Perhaps I should take up Yoga, she thought as she quietly left the bathroom and crept through the sitting room, heading for what she assumed to be the kitchen.
She would surprise Andrei with breakfast; it was obvious he enjoyed food and he must be starving after so much activity. She would cook him an omelette, surprise him with breakfast in bed and a very special Christmas gift …herself. Which was all she had to give.
But, on opening the door, Sasha was surprised to find herself not in the kitchen at all but in another bedroom. A king sized bed took centre stage, positioned to take advantage of the panoramic views of the city.
‘Wrong room,’ she muttered to herself and turned to leave but, as she did so, her eye was captured by a scrap of fabric peeping from the mirrored wall of wardrobes.
A wisp of flamingo pink silk.
Why would Andrei own anything of that shade? She frowned at it for sometime before finally crossing the room and fearfully opening the wardrobe door.
Rails of dresses; daywear, evening wear and … nightwear, skimpy, expensive nightwear. The sort of stuff a woman might wear to entertain her lover …or her husband. She became aware of the same exotic scent that clung to the bathrobe she wore and, as her suspicion grew to certainty, it became a musky, thick, cloying scent that spoke eloquently of sex and decadence.
Sickness bit into the pit of Sasha’s belly. She should have known.
Why did I think I would be the only one? What makes me so different?
Suddenly disgusted by it, she threw off the robe and hurried into the bedroom where Andrei still sprawled in sleep. She had known what he was like. Why didn’t I listen to myself?
With a stifled sob she began to struggle into Lisa’s red Valentino, grabbing her shoes and her bag from where she’d left them in the sitting room. Then, with a last look around the dishevelled room she spun round, a hand to her throat and quietly let herself out of his apartment. Out of his life.
By the time she reached the street sobs were tearing at her throat. She dashed teardrops from her cheek, gasping for breath and looked desperately up and down the road. The city was deserted. She felt lost. Alone.
Up and down the country people were waking up, lights were coming on, sitting rooms coming alive as families gathered to give and receive gifts and wish each other a Merry Christmas.
A morning of joy for them meant the dawning of despair for Sasha.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have imagined it was the same for him? It was my first time; I gave myself to a man I fell for within seconds of meeting. But it is never like that for men, is it?
She knew that for sure. She had known it all along really. Her job had taught her that men enjoyed one conquest after another, their affection was feigned, their expressions of love counterfeit – false!
Suddenly filled with an overwhelming need for her mother, she stepped into the street and hailed a passing taxi.
Chapter Two
Six years later
Sasha flung a pillow at the alarm clock. Surely it couldn’t be morning already. Raising a bleary eye from beneath the covers she squinted at the dial. Seven thirty. Sasha let out a long, ragged sigh, longing to bury her head beneath the duvet and sleep until noon.
In the six years since her life-changing night with Andrei her career had gone nowhere. She was bored, miserable. Every day she dragged herself to the studio and waded through the dreariness of the day. Nothing had changed. Mike Bywater was still charming his way up the success ladder, all his clever on-screen wit really indebted to Sasha’s carefully written scripts.
It was time she was shown some appreciation. Ok, so she had been forced to take six months leave of absence without a ready explanation but that was years ago, surely they could stop punishing her for it now. She had apologised time and again for letting everyone down but hadn’t she made up for it since? Working long, lonely hours, sometimes doing two jobs and stepping into Mike’s shoes to host the show whenever she was asked. They must realise her potential. She didn’t know how much longer she could continue in Mike’s shadow when she was the one with the all the ideas.
Swinging her legs from the bed, she switched on the shower and while the water warmed up, headed for the kitchen in search of coffee. She would skip breakfast and try, yet again, to lose some of the weight she had gained. Slipping out of her nightdress she looked down at her once lithe body. She felt and looked a mess, her skin was sallow, her eyes bleary from lack of sleep. Her bikini line needed attention and she could really do with some sessions on the sun bed. She couldn’t remember when she had stopped bothering with her appearance but in the last few years an extra tyre had gathered around her hips and all because … yeah, well, she didn’t even want to think about that right now.
The cascading water revived her a little but the face that looked back from her mirror made her feel like crawling back to bed. She looked tired and tiny lines had appeared around her eyes. She would be past it soon. Her life almost over before it had even begun.
Why am I wasting time on The Mike Bywater Show when I have so many better things to be doing?
It was a question she often asked herself but she never managed to find an answer and so she just kept plodding on, day after day, year after year.
By the time she had driven through town, parked her car and summoned the lift to the office she had already broken her good intentions and was clutching a bag of iced buns.
Well, she excused herself, a girl has to have some comfort in life, it can’t be all gloom.
On opening the door to her office she found Mike admiring his reflection in the window. He turned when he heard her enter and applied his most winning smile, his straight white teeth glinting.
‘Morning, Sasha, my love. What do you have for me today?’
She handed him the personal information file that had kept her awake until the early hours.
‘It’s all I could dig up at short notice but I’m sure you can do something with it. I highlighted all the most important questions. Iced bun?’
She held out the sticky bag but Mike shook his head, fastidiously patting his taut stomach.
