Waking Anastasia

by Timothy Reynolds

  “Not as disappointed as she’ll be when she sees me dance and realizes that I’m beyond bad.”

  “Well, whether you’re dancing or not, she needs an outfit to die for.”

  Jerry smiled at the unintended pun. “If she really wants to go, then she’ll have it. Neither one of us has been to a gala since sometime last century. Do me a favour, please, and email me the details. Are we talking ‘killer’ cocktail dress or fancy schmancy ball gown?”

  “Last year there were prom dresses, bridesmaid dresses, and one or two fancy gowns. Floor-length was the trend. It’s tux-or-stay-home for the men. I’ll include a few pics from last year’s event. It was absolutely amazing.”

  “Better send me the links to the most likely shops to carry this stuff.” An idea occurred to him. “Actually, Mika, do you know of any good costume shops? Places that rent quality costumes?”

  “Only one place to go for fancy—Island Costumes. We use them all the time for our Steampunk events throughout the year. They’ve got everything. I’ll include their contact info.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” Jerry stood, stretched the kinks out of his back and neck. “Now we’d better fetch Ana—she and I have some shopping to do.”

  EVEN WITH HER gold-lacquered nails, red-and-black-dyed hair, and dangly pearl earrings, the sales girl at Island Costumes looked to be about twenty-two and was about as giddy as a sixteen-year-old when Ana told her what she was looking for in a dress. She rooted under the counter while nodding her head and saying, “Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .” to everything Ana said. Her nametag said “Ginnius” and she seemed as mentally flighty as any genius Jerry had ever met.

  “A ball gown, please,” Ana described. “Strapless. Natural waist. Hemline just above the floor so I can dance.”

  “With whom, Ana?” Jerry didn’t see the need to be specific about her dress style just so she could sway back and forth on the dance floor to “Stairway to Heaven” with him at the end of the night.

  “Shush, silly man. I am picturing something in my mind.”

  “Then you’d better picture a clumsy oaf stepping over your feet while you’re at it.”

  Both women frowned at him simultaneously. Ana went on imagining out loud, while Ginnius returned to searching. “Sleeveless, appliques, beading.”

  “Taffeta?” asked the voice from beneath the counter.

  “Please.”

  “Embroidery? Crystals or just beads?”

  “Crystals? Oh, yes. Crystals and beads both would be marvellous. And embroidery.” She bounced on her toes, excited.

  “Cool. Lace-up back?”

  “Of course!”

  “Fully lined? Built-in bra?”

  “Um, yes?”

  Jerry could have sworn Ana blushed. She truly was an old-fashioned girl. He’d better keep her away from a Victoria’s Secret store or she’d be completely scandalized. He smiled. Her sweetness was enchanting.

  “Okay. Fully lined, with a built-in bra. Boning okay? Well, metal boning. Plastic tends to break and can cut you or worse, and we prefer to leave real whalebone for the museums and collectors. Since you’re just renting, it’s about the look, not the value. So, boning?”

  “Of course. Please.”

  “Got it!” Ginnius came up from below holding a photo album and slapped it on the wooden countertop. “We have three left. One just came back and still needs to be dry-cleaned so you’ve got a choice of off-white or emerald green . . . I think.” She flipped through a couple more pages and finally found what she was looking for. “Sorry it took so long. Computer crashed this morning, and we’re strictly old-school, low-tech until the boss gets back next week.” She spun the album around and tapped a photo of a model in an emerald green ball gown. “Green or white. Not many choices at the last minute. Wouldn’t even have these if all the themed New Year’s parties this year hadn’t gone for the Jackie O retro sixties look.”

  Jerry interrupted. “Even the one at the Empress is sixties?”

  “Good God, no. That one is always très trad. If you’re going to the Empress Ballroom, then forget the white and go with the green. It’s the only green one we’ve got, and two whites and a pale blue have already been rented for the same party.”

  “The same style? I’d like Ana to feel special, not like one of a dozen women dressed the same.”

  “Not a problem. The others went to old women who haven’t rocked an hourglass shape in decades. Two of them had us add trains and Queen of England crowns, and one even has a sceptre. Think more Queen Mum than Kate, Duchess of York.”

