Come, Dance With Me

by Mary Middleton

  Andrei’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall all he knew of Sasha’s family. He remembered a brother, working abroad but … Just at that moment Mike Bywater came past, smiling brightly as he always did in the aftermath of what he felt had been a jolly good show. Andrei beckoned to him, nodded in Sasha’s direction.

  ‘Mike, that is Sasha’s parents, yes?’

  Mike scanned the studio, located Sasha.

  ‘Erm …yes, I believe it is …’

  ‘And her friend, Lisa, is it?’

  ‘Yes, again, Andrei … Listen, would you like an introduction, they are sure to want to meet you?’

  Andrei shook his head just once, his eyes remaining fixed on Sasha in the bosom of her family

  ‘And the child, Mike; who is the little girl?’

  Mike peered across the studio again. Andrei could see the blue stubble of his emerging beard beneath the thick layer of powder on his skin.

  ‘Oh, that would be …erm …Sasha’s little sister, I forget her name.’

  ***

  One day off and then the rehearsals began again bright and early on Monday morning. Barely rested after the harrowing week, Sasha somehow managed to get to the studio dead on time.

  While Andrei waited for her, the equipment for the day already set up as he performed his warm up routine at the barre.

  ‘Am I late?’ Sasha asked, dumping her bag and removing her coat. Today she was wearing black leggings and leotard with a short, sassy pink skirt. She looked well and she knew it. The bathroom scales had shown that she’d shifted five pounds last week; that was almost nine pounds all together. At this rate no-one would be able to accuse her of carrying extra weight and she knew she looked and felt better than she had for longer than she cared to remember.

  ‘Foxtrot this week, right?’ she asked, trying to appear as if she were totally indifferent to the sight of him in his transparent vest, as if the smooth, tanned skin of his strong arms and torso weren’t making it both a pleasure and a torture to look at him.

  She pulled on her leg warmers and slipped into her dancing shoes before joining him at the barre. Then, flexing her arms and legs as he had shown her, she bent over and stretched her limbs slowly to ease out her muscles. She was still a bit stiff but nothing like the first few days when her body had ached so much she thought she would die of it.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. The foxtrot.’

  He was quiet, not as sullen as he had been the week before, but reserved as if there was something on his mind. A new atmosphere flickered in the air around them and she wondered what she had done to offend him this time.

  ‘I thought we would dance to this.’

  He switched on the c.d. and, after some initial crackling of the speakers, Neil Diamond’s voice filled the room. As You don’t bring me flowers filtered through her mind Sasha shuddered and her skin became swathed in goose pimples as her pulse moved up a gear.

  She hadn’t thought this week could in any way be harder than the last but this was a heartbreakingly romantic number, it was sure to rake up all the old feelings, the hurt and the tears.

  Andrei didn’t appear to notice her misgivings. He struck a pose in the centre of the room, head upright, shoulders back and arms out, waiting to receive her.

  ‘You will need to forget all the bounce and exuberance of last week’s jive. For the Foxtrot you must learn to be graceful, you must glide and sway and be soft and pliant …loving.’

  He opened his arms wider and obediently, like a lamb to the slaughter, she stepped into them. Their bodies were close together, her hand clasped in his, his other arm encircling her shoulder.

  ‘You must turn your head far to the left and lean you upper body away from me while keeping your lower body close to mine…’

  She couldn’t bear it. Surely he must realise how flustered she was, surely he could feel the vibrations of her frantically hammering heart. Her hands were hot and sticky in his. He began to move.

  ‘Don’t worry about what your feet are doing for the moment, just move with me and get the feel of the music, the sway of the dance…’

  It was quite easy to follow him. The music was wonderful, the movements of the dance fluid and dreamlike. She did her best not to stumble as she followed, enjoying, against her will, his close proximity. He was so skilful he made her feel like Cinderella at the ball.

  ‘Sasha, you didn’t tell me you had a sister.’

