by Alina Adams
Chris stopped struggling. After a moment, he went limp, letting Lucian catch him before he hit the ground in a heap. Chris nodded meekly.
And, unseen in her hiding place outside in the hall, Gabrielle did as well.
She didn't know what they were talking about exactly. But Lucian's words made a sense to her that Gabrielle had never thought of before. She could not control whether or not she would skate. All she could control was where and how and with whom. It would have to be enough, if she ever expected to stop feeling like a badly addressed letter, sent from place to place with no say in the matter.
The next morning, Gabrielle told her thrilled parents that she'd changed her mind. She'd decided to stay in Connecticut and train with Mr. Pryce after all.
It wasn't until weeks later that Gabrielle was able to piece together the full story of what she'd witnessed that first night at the center. Thanks to her mandatory viewing of the Olympics, Gabrielle was aware that Chris Kelly, immediately after winning the Gold medal, had taken off and eloped with his girlfriend, a woman named Lauren. The media had all but ripped each other to shreds to be the first to present this romantic fairy tale to the TV-watching public prior to the conclusion of the Games. Even though both the win and the elopement happened within the first ten days of the event, the network continued cutting away from their less popular sports — biathlon and luge seemed to be particularly unloved stepchildren — to "take another up-close-and-personal look" at the story of Christian and Lauren Kelly, breathlessly asking the question "What Are They Doing Now?" Chris's competition over, the answer proved to be "Nothing much." But that didn't stop the cameras from following them around in anticipation nonetheless.
Now, less than a year later, Lauren was dead, a victim of, as Lucian put it, "some idiotic, moronic, irresponsible drunk driver." And Chris was a shell-shocked widower at the age of barely twenty-two. The only time Gabrielle ever saw him was either at the rink, or coming and going. She had no idea what he did with the rest of his time, but, judging by how much weight he'd lost and how all-around haggard he looked, she couldn't imagine it was eating a balanced diet or taking care of himself in any way.
She felt suitably sorry for him, especially considering the horrible breakdown she'd witnessed him experience the night Lauren died. But him being a Singles skater and eight years older than she to boot pretty much assured their paths rarely crossing.
Besides, eventually Chris snapped out of his mourning — and with a vengeance, too, as far as Gabrielle could tell from his suddenly very busy dating life. And, by that time, Gabrielle lacked the emotional resources to feel sorry for anyone but herself.
Lucian found Gabrielle a dance partner within three months of her arrival at the center. Gabrielle's roommates, who previously hadn't paid her much mind, emerged from the stupor of indifference to wonder what made her so damn special.
"She passed all her dance tests on the first try; that's what makes her so damn special," Mr. Pryce snapped. "When you stop tripping over your own cloddish feet in the Viennese, we can talk about you finding someone, too."
Some of the other girls at the rink had been looking for a suitable partner for years. Boys in skating were incredibly hard to come by. Usually, the girl's family had to commit to picking up his training expenses, plus costume, equipment, and travel, and if that wasn't enough, they sometimes even agreed to move to a training facility of his choice. The fact that Gabrielle got a partner so quickly, a partner who not only was located where she already was but who also wasn't demanding payment of an extra surcharge ("the boy tax"), didn't make for a very comfortable living arrangement.
But her living arrangement, where nobody spoke to her or acknowledged that she was in the room, was still the most pleasant part of Gabrielle's day.
Because all the other parts of her day were spent at the rink.
Todd, her partner, turned out to be a godsend. He was eighteen and thus mature enough not to get into the kind of squabbles other, more similarly aged partners tended to engage in. On any given day, Gabrielle witnessed a girl pulling her hand away at the last minute, leaving her partner clutching at thin air before going sprawling on his stomach. She saw partners who kicked each other with their blades viciously enough to draw blood, then helplessly shrugged and insisted it was an accident — prove that it wasn't. She saw girls deliberately dropped, head first, out of lifts, and boys kneed in the groin, all done with a barely hidden smirk, covered by a cough. Todd didn't go in for those kinds of games. He was sweet and hardworking and quiet. He never argued with Gabrielle. But then again, he never argued with Lucian, either. Whatever their coach said, went. Even when what their coach said led to bleeding blisters and hairline fractures and muscles strained so badly they could barely limp, much less walk home.
After several years of skating with Todd, Gabrielle had suffered two broken wrists, one concussion, and three wrenched vertebrae in her back that required shots of cortisone just to keep her upright. Todd had dislocated his shoulder so many times he'd learned to snap it back in himself, with a sickening, rink-resounding crunch that made everyone in the vicinity shudder upon hearing it. Both his knees had worn out their cartilage, and neither he nor Gabrielle could recall a day without a stuffy nose, sore throat, or low-grade fever. But they were also the U.S. Junior champions and then, the following year, the U.S. Senior Silver medallists. So Gabrielle and Todd were stenciled in on the plus side of the OTC's judgment column. After all, unlike other skaters with dislocated body parts, they hadn't been forced to go home without a title.