‘No, no, not for me, thank you.’
Sasha, her enjoyment suddenly spoiled by Mike’s unspoken criticism, put her own bun on the desk and sighed as she sat down and switched on her computer.
There were one hundred and twenty seven emails; almost a hundred of them from her agent, Claire.
What’s rattled her cage? Sasha wondered as she clicked to open the first message. Mike cleared his throat, a little piqued that Sasha hadn’t commented on his new tie. He fiddled with the knot as he hovered by the door. ‘I’ll catch you later then, Sasha.’
Eyes glued to the screen, Sasha flicked a careless hand in his direction before groping for another bun. But, as she absorbed the words of Claire’s email, her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed, leaning closer to the monitor to read the message.
Where the hell are you? Claire had written. Your mobile is switched off; didn’t you get my messages? I have great news. They’ve asked if you’d do a stint on Celebrity Dance this season? It’s just the sort of break you’ve been waiting for so I already provisionally accepted. It’s a great chance for the public to get to know you. I’m really excited for you, Sasha, get back to me the moment you get this.
Unconsciously, Sasha bit into her bun, chewed slowly, her eyes fixed to the words on the screen, her blood surging in her veins. She couldn’t do it, not when he would be there. She couldn’t face him, had not set eyes on him in six years. Not in the flesh anyway. She didn’t think she could bear it, even after all this time.
That afternoon Claire turned up uninvited at Sasha’s office and perched on the edge of the desk, sipping coffee, strong enough to tarmac a road.
Sasha shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t, Claire. I just can’t.’
‘Of course you bloody can. You’d be a fool not to.’
‘I can’t dance.’ S
asha dissembled, not meeting Claire’s eye.
‘That’s the whole point. You will learn. First week you dance like a donkey with four broken legs, the second you do a little better and by the final show you are the dancing queen. They are broadcasting during the run up to Christmas, ending in a Christmas Eve extravaganza. The show will be fantastic.’
That was supposed to be encouraging but, for Sasha, it just made the whole thing worse. She tried to smile but failed, her mouth twisting into a grimace.
‘It’s not that, it’s other things; personal things.’
Claire snapped her handbag closed.
‘I don’t care about personal things. If you turn this down I will have to assume you are abandoning your career and, if that’s the case, then there is no point in my representing you any longer. Christ, Sasha, I put a lot into you and get very little back these days. It’s as if you are bent on self-destruction. It is nothing short of social suicide to refuse this offer!’
Her face was pink with annoyance. Sasha felt a twist of guilt but she couldn’t tell her the real reason for her refusal. Even if she confided in Claire about her fling with Andrei she probably wouldn’t believe her anyway. If she didn’t have solid proof of it, she would scarcely believe it herself.
That night had changed her life, and not for the better either. The experience had altered her from a go-getting career girl into a shattered wreck of a woman. She turned to looked out across the rooftops.
‘I’ll think about it, I promise.’
‘What is there to think about? They have a great line-up this year and you will be in good company. You already know most of the production team and Mike has been asked to host it; it will be such a big boost both for your career and The Mike Bywater Show.’
Claire was like a Rottweiler with a postman and Sasha couldn’t see her letting go. While she waited for a positive response it seemed to Sasha that her agent’s eyes penetrated her mind, ripping open all her secrets and spilling them onto the floor.
‘Ok. Ok.’ Sasha held up her hands in surrender and Claire stood up, triumphant, and, ever business like, held out her hand to grasp Sasha’s in both of hers and shook firmly
‘You won’t regret this, Sasha, it could be the beginning of a whole new career path for you.’
All Sasha could do was smile weakly and pray that it would be possible to keep as wide a gap between herself and Andrei as possible. She wanted nothing whatever to do with him.
Lisa, who had wasted half her lunchtime waiting for Sasha to join her in the bar, was speechless with undisguised envy.
‘Oh, Sasha, you are so lucky. It will be brilliant for your future in television and will cheer you up no end. You really need cheering up you know, you’ve moped around for far too long.’
For a long moment Sasha stared at her friend, the past six years flashing like a horror film upon her inner eye. Why couldn’t Lisa see that the very idea of Celebrity Dance made her heart lurch so violently that she felt sick?
‘Yeah, you said that the last time I was granted every young girl’s dream. You know Andrei will be there, don’t you, still chasing his beloved golden trophy? What am I supposed to say to him?’
‘Don’t say anything. Ignore him; be politely aloof. Just treat him like you’d treat any other one night stand.’
Just as silence threatened to put an end to the discussion Sasha whispered, ‘I haven’t had any other one night stands, Lisa. There has only ever been him.’
Lisa leaned forward over the table and gripped Sasha’s icy cold fingers.
‘But he won’t know that, will he? Just don’t let him know how much he hurt you. You have to do this, for your future. Your grandchildren will love to hear how, against all the odds, Grandma Sasha won the Celebrity Dance trophy and the hearts of the nation.’
‘Well, I hardly think I have a chance of winning, I have two left feet.’
