Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  “So?” Liliya says gently. “Shall we get started?”

  “But Madame isn’t here yet,” I reply confused.

  “Madame is not coming!” she smiles back, speaking in her faltering English. “These sessions are just one plus one. Just you and me, Julia. Or am I mistaking that?”

  “No, no,” I shrug. “If that’s what Madame Lyon told you, then it must be right.”

  But I can’t help but sigh.

  Great.

  This is going to be even more awkward than I thought.

  “Let’s get started then,” I say, a little reluctantly. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on so far. I wasn’t in school last week so I’ve fallen a little behind.”

  “I hope that you are feeling better now?” Liliya says.

  And I might be wrong, but was that a hint of genuine friendliness in her voice?

  She puts on the CD of the classical music for the recital and begins to move.

  As always, she’s great. I stand on the side lines, watching her enviously as she nails move after move. And as I watch her dance, I realize Madame Lyon is totally right, I really can learn a thing or two from her. The track comes to its crescendo and instead of holding her pose as she finishes, Liliya just slumps to the floor, cursing softly under her breath in Russian.

  “Hey, What’s wrong?” I say. “That was really good!”

  “It was awful,” she cries in despair. “I was late coming in on the third beat. You must have seen me.”

  I reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t get so stressed about it,” I reply softly. “You were only a second out, if that. And anyway, you’ve got weeks to get all the timings perfect. And I know you will. Hey I’ve got an idea. You’ve been working really hard for this, haven’t you?”

  Liliya nods gravely. “I practice at least seven hours a day, every day.”

  “Just on the piece?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Plus my exercises, and other things from school.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “Well, I’ve got an idea. What music do you like?”

  “Music?” she repeats, confused.

  “You know – dance music. Pop music. What do you listen to when you go to a club?”

  The confusion grows on her face.

  Of course, I think. When has Liliya ever been to a club? She’s obviously spent her whole damn life rehearsing.

  “I don’t know,” she says, a little embarrassed now too. “I guess I like Beyoncé?” she adds with a shy smile.

  “Okay, Queen Bey!” I grin back. “That’s perfect!”

  I run across the room and grab my cell phone from my bag, plugging it into the classroom stereo. I hit play on ‘Partition’ before running back across to Liliya, reaching out and pulling her back up to her feet, just as the music blasts out from the speakers.

  “Come on!” I say, as I begin swaying my hips in time to the sexy beat, all the while keeping hold of Liliya’s hands.

  She looks pretty stiff at first – awkward and uncomfortable. And it’s kinda weird. I mean, I’ve never seen her looking anything other than completely poised, so to see her moving so unsteadily is a bit of a shock.

  “Woah, you really need to loosen up, girl,” I laugh. “There’s nobody here. It’s just us. We’re just two girls hanging out, okay? Just dance like we were hanging out, having fun.”

  She nods, smiling shyly, and slowly but surely she begins to warm up a little, loosening up and moving to the beat – following my lead.

  “There you go!” I say, urging her to loosen up even more, and she does, too, letting go and really moving to the beat.

  When the song finishes we’re having such a good time that we carry on dancing to the next track, too, and the one after that.

  Liliya’s really getting into it now, and she actually looks sexy, too – for maybe the first time ever. After about fifteen minutes of freeform dancing, I turn the music off and we both flop to the floor, happy and exhausted.

  “So how was that?” I ask.

  “Fun!” she laughs back. “That was so much fun.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Well that’s your first lesson right there. Dancing should be fun. I mean, if you’re not enjoying yourself, why else would you do it, right?”

  “To be the best in my country,” Liliya states, proudly and seriously.

  “Okay, sure, I get it,” I say. “You want to be the best, and you will be. But only if you have fun, too. D’you understand?”

  She nods, then takes my hand.

  “Thank you, Julia,” she says. “I’m already enjoying working with you.”

  “Hey, me too,” I grin back. And as I say it, I realize it’s actually true.

  “So now it’s your turn,” I add. “You’re so brilliant, so disciplined. How did you get so good at balance, at least.”

  “Aha! In ballet school back at home in St Petersburg we have this trick.”

  And with that we’re back on our feet, this time with Liliya teaching me something.

  I guess Madame Lyon was right, after all.

  CHAPTER twenty-NINE

  I’ve sent my daily text to Natalia. Today’s message reads just like all the others – I’m sorry, please talk to me again, I’m here for you x – only this time something unusual happens when I send it. This time, Nat actually replies.

  I stare at the screen of my cell in disbelief, at the simple message that reads:

  Home Slice in 30 mins? X

  I’m already there, I reply, as a big grin spreads across my face.

  §

  “After everything that happened back with Dylan, back when you were kind of acting like an asshole,” Nat explains a little while later, from our booth in Home Slice, “I thought we promised not to let men come between us. But I let it happen this time, didn’t I, Jules? This time it was totally my fault. I’m so sorry. And I swear I’ll never let this happen again.”

  “So can we say we’re even?” I laugh. “I guess I’m just pleased to see you.”

