Dmitri nodded. “I could,” he said softly. He fully intended to.
Patrick wriggled a little at the look in his husband’s eyes. Still, he thought delightedly. He got the server’s attention; it was time for the check. “What did you think of that last thing Richard did with Willem?”
“Richard made the choreography. Very good. They dance well together.” Dmitri sipped some more wine. “They are in love.”
“Excellent. Now if we can land a good Cabaret partner for Hiro, you’re basically going to have a lock on the Mating Dance shows.” Dmitri snorted. Patrick grinned. “Is he still pestering Anya?” Dmitri cast his eyes to the heavens. Patrick laughed out loud.
A moment later the server was there with the check. A few minutes after that, their leftovers were packed up and they were walking home. Hand in hand, as they nearly always did now. So many people in the neighborhood recognized them. Patrick’s silver hair was unmistakable. They collected waves, nods, and ‘hellos’ all the way back to the house. “It’s time to get the place painted,” Patrick observed as they walked up to the front door. “Can you believe we’ve been here almost thirteen years?”
Dmitri glanced at him, then unlocked the door. “Is surprising,” he admitted.
“It seems like forever, and no time at all.” They went inside. Door locked, leftovers put away, and upstairs to get ready for bed. Another night together.
Chapter 13
June 2018
Dmitri and Patrick were hanging back by the wall at Vince and Kelli’s anniversary party. “Is that song actually a tango?” Patrick said after a minute. Vince had been doing some before he abandoned it in favor of kissing his wife. Tomás and quite a few others were still, apparently, in favor of tango.
Dmitri looked amused. “Any song can be tango. You see, even Kenji can do it.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. Kenji had been flogged through that three-hour tango boot camp just like he had. They’d both be dancing – Kenji with Michelle, and Patrick with Dmitri - in two giant Argentine tango mobs for the movie. “Oh, but this one. This is more my speed.” A new song had started, one that Patrick recognized. Nice and slow, and unmistakably tango.
“Oblivion,” Dmitri said. “Your favorite.” He put his right arm around Patrick.
“Obliviate me, sweetheart.” Patrick turned into that embrace, put his left hand high on his husband’s shoulder, and set his right hand in Dmitri’s left. They joined the dancing crowd. Both of them were thinking of their own fifth wedding anniversary next month. There would be a party, right here at the studio, the center of both their lives for so long.
It would be not on the exact anniversary date, but on the last Saturday in July. The day after filming wrapped on the tango movie. A celebration of that, and of the many studio members who were involved, as well as of their fifteenth year together. Patrick turned his head a few degrees, resting his forehead against Dmitri’s temple, and felt the arm around his back tighten. Only a little, only enough to say ‘mine.’ I love you too.
Six weeks later, the studio was jam-packed again. In fact, it was overflowing; there were tables on the sidewalk in front, people standing around in back, and a constant stream of to-and-fro. Everyone who came for Vince and Kelli’s anniversary party was there again for Dmitri and Patrick’s. Plus there were all the other people associated with the tango movie, Dmitri’s local ballroom friends, Patrick’s business friends, a contingent from Glendale, WeHo denizens and neighbors – it was huge. Elena’s husband Tony had planned ahead and produced a video, a retrospective compiling photos and clips. It was playing on a big screen mounted in the side room. On another wall in there hung a huge double portrait painted by their friend Kevin Park, showing Dmitri and Patrick in their tail suits. Behind the desk, a framed certificate from the Chamber of Commerce, issued the previous year. It congratulated Shall We Dance for ten successful years in West Hollywood.
The main room now featured four large-format photos. Two were from Dmitri and Michelle’s final championship season. Two were from her debut with Vince the previous fall. Local press was on hand to ask about the transition. Patrick was happy to tell them all about it, and also to talk up Tony’s documentary. ‘Change Partners’ was going to have a theatrical release in Europe before being released to streaming in the U.S. They were going to have a watch party, right here at Shall We Dance. When someone asked what it was all like for him personally, what it took to hang on through all those years of competition, he said, “When you find the love of your life, you will do whatever it takes. At least, that’s what we decided. And I would not change a thing. Look at this wonderful life we have.” He gestured to the crowded room. People were dancing; you couldn’t put dancers in a room with music and not expect dancing. Not all of those holding each other and swaying together were dancers.
