Sasha: Book One

by Tonya Plank

  Why did I keep coming back here?

  “I was so-so in my other classes,” I said, trying hard to focus on school and keep her from asking about my father now that I’d mentioned him. “But dance, I could do things that would make people take notice of me. I wasn’t a happy child. Unless I was dancing.”

  “Russian folk dance—I totally get that,” she said with a smile. “Tap dancing was my first dance, and my favorite.”

  “Why do I not have problem seeing you as tap dancer?” I said, feeling an enormous weight lifted as the subject returned to her. Where our subject matter should always remain. Because her life was the light one. The happy one. I kissed her rosy cheek.

  “So how did ballroom choose you?”

  “I was in class and a woman visiting from another school saw me. She thought I was talented and wanted me to dance with her niece, who needed a partner.” I told her how I left my small town, my family, to move into this woman’s house in Novosibirsk, far away. How I trained with Tamara, the niece, and won several local competitions before going to Moscow and finding a better partner.

  “You grew up in Siberia?” Rory stopped me, her eyes so wide they almost looked cartoonish. Ah yes, Americans knew Siberia as the no-man’s-land of the Soviet era—nothing but ice and snow, a kind of reverse hell—where people were banished when they pissed off the State. It was the end of the world. The end of the living world anyway. And they weren’t altogether wrong in that impression.

  I gazed off into the distance. Stereotypes were asinine and ridiculous. But Siberia was hell for me. Just for a reason other than the stereotypical one.

  “I mean, wow. I just know it’s really cold up there, right? Like the snow will completely cover an entire town? I read that in a novel once. I can’t remember the name—oh, Andrei Makine. That was the author’s name. Have you heard of him? He won a bunch of awards.” She was so sweet when she blabbered. And I was noticing she did so whenever she was worried something offended me or was on the verge of turning my mood black. “I mean, it doesn’t matter. I think his books were banned… Anyway, I’m sorry, I read too much. And blabber.” She cleared her throat. “So go on.”

  “You’re cute when you blabber.” I was still looking off in the distance but I grinned. “And you can never read too much. Ever. I’ve heard of Makine. Haven’t read anything by him though. I don’t have a lot of time to read. Russian authors anyway. I’m always either teaching or dancing, or learning English.” I smiled. “And yes, to answer your question, the towns can become quite buried by snow.” I rubbed her palm between my thumb and index finger. “The small towns are worse than the large cities. Novosibirsk was my first big city.”

  “You loved it. I can tell by the way you talk about it.”

  “I loved it then,” I said, remembering my father and how angry he was that I’d left. How he threatened to kill me. I knew he didn’t mean it. He was just drunk. But I knew I wasn’t coming back. And so did he. Novosibirsk was beautiful simply because I’d escaped him. “It was the first big city I’d seen,” I repeated. “I was thrilled to stay with Tamara and dance with her.”

  “And you won all your competitions, of course!” Now it was her turn to peck me on the cheek.

  “Not even close. We came in fourth.” For some reason, I still kept my gaze averted from her beautiful face. I couldn’t stop focusing on this spot on the back of her wall. I was lost in my thoughts, my memories. I didn’t want to look into her eyes for fear she’d see the hollowness left by it all.

  “Well, you were still so young.”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven years old? Your parents let you move in with another family at that age?” She was clearly shocked.

  Yes, we Russians were a crazy poor bunch of people. I kept my gaze affixed to the back of the room.

  “I’m sorry if got overexcited. It’s really cool that your parents let you do that. Mine didn’t allow that until high school. And then…” She rubbed my palm, just as I’d caressed hers, and buried her face into my shoulder. “Anyway, I’m sorry for interrupting. Go on. Please. I want to hear more.”

  I wanted desperately to return to the bright subject of Rory and her wonderful American world. “It was more that I made the decision myself.” Now I tilted my head back so I could look her straight in the eyes. “My parents…grew to accept the situation.”

