Come, Dance With Me

by Mary Middleton

  Afterwards Sasha fell to the floor, crawled to her bag and groped for her water while Andrei sauntered toward the opposite wall.

  ‘Phew,’ she gulped the water, as thirsty as if she’d just crossed a desert.

  She was sprawled on the floor, her long legs stretched out before her. Andrei tried not to notice the intriguing way her chest was heaving beneath her sweat drenched t-shirt. ‘A week of this and we should just about nail it,’ he said. She looked happier, smiling as she ran a hand through her tussled hair, her flushed face stretched, her brow comically furrowed.

  ‘A week of this and I could be dead.’

  He resisted the bubble of laughter that rose inside. The pull of her sexual allure was strong but, refusing to let himself be swayed, he focussed his mind on the wrongs she had done him in the past.

  She was bad news. She had tricked him. For the last six years or so he had been expecting the secrets of his father’s death to be plastered all over the papers. He had told her things he had never confided to anyone else and he hated himself for falling for her feminine artifice, letting himself be used by a dirt-seeking journalist.

  The disappointment of waking up on that Christmas morning and finding his bed empty and his front door ajar was still something he didn’t care to think about. The jolting disillusionment as he realised that she had made a fool of him, such a big fool of him.

  He had been thoroughly deceived. What he couldn’t work out was why she was taking so long to betray him and sell his story. Sometimes he wished it would come out so it would be all over with. Waiting for the scandal to be revealed was like waiting for a hammer to fall.

  A groan from Sasha brought him back to the present. She should get showered and go home, get a good nights sleep.

  ‘Enough for today, I think. I will see you tomorrow. Make sure you are on time, Sasha.’

  Then, collecting his things, he strolled away, his bag nonchalantly over one shoulder.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said and let the door clang shut behind him.

  For a long time Sasha stayed where she was, letting her mind run back over the traumatic day. In a way it had been much worse than she had feared but, in other ways, it had been better. There had been no really terrible rows, no open hostility or recrimination although, at times, the air had rung with unspoken words. She supposed that was to be expected, given their shared past.

  He had treated her with chilly politeness, as if there had never been anything between them, although how polite it was to constantly harp on about a woman’s weight and her inability to mark time, she wasn’t sure.

  But she had almost enjoyed that last run through of the jive. For a few moments she had forgotten who she was dancing with, and let the elation of getting the thing right take her out of herself. Despite her aching muscles and sore feet, she began to hope that she might have the dratted dance mastered by Saturday night after all.

  It only they weren’t ex-lovers. If only they had never met before, never shared whatever it was that they had shared, the competition would then be like an answered prayer. Their relationship unblemished before them, instead of shattered in the past.

  If you ignored her short-comings when it came to fitness and rhythm, they were very well matched. He was just the right height for her, taller but not towering, dark hair contrasting nicely with her strawberry blonde and, like her, he was long limbed, fluid and feline. She knew that if she had been watching a couple like them on the screen she would probably have thought they were made for each other.

  How deceptive appearances could be.

  By Wednesday she knew the steps and could run through the dance quite easily. Thursday and Friday were spent adding what Andrei called ‘polish.’ It was exhausting.

  ‘Your kicks are sloppy, you must keep control of your limbs, tighten your knees, point your toes but stay loose, don’t stiffen up.’

  ‘How am I supposed to tighten up and stay loose at the same time? That doesn’t make any sense at all.’

  She pouted. Andrei raised his eyes to heaven, looking infuriatingly delicious as he fought to maintain his patience.

  ‘It is about control, Sasha. At the moment you look like you are having an epileptic fit. Make your movements sharper, like this …’

  He executed a few steps, his hips gyrating, his lower legs flashing, his torso undulating. Sasha bit her lip. She would never be able to do that. He stood and watched while she tried it, head down, all the time watching her feet in the mirror.

  ‘Keep your head up. Smile. Finish your arm movements. Remember your hands. Don’t be sloppy.’

  Sasha mouth curled in a snarl. ‘I am doing my flippin’ best, Andrei.’

