Sasha: Book One

by Tonya Plank

I’d circled the place three times, with no results. I stopped at one stage on which there were two blonde women really bumping and grinding against each other, completely naked. I imagined Tatiana up there, with the Russian friend she’d come here with. I closed my eyes, feeling bile rise in my gut.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I heard behind me. I turned to see an older but very regal-looking Japanese woman. She had a pleasant look on her face. “Can I help you?” She spoke good, clear English.

  “Yes, please. I’m looking for this woman,” I said, pulling the picture out again. She looked at it briefly and nodded. But not in a way that indicated she knew Tatiana. “Do you recognize her?” I asked anyway. But I knew what she was going to do. What they all did eventually.

  She smiled serenely. “Why don’t you come this way?”

  She pivoted on her high heel and sauntered through the room, her long velvet skirt billowing behind her. She had the air of a madame. I wondered if she was; if there was a prostitution ring going on here too.

  “Sorry,” I said when I nearly tripped over the bottom of her robe.

  She said nothing but continued walking, now picking up speed. She led me through several rooms, then down a hall. The hall grew darker and I began to get nervous. Was she actually taking me to a back room brothel?

  “Wait,” I called out. But she didn’t stop. She kept going. Soon I couldn’t hear the noise from the club anymore. “Where are we going?” This definitely was a back area. I became all the more scared for my sister. “Where are you taking me?” I asked again.

  “Just come,” she said, waving me on with her hand.

  At the end of a long hall, she opened a door. The door creaked. The woman peeked around a corner, nodded at someone.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  A large man rounded the corner and stood at her side. He looked almost like a sumo wrestler. The woman said something to him in Japanese and pointed to me.

  “I am just looking for my…an old friend. I just wanted to see if she is here?” I said.

  The man said nothing, but his frown intensified.

  “Do you speak English?” I asked.

  “Sir, we must ask you to leave now. You are disturbing our clients, and our dancers.” This was from the woman. The man grabbed my arm and led me around the corner. It was a back alleyway. He gave me a hard push and I staggered forward. By the time I caught my footing, I heard the door close hard behind me. I turned around but both he and the woman had gone inside. I’d gotten kicked out before but not so literally. These out of the center places were a bit scarier than the more touristy ones. It was no use to go back. I wasn’t going to get any answers. Even if anyone had them. And I didn’t think they did. No one there recognized Tatiana.

  I spent the rest of the night walking around the area, asking various people, showing them the picture, and went to a couple more clubs. But same thing. No luck.

  The following day, I had some time before warming up with Xenia. I walked around the area near our hotel, showing the photo and asking people—many of them tourists. No one had seen her.

  “What is up with you?” Xenia asked me repeatedly during our pre-performance practice.

  I hadn’t told her about my sister. I hadn’t told anyone. No one knew anything about her but my family. I was angry and frustrated and I knew I was probably inadvertently taking it out on her.

  I shook my head and shrugged. “We only have a couple more of these showcases to go. Let’s just get through this without killing each other.”

  “You are about to rip my limbs off,” she scoffed.

  I shook my head again.

  “Look at you. You can’t even fess up. Something is wrong with you every time we come here. Well, something is always wrong, but when we’re in Tokyo you’re even worse than usual. And you know it and you can’t even apologize.”

  I stood back and took a breath. I did have a problem apologizing. I needed to snap out of this at least long enough for us to get through the performance tonight. “You’re right,” I finally said, possibly for the first time ever to her. “I am sorry I am being rough. I will try hard to stop. I will try to be gentler. Let’s just get through this,” I repeated.

  She opened her mouth to fight but now had nothing to say.

  ***

  We danced together fine. We got through the performance. We were consummate actors, in fact, and we really put on a show, made everyone think we were still completely in love with each other, judging by the applause and all the ooooohs and aahhhhs.

  As soon as we were offstage Xenia rolled her eyes. We walked to our separate rooms. Before she went into hers, she turned around to me and smiled weakly. “Thank you for toning it down,” she said. “We did all right.”

