The Saint of Petersburg (Dancing Dream #3)

by Leslie DuBois

  Seconds later, a Hispanic woman opened the door. I assumed she was the maid.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Her pleasant, professional smile quickly evaporated into an annoyed smirk. She turned and walked away, leaving the door open. “He’s in the pool,” she called out over her shoulder.

  I stood in the foyer so confused I couldn’t move. What just happened? Suddenly it clicked. She thought I was Sasha of course. Most people did. It was usually a curse to look so much like my older sister. That was how the Bitch Brigade was able to frame me with a fake video of me succumbing to blackmail from David. It was also how she was able to steal my passport and financial documents when she came to visit me in Italy. But today it was kind of a blessing. It had gotten me into the Winthrop mansion, no questions asked. Though somehow, I didn’t think the maid was very fond of my sister.

  I found David floating on a raft in his luxurious pool complete with cascading waterfall and wet bar. He looked so relaxed, serene, and unfortunately handsome. I so wanted to pick up something heavy and launch it at his head. But there was nothing around. Wouldn’t have mattered if there was since I happened to have horrible aim.

  “Well, well. What do we have here?” David said removing his sunglasses. “If it isn’t Ms. Sonya Garrison, prima ballerina.”

  “Maddox. Sonya Maddox. Thank you.” I don’t know why I corrected him on that. I hadn’t actually even taken Will’s name. Maybe I just wanted David to know that I was taken.

  He dived into the water and slammed to the edge in front of me. Pulling himself out of the water, he sat on the edge and started drying his thick dark hair with a nearby towel.

  “Welcome, Mrs. Maddox,” he said focusing his green eyes on me. I felt a flicker in my stomach, but not because I was attracted to him or anything. That ship had long sailed. I think it was because of hearing someone call me Mrs. Maddox. I really liked the sound of it.

  “I need to know where my sister is,” I said deciding I should get to the point.

  David swung his feet out of the water and stood up. Plastering on a charismatic grin he said, “Maria makes some really incredible spinach spaghetti. Why don’t we go inside and have some?”

  “I just want to know where Sasha is and I know you know.” I didn’t really know if he knew. It just seemed like the way he was suddenly the spinach spaghetti spokesperson that he was hiding something.

  He shrugged. “Sorry, no clue. Ask her parole officer.”

  “She doesn’t have a parole officer. She hasn’t been convicted. She’s just out on bail. Bail that you probably posted.” Yeah, you don’t grow up in Venton Heights without learning a little bit about the incarceration system.

  Rubbing his stomach theatrically, he said, “Man, I am really hungry. You sure you don’t want any of that spaghetti?” He turned and walked toward his house.

  I grabbed his arm and said, “Don’t play with me, David. I just want to know if she is okay.”

  “Why do you even care? Hasn’t she put you through enough? What are you? Some God-given saint of forgiveness?”

  “There are no saints here. I didn’t say I forgive her. But she is still my sister. And that baby inside of her is my niece or nephew.”

  David paused and scrunched his eyes for a second. I thought he might need his sunglasses again or something but then I recognized the classic look of complete confusion. A split second later, the confusion morphed into something that closely resembled anger.

  After taking a deep calming breath he said, “What baby?”

  “Her baby.” I took a step back not liking the creepy look in his eyes.

  “She was pregnant?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, in Rome. I --”

  “When?” he asked cutting me off.

  “Like March. Will almost broke up with me because he thought the doctor was talking about me.” Looking at David’s face, I started to feel like maybe I shouldn’t be mentioning all of these details. But then again, I didn’t have any loyalties to Sasha at this point.

  “That selfish bitch!” he yelled throwing down his towel and storming toward a little house in the far corner of his huge backyard.

  Practically running just to keep up with him, I was there when he flung open the door, revealing none other than my elusive sister, Sasha Garrison.

  Chapter 24

  Sympathy for the Devil

  “You killed our baby, didn’t you?” David yelled as he stepped inside the pool house.