  Ana hadn’t said a word since the photograph was placed in front of her. Her fingertips gently traced the outlines of the dress in the image, and Jerry thought she was going to cry. “You okay, Shvibzik? Are you sure you want to do this?”

  When she finally looked up, Ana was grinning widely, her eyes sparkling like gems. “Oh, we are most certainly going to do this. But only if we can find you something to match.”

  Ginnius flipped the page over and pointed at a set of formal tails. “The real deal. Most men in this town either own tuxes and tails or wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them. This suit, that dress, a faux-fur-trimmed, velvet cape, a couple simple accessories, and you two will own First Night, babes.”

  “We can get them ready in two days?”

  “If we get the fitting done now, I’ll do the work myself, and have them for you by ten in the morning on the 31st. Good enough?”

  “It will be perfect!” Ana answered, then her shoulders slumped just a little and she turned to Jerry. “I am so sorry, Jerry. It is your decision. I should not be so inconsiderate, so loose with your money. It was a lesson Papa tried over and over to instil in us. I will be perfectly happy in a simple frock, so long as I am with my darling.”

  “Ten on the 31st, Ginnius?” Jerry could already picture Ana in the dress, shaming even the professional model in the photo.

  “Noon, at the absolute latest.”

  “Sold . . . or at least rented. I sure hope you take plastic.”

  “Of course. Now, give me a couple minutes to find these in the back and we’ll get started.” She trotted off with a purpose, leaving them alone.

  Ana did a quick twirl and hugged Jerry. “Are you absolutely, most definitely, without any cause for doubt or concern certain, my Sweet? There are any number of beautiful choices in the catalogue. Please do not do this for me, because I will be perfectly ecstatic just being with you.”

  He kissed her quickly on the tip of her nose. “Shut up, Ana. Just enjoy. Besides, maybe I’m doing this for me. Maybe, just maybe, I want to be at the biggest party, with the best music, and the most beautiful Shvibzik in the world.”

  “Now I know you’re being silly! I’m the only Shvibzik in the world.”

  “Yes you are. The one and only original.”

  A door slammed at the back of the store and Ginnius’ muffled voice interrupted them. “Okay, kiddies . . . let’s get this party started!”

  THE SONG ENDED, and Ana reached up and kissed Jerry’s cheek before releasing his left hand. Jerry gently stepped out of her arms and reached for the tumbler of ginger ale on the kitchen counter. “So that’s a waltz, eh?”

  “It is.”

  “And you simplified it for me, didn’t you?”

  “Just a mite. You have excellent rhythm, though you are a bit . . . rusty? Is that the correct word?”

  “Rusty is the polite word. In order to be rusty, I would have to have some skills to begin with. I don’t dance. I love music, and I can sway with the best of them, but I’ve never danced. But I’ve already told you that.” He moved over to the couch and sat heavily.

  “Yes, you have. And that is why we are keeping it uncomplicated.” She unplugged the laptop and carried it over to the couch, where she joined him. “Let me show you what a Viennese waltz can be like. This one on YouTube is the best I have seen. According to the accompanying text, they are World Champions—a husband and wife team from Austria, which is
quite appropriate, as Strauss was Austrian.” She started the video and the loft was once again filled with Strauss the Younger’s “Blue Danube”. Jerry could only stare, awed and numb, as the world’s best tripped the light fantastic on the screen before them. When it was all done, he sighed.

  “And you want me to learn to do that, in two days?”

  “Of course not, silly. I simply wanted to show you what a waltz can be. Let us watch it again, but this time, forget about yourself and simply watch how Karl moves. Watch for the simple things like his posture and arm position. Watch how he bends at the waist and turns his head a certain way. Those are the simple things that anyone can master quickly but will add shine and polish to even the simplest of steps. Of course their choreography is elaborate and complicated, and far beyond us both, but his straight back and light touch on her waist are always the same.