  I smiled back. “We did.” I gave her a slight peck on the forehead. I think this was the most gentle conversation we’d had following a performance in several years.

  We didn’t fly back together. I stayed an extra day and night. Looking again, at a few more clubs in the red light district. Same results. Nada. I wondered if Tatiana wanted to be found. I tried not to think about her having been kidnapped into some prostitution ring. I hoped desperately it was the former.

  I thought about Tatiana the whole way home. I hadn’t seen her in so long, hadn’t heard her voice. What did it sound like now? Would I even recognize her? Did she even look like her picture anymore?

  When I got off the plane and returned my phone to non-airplane mode, I saw I had a message from Frank.

  “Your dancer took the apartment,” he said. “Very nice girl. I think she’ll be a great tenant.”

  Yes, very nice girl indeed. Rory. Frank had brought me back to my present, to reality, thankfully.

  I also had a phone message from Greta. She’d taken over my group class. “Your Rory is a very good student, Sasha. I was highly impressed,” she said in her regal voice.

  Tell me something I don’t know, I thought.

  ***

  Since I’d taken an extra day to spend in Japan, I had only a few hours to get ready for lessons at the studio that night. I slept as much as I could, since my thoughts of Tatiana had prevented me from getting much sleep on the plane, then got up only an hour before I was to be at the studio. I didn’t even have time to gel my hair back. Not that anyone would care.

  When I got to the studio, Cheryl was already warming up in the private room. How’d she get back there without me to let her in, I wondered?

  “Ooooh, all rugged and sexy! I like you like this,” she gushed, running her long, French-tipped nails through my hair and fluffing it up. Now it would really be wild. I should have taken the time to gel it back.

  “This is our last lesson before the competition,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

  “Oh, always the party pooper,” she whined, play-hitting me hard in the chest.

  Toward the end of the lesson, Rory walked into the main room. My mind hadn’t left my sister yet, and was still a bit hazy with memories and worries. The second I saw Rory, I was immediately taken back to the strip club, peering into the dancer’s eyes, blackening with anger when I showed her Tatiana’s picture, the men hooting and hollering about wishing they’d watched Tatiana dance, the last two women I saw, gyrating against each other naked, their eyes blank and dead.

  “Whoa, what’s wrong? Where did my lover boy go? He’s not all fixated on some other woman when he’s got one student in the room? That would be rude!”

  I looked at Cheryl. What was she talking about?

  “I see the way you’re looking at her,” she said, sticking her chin up toward Rory, who immediately looked away from us. Funny, since I hadn’t been thinking of Rory at all right then.

  I laughed and shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. This woman certainly didn’t need to know the contents of my brain. “I assure you, my attention is one hundred percent focused on you when I am with you, my dear. Come on, let’s finish.”

  That seemed to placate her, and she giggled. “Y
our hair really is sexy like this. You should wear it loose more often,” she said, running her fingers through my wavy locks again.

  This time Rory stayed her distance while Cheryl left the room. No mishaps. No injured Rory.

  I fixed my eyes on her, forcing myself to see Rory, not Tatiana. As soon as her gaze connected with mine, I slowly lifted my left hand and motioned with my pointer finger toward her, in a classic sexy come-hither call. She opened her mouth, looked like she was melting before my very eyes. In a good way. She breathed deeply, and a slight smile grew on her angelic face as she walked toward me.

  I narrowed the door a bit as she passed through, and her bare shoulder brushed against my chest.

  “How did your performance go?” she asked as I closed the door behind her.

  “It went well, thank you. And how is your new apartment?” I was too excited to wait for her to broach this subject. I wanted to know how she felt about her new digs. About Tatiana’s digs. Rory made me feel hope about my sister. Hope that I’d see her again. I would. And if Rory liked the apartment, then so would my sister, once I found her.

  But my query led to a rather bizarre exchange. Her jaw dropped.

