Diana bursts into tears—as I’d predicted. Sucks, with a capital “S.” Xavier, always the charmer when the cameras are on, leads her in a final dance, a jive I choreographed. She’s a pro, so she nails it for the audience, but she can’t fool me. The poor girl is crushed.
After the show, the audience mills around the room, some snapping pictures of us on their cell phones. Matthew signs autographs for a few young fans as the camera crew starts packing up.
Xavier and Diana head over to the judges’ table. Jenny rushes over to me and we run over to comfort Diana.
I hug our baby girl. “I’m so sorry. I wish I was the one to leave.” I mean it.
“No, you can win it.” She sniffles. Xavier is posing and giving an interview to a reporter. “I’ve just been having so much fun.”
Jenny takes both of her hands. “This is a good thing. You had your fun and now you can move on and start working on your relationship with Robert. He’ll be home soon. Sweetie, it’s all better now. You can get the life you wanted back again.”
Benny swoops in. Jenny and I instinctively flinch away.
“Diana, my dear.” Benny gives her a bear hug and holds her for just a tad too long. Jenny crinkles up her face as if she just sucked a lemon. Back at ya, Jen. Nasty!
“Good on ya, doll,” he says. He holds Diana at arm’s length, his gnarled old guy hands still on her shoulders. “My, have you grown up. I remember when you were just an ankle biter competing in juniors. Don’t worry, luv, you have a great career in front of you. I might even be able to get you a spot on Dancing under the Stars—down under.” He separates from her. “If you want it.” He winks. Diana watches him a little too long as he walks away. More than a little.
I grab her shoulders. “Diana, it’s just Benny, not Russell Crowe.”
Jenny makes a fist. “That man is so repulsive. I’d rather have scurvy than his hands on me. Diana, you stay away from him.” Jenny and I link arms with Diana and walk off stage.
“He’s not that bad,” Diana mutters.
“Yeah, and neither is swine flu,” Jenny replies.
In the press area, reporters swarm around Diana and Xavier, sucking our baby girl away from us. Not that she minds—her tears of moments ago are gone, replaced by a beaming smile. Diana clearly loves being in the spotlight. Life with Robert and baby will definitely be a change for her, if they get back together. Tim waves over Jenny and I slink to the edges, more than happy to do so. Our Di needs this moment. Bad.
There’s a rustle next to me, then Genya plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Genya!” I swat at him. “What are you doing sneaking up on me? The press is everywhere. Someone will see us!” Can’t anything be sacred?
“Relax. What’s friendly kiss between old friends?” He grins and I pull him farther into the shadows. “I told mama I’m back together with you and she’s super happy. She wants to meet and discuss future.”
“Future?” Already? Honestly, Genya’s one flaw is that he’s too quick to dive into things. And when he dives, it’s always from the high board—with his mother giving him a good shove. “But Dimka, it’s all so new. I don’t know what I want to do after this season. I told you Dolla is talking about maybe taking me on tour. He wants do this crazy show incorporating ballroom and hip-hop. He said maybe I could choreograph it.”
Genya snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous, Salomé. You can’t choreograph concert tour. The stars always run their mouth. Gina was always talking to me about how I could be on her soap opera.”
“You did do a guest spot on her soap. I saw it.” I catch Jenny glaring at me while doing an interview. Uh-oh. So much for shadows. A photographer spots us and turns his camera our way. I quickly throw my arm around Genya as buddy-buddy as I can and grin stupidly. Cheeeese. The flash blinds me, then the photographer turns away in search of more interesting posers.
Genya pokes me in the ribs. “You’re talking all crazy now. You’re ballroom dancer only. Mama wants to open new studio, here in Beverly Hills. We can run it, like we always talked about. For kids.”
We did always talk about it. When we were kids. “But Dimka . . .”
“I’ve got to run. I’ll text you later about lunch with Mama. She’s making your favorite pierogi.” Genya rushes off, accidentally knocking a camera out of a photographer’s hand. He vanishes after he weaves in between the rows of reporters and cameras.
