Fever

by Tonya Plank

  After we marked our own entrances out and watched a run-through of the fun Rockettes-like introductory number danced by the formation team, we left the ballroom and walked back to the Pavilion shopping area so Sasha could try to find Daiyu.

  Daiyu herself hadn’t yet arrived but some of the others who worked for her had. Sasha suggested I browse around while he talked to the company’s publicist about autographs and photo shoots and that he’d text me when he was done. Just in case the texting on our American cell phones was again delayed, we agreed to meet back at the large red Daiyu tent in forty-five minutes.

  I was more than happy to browse on my own. It was like being in a fairy wonderland amongst all these drop-dead gorgeous gowns, shoes, and bejeweled accessories. Everything just glittered. I started with Daiyu’s tent area, which showcased a sampling of ready-made dresses with her drawings of gowns not yet made, and the materials to make them—beautiful fabrics and shiny crystals. I noticed how the crystals in the ready-made dresses were mostly hidden within the fabric behind lacy embellishments so that they would sparkle without making them look gaudy. The intricate lacework also made you wonder where the sparkles were coming from. The look captivated the eye while maintaining a subtle charm. Daiyu was a genius. I was so glad she was our sponsor.

  I wandered into the tent area of the next costumer. They had a cabinet full of glittering headbands and wristbands. I wondered if we should have thought of something like that. We didn’t have many accessories. I was amazed at the intricate details in the bracelets. The stones were so perfectly spaced in the band and were arranged in sometimes complicated designs. Someone worked hard. And the colors were quite interesting. Some of them changed slightly depending on the light. I was deep in fascination with one such series of gems when I began to feel a certain kind of heat emanating from across the room. Not a good kind of heat. Before I could look up I heard someone calling out.

  “Xenia! Xenia!”

  That voice. I knew it.

  It then sounded like a herd of horses came galloping down the hall. I looked up and saw the back of Xenia’s blonde head across the way at another costumer’s. She was sitting on a stool facing a mirror. It looked like she was admiring some glimmering earrings, though when I looked in the mirror, I saw that she had her gaze set right on me. My heart jumped. She knew right where I was and had been watching me. Creepy, if my sight was accurate. I shifted my position and stood behind a tall roll of fabric.

  But my heart flew to my throat when I saw where the words I’d heard were coming from. Down the aisle toward Xenia bolted a group of women I recognized from the studio. Sasha and Xenia’s Russian contingent, led by Svetlana, followed by a strutting, smug-faced but nonchalant—and far too suave to run—Luna. And picking up the end, strutting coolly as well, while holding her hand out in front of her, apparently admiring a large ornament on her finger she’d likely just treated herself to, was Cheryl.

  Ugh. Seriously?

  Sasha specifically told me not to worry about them showing up here; they never came to competitions they couldn’t perform in—in other words, the international ones that didn’t have pro/am components. What in the world were they doing here, then?

  “You look gorgeous, as usual. Ready for tomorrow night?” Luna said, running her hand down the back of Xenia’s head, in effect petting her like a cat.

  So they were here just to cheer on Xenia and Piotr, apparently.

  “Thank you. You guys really rock, you know that?” Xenia chirped, seeming to revel in sounding American. She turned around and hugged them. It appeared, mid-hug, that she whispered something into Cheryl’s ear. Cheryl turned her head and she began looking around in my direction. I stood right behind a large, standing roll of hot pink satin.

  Ridiculous, hiding as I was. I shook off my nerves and fingered the delicate satin, moving between two rolls so she could see me if she wanted. I saw her recognize me out of the corner of her eye. I couldn’t help but make eye contact. She narrowed her eyes and drilled her pupils into mine.

  “Can I help you with anything, miss?” said a male voice from behind the counter.

  “Oh, um no, I’m just looking, thank you.”

  I was glad he’d taken me out of my locked stare-off with Cheryl. I tried hard to focus on looking at the stones now. But it was useless. She stood there the whole time and glared. I kept my back to her while looking at the counter but I could feel her. She was just here to cheer on Xenia, I told myself repeatedly.

