Sasha: Book Two

by Tonya Plank

  Rory blushed. “Wow, thank you.”

  “Seriously, oh my gosh, it’s all I heard anyone talk about everywhere we went last night. Even Cheryl and Luna were floored. And I mean floored!”

  Rory momentarily froze, but then pulled herself out of it and smiled. “Thank you, Svetlana. That means so much, coming from you. I’ve always admired your dancing since I first saw you in the O.C.” But there was a noticeable shakiness in Rory’s voice now.

  Shit. Sveta had left the studio before the incident during the mambo team performance and didn’t know about the bad blood.

  The emcee announced the start of the first heat and we all walked out to the floor together. I gave Rory’s hand a firm squeeze. “Don’t worry about anything. That meant nothing,” I mouthed to her as we walked. She flashed me a worried smile. “Trust me,” I whispered.

  She nodded. “I do.”

  Squeezing her hand again, I turned my gaze from her and looked out at the fans, politely smiling and mouthing “Thank you” to their chorus of “Go, Sasha,” “Good luck, Sasha,” “Kill it, Sasha,” and, finally, “Go Sasha and Rory!”

  We weren’t in the first heat but Sveta was. We wished her good luck and watched as she and Josef were called out to the floor, amidst the many, many others, until there was hardly a free square foot of space out there. I could feel Rory’s heartbeat race, after what we’d talked about on the way here. I gave her hand another squeeze.

  “Don’t worry,” I whispered.

  “I’m not.” She squeezed back, letting me know she was sincere.

  The cha-cha began. Sveta and Josef could hardly move, but they did brilliantly, as I knew she would.

  The music ended and the usual chaos ensued as the couples from heat one exited the floor and the next heat entered. We weren’t on for a couple more heats, but with every changing round, I inched us closer to the floor to minimize our need to scramble when we were called.

  “It’s getting tiring just watching,” Rory said after the third or fourth heat. I’d lost count.

  “Don’t worry, your adrenaline will kick in as soon as soon as we’re called. I promise.”

  ***

  By the time the emcee finally announced our heat, we were right at the dance floor, ready to go on. The audience cheered like mad when our names were called.

  “Here we go. Merde, sweetheart,” I whispered and gave her a peck on the lips.

  When I did so, the entire ballroom erupted into a fit of screams. Even I was surprised. I swear, it was louder than ever before. Like aural fireworks.

  The chants began before the music.

  “Sasha, Sasha, Sasha!”

  I smiled out at the crowd while I led us toward the middle of the floor. The other dancers parted for us, as usual. I could tell it surprised Rory. I could see her bemused expression out of the corner of my eye. Then, the audience wave began. People in the front area rose and roared as we passed. Rory laughed, now in bemused delight.

  “Go Sasha! Go Aurora!” I could have sworn I heard someone say. I wondered if the Blackpool Daily article had referred to her by her full name.

  No time to think about that now. The music began and we started with a bang. Well, as much of a bang as we could. The first rounds were always hard. The floor was so overcrowded we needed to make our steps as small as possible. We couldn’t dance full-out at all. I realized I hadn’t told her how crowded it would be. She’d been right. I hadn’t prepared her. I blasted myself for it. Her muscle memory was used to dancing as expansively as she could. But, amazingly, she seemed to be a pro at making her steps the same length as mine, to match me. She was following. And she was doing so brilliantly. I knew she could do it. I knew she could.

  The music ended before we were even halfway through our routine, and the emcee directed us to exit the stage. These early heats were short. I felt sorry for newcomers. They had so little chance of being seen. The crowd kept screaming until we were completely off, as usual. Rory didn’t look happy. I squeezed her hand and led her back to Daiyu’s tent where we could talk in private.

  “Sashaaaaaa!”

  “You rock, you rock star!”

  I smiled at everyone and thanked them, trying to get Rory to the tent as fast as I could to calm her down.

