by Alexis Daria
“I’d been leaning on you for so long, I figured it was time I stood on my own two feet.” She lifted her right foot, a simple bandage pulled over the ankle like a sock. “Guess that didn’t turn out so well.”
Gina hugged her around the neck, and Natasha’s breath hitched again. It was what Abuela would have done. Maybe that was why they were friends. Maybe that’s why she loved Gina so much.
“You’re doing great,” Gina said. “Get your mom’s voice out of your head.”
That did it. To have someone know her so well and still love her . . . The tears came, and Gina rubbed her back. Again, just like Abuela would have.
“I missed the hell out of you,” Natasha admitted.
“I was worried about you. But I figured if things were bad, you’d tell me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t want to bother you.”
Now Gina gave her a punch in the arm. “You’re my best friend. You’re never a bother. That’s part of the best friend pact. Didn’t you know?”
“Now I do.”
“You were there for me when all the shit went down at the end of the last season.”
Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, but you also tried to hide your relationship with Stone from me.”
“Well, I didn’t want to think it was a relationship. If it was just a hookup, why did I need to tell?” She sighed. “I get it, though. Sometimes things feel too raw to share. And if I’d known you were struggling when you first moved here, I would have come out sooner. I wouldn’t have left you alone for that. And I would have made you take rent money this summer.”
“I know you would have. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m not your responsibility, Gina. I’ve made mistakes, but . . . I’m learning.”
Gina was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry if I’ve been pushy, or overbearing, in any way. It’s just—you’re my friend, you know? I don’t want to see you struggle if I can help. But I hear you. And you’re right, we have to make mistakes so we can learn from them.”
They lapsed into companionable silence. Natasha looked around her room, the bed and dresser the only items in it. The walls were bare. She’d put the curtains back up, only so she didn’t have to worry about the people in the neighboring building looking in on her. The closet was empty, aside from a few items that would wrinkle if folded into the drawers. Most of it had been sold, and the rest was already packed. Turned out, clothes didn’t make the woman, and she didn’t need that much after all. Living out of suitcases while at Dimitri’s had shown her that.
This wasn’t her home anymore. This apartment, this symbol of her independence, her success, no longer held any meaning to her. She had been so determined to come back here, to prove to herself to her mother, and hell, even to the producers, that she could make it as a dancer.
Who was she kidding? Paying rent on a basic-ass apartment in Hollywood wasn’t a measure of success. Lots of people managed to do it. Yeah, it was great to be able to pay your own bills, but now it seemed like such a silly thing to stake her identity on. The apartment didn’t define her. The stuff she’d filled it with didn’t say anything about her skill as a dancer or choreographer.
She glanced at her ankle. Being a dancer didn’t even define her anymore. Who are you if you’re not a dancer?
Who was she, if she wasn’t a dancer? Who was she, if she couldn’t pay her own bills, pay rent on her own apartment, and support herself from her craft?
She was Natasha. Still, now, and always.
Compulsive spending and the need for external markers of success had held her back and kept her locked into a lifestyle and a job that didn’t respect her. She didn’t owe Fucking Donna any loyalty. And Donna had said it herself, Natasha could use her ankle as an out.
“I think I’m going to quit The Dance Off,” Natasha said out loud, mostly to hear how it sounded. It sounded good.
Gina raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
Natasha shrugged. “It’s just a job.”
And if she got a different one, a better one, she could explore more of who she was without it.
And maybe she and Dimitri could explore who they were together.
Gina patted her leg. “Glad you see the light.”
And for once, the future looked bright.
46
Since Natasha had an apartment full of dancers, she dragged Kevin and Lori away from the salads—everyone had chosen a different favorite—and hustled them all outside to the tiny courtyard the building boasted. It mostly held a few giant trashcans and some plants, but it caught the late afternoon light, and it had space.
Kevin stood at one end with Natasha’s camera on a tripod. The other women set their phones to video, to catch different angles.
“You’re sure you’re okay to do this?” Lori asked.
“The doctor cleared me to dance again.” Thanks to Dimitri. If left to her own devices, she would have pushed it too hard, too soon, and likely injured herself again. Now, she felt stronger than ever, thanks to physical therapy and a break from her soul-crushing work schedule. Sitting on a bench off to the side, Natasha powdered and tied on her oldest pair of pointe shoes, then popped in her wireless headphones.
Gina gaped in horror. “You’re wearing pointe shoes on concrete? You’re going to ruin them!”
“For this? Worth it.”
Gina pursed her lips like she wasn’t convinced, then glanced at the sky. “I think we only have enough light for one take.”
“Aww shit, Gina, look at you,” Kevin teased. “Spend some time in Alaska and you can tell time by the clouds.”
Gina stuck her tongue out at him.
Natasha took her mark.
“You sure your ankle is healed enough?” Lori called out. Lori was in charge of controlling the music on Natasha’s phone, which she held in one hand, her own phone in the other.