Her mind drifted back to the one time she had danced as exquisitely as any Disney princess. The only time she had danced in Andrei’s arms. Tears stung her eyelids but, blinking them away, Sasha feigned a smile, hoping to fool Lisa into thinking it was genuine.
She never felt anything from the heart these days. It was as if Andrei had robbed her of the capacity to experience anything very deeply. She existed in a sort of sterile bubble where nothing reached her. For almost seven years now she had been numb, going through the motions, feeling nothing for anyone.
‘Just think of all those lovely dresses you will get to wear,’ Lisa continued, not really comprehending the depths of Sasha’s torment. ‘Your mum will be over the moon. You planning to go home Friday night?’
Sasha cheered up a little and nodded. ‘Yeah, as always.’
She could never wait for the end of a Friday night show. Once the lights dimmed and the crowds in the studio thinned, she evaded all invitations for after show drinks, collected her things and headed straight up the motorway toward Buckinghamshire and the comforts of her mother’s cooking. But, of course, that was another thing appearing in Celebrity Dance would put an end to. The show went out live on a Saturday night and her time at home would be seriously compromised. She would be rehearsing all week and performing on a Saturday evening. That left just one day remaining to spend as she pleased.
By the day of the first live show Sasha had waxed away all excess body hair, spent time on the sun-beds and dieted off four pounds in weight. She was beginning to feel a little better about herself. Andrei was history, six years was a long time, there was no way she was going to let him affect her now. She could handle him.
She arrived at the studio with an hour to spare, a miracle by recent standards, too often of late she had slipped into The Mike Bywater studio just seconds before she was due to go on air.
The best dressing rooms were already taken and, selecting the best that was left, she slumped into a seat before a brightly illuminated mirror and groaned at her pasty reflection.
‘Don’t worry, that mirror is awful, shows up every flaw.’ Vivienne, the make-up girl, pushed a laden trolley toward her.
‘And I have plenty of those.’ Sasha leaned forward and pulled down her lower lid to examine her bloodshot eyes.
Viv began to select the shade of foundation to best match Sasha’s skin. She picked up a brush.
‘You nervous, Sasha?’ Vivienne asked before bending over her again, mascara at the ready.
‘Course I am, what do you think? I’m petrified.’
‘I thought, you know, with you being on the telly so often, you would be all cool and … whatever.’
Sasha’s attempt at laughter was pitiable. Her voice shook as she replied.
‘If only. I’ve never been so nervous in my life. It’s as if my insides are full of feathers.’
Two sets of false lashes were applied to her top lid and one set to the bottom. Now, Viv drew a long black line along her upper eyelid and stood up to examine her handiwork while Sasha blinked, refocusing on the mirror. After a few moments contemplation, with quick deft strokes Viv applied more mascara, darkening and thickening them further. Sasha blinked at her reflection again.
‘Wow,’ she said, surprised at the effect. She turned her head from side to side to admire herself the better. Glamorous, she thought, somewhere between a drag queen and a 1960’s bar maid.
Viv stepped forward again, armed with a huge blusher brush.
‘God, Viv; do you think I need that much?’
Viv daubed the heavily laden brush onto Sasha’s other cheek.
‘You do on this show, Kid. It’s all a bit over the top. Wait ‘til they have finished with your hair, you won’t know yourself.’
She was right. Sasha stood before the full-length mirror and didn’t recognise herself at all. Although her hair was thick and long it had apparently not been enough and a hair-piece had been added, perfectly matched with her own. Some of it was left to cascade over her naked shoulders while the rest was piled high upon her head, making her taller, elegant, slimmer somehow. It had
never occurred to Sasha that a hairstyle could make a person look so different.
Her costume, on the other hand, was just plain embarrassing and left very little to the imagination. They had promised the dress would be knee length, but what they hadn’t explained was that it was also slashed in several places so that with every step she flashed a good length of chubby thigh.
It was made of seashell pink fabric and well cut, disguising the extra weight she carried around her hips. The bodice was made entirely of a nude coloured material decorated with a scattering of deep red beads so that it appeared far more revealing than it really was.
When she looked down at herself she was reassured by the sturdy construction of the invisible undergarments and knew that the flimsy looking bodice wasn’t going anywhere. But one look in the mirror revealed what the audience would see. Her reflection made it seem she would be walking out before the world swathed in nothing more than a light sprinkling of ruby coloured gems.
She dreaded to think what people would think.
‘You look fab, darling,’ Roland the stylist minced toward her and began tweaking her hair, flipping her skirt, turning her, this way and that, to examine the back of the outfit that plunged almost to her bottom.
‘Exquisite. The audience will be totally wowed. I envy your partner whoever he turns out to be, I really do.’
Knowing she was the wrong gender to appeal to Roland in a way that mattered, Sasha was undeceived and when someone shouted, ‘Five minutes, people!’ her mouth went dry and her heart set up a sickeningly, loud thump.
Her knees began to tremble.
A flurry of activity and she was relieved to see Mike Bywater approaching, for once comfortingly familiar, his own matt makeup applied as carefully as his manufactured smile.
Come, Dance With Me Page 3