  “I feel like it didn’t go very well,” she said, once we were inside and out of earshot of anyone. “I was concentrating way too hard on not bumping into anyone. And how are we ever going to do the traveling dances like samba and paso doble, where we really have to move about the floor? We will definitely have to change everything!” Her voice was full of panic.

  “No, no, don’t worry about it,” I said. “The first couple of rounds are always crazy, until they go through the first series of cuts. Half of those people won’t make the first cut, and half of those the second. So by the third round, only a quarter of us will remain, and we will be more than able to dance everything full-out.” Now that I heard myself voice my own logic, I realized I’d worried for nothing earlier. We wouldn’t have to change our floorcraft at all. That was me being my typical over-concerned, cover-all-the-bases self.

  “Yeah, but that’s assuming we make the first two cuts.”

  Okay, now I had to shoot her a look of utter sarcasm. She laughed, finally.

  “Okay, Mr. God’s Gift, but—”

  “No, I don’t mean to be obnoxious, sweet. You know that. I just mean, that’s why it helps to be known. They know we are finals material.” I shrugged. “That’s why it can be very hard to get your start here at the huge competitions. It gets more and more impossible each year for new people to be seen. I hope Svetlana makes it, but I’m not sure if she will.”

  I fanned Rory’s beautiful face with one of Daiyu’s ornate Chinese hand fans and handed her a bottle of Evian. “We can take our time to relax. We have several more rounds until we’re on again.”

  We returned to the floor several rounds early, of course, to make sure we would be ready to go on when our heat was called. At the start of every other heat, there was a roar emanating from some side of the room. During one, it was for Xenia and Piotr, then Micaela and Jonathan, then Arabelle and Andrew. We, the stars of Blackpool who returned year after year after year, to please the fans and try once again to win. Or, in the case of Micaela and Jonathan, maintain their champion status.

  “Don’t worry about dancing down since we can’t dance full-out,” I said to Rory when we took the floor to begin our samba. “Remember what I said. Just do the steps, follow me. You will be okay. I prrrrromise.”

  That rolling r got her to crack a smile.

  We managed to get through the first two rounds without having to alter our routine and without smacking into anyone. And, of course, we made it through to the second cut. We were home free. At least regarding the overcrowded floor.

  Svetlana made it through the first cut, but not the second. She was thrilled nevertheless. And I was happy for her. It was a very good rank for a complete novice. She and Rory chatted a bit on the sidelines, between dances. They were both somewhat nervous and seemed to put each other a little more at ease. Sveta’s praise was good for Rory’s self-confidence. And there seemed to be no more mentions of the witches of Beverly Hills.

  Speaking of which, after Sveta’s mention of them, I’d texted Val to see what was up, if anything. According to our group of friends, Cheryl and Luna weren’t doing anything suspicious. They’d watched competitions—last night’s and tonight’s, thus far—had eaten in the Italian restaurant with Xenia and Piotr, the diner inside the Winter Gardens, and the Japanese restaurant downstairs, and late last night had gone out to a bar at the Imperial Hotel—the fancy hotel by the sea, where they were staying. Figures, I thought. They wouldn’t be caught dead in a bed and breakfast. It was where Xenia and Piotr were staying as well. They didn’t have seats for tonight’s performance, but were standing in the mezzanine aisles.

  “Don’t worry, we will keep watch,” Val wrote.

  It had taken two hours to get
through the initial rounds, one hour for each. We would definitely be here well into the night.

  If we stayed in the ballroom for too long, fans would start to approach. I welcomed them but I could tell they made Rory nervous at this point. I knew she’d be better after it was all over. So I gave Sveta a final congrats and a hug, and Rory and I headed to the tent for some downtime and snacks. Which gave Rory some time to read texts from her friends.

  “Paulina said she could make us out the second we took the floor,” she squealed, before madly typing her response back. “She said she could really see my hips moving madly in samba! She said I rocked it!” Rory sang. “She said Swan Lake Samba Girl—what Bronislava used to call me—is no more!”

  “Bronislava used to call you that?” I asked.

