trust her, and wouldn’t allow her to work on the case all week, an hour before she was to meet me Friday night, his story changed. Nothing was actually done; everything needed to be completed over the weekend. I wasn’t surprised anymore by his antics. Sadly, Rory still expected differently.
“Sasha, I can work hard on the case tonight, tomorrow and Sunday night, and we can have Saturday night and Sunday morning. I’ll make up the time right after this hearing is over, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about the time, sweetie. We’ll make it up,” I told her, trying hard to hide my frustration. The hearing was two days away. We could work extra hard next week. But deep down I knew it was going to be a real problem. If Gunther really was going to have her as second chair on the case, she’d be very busy for the next couple of months—prime rehearsal time for Blackpool. I had no idea how we were going to do this. But right now, while she was in the midst of panic over the hearing, I didn’t voice any of that. I’d figure it out later.
I drove to her office and picked her up around midnight. She held this huge litigation bag in her little arms. One look at her told me how dead tired she was.
“You know what?” I said, walking her to her front door. “Let’s take the weekend off and just kill it beginning Monday.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I just didn’t want her eating problems to return, and I didn’t want her reinjuring herself over stress and lack of sleep. Plus I knew we wouldn’t accomplish much if her head was elsewhere. I didn’t want to get mad at her and make it worse. This was her big case—the only one she cared about—and this important part of it would be over in two days.
“Sasha, we can’t—”
“Why don’t you call me tomorrow night, if you feel like taking a bit off, and you can come over for dinner and watch Greta and me again?” I said, realizing if she spent the whole weekend without me, she might not eat much. Plus, could I really be without her for all that time?
As I knew, her mind wasn’t completely with us Saturday night. I could tell she was rehearsing notes for her argument. I could even see her lips move. Panic surged through me when I thought about Blackpool, about the time we were missing, but I forced myself to stop thinking. Let it be, for now. Let her be.
It was sweet how committed she was to this client she knew was innocent. She had a tough, very serious job. And she was eating. I’d prepared some delicious goat cheese tarts and a huge spinach, cranberry and walnut salad. It took her a while, but she finished it all.
“Call or text the second it’s over and let me know how it went,” I said when I dropped her off at work Monday morning. I wasn’t letting her carry that giant litigation bag on the subway. “And sweetheart, merde.”
“Oh Sasha, thank you!” She giggled.
***
It was horrible, she texted later that day.
What happened? I wrote back.
The police officers cllaimed they didnt know there was anythrhin wrong with his menwal capabilitity . They didn’t think it was weird at all he couldnt write his name even though they thought he was 19 years old. They didn’t think he spoke slowowly and thjouhg he was faking his severr headache. Judge sia d there wasn’t enough evidewne he was corenced, or that he was mentally ill, not even enough to have him examined or his IQ tested b4 goint 2 trial. I hate the system. I HATE it.
Wow. Her writing was fast and furious and chock-full of misspellings, which was totally unlike her. I could tell how upset she was. But I got most of what she was trying to say. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.
Thank you. I’ll be off at normal time tonight. Can be at your place by seven.
I love you.
Me too, gotta gbo, guntehr!
***
I picked her up at her apartment and drove her to my place. I knew she was still upset and I didn’t want her driving. She laughed at my alpha male-ness but I insisted. And it was a good thing I drove because she had a mini-breakdown in the car.
“They’re admitting his confession. The evidence is so stacked against him. I swear those boys planned the whole thing and scapegoated him. And his confession is totally coerced because the police totally suggested to him what to say. How could they not know he was mentally deficient? How could the judge not care even with the mother’s admission he was epileptic and ‘daft’ and the trial testimony from his brother’s trial that people actually called him a ‘retard’? That’s on record. How can the judge not order an examination before proceeding to trial if someone has been called retarded by his peers? I just don’t get it. I don’t.”
I put my free hand on her knee and rubbed. I didn’t know what to say. I felt as she did. The judge was an idiot. She apologized for crying. I told her to stop it; she could do whatever she wanted in front of me. It was me, for God’s sakes.
It was hard for her to concentrate during practice, as we both knew it would be. She kept making mistakes. She kept apologizing. And I kept telling her to stop apologizing. I couldn’t really tell her to try to concentrate better, because it wasn’t really her fault she wasn’t. And it didn’t help for me to correct her. She already knew what she was doing wrong. Greta wasn’t there this time to act as a go-between; it was only the two of us.
Finally I turned off the music. “I know you know all of these steps like the back of your hand. It’s in your muscle memory now and I know you can do this. And you know it too. We’re not making progress because your mind is elsewhere.”
“I know, I’m sor—” she began.
But I stopped her. “No, you don’t need to keep saying that.” I took a deep breath. As much as I didn’t want to cut our practice short again, it had to be. “Maybe we should just stop for now and you talk about what happ
ened today. Get it out of your system. As much as you can, anyway.”
“Oh! Sasha, we need to practice. Well…really? Thank you.”
She felt the same way I did—we were missing valuable time, continuously. But there didn’t seem to be a way around it right now. She needed to talk it out. The car wasn’t enough. She needed more. She walked to me, let herself fall into me. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and held her up, rocking her, pressing my lips to the crown of her head.
“I just feel like this system is such a let-down to the people who need it. My first client, who was friggin’ schizophrenic and didn’t understand anything happening to him. And now Jamar. Judges won’t look past facades and the case law to see the real human beings whose lives they’re affecting. I just can’t imagine not wanting to know whether a defendant is mentally handicapped or insane before you put them on trial or give them a prison sentence. Like that wouldn’t in any way be relevant to what they’re charged with, how they acted, their level of culpability. They’re just bad people. Period.”
I rubbed her back, trailed kisses down to her forehead. “You’ve gotten to know these people through interviews and reading their files and talking to their parents. They’re your clients. You see them as individuals. The judges can’t. They only see facts and laws.” I walked with her to the couch where we snuggled, she in a fetal position, my body cradling hers. “Hopefully, the jury trial will be different,” I continued. “You’ll have actual people in the community, not just judges and their laws. You can show them the human being.” I said this because I knew Gunther was an asshole but not stupid. He needed Rory at trial. She’d be there. She’d be running the show if he was really smart.
Of course I wanted more than anything to concentrate on Blackpool. But this case was going to be with her over the next several months, throughout the rest of our training period, and into the competition itself. I had no idea how we were going to handle the two together. But I knew now Rory needed this one case. She needed to do well at this one case. Her client’s life may well depend on it. I couldn’t interfere.