What did I get myself into? I turn and look for Diana and—Oh Lord! Eric and Nicole and their baby are posing for family pictures with Jared, Benny, Vika, and Karen. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, ballroom’s version of the Addams Family. Poor baby Rebecca! Her father may be living a lie, her grandfather is married to a woman younger than her mother, and her uncle is dancing with her step grandmother. Is this my future if I stay with Genya? Create some screwed up family to get the best competition results?
Diana is still mobbed, but Jenny is done with her interview and coming toward me. A voice inside my head shouts, ‘Run!’ but my feet don’t hear it. Jenny jerks her head toward the trail of mayhem Genya left in his escape. “What was that about?”
“What? Oh, with Genya? We were just catching up, that’s all.” Man, can’t a girl get a break?
“That’s it? You two seemed kinda cozy.” Jenny looks me square on. “You’re not back together with him?”
Uh-oh. I never lie to Jenny. Well, almost never, and definitely not to her face. Only when she nags me about vomiting. But God, I’m not even sure what’s up with Genya and me. I’m not ready to tell her, yet, and that’s just how it is.
I meet her gaze. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What the hell does that mean? Did you hook up with him?” Jenny’s animated voice booms.
“Good gawd, Jen, stop shouting. The whole room doesn’t need to know.”
“You did!”
Ack, I can’t hold it. I look down at my shoes, unable to hold her gaze, acting like a loose rhinestone on my strap suddenly caught my eye. “We kissed. At the end of the rumba on opening night. And we’ve hung out a couple of times when you were in San Francisco with Tim.” I glance up at her. She’s got her hands on her hips, staring me down. “Don’t be mad. It’s nothing serious yet. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure what was going on and we were dealing with the Diana situation and with all this show craziness and everything...”
Her chest heaves and she remains quiet. I feel like a jerk, but she doesn’t sense my guilt. Finally, her body relaxes. “I’m not mad,” she says. “It’s not like you’ve slept with him or anything.”
Uhm actually . . .
“Truth be told,” she continues, “I’ve been so busy too I haven’t told you all about me and Tim, either. You’re so right there’s a lot going on. And Diana not telling us about Robert—I swear, she should have brought us in sooner! I’m worried about our baby girl. Oh, the stress.” She rubs her eyes and scans the room. The crowd is thinning. The reporters are still huddled around Diana, though, so at least we don’t have to worry about her breakdown for another few more minutes. “Thank God I can always count on you, Sal. You’re our rock, you know?”
She points to Diana, “Baby,” then to herself, “Stress-Case,” and then me, “the Anchor.”
Yeah, the Anchor who is up to her eyeballs in a Sea of Lies of Omission. “Jenny, I need to tell—”
“Ooh, I have to go.” She just spotted Tim motioning for her to join him. “Luv ya, girl.” She kisses my cheek. “Tim and I are going to the Asian-American film festival tonight to see the new Justin Lin movie.”
Excuse me? “How’d you pull that off?”
“Never underestimate Asian kismet, Sal. After that whole Abercrombie thing, we had a breakthrough.” At my doubtful look, she laughs. “I told you, there’s been progress I haven’t been able to update you on. Tim’s been so open and trying to listen to me. He told me he tried so hard to fit in with the other basketball players that he suppressed his identity.”
“And th
en he tried to get into your pants.”
“Sal!”
“Oh, don’t get all twisted, Jen. I’m just saying, it sounds like he’s working you.” Jenny’s brilliant, but she never could spot a smooth talker.
She stomps her foot. “Uh, uh. Not true. I told Tim I’m saving myself for marriage. He thinks it’s great.”
I laugh. “And he believed you?”
“Oh, shut up.” She looks over at him. He stopped to pose with Xavier for a photo. “I gotta admit, the guy’s smile melts my cha siu bao. And when he dropped his pants the other day . . .” She nods slowly. “I think he might be the one.”
Cha siu bao? She’s comparing Tim to her favorite pork-filled steamed buns? Well, the guy does have nice buns . . .
My eyes snap back to my friend. Since I’ve known Jenny there have been ten “the ones.” Oh Lord. “Listen, Ms. Stress-Case, take it from the Anchor—you’re nuts. Don’t you see? You’re just a challenge to him.”