  Don’t make this about you. She’s not here to trip you up.

  Figuratively or literally.

  Chapter 11

  I couldn’t concentrate on the accessories with Cheryl’s beady eyes on my back, so I smiled and thanked the attendant, then walked back to Daiyu’s tent. I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw I had a text. It was from Samantha! I was way early for Sasha, so I walked around to the back of the tent where I felt I was safe from any unwanted attention, and read her message.

  Have you gone to that restaurant I told you about yet? Try it tonight! Wanna hear what you think of it!

  She was really into this restaurant. I texted her back that I would, later today, after Sasha and I got in a couple hours practice and I’d worked up an appetite.

  Not knowing what to do with myself until Sasha was finished with Daiyu’s people, and feeling silly for hiding, I peeked around the corner to see if Cheryl or any of her cohorts were near. They weren’t, but I spotted at the tent across from ours a very elegant, long-limbed woman standing in a very dancerly position, with her feet perfectly turned out into a forty-five degree third position—the Latin position. She had long, sleek, onyx hair and wore a short red sundress that belted at the waist, and high-heeled black patent leather pumps. She emanated class and sophistication galore. And the musculature in her legs was so beautifully defined.

  I knew that body and that hair. I knew exactly who she was. I’d seen her many, many times on video. Micaela. She turned in my direction to examine a piece of fabric. As she ran her fingers gracefully along the surface of the richly textured cloth I examined her face. She had razor sharp cheekbones, flawless creamy skin, large almond eyes that pointed upward at the edges, like a cat’s, and full, glossy lips. Her hair and makeup were flawless, as was her upright posture, even as she looked downward at the fabric. She was bewitching just to view.

  She must have sensed my gaze because she looked up. She was a true beauty. But not just because she had a gorgeous face and body. She somehow commanded your respect and admiration. I felt stupid for staring, and smiled down, bashfully. When I glanced back up at her, she was radiating this beautiful, serene smile, directed straight at me. I’m sure she just thought I was one of her fans. She smiled at me as if she was a gracious yet humble and grateful queen and I was one of her loyal subjects, and she was thanking me for that loyalty.

  Right then, I heard Sasha’s voice. I walked around to the front of the tent. Still no sign of Cheryl, Luna or Xenia, thankfully.

  “Oh good. I was just going to text you. We’re all done. Ready to practice?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him. We walked toward the back exit of the Pavilion, me in the nook of his shoulder. Mmmm, I liked this position.

  I wanted to tell him about Cheryl and Luna but somehow Micaela had cast this spell on me—a good spell. I was now calm and serene. I turned to look back at her before we left. She was still looking at me, smiling that same magnanimous smile, even though it was now clear I was her ex’s new partner. She wasn’t the least bit fazed. She was a study in grace.

  As we entered the practice hall, I decided to go ahead and tell Sasha I saw Cheryl and Luna speaking to Xenia in the Pavilion.

  “I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They looked like they’re here to support her,” I said, trying not to let on I was just a little worried. I was sick of being scared of Cheryl, anyway.

  He slowed down slightly but didn’t stop walking. “Good for them,” he said with a shrug. “I ha
ven’t known them to go to competitions they had no stake in. But good for them to travel, see a bit of the world, broaden their horizons.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “And they don’t have any stake, right?”

  “What? No, Rory.” He laughed. “This is on a completely different level from the American pro/am comps. They’re nobodies here. Don’t worry about them, okay? They are the last people you should be concerned with.”

  I understood his words. But then my mind raced a bit. They were nobodies, but Xenia wasn’t. Was Xenia the threat? As a dancer and competitor, hell yes. But Xenia would never stoop to unfairness. She was a serious competitor. Cheryl would, though. She had before and she would again. What if Cheryl was planning something Xenia knew nothing about?

  No. Where was my Micaela-generated serenity? I wouldn’t allow myself to voice any of this nonsense to Sasha.

