Fever

by Tonya Plank

  Sasha said something else in Russian. He looked back at the man who’d bear-hugged him and raised his hand in the air, flitting it about. The men nodded, began speaking very fast, many patting him on the back again. The man beside me patted me on the shoulder and raised his eyebrows again. Several nodded at me. I nodded back. Then they took off, bounding ahead of us.

  “Mind telling me what that was about?” I asked after they were gone.

  “Nothing much. I just told them we needed to get mentally prepared for practice and competition, and that we needed to get going, we needed our time,” he said with a shrug.

  That was all he was going to tell me? “What did you say about me?”

  “That you are my new partner,” he said, shrugging again and looking away, avoiding eye contact.

  “It sounded like you said something sexual, by their reactions.”

  Sasha now looked me straight on. His mouth was a solid line but his eyes were twinkling. “Rory, don’t be ridiculous. I said nothing of the sort. They are just very…they are just very happy for me. That I have an American partner and that I seem happy. For once. Because they know I’m…I’m usually not, at this point in the game.”

  Aw, how could I be annoyed with that? I pulled his arm around me and wrapped myself in his embrace, snuggling next to him as we walked. He squeezed my arm and kissed my cheek.

  ***

  As Sasha checked us in at the ticket counter, I looked at my cell phone. I had a message from Samantha. A quite long one.

  Quit bragging, you biatch!!!!! Kidding! Seriously, I can totally imagine being at Blackpool with the hugest star in all of ballroom and not knowing a single person. So, yeah, I get it, even though I am OUT OF MY FRIGGING MIND WITH JEALOUSY. Yeah, food in general there, not the most brilliant. There’s a place downstairs from the grand ballroom that opens once competitions begin tonight. It’s actually owned by a Japanese costume company. It’s Japanese food. Curries and noodles and rice dishes, and sushi. Seriously, the best—and healthiest—food in all of Blackpool. Can’t wait to hear all about it, sweetie! Hang in there! You’re the partner of the greatest ballroom dancer there IS. That means you’re the starlet! OWN IT!!!!!

  I smiled and shook my head at my phone. Sam was too funny. Oh how I wished she were here. I made a mental note to try the restaurant in the basement of the ballroom. I liked Japanese food.

  “Read something amusing?” Sasha said, returning to me with two massive catalogs and several papers. He eyed my cell phone.

  “No, just Sam. She’s so cute,” I said, stuffing the phone in my bag so he wouldn’t see any of her words. Especially the ones in caps.

  ***

  On the way down the long hall that led to the ballroom we were accosted by more people. Many more. Most didn’t seem to know Sasha personally, and bashfully approached as if walking up to a movie star.

  “We’re such fans. We heard you had a new partner. Can’t wait to see the two of you out there!” squealed a young English woman with a platinum bob that bounced with every syllable she spoke.

  Platinum seemed to be the main hair color here, I noticed. She and the woman beside her, who looked identical to her, giggled as they pawed Sasha’s bicep. They smiled nicely at me, though.

  “Really, we can’t wait,” the other one echoed, directing her words this time at me. Her smile looked genuine.

  Okay, they could touch my man’s bicep, I thought. So long as they were rooting for both of us.

  Several others also approached, mostly with an English or some kind of European accent, though they all spoke English. It seemed everyone wanted Sasha to sign their massive catalog, and to touch him. At one point, he was trying to balance a stack of the catalogs in the crook of his arm.

  “No, no, no, no, no, you’re not doing that,” he said when I offered to help hold some of them. They were pretty heavy. I wondered what all was inside.

  Suddenly I started to feel surrounded. I looked up. We were. The group around us was growing exponentially.

  “It’s Sasha Zakharov!” I heard someone say, followed by the sound of a zillion cell phone cameras being clicked. Wow, this was worse than at the hotel and restaurant. Far worse.

  “Okay, I’m very sorry but I must go to practice,” Sasha said. An Asian man tried to add his catalog to the pile Sasha already held and Sasha shook his head. “No more. I’m sorry. Practice. No more. After the competition. After,” he said to the man, seeming to know he couldn’t speak English. “This is it. After this stack, I must go. Thank you for your support. Really, thank you so much. You don’t know what it means to me.” Sasha’s pen was going at the speed of light, and the catalogs were now flying out of his arms.

