Fever

by Tonya Plank

  The more he went on, the more I realized I’d be spending a lot of time here just like this: with Sasha and large groups of his friends and fans, but without being able to participate in the conversation since it was taking place in a different language. I now wished at least one of my friends from the studio would have come. But Rajiv couldn’t get away from work, and even Samantha couldn’t come this year; she’d spent all her competition money on U.S. comps. England was too far for most people from the studio to come just to spectate. Some of the teachers would be there competing themselves, but not Pepe or Mitsi since they didn’t do international-style dance. Just Bronislava and Maurizio, and I didn’t know either of them well enough to really hang out sans Sasha.

  The longer I sat still listening to all the Russian going on around me, the more I realized how famished I was becoming. My stomach was now grumbling and I was starting to feel a bit crabby. I needed to eat soon. But none of the waiters seemed to understand that there were two new customers who hadn’t yet eaten at the overcrowded table.

  I tried to flag down the woman who’d been about to seat us, but it was impossible to get anyone’s attention through the mass of torsos I was enmeshed in. So I got up, thinking I’d either get their attention better this way or might go to the bar for a menu. Sasha stopped midsentence and looked up at me quizzically, his puppy dog eyes looking so sad I might leave him. All conversation stopped at the table as if something catastrophic had happened. I looked away briefly and tried to make eye contact with a waiter working two tables down from us, with no success.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m actually getting really hungry,” I said, looking back down at Sasha.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad your appetite’s back. We will order then, or perhaps go to a less crowded…”

  He began to get up, but I gently pushed his arm back down. He was having too much fun reuniting with his friends. The second he’d begun to rise the atmosphere had dampened palpably. I didn’t want to do that to him. We’d have plenty of time to be together.

  “No, no,” I said. “You stay and chat and I’ll just go to the bar to order. It looks like that’s what you have to do for food around here right now. You want me to get you anything?”

  “Ohhh,” he said in contemplation. “You know, just whatever looks good. I’m not really that hungry. I’ll trust you.” He flashed those boyishly charming dimples at me again and winked this time, making my lower belly fill with liquid heat so much so I didn’t know if I could actually walk normally to the bar.

  When, oh when will I have this man on my own, I thought as I looked back at him, his deep blues remaining focused on me till my view of him was obstructed.

  The bar was so packed it was almost as hard to get the bartender’s attention as the waiter’s. All the wait staff seemed flustered and overworked. Hadn’t they increased staff in anticipation of such a big event, I wondered?

  “Excuse me?” I finally shouted at the man as he filled a beer mug and a stirred a martini at the same time. He looked at me, almost in terror that I’d ask him to do yet another thing.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just we’ve been waiting and I’m famished. Can I order here and have my food served over there? I pointed to the table, now even more ludicrously overcrowded. He looked at me dubiously. I couldn’t blame him. How would he ever find me in that crowd?

  “Honestly, miss, kitchen’s really backed up. Probably going to be an hour, hour and a half wait. Maybe longer.”

  Oh no, that was too long. I was too hungry. “Oh, no. Well, in that case, no thank you. I’m sor…”

  But he was already off.

  I went to return to the table but couldn’t see Sasha’s head at all now. He’d never be able to sense my presence like before. And I didn’t really need to bother everyone, making my way through, if I was only going to leave again. There had to be another restaurant somewhere around here, I thought. Maybe the hotel’s bar served dinner? I texted Sasha that the bartender said the wait would be over an hour and I was too hungry and was going somewhere else. I knew Sasha wouldn’t be able to hear his phone ring and he’d told me it was cheaper and easier to text than call, anyway. But he seemed not to have heard his message ding either. I could easily see why. I knew he wasn’t ignoring me, and I wasn’t mad, but I was starting to get a headache.

  You didn’t seem that hungry, so I’ll just walk around and find something. Don’t worry. I’ll see you back at the hotel, I texted again, then waited to see if there was any response. There wasn’t, so I walked outside into the fresh air which, cold as it was, now felt good.