  We walked through the ballroom again, where preparations for tonight were still underway, all the way to the back and through a black door I hadn’t even seen before, built into the wall. This opened into a hall which bore several doors on each side. Sasha opened one and we walked in. It contained a parquet floor nowhere near the size of the real ballroom of course, but big enough to practice on.

  He closed the door and whisked me around toward him, pulling me close and kissing me deeply. Mmmm, were we here to practice or what? This was nice! But no, we were here to practice. He released me and took a long inhale, then slowly and seductively unzipped my jacket, his fingertips trailing down my clavicle, my nipples, to my belly, where they unfortunately stopped. The jacket unzipped completely, he whipped it open and tore it over my shoulders, revealing my dance clothes. We both laughed. I knew what this was—an homage to my insistence on dancing naked together. Which we were apparently going to pretend to do here. He kissed me again, deeply, his tongue massaging mine, exploring my mouth, plunging toward my throat, before letting me go and backing off. Another deep inhale.

  “Okay, prrrrractice,” he said, holding up a finger as if I were the one being naughty. He intentionally rolled those r’s, knowing by now they made me want to swoon.

  “Don’t you shake your finger at me. You’re the one being naughty,” I said back at him, narrowing my eyes and giving a sexy pout.

  He kept a straight face. “Rrrrrrumba,” he said.

  I could kill him.

  We went through all five dances, beginning with our favorite. I was nervous, so nervous at the start of the rumba. This was for real. We were here and we were really doing this. Suddenly, everything I had just left me—all my confidence that I could do this. What if I screwed up big time? What would all his bazillions of fans think? That I ruined their idol’s chances. Would they ever forgive him for choosing such a moron as a partner? How Xenia and Cheryl and Luna would gloat. But no, my nerves were more about his fans. I couldn’t let them down. I messed up a few steps, momentarily forgetting and remembering too late to be on beat.

  “I’m sorry,” I started.

  “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just dance. Only dance.” His voice was strong and commanding. I didn’t dare disobey. He was serious but not frustrated. Not yet, anyway.

  We did keep going and I messed up a few more times but I did as he said, didn’t apologize and kept going.

  “Don’t think. Just move. Just dance,” he repeated.

  I forced myself to do as he said. I didn’t think about Cheryl, Xenia, or Luna, or his fans at the hotel, in the restaurant, or the Winter Garden lobby, worshipping him. They were all gone from my head. Leaving only the movement. And him. His body. Leading mine. Slowly, I felt my nervous energy begin to dissipate. And I made no more mistakes, at least none of consequence that would show to an audience.

  At the end of the first full run-through, he abruptly released my hand then walked briskly around the small floor, holding his head back and running his fingers through his hair. Now he seemed anxious.

  “See how much better it is when you just focus on the movement and don’t allow yourself to think?” he said to me, his tone soft, instead of berating as I’d expected.

  “Yes, yes, definitely,” I answered, a bit confused by the incongruity between his words and actions.

  “Yes, there were mistakes. But this is the time to make them. To get them out of our system. Most of them were minor, anyway.”

  I could tell how hard he was trying not to let his anxiousness and frustration at imperfection overcome him. Calling most of the mistakes minor was so not the old Sasha.

  “You know what they say,” I said. “That an imperfect practice leads to an excellent performance. And vice versa. So we’re good.” I smiled sweetly at him and raised my eyebrows.

  “Is that what they say?” He shook his head rapidly, like a puppy shaking off his nerves.

  “Yes,” I said, walking toward him. He was trying but it was a struggle. “Sasha, we’re going to be fine. More than fine. Far, far more than fine. Our dancing is excellent. We’re winners. We both know that. It’s only ourselves we have to overcome. And we’re going to do that.”

  I reached out and held his hands in mine. He closed his eyes for a few moments, then opened them, sighed, and pulled me into him, kissing my forehead.

  “You’re right. As always. You’re right,” he whispered.

  Yes, my boy was learning!