  ‘What?’

  She tried to pull away from him but he maintained his hold and forced her on.

  ‘I saw your little sister at the opening night. You’ve never mentioned her before.’

  ‘Oh …haven’t I?’

  She tried to act normally, as if nothing were amiss but she felt cornered. Her heart seemed to be beating high up in her throat, hampering her breathing, her mouth dust dry. She was hot and cold in turn, light headed and sure she would faint. Why was he quizzing her like this? Did he suspect the truth?

  She should tell him the truth, shouldn’t she? It was the perfect time to confess that the reason she spent every weekend at home, phoned her mother at every opportunity, wasn’t because she missed her parents. It was because, no matter how busy or interesting her day’s work, she would rather be spending time with her daughter.

  Her mind darted rapidly, considering all her options. She could lie and continue as before, hiding things, keeping secrets, or she could tell him the truth. Andrei, obviously puzzled by her hesitation, was looking at her strangely and, dragging her wits together, she concentrated on the dance, following his lead, trying to stem her racing heart.

  The moment passed in a flicker of regret. Maybe I should have told him, she thought, as he whirled her about the rehearsal room, but it is such a big secret. Sasha knew that if she confessed that she had a daughter, that admission might give rise to other questions and she might then be forced to reveal other much more difficult truths.

  For if Andrei discovered that Yana wasn’t just her child …but his child too …well, God only knew what would happen then.

  Chapter Four

  Andrei came toward her, slid his hand behind her head, his fingers digging into her skull as he pulled her passionately close. She felt his breath on her face, his scent filling her mind as his hot eyes trickled across her skin. Every cell in her body yearned to melt into him and, although she knew she should run away, she could not move. Instead, she stood like a victim and waited while he raised his free hand, traced his fingers along her cheek, ran his thumb across her lips. Her eyelids closed as his other hand travelled down her throat to cup her right breast before sliding beneath her satin robe.

  She gasped when he found her skin, her breath becoming laboured, her chest rising and falling, her legs weak. Andrei gravitated closer still, lessening the space between them and, in response, her lips opened, trembling with the longing to taste him. Imperceptibly, as his face drew closer, she tilted back her head.

  When it came the kiss was light, as if he were kissing a glass angel. His mouth moved gently on hers, his tongue questing, as if uncertain of his reception. But she opened her lips further, encouraging him, and his hands, growing more bold, roamed across her back before dropping to her bottom, gripping, pulling her tight against him, pressing his erection into the softness of her belly.

  Sasha groaned, the noise stifled in the back of her throat until he released her mouth and ran his tongue along her neck, consuming her and sending an explosion of delight running down her back like a scattering of diamonds.

  He pulled away, panting as hard as she, and reached for her hand to lead her toward a vast bed. Without protest, she followed him through white curtains that wafted in the early morning and knelt quietly while Andrei slowly slid the straps of her nightdress from her shoulders.

  His hands were on her body, his fingers stroking every inch of exposed flesh, his mouth anointing it. She lay back, lost in the ecstasy of his touch. Then, keeping his eyes fixed on her he threw off his remaining clothes, rearing over her, his
chest broad and smooth, his jaw clenched with curbed passion as he prepared to love her. The mattress sank beneath his weight as he pressed himself against her, his mouth on hers, his fingers travelling downward, searching, questing …‘SASHA!’

  Blearily, she lifted her head from the pillow. Lisa, still in her dressing gown, stood at the bedroom door with the house phone in her hand.

  ‘Huh?’ Sasha grunted, pulling herself upright.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me calling? It’s Claire, she wants to meet you for lunch.’ Lisa tossed the phone onto the bed and, still quivering from the exhilaration of her dream, Sasha picked it up.

  ***

  It was almost eight o’clock; if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for rehearsals. After a bowl of fruit and yoghurt for breakfast, she slurped coffee and ran a brush quickly through her hair. It was Thursday, the last day for getting things right. Friday and Saturday would be taken up with ‘polishing.’

