by Ashley Logan
Pushing himself off the couch, Serge stumbled past her to the kitchen. Using the counter for support, he open the fridge and took out the milk. Chugging it back from the bottle, he grabbed bread and peeled a banana, squashing it between the slices. Practically inhaling it, it was gone in a few bites and he made another.
“Look at you! You’re out of control! Stuffing your face? You’ll be huge again in no time.”
Serge said nothing as he finished the second sandwich while clinging to the bench.
He was out of control, but not in the way she was thinking.
Why hadn’t he just eaten? Instead he’d run himself empty to punish himself for losing Violet.
Sliding to the tiles, he looked up at Gina. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’ve run eight miles. I don’t need a lecture.” Closing his eyes, he began to feel a bit better. “When I’m not dizzy anymore, we’re going to talk about why you chose now to leave Rick, and what it is you’re looking for here. You are my good friend, Gina. I won’t have you making decisions based on a whim.”
“A whim?” she uttered, making him open his eyes a crack. As soon as he saw her irate expression, he wished he hadn’t looked.
“A whim! For years you’ve pursued me and now I don’t count because of some whore?”
“She’s not a WHORE!” he yelled, fists clenching at the word. “And you have no rights to me! Yes, you helped me when I needed it most, and I will always be grateful for that, but that doesn’t mean you have a claim on me! For years you’ve kept me on a hook, making your own little promises. That kiss kept me up at night. I’ve hated myself this whole time for loving another man’s wife, but it’s now you come to offer the world, Gina. Why is that?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she doesn’t answer.
“Are you jealous of Violet because I like her, or because Rick went and watched her dance?”
“Both,” she admitted quietly, having the decency to blush a little at the confession.
“Well Violet and I aren’t together, as of this morning. Where does that leave you and me? Still want me even though she doesn’t? Or is this revenge against Rick?” Serge gritted his teeth, but held her eye. He wanted it straight.
“I don’t want to lose another friend today if I can help it.” Serge didn’t add that losing people made him do things to himself that he didn’t want to do anymore.
Gina’s expression softened a bit more. “I’m sorry, Serge. Do you want to talk about it?”
“It? What? Violet?” he asked, shaking his head. “No. Talk about you and Rick. Do you want to stay married?”
Again, she stayed silent. Maybe she didn’t know.
“You did almost just have a baby together,” he said more calmly. “Why don’t we talk about that?”
Sinking slowly to the tiles again, Gina sat opposite him, but said nothing.
“It must have been hard to lose something so important. I can’t imagine the stress that would bring to your marriage. Was it planned?” he asked gently.
Gina shook her head.
“Did you want it?”
Soberly nodding her head, she sighed.
“Did Rick?”
Looking at her lap, Gina shrugged. “He thought it might be yours.”
“Is he crazy? Does he not see how loyal you are?” Serge frowned and leaned his head back against the cupboards. “It’s my fault. He was too blinded by what I was projecting to even consider your loyalty. I’m so sorry Gina. I’m such an idiot.”
“Me too,” she said quietly. “I did keep you on the hook. I got something from you that I wasn’t getting from Rick and I was wrong to do it. That must have hurt him too.” Lowering her head to her hands, she moaned. “I messed up so bad Serge. When we lost the baby, it was just one more nail in the coffin. He was so relieved when he saw how you were with Vi, and I went and messed that up too by showing how jealous I was once your attention was elsewhere. I felt like I was losing more than a baby, I was losing my partner and friend, my appeal, my youth, the dream of a family. I panicked, I guess. I thought if I was desirable again...” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” Sliding across the tiles to sit beside him, she let out a shuddering sigh and leaned against his shoulder.
“So you do want to stay married? And you do want a family with Rick?” Serge asked to clarify.
Gina nodded against his bicep.
“And when we kissed just before, did you feel anything remotely resembling enjoyment, or lust, or love?”
She shook her head. “You didn’t either.”
“No.”
“Well I guess that about sums it all up then. Friends?” she asked offering her hand for shaking. Serge accepted it and kept hold of it. They sat together a while, holding hands and mulling over their thoughts.
“There was mention of dinner?” he asked eventually.
Gina stifled a laugh. “Do I need to ease up on you about the food situation?”
“Yes please. So what are we talking?” he asked sniffing the air. “Thai? Red curry?”
“You’re gifted,” she said, pulling herself up and punting his butt with her foot.
Serge heaved himself off the floor, again holding the counter for support as his head rushed.
“Okay?”
“Stood too fast. Okay now,” he added. “You want another drink before we call Rick and get him over here?”
Gina sighed. “Maybe two.”
“Procrastinator.”
“You got me,” she said, looking around. Taking her phone from the counter, she paused. “What if he won’t come?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears again.
“He’ll come, G. He loves you. It’s time to finish with this thing,” he said, gesturing between the two of them in a circular motion. “We should have fixed it years ago. I’m sorry I hung on to you so long. I’ll let Rick know it’s time to take my training wheels off.”
Gina made a disgusted sound in her throat. “That makes me sound so glamorous.” She swiped at her phone and stopped.