  The truth was, my father was pissed as hell, jealous and angry I was getting out, to have a better life than him. My mother was another story. She didn’t want me to leave but the family needed the money. And Tamara’s mother paid them handsomely for my time. My mom didn’t get truly pissed until I left Tamara for a better partner, cutting off the money supply. But no way was I telling Rory all this. Way too fucked up.

  She opened her mouth to say something but I held my finger to her lips. “No more questions about my parents. Please.” My eyes were wide and I knew they were dark.

  “Okay.” She nodded and pursed her lips. “So, tell me about Moscow.”

  “Yes. Tamara and I weren’t good enough together. But a woman who ran a studio in Moscow saw us at a competition. She asked me to come train with her daughter, Oksana. And I fell for Moscow the same as I’d fallen for Novosibirsk.”

  She shook her head.

  “What?” I said.

  “No, it’s just that your childhood was spent living with all these different families. So far from home. So different from my life. I just can’t imagine.”

  I knew she wasn’t judging. Our lives were vastly different. It was part of why I loved her. Difference, diversity, made life interesting, beautiful.

  “And you did well with Oksana,” she said.

  “At fourteen we won the junior division of the Russian national championships.” I felt my mouth tighten and chin rise, almost in a paso doble posturing, as if I were immersed in the heat of the competition as I spoke about it. This often happened when I talked about dance; my body began to outwardly project the contents of my mind.

  “Wow, that’s so awesome,” she gushed.

  I pressed my lips to her forehead again. “The next year Oksana and I went to England for the junior division at Blackpool. That’s where I met Micaela.”

  “And the rest, as they say, is history.” Rory laughed.

  I nodded, remembering that day as if it was yesterday. “Micaela was already a rising star. She was the most magnificent dancer I’d ever seen by that point. I knew right away I’d met the woman who would bring me stardom. And…who would then be part of my downfall. I knew it then. I knew I was smitten, and somehow, I also knew it wasn’t going to be forever. It was only temporary. I don’t know how to explain, but I knew that.”

  Rory’s expression sobered, and I then realized this feeling was so different from what I’d felt the first time I laid eyes on Rory. With Rory, I knew she wasn’t a star, but could be. Would be. With me. But she was more. She was going to be part of me. She would make me whole, make me the dancer I was meant to be.

  “That’s the way I felt about you when I first saw you,” I said, looking Rory straight in the eye, not realizing I’d thought several things without voicing them.

  Her eyes grew large and scared. “That we’re temp—”

  I realized my mistake and stopped her. “No, no, not that part. I mean, I knew from the moment I saw you that I wanted you as my partner.”

  “Oh…wow!” Her eyes widened even more, but the fear dissipated, replaced by sheer surprise. “You did, seriously?”

  “I did. I didn’t really know it then, but I did. I was attracted to your…” I looked away, trying to think of the right words. “Your natural talent, your uniqueness, your beautiful personality that radiated through. You brought something different. Your angelic beauty…” That you remind me of…someone I love very dearly, I thought but didn’t say.

  “Wow,” she said with a giggle and a bounce.

  I was happy she’d brought me back. I wanted to be brought back to her. I didn’t want to forever be h
aunted by my past.

  “So, when exactly was it you first noticed me? When I did all those fouettés in the practice room? When you left Xenia and danced with me and…totally made a scene!”

  “I didn’t make a scene,” I said, rolling my eyes. But my mischievous smile must have betrayed my words because she play-punched me in the arm. “And no, I didn’t notice you from the fouettés,” I went on. “That was you trying way too hard, not realizing you’d won me over long before that.”

  “Ugh!” She play-slapped me even harder. “In the studio you acted like you’d never seen me before!”

  “I did no such thing! And ouch,” I said. “You’re strong!”

  Now she rolled her eyes.

  “You know very well when I first noticed you. At your ex-boyfriend’s silly party.” The way I said ex-boyfriend I hoped revealed everything I felt about that a-hole.

