Sasha: Book One

by Tonya Plank

  “Yeah. But I liked San Francisco.”

  “Yes, you don’t really have to drive in San Francisco,” I said.

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. There was the ballet and the bookstores and cafes.”

  “We have bookstores and cafes, and there are touring companies who appear at the Walt Disney Hall downtown. Breathtaking building.” I felt my face light up. It really was one of my favorites, the world over. I loved so much about this city. I was so glad I lived here. I was sad Rory wasn’t.

  “Yes, that building is absolutely gorgeous,” she agreed. “You know, I’m starting to feel more at peace here.” She looked around. “I definitely feel like Hollywood suits me better than the westside, than James’s place.”

  “Yes, well it wasn’t your own. It was someone else’s idea of where home should be for you, of who you should be.”

  “Hmm.” Her eyes wandered. “Maybe my whole life here thus far is someone else’s idea of who I am.” There was a sad undertone to her voice. “How long did it take you to feel at home here?”

  I nodded. “Just about the second we stepped off the plane.”

  “Oh, so your family is here too?”

  “What, my family? No,” I snapped, unintentionally. I didn’t want to talk about my family. Major sore spot, to put it mildly. “My family has never been here.” That was a semi-lie, of course. I meant they’d never lived here.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You said ‘we’ and I just thought…”

  “I meant Xenia and me,” I said, trying to take the edge out of my voice. She nodded, seeming to understand now where my limits were. “Xenia and I were working in New York and we came to visit. We immediately knew we had to stay and work here.”

  “What made you feel that way?”

  “It’s just so…American,” I said, feeling the tension recede. “So sunny, so warm, so much space, so many big houses.” I waved my arms about. “Everyone has a car. Everyone has a means to get places. Everything’s so new. It’s the land of movies, and it’s like that—a movie. But it’s not a movie. It’s real.”

  “I bet it’s so different from Russia,” she said. But she seemed to realize she was getting close to crossing another boundary—I must have given off some kind of unspoken warning—because she immediately added, “I mean, it’s certainly different from North Carolina. The year-round warmth especially.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about the differences between L.A. and Siberia. That was about the last subject I even wanted to think about. We needed to get ready for Greta anyway. I looked at Rory’s plate. She’d eaten very little, as I worried she would. I got up. “Greta will be here soon. You should finish and then take your shower.” I eyed her plate and pushed it toward her.

  “Yes, the shower,” she said, getting up.

  “Rory, energy.” I stood right behind her, preventing her from moving her chair.

  “Your cooking was awesome. I promise. I’m just never hungry in the morn—”

  “I am serious about the energy,” I said, not budging. “Just two more bites, okay? Compromise?”

  She harrumphed and placed another forkful of egg in her mouth.

  ***

  She loved my shower. She was in there for quite some time. It had six spigots on its four walls, and was as large as most bathrooms in total were, as was the three-tiered bathtub it opened onto. It was one of the features in the house I’d had custom built. A dancer’s dream, perfect for soaking aching muscles, and the spigots provided a decent massage. And, okay, ideal as well for having mind-blowing sex, which we would do quite soon. Of course I wanted badly to do it now, to join her in that shower. But we had to get ready for Greta. Practice now, fun later, after we deserved it.

  Once Greta arrived and we were into our coaching, I was all business. I couldn’t help myself. The thought of competition brought out my uber-intensity. I started correcting Rory’s mistakes, but Greta stopped me before it got too far. Thankfully.

  “Sasha,” Greta said, her voice admonishing.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I said, releasing Rory and taking a step back. Rory sighed in relief.

  ***

  “You know, she is following so much better,” Greta said, taking me aside at one point, while she gave Rory a break.

  “Yes?”

  “She’s not overthinking things as much, she’s sensing better what you want from her, your lead. It also seems like she’s grown in confidence.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You think so.”

  “I do.” She laughed, blew out a breath. After a pause, she continued. “And this is all very good because we both know how panicked you will get as Blackpool nears. And this will make you harder on her. She’ll need that confidence to assert herself, so that she can shine, not be beaten down by your harshness. As, you know, others have.” She tapped her finger into the center of my rib cage. I rolled my eyes at her. But I knew she was right. I could be a real bastard. I had to control myself. Rory was too special to lose.

  ***

  Rory obeyed my wishes at the studio. She stayed out of my group class, as I’d instructed. And every time she ran into me, she merely gave me a polite nod. No giggling. No indication we were a thing. On or off the dance floor. People would find out soon enough. She could be as professional as I was.

  But it was clear people knew. Studios were the biggest gossip mills.

  “You are glowing, girl!” I overheard Paulina sing at Rory in the practice room. “I’ve been around the block a few times. Don’t try to hide it. You own it! He chose you! And that crazy bitch Cheryl? Honey, she can just eat her own shit.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. I loved how supportive she was of Rory. Rory deserved nothing but friends like her. But her voice carried, and I knew Cheryl and Luna overheard too. What the hell, I figured. The words were true. Oh so true. Let it be known to everyone that Rory and I were an item.

  Chapter 20

  Coaching was going well. The daily practices I’d arranged between Greta and Rory were helping immensely. Rory was much more prepared for me when I joined them, after my private lessons were over for the day.