“Oh my god. I kissed you. I held your dick in my hand.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “How the hell do I explain that to Rick? Or look at you across the office?”
“I’m not sure that Rick will want to hear about the dick part, but if I catch you laughing at me across the office, I’ll know you’re thinking how small it is,” Serge warned with a smile. “Actually, if you do tell Rick you held it, he’ll love to hear how much smaller it is than his.”
Shaking her head, Gina smiled a little and made the call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VIOLET
“You’ve been dancing it out all week, Vi. We’re doing it fine, and it looks great. What’s wrong with it?” Lex asks, stretching her calves.
Frowning, I shake my head and run through the steps again. “It is fine, but it’s not great.”
Scar joins me, following my lead.
“You’re right. It’s not as good as the other two,” she says as we come to a stop. “We’d be selling an inferior product. If we’re wanting to be taken seriously, we need three perfect sets, not two perfect and one shite.”
“It’s definitely not shite, Scar,” Bruno argues gruffly. “We’re working our asses off here.”
Watching the two of them head towards their umpteenth standoff for the day, I sigh. “I appreciate the hard work, guys. Honest. I just... The story behind the dance just doesn’t feel right. It’s not believable. Everything is too damn happy about it. Domestic violence is not something to be happy about and I’d like to give the audience some deeper emotion to illustrate that.”
Nina sets her water bottle down and meets my eye. “Some of the dancing I saw you doing earlier this week might give this third set a dose of real emotion,” she says quietly. “I don’t want you to give up on this when you’ve worked so hard. None of us will mind if you make some changes. We just need to get it polished for the show in three weeks. We live above a dance studio, so it’s not like we can’t practice
. Especially if you make the third act less dependent on space.”
Regarding the faces of my friends I see their concern shining through.
“I’m going to be fine, guys.” Looking to Nina, I shake my head. “I think my emotions are too raw to publicize just yet, but I’m not giving up on the third set. I’ll work it out. Thanks for being patient guys.”
“Speaking of raw emotions,” Kat starts, “Isn’t your guy’s class starting here soon?”
“He’s not my guy,” I correct her, busying myself by searching for a towel in my bag. “And yes.”
Bruno clears his throat. “So how are you planning to handle that? Are you staying for it? Or do you want us all to go home?”
Wiping the sweat from my face and neck, I take a deep breath. “I think the class teaches skills that are beneficial to us all and I’m planning on staying for it. I haven’t seen or heard from Serge all week and I want to show him I still want to be friends, if that’s possible.”
Scar snorts. “Really. After everything you said happened, you want to be friends? Won’t that be hard work?”
“Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it can’t work, or that it isn’t worth it,” I reply, feeling more sure than ever that even if I can’t be with Serge how I’d like to, I still want to be part of his life and know how he’s going.
“Well, I’ve always found that it works better when it’s hard,” Benji jokes, causing most of us to lose our serious edges and shake our heads at him.
“Serge is a good guy,” I say, appreciating the nod from Nina. “Just to show him I’m a good sport, we’re going to get the mats out for him before he gets here.”
Teeny groans and collapses back against her bag. “I hope it doesn’t get any more strenuous than that. I’m beat. Will you guys wake me up for work tonight? I get the feeling that after class I’m going straight home to bed.”
“Sure thing Teeny, But if you’re that tired, why don’t you take the night off?” I ask, nudging her with my foot as she plays dead. “I’ll be back on stage tonight, I promise.”
“You’re sure?” Nina asks cautiously. I haven’t told her everything about what happened, but she knows I’ve been dealing with my reactions to it.
I nod.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve processed and I’m at a stage where I need to feel desirable, so yes. Definitely.” Shoving my gear back into my bag, I run through some warm down stretches and start pulling out the mats, thinking about how I can fix the third dance for our GlamSlam performances. It keeps me from having to think about why Serge hasn’t so much as texted me since our conversation the morning after a seriously great night of passion.
As I’m pulling the last mat into place in the corner, Serge comes through the door. Looking around at the ready gym space, he misses me and checks his watch. “Thanks, guys. You didn’t have to do that. Rehearsal finish early?” he asks, walking to the other side of the gym and adding his gymbag to our collection. Some of the others mumble polite conversation, but my nerves seem to be wrapped around my vocal chords.
Wearing police track pants and t-shirt, Serge looks comfy enough to cozy up to, but still so sexy it hurts. He still hasn’t noticed me and I’m torn between waving him over excitedly, or running and hiding. I don’t have to do either as his eyes scan the gym and land on me.
Raising my hand in a silent, static and really quite pathetic wave, I brave a smile.
There is no return smile.
Even from a distance I notice his jaw tighten. With a small nod in my direction, he busies himself by looking through his bag, re-tying his laces and flipping through his notebook.
That explains why he hasn’t been in touch then. He doesn’t want to talk to me. Well that hurts, but isn’t entirely unexpected. It’s not like I want to know about him and Gina or anything. I guess I was just hoping I wasn’t so easily dismissed.
Taking a deep breath, I walk over to him.
“Hi Serge.”