  ***

  “Where do you want to go for lunch?” he asked after our two hours were up. “I’m famished. Are you?” He had a slightly worried look in his eye.

  “I am!” I said with a sweet smile, letting him know I could read his thoughts—and that my anorexia spectrum disorder wasn’t returning.

  “Good, good,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  I rubbed up against his side, lacing my arm through his. I really liked walking around Blackpool arm in arm, or body in arm, like this. “Samantha told me there’s some Japanese place under the ballroom,” I said. “I wanna try that.”

  “Yes, it’s very good. I’ll take you there.”

  When we walked back through the ballroom, the Rising Star competition for newcomers was just starting out.

  “It’s not very crowded,” I said to Sasha as we walked around the ballroom’s perimeter.

  “That’s because not a lot of people are here yet. Most will come in tomorrow. This place will be packed tomorrow and Wednesday. You’ll see.”

  “Davay, Sveta! Let’s go!” I heard a familiar voice call out.

  But before I could look around much, lights dimmed and the first set of couples was called out. The cha-cha music began. Then the dancers took off.

  Just like at that first competition I saw in Orange County, like the first time I saw Sasha and Xenia at The Beverly Hilton, actually, the room was instantly transformed for me. My adrenaline was on fire. I remembered wanting to get up and dance with Sasha so badly when I first set eyes on him. Oh my gosh, that dream was actually coming true. And in a place like this.

  “Can we just stand here and watch a moment?” I asked.

  “Of course.” He led me toward the floor, and ushered me into a row up close. I closed my eyes and let myself breathe in the music, let the fire in the atmosphere penetrate my pores. I pictured our cha-cha routine. Saw the whole thing in my mind’s eye. Danced it in my seat with my muscles. Didn’t forget a thing. The music ended. The spell was over. I opened my eyes.

  “Woo hoo, Sveta! Yes!” shouted that same voice, a voice that sounded familiar but that I couldn’t really identify, which was now coming from my left. The person was clapping wildly as well, as I heard hands smacking together in a kind of syncopated rhythm.

  The dancers were taking bows. And then I saw her. Right in the middle of the stage was Svetlana, from our studio, Sasha’s former pro/am student, dancing with a tall, red-haired, freckle-faced man I’d never seen before.

  “Oh, there’s Svetlana,” I said to him, pointing.

  “Yeah, I just noticed her. She’d wanted to go pro. She was going to wait till she won a pro/a
m, but I’m glad she didn’t keep waiting. She was way too good to get held back by politics.”

  “She’s pretty awesome,” I agreed. “I always thought so.”

  So maybe Luna and Cheryl were here to cheer her on as well. It wasn’t so bad. Definitely not all about me. They could be happy for and support someone who wasn’t themselves. Right? Of course they could. I was busy telling myself this could be true when I heard a very familiar voice, one that I could identify.

  “No way! Girlfriend! Woo hoo!” This was most definitely Paulina.

  “No way” was right! I turned in the direction of her voice and looked all around. Was it an auditory mirage? I couldn’t see her. Then I saw a mane of red hair in my periphery. Oh, she was sitting diagonally behind me.

  I opened my mouth and reached toward her. We were too far apart to touch. She reached out to me too and we kind of air bear-hugged, which I’m sure was hilarious to any onlookers. But everyone was watching the dance floor anyway. The music for the next cha-cha set began and it’s a good thing it was loud because I literally screamed at her, “I have never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life!”

  She nodded exuberantly, then pointed toward the back.

  “Let’s go say hi,” I said to Sasha.

  “Sure,” he said.

  We walked toward the back row to meet Paulina.

  “Well, that’s quite a hello!” she said, squeezing me.

  “Could you hear me?” I said in disbelief.

  “Sure could. You have a strong voice, my dear, when you want to use it!”

  “Oh my gosh, you’re my only friend here. I don’t know anyone. And you’re my favorite person in the studio. I’m just so happy,” I mumbled into Paulina’s blouse as we hugged, for real this time.

  Sasha cleared his throat dramatically.