  “Yessss, it’s great. But…how did you know?”

  “How did I know?” I was confused. “Because…my friend Frank told me you moved in.” Now she looked downright shocked, even a little scared. “Ah, I had the studio give you the note with Frank’s number. Frank said you called and…took the place? In Hollywood?” I added.

  She finally opened her mouth. “Oh. Yes, the studio…Frank…I got the note.” She still seemed confused. She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m making no sense. The note said just to call Frank and tell him that I dance with someone named Alex.”

  I nodded. “Right?”

  “But I don’t dance with anyone named Alex.” She shook her head.

  Now it became clear. I’d forgotten to tell her I use my American name with Americans, like Frank. I really wanted to use it at the studio more often. It annoyed me to keep forgetting.

  I decided to play with her. I took her hand and twirled her fast several times toward the center of the floor. “You don’t?” I stopped her fast and held her in a close hold, grinning down at her, my lips nearly grazing her forehead. “What exactly are we doing together now, please tell me?”

  “You’re Alex?”

  I raised my eyebrows in mock shock. “Who did you sign up to have lessons with at the front desk?”

  “Sasha!” she cried out, causing a few people outside the glass doors to glance in at us.

  “That’s what my Russian friends call me.” I looked at her like she was nuts to want to call me that. Wasn’t she? Didn’t Alex make more sense? “But my American name is Alex. That’s what Frank and my friends here call me. That’s what you should call me too.”

  Her mouth opened and she shook her head. “But everyone in the studio calls you Sasha!” Her tone indicated she thought I was delusional.

  “That’s because when I first came here I didn’t know my proper name in English. Now, I’d like my American name to catch on. Starting with you.”

  “But…” she said, trailing off. She continued shaking her head, her ponytail flying about playfully. “No. I can’t call you Alex. Not now. Not ever! Alex and Sasha are, like, two totally different people. I can’t even believe the same person calls himself by both names.” She was clearly very firm in her convictions. She wasn’t going to budge.

  Didn’t she want an American teacher? An American…friend, if that’s what I could call myself? Did she not want to be anything more than teacher and student?

  “My real name is Alexander,” I said with the full Russian accent. “Or, Alexander,” I said, pronouncing it the American way. Now she giggled. “Why are you laughing?” I said. “It’s the same full name. Alex actually makes more sense. The American way makes more sense.”

  She shook her head again. “I’m laughing because I like your accent, silly,” she said, playfully smacking me in the arm. “It’s…it’s charming,” she said trying to come up with a proper word.

  Charming, hmmm?

  “And I don’t care if Alex makes sense. I like Sasha! Alex is, like, a construction worker or an engineer, or a college student,” she continued. “Or…” She rolled her eyes. “A boring lawyer.”

  “Sasha is a girl’s name here. I’ve been told several times,” I said.

  “No! I mean, it can be, but Sasha for a man is so…exotic. And artistic and dancerly. And just…sexy hot!” Her cheeks immediately reddened.

  Hmmm, sexy hot is better than charming.

  “Anyway,” she said, sobering, “I’m going to keep calling you Sasha. If that’s okay. I want you to be my Russian. I mean Russian. I want you to be Russian.” She turned away and took a deep breath. Now I knew she had a thing for me. I hadn’t at all meant for this conversation to go this way, but it was crystal clear she was attracted to more than my dance skill.

  I sighed playfully, turned away, but only very briefly, then returned my gaze to her. “Okay. You can call me Sasha. If you really want to. But I just want to make sure you know that I am Alex in my American life. I mean, outside of dance.”

  “What? Life outside of dance?” She giggled, then immediately stopped. “I mean…I’m sorry if…”

  I played along for a second, looking away, making her think she’d offended me. But then I immediately looked back and shot her a sly smile. “I do, believe it or not, have a life outside of dance. I buy property and deal with real estate agents and landlords and lawyers…of the immigration variety,” I added when she widened her eyes. “I am fine with you calling me Sasha, since you like it so much. But just know I am also known by Alex,” I said firmly.