“It’s fine.” Natasha tuning them out, wrapping her head around the choreography she’d been tweaking for months. Of course, she would have loved more time to perfect it, to fine tune each turn and leap. Or better yet, to work on it with Dimitri, to get his unique take on the movements. But there wasn’t time. The meeting was in two days.
Now or never.
She gave Lori the nod. A second later, the music pumped into her ears, starting with dramatic violins. She launched into the dance, starting with classical ballet moves. The pop beat joined in. Natasha picked up the tempo. I am a masterpiece, the singer declared. Natasha spun, arms outstretched. The chorus came to an end, and the singer cried out, You ain’t seen nothing yet. Just watch me fly.
Natasha flew.
A flurry of leaps and spins she’d learned in ballet, body rolls she’d learned on the pole, elements of paso doble learned in the ballroom, and when the music paused for a beat, a perfectly executed arabesque that felt like coming home.
She put everything she was into this dance. All of who she was. She’d never done well in school, but she’d studied dance forever, learning different styles every step of the way.
Maybe the question was actually, “Who are you if you can’t dance?”
She was Natasha. And she was a motherfucking dancer. Mind and body, heart and soul. She was a dancer. Her muscles held a lifetime’s worth of dance training. Her history and worldview informed the pieces she created.
No one could take this from her. No injury, no disapproving mother, no asshole producers. This was hers.
You ain’t seen nothing yet. Just watch me fly.
Damn it, she was going to fly. Fuck failure. She was over it.
Time to do things her own way.
The song and the dance came to an end. In the last spears of light from the setting sun, Natasha untied her ruined pointe shoes and hurled them across the courtyard.
And Kevin, Lori, and Gina, because they were good friends who followed instructions, kept the cameras rolling until she gave them the slashing hand signal to cut.
When the cameras were off, Lori and Gina screeched, and Ke
vin clapped his hands over his ears.
“Oh my god, that was amazing,” Lori gushed.
Gina passed Natasha her flip-flops. “You have this choreography job in the bag.”
“Killer dance, babe.” Kevin folded up the tripod.
Their praise warmed her, but even better, she knew she’d killed it. Her thoughts drifted to Dimitri. Once, she’d wanted his praise like she’d wanted her mother’s. Now, she just wished she could share this moment with him. And all moments. Damn it, she loved him. She loved dancing with him, fighting with him, cooking with him. The man was infuriating at times, but his passion for life stirred her up and made her want more. For once, she wondered if wanting more wasn’t a bad thing, like she’d been raised to believe.
If she played her cards right, they could have lots of moments together. “Whoever I’m meeting doesn’t know what they’re in for.”
As she headed back upstairs with her friends, for the first time in . . . who knew how long, she knew exactly who she was. And nothing that had happened before or would happen in the future would take that away from her.
Two days later, Natasha strode into the casting office where her meeting was set to take place. She had her laptop tucked into her shoulder bag, with her reel and her latest piece, which she’d spent every waking minute editing until it was as perfect as she could get it.
She wore a slate blue silk blouse, stretchy black pants with a cool stitching pattern, and silver stilettos, one of the few pairs of fancy shoes she’d kept. Her hair was pulled back in a high, thick braid, and after spending most of the summer fresh-faced, she’d gone heavy on the dark eye makeup.
She looked fucking awesome as hell, and her videos were going to knock them on their asses. She was so ready for this meeting, it wasn’t even funny.
Still, nerves threatened to eat into her confidence. This meeting had the potential to turn things around for her. Not just for her career, but the rest of her life.
She was days away from meeting her next partner for The Dance Off—Rocky, a guy she’d already “met” in every sense of the word. What her agent didn’t know was she’d already decided to quit the show. She didn’t want Penelope to flip out, so she’d decided to tell her after the meeting, regardless of how it went.
And after that was done, she’d give Dimitri a call. The thought of it gave her the same mix of excitement and nerves as the meeting.
Natasha took a deep breath and stopped before the admin’s desk. Before she spoke, she sent up a tiny prayer to the dance gods. I ask for this or something better.
Even if this didn’t work out, she’d book something else. She had the talent and the skill, and a unique perspective lots of other choreographers didn’t have.
No matter what her mother said.
The receptionist directed her to the correct room. Down a short hallway, Natasha paused with her hand on the knob, took another deep breath to clear her mind.
Now or never.
She clasped the knob and turned.
47
There was every possibility this would backfire, but after days of working nonstop to make this meeting happen, there was no more room for doubt.
Dimitri sat at the desk, keeping his hands flat on the surface so as not to chew on his nails. In truth, he didn’t have energy for doubt. He was wiped the fuck out.
Whatever was going to happen, would happen. He was putting all his cards on the table, and if he lost . . .
Well, then, damn it, he would try again. He wasn’t giving up.
The worst-case scenarios had already happened. His first show had been a flop. His second attempt had been turned down over something as stupid as his level of fame.
And the woman he loved hadn’t believed in his love. Again.
He’d survived all of it, and he’d survive whatever came next.
“Breathe.”