“So what’s next for you?”
He did a ‘who the hell knows’ thing. “I guess we all have our fingers crossed about ‘The Ghost of Carlos Gardel.’ I’ve never been to a movie premiere.” That was apparently a successful distracting-the-press gambit; a question was asked, Patrick steered the inquirer to the movie’s director (who happened to be in the other room), and then he went to find his husband. Dancing, of course. “Mon mari,” he said, cutting in without compunction. “Avec moi maintenant.”
Dmitri said, “Avec toi toujours.”
August 2018
From the top of the Eiffel Tower, the past few months looked like a blur. The Shall We Dance team did a little bit of dancing up there – not obnoxiously, but because they couldn’t resist, and the other tourists didn’t seem to mind. Possibly because half of them were there for the Gay Games too. They’d come to Paris a couple of days early so they could acclimate to the new time zone. Sam and Mateo were gunning for another medal in the men’s Latin competition; Vicky and Sharon were focused on making the final in the women’s Standard event. Dmitri didn’t offer assurances, because of course none of them had any idea what the other dancers would be like, and there were even more competitors this time than in Cleveland four years ago.
“This is bananas,” Sharon said, gazing out over the hazy Paris twilight. “This is the coolest thing ever.”
“I thought our honeymoon was the coolest thing ever.” Vicky tried to sound offended, but gave it up. “Eh, you’re right. San Francisco is not the same as Paris. When’s the last time you guys were here?” She didn’t direct that at anybody in particular.
“We were here a couple of years ago,” Patrick said.
Hiro said, “I haven’t been here for five years. This is going to be much more fun than that was.” He squeezed Kristine. They were there only to support the others. Neither of the studio’s couples had competed outside the U.S. before, and going to cheer on Kristine’s brother and their friends had felt like a perfect excuse for a delayed honeymoon.
Kristine was leaning against her husband. She looked up and he gave her a swift kiss. She smiled. “We should probably get down to the ground. Don’t want to be late for dinner with Tony and Elena.”
Dmitri nodded, everybody else agreed, and they made their way to the lift. An hour later they were well into a leisurely meal in a restaurant overlooking the Seine. Patrick had assured the management that they would be there for a long time. The ten of them had a lot to catch up on. The first topic of discussion wasn’t dancing, or families: it was a documentary Tony had helped make in 2016, which won an Academy Award.
“I couldn’t believe it,” he said, setting down his empty wine glass. Vicky helpfully refilled it. “We saw it online the next day. Sacha and Charlotte sent an email saying they couldn’t believe it.”
“It was such an incredible story.” Sharon speared a mushroom. “Twelve years, all those people watching, and nobody figured out Maggie was Sacha. He was beautiful.”
Vicky swallowed the last of her steak. “They were both beautiful on the red carpet. What are they doing now?”
“They are traveling. Neither of them ever could before
.” Before Sacha had inherited eight figures from that Hollywood producer. Tony glanced at Patrick, who he knew was on Sacha’s financial team as well as a friend.
Patrick answered the unspoken question. “They don’t ever have to go home, if they don’t want to. But I predict they’ll land back in the Hollywood Hills before too much longer. They’ve found a family now.” That led into a discussion of all the families associated with Shall We Dance, which continued into the after-dinner drinks stage and led quite naturally to the new Benedetti baby.
Elena pulled out her phone. “You all know our daughter was born in June. We hadn’t decided on a name then. The whole family was driving us crazy.” She had a photo on screen, and handed the phone off to make the rounds of the table. Sharon and Kristine made cooing noises.