  She stopped mid-song and stood panting, her breasts rising and falling. ‘I’ve had enough for now. I’ll try again later, isn’t it lunch time?’

  Andrei took her hand.

  ‘I am the one to judge when it is time for lunch,’ he drawled, and spun her out onto the floor again.

  It was Saturday. She woke up and sat on the edge of her bed. Every muscle was screaming although she had sprayed herself with so much muscle spray that she smelt like a footballers’ changing room.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she whispered into the air. ‘I am going to look such an idiot.’

  After a morning’s relaxation in the bath, she had an appointment with her masseuse, then all afternoon in make-up. By now she was used to the heavy eyed feeling of false lashes, the suffocating sensation of too much foundation, the sticky lipstick that made her feel like a five year old who’d been at the jam pot.

  To Viv’s annoyance, Sasha had already ruined her makeup several times, by running her hand over her face and dislodging the carefully applied gems. The long-suffering Vivienne had patiently reattached them before handing her over to the hair stylist. Her hair was dressed and held in place with so much lacquer that each time she moved she inhaled a lungful of hairspray. Sasha felt like a Barbie doll, plastic and sort of tacky with products she usually didn’t bother much with.

  Now it was time for the dress; a skimpy, tasselled burnt orange ensemble that, to her relief, disguised the heaviness of her hips. The bodice was heavily encrusted with gems that caught the light when she moved, sending out a myriad of lights making her feel rather like a giant disco ball.

  It was time for one last look in the mirror. She blinked at herself, surprised at the exotic woman who stared back; an elegant woman, seemingly poised and in control. Well, Sasha comforted herself, at least, I don’t look anything like myself and I can pretend to be someone else.

  As she made her way along the corridor to the studio floor, Andrei appeared beside her, also dressed in burnt orange, his shirt open to the naval, his tight black pants emphasising his tight bottom. His eyes were subtly made up, his lashes darkened, blusher accentuating the contours of his face, his swept back hair teased forward at the front like a teddy boy from the sixties.

  He was gorgeous, jaw-droppingly so.

  ‘Ready?’ He held out an elbow, making no comment on her appearance, which did nothing to relieve her rattled nerves. Wishing herself anywhere else on the planet, they took their places on stage and waited for the lights to go up and the cameras to start rolling.

  All through Mike and Pandora’s glitzy introduction Sasha concentrated on simply staying upright, simply breathing. Her body seemed to be going haywire and she was sure that if she didn’t regulate her heartbeat, she would faint.

  The other competitors, every one of them dressed as outrageously as she, twittered among themselves and several of them threw her friendly comments but Sasha couldn’t respond. She couldn’t make her mouth work. It felt as if her body was fighting against her; her legs trembled, her hands shook and her heart rattled like a penny in a tin. Beside her Andrei stood tall, calmly scanning the hall, probably looking for his fancy woman in the crowd.

  Before the competition dances began, the professionals were to perform a group dance. As soon as Andrei left her side she felt the bereavement of
his absence. Without him there, her terror intensified. They might hate each other with every fibre of their being but he was all she had and, until he came back, her nerves would continue to unravel. She worried that her sweating face would soon begin to undermine the carefully applied makeup.

  Her teeth chattering with nerves she watched him take the floor, and at a distance he regained all his former magnificence in her eyes. He was no longer the overpowering bully who scarred her with harsh criticism; he looked like a pagan god partnered with a silver-clad goddess.

  Sasha bit her lip as she recognised the stuck up woman who had offended her last week. She had had no idea then, that it was none other than Celia Chernikova, Andrei’s professional partner. As Sasha watched them dance she began to appreciate why Andrei found her own dancing so frustrating. The woman moved like she was made of rubber; her body writhing snakelike about Andrei’s. A dart of jealousy stabbed Sasha, making her gasp. Even if she rehearsed every hour for the rest of her life, she would never move so well, and for the first time she felt a touch of pity for Andrei having to make do with a clumsy, clown like herself.