  The foxtrot was not as physically taxing as the jive but it presented other problems. Spending hours in Andrei’s arms, held close to his torso while Neil Diamond sang evocative love songs was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. Constant contact with him was filling her head with all sorts of impossible scenarios, like the white-hot dream she had had that morning.

  All week she concentrated hard, hoping that if she proved competent, it would prevent Andrei’s mind from reverting to the question of Yana. She had hated lying to him. All the way home from the studio she had scolded herself for her cowardice. She knew he had every right to know he was a father, Lisa was always telling her so, and so was her mother but Sasha was afraid of him knowing.

  Ever since the day she had sat on the toilet in the pub almost seven years ago and watched as the pregnancy test turned positive she had been afraid of him finding out. The truth was, and it was a truth that Sasha would admit to nobody but herself, she had loved Andrei from the first moment. Or at least, she loved the man she had once believed him to be. The dream Andrei. But she knew that man didn’t really exist and so had never taken steps to contact him. She didn’t need to prove to herself that he felt nothing for her, she knew that without being told and, once he found out about his child, he would think she’d been trying to trap him. And she wasn’t, all she had ever wanted was for him to want her, if he didn’t then she was certainly not one to beg. Even now she longed for Andrei to feel the way she did, but he had to want her for her own sake, Sasha’s sake …not out of guilt or duty.

  Sometimes she imagined telling him about Yana, dreamt up a scenario where she confessed everything, but it always ended horribly with him turning away from her to embrace Yana while she was left on the sidelines. Sasha had yet to invent a situation where Andrei wanted her … exclusively.

  Surely she wasn’t jealous of her own daughter? Yana was the one constant, unchanging element in her life. She was her night and day, the only person who truly, truly mattered. It was so very hard handing her over to Mum every Sunday but she had no choice, it was something she had to do as a single parent, in order to provide.

  Sasha shook her head violently, dispelling the train of her thought. There was no point in churning these feelings up now. She had enough to worry about. Like mastering this Foxtrot for instance; the most heartbreakingly romantic dance ever created. Why, oh Why did she have to be dancing it with a man she hated to love?

  She snorted at the pathetic silent pun and focussed her eyes on the road ahead. She needed to concentrate, she was nearing the dual carriageway now and the traffic was building up.

  Andrei managed a fleeting smile when she came breezily into the room.

  ‘Am I late?’

  She dumped her bag. Andrei looked at the clock.

  ‘No, well done, Sasha, you are bang on time.’ He held out his ipad for her inspection, ‘Have you seen the sketches of the costumes we will be wearing on Saturday?’

  She bent her head to examine the dreamy, pink lines of the dress. Yards of material, the bodice encrusted with crystals, the diaphanous skirt trimmed with feathers.

  ‘Wow.’ She glanced up at Andrei. ‘I will look like a flamingo.’

  A laugh twitched the corners of his mouth but he suppressed it. ‘They want us to go for a fitting after lunch break so we must work extra hard this morning.’

  Sasha flexed her arms, bent her body along the length of her leg. She couldn’t have done that a few weeks ago.

  ‘Do you think I am getting the hang of it?’

  Andrei, who was preparing the music, stood up.

  ‘I think so. You just need to relax. To dance the foxtrot properly you must understand the dance, relate to the tune, listen to the story and most of all trust implicitly in your partner.’

  Sasha snorted inelegantly, quickly putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes dancing.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, sobering up. ‘Come on then, let’s make a start.’

  As she went into his waiting arms she took a deep breath, closed her eyes as he began to guide her about the room, rising and falling, swaying to the music, Sasha’s head turning this way and that as they changed direction.

  Suddenly Andrei stopped, pulling Sasha’s mind back to the present.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Andrei ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it so it looked as if he had just got out of bed. He sighed heavily and walked away from her, turning when he reached the centre of the room and coming quickly back toward her, his words tumbling from his lips, lacerating her feelings.

