Come, Dance With Me

by Mary Middleton

  When he cradled her head against his chest, the music was so soothing, so heartbreakingly appropriate to their situation, that she simply wanted to give herself up to fate and melt into him. He was so strong, so impossibly masculine that he totally overwhelmed her on the dance floor although she fought to remain firm. While she was in his arms she was pliant, accepting his touch as that of a lover, for the sake of the competition but, as soon as the music ended, she reluctantly reassembled her armour and fended him off with brittle humour. The sharpness of her wit became a shield with which she parried every attempt he made to get closer. She couldn’t go there, she couldn’t let herself, couldn’t let it happen. Not when she knew it would all end in tears, her tears and, ultimately, Yana’s.

  On Saturday she enjoyed a rare morning in bed, laying in until eleven before exercising and getting ready to go to the studio. She had to be there by one o’clock for an afternoon of pep talks from the directors, followed by several hours in make-up. As she nosed her car through the weekend traffic she thought, with some relief, that at least there would be no practice today, no more dancing until the show opened. She could at least begin this round of the competition with a clear head.

  It was just after three o’clock when Sasha slipped into her dress and stood before the mirror. ‘There, what do you think?’

  She held our her arms and twirled ecstatically, the feathered skirts swirling around her feet while Terry, from the wardrobe department, watched from the corner, smiling at her own handwork. Then her expression changed and she came forward, her face creased with concern.

  ‘Sasha, what have you been doing? It looked fine at dress rehearsal. Look at this!’ Gently she tugged almost two inches of spare material around Sasha’s waist. ‘You’ve lost weight again, since Thursday! Take it off. I will have to alter it. It shouldn’t take long.’

  While Sasha wriggled out of the pink gown again, Terry fumbled in her box for pins and then she snatched up the dress and hurried off to her sewing room.

  As Terry disappeared down the corridor Sasha, now clad only in her underwear, turned her eyes back to her refection. She had lost weight. It was easy to see. She turned to the side, admiring her trim hips and slender thighs.

  At the beginning of the competition she had been ashamed of the spare flesh that puffed over the top of her panties and had dreaded the skimpy costumes the contestants were expected to wear but now her body was toned, her stomach was flat and firm, her hips smooth. Apart from a few silvery stretch marks it was almost impossible to tell she had ever had a child.

  ‘Sasha!’ When Andrei burst unannounced into the room Sasha yelped in surprise and grabbed for her robe. In a panic to cover herself she wrestled with the flapping, empty arms that had become tangled up in themselves while Andrei, making the most of her struggle, feasted his all too male gaze upon her.

  Beneath the make-up, embarrassment coloured her neck and chest.

  ‘What do you want?’ she cried at Andrei, who stood stock still at the door, as if he could see right through her robe to what lay beneath.

  ‘Erm, why aren’t you dressed?’ He fumbled for something to say, his intended question having been chased from his mind by the stunning sight of her, half concealed only by the skimpiest of underwear.

  She plumped onto a stool before the mirror and examined her face, trying to appear as if her heart was not threatening to leap out of her chest.

  ‘Terry has taken it to make a few alterations.’

  ‘At this time?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘ We go on in a little while.’

  Sasha was careful to keep her robe wrapped tightly around her as she swivelled to look at him, suddenly acutely aware of her semi-clad body beneath her clothes. ‘She will have it ready. I’ve lost weight, it didn’t fit properly.’

  Andrei allowed his gaze to trickle down to her bare legs, her alluring shape still discernible beneath the thin gown.

  ‘So I see.’

  Their eyes met for a long moment, long enough for Sasha to recognise the significant gleam in his dark, glittering eyes. It was a silent exchange that was charged with hidden emotion and unspoken words, before Andrei turned abruptly on his heel and left the dressing room, the door swinging violently in his wake.

  ‘I’ll see you in a while.’

  For a long time Andrei remained quietly on his own, trying not to think of the delights that lay beneath Sasha’s clothes. Instead he forced his mind to concentrate on the evening ahead, running through the steps of the dance in his mind. Sasha had worked hard this week and was dancing far better than he had ever imagined she would. In the last few days he had begun to feel a sneaking admiration for her. Initially he had thought she was weak, undisciplined and lazy but he had been wrong. She was the most determined celebrity partner he had ever had and so dedicated to the task. There was room for improvement of course but, considering it was just her second dance, he was confidant that, by the end of the evening they could be sitting comfortably at the top of the scoreboard.

  It had been a tough week. When he had instructed her to pretend to feel passion for him, he hadn’t dreamed she would prove to be such a competent actress. But she was so good he could almost be fooled into thinking she really did hold feelings for him.

  All week each fabricated tender moment had tested him further, pushing his restraint to the limits. When her face was close to his, her lips just a kiss away, her body cradled in his arms and she gazed at him with such apparent love, her lips parted, it took all the self-control he possessed not to take that which she appeared to be offering.