In fact, Gabrielle and Todd were favored to win the U.S. title at Nationals, which meant a trip to the World Championship, and who knew what could happen there. They were in the best shape they'd ever been. Judges, both national and international, said they loved their new Free Dance. And word from the former Soviet bloc was that the breakup of their government meant a breakdown of the all-powerful Soviet sports machine. The title was no longer automatically assumed to go to those "skating while Russian." The field was supposedly wide open now. This could really be the Americans' year to make a bold move to the top of the podium.
Every day leading up to the Free Dance at Nationals, someone else told Gabrielle that this was a huge season for her. They wanted to know, was she nervous? Excited? Psyched? They told her the whole country was counting on her and Todd to pave the way for a U.S. domination in Ice Dancing the way that they now dominated Men's and Ladies' Singles. They jokingly warned her not to let them down, then, not so jokingly added, no, really, don't let us down, Gabrielle, you hear me?
Gabrielle heard them.
She heard them all. And she heard Lucian bellowing more and more complicated instructions in one ear while the fans cheered in another and TV reporters kept asking her if she was nervous and her parents gushed how proud they were and the days flew by and it was the morning of the Free Dance and Gabrielle and Todd were in first place after the first two phases of the competition, first place from every judge on every dance, and they were ready to take it all.
Standing in the bathroom, painting the whitening treatment on her teeth to make sure they sparkled for her big day, Gabrielle wondered how she could make everything slow down. Just for a bit, just so that she could take a breath and think for a minute and not hear her heart hammering so relentlessly until she was afraid it would come vomiting out of her chest along with everything she'd eaten for the past few years.
And then she remembered something Lucian had said.
It wasn't about winning and it wasn't about training and it wasn't about never, ever dropping her elbow, especially in the Waltz because that, apparently, was a fate worse than death. It was about control.
It was Lucian, his voice mesmerizing and hypnotic and unwavering, preaching, "The rest of the world is out of our influence.... That's why the only way to respond to what goes on out there, is for you to return here.... This is the only place on Earth where your life and your fate are your own. Do you understand me? This is the only
place where you can be in charge of your destiny. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Gabrielle understood.
And that was why, in the interest of taking control of her own life and her own destiny and not leaving her fate in the hands of strangers, she picked up her razor blade and, unhesitatingly, made a definite, crimson slash down the length of both her wrists.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SKATINGANDSTUFF.COM MESSAGE BOARD
FROM: GoGoGregoryl Posted at 11 :09 AM
I called the OTC they said the show is still going on as scheduled phew I would have hated to try and cancel all my travel plans at the last minute I asked them who was going to be skating and they said Chris, Gina, also somebody named Gabrielle Cassidy and that Toni Wright will be there this is going to be so good!!!!
FROM: SuperCooperFan Posted at 11:11 AM
Who the hell is Gabrielle Cassidy that she gets billing with Chris and Gina?
FROM: SkatingYoda Posted at 11:14 AM
Gabrielle Cassidy was a Pair skater of Lucian's. I think she skated with Robby Sharpton?
FROM: TwirlyGirl Posted at 11:16 AM
No, that was Felicia Tufts. They were Nat. Pair champions. Don't remember this Gabrielle Cassidy.
FROM: JordanRocks Posted at 11:30 AM
Robby skated with Rachel, not Felicia. She's Jeremy Hunt's mother.
FROM: SkateGr8 Posted at 11:39 AM
Robby skated with BOTH Rachel and Felicia. He won Nats with Rachel, though. Gabrielle Cassidy was an ice dancer. I think she won a medal at Worlds, don't remember the color, but it wasn't gold.
FROM: GoGoGregoryl Posted at 11:40 AM
So this stupid dance medallist is being lumped in with Chris who won two Oly golds and Gina who is still the reigning ladies US Oly Gold medallist who the heck did she sleep with to get such a sweet deal?
FROM: SkatingFreak Posted at 11:41 AM
«who the heck did she sleep with to get such a sweet deal?»
Considering who we're talking about here, my money is on Lucian. She's younger than Gina, right? Time for him to trade up!
* * *
“Do you mean your suicide?" Bex clarified, wanting to make sure she and Gabrielle were on the same page about this one detail, at least.
"More like my botched suicide," Gabrielle snorted. "Another link in the Grand Canyon-sized evidence chain whispering that I can't do anything right."
"Oh," Bex said. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I'm over it. Amazing what you can accomplish with a little fortitude, perseverance, moxie, and a decade of twice-a-week therapy." In response to Bex's still guilt-ridden face, Gabrielle insisted, "No. Really. I'm fine. That's why I can make jokes about it. I really am out of the tunnel."
"But you were referring to your suicide attempt when you said that Lucian ruined your life?"
"It wasn't all his fault" Gabrielle conceded. "There were lots of factors. But yes, he did lead the charge."
"So what did you mean then about figuring the least you could do was take his in exchange?"
Gabrielle asked, "What's this about, Bex? Your questions. Are you trying to get me to say or confess to something — "
"It's nothing. I'm just doing my job. Trying to get a complete picture of the man. For the tribute show."
