Dmitri could see the moment when Sam and Mateo decided to go for it in their paso doble. They’d found a clear spot toward the center of the dance floor. The couples around them were oriented in ways suggesting that as the music built to its traditional flourish of trumpets, no-one would be flying into Sam and Mateo’s space. So they threw their paired tour jetée, and the crowd went wild. Dmitri clapped his hands, grinning, while Patrick whistled.
“The jive is going to be anticlimactic,” Patrick said during the pause between dances. “Those guys are terrific. Good job, coach.” Dmitri was still smiling, but he shook his head a little. Julia had done more work with the men than he had. “Oh come on. You totally taught Sam how to do that.” Dmitri performed half a shrug. Patrick nudged him with a shoulder. “It’s going to be a long night.”
It already had been, what with the split heats and the noise level. But they happily stayed, because their couple made the next round. Mateo and Sam went over to the board where the call-backs were posted. Mateo grabbed Sam in a bear hug, lifting him off the floor for a laughing second. When it came time for the final, Patrick and Dmitri both sat forward. They didn’t know how the couples had been scored in the semifinal. But Sam and Mateo were on the floor, with what looked like infinite space, and they danced magnificently.
“Bronze medal,” Patrick said on their way up to their room. “Yeah, baby.” Dmitri snorted. “Think they’ll want to do it again?” Dmitri gave him a look that said ‘need you ask.’ Patrick laughed.
September 2014
Dmitri and Michelle were in competition at the Embassy Ball on Labor Day weekend, and Patrick skipped that one too. He was already dealing with the second round of major tax deadlines. After that, the competitors were in the studio making very minor changes to their four competition routines, and perfecting their new show dance. Thanks to Elena and Julia, Dmitri and Patrick still had time to breathe.
They were at home doing exactly that the week before the big dance concert. The studio was closed to private lessons on this day so the cast could run through all the numbers before taking the show to Chrome for dress rehearsal. All summer, Dmitri gave space to ‘Green Darkness.’ It was a new kind of thing, a full program with a narrative based on the Beowulf story. The stars were outsiders, but the entire troupe was cast at Shall We Dance. Patrick had seen only bits and pieces; Dmitri had seen all of the routines, in part or in full, over the past two months. They planned to go see it at the club after getting back from Hawaii. Patrick stretched, rolled over, and sat up. He reached for the glass of chilled Viognier on the nightstand and looked down at his gorgeous husband. God I love thinking that. Even after a year he still shivered at the thought. “So what did you think the last time you saw them?”
“Mateo has done good work with group numbers.” Dmitri leaned over to kiss Patrick’s naked thigh, then sat up himself. “You will enjoy.”
“That’s three of your Latin boys in the troupe, right?” The ‘boys’ ranged in age from twenty-three to thirty-six.
“Gary, Michael, and Sean. I was relieved Mateo did not choose Richard.” The latter was a longtime student, a man who’d actually done a Cabaret routine with Mateo two years before.
Patrick flipped through his mental files for a moment, placing Richard. “Oh, they did that ‘Frankenstein’ paso, right. Why relieved?”
“Richard is fragile. He would have given too much.”
Patrick made a sound of comprehension. “How are Vince and Vicky doing?”
“Vince is excellent. Vicky,” Dmitri performed a gesture that said ‘astounding.’
Patrick snickered. “She likes to dance hard, does she?” Every one of the troupe numbers in this ‘Beowulf’ thing was a battle. “What does Sharon say?”
“She says, you are all insane.” Patrick laughed. Dmitri glanced over. “She is pregnant.”
“Oh shit, already?! First try?” Dmitri nodded, looking shy and happy and proud. “Well, good job, Daddio.” That got something very close to a laugh. Patrick leaned over for another kiss. That whole thing was so out-of-nowhere. And now here they were. “Okay, so you’re the baby daddy. What in the hell does that make me?” Dmitri was laughing, making no sound as usual. “Test-tube daddy once removed? Step-tubey?” Dmitri laughed out loud. Patrick always loved the way that looked. He pulled his husband close and kissed his forehead. “Crazy, huh? After all these years, and we never even thought it was really possible. God bless those girls.”