  “You were right by the way,” Nat sighs. “Marcus was a total creep. He told me all this shit. Like, he told me he loved me. So when he broke up with me, well, I thought there’s no way he’d do it unless someone told him to. And the only person who could have done that was you – you or Dylan. So I put two and two together and got five. Dumb old Nat, I know. But at the time, I was just so hurt, so humiliated that it kinda made total sense to me.”

  “I would never do a thing like that to you, Nat. I promise.”

  “I know, I know. You don’t need to tell me that. I must have lost my mind.”

  “We don’t have to go over it if you don’t want,” I reassure her, reaching out and giving her fingers a squeeze. “In fact, we never have to talk about Marcus again, period, if you don’t want to.”

  “Oh no!” Nat laughs back. “You know how long I’ve been waiting to trash talk that sleazebag? Okay, it happened like this. I kept getting texts. From unknown numbers, right? And it was these guys, saying things like, Hey, I’ve heard you’re up for a good time and even just straight out Wanna fuck? And this one dude, he actually calls me up out of nowhere, I’ve no idea who he is, and he asks if I wanna have a good time. And I’m ready to lose it, but luckily I hold it together long enough to ask, all sweet like, ‘Hey where did you get this number?’ And he tells me, straight up. He says, ‘my buddy, Marcus said I should call you. That you were up for a good time.’ So anyway I reply, ‘oh is that what Marcus said, is it now?’ And this guy sniggers. ‘Not exactly,’ he says.”

  She pauses for a moment to take a big sip of her coke float, obviously still fuming with rage.

  “So I ask him,” she continues. “What exactly did he say about me. And you know what he said? He said you were down to fuck. So I just hung up on him. He wasn’t even worth a piece of my mind.”

  “Oh Nat, that’s so shitty,” I say, reaching across the table and giving her hand another squeeze. “I’m really sorry.”


  “I know,” she sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  “Well, Dylan said he was a bit of a sleaze,” I say gently. “But I had no idea he was that bad.”

  Nat sighs again, then takes a long thoughtful sip of her soda.

  “No, it’s not your fault,” she says, shaking her head. “I should have known that ninety nine point nine percent of men are assholes. No matter if they’re flashing a platinum AmEx card or flat broke. You got a good one, Jules. Your Dylan’s a keeper.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” I smile back. “But his mother?” I add in a whisper. “Well, that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

  §

  “What’s wrong?” Dylan asks, putting down his fork.

  “Nothing,” I reply, trying my hardest to force a smile.

  Because this should be perfect. We’re sampling our wedding menu at a wonderful restaurant downtown, and the food is absolutely amazing, but there’s just something gnawing at me, something I can’t ignore. And it seems like Dylan’s picked up on my weird mood, too.

  “Come on,” he insists. “What is it? What are you thinking about?”

  I place my fork on the table and look at him.

  Am I really about to say this? I wonder. After everything we’ve just been through, am I really about to jeopardize it all over again?

  I take a deep breath and then decide to just say it.

  No more secrets.

  No more lies.

  “How do I know you won’t go around giving out my number to random dudes if we broke up?”

  “What?” he says, so taken aback he almost chokes on his food. “That’s crazy. Come on, Julia. I’m nothing like that asshole, Marcus. You know I’d never do something like that.”

  “Oh really?” I shoot back. “You offered to buy my panties the first time we met, remember?”

  It’s something I’ve wanted to talk to him about for a while now, and it seems like this is the moment, whether Dylan likes it or not.

  “Okay, I understand where you’re coming from,” he says, obviously a little embarrassed. “And yeah, I guess I was kinda like Marcus when we first met. But the thing is, Julia, I’d never met anyone who was important enough to me to actually change my behavior before. But with you? I’ve changed so much since I met you. You must be able to see that. Before I met you, I didn’t even realize what my life was missing.”

  I look deep into his eyes, and the look he gives me in return – brimming with warmth and tenderness and sincerity – reassures me that he’s telling the truth.

  “Thank you,” I say, quietly.

  “No, thank you,” he replies urgently, those big black eyes blazing. “I mean it. You’re so special to me, Julia. You’ve done more for me than you could ever imagine.”

  I smile, feeling myself relax again, but even as I’m doing so, Dylan says something that has me tensing up all over again.

  “I’m really looking forward to meeting your family.”

  Oh God.

  I’d been pushing the idea of our families meeting out of my head, but now it looks like it’s really happening. So I guess I’d better give him a bit of a warning.

  “Listen”, I begin. “They’re not hillbillies or anything. But let’s just say they’re not exactly the kind of people that Gloria bumps into at the country club. They’re all really good kind people, Dylan, don’t get me wrong, but I’m just kinda worried about how Gloria’s going to react to my dad, not to mention his new girlfriend, Roxy. She’s quite the character.”

  Then, out of nowhere, it hits me: a huge wave of sadness, as powerful as a punch to the stomach.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” Dylan asks, obviously noticing the sudden change in my expression.

  But I can’t even speak. Right now it feels like there’s a huge hole in my heart, and this is one problem that Dylan can’t fix.

  “My mom,” I explain softly. “I just wish she could’ve been here. I wish she could’ve met you. She would have loved you. And it just makes me so sad that I’ll never be able to tell her what a great guy I’ve met.”

