by Tonya Plank
“I know, I saw her car.”
It was hell for both of us, prying ourselves from each other. But we managed.
“Remember the last time we danced rumba,” she whispered in my ear. “Pretend it’s exactly the same!”
I frowned briefly, confused for all of a millisecond, then rolled my eyes and looked away, unable to contain a devilish smile.
“Okay, lovebirds, are we ready?” Greta called out.
Somehow, unbelievably, we did dance exactly as we had the last time, sans mistakes. Albeit not naked, of course. I was strong but gentle, and even though we were practicing in front of Greta, there was a passion, a soft but very present passion there that had replaced the anxiousness. It wasn’t just coming from the nature of the rumba, the movements, but it was more internal, more real. I felt like we really lost ourselves, for the first time while actually rehearsing for Blackpool, not messing around, and not off the floor. It felt incredible. It felt beautiful.
“Wow,” Greta said. “What happened? That was a thousand percent better.” She must have seen the coy smiles on our faces because she immediately held her palm toward us, saying, “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. It looks incredibly good, though. You guys are on your way.”
We weren’t as practiced on the other dances, so there were some flubs but they were minor and easy to correct. The samba was particularly messy. It was a faster dance and even though she’d looked rested, I could tell Rory just wasn’t getting enough sleep. And she had the team performance yet to go tonight.
“I’m sorry, can I make myself some coffee?” she asked me after her jive kicks were so sloppy she nearly tripped both of us. I nodded. “I had to work really late last night,” she said to Greta by way of explanation. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” She shrugged. “Sasha tells me you have a bear of a boss.”
She nodded, a dejected look in her eyes.
As she made her coffee, Greta and I chatted softly, out of Rory’s earshot.
“This job is insane. Her boss wants her to work all the time. And it’s not an easy, mindless job,” I said.
Greta nodded. “Training for a competition like this is hard enough for a full-time professional.”
“I don’t know what to do. Ask her to take a, what do they call…sabbatical?”
She twisted her lips in thought. “You could try. How committed to it is she?”
“She loves this one client, this one case. The rest I think she could easily live without. But she really cares about this guy who she strongly believes is innocent. She really wants to represent him, doesn’t trust her boss to do it right. And he wouldn’t. She would be way the hell better.”
She straightened her lips out of their grimace. “Well, she’s really amazing me, Sasha. She’s a lawyer, and she’s dancing this well, so fast. She’ll make it. You’ll both make it. You will.”
Rory returned, the look on her face indicating she knew what we’d been talking about. She smiled weakly. “I made it dense as possible. No sugar, no milk. Hope it works its magic,” she said, raising her cup. Her subtle mention of the lack of calories in the drink reminded me of her eating disorder. I hadn’t spent enough time around her lately to see how she was eating. Probably not well, especially with the stress of work. And since seeing her naked had been so gloriously new to me, I hadn’t really focused on her weight loss the several times we’d made love. I made a mental note to pay more attention.
“No amount of caffeine is a substitute for a good night’s sleep, Rory,” Greta said.
“I know, I know” she answered.
“You tell that boss of yours to let you sleep,” Greta said, raising her eyebrows.
Rory looked down. Greta eyed me, and shrugged. Rory was not going to be talking back to Gunther. She was too intimidated by him.
It was too bad, but the morning was somewhat of a waste because Rory knew the routine down solid and I was being good, gentler. I felt it, I knew it—Greta even nodded at me several times. Today’s problems were all due to Rory’s exhaustion, her mind and body fatigue. Would we really have a fighting chance against the world’s top professionals, who trained full time, working this way?
After Greta left, I was planning on continuing practicing with Rory for another hour before my privates began. But instead I led her upstairs, not to my bedroom, but to a guest bedroom beside it.
“Nice room, but, um, what are we doing in here?”
“You’re so tired, sweet. You need to sleep before you do this crazy team practice. If I put you in our bedroom, you know what will happen. You wouldn’t get any rest.”