“True,” said Tony. “A family name, a favorite name, a name they wanted to give their child but three names was too many.” He shook his head while everyone else laughed. “We thought about bringing her to meet you today. But there will be other times. Any of you – all of you – are welcome to stay at the castello when you come to Italy.”
“We appreciate,” said Dmitri.
Patrick gave him a sideways glance and a smile. “We sure do. We haven’t been to Italy for years either.” Not since they made it part of their trip to Odessa, to see Dmitri’s family. “So come on. What did you decide on?”
Elena looked from Dmitri to Patrick. “Patrizia Demetra.” She saw Patrick’s eyes glisten and said hurriedly, “Oh don’t you dare.” Everyone but Dmitri and Patrick jumped in with comments and jokes and changes of subject. It was another hour before they finally left the restaurant.
Tony and Elena weren’t staying at the same hotel, so they parted ways. The other eight walked slowly back along the river. It was late, but the night was mild. Cafés and bars were still open, and there was plenty of foot traffic. Everyone had the slightly elevated, pleasantly fatigued feeling that followed hours of good company, good food, and plenty of wine. Each couple gradually separated from the others. There was some kissing along the way. Dmitri and Patrick walked hand in hand, nodding to other couples. Many of them were same-sex couples.
“The whole week will be like this, won’t it?” Patrick loved it. “It’s like West Hollywood only so much more glamorous.” Dmitri snorted. “If the boys or the girls decide to do this again, we’ll go too, won’t we?”
Dmitri squeezed his hand. “Definitely.”
“I just about lost my shit when Elena said that about the baby.”
“I as well.” Dmitri put his arm around Patrick now. Who would have thought that all these years later, Elena would be as much like family to them as Vicky and Sharon. “She loves you too.”
Patrick leaned in, tipping his head against his husband’s. “I never expected this. When we opened the studio, I never thought, you know, a decade down the line we’d have a daughter. We’d have a family. You made that happen.”
“We did,” Dmitri corrected, because only their love made the rest of it possible. They’d talked about adopting, years ago. But that was before it was legal for them to marry. Dmitri’s schedule had been at its worst. As the head of his firm, Patrick could have been a part-time parent at best. When Vicky and Sharon proposed that Dmitri father their child, it seemed like a perfect solution. And so it had proved. Now every member of the studio was married, including Richard. The new, adjacent space accommodated Rosa’s office and private lessons, but also played host to one or another child of the studio on a daily basis.
Patrick thought of that now. “It’s a good thing we got the next-door space. And thank God for Rosa.” Dmitri made a sound of assent. The Calderóns had both been timely and valuable additions to the staff. Once the tango movie came out, and people saw what Tomás could do, there would be a flood of new Argentine tango students. When Vince and Michelle took the Open Professional title – as he was sure they would – they would need all their ingenuity to manage the demand for floor time. Patrick said, “It’s going to be tight in there, this time next year. Ever think of spinning anything off?”
Dmitri knew what he meant. There had been jokes before about opening a second location. He didn’t really want to; it was lovely having everything so close to home. “Not seriously,” he said eventually, as the hotel came into view. “Perhaps if we were younger. But now, you are more important.” He stopped walking and turned toward Patrick. Lifted his free hand to stroke back his hair. Kissed him. “My dear love.”
Patrick swooned a little. He always did when Dmitri kissed him in public. He twined his arms around his husband’s neck and pressed close. They were still kissing when Hiro and Kristine caught up to them. They separated then, with a look of promise, and all walked on together.
September 2018
Someone’s phone vibrated with an incoming text not long after eleven on the night after Labor Day. They were already in bed, and nearly asleep. Patrick lifted his head, frowning. “Did I forget to turn off my phone, or did you?”
Dmitri made a small annoyed sound, reaching over to pick up his phone and confirm he wasn’t the culprit. “You.”
“Sorry.” Patrick doubted it was something urgent, but he was awake so he might as well look. “Shit!”
Dmitri sat up. He’d never heard exactly that tone. “What is it?”