  “You cannot tell by observing this film, but what little guidance he gives her is done through small points of contact only. They have danced together for so many years that he simply has to tilt his wrist or apply two fingers of pressure on the small of her back to guide her and steer her around the dance floor. A simple dip in his shoulder communicates a world of meaning to her, his true partner. At least, that is how I was trained.”

  She started the video again; then paused it. “If you can manage the posture and some sure-footedness, then I will lead you with simply a touch. My sisters could dance circles around everyone at court, including myself. Tatiana was an angel in slippers, and I was just a lump, but poor Alexei could never keep up with any of us so we created a simplified waltz, which would not strain him and yet make him appear masterful. He was the heir, the Tsarevich, and he at least had to be able to show a modicum of grace and control in all things. I will teach you that.”

  “The dumbed-down version. Gotcha. Start that thing up again, and let’s take a closer look.” He squeezed her arm and turned his attention to Karl and Agnetha doing the impossible.

  THE HEADACHE WOKE Jerry so abruptly that he thought Ana was calling to him, but when his eyes finally focused in the dark, he could clearly see that he was alone. They’d danced for hours, until Ana was so exhausted that his hand passed through her waist halfway down the Danube. She blew him a kiss and faded into her book. He wolfed down a tuna-on-toasted-bagel, chugged some Gatorade, and had a quick shower before dousing the fire and climbing under the duvet. He was asleep in seconds, until the headache.

  The alarm clock’s red digital numbers finally came into focus, and he groaned. “Three in the morning? Damn.” He popped a couple painkillers from the bottle on the nightstand and rinsed them down with warm water before sinking back onto the pillow. He listened to his body, feeling the headache growing slowly, but it levelled off at a dull roar, so he closed his eyes and listened instead to the creaks and groans of the old building, the light hum of the nearly non-existent traffic, and rehearsed the dance steps in his head. He finally fell back to sleep at 5am, with the alarm set to wake him for work in two-and-a-half hours.

  Chapter Fourteen

  @TheTaoOfJerr: “If music be the food of love, play on.”

  ~William Shakespeare

  IT TOOK LEE-Anne all of two minutes to convince Jerry that she knew her job.

  “Manny, with all the respect and love I can muster for him, Jerry’s predecessor, Dwight, was way too old school.” She looked at Manny, then went on when he nodded. “He ran the station like the Internet never happened. He wasn’t in touch with social media, and after that fiasco with his internal email joke getting sent to all of our suppliers, he wouldn’t even use email. Jerry doesn’t just know what a blog is, he has a considerable online presence.”

  “You’ve read my blog, The Tao of Jerr?”

  “Your blog, Twitter feed, Facebook fan page . . . Manny sent us all the links when you made it into the top three for consideration for the job. He wanted to know what we all thought. You absolutely killed the competition.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “My point is, bosses, we need to kick it in these areas, too. The rest of the country calls Victoria the ‘City of the Newly Wed and the Nearly Dead’. Our no-repeat, oldies-to-hits pop playlist appeals to everyone, but we sponsor events like whale watching when we should be hanging out at music festivals with live Twitter feeds, and having Facebook contests. Our website is five pages of who we are and what we play. Boring! We need to invest time and money into online trivia contests and cooler giveaways. A spa weekend at an oh-so-chic resort is lovely and all, but we need to attract spenders who will attract advertisers. Trips to Seattle for Seahawks’ and Mariners’ games. Free passes to Van’s Nicely Naughty trade show, which I, myself, will be speaking at, and can offer VIP passes for. Also, Whistler passes and transpo for the Snowboarding World Cup.

  “Of course, I can and will keep signing the funeral homes, hearing aid suppliers, and carpet cleaners to mix in and fill space, but we need a transfusion of fresh advertising blood. We don’t just want the Chevy dealership; we want the Subaru Customizer who makes those Fast and Furious machines the guys love, here and on the mainland. And speaking of the mainland, we need to reach beyond this colonial little island and start playing hardball against the teams in Van and beyond. Dwight hated Vancouver and kept us out of that loop, but we need in the loop, soon, or we’ll be one of Victoria’s nearly dead.” Lee-Anne took a deep breath and sat back, flushed.