She giggled.
But I couldn’t laugh back. “Seriously. Rory, training when you’re tired can too easily lead to injury.” I laid her back on the plush comforter, resting her head on the pillow. I continued to hover over her, massaging her neck and shoulders.
“Mmm, you’re so good to me,” she mumbled. She was drifting off. Good.
“Rory,” I said, my hands now kneading the sinewy, strong but thin muscles of her biceps.
She opened her eyes. “Mmm hmm?”
I took a breath, closed my mouth again. “Never mind. You get sleep.”
“What?” she asked, eyes opening wide. “You look worried. What’s wrong?”
“No, nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”
“Would you just say it, please? Just tell me what’s on your mind.” She took a deep breath. “You want me to quit the team, right? It’s taking up too much time?”
“What? No,” I said. I hadn’t even thought of that, to be honest. I knew how much she enjoyed being on the team, even if she worried about her performance. I couldn’t take that away from her, even if she had injured herself at one point. A dancer’s life was rife with potential injury. Besides, it was good experience for her to get used to performing.
She exhaled. “Oh good. Because I so don’t want to do that.”
“No, I know how much fun you’re having. This is a very good stress relief for you. And it’s Latin dance as well, so good practice. No…” I stopped and took a deep breath. “My prrroposition was for something else.”
I hadn’t meant to roll my r’s this time. I was getting so used to it, particularly with this word. She giggled. It lightened the mood.
“Just something for you to think about,” I said, my voice almost a whisper, I was being so tentative.
“What? You look so worried.”
My eyes darted around the room. I didn’t want to put any more stress on her now. “It’s just that your boss is treating you so badly. He seems intent on creating problems for you, if not just undue stress. You have the one case you love but your job generally doesn’t seem to make you very happy. I just thought…maybe you could take a little break from it while we trained. See if you can work part-time, or maybe only on Jamar’s case. And return to full time after Blackpool.” I looked away, afraid I’d given her something far too serious to think about at such a time. “Just something to think about, Rory. You definitely don’t have to make a decision now.”
“Sasha…” Her brow deeply furrowed and I could hear the frazzled nerve endings in her voice. I shook my head to tell her to forget about it, but she continued speaking. “I’m positive Gunther would never let me work part-time on Jamar’s case. He’s just not like that. You know that. You know how pissy he is with me. And I—”
I shook my head again, placing my palm over her hand. “No, please forget I ever—”
“And I know the firm wouldn’t give me that much time off,” she continued, her words coming out faster and faster. “At least not while I’m so new. The competition’s still over two months away. I definitely don’t have that kind of vacation time. And how would I pay my bills, even assuming they gave me the time off unpaid?”
“I can see the panic in your eyes. You have too much going on today. I should have never brought it up.”
“And law jobs are fiercely competitive,” she continued, ignoring me. “If I
ask for time off, I make it clear I’m not entirely fulfilled there.”
“But you aren’t,” I said without thinking.
She hesitated but then said, “Yes, but I may be in the future. When I don’t have Gunther for a boss. And if I make it clear I’m not impassioned they might fire me. And then I’d have a hard time finding another job. I had such a hard time getting this one, Sasha. You don’t know. Everyone else at my law school had jobs lined up well before graduation. Some had permanent jobs during their second summer. It took me forever.” Her voice was shaking.
I certainly hadn’t meant to set this off. I caressed her hand. “Please stop thinking about this right now, sweet. Put it out of your mind. I was completely remiss in broaching this subject.”
I knew my proper grammar would crack her up. And it did. But after only a second’s laughter, her panic-stricken look returned. “I, I, I do like the job. I just don’t like Gunther. I mean, I can’t tell how much my dislike of the job is due to him or the actual work.”