  “Yeah, ‘cuz I looked like a ballerina bouréeing across the stage, like a swan. You know, mainly with the voltas. Gosh, that seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “And it really wasn’t. That’s the crazy thing,” I said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  ***

  The floor was still crowded during round three, but a lot less so. We were able to move much better. Now we could dance nearly full-out. And there was virtually no chance we’d have to alter our routine. Unless someone tried to sabotage us. I shook the thought from my mind. It wasn’t going to happen. Not with Valentin’s guys on the watch.

  Rory was moving beautifully. I was so proud of her. She was adding so much to the steps, making everything as dramatic as possible, really entertaining the crowd and telling a little narrative with our dance. Her nerves were nearly gone.

  Things started moving a lot faster after round five. Many of the couples had been eliminated so there wasn’t as much waiting time between heats. I worried Rory might get worn out, so I had one of Daiyu’s assistants wait for us near the dance floor with water and nuts in tow. But Rory actually seemed much better now that there wasn’t as much waiting between heats. It meant her adrenaline was constantly pumping. As was mine. We really were so similar in the heat of competition.

  And I could tell she was actually beginning to have fun. The cheers were getting wilder and were now always for both of us, not just me. I could tell her body was tiring, as anyone’s would by this point, but her adrenaline was really coming through for her, for us, in a big way, driving her more and more so that she was actually getting stronger and faster with each passing round. Exactly like me. We were one and the same. My former partners would begin to peter out, no matter how hard they tried not to. Not so with Rory. We were so solid, so meant for each other.

  “What’s so awesome,” she said at one point, out of breath after our round six jive, “is that the cheers seem to be for us, for our partnership, and not just our professional one.”

  I’d most definitely noticed that too. I was making it so, in my own way, though I didn’t tell her. At the end of every rumba, I was now giving her a little kiss on her forehead, and it was getting longer and more pronounced each time. I wanted the crowd to know we were in love, that she was mine. As the rounds progressed, the crowd was coming to expect it and was starting to go crazy before I even did it.

  “What took me so long to become part of this awesome world? I haven’t lived until now!”

  I laughed. “I know. I know, sweet.”

  I could tell her words of enthusiasm were due partly to nerves and exhaustion, and her absolute insistence not to let them, especially the latter, get the better of her. We were now nearing the end of the tenth round. Her face was red. I could see the blood pumping extra hard, to keep it all going. At the end of every dance now, she was downing practically a half bottle of Evian, a banana, and a bag of almonds or walnuts.

  “The dances are getting shorter,” she said, in the midst of chewing at one point. “I mean, the orchestra’s not playing full songs, so it’s going doubly fast as before.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just an illusion,” I said. “They’re playing for the exact same amount of time; it just seems faster because we’re now out there so much more.”

  She looked shocked.

  “We just have to get through one more round,” I said, not letting myself worry. I didn’t need to. I knew she could do it. “Then we’ll be on to the quarterfinals. This is a very important cut, so it will take them some time to compute the scores to decide who will advance. They usually open the floor to general dancing so the audience has something to do. We’ll have a good break. And we’ll have another good break after the quarterfinals round, into the semifinals, and that’s when we’ll change costumes.”

  She laughed, a little too much. She was tired. “Your English is so damn perfect. It never ceases to amaze me!”

  I laughed. “Yes, I think you’ve mentioned that.”

  “Seriously,” she said, after swallowing a long swig of Evian. “Your impeccable grammar makes it clear that your emotions are totally under control, and that you’re not feeling anxiety at all. I could always tell how stressed and frustrated you were when your English started to falter. It makes me feel so much better knowing how in control you are. And I won’t faint. I’ll get through it. I will. We will.”

  Which of course made me kiss her. Again. We were on the sidelines but people were still watching because when I did so, wild cheering broke out. She giggled. I laughed. Hell, the crowd was probably applauding that I wasn’t fighting with my partner, like usual. It was an incredible feeling.

  We made it through the last round before the quarterfinals quite well. Far from fainting, Rory danced the hell out of our routine. It went without saying now there were no foibles. But we were also dancing with such meaning, such passion. I’d never been so on fire, never happier with my partner.