  I walked back in the direction of the hotel and spotted the fish and chips place I’d seen earlier in the cab. There were only a few people inside. It would probably be easier to eat here than the hotel, I thought. The hotel would probably be just as crowded as the Italian place. Plus, the English were known for fish and chips. It had to be good.

  I walked in. I checked my cell again. No message from Sasha. He wouldn’t mind if I ate without him. I sat at the bar. I was just about to order when I realized I didn’t have any English money yet. Ugh. Sasha had insisted I could rely on him for everything money-related. I knew I could but I also knew better than to make myself dependent on someone, anyone. I always felt more comfortable being self-sufficient. I should have insisted he give me a few pounds or have gotten my own back in L.A.

  When the guy behind the counter looked at me, I asked him if they took credit cards. He laughed. I guess I was being a typical American who charges everything. At least that was a European complaint about us in some movie I’d seen. Couldn’t remember the name.

  So, I got up and went in search of the exchange kiosk I’d seen in the cab, trying hard to retrace the direction we drove. There was now a line winding outside the Italian restaurant all the way down to the end of the block. What a joke. What was it with this place? Did they put something in the pasta? Or did everyone just know the stars were inside and want to be around them? The latter, probably. I walked to the opposite corner, then turned it and ventured down the block. There were enough people out and about that it wasn’t really scary. I just had to remember the street names so I didn’t get lost amongst all these narrow, winding roads.

  Finally, I spotted in the distance a line of people in front of a kiosk. As I got closer, I saw that the brightly lit awning read “Cambio Exchange.” Oh, good.

  I walked back to the fish and chips a hundred American dollars poorer but fifty-something pounds sterling richer. Amazingly, I’d remembered all of the street names and so didn’t have a problem finding my way back—all the more amazing the way my head was starting to pound.

  By now all the tables were taken, so I ordered and sat at the bar. They didn’t seem to have any bottled water, and, I guess somewhat ridiculously since this was England, I was scared of the tap in a foreign country, especially when I was so close to a big competition. So I ordered a Coke. Feeling the sugar rush the second the liquid hit my lips made me realize what a mistake I’d made. I hadn’t had so much sugar in a long, long time, and my headache really started to soar. Then, as much as I tried to keep my mind from going there, I couldn’t help freaking a little over the sugar and calories I was putting into my body… It made me dizzy.

  My food arrived. Both the fish and the chips came wrapped in newspaper, which by the time it was placed before me, was completely saturated with grease. I momentarily felt like throwing up. But I was able to push that sensation back down. I opened the newspaper containing the chips, sprinkled some salt on the thick-cut fries and started eating. They were okay. Actually, pretty good.

  I picked up the fish. I didn’t know how to eat it without taking the newspaper off and the paper was so soggy I ended up eating some of it along with the fish. Gross. I got the queasy feeling again when I lifted it to my lips. I had to eat something besides fries, I told myself. I had to eat something nutritious. I managed to get half of the fish down. Then I simply couldn’t eat anymore. I wiped my
hands off as best as I could but they didn’t have many napkins here. I ended up getting the face of my cell phone lathered with grease while trying to see if Sasha had texted me back. He hadn’t. Hmmm, what was up with that? I was beginning to worry a bit. It wasn’t like him to go for hours without checking his phone, especially when I’d never returned to the table. Thoughts of the Russian men who’d kidnapped me whipped through my mind, but I forced myself to banish them. I trusted Sasha. Of course, he’d promised not to let anything happen to me; but he hadn’t said anything about himself.

  I walked back to the hotel and had just jumped onto the moving box in the elevator shaft when I felt my stomach lurch. I made it to the toilet just in time to throw up everything I had for dinner. When I couldn’t throw up any more, I splashed cold water on my face and gargled three times with Listerine, then wiped my cell phone off with the towel—was only partially successful in removing all the grease—and crashed down on the bed. I lay on my back just staring at the ceiling, which I now realized was rather ornate. Each corner of every box had a small gargoyle looking down at you. Hmm, a bit creepy.