“Violet.” Short, abrupt, no emotion, no eye contact. Got it.
“Is it alright if I stay for the class?”
Serge still refuses to look at me. “Of course. It’s open to everyone.”
“You seem pretty mad at me, so I thought I should ask.”
He stops, searches my face for goodness-knows-what and nods again as if affirming to himself he’s seen whatever it was he was looking for. Utterly confused, I stare at him.
“So you are mad at me.”
“I don’t like how things ended between us. You ran away before we could even talk.”
“What did you want to talk about?”
Looking to the ceiling, he swallows roughly and his conflicted expression gives me reason to believe he’s trying to hide what he’s feeling. He meets my eyes and a glimmer of hope stirs inside me as I glimpse a fraction of the look he’d had in his eyes during our time together.
Studying my face, he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Oh.” I nod. He definitely wants nothing to do with me. “Okay. Well, maybe I’ll just head home. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable while you’re working.”
“It’s fine. Stay if you want. I’d prefer to know that you’re defending yourself properly. That’s more concerning to me than being uncomfortable around you,” he says, moving away to greet Mitch, without waiting for me to respond.
What would I say to that anyway? Thanks for caring?
My defenses are thick. I knew things might turn out like this and I’d guarded myself accordingly. When Gina became available and this inevitable rejection came, I’d meant to be ready. So ready I’d preempted it.
So what if he doesn’t like how it ended? It ended, and that’s the take away.
It was self-preservation.
Just like leaving right now, before the holes in my shield grow any bigger and my tears become obvious to everyone. Grabbing my bag, I head out the door as fast as I can, not stopping until I arrive in the dark and empty club. Trotting up the steps to the stage, I drop my bag and pull out my ballet slippers.
MY FEET ARE ACHING, but I run through the choreography again.
Collapsing onto the stage, I drag in a lungful of air and wipe another tear from my cheek. Untying the ribbons, I throw my pointe shoes across the stage. They land with a clunk and I rub my toes until they stop screaming. Pushing myself up, I snatch the satin slippers up and storm upstairs for a shower.
Walking through the living room, I freeze. Serge is sitting in a chair next to Bruno, yukking it up until my presence brings a hush.
“Well I think it’s obvious from the state of you that things aren’t as peachy between you two as you’d hoped, Vi.” Bruno stands up as he addresses me. “After talking to Serge just now, I think you guys might need some space to talk.” Dodging my evil glare, he walks past, then backtracks. “Also, here is your mail,” he says, handing me a wad of letters and patting me on the shoulder as if it were some sort of pep talk before a sports game.
My fist tightens around my letters as he leaves me to the mess he’s created. Adjusting the slippers dangling over my shoulder by their ribbons, I avoid looking at Serge by opening my mail. I want to ask him how things went with Gina, but I’m petrified of the answer.
“You’ve been dancing.”
It’s not a question and his tone is concerned. He seems to know that my dancing means more than just moving to music. That strikes a chord within me and I feel myself becoming emotional again. Reigning it in, I decide to answer as if it were a question. Tossing a subscription offer to MedWeek on the table, I move to the next envelope. “Yeah.”
“And crying.”
Looking up from the letters, I meet his eyes. “So?”
“So do you feel any better for it?” he asks, as if he cares about the answer.
Clenching my jaw, I open another letter from my mother. “Not yet.”
“I’m sorry it was me who made you feel that way,” he says quietly as I rip up yet another check and toss
it onto the subscription letter to put in the trash. Serge frowns at me and his eyes the drop to the pile I’m making.
“I wasn’t enough, but I wanted so badly to keep you from those demons.”
“I’m used to them. They’re nothing to do with you. Don’t worry about it.”
My dancing today has nothing to do with the demons he’s talking about but I don’t correct him. I flick over a scam lottery letter and a bill from the dentist that I’ve already paid and toss them onto the pile too.
Moving closer, Serge eyes the torn check. Taking it from the pile, he looks at me, his dark brows troubled.
“Why are you ripping up a check for ten thousand dollars?”
“Because I don’t want it.”
“You don’t want ten grand?”
“It’s hush money. One of many installments my mother is trying to make. If I cash it, she’ll consider the problem fixed - that I’ve gotten over what she’s convinced never happened to begin with, and I’ll stop embarrassing her. But I’m not fixed, it did happen, and it gives me great satisfaction to rub that in her stupid face.” Breathing hard, I rub my face with my hands and exhale slowly.
“You don’t need the money?” Serge asks, his tone disbelieving.
“Why do you ask?” My gut begins to rile with annoyance. “You think I wouldn’t strip if I had cash? I have plenty of money. That’s not why I dance. If you’d ever seen me strip, you’d know.”
With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Serge shakes his head. “That isn’t why I asked. And I have seen you,” he adds more quietly.
I blink at him, not sure I’ve heard properly. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen you strip,” he says, lowering his eyes. “I came. That night you told me I couldn’t unsee. You were right.”
I keep a cool mask, but inside, my body is in a state of panic. He came. He saw and...
“You came?” My words are high pitched and I clear the surprise from my throat as realization dawns on me. “You didn’t say anything.”