  A wide-eyed Sasha stared back and forth between David and me. She still looked completely gorgeous and not at all like she had just gotten out of jail that morning. It was almost as if she had stopped at a salon right after getting out. I wouldn’t put it past her.

  One thing that was different was the look of fear in her eyes. For as long as I could remember, I didn’t think Sasha had ever been afraid of anything. But at this moment, I could tell she didn’t want to be on the same planet with David Winthrop, let alone a tiny pool house.

  She glared at me for a second as if it was my fault he was mad at her. “No, I didn’t,” she said finally. “I had a miscarriage. It was an accident.” She placed her hands on her hips defiantly as if daring him to contradict her.

  “A miscarriage, huh? Just like you had junior year,” David said. “Funny how an otherwise healthy teenage girl keeps having miscarriages.”

  Wait a minute. My sister was pregnant before? Why didn’t I know about this? I tried to think back to that time. When she was a junior, I would have been a sophomore. That was my first year at Bridgeton and I was too busy trying to be invisible to realize if anything was going on with my sister. What if she needed me? What if I’d ignored her because of ballet? Since the age of eight, I had ignored most things for dance.

  “It’s a condition. I ... I’m ... I’m sick,” Sasha said.

  “You’re lying!” he picked up a wicker chair and threw it across the room, knocking over a lamp and several picture frames. “You told me you lost the baby in February. You told me you wanted to be with your sister to recover. How could you then be pregnant again in Rome the next month?”

  Whoa. She had used me as an alibi? That’s low. My sympathy for her was quickly slipping away.

  “I’m not lying. She’s lying.” Sasha looked at me as if for back up.

  “You are out of your mind if you think I’m helping you get out of this.” I plopped down on the couch and got comfortable. I wanted to see how this played out.

  “I think we all know who the liar is in your family,” David said in a low growl. “Admit it, Sasha. You killed it. You killed the only thing that was pure and normal about us.”

  Sasha didn’t respond immediately. I wasn’t exactly sure how most liars of her magnitude operated. Did the lies come naturally before they even thought about it? Did she plan them in advance and she merely had to pick the next one? Or was she actually contemplating telling the truth?

  “So what if I did?” she said finally. “We are not the kind of people that should be procreating. What the hell would you even do with a baby?”

  “I would love it. I would show it the kind of love my parents never showed me. I would love it just like I love you.”

  “Like you love me? You’re sick. You could never love me. You can’t love anyone but yourself!”

  David took a deep breath. “No, Sasha. You’re confusing me for you.” He turned away for a moment and then turned back. “You didn’t even discuss it with me. I hate you!” he yelled lunging for her. The murderous look in his eyes made me think he might kill her. Fortunately, he tripped on a beach ball and wasn’t able to get his hands on her.

  “I hate you more, ‘Mr. It-Doesn’t-Feel-the-Same-With-A-Condom!’” she yelled running around the couch. “You know you didn’t want that baby either. I was just making it easier for both of us.”

  “You didn’t have to kill it. I would have taken care of it.”

  “You can barely take care of yourself.”

  Next it was her turn to trip on something
, giving David time to grab her and pull her to the floor. They were screaming profanities at each other as Sasha tried to scratch his eyes out.

  “How could you!” David yelled slapping her across the face.

  I had seen enough. From about the age of ten, I always carried a taser in my purse. It came with the territory of living in Venton Heights and having to walk home sometimes after late dance rehearsals. It was about to come in handy right now.

  As David convulsed on the floor, I helped Sasha up and we dashed out of the pool house.

  “Woohoo! That was awesome!” Sasha said when we reached the sidewalk. “He is going to be so pissed when he finishes vibrating on the floor like the little dildo that he is.” And then she actually started laughing. Was this whole thing a joke to her? How could she possibly find anything funny about having her boyfriend beat her up over an abortion he didn’t want or even know about?

  I stared at her in shock. She had to be some sort of psychotic sociopath.