  “That was the very first time we met!” She sounded flummoxed, completely in disbelief.

  “Of course it was!” I laughed. “You act surprised. How could you not have seen me gaping at you? With that…guy who totally did not appreciate you.”

  “I…I.” She seemed at a loss for words. “How could you have noticed me then? I just remember sitting all shyly in the corner and then that horrible Philip, James’s friend, asked me to dance and I made a complete fool of myself with him. I could only imagine someone noticing me as an object of pity.”

  I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. “I didn’t pity you in the least. You were just you. You were so incredibly beautiful. But you had a sad look in your eye. I thought that was the most horrible thing. How could such a beautiful woman be so sad? And then, yes, I remember that clown asking you to dance. And you were so graceful and elegant with your beautiful long legs and arms and your limber body. When you took the floor you were a swan. I knew you had dance training from the way you held yourself. I didn’t understand what you were doing there. Usually at these snobby parties, you’re only entertainment. They keep you at a distance, remind you you’re not one of them. But you were different. You were familiar. You didn’t fit in. And you just looked so sad. I wanted to carry you away and…save you.” Tatiana’s face penetrated my brain again. I blinked hard.

  “You’re a good actor because you didn’t seem to recognize me at all when I started at the studio.”

  “Rory, I wanted to work with you, be with you so badly when we met. So I was a bit…taken aback when Cheryl showed up in your place, after you’d won the package. I really wanted you there. Then I felt like I’d misread you. That you were really one of them and I’d been wrong about you. When you showed up, I thought you were playing games. I was confused. And you were alone. I didn’t know what was going on with the boyfriend. I didn’t know if you were teasing me…or what.”

  She sat up straight, looking serious. “I’m sorry about that. Cheryl really wanted the lessons and I think James was afraid not to give them to her since her husband’s his boss.”

  “He was smarter than I gave him credit for.” I smirked.

  “James? What do you mean?”

  “He was afraid of losing you. He knew he was about to.” I raised my eyebrows and lightly traced my fingers across her cheekbone.

  She lifted her chin in anticipation of a kiss. I wanted to do just that and more. A lot more. But I could see the circles around her eyes. She was dead tired. And she had to work tomorrow. It was only the beginning of the week. I had to force myself to refrain.

  “You are so tired, my sweet.” I kissed her on the forehead and nudged her to lift herself, which she did, albeit very hesitantly.

  “Noooo,” she protested, then looked at the clock and sighed.

  “We have all night, every night. We have so much time,” I said, feeling my normal panic abate. I knew I had her back. Everything was going to be okay. Better than okay. “We are okay now?” I asked, though I knew.

  She giggled, and rubbed her forehead against my chin. I gave her a long kiss on the lips, then left her to her sleep.

  ***

  “Everything is okay now,” Greta said to Rory, more as a statement than a question.

  Rory nodded and grinned, looking like a blushing cherub. We were in my studio under the chandelier, her face aglow by the light.

  “Looks like you took my advice and stood up to the man. Well done, dear,” Greta said, patting her shoulder, and giving me a playful evil eye.

  Rory giggled nervously, eyeing me as well. It was now clear Greta had encouraged Rory to be honest with me, stand up to me. I felt all the more awful about my reaction.

  “Don’t give her any more ideas, please,” I said to Greta, but rolled my eyes at both of them, making it clear I was playing.

  “As long as you continue to behave, I won’t have to intervene,” Greta said.

  I’d vowed to let only Greta do the correcting from here on out. I had to keep my vow for the sake of the woman I loved. I’d even let her correct me. Sometimes even I needed correction, I’d become man enough to admit. Greta worked with us as a team. I now realized how important it was to Rory for Greta to value input from both of us, not just me.