  But then, about two weeks in to our new schedule, Rory’s job started to get crazy.

  “I’m SO sorry, but I can’t make my coaching with Greta tonight. Or, probably my coaching with you,” she’d both texted and said in a voicemail one Friday night. Something came up last minute at work and she had to stay late, she explained.

  Weird, I thought, given that it was Friday night, and Fridays had always been her easiest days at work. She delivered the lines in quite a vixenish voice, promising me she’d make it up to me over the weekend. But I could tell she was upset about something at work. And downtown was not a very safe place late at night. I didn’t get home until nine. She’d be working quite late if she had to miss a nine o’clock coaching.

  I texted her back. I’m very sorry you can’t make it. Don’t worry, sweet. We’ll make it up. But don’t work there too late. Downtown isn’t safe. Call me when you finish.

  Thank you for understanding :) I will let you know when I’m leaving, she wrote.

  No. Before you are ready to leave. I am coming to pick you up, I typed.

  Ok. That’s nice :)

  I checked my phone between lessons. She hadn’t yet texted me by the time I finished my last one, at nine o’clock.

  Rory, I’m serious about picking you up. You are still at work, right? I messaged.

  She didn’t respond. I knew where her office was. I left the studio and drove down. Because of the time, there was a parking space right in front of her building. Downtown was completely deserted, at least the area she worked in. I got out and approached the building. The security guard shot me a questioning look and shook his head, saying I wasn’t allowed in after hours like this. I waved and nodded. It was okay, I’d wait for her outside. I was a big boy. I could take care of myself. But he buzzed me in anyway.

  “I’m just here to pick up my
fiancée,” I found myself saying, both because I felt calling her that would make him more amenable to letting me in, and because deep in my heart I was hoping it would someday be true.

  He nodded. “Have a seat.” He pointed to the plush lounge chairs.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  About ten minutes later, Rory texted, saying she was finished and would leave soon. She was surprised when I told her I was downstairs.

  She emerged from the elevator with a big but wearied smile. “You look so hot,” she said as we exited the building.

  I’d changed into street clothes—jeans, a leather jacket, black boots, my hair free of the gel, flying around wildly. “Why thank you, madam. And right back at you.”

  “Oh shut up! I look like hell!” She laughed.

  “Please, Rory. You couldn’t look like hell no matter how hard you tried. It’s such a travesty you have no idea how beautiful you are.”

  She blew out air and rolled her eyes, then emitted another little laugh of disbelief. But then she nearly started crying. “I’m so sorry I missed practice, Sasha. I really am. I so didn’t want to.”

  It was obvious she’d had a horrible day. I hugged her, kissed her sweet forehead. “Stop worrying about that. It’s fine. We’ll make it up. It will all be okay.” I was reassuring myself as much as her.

  “I know. Thanks for coming all the way down here to pick me up.”

  At this I held her away from me so I could look straight into her eyes. “Rory, I will always pick you up when you work this late. I don’t ever want you leaving here alone this late at night, okay? Never.”

  Her eyes widened as she realized how serious I was. She nodded. “Okay.”

  We walked, my arm around her, to my car. But after I opened the car door to let her in, she froze, standing shock still, looking around. I followed her gaze. There didn’t seem to be anyone outside, just cars.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, looking around once more before getting in.

  Once in the car, she took several deep breaths, and rested her elbow on the widow edge, then placed her head into her hand.

  “Oh sweet, what’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Ugh. It’s just this case. And my horrible boss.” Her voice became shaky, as if she were really on the verge of tears.

  “What’s it about? Your case, I mean?”

  “It’s another criminal defense pro bono, like my last one. Last guy I thought was mentally ill. This one I think may be mentally handicapped. Retarded, as people used to say. But regardless, I really, really, really think he’s innocent. I think people—the people who really committed the crime—took advantage of him, and put words in his mouth and made him into the scapegoat. I’m really worried. I don’t want him to get convicted of murder.” Her voice was now laced with tears.

  After shifting gears, I placed my hand on her knee. “You’ll keep him out of prison,” I said with a small squeeze. I believed in her, more than she did herself.

  She shook her head. “The evidence is really bad against him. And the charges are serious. Double homicide.” She blew out a strong breath.

  “You want to talk about it? Tell me.”

  “Okay. He was on his way home from McDonald’s when these friends of his brother’s stopped him. His brother’s serving a life sentence for murder. But the little brother, my client…” She shook her head, closed her eyes, pressed her fingers into her lids.

  “Just because the brother is a thug says nothing about your client,” I said firmly, thinking of my uncle, my cousin, my mom’s horrid family, many of them mafia wannabes, definitely bullies.

  She swallowed hard before continuing. “He really looked up to his brother, and therefore his brother’s friends. They invited him to a club with them, just wanted him to stand outside and wait for them for a second while they went into a check-cashing place. They told him to give a signal to one of their people if he saw anyone. They scared him, telling him the friends of the guy his brother killed were looking for him. They basically tricked him into acting as a lookout while they went in and shot the place up. They killed a clerk and a security guard. It’s just so awful.” She moved her fingers to the sides of her head and rubbed her temples.