I nodded. “I know.” I pulled her toward me, kissed her hand. She looked up, then closed her eyes, and when she opened them again there were tears. I held her hand tightly. It seemed like I’d only brought more insecurities to the fore. The last thing I intended.
“I do realize how tough the competition will be at Blackpool. I do appreciate that. I do want to do well. Really, really well. I do realize how far we have to go.” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes again, blinking back tears. She seemed confused about what she wanted.
“Rory, please stop thinking about this and get some sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, if you want. But right now, I want you to sleep. Promise me?”
She opened her eyes, flashed me a worried smile, then nodded.
“Thank you,” I whispered, kissing her forehead again.
***
We went to the studio separately. We’d planned to have a little party back at her place that night. Rory had invited her closest friends. The ones we could trust not to blab it all over the school. We were still keeping everything under the radar at the studio until Blackpool. It was always in the back of my mind that if Alessia found out about our relationship, if something pissed her off enough, she could find some legal loophole to control me. She always had my work visa dangling over my head.
Before she left, I assured Rory she was going to kill it. She laughed and bumped my fist with hers. Her nervous energy had definitely abated from that good few hours of sleep. But I could still see some of it behind her eyes. Neither of us mentioned our earlier talk. I honestly hoped she’d forgotten about it, but I knew she hadn’t.
***
I had a full afternoon of private lessons: Cheryl, Luna, and Sveta. I started choreographing Cheryl’s routines for the Vegas competition. I continually corrected the same mistakes. But now I realized it wasn’t that she was lazy; now she had a need to believe she was perfect already. She’d explain to me why her way was the right way for her, and I’d counter, and when I realized my words were not penetrating, I stopped bothering. She was more serious now, but she wanted to challenge me all the time.
And while the outright flirtatiousness had abated—thank God—she was now saying things that were not only strange but were at odds with the way she fought me, like, “I know your former partners have been difficult, poor thing. But not me!” And, “I’m so sorry how horrible those other girls have been to you. I want to make it up to you! I’m going to be the best partner ever!” And, referring to Las Vegas: “We’re going to do this. We really are!” Instead of saying, “I’m going to do this,” which is what most students say.
“How long do you think it will be until I’m ready?” Cheryl said right before today’s practice ended.
“You’ll definitely be ready in time. Vegas is four months away.”
“No, I mean for a real one. That’s a little itty bitty one,” she said, pouting, holding her finger to her thumb to indicate very, very small.
I didn’t know what she was looking for. It was a very good-sized pro/am competition. So I assumed she meant when would she be ready for a higher level.
“You mean, ready for open gold. Well, for that, we just have to keep working. It’s too early to tell.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, then sighed dramatically. I stepped back. She was being so strange. She nodded, swallowed hard, looked me in the eye and smiled. The smile seemed forced. It was like she was trying very hard to remain put-together, not explode about something. It was very disconcerting.
“You going to dance at the party tonight?” she said as I opened the door for her.
I shook my head, hoping she wouldn’t come.
She pouted again. “You know, you and I should perform at the next one. We’re ready.”
I had to stifle a laugh. The monthly showcases were either for two pros dancing together or for very advanced students dancing with their teachers. Cheryl was way too beginner for that.
I saw Sveta arrive. I didn’t have time to get into it with Cheryl over whether she qualified to perform a showcase at the main party.
“We’ll discuss that next time,” I said, forcing a smile. She seemed to know what my answer would be, as she narrowed her eyes, blinked, lifted her chin, and walked out in a huff, nearly knocking into poor Sveta, who seemed to have taken over Rory’s position as Cheryl’s most-hated fellow student.
After my lessons, I drove home, ate dinner, and practiced my part of our Blackpool routines, pretending Rory was there and trying to lodge my easier, gentler handling of her into my muscle memory. I returned to the studio a half hour before the party. I stayed out of sight, though. It wasn’t my night. I wasn’t performing. And I didn’t want to make her nervous.