  The thought of the Russian men returned. I felt a sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. Where was Sasha?

  Stop it now, I told myself. I pulled myself up and grabbed my cell phone.

  Are you okay? I had fish and chips and am now back at the hotel, I texted him.

  I waited five minutes. No answer.

  Throwing up had made my headache go away, for the most part. And I momentarily felt better. But now I was worried. And lonely, seeing as how I knew no one here except Sasha.

  I wish so much you guys were here! I texted Rajiv and Samantha. I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears. Everyone here was Sasha’s friend and I couldn’t even communicate with them. And my worry over his whereabouts was swiftly turning to fear. I could feel my racing pulse, partly through my left temple where my headache was beginning to return.

  Chapter 10

  My cell phone dinged, indicating I had a text. Figuring it was Samantha or Rajiv, I reached for it. But thank God, it was Sasha.

  Where r u? I just got this. I think there is lapse in time. Looking 4 u everywhere. Lost track of time talking to friends. I’m so sorry. Worried.

  He must not have received my latest. Time lapse, I’ll say.

  I ate fish and chips and got sick. I’m at the hotel. So worried about you! Come back! I wrote. Who knew when he’d get it though, if there was a lag. Maybe I should go back to the Italian place? Crap, my nausea was returning. Right then, I heard the key in the door.

  “Sasha,” I nearly screamed.

  “You ARE here,” he said, sighing with relief.

  “I just texted you. I didn’t know there was a lap—” I stopped when I saw that there were two people behind him. At least.

  I was starting to get downright annoyed. I was sick—worried sick and physically sick—and needed privacy, for crying out loud. Not that he knew all that if he didn’t see all my texts.

  “Rory, you are white as ghost,” he said, eyes widening.

  “I don’t feel well. I got sick on greasy fish and chips. I need privacy. I need to get well before…everything starts.” I didn’t even want to say the word competition. “Please!” I blabbered on, nearly in tears. “I know you haven’t seen your friends in a while but…I need you.” Suddenly the tears really came on. Embarrassing. I hoped his friends couldn’t see or hear. I swallowed and tried hard to keep it under control.

  “Of course, of course, sweetheart.” Sasha nodded and backed up, closing the door.

  I heard him speaking in Russian outside the door.

  “I’m sorry, Sasha. I feel like an ass,” I said when he returned. “I just really don’t want to be sick for the competition. It’s too import—”

  “Shhh,” he said, brushing my head with his warm palm. “Just get some sleep. It will all be better.”

  I must have fallen asleep to his soothing words and head massage, because the next thing I knew, he was covering me with the blanket.

  “I didn’t want to wake you. You feel hot. I went to market and bought water and nuts and crackers. And Pepto Bismol and Excedrin. Whatever will help. I will get more if you need.” His brow was furrowed. He looked truly worried.

  “What time is it?” I groaned.

  “It’s nine o’clock English time. It’s only afternoon in California. We’re going to be jet-lagged for a couple days. That’s why we arrived early. Can you take this medicine?”

  I sat up. He’d taken off my boots. I must have been out cold. I didn’t even feel that. He gave me a large bottle of Evian and filled the top cap of the Pepto Bismol to the indicator. I took both and drank.

  “Here, this should help,” he said, handing me a box of saltines. I ate two. I immediately felt better. He handed me two Excedrin, which I swallowed as well. I ate a few more crackers before lying back down.

  “I’m so sorry, Rory. I spent far too much time with old friends and fans today. I got carried away,” he said as he patted my forehead with a cold washcloth, which felt unbelievably good. “The first day is our day to catch up and do autographs and all that. Because everyone knows not to bother me when rehearsals really begin. The rest of the trip is all about you. All about us. I promise. Sleep and get well.” He trailed kisses across my cheeks then down my neck before shutting off the lights.