To Dimitri’s right, Alex was the very picture of calm. He was there to lend legitimacy to this meeting, so Natasha would know it was a serious offer and not some misguided ploy to get her back. The last thing Dimitri wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.
“I am breathing,” he grumbled.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“Easy for you to say. You put a ring on it within two months of meeting Marina.”
Alex’s lips quirked. “I always was smarter than you.”
Dimitri couldn’t argue. Then the doorknob turned, and he tried not to throw up on the desk. When Natasha stepped into the room, his heart leaped into his throat, and for a long moment, they just stared at each other.
God damn, she was gorgeous. She looked like her old self, but there was something different about her. A confident tilt to her chin, a challenge in her eyes.
But also, confusion. Brows drawn, she glanced at Alex, then looked over her shoulder, into the hallway. Dimitri found his voice and got up from behind the desk.
“This is the right room,” he said, and she turned back to face him. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”
“Macho, what is this?” She sounded confused, but she sat in the chair he offered, and she called him Macho. That was a good sign. “I thought I was here for a meeting about a . . .” Understanding dawned on her face, in those expressive eyes, and her mouth twisted in a frown. “Did you set this up to get me to come talk to you?”
“No.” He went back to his chair, but couldn’t bring himself to sit. Too much nervous energy. Instead, he perched on the edge of the desk and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I mean, yes, I wanted to talk to you, but I swear, it’s about choreography. Also about choreography.”
Damn, he was screwing this up. She looked puzzled and slightly disappointed.
Alex saved him by jumping straight into the pitch. “Hello, Ms. Díaz. My apologies for surprising you this way. We were able to secure funding for Dom Navsegda, and we were hoping you’d be interested in accepting the role of choreographer.”
Natasha listened, then stared at Dimitri with a poker face that could rival Alex’s. “Why?”
Dimitri answered quickly, speaking from the heart, before Alex could give a smooth reply. “Because you’re the best choreographer I know.” He shrugged. “You’re better than I am, and I don’t say that lightly. And you’re better than Kevin, even though people seem to think the sun shines out of that guy’s ass.”
Alex sighed, but Natasha’s lips quirked. “That’s true, people do think that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the best, and I want the best, and I also want to give you the chance to show the world what you can do with real dancers.”
“How do you know what I can do?”
“We watched your YouTube videos,” Alex said. “They served as an effective example of your skills, and we think you’ll be a good fit for this project. Besides,” he jerked a thumb in Dimitri’s direction, “you already know how to put up with this guy.”
With a glance at Dimitri, Alex got to his feet. “I’m starting to feel like a third wheel, but I want you to know we’re very serious about this offer. I think you’re the best person for the job. Please consider the offer.” He shook Natasha’s hand, shot Dimitri a warning glance, and exited the room. The door shut with a click.
Natasha crossed her arms. “Okay, Dimitri. Real talk. What is all this about?”
He shook his head, spread his hands, and struggled to find the words. “You’re amazing, Tasha. I don’t know how else to say it. And you understand this show, this story, in a way I don’t trust other people to get it.”
“It’s a good story,” she murmured.
“Think about it,” he said. “You don’t have to decide now. I’ll have Alex send all the other details to your agent. But please think about it. And I hope you take it. You don’t have to take me, but please take the job. You’re perfect for it, and I think it’s perfect for you.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh shit. I meant to lead with this part. I quit The Dance Off.”
She stared at him for so long, he surreptitiously wiped a hand over hi
s face to make sure there wasn’t something stuck to his beard.
“You quit?” she finally said.
“Yeah.” He let out a breath. “I thought I needed to be there, to take advantage of the fame so my own show would be successful. But if that’s what I’m relying on, I either don’t have much faith in my show, or it’s not as good as I think it is.”
When she didn’t say anything, he scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I’m too tired to play this cool. I want you. In my home, in my bed, in my life. It took me way too long to say that. I get it. I should have told you the day we met. But I was an idiot. So, I’m saying it now. I love you, Tasha. I told you, I’m not walking away from you again. I want us to be together. You and me. Building something real and solid together. As dancers, if you want. As a couple, if you want that, too.” He threw up his hands. “Damn it. I’m making a mess of this. I’m sorry I’m such an awkward asshole.”
Her steady gaze unnerved him. “Tell me exactly what you mean to say.”
He fidgeted, then got up to pace. “You.” He gestured at her with both hands. “Me.” He pressed his palms to his chest. “As, like, a couple.”
She stood and approached him, running her hands up his stomach and up over his shoulders to lace together behind his neck. In those shoes, they were the same height. “Macho, are you saying you want commitment?”
He grabbed her hips. “Yes, damn it, that’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I’m sorry I let you think otherwise because I was too scared to own up to it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, looked her in the eye. “Love is a risk. So is creativity. Both are worth it. I want you with me every step of the way, for both. I believe in you, Tasha, and I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help wanting to take care of you. I love you, and that’s what I do for people I love.”
“You have to let me take care of you, too,” she whispered, a small smile playing on her soft lips.
“Of course, Kroshka. That’s all I want. For us to take care of each other.”