  We returned to the tent and Daiyu herself fanned Rory and me down. The makeup man returned and touched up Rory’s hair and face, and Daiyu’s assistant powered me off and gelled me back again. Rory and I took turns sipping Gatorade and she popped grapes in her mouth in between lipstick blots. She was downing so much food, it was hard to believe she’d been on the verge of an eating disorder.

  Starting with the quarterfinals, all of the couples left took the ballroom floor at once. It was at this point that the audience really started to roar. Every single couple who would remain for the finals in a few short rounds was up there right now; all of the stars of the ballroom world were on the floor at once. There was so much screaming, so many names being called out at the same time. There were more cheers for Rory and me, but there were a good number for Micaela and Jonathan, Xenia and Piotr, and Arabelle and Andrew, which drove home just how close this competition was, what fierce competitors we were for both the judges’ votes and the audience’s attention. It began, as it always did at this point, to feel a little like a boxing match.

  I felt Rory’s nerves begin to prickle. I hoped her self-confidence would remain strong.

  I squeezed and shook her hand, trying literally to shake the prickles off.

  She nodded, understanding what I was doing. “Don’t worry about me,” she whispered.

  Since we were all on the floor at once, without heats, we had no break time between the dances. If she lacked confidence or energy in the least, she definitely didn’t show it. We killed it, dancing our best round yet. She’d become a true pro.

  “I love you,” I said this time after our rumba as I kissed her now on the lips, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her close. The crowd went so completely nuts now, so crazy the band actually delayed the beginning of the paso for a few seconds to let all the cheering die down a bit. That was all we needed—that crowd and its encouragement. I looked at Rory, my eyes beaming into hers, my confidence radiating, setting her on fire.

  She nodded. “Your fans—our fans—are the only ones I can hear,” she whispered.

  The band gave us a short break between paso doble and jive, which was customary, jive being the most difficult when you were dead tired. Micaela strutted around, waving to her fans. Arabelle stood in pla
ce, smiling radiantly to all the “Belle Arabelle” callers. I wrapped my arms around Rory from the side, and pressed my lips to her temple in response to our cheers, making them all the louder.

  The orchestra broke into their jive music, which brought me back to earth. Judging by our scores in the team competition, this was our weakest dance. But my display of confidence in our partnership to the world made Rory’s adrenaline surge through her entire body, from her small toe to the crown of her head. I felt it through our connection, through her fingertips. As soon as we started that backward slide, followed by our hyper-fast jive kicks, I knew she was going to nail it. We were going to nail it. And when we heard her name—“Aurora, go Aurora! Yes, Rory!”—I knew the audience knew it too.

  After the quarterfinals we rushed back to the tent, the wild applause from the ballroom echoing all the way down the hall. Daiyu and her assistants had our new costumes all ready. Rory’s took longer, of course. She didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed this time by the assistant seeing her in a semi-naked state. She was far too focused. After she was all zipped and buttoned in, she began shaking out her legs, stretching her hamstrings. I knew she was achy. I was too.

  “Just two more rounds. That’s all, honey. Then we’re done. You can do it,” I said.

  “I know.”

  The applause was even louder as we took the floor for the semifinal round, owing largely to the costume change, which, as usual, everyone had done. Micaela even had a different hairstyle—a French twist that looked flawless. I read Rory’s expression as she gazed at the intricate hairdo, wondering how she’d had the time. I kissed her again, on the cheek so as not to disturb her just-made-up lips. She giggled and, again, the crowd went mad.

  The big band began their cha-cha and we were off, our muscle memory on super-drive. I could no longer feel the aches. I was numb to the pain. Rory was too, I could tell. If she felt any, she danced her best and her fullest right through it.

  The cha-cha nearly blended right into the samba. I saw a kind of blur in Rory’s eyes. She breathed deeply, nodded, telling me it was all right. Her muscles were in control. And they were doing the right thing. Thanks to the hundreds and hundreds of hours of practice we’d put into it all.