  I kept my hand on her knee whenever it wasn’t needed to shift gears.

  “So he’s an accomplice to this vicious murder, totally unintentionally. The guy is sixteen, old enough to be tried as an adult. And I know the average sixteen-year-old would be streetwise, but this kid is very slow in talking and I can tell in thinking. And he’s an epileptic. Since childhood. That’s associated with retardation.” She was now talking a mile a minute and I had to listen carefully to make out each word. “I called his mom and she told me he’s slow and stupid, her words. I asked her if they had any medical records and she laughed at me. They’re poor. And the mom just doesn’t care about her son at all. Kept telling me he was responsible for the older brother going to prison because the older brother was defending him from some asshole who kept taunting him. The older brother was clearly the mom’s favorite. It almost sounds like she hates her son—my client. The other kids are in their twenties, they have all kinds of violent offenses on their records. My guy has nothing. He’s big for his age, and he has a heavy brow, which makes him look kind of mean. I think that’s why the police treated him the way they did when they interrogated him. They were nasty. And they saw him outside after the shots. His friends ran and he tried to follow but he’s too big to outrun the police. But he’s a gentle giant. He didn’t know what he was doing. He was just trying to make those asshole friends happy.”

  “Shouldn’t the court take into consideration that he’s mentally handicapped?” I asked.

  “Yes! But my boss—and that’s a whole other story. I don’t know if he’s just being a jerk in insisting my case sucks, or if the system really is screwed, but he keeps telling me—yelling at me is more like it—that this retardation defense is never going to hold. There’s not enough evidence since he has no medical records, and everyone comes up with that excuse, he says. He says I’m so naïve. He laughed at me.” Her voice finally cracked on the last sentence.

  I continued caressing her knee. “This is a big case. Very important. Like John Grisham.”

  She laughed through her tears. “That’s true. I’ve had mostly crap, until now.”

  “You are finally impassioned about a case. It’s good that you like…no, that you…” I was trying to come up with the right words. The English didn’t always come easily to me. “That you see the humanity in your clients, Rory. You don’t judge. You look deeply. You trust.” I think I got it all right.

  She caught her breath, sniffled, pondered my words for a moment. “That is so incredibly sweet, Sasha. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. James and his friends always acted like I either did peon work or got assigned a case where my job was to keep a dangerous criminal out of prison, not an innocent man.”

  “I am not James and his friends,” I said, trying not to clench my fists in anger. “You really—” I started but wasn’t sure I wanted to finish because I was getting worked up.

  “What?” she said.

  “You really surrounded yourself with assholes, Rory, pardon the language. I mean, James was just an unmitigated, unrelenting asshole. He should have supported you, not put you on the defensive. What kind of partner is that? And what kind of boyfriend lets all of his friends do it as well?” I was pissed. I didn’t want her to feel like I was yelling at her though.

  She emitted a light laugh. “‘Unmitigated,’ ‘unrelenting,’” she said. “I love…your vocabulary. Not to mention your soul. You’re a wonderful person, Sasha. You really are.”

  “So are you,” I whispered, releasing my fists and caressing her knee again.

  I drove to the front of her building and put the car in park. She turned to me. “You don’t know how much I want to ask you in.”

  I cut her off. “It’s late and you n
eed to get some sleep. You’ve had a bad day. Things will look a whole lot better tomorrow.”

  “I’m so sorry we had to miss—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “As I said, there’s plenty of time. This is not where your mind should be right now.”

  She smiled weakly. “Thank you for that.”

  “Before I forget, I don’t want you to rely on Greta to let you in anymore.” I gave her my house keys, the code to deactivate my alarm system, and the remote to operate the security gate.

  She eyed the keys as if they opened the gates to a magical kingdom. So full of wonder.

  I kissed her cheek. “You get a good night’s sleep. I will see you tomorrow night after your private with Greta, and we will prrrractice very, very hard,” I said, giving her delicate little cheek another delicate little peck.

  ***

  But the following night wasn’t meant to be either. Due to her boss again. About an hour before she was to be at my place for Greta, I received a long text from her.

  I’m humongously sorry but have to miss Greta tonight. I may also be late meeting you. Gunther’s insisting I stay and finish this assignment. He just gave it to me. He says he needs it before I leave. He said he gave it to me days ago. He’s pissed it’s not done. He’s a liar. Or else he doesn’t remember. He’s becoming a nightmare. I’m sorry! The text was so long it came to me in pieces.

  It’s okay, I texted back, though I worried. Missing a couple nights was nothing, but what if this started happening all the time? Why was this guy being such an asshole? If you’re there after eight, I am coming to pick you up.

  She didn’t write back. At seven thirty I texted her again.

  U still there? I waited, but no answer. I finished my last private of the night, and checked my phone.

  Yes, probably till eleven. Sorry!

  I did the same thing as the night before. I drove to her office, parked out front, walked into the building. The security guard gave me a simple nod this time. I thanked him and sat in a lobby chair, checking my phone. She hadn’t texted again. I checked email and Facebook messages, keeping myself busy until she flew out the elevator, right at eleven.