  “Hey that’s mine,” I heard a man’s voice call out.

  “No, it’s not! I gave him that one!” said a female voice.

  “Seriously, you just took my catalog. It has my name on the front,” the man insisted.

  Oh jeez, people were fighting over this.

  The woman turned the cover over.

  “See!” the man said.

  “Then where’s mine?” said the woman.

  But Sasha was done. “That’s all for now. I’m sorry. But please do come to the Daiyu tent in the Pavilion on Thursday and I will sign anything you want. And there will be photos. And champagne.”

  “Anything I want?” a female voice called out, followed by an outburst of giggles.

  “Ah, now, now, now,” Sasha said in a mock-reprimanding tone. “Thank you, everyone. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  “But what about my book?” asked the woman who’d apparently lost hers.

  Sasha shook his head, hearing her voice but unable to make out her face. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I have to go. See you all Thursday.”

  “We’ll see you before then! Under the lights! Like tomorrow night!” a woman said. This was followed by more giggles.

  “Well, yes, I guess you will, won’t you?” he said, brows rising seductively, making me want to swoon along with the giggling—now actually screaming—women. I couldn’t believe this was actually my boyfriend.

  My man. My insanely hot Latin dance idol. I needed to squeeze myself again.

  “Thank you again, everyone. Thank you so much,” he said with a wave. Then he took my hand and led me briskly down the hall.

  “We love you, Sasha!” and similar sentiments echoed down the hall. He was actually pretty suave when keeping his hordes of fans at bay, my man.

  We continued on now at a brisk pace. Sasha was focused straight ahead, making sure not to make eye contact with onlookers off to the side. I tried to keep my gaze with his, but this was my first time here, and the place was immense. It was really hard not to be distracted by all the rooms and eateries, and halls leading off from the main one.

  We passed this big entryway branching off from the main hall. It was labeled “Pavilion.” Oh, I guessed that would be where we’d be signing. I looked down the long hallway it opened out to. I could tell it expanded into several rooms, and as far down as I could see, I could tell there were loads and loads of beautiful costumes and dance accessories. Far, far bigger than the one in the O.C.

  “We will definitely spend time in there,” Sasha said. “We’re meeting Daiyu tonight to find out exactly where we do autographs.”

  It will be nice to see Daiyu, a familiar face, I thought.

  On the other side of the hall, we passed this huge arcade of video game machines and, it looked like, retro pinball machines. We also passed a darkly lit pub with a charming red brick façade, and, past it, a brightly lit deli with black and white checkered floors. At the end of the hall, the room fanned out, leading to two other halls. At one end was a door marked “Grand Ballroom,” and on the other end a door marked “Opera House.” Between the two doors, running the length of the hallway going horizontally, was just about the largest concession stand I’d ever seen. Under the glass, available for purchase, was just about every kind of candy I’d ever known of, and much, much mo
re. Candy bars and boxed confections I never even knew existed. There were also lots of touristy things like postcards and magnets bearing illustrations of the Blackpool boardwalk, circus area, casinos, as well as photos of Liverpool and other nearby towns.

  Instead of going toward the grand ballroom, Sasha led me past the veritable candy-land down to the opera house. Across from the entrance to that was another long hall I hadn’t seen.

  “That leads to several smaller rooms we can use to have private conferences and to practice,” Sasha said. “We’re supposed to meet the team here.” He looked around. Seeing no one, he took my hand and led me into the smaller, darkened hall. It was like a cave in here. Again a feeling of creepiness washed over me.

  Suddenly one of the doors swung open and a very large man with curly red hair peeked out. “Sasha, I thought I heard you,” he said, smiling widely, his voice rather loud and jolly. His accent was one hundred percent American. It was actually a bit jarring.

  “Oh good, there you are,” Sasha said, shaking his hand.

  “And you must be Rory,” he said to me, extending his hand to me, same wide smile.

  “This is Bob Maxwell,” Sasha said. “He owns a large studio in New York and he’s the team manager.”