  “I understand…Sasha!”

  I chuckled and shook my head. She was adorable when she was playing around. “It is close to the studio. Right?” I said, bringing the subject back to what I’d originally intended.

  “What? Oh, yes. It’s really close. It’s great!”

  “Good. So it will be easy for you to be here often now, I hope?”

  “Definitely. It’s actually perfect for both the studio and work. I can just hop on the subway to get downtown to my office. So thank you for finding it for me, um…Alex.” She pronounced the name flatly and crassly.

  I narrowed my eyes at her, then looked away momentarily. As flattered as I was that she found my Russian nickname—and my accent—sexy, in ways they really did make me feel like an outsider. I didn’t want to be exotic. I know others did—like Bronislava and Xenia. They played up their Russianness to American men. I didn’t want to be that person. I wanted to be a real American. But now was not the time or place to get into all that. We needed to get off this ridiculous subject and dance.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. I’ll say it nicely. Alex.” She pronounced it sweetly this time. She lowered her face and peeked up at me through the tops of her long lashes. She looked beautiful. In a sexy schoolgirlish way.

  I felt blood rush to my groin. I had to stop myself from such thoughts. She was my student. For now. I turned from her and walked toward the iPod. “Don’t worry,” I said over my shoulder. “I don’t offend very easily.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said after a beat.

  I began the rumba music, then turned back to her. “So, tell me, how has your practicing been coming along?”

  “Um, honestly?” she said, all but admitting it hadn’t been.

  “It is said that’s the best policy.” I tried to remain composed. I wasn’t going to get mad. Yet. She’d had a lot on her with the move and breakup and all. But this was the last time she’d make excuses. She had to work or she’d never catch up.

  “True.” She giggled, nervously this time.

  “Lying to me won’t help you anyway. I can very easily tell how much you’ve worked by watching how you move, Rory.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you can.” No giggle. Good, she knew I was serious. She breathed
deeply. “Okay, I mean, I practiced a lot in rumba classes and at the practice parties, and in my closet mirror at home and in the bathroom here…”

  She was talking at the speed of light again.

  “There’s a big mirror in the ladies lounge,” she continued. “Anyway, I’ve been super-busy with everything—with the move, especially, and the stupid trial…”

  I looked at her straight on. I had no patience with excuses. I could make them for her. But she could not make them for herself.

  “The trial is over,” she continued, voice more squeaky. She was intimidated. As she should be. “And I’m all moved. As you know. I’ll practice more this week. I promise.” She shifted from foot to foot, eyes widening with each syllable.

  “I understand,” I pronounced after a lengthy pause. “Your progress depends on you, R-r-rory.” I looked at her straight on again, my pupils penetrating hers. I needed this to sink in.

  “I know. You’re right.” She clasped her hands together, wringing them. I could tell I’d gotten through.

  “Good. Let’s start again, then.” I picked up the remote and turned the music up. “Let’s see your rumba walks,” I ordered.

  She counted to herself and began moving around the perimeter of the room. She looked hyper-self-conscious. As always. She glanced back at me.

  “Don’t do that,” I ordered. She wobbled a bit at the sound of my voice. My tone was quite severe. “When you look anywhere other than directly forward you disconnect from the floor and lose your balance. Concentrate, R-R-Rory.” I was unintentionally rolling my r’s, betraying my encroaching frustration.

  “Sorry,” she said, whipping her head back around to face front.

  “No need to apologize. Just don’t do it again,” I said. My pet peeve: when people said they were sorry only to turn around and do the same thing again. Like they didn’t mean it. Sorry was just a word. One my mother used a lot. Every time she let my father have at me. Time and again. She couldn’t have seriously meant she was sorry. Or she would have made it stop. And now she wanted to hear me utter that word, apologize for what had happened to Tatiana. But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t sorry to her. Maybe to Tatiana, but not to her. I wasn’t at all sorry I left. And never would be.