She flicks me on the forehead then smiles. “Nothing’s even happened yet. But trust me, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Jen, honestly, there’s something I need to say—” But she doesn’t hear me. She’s already moving away. I grab her hand. “Jen . . .”
She gives my hand a quick squeeze then lets go and bounds over to Tim. “Got to go, I’ll call you later,” she calls over her shoulder. From behind his back, Tim presents her a bouquet of pink stargazer lilies, her favorite. Delicate, bold, and fragrant.
Just like her.
***
18
Vika
TODAY IS GOING to be hell. Fucking hell. Every season, the show does a clip where Benny coaches each couple, and today I get to spend two hours with my husband teaching my lover and me how to rock step. Could it get more horrible than that?
Tony and I cruise to the studio in his custom Range Rover. Benny will be meeting us there so the camera can capture our reaction when he walks in the door. Surprise! Oh, yeah! What a shock! Give me a break.
Tony has a really weird grin on his face. Like he stole a pickle from the jar. I don’t have a good feeling about today at all.
“Tony, seriously,” I plead, “when we get there, please act normal.”
He laughs and starts air drumming on the steering wheel. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get into a crash. Nothing major, just enough to get me out of today.
“Relax, babe,” Tony says. “I’m not just going to say on camera, ‘Hey Benny, thanks for the jive tips. By the way, I’m fucking your wife.’” He starts pumping the gas like a bass drum. “But I’m still gonna have me some fun.”
I put my hand on his thigh and squeeze—more than a little meanly, I know. “I mean it, Anthony Nicholas Zavetakis. No games. Or else.”
“Or else what?” His body moves with the beat. “What’s in this for me, anyway?”
“Anything. Just let’s get through today.” I take a swig of Starbucks. Tony had his barista make me a Venti Marble Mocha Macchiato. Normally, I wouldn’t touch it because it has way too much sugar and three shots of caffeine. Today, though, it’s about the only thing that will calm my nerves.
Tony whips the wheel left, nearly climbing a curb, then slams on the brakes and turns to me. “Leave Benny,” he says. “I’ll play your game for now. But when we wrap the Dancing under the Stars tour, I want you all to myself.”
We size each other up. Cars whiz past, oblivious to our Moment of Truth. Have I lost my mind even thinking I can find true love with an old tattooed rock star? My baba always says, “A sparrow in the hand is better than a cock on the roof.” But Baba clearly doesn’t know the size of Tony’s . . .
“Is that a yes?”
Finally, I say, “You fuck up today, and it’s over. That’s ‘I’ll think about it.’” I point my finger at his face. “I mean it, no fucking up.”
He licks my fingertip. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Antoshka!” I laugh and wipe my finger on my Lululemon pants. “You’re nuts.”
“About you.” He whips back into traffic. Horns blaring from the cars we cut off. A metal ballad blasts from the speakers.
We pull up to my studio. Fans are hanging out on the street. No time for smiles today, people. I run up the stairs and head to our practice room. Tony’s still down below signing some girl’s chest. The cameraman is already set up. Tony bounds up the stairs.
The on-location producer sets up a shot. “Alright. Benny is downstairs. I need you to be struggling with a step.”
So not realistic. Vika never struggles with a step. “Whatever. Let’s do toe heel swivels.” Tony starts following me, deliberately stepping on my heel. On cue, Benny bursts through the door.
“Well, mates! What’s going on here?” I run over to Benny and give him a big kiss. He smacks my bum.
Tony looks like he’s going to deck him. Instead, he forces a smile. “Hey, Benny. I’m really glad you came to help. I just can’t get these toe heel swivels.” He’s such a horrible actor.
Benny grabs my arm and swings me into him. He leads me through our entire jive routine, which he knows perfectly because he choreographed it. There’s a reason Benny’s where he is in life. Even at his age, he knows his stuff. We’re perfect. Still, the damn producer makes us do it three times so he can get shots from different angles.
“So Tony, my good man,” Benny says when we finish the third act, “the key with the Jive is the bounce action. If you don’t have that, you’re one snag short of a barbie.” Benny takes Tony’s hand and starts bouncing up and down with him. “That’s it. Come on. Like a boomerang.” Tony’s wobbling side to side. It isn’t pretty. I owe Tony big time. “Alright, then, try it with my Sheila.” Benny gives my hand to Tony with a flourish. “Go on.”