Dmitri nodded. It was undoubtedly old-fashioned and possibly chauvinistic to be so gratified at the rapid success. No doubt it had something to do with this. Specifically, this health-conscious, constantly physical life. And this love. This happiness.
October 2014
“You look different,” Patrick said, with a puzzled frown, when he saw Paul at the office on Monday. A second later he said, “You shaved your head! You look ten years younger.”
Paul smiled. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
“I had such a panic attack when my hair started going gray.” Patrick had dyed his hair for years before finally giving in to the natural look. When his niece half-jokingly called him a silver fox, he embraced it.
“But you’ve got good hair. My yoga teacher kept treating me like a grandfather, I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Hmm,” said Patrick, who thought a little more than that might have gone on. Paul’s whole being was different, relaxed but energized. Patrick knew he’d been seeing Kevin, in a very cautious, sedate, non-physical kind of way. He got the idea there might have been a change in that relationship. “Got time for lunch today?”
“Sure.” Paul looked as if he knew he might be getting interrogated, and as if the thought amused him.
Actually, thought Patrick, he looks like he can’t wait to tell me something. He said, “I’ll swing by at one,” and when Paul nodded he went away laughing under his breath.
A few hours later, when they’d been seated at the Mexican restaurant down the street from the office, Patrick leaned forward and said, “Sunday fun day?” Paul started laughing. Patrick didn’t wait for an answer. “You seriously look great. Happy?” Paul nodded. “Good. Can I bitch about this fucking ballroom shit one more time?” Paul nodded again, smiling now. “They’re going to Ohio in November and if they win, it’ll be over. Nothing but shows. No more travel, no more twenty hours a week of rehearsals, no more too-tired-to-play, no more gorgeous blonde getting more of my sweetie than I do.”
“Are you going to Ohio with them?”
“You’d better believe it. And if they win - when they win - I will be doing an award-winning happy dance. Jesus, what a couple of years.” He had a moment of thinking compared to some things those were not really bad years but he knew Paul would understand. “Now tell me what’s up with you.”
“I think I’m in love. I never expected to be in love again. Kevin and I,” he looked around, lowering his voice a little, because even in West Hollywood discretion was sometimes the better part of valor, “we got physical yesterday. It was … so blindingly good.”
“Like it the same way, huh?” Paul nodded again, with an expression that told Patrick as much as Paul had loved Bob, that hadn’t been the case with them. “That was my one big anxiety when I met Dmitri. We were both getting up there age-wise, set in our ways, you know. So first of all, I never expected to meet the love of my life at a damn ballroom competition, especially considering I was there under duress. And then I had to wonder, shit, he came here from Ukraine and what kind of trauma might he have and Jesus, all this.”
“How long did you know each other before, you know.” This was a conversation they hadn’t had before.
“About a month. I was motivated.” Patrick waited for Paul to stop laughing before continuing. “Ballroom at that time was very much closeted. It’s still kind of that way, not quite as bad. But his schedule then was pretty much as bananas as it’s been this year so the best place for me to see him was at a competition. I followed him around
like a groupie for a while, I flew to fucking Denver, and finally he consented to come up to my room, and holy smokes.” Patrick indulged in a moment of pornographic nostalgia. It might have shown on his face because Paul laughed again. “Revelatory,” he added. Then the server was there to get their order. When she went away, Patrick asked, “Really good, huh?”
“Best of my life. I almost said all kinds of things. I’ll probably say them all pretty soon. I have no idea what will happen, but I’m so glad I met him.” He had to ask, though. “Are you sure it’s not too soon? I ask myself what Bob would think, and all I come up with is something he said a couple of weeks before he died. He said, ‘live your life.’ And I was trying to. But somehow I never thought of meeting someone new.”