  “What?” she asked when she realized I wasn’t laughing.

  Something came over me in that moment. I realized that there may not be any hope for my sister. And if there was, any change in her would not be brought about by me. This girl didn’t care about anything or anyone but herself. There was no saving her. She didn’t want to be saved. I got the feeling she enjoyed exactly who she was and what she did.

  Well I didn’t.

  I was done with her. Totally done. Not only that, but for the first time in my life I really, really hated her.

  So, in a very uncharacteristic display of hostility, I reared back and punched my formerly beloved sister in the face. She fell to the ground clutching her nose. I saw blood seep through her fingers.

  “We’re through.”

  Chapter 25

  Sequins and Rosin

  Maybe deep down a part of me only wanted to find her just for that punch. I had to admit, it was extremely cathartic. I rubbed my knuckles, relishing the feeling of my fist making contact with her face.

  I walked for over an hour, not quite sure of where I was going. But apparently, my feet knew. I ended up at Ms. Alexander’s studio. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. All of my life whenever things got tough, I could escape through dance.

  As I stood outside the window watching Ms. Alexander teach a pointe class, I thought back to the first time I met her. I was probably standing in the exact same location staring into the window and trying to imitate what I thought was the most beautiful movements a body could do. Ms. Alexander caught me and dragged me into the studio. That’s when I offered to clean the studio in exchange for lessons. She agreed but only after she saw me move. Apparently, she saw some hidden potential in me and decided to bring it to the surface. There was no way I could ever thank her for the eight years of training and guidance she had given me.

  I entered the studio and decided to get a closer look at the class. I wasn’t planning on joining in or anything. I didn’t even have clothes. I just wanted to sit inside and feel the music pulse through me. I wanted to breathe in the scent of dance. And, no, it didn’t smell like sweat. It smelled like sequins and rosin. Powdered rosin was what we use on the tips of our point shoes to keep from slipping on the clean wooden floors. And sequins was something I had always just associated with glamour.

  I thought I’d be able to just slip in and sit in the corner or something, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  The whispers started first, followed by the pointing. Then before I knew it, half the class was either pointing at me or staring. Ms. Alexander, who hadn’t seen me enter the rehearsal room, banged her stick on the ground trying to get everyone’s attention. She was a tiny little Asian woman who carried a not so tiny walking stick.

  “Hey, hey! Music no stop. Why you stop?” Ms. Alexander also had a very specific accent in which she sometimes left out her prepositions and articles.

  Her eyes slowly followed the pointed figures until they rested upon me. She dropped her stick and clasped her hands over her mouth. “Sonya!” she screamed running toward me. Then she wrapped her arms around me and nearly lifted me off of my feet. I forgot how strong she was. “What you doing here? Why you no in Russia?”

  I shrugged as I held in tears. “I feel like I’m home.”

  I could tell Ms. Alexander was getting a little teary-eyed as well. Trying to preserve her image as the tough as nails dance instructor, she took a deep breath and said, “Well, there no vacation for dancer. Dance for us.” It was more of a command than a statement actually.

  “Dance? Now?” She nodded. “I’m not dressed. I don’t have my shoes.”

  “You practically live here for eight year. You leave enough clothes to open store. Go, change, dance.”

  After a quick poll, it was clear that all the students wanted to see one of the routines I had done with Damian, but it’s pretty hard to perform a duet alone. So, instead I did one of the solos Damian choreographed for me.

  I think I should have felt weird or odd or something doing Damian’s choreography without him around. Maybe I should have missed him or felt embarrassed that I was dancing moves created by a man who rejected me. But I didn’t feel any of those things. I just felt the beauty of the movement.

  As usual, I lost myself in the music and the choreography. Yes, I momentarily felt the passion Damian was always talking about, but it wasn’t directly connected to him. For the first time ever, I felt that same amount of passion ring through me. Maybe it was the elegant series of pirouettes that made me dizzy with delight. Or maybe the beautiful combination of glissade into the grand jeté avant ending with an attitude en plié. In any case, by the end of my routine, I was in bliss and most of the class was in stunned awe.