When the party began, I heard chatter through the big glass doors. I slipped through, and walked into the shadows. I saw Rory and her friend, Samantha, who was petting Rory’s gorgeous fuchsia costume.
“Skinny. You’re losing weight, right?” I heard her say.
I saw what Samantha saw: Rory’s costume, which she was only fitted for a few weeks ago, practically hanging off her in areas. She was losing weight. She wasn’t eating. With all the trips to Tokyo and her working late at the office lately, I hadn’t been adamant enough about her eating.
“I’m so glad you’re here! Thank you so much for coming,” Rory said.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”
I saw Cheryl arrive alone. Even though she wasn’t performing, she looked like she was. She wore a magenta dress, not that far in color from Rory’s. But hers was laced with rhinestones, like a performance costume. Maybe she’d talked someone else into performing with her? I moved farther into the shadows so she wouldn’t see me. She held a glass of champagne by the stem. The corners of her lips were turned down into a scowl. She watched Rory and her friends.
“So nice to meet you, dear. A friend of Rory’s…well, you know the saying,” Paulina was telling Samantha upon being introduced. “Whoa, look at you! What’s happening tonight? You look simply fab, my dear!”
Rory giggled. That little laugh was becoming my favorite sound in the world and I loved Paulina for always bringing it out. I began to feel Cheryl’s angry eyes scanning the room. I didn’t want to talk to her. I pressed myself against the wall and inched my way around the corner. I could still hear, though not see, Rory.
"Thank you! The mambo team is performing our competition routine,” Rory squealed.
“Wow, the mambo team too! Girl, you are like a pro the way you’ve taken to this!” Paulina boomed. Feeling like I was eavesdropping and wanting to avoid Cheryl, I ducked into a dark hallway and edged around till I was in one of the studios. From there I smelled food carts delivering goodies to the kitchen area behind the party room. Ah, food. That’s how I could entertain myself until Rory was on.
I walked in from the shadows and joined the line.
“Oh good, you’re here!” said a student from the first-level class I’d taug
ht.
I smiled. “Not performing. Just watching and supporting,” I said, suddenly realizing it might seem strange for me to be here when not performing.
“Ohhhh,” she said, puffing her bottom lip out. “Yeah, I heard you’re partnerless right now.” Yes, a notion I had no intention of disabusing anyone of here for the time being. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged as if it was something that couldn’t be helped. “Well, please find someone soon so we can all witness your magnificence again!” I felt myself blushing, causing her to blush as well.
“Well, thank you. I really appreciate your support,” I said.
I placed some vegetables and cold cuts on a small paper plate, grabbed a glass of Chardonnay, and returned to the main room, feeling it was late enough I could briefly join Rory’s party and say hello. Rory was hugging Paulina, and the two were fawning over each other’s outfits. Paulina was dressed in a ball gown, obviously performing as well. Kendra, the one whose partner had had the ordeal with Luna at the O.C., dashed up to them, all bubbly.
“Girlfriend, I haven’t seen you in so long!” she screamed, hugging Rory. “And look at you! Ms. Latin champion in the making!”
“Ain’t that the truth, honey,” said Paulina.
I was heartened to see she had so much support here. The team and group classes were very important for her, to get her confidence up, to be with friends. The studio was good for her. I shouldn’t have asked her to cut her classes for Blackpool training.
Rajiv joined Rory and the others. He immediately made eye contact with me and shot me a nervous-looking smile I didn’t understand. He knew her better than anyone else here and was trustworthy; he probably already knew about us. But it shouldn’t be odd for me to greet her and wish her luck. She was a former student of mine, after all. Rory apparently saw him and turned around. Our eyes locked. I could see the bolt of electricity charge up her spine on seeing me. I wouldn’t go over. I was already making her excited, possibly nervous. I’d leave well enough alone until afterward. I nodded at her politely—the same look I’d just given Rajiv, albeit with a sly twinkle in my eye that I knew only she could detect.