“You didn’t think maybe sometime in the next twenty or thirty years, you might find another man to share your life?” Patrick said gently. “I wouldn’t have either. If I lost Dmitri, I wouldn’t be able to imagine loving again. But the heart is a resilient muscle.” He let that sit for a moment. “What does he think of that room you were building before the show?” Patrick had seen the finished project.
“He liked it a lot. I’m donating it to a fundraiser next month. I’ve already started building a new one. I think I might have to keep this one, though. It should be done by the time you get back from Ohio, I’ll have you guys over and you can see it.”
“Will Kevin be there?”
“I hope so.” They finished their lunch. On the way back to the office Paul said, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Did Dmitri and his students end up doing the baby thing?”
“Oh my God that’s right, I never told you. As soon as they got back from Cleveland they went to the clinic. Sharon got pregnant on the very first try. She and Vicky are getting married like any minute now.”
“That’s wonderful. I remember you and Dmitri were talking about adopting a few years back. This is better?”
“So much better. They’ve been his students for almost five years, they’re great girls, he’s so excited. And if I can be honest, this is best case scenario, because I would have liked for us to have a child, but at this age?” He gave Paul an eloquent look. “I’ll be going on seventy-eight when this tadpole graduates from high school. Did you ever want kids?”
Paul shook his head. “I’ve never even had a pet.” Patrick was still laughing when they got back to the office.
Life in and around Shall We Dance had been, all the regulars agreed, pretty much bonkers since August. Every professional with teaching privileges was completely booked. The group classes were packed. With Gay Games medalists, Salsa Challenge champions, and World Open Professional Smooth champions in the house, demand for instruction exceeded capacity.
Dmitri and Michelle spent a half-hour dancing rounds almost every day, and the floor was always cleared for them. Those rehearsals were open to spectators, but not to cameras - except for Tony’s.
The Dmitri-and-Michelle story wasn’t the focus of Tony’s documentary, but because Elena had been Dmitri’s partner and was now his colleague, Tony felt it was an important accent to the Elena-and-Mateo story. It spoke to the ebb and flow of a dance career, the necessity of flexibility in partnership as well as in the body. He had also learned that if they won again, as he believed they would, Dmitri intended to retire from professional competition. That would leave Michelle without a partner, a situation Tony felt sure would be temporary. If she decided to go back on campaign with a new partner, her story could provide another arc for his documentary.
Dmitri and Michelle somehow found time to prepare a number for the Cabaret’s Halloween show. Tony was there, delivering lunch for Elena, when Dmitri’s student Vince taped the number for their submission. This was, for them, a formality. Michelle was still a principal with the Cabaret.
“That’s the same choreography, isn’t it,” Vince said when they finished. Dmitri raised his eyebrows in inquiry. “From your first Argentine tango number, the one you did back in twenty eleven. When I heard you were doing a number I thought, you are both loco, but now it makes sense.”
Michelle also raised her eyebrows, half-laughing. She knew they were loco, but re-working a dance they’d done before was more fun than work. “Have you memorized all of them?”
“The ones the boss does,” Vince said, with a sidelong glance at Dmitri’s amused expression. “Kelli will tell you I’m always trying to steal his shit. Can I steal some of that? We were thinking of doing this tango competition in February, with the ‘Moulin Rouge’ version of that song.”
“Is good,” said Dmitri. “Take what you like. You will do theater arts this time?” Vince and Kelli had done Argentine tango in competition before, but not in the category that included lifts. Dmitri’s routine was full of them.
“She says since I haven’t dropped her yet I probably won’t this time. We’ll need some coaching.”
“Speak to Elena, she has my schedule.” Dmitri took the camera from Vince. “There will be time, in December and January. If we win.”
“You’re totally going to win.” To Vince, there wasn’t any question about it. He was a swing, salsa, and tango man himself, but like most of the serious dancers at the studio, he kept up with The Boss’s campaign. There were many good professional couples in the Smooth division. None of them outclassed Dmitri and Michelle.