  She was so relieved when he returned to her side she almost embraced him. She wished he would smile at her or say something nice but he merely held her arm and craned his neck and tried to hear what Mike was saying to the audience. He was barely sweating, although the dance had been an energetic one. It was a long time since Sasha had tried to make bargains with God, but tonight she stood at Andrei’s side, and silently begged for courage …and success.

  ‘Please, God, let me get through this in one piece and I will never ask for anything again.’

  Vanessa was first on and after her foxtrot she came bouncing, full of energy, up the stairway to be interviewed by Pandora. She was dressed like a film star from the nineteen fifties and looked as fresh and bright as a new day. Beside her, Sasha felt a hundred years old.

  Andrei’s elbow dug into Sasha’s side. ‘Come on, it’s time we were in position.’

  While Vanessa described to the waiting audience how nervous she had been and how she had almost forgotten the routine entirely, Sasha and Andrei, quietly made their way onto the floor.

  ‘Good luck, Sasha, my love.’

  Mike ladled his charm like cooking fat and while Sasha forced a smile, Andrei moved a few paces away. Just as she opened her mouth to thank Mike for his good wishes, the scores for Vanessa’s dance came in.

  A six; two fives and a seven. Not bad. Sasha was dismayed. I will never do as well. How can I compete with that?

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, wonderful.’ Mike gushed at the audience. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, to dance for you next tonight, are two of my favourites, Sasha Johnson dancing the jive with Andrei Kovalevsky!’

  Somehow, they were on the floor. As they took their positions, Sasha glanced at Andrei who kept his eye professionally fixed at the back of the auditorium. She wanted him to look at her; she needed his reassurance. Sasha was sure she would be sick. What are the first steps? She couldn’t remember. Oh, Christ, what on earth am I going to do?

  ‘Jitterbug…Jitterbug…’

  This time, it was sung by a live band, Billy and his Band of Brothers, but it was similar enough to Wham!’s rendition for her not to be put off.

  Somehow, she was moving, grinning inanely at the camera that tracked her across the floor, recording every step, cataloguing each wrong move. She became aware of Andrei beside her, their movements in accord. Then he took her wrist and whirled her around.

  ‘Oh God,’ Sasha begged as she bounced around the floor, ‘please make my kicks sharp. Don’t let it look like I’m having a fit.’

  Cuddle up, baby, move in tight

  We'll go dancing tomorrow night

  It's cold out there, but it's warm in bed

  They can dance, we'll stay home instead.

  Sasha threw up her arms, jauntily hopping from foot to foot, knowing she would hate this song for the rest of her life. Andrei had chosen it on purpose, wanting to get at her and he’d made the dance steps complex just so that she would look a fool. He hated her. She should have listened to her own instincts and turned the offer to do the show down flat.

  She stepped to the right, wriggling her hips, kicking her feet but …to her horror, she realised that somehow Andrei had moved left.

  I’ve gone wrong! My worst nightmare! But Sasha carried on, hopping and flicking, smiling hopelessly, remembering somewhere deep in her subconscious Andrei’s instruction to always carry on regardless.

  Oh, God, she wept internally, I’m hopeless, hopeless!

  But somehow Andrei was there beside her again, his steps caught up with hers, and they were back on track. She smiled desperately at the camera, her face rigid, jaws aching with tension. And then the last few bars were playing, it was almost over, almost done, she could go home and never have to dance, ever again.

  The audience erupted into applause and Mike was ushering them before the judges. She wanted to collapse but somehow she managed to keep upright. Sweat poured down her face, her chest was heaving and she felt sick with dread and exertion. Beside her, Andrei, only mildly breathless, stood with his head thrown back, one hand on his hip, the other burning a hole in her bare shoulder as they waited for the verdict.

  The female judge was a retired professional from America, her body still enviably firm although she was well past fifty. She smiled widely and Sasha noticed that her teeth were smeared with pink lipstick.

  ‘Sasha. Andrei. That was a very good start to the competition. There were a few small things I could pull you up on but, as it’s the first night, I will save the criticism for another time. I think you two might be the ones to watch.’