  ***

  “Rory, sweetheart. How are you feeling now?” I felt Sasha’s breath on my neck. It smelled of mint. It was refreshing.

  I opened my eyes, at first having no idea where I was. Then I saw my costumes hanging in the open closet. My heart started to pound. That’s right, the most trying event thus far in my life was happening very, very soon.

  “What time is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. When I took my fingers away, I saw they were smudged with mascara. Then last night came back. I hadn’t removed my makeup because I was so sick.

  “It’s nine. You slept almost twelve hours straight. You needed it, darling. How are you feeling?”

  Remembering all the vomiting made me feel gross. I didn’t want his face near mine. I bounced up and jumped into the bathroom, murmuring, “Better, I think,” into my hand.

  Yep. Major raccoon eyes and hair like a rat’s nest. I soaped off my face, brushed my teeth, and took a cupful of mouthwash. After swishing it around and toweling off, I realized I felt much, much better. Back to normal, actually. Not even a remainder of that nasty headache. No nausea. I felt like I could eat a horse.

  “Wow, I am feeling better. Much,” I said, returning to Sasha.

  He smiled. “You look better. The paleness is gone.”

  “Weird. I feel almost like it never happened. I even want to eat, unbelievably.”

  “They have a very good breakfast here. Much like the one on the airplane. Full English breakfast. I didn’t know if you wanted me to have it ordered up, if you were up to eating,” he said.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  The hotel’s food was even better than the plane’s. Mmmm. I really could get used to these English breakfasts. Especially the baked beans and fried tomato and that heavenly but fatty as all hell toasty-hushpuppy-doughy thing. I couldn’t resist. One a day wouldn’t hurt, right?

  Ugh no, wrong. Halfway through the deep fried toast donut, we’ll call it, I started to feel the grease pile up in my stomach. The same as I’d felt with the fish and chips. It might have been due partly to the fried egg and oily sausages called pudding. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to go there again. I promptly put the deep fried toast donut aside and took a big spoonful of beans. When I finished those, I followed with regular plain toast, then polished off the fruit bowl. In the end, I felt normal, thankfully. The beans and real toast had soaked up the grease.

  ***

  I took a long, hot shower and we headed out to the Winter Garden to meet our fellow U.S. teammates for our first practice. The team meet wasn’t till noon, so I’d had plenty of time to recuperate. I felt so
much better.

  “Thanks so much for letting me sleep in and take my time this morning,” I said to Sasha, now remembering how he’d planned an early morning practice session for us before the team meet.

  “It’s paramount that you are feeling well,” he said, kissing my forehead as we waited for the wooden box to arrive in our empty shaft. “Far more important than getting one more practice session in. We know our routines. It is what it is now.” He kissed me again, now on the lips.

  Despite his words and soft kisses, I could feel his nerve endings practically vibrating with energy through the pores of his skin as he touched me. I was nervous too and every step we took toward the grand ballroom made my heart pump faster.

  So it was almost a relief when yet another group of very enthusiastic Russians approached us again, this time from behind. They all surrounded us, and huddled over Sasha as if he were the star quarterback. Most were men; a few had female partners or girlfriends. Several of the guys patted him on the back, and one gave him a big bear hug from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around Sasha’s waist. Sasha smiled and spoke with them in Russian, of course. A small man standing to my left tapped my shoulder. I looked at him. He asked me something in Russian. He smiled, seemed nice.

  “No,” Sasha said to him, laughing. Then he said something in Russian which I imagined to be that I didn’t speak Russian.

  They all burst out laughing at this. I was obviously wrong about the interpretation. I think. Why would it be so funny that I couldn’t speak Russian? The man standing beside me raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, while Sasha talked and the others laughed. What was he saying about me? I heard the word “Amerikansky” but that was all I understood. After his rather lengthy explanation, they all broke into a chorus of “Ooooooooh” that sounded a little too much like they were talking about something sexual. I looked at Sasha. He had that boyish grin, and looked away from me as if he were embarrassed.