Tony felt the same way. The American Smooth style was beginning to catch on around the world, with top International Standard couples adopting the open techniques that made for such crowd-pleasing show dances. Home-grown couples still had the advantage, and Dmitri’s entire professional career had been based in the U.S. Unless one of them were to be injured, Dmitri and Michelle were the hot favorites to win again.
November 2014
Two years and nine months after their debut, Dmitri and Michelle competed for the last time, winning their second World Open Professional Smooth championship title. Patrick was there with them again at the Ohio Star Ball. Throughout their campaigns he’d been all over the country with them. Taking care of the travel, making sure they were fed and rested, organizing the massage therapists and acupuncturists and chiropractors who kept the competitors going. He’d missed very few of their events. When they went up to collect their second trophy, for the show dance, he couldn’t hold back the tears. Michelle was crying too when she and Dmitri came to the table where Patrick waited with Kenji. She kissed Patrick and said “Thank you” before Kenji wrapped her in his arms. After kissing her like he hadn’t seen her for months - which he basically hadn’t - he scooped her up and carried her out of the ballroom.
Patrick turned to Dmitri. The two trophies rested on the table. Dmitri looked tired, but at peace. “You did it, baby,” said Patrick. “Now you’re for me.”
Dmitri said, “Only for you,” and kissed him on the mouth. It was the first time he’d ever kissed Patrick that way in a competition ballroom. Usually Patrick kissed him, on the cheek, which in this very ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ sport was the most they’d been comfortable with, even after their marriage. This time, finally, it was the kiss he gave Patrick in private, the kiss Patrick always wanted. Open-mouthed, lingering, overtly sexual, knee-weakening. When Dmitri eventually stood away Patrick knew he was flushed. Sleepy-eyed, short of breath, completely seduced as he always was. Dmitri still had an arm around him. His expression was warm, loving, happy. “Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime aussi,” Patrick said. “Can we go upstairs now?” They could have stayed; dozens of people seemed to want to talk to Dmitri, to congratulate him. But they each picked up a trophy, and with nods and smiles made their way out of the ballroom and up to their room. They didn’t come out again till they had to leave for their flight home. Patrick spent most of the next week getting used to the idea that this part of their lives was over.
The odds of them winning were good enough that the organizer of the California Star Ball, held in L.A. the week after Ohio, put in an advance request for a spotlight dance. If they hadn’t won
it would have been bittersweet. Dmitri would have had to decide if he truly wanted to go on with this, and put Patrick through this, for another year. He knew Kenji cared about the second title even less than Patrick did, and was more than ready to have his wife to himself.
And now that was how it would be. Dmitri had announced his retirement from competition. Michelle was with Kenji, and Dmitri was with Patrick. Except there would always be performances, and unfortunately that sometimes meant injuries. They rehearsed the morning they were due to perform that spotlight dance, and a lift went wrong. Michelle knew, from the low, stifled sound Dmitri made. “Put me down.” He set her carefully on the floor. “What happened? Your shoulder. Shit. Should we take that one out?”
He made light of it, because he wanted to do this performance. “Is nothing. We will dance tonight. We will have final video.” They’d already performed this dance, of course. And it wouldn’t be the last time they danced together. He knew he didn’t have to say any of that. Michelle could read his mind as well as Patrick could.
She patted his back. “Okay. You’re the boss.”
At home, Dmitri let Patrick fuss over him a little. He demonstrated full range of motion, without trying to conceal the discomfort. Patrick always knew. There was the usual moment of visible temptation to ask Dmitri not to dance, and the usual moment of visible resignation. “Mon amour.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m taking a cold pack and Tiger Balm and painkillers along tonight.” Patrick was an expert on getting-the-dancers-through-it by now. He was really looking forward to not needing to do so much of that.
Yet he couldn’t deny, watching them dance, that it was worth it. No athlete went through life pain-free. And this dance was all about pain. It was set to ‘I’ll Be Seeing You,’ which Vince had chosen for them, and it was a killer.
Change Partners (The L.A. Stories) Page 14