  “Very pleased to meet you,” I said.

  “So, Sasha’s new partner…” he said, looking me up and down. But this once-over wasn’t really judgmental. He had an ear-to-ear grin and an enthusiastic tone. He looked like a team captain. He seemed more intrigued and excited to see what I could do than interested in trying to figure out what Sasha was on when he chose me.

  I was actually getting pretty used to the up-and-down by now. It was even a little weird when someone wasn’t giving me one. “Um, yeah?” I said. Now that we were here, I was kind of in a state of disbelief myself that I was actually his partner, especially after it was clear he was a major celebrity. Plus we were about to walk into a room with the greatest ballroom dancers in the U.S. Suddenly, self-doubt began to shower over me.

  “You sure about that? Is there an imposter in the room?” Bob said, laughing. He had a hearty laugh that sounded genuine.

  I forced myself to laugh with him at my ridiculous self-questioning tone. And it was ridiculous. I was good enough. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. I needed to stop it now, I told myself. “Yes, I’m sure,” I said more firmly.

  The door behind us opened and in walked a fairly large group—about ten in all. I guess we didn’t have to worry about being made late by Sasha’s fandom. In walked two women I didn’t know but who were fashion-model beautiful, with chiseled faces and flawless makeup. And they were tall, carrying themselves with the grace and elegance of swans. I took a breath. After them were two equally tall men, followed by a more petite but equally handsome couple. I recognized one of the men as Maurizio from our studio, Paulina’s pro/am partner. I smiled at him and waved. He smiled in return.

  “Mariana, Dmitri, Alexandra, Oleg…” I missed some of the names Bob called out in his warm, sunny introduction. “Oooooh, Xenia, you look just gorgeous, as usual, my dear.”

  My attention was so fixed on the three beauties I didn’t know who’d just walked in, but when I heard that name my head automatically whipped around. Of course she’d be on the team. She and Sasha were the top U.S. couple the last time they’d danced. Why hadn’t I even thought of that? Well, because I hadn’t known there was even a team component until recently. The second I glanced in her direction our eyes locked. She gave me the look of death.

  What? Sasha had had another partner between us. It’s not like he broke up with her for me. Still, my core collapsed. I swallowed hard and stood up straight, trying to maintain composure.

  I looked at Sasha but he was busy greeting the other couples, whom he seemed to already know. Of course. I could feel her eyes remain on me.

  “And beautiful, so beautiful Arabelle. Bella Arabella!” Bob sang.

  Oh wow. Half the team was comprised of people who’d partnered with my boyfriend. I turned and sure enough, it was beautiful ballerina Arabelle. Thin, tiny, perfectly proportioned Arabelle. Stop it, I told myself. You have curves you’re proud of.

  She locked eyes with me too. But her large, brown doe eyes were much less severe than Xenia’s. Her lips even curled up at the edges ever so slightly into a shy smile.

  Sasha wrapped his arm around my waist. Arabelle’s doe eyes widened, as if she suddenly knew who I was. She eyed him quickly then returned her gaze to me. Her smile remained but grew more weary now than shy, as if to say she felt sorry for me, for what I must be enduring. She didn’t seem the least bit jealous or territorial. She wanted nothing from Sasha but distance. She was not an enemy. Yes, she had the body I idealized. But that was my issue, not hers. I glanced at her new partner and returned my gaze to her with a warm smile and a nod, as if to say I understood her feelings toward Sasha and was happy for her.

  “Xenia,” Sasha said, reaching out with his right hand to civilly shake hers while keeping his left arm firmly wrapped around my waist. She flashed him a bright-toothed smile that lasted all of a millisecond.

  “And Piotr,” he said, nodding to her partner. Apparently they were already familiar with each other.

  I should have known; Sasha and Samantha had both told me the world of the top pros was like a small town where everyone knew each other. Except me, of course.

  “Arabelle,” Sasha said with a little bow.

  “Hello, Sasha.” She nodded back. They greeted each other with the graciousness of a couple who’d parted on very amicable terms with good closure, and could now strike an easy friendliness toward each other.