  ‘You are too stiff. You have the steps and your finishes are not too bad. Technically we should do quite well on Saturday but … it is as if I am dancing with a statue. Your heart is like a stone. You must have emotion, pretend to make love to me …’

  Sasha pouted, crossed her arms. ‘I’m a chat show host not an actor.’

  ‘Look.’ He took her in hold again, his voice whispering into her ear, sending shivers through her body. ‘Close your eyes and, just for the duration of the rehearsal, pretend I am someone else, a lover. You have had lovers haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ It wasn’t really a lie. She had had him …briefly. Her spine was rigid, her cheeks burning, her heart pumping with a mixture of indignation and arousal. They began to move to the music again.

  He held her as if she might break. As they turned and swayed he whispered in her ear, making her heart swell and tears start in her eyes. ‘Love me, Sasha. I am the man of your dreams. Melt into my arms, let me in, let me love you. You are beautiful, I want to make you mine, forever …’

  His voice continued and, hypnotised by the persuasiveness of his words, she let herself believe them, just for a moment, she told herself, just for the duration of the rehearsal.

  His hand on her shoulder blade was burning hot, she was aware of his every movement, his muscles rippling against her body until the steps of the dance took him away and the coldness became acute. Then, they were in hold again, with her eyes closed, her head turned away, her upper body leaning back and away as the dance demanded, she let herself believe that they were lovers. She turned in his embrace, their bodies cupped like spoons, his hands running along the length of her arms, trickling from the ends of her fingers. She lowered her head, felt his breath on the nape of her neck as she curled her upper body forward.

  You don’t sing me love songs … sang Barbara Streisand.

  You don’t bring me flowers … replied Neil Diamond

  Any more…

  As the music began to fade Sasha turned and slowly withdrew from him, her eyes open now, fastened on his, entreating him to love her as she backed across the room, her arms outstretched.

  Andrei sadly watched her leave.

  Then he stood up tall, walked briskly toward her. ‘That was so much better, Sasha. I will make a dancer of you yet.’

  With her back to him Sasha cuffed away a tear and pinned on a brittle smile before turning to face him again.

  ‘Yeah, that was much better. I should be on the stage.’

>   Andrei handed her a bottle of water.

  ‘You are so flippant, so hostile Sasha. I don’t understand why. If we could get past our differences we would stand a much better chance of winning.’

  ‘Winning? Are you serious?’

  ‘Of course, I am serious. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

  Sasha gave a short laugh. ‘We don’t stand a chance…’

  Andrei sat down next to her and took her water bottle and drank from it without wiping it and handed it back. Sasha drank too.

  ‘I think we do,’ he said. ‘If you keep up the hard work and do as I say, we could be brilliant together.’

  ‘You really want this, don’t you?’ Sasha’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Come,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Again. This time with even more passion.’

  By the end of the day Sasha was both physically and emotionally exhausted. To be so close to him, to have to act out an act that wasn’t really acting at all, was taking its strain. At six o’clock, when Andrei left the studio, she retreated to the changing rooms and, stripping off her leotard, stepped under a shower and let the tepid water chase the hunger from her aching body.

  She knew she had to forget about him, there was no chance of a relationship, even if they got it together, once he found out that she had kept the existence of his daughter from him, he would hate her all over again. Sasha felt she was on a roller coaster, convincing herself that she hated him one moment and almost melting at his touch the next. He was like a bar of good chocolate, you knew it was bad for you but you craved it just the same – just one more bite. As she rubbed the water from her body with a towel she decided she would just have to get tougher with herself, much tougher.

  He worked her like a donkey. Every time she sank to the floor after a practice dance he pulled her up again and made her repeat it. She danced so hard and for so long that she barely had the strength to keep him at arm’s length, metaphorically speaking.