  “Can she teach us how to do that?” a blond girl around thirteen years old said.

  “She world famous dancer. She no teach,” Ms. Alexander answered for me.

  Ms. Alexander was a world famous dancer before she started teaching as well. She was a prima ballerina for the Tokyo Ballet until she moved to America with her businessman husband. Sure, her professional career lasted a lot longer than my summer of fame, but beyond that, there wasn’t much more of a difference. I got to headline my own ballet for a summer and then dance with the Russian Ballet. Now I was following my husband to the States as well. And there was no way I would ever be leaving again.

  “Actually, Ms. Alexander,” I said after I’d caught my breath, “I’d love to start teaching again. If you’ll have me.”

  ***

  I spent the rest of the evening at the studio taking some of Ms. Alexander’s classes. Afterward, we went to her office to talk.

  “So, why you here? And don’t lie. Or I get my stick.” She sat down behind her desk as I sat on top of it.

  “Things just didn’t work out,” I said with a sigh.

  “What you mean? I read reviews. You next big thing. Go back to Russia. Not too late.”

  I nodded. “It is too late. It’s not what I want any more.” Okay, I had no idea I would even say those words until they were already out. I didn’t want the Russian Ballet? How could I not want the Russian Ballet?

  “What the matter? You sick?” She reached out and tried to feel my head.

  Dodging out of the way I said, “I’m not sick. I just think there are some things more important.”

  “Than ballet?” She stared at me in shock. “Maybe I take you to doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” I said standing. Although, thinking of that pregnancy test waiting for me, that may not have been completely true. Pacing her office I said, “How long have you and Mr. Alexander been married?”

  “Twenty-three years. Why?”

  “If you had to go back, would you exchange any of those years for one more year with the Tokyo Ballet?”

  She thought for a moment. Shaking her head she said, “Not one.”

  “I don’t want to trade my marriage for my dancing. I don’t want to look back on my life with regret. And that’s wh
at leaving Will for Russia would be.”

  She nodded. “Fair enough. So where you husband?”

  “Yeah, that’s a little complicated. He’s in California.” I saw the confusion creep over her face. “But he’ll be here soon. Real soon. He’s got a thing. You know.” Wow, I was really bad at lying. Thankfully, it was enough for her.

  “Fine with me.” Ms. Alexander opened her calendar. “Okay, how ‘bout you teach three o’clock intermediate class, Wednesday pointe class, and Thursday pas de deux. That work?”

  “That’s perfect.”

  I still didn’t want to go home after hours chatting with Ms. Alexander. Not because I hated my neighborhood or anything. In fact, I was starting to have warm feelings toward Venton Heights. Yes, it still had a lot of faults, but it also happened to have a lot of people that cared about me. No, I feared going home because of a little test I’d have to take. But there was no way to avoid it any longer.

  Chapter 26

  Fight, Fight

  I stared at the test for at least an hour straight trying to convince myself that I wasn’t staring at a plus sign. Yes, I knew I was never the best at math or anything, but I was pretty sure I could differentiate between a plus sign and a minus sign. And what I was staring at was definitely a plus sign, which meant there was undoubtedly going to be an addition to my family. At this point in my life, however, I didn’t know whether that meant we would be a family of two or three.

  I went through several emotions at once. At first I was completely shocked. Although I shouldn’t have been. What did I expect? Sure Will and I used protection, but not all the time. It didn’t occur to us to. We were married.

  Next was fear. How in the world would I be able to take care of a baby? I couldn’t take care of myself sometimes. I thought back to that knock out, drag out fight Sasha had with David. She was the one to accuse him of not being able to take care of a baby for the exact same reason. I shook the image out of my head. I wasn’t like them. Either of them. I would be a good mother no matter what it took. If I had to read every single parenting book on the planet.