  Of course the real test came the first night Greta had another commitment and we were again on our own. I would not allow myself to crack. We were on the last quarter of the rumba routine, where, once again, Rory wasn’t ready for the amount of force I used, or my timing. She lost her balance and flew toward me, her elbow smacking into my chest at a painful curve. Instead of continuing, as we had been doing when a mistake happened, I stopped. Partly because it hurt and partly because it was a rather huge mistake. One that would prevent us from winning. I could tell Rory was afraid to look at my face, because she kept her head lodged in my chest.

  I took several long, deep breaths, my chest rising and falling like a tidal wave, my heart pumping. She knew we’d made a big mistake. Saying so would not help; it could only make it worse. After a few seconds of deep yoga-style inhales and exhales, I felt my pulse slow. Then I pressed my lips onto the crown of her head.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  She sighed with relief.

  I took her down into a beautiful backbend. She arched magnificently. She was supposed to lift her leg in back of me as I dipped her, but she somehow wasn’t close enough to me and I had to lean over too far. Her leg went straight out instead of up. It was very awkward-looking, and if someone happened to be dancing next to us, she would have kicked them.

  “Sasha, my back leg isn’t in proper position and this feels awkward.”

  Good girl, I thought. She noticed on her own. And by feeling it.

  “You are too far away from me. I can’t dip you properly without losing my own balance,” I said, proudly managing to leave any trace of anger out of my voice. “I am so glad you are now able to tell when something feels wrong,” I added.

  “Okay, let’s work with it and figure out how I can get close enough to you so you don’t have to overstretch.”

  Such a lawyer, she was all logic. But it would work. “That’s a good idea. Here.” I pulled her into me, aligning her pelvis to my hipbone. It felt sensual, even though we were concentrating hard. I’d never experienced that degree of sensuality with any other partner. It was all part of acting out the dance with them. I swung her out and reeled her in toward me, aiming her pelvis at my hipbone. But this time I pulled hard and she didn’t resist enough. Bone smacked into bone.

  I stepped back, shook it off and took a breath, realizing it actually sounded worse than it felt.

  “Let’s try again,” she said.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  But this time I overdid it with the gentleness. My pull was so light, so loose, she had to get herself to me by taking several tiny steps, making it look like she was tiptoeing. She looked like a toddler trotting into her daddy’s arms. Not exactly the sexy look we were trying to convey.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Very funny,” she said, apparently thinking I did it on purpose. “Is there pos
sibly, you know, a middle ground?”

  We tried several more times. We finally got our hip bones aligned correctly. But now she was off on the timing when lifting her leg.

  “Start the développé on your way toward me. Align the right side of your pelvis with my hip so that you can start lifting your left leg before you even touch me.”

  She laughed. I frowned. “It’s funny how such a romantic dance can become a geometry problem,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  I forced myself to smile, annoyed we couldn’t get it right but admitting the way she described it was amusing. I pulled her toward me and she bent her knee and began bringing her leg up before her pelvis hit my hip, exactly as I’d suggested. She still seemed to think her leg was going to hit my hip, because she quickly altered her position and swung her leg in the other direction, ending up smack dab in my crotch.

  This time it did feel as bad as it sounded. “Uh,” I cried out, taking several steps backward.

  “Sasha! I’m really sorry!” She stumbled backward, falling flat on her behind. I heard the crack of her rear hitting the hardwood. But instead of her crying out in pain, she began this crazy, wild laughing.

  I unbent myself, stood upright, put my hands on my hips and squinted at her. The pain had receded, and somehow her laughter made me feel a bit playful. I don’t know why, or how, because when a partner and I were making mistakes ad nauseam, the last thing I’d ever want to do was play. But for some reason, she was so sweet and I just softened. I just wanted to laugh with her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really trying hard to stop laughing, but I just can’t help it,” she said, cracking up even more. “Can you imagine if that happened during the compe—!”

  “Rory, please, don’t even joke about that…” And with that, my sexy playful moment had abruptly ended. All she had to do was mention competition.

  “Oh, Sasha, I’m not. I’m just having a moment of levity.”