I try not to look at Tony. This is too weird. Benny’s taught me with other dancer partners that have had their hands all over me, but this time it’s no act—I’m guilty. I can’t look at him. I almost jump when Benny steps in to guide us. God, Vika, keep it together, for Christ’s sake! We practice the routine, smooth and natural now, and I can feel Benny’s eyes penetrate me. He looks at the way Tony’s watching me.
He knows.
The cameraman gets what he needs and packs up for the day. Benny makes us continue rehearsing while the producer is there. “That’s it. A little more hips, Tony. Like you mean it, chap. Theeeere you go . . .”
The producer leaves. Once the door slams shut, Benny comes out swinging.
“Stop already!” he booms and rips across the room to jam his finger into Tony’s chest. Tony’s lips turn pale as he tries not to say anything. “Don’t think that I don’t know that you’re having a naughty with my ol’ lady. No one puts a swiftie over me.” Stabbing out his arm, he yanks my hair and shoves me over to Tony.
“Ow! Venya!”
“Dude!” Tony blurts, catching me in both his arms.
“You can have her if you want. She may be a good root but she’s a wanker.” Benny lurches my way and tugs my wrist until I yelp. “Don’t come home tonight,” he spits. “Or ever again.” Then he turns and walks out of the studio, like a dancer after the music ends. Jive over. Next!
Without a sound, Tony pulls me to him and embraces me. I look in the mirror and see our reflection multiplied in the hall of mirrors.
“Oh, my God,” Tony finally says. “I can’t believe him.” Then he starts laughing. “A wanker? You’re a wanker?” He really busts up then. “That dude’s fucking hilarious!” He lifts me up in his arms and kisses me hard, right between my breasts. “Me and my widdle wanker.”
I am not laughing. “We don’t have to hide anymore. I’m yours now,” I say flatly. Tony kisses me, but he might as well be kissing cardboard. This is not what I wanted. I don’t have my own bank account, the car and house is in Benny’s name. I’ve worked so hard over the past six years and now I’ll have nothing to show for it. My competitive dance career is now over. Benny will never allow his son to dance with me again. And no judge will give me good marks.
Benny’s a producer of Dancing under the Stars. What if they don’t ask me back next season? Or what if they do and the show tanks? It’s reality television. Nobody watches American Idol anymore. How will I support my baba! Poor Babula! Her retirement home is so expensive. And my darling Cha-Cha is at home! What if Benny hurts her? In an instant, everything I’ve sacrificed my life for is gone.
Shit.
Tony takes my upper lip in his mouth and bites it. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re my problem now. I’ll take care of you.”
Woozy, I look around the studio. My studio. At least, it was until five minutes ago. I pick up my Hermès handbag and get my phone. Better use it quickly before Benny turns it off. I make a call to the one person in the world I can turn to.
“Hi, Babula. Don’t panic but I just left Benny . . . I know. Don’t worry.” I take a deep breath and try to sound like I mean it: “Everything will be okay. I’ll take care of you.”
Tango
Their eyes locked on the crowded floor. He grabbed her in a predatory embrace. He took control, she resisted his will. Bodies intertwined, they both moved as one. Passions rose as the music pulsed through their bodies. Their legs weaved together and his breath tickled her throat. They aggressively moved, chasing the cadence, playing with love and hate. She gave herself over to the rhythms of the song, quickly challenging the beats and cherishing the silence when time seemingly stopped.
19
Salomé
“DOBROYE UTRO. WAKE up sleepy head.” Genya’s lips touch mine. For a moment, I forget where I am and imagine that I’m Sleeping Beauty and Genya’s the prince. Except I’m sure Beauty doesn’t get morning breath.
“I’m late to lunch with mama,” he says. “Don’t you have that fitness video shoot today?”
Oh, shit! The alarm clock on the hotel nightstand says ten thirty—I have to be camera ready in forty-five minutes. We’re filming the new fitness video, Dancing under the Stars—Cardio Tango. How incredibly lame is that? What the hell is a Cardio Tango?
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