"I don't think anyone can ever really get a complete picture of anyone. The Lucian Pryce Gina knew and knows now is different from the Lucian Sabrina knew, or Toni. And the Lucian Chris knew is certainly different from mine. We all become different people depending on the circumstances, don't you agree?”
Philosophically speaking? Absolutely.
But Bex was more interested in the concrete world at the moment. "What you said before about taking Lucian's life to help you put yours back together... What did that mean, exactly?”
Gabrielle sighed. "All right, here's the thing: After I quit skating — I know, I know, it's a pretty neutral way to describe cutting my wrists, but the fact is, that's all I was trying to do. To quit skating. One way or another. After I quit, I really didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't have any friends. No boyfriend. My family tried to be supportive, they really did, but they had no idea what to do or say, so we all just kind of ended up avoiding each other, more out of consideration than anything else. I started college and I got a degree in psychology, but that was mostly because psychology, thanks to my own therapy sessions, was about the only thing I had even a passing interest in. Everything else, at school and at home, just felt so unreal. Like I was passing through a series of moving train cars without so much as looking around. The ground was moving under my feet and I kept moving so I wouldn't fall, even though, frankly, I didn't have a lot of reasons to remain upright, either. And then, about six years ago, Todd, my former dance partner, he got sick. AIDS. No surprise. What was surprising was how he reacted. He saw it as an opportunity. He saw dying as this reminder to make his life more meaningful. He and his parents always had a good relationship — they were actually great, none of that 'never darken my doorstep' stuff with them. But, having a death sentence over his head, he really reached out to them, got to know them on this deep, profound level. Same thing with me and with everyone else in his life. Todd saw his illness as this amazing chance to turn something horrible into something wonderful. He inspired me so much. I went back to school, got my PhD, and as soon as I got out, I started working to open my training center. I was going to take all the pain that Lucian and skating put me through, and I was going to turn it into a place where other kids would be safe from all that."
"That's great," Bex said, thoroughly lost but convinced that anything that kept Gabrielle talking was ultimately a good thing.
"Yes, in theory, it's awesome. But in practice, a dozen more paying customers or so would be nice, too."
"Which is why you volunteered to do the show."
"I just thought I'd follow Todd's example. Take the most awful thing in my life, my years with Lucian, and try to turn them into something good — PR for the center."
"You were using his tribute to promote your own cause?"
"Yup." If Gabrielle felt guilty about the subterfuge, she was hiding it beautifully.
"And now?"
"Now? You said the show was still on. So, as far as I know, so are my plans. In fact, this makes it even better. I was wondering how I would react, coming face-to-face with him again after all these years. What he would say, what I would say? This way, I'm off the hook."
"You don't think it's... awkward? You're kind of dancing on his grave here."
"Nope."
"So Lucian's death, it's kind of a lucky break all around for you."
"Yup," Gabrielle agreed.
After the somewhat morbid conversation with Dr. Cassidy, Bex went down the hotel hall to Chris Kelly's room, ostensibly to tell him that the tribute show was still on, but actually to find out what exactly he knew about his employer's less than charitable feelings towards their former coach.
Chris wasn't in, so Bex shifted to Plan B and, after ordering a cab, took it over to the Pryce home. Sabrina let her in. In the few hours since the police had ordered the rest of them out of the house, Lucian's daughter had pulled herself together enough to greet Bex if not with a chipper mood, at least with one no more sullen than the snit she'd appeared to be in even prior to her father's death. She looked neither pleased nor displeased to see her and, in response to Bex's question as to whether Gina might be around, jerked her thumb in the direction of the stairs.
"Second door on the right."
Bex followed the instructions to what she guessed was Gina and Lucian's master bedroom. There was an unmade king-size bed, a dresser, two end tables, a vanity with oversize mirror, and, by the window, a walk-in closet the size of Bex's studio apartment. The door to the closet was open. Gina sat on the threshold, surrounded by what at first glance appeared to be a cream and otherwise earth-toned pile of Jil Sander, Max Mara, Alberta Ferretti, Ralph Lauren, Christian Dior, and Calvin Klein silk, linen, and cashme
re skirts, sweaters, and blouses. Which she was rather meticulously pruning with a pair of gardening shears.
Bex was initially so bowled over by that particular anomalous sight it took her a moment to register that the figure towering above the hunched-over Gina was Chris Kelly. From the way he was leaning over her, tugging on the partially shorn clothing, it was difficult to tell if he were trying to stop her endeavor or help it along.
Bex cleared her throat. Rather loudly. Gina and Chris looked up, surprised, but neither particularly embarrassed. Almost as if both believed what they were doing was perfectly natural, and Bex was the odd one for appearing confused.
She couldn't help it. She had to ask. "What are you doing?"
"Spring cleaning," Gina said brightly.
"Cutting up your clothes is spring cleaning?"
"They're all last season," Gina explained, though her tone suggested Bex should have already known that.