  Funny, since she was only his last partner. Not so with Xenia, whose glares drilled tiny holes in each point on my body where she set her gaze. Well, she had been with him for much longer.

  “Do you know Andrew?” Arabelle said to both of us, extending her hand toward the tall, blond, debonair gentleman to her left.

  “I know of him, of course,” Sasha responded with a genuine smile.

  “Very pleased to meet you,” he said with an American accent that took me by surprise, given that everyone else on the team beside Arabelle was Russian. He gave each of us a firm handshake. He had light blue eyes that emanated ingenuousness and the same boyish dimples as Sasha.

  “Oh, and this is my new partner, Rory Laudner,” Sasha said.

  “Yes, of course. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Andrew said, now wrapping his other hand over the one holding my hand, so that he was now giving me a double shake.

  I giggled thinking, really?

  After introductions, Bob explained that the two tall couples were the dancing ballroom pair, and Sasha and I, and Xenia and Piotr would be the Latin pair of dancers who took the floor. The other two couples, including Arabelle and Andrew, would be alternates in case of injury to one of the regular pairs.

  Bob told us they’d hired a group of formation dancers for the opening dance presentation, by which the team would be announced. So, ever so thankfully, we didn’t need to learn any new routines. We’d simply be driven out in a caravan onto stage, exiting one couple at a time, after our names were called, beginning with Xenia and Piotr, then the other two ballroom couples, and then Sasha and I would exit last.

  As for the actual competition, Bob explained mainly to me—the others having done this many times before—the music would alternate between standard ballroom and Latin, beginning with ballroom. The first called couple would dance ballroom, then, when a bell sounded, would alternate with the other couple, who would take over. Same with the Latin dances. Xenia and Piotr would dance first, then we’d take over. Bob would tap Sasha on the shoulder and signal to Piotr when that was supposed to happen in case we didn’t hear the bell.

  “You okay, hon? You look like you’re about to toss your cookies,” Bob said to me.

  I hadn’t realized my feelings were so clearly written on my face. “Oh I’m fine. I’ll just follow Sasha.”

  “That’s good
, dear,” he said, laughing. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be, after all.”

  “Now for the actual dances, don’t worry if you don’t have a special routine. We fully expect you to use the ones you’ve prepared for the individual nights. So don’t—”

  “We choreographed a special routine,” Xenia interrupted. She shifted her weight to one foot and twisted her torso back and forth in a little cutesy dance, smiling sweetly at Bob.

  “Oh, wow. More than expected. That’s great, then!” he said, flapping his arms about like wings. He did like to gesticulate.

  “But, ah, did you?” he asked Sasha, a tone of hopefulness in his voice.

  “No, sorry, we didn’t,” Sasha said, shooting Xenia a look. She looked at him smugly.

  “That’s quite all right, quite all right, not at all expected. Especially with Rory being so new and all.”

  Xenia’s dancy little twisting grew more pronounced, as did her smug smile which she transferred to me.

  I wanted to smack her.

  “So, you two just go ahead with your Wednesday night routines,” Bob finished, addressing Sasha and me.

  He led us into the ballroom, so he could set the stage and tell us who would come out from where and when. It was my first time seeing the floor, and people were setting up for tonight’s Rising Star competition—the competition for newcomers. The one I should actually be in. Maintenance crew were checking chandeliers and spotlights, and making sure the emcee microphones worked. The floor was absolutely enormous, as was the entire room. There were I don’t know how many rising rows of chairs at the end of each side of the rectangular floor; I couldn’t count them all. The ballroom itself had three levels, so there were two balconies with more countless rows of seats on each side of each floor. And then there was a large area behind each series of rows marked “Standing Room.”

  Oh, wow. When this place is packed, it’s going to be like a small stadium, I thought. A shot of adrenaline charged through my veins. Nervous as I was, performing in front of a large crowd had been my childhood dream ever since I’d seen the North Carolina Ballet’s “Nutcracker” production in Raleigh when I was seven. This was good adrenaline surging through me, the type that would ensure I did my absolute best. I had to make sure to turn on that adrenaline, not the type of nervous energy that paralyzed me. Like the type Xenia’s glares and smug smile brought on.