  Jerry was silent. He’d come to all of the same conclusions when he was reviewing the numbers for the station, but the fact that his Sales Manager was on the same page, was great. He wanted to hear what Manny thought, though. He was the one who’d hired this Dwight person, so it wasn’t Jerry’s place to trash-talk someone he’d never met.

  Manny scratched his head and looked Lee-Anne straight in the eye. “Girl, if I’d known you had these great ideas, you mighta been sitting in Jerry’s seat instead of him. Two things I need from you starting right now, Missy. I need to you put all of this on paper, so to speak, and get copies to Jerry and me, both. Email is just fine. Dwight kept me out of the loop for far too long and that’s my fault as much as his, but that changes, as of now.”

  “And the second thing?” She leaned in, pleased with herself, and Jerry did his best not to stare at her breasts, straining at her sweater’s few buttons.

  “Start dressing like a trained professional, please. I'll try to find you a copy of the company dress code. Lee-Anne, I don’t want clients who come on board just because they like looking down your blouse or up your skirt every time you drop by their offices. Young as he is, I hired Jerry because of the respect he has in the industry. You’re already the best looking one at all the sales awards banquets; so let’s make sure you’re the most respected, because even though this is a business built on voices, you’re dead-on right about getting the faces out there. Facebook, Twitter, the works.”

  Lee-Anne looked like she was going to cry. She looked straight at Jerry. “Jerr, do you agree with Manny?”

  “Lee-Anne, you’re not stupid, so why would you think I’d disagree with my new boss, even if I thought he was off-base on this? Which, by the way, he’s not. Your ideas are just what this station needs, and clothes one size bigger are what your career needs. I will say this once and only once, and if it’s ever repeated outside this room I will deny it to the day I die, vehemently. Lee-Anne, you are absolutely one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. But, until you respect yourself, no one else will. Your awards and sales numbers are terrific, but I’ll be frank and tell you that my New Year’s Wish List for the station was a new Sales Manager, because you’re too high risk. If no one respects our Sales Manager, no one respects us. I’m not saying I want you in baggy pantsuits and sensible shoes, just more Glenn Close in Damages, and less Demi Moore in Disclosure. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. I guess so.”

  “Whatever life you and Tom have at home, happy or sad, frisky or bland, I don’t care. I mean, I do, but I don’t. I care that all the t
eam have lives they’re happy with, but I don’t care to see the fallout at work. Show us pictures of the kids, talk about your anniversary dinner with Tom, but . . .”

  “I understand. Thank you. I love Tom with all my heart, and I’m sorry my behaviour has made you think otherwise. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but whatever issues we have at home stay at home. I get it.” She picked up the folder on the table in front of her and hugged it to her chest. “Since I hit puberty at eleven, my curves have got me more attention than my straight As or scholarships or awards. Thank you for shooting straight and giving me another chance.”

  Manny spoke first. “Of course. And I’m sorry we didn’t have this chat sooner. We’re all family, and we all want to see each of us succeed.”

  “Like Manny said.” Jerry nodded. “Now, can I talk to you about some changes to Rolf’s segment with an eye for syndication and SiriusXM Satellite Radio? His show is teetering on brilliant and if we can get him before a wider audience we’ll definitely see the impact on our numbers and his career.”

  “My kids say he’s the funniest bloke on the airwaves, so tell me what you’re thinking, Jerr.”

  But it was Lee-Anne who answered Manny. “Podcasting. Tom loves listening to those things.”

  “Exactly. Manny, let’s get a podcast up and use it to take Rolf and the other on-air personalities to a whole new level. Ideally, I would love to be live streaming the station over the Net, but podcasting is a less expensive foot in the Internet door.”

  “Podcasting? Now you’ve lost me. What the hell is podcasting?”

  “Think of it as radio, but for subscribers only. Narrowcasting instead of broadcasting. Look, I’ve got a copy of Podcasting for Dummies I’ll bring in for you. Tee and Evo—the authors—explain the whole thing better than I can. It’s going to take some work, so maybe we should get back to Lee-Anne’s plan and see what we can do in the immediate future to shake things up. When is this ‘Nicely Naughty’ show, Lee-Anne?”