  Sasha’s eyebrows shot up and she turned to Andrei who was calmly smiling his gratitude at the judge. He didn’t look at her but Sasha thought his hand tightened just slightly on her shoulder.

  The second judge, a former winning contestant on the show, leaned forward on the desk.

  ‘I know just how nervous you are, Sasha, but I have to tell you, you hid it so well, we didn’t notice a thing. A wonderful beginning. I can guarantee you will be here next week.’

  Again applause rained down on them. Her pulse racing, Sasha turned in a daze and bared her teeth at the camera. She had gone wrong, totally wrong. How had the judges not seen that?

  The third and fourth judges were equally positive. A few wrong moves, she needed to improve her overall ‘tightness’ but a jolly good effort overall.

  In a kind of dream Sasha let Andrei take her hand and lead her up the stairs to be grilled by Pandora and receive the congratulations of the other contestants.

  ‘Wow, how does it feel, Sasha, to have the first dance over and done with?’ Pandora thrust a microphone beneath Sasha’s chin.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t speak. Andrei …’ She turned to him, unthinkingly placing a hand on his bare chest and, at her touch, he stiffened and pulled her hand away, jerking it to his side, his fingers clamping painfully down on hers.

  ‘She did brilliantly, Pandora. Remembered everything I taught her, did as she was told. She is an excellent pupil.’

  Pandora turned her thick lashed eyes on the camera, her captivating smile like a charm. ‘The judges are ready.’

  A hush fell upon the audience as the judges straightened their backs and sat importantly at their desk. The first raised a score wand. ‘Seven!’ she announced proudly and the crowd went wild.

  ‘Eight!’ called the next judge with a smug glance at his companions.

  ‘Seven!’ came the voice of the reigning Celebrity Dance champion and then, ‘Seven’ cried the last.

  Pandora reached out, squeezed Sasha’s lower arm. ‘Wow! Twenty nine points. Well done, you two!’

  Totally stunned by the score, Sasha found herself riveted to the spot, unable to move and Andrei had to drag her away while Pandora turned back to the camera and began to announce the next couple.

  The rest of the show passed in a blur and
the next forty-five minutes was lost to Sasha’s memory. She felt lost among the noise and the crowd, her eyes searching the studio for him. As soon as the camera was no longer on them Andrei had moved away and only returned to her side for the finale, when he was constrained to do so.

  When the final credits rolled, the audience surged forward to mingle with the contestants. Sasha stood a little apart from the others, entirely consumed by shuddering when, suddenly she saw Lisa running forward to smother her in a giant warm hug and slowly Sasha began to regain her senses. ‘You were wonderful, Sash. You said you couldn’t dance, but you were wonderful!’

  ‘Oh, my God, oh, my God …’ was all she could utter. Then there came a tap on her shoulder and she was swept into her mother’s arms, her scented cheek pressed against her own. And her father, waiting his turn for a kiss, began to pile on the enthusiastic praise. Safe in the bosom of her family all the tension began to drain away. As long as her family thought she was good, the rest didn’t matter. She could never remember them being so pleased with her before and, as she acknowledged her father’s wide, proud smile, Sasha’s soul was flooded with warmth.

  Andrei stood watching her from the wings. He saw a plump girl reach up to embrace her and guessed she must be Lisa, the friend Sasha spoke about so often. And the older couple must be her parents. The woman had similar colouring and, if that was her father, then Sasha had obviously inherited her long legs from him.

  The man placed a paternal arm about her shoulders and her mum took out a hanky and began to dab her eyes. Andrei smiled with gentle amusement as he saw Sasha, obviously recovered from the attack of frozen nerves, begin to talk nineteen to the dozen, her hands moving in a fluid dance as she spoke. Then he saw her look down and place a tender hand upon a small dark head. She squatted, putting her ear closer, as if to hear what the child was saying before she threw her small arms about Sasha’s neck and was lifted up to be cradled close to her heart.