Patrick held out the phone. Dmitri read the message. It was from Vicky: If you see the news don’t freak out, Victor was conscious when they left and the rest of us are okay. Watch Corden tonight. Also #PunchAHomophobe. They stared at each other, then without a word got out of bed. ‘Victor was conscious’ was the kind of cryptic phrase that produced all kinds of horrible imaginary scenarios.
They bypassed the TV, going to the home office to wake up one of the computers instead. A quick search on ‘Victor Garcia’ produced what seemed very incomplete stories nearly as horrible as those imagined scenarios. “Shot in the back,” Patrick said faintly. “Mother of God.” Scanning through, finding what seemed to be the last word: Andy uninjured, Victor in surgery, shooter apprehended by their security team.
Dmitri felt sick. Their friends always made light of being celebrities. Rarely mentioned being, or feeling, threatened. It was so easy to forget, living here in West Hollywood, that there were so many people who wanted gay men to be silent, invisible, or dead.
And there was absolutely nothing they could do. Patrick sent a reply to Vicky. They each sent a message to Andy. Then, because whatever was happening would happen whether they slept or not, they resorted to the sleeping pills Patrick kept for emergencies. This seemed to qualify.
In the morning they found an update. Victor had come through surgery well. Best of all, there were texts from Andy. The first was a group message that came in close to midnight: If you’re staying up to watch Corden, good. He played ‘Delilah’ for me. Victor has a fractured shoulder blade, a splintered rib, and about a thousand stitches. Sort of sleeping now. I’ll be here all night not sleeping. Will ping you once mi esposo can make conversation. Love & Kisses. The second was to the two of them only, sent at just before six: Thanks for your notes guys. It’s been a hell of a night. Victor woke up for real not long ago and the team is in there checking him out. I think he’s going to be okay. Don’t stop praying though please. OXO
Dmitri’s first thought was to go to the studio, to work and keep his mind occupied. Patrick basically forbade it. “I have to go in, because it’s extension month and everybody who was fucked in April is still fucked. Andy is one of your two best friends. Even you cannot put that in a box.” He studied his husband for a moment. “Do not work. Stretch. Maybe go to church. I’m going to check with Hiro later, and if he says he’s seen you we are going to have words.” Dmitri snorted, moved his head dismissively, and relaxed. Patrick did too. He leaned in for a kiss. “I know you love them. I love them too. They’re going to be all right. I’ll call you later. Je t’aime.”
“One of three best friends,” Dmitri corrected, because Patrick was the bes
t of the best. “Je t’aime aussi.” He hadn’t precisely agreed, but he did as Patrick asked. He rescheduled things, stayed home, checked the news, watched Andy’s press conference. Heard ‘an exit wound the size of my hand’ and sent up another prayer. Spoke to Kenji, to Tomás, and to Vince.
Another text came in from Vicky later: Andy now has his own clothes and that chocolate strawberry thing from La Provence. Victor has been on his feet a couple of times and is cussing. Says his pec tat is shredded. Hospital will keep him at least one more day. No lung or nerve damage by some miracle. They know everyone wants to see them but V really can’t take a lot of company so please hang back. Also frankly Andy is a human flamethrower right now so he needs a minute. We’ll keep you posted
Dmitri imagined coming that close to losing Patrick, and completely sympathized with the human flamethrower. He sent his own text: Andy we are still praying. When there is anything we can do, please call. Our hearts to yours
He received a reply almost immediately, which surprised him until he realized Andy was probably in the room with Victor, watching him rest, with nothing else to do: Hi Dmitri that was the worst night of my life. V is being a tough guy. I am self-medicating with vodka
I too. Did Vicky bring it?
Yes she sent some in the ambulance last night and a supplement this afternoon. Thank God for her. And for our team. Stan saw the guy, Jamil tackled him. Somewhere in between, we didn’t die
A light would go out in the world if you had. And in our lives
Jesus Dmitri do not get sentimental on me holding it together with my teeth here
Change Partners (The L.A. Stories) Page 23