  He pulls his chair in close to mine and slips his arm around my shoulders.

  “I wish I’d met her too,” he says, stroking away one of the hot tears that’s started sliding down my cheeks. “She sounds like she was an amazing woman. And I just know that she’s proud of you, Julia, wherever she is.”

  I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, and suddenly it’s like I’m back there again: seven years old, in that beat up rented house in New Jersey, seven years old, playing dress up in my mom’s closet. I’d been rampaging around the house all morning, turning myself into a bride using anything I could find – an old table cloth, a raggedy lace curtain. I’d even ransacked my mom’s jewelry and make up boxes. There I stood in front of her dress mirror, looking at my own reflection. I’d made a total mess of my face – mouth ringed by great red swirls of lipstick – but when Mom found me, instead of being angry she just laughed and sat down next to me on the threadbare carpet, hugging me tight.

  “Oh sweetie,” she said as she squeezed me to her, “you look pretty as a picture! And one day, you will make a beautiful bride.”

  I open my eyes again, and I’m back in the present, back in this busy restaurant with my fiancé there by my side.

  “Sorry I’m so emotional today,” I offer with an embarrassed smile. “It’s like everything’s still so raw – but I know it’s just all the worry about the big day.”

  “Hey, hey,” Dylan says, brushing the tears from my cheeks, “you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling again. “For everything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Believe me, I’m not a control freak. I’ve never dreamt about a perfect princess wedding. All I care about is that I marry the man I love, the man who makes me happy. But if Dylan’s family need a big fancy production of a wedding, then why not let them have it? So we’ve hired a wedding planner – someone who knows what to do at these big swanky do’s – and she’s taking care of almost everything for me. The only thing I need to focus on is choosing a dress: one that makes me look amazing.

  Which is why (and I can’t believe I’m about to say this) I’m out wedding dress shopping with Nat and Isabella.

  Only just like always, Isabella is late to meet us.

  “Ta da!” I say, pulling back the curtain to show Nat the first dress I’ve dared to try on. “So? What d’you think?”

  “Look at you, sister!” she shrieks, clapping her hands excitedly. “I can’t believe you’re in a big white dress. You look like a total princess.”

  “Really?” I say sheepishly, stepping out of the fitting room to take a good look at myself in the mirrors.

  I do a little twirl.

  “Honest opinion,” I say, knowing Nat’s never one to pull her punches “Is this the dress?”

  But to my surprise, Nat sighs. “Oh, baby. Don’t get me wrong – you look beautiful, gorgeous, a million bucks. But it’s just not you. You don’t look like my Julia. It’s just got no ...” At this her voice drops to a whisper. “Sex appeal.”

  But this is Nat, remember, and even her whisper is still pretty damn loud.

  Sure enough, the snooty saleswoman who has been doing her best to ignore us, coughs like a school teacher.

  “What’s the point in us spending all those hours in the dance studio if you’re not gonna show off the results?” Nat continues, loud as hell.

  I nod. She’s right. This isn’t the dress. It’s only the first one I’ve tried on, I remind myself. It’s gotta be here somewhere.

  “I’ll tell you what you need,” Nat continues, in a voice loud enough for the whole damn shop to hear. “You need a dress that’s gonna make Dylan want to tear it off you the moment he sees it!”

  The saleswoman coughs again, as if she needed to make it any clearer that she disapproves of our conversation.

  “In fact, let’s get outta here,” Nat laughs, meeting th
e saleswoman’s dirty look with one of her own. “This is obviously not the shop for us.”

  “I can’t,” I sigh, widening my eyes to try and tell Nat to play nice. “I said we’d meet Isabella in here. We have to wait for her. She’ll be here any minute, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Nat shoots back, rolling her eyes. “That spoilt bitch is always late.”

  Just then, the door flies open and in rushes Bella, her face full of makeup, her hair freshly blow-dried, shouting goodbye to somebody at the door before skittering inside, as always in a total world of her own.

  “Ohmigod, so sorry I’m late, ladies!” she gushes. “But my hair took ages. You know how it is, right?” she says, pushing me out of the way to check herself out in the mirror.

  “We’re getting out of here, right now,” Nat tells her, making a move towards the door.

  “Sure thing,” Bella replies, even louder than Nat. “This place is like totally last season, anyway. I know just the place. Come on.”

  “Um, I think you’re both forgetting something,” I say, trying to ignore the daggers the saleswoman is shooting us all now.

  “What?” Bella asks, puzzled.

  “I’d better get out of this dress first!”

  §

  A few minutes later, as we all step out of the store, we’re blinded by what seems like thousands of flashbulbs all going off at once. But unlike Nat and I, Bella doesn’t seem at all dazed or confused.

  “Hi boys!” she coos, like this is an every day occurrence. “Meet my friends!” She gestures towards us. “Anyway, gotta run. We’ve got the wedding of the year to plan.”

  And with that, she wiggles off, doing her best Marilyn Monroe impression while the paparazzi chase after her, all shouting questions and vying for her attention.

  “Bella, this way! When are you gonna marry Tyler?”