  But, when the music ended and she immediately pulled away to flash her artificial smile again, he remembered that, in truth, she held him in the bitterest contempt. What did I do that night? He wondered. How could she have made love to him like that and then left, without a qualm, almost breaking his heart in the process? His hopes of ever winning her again trickled away, leaving him lonely.

  It was almost time. Andrei began to strip off his t-shirt and button himself into a crisp linen shirt. The tie and breast pocket handkerchief matched the shade of Sasha’s dress. As he tucked the hanky into his breast pocket he smiled softly, remembering her funny remark about the flamingo. She was a witty woman and he liked that. He had always admired a woman who could make him laugh. He slipped on the jacket, smoothed it across his chest, tugged the lapels and stood tall, solemnly confronting the man in the mirror.

  To all intents and purposes he was a confident, handsome, self-assured man but Andrei, seeing himself from within, knew that the truth was very different. His outward appearance was merely a façade. Inside, he was trembling, like a guilty infant.

  It wasn’t the competition making him nervous. He knew he could dance, knew he could make Sasha dance as she never had before but, in order to reach that goal, he had to fly very close to the sun. He had to pull out all the stops and act out his love for her more convincingly than he ever had in rehearsal. In order to get the audience on their side they needed to convince them of the simmering passion, but in doing so, he ran the risk of exposing his real feelings and revealing to the watching world that his love for Sasha was not a pretence at all. And if Sasha ever came to realise that, he knew she would mock him and he didn’t think he could face her ridicule. Her brittle laughter would destroy his carefully constructed self-esteem.

  Sasha and Andrei had both been a little shaken when, earlier in the day, they had been informed that they were to be the first to go on. All the dancers preferred to perform somewhere close to the middle of the programme, before anyone had been too brilliant or too awful. If the preceding couple did well, it was easy to have your own confidence squashed, and if they did badly, then you had to wrestle with the fear that your own performance would also be horribly flawed.

  He laced his shoes, emerged from the dressing room and headed for back stage where the dancers were gathered like a scattering of coloured jewels against the purple set. Sasha was there, resplendent in glittering pink, her hair dre
ssed high, her feathers trembling, a pulse beating fast at the base of her throat.

  Mike was in front of camera one, making the introductions, the overhead lights sending alternate clouds of pink and purple across his powdered face. The crowd were on good form, responding with apparent enthusiasm to every one of Mike’s limp jokes and, when Pandora slunk on to the stage, garbed in shimmering purple silk, they stood up in their seats, applauding, seemingly at nothing in particular.

  This was a good sign.

  ‘This audience is ripe.’ Andrei whispered. ‘They will be like putty in our hands, Sasha. Just convince them that the passion is real and they will lap it up.’

  Although he had warmed up already Andrei busied himself, flexing his shoulders, stretching his arms before grasping Sasha’s elbow, his fingers nestling on the pulse point of her inner arm. He could feel the blood coursing through her veins, felt the extent of her nerves and gave a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘No, look at me, Andrei, I’m a bag of nerves.’

  ‘You will be fine. You look beautiful …for a flamingo’

  She turned to him, her mouth stretched wide and her eyes brimming with laughter, so that, when they emerged together into the spotlight, they were relaxed and laughing. Suddenly aware that the eyes of the world were upon them, her stomach somersaulted.

  ‘Oh, my God. I feel sick.’

  This particular routine began separately and Sasha took her position at the top of a short run of steps, crossed her hands over her breast and bowed her head as the music began to ripple around the room and the crowd quieted.

  Slowly Andrei raised his head and watched as Sasha glided toward him, his heart in his throat.

  You don't bring me flowers

  You don't sing me love songs

  You hardly talk to me anymore

  When I come through the door

  At the end of the day.

  She descended the steps flawlessly, reached for him, turned away, then, as if unable to leave, ran back toward him and launched herself into his arms. He pirouetted with her curled against him before slowly letting her slide down his body and back onto her toes.

  As she floated across the room, her arms elegantly undulating, fragments of feathers floated from her gown, drifting in the air around them like tiny fairies. Andrei took her in hold, clasped her perspiring hand in his and began to guide her around the dance floor. She was firm in his arms, her body moving with his, her fragrance wafting like magic, making his head spin. He wanted to look down at her face but, as they whirled around the floor in hold, the dance demanded that he keep his eye fixed above the heads of the audience. Instead, he had to be content that she was there, tight against him … just for little while.

  Andrei, at last able to look at her, traced the back of his hand along her cheek before letting his hand drop, his head droop in despair, Sasha’s expression mirroring his. Then they moved together, not touching, like two mating birds, graceful, arms lilting tragically while the audience breathed in time, living the narrative with them. Then, beseechingly, they lunged for each other, craving but not consummating, arms outstretched, heads hanging low. Then the music brought them together again and they were in hold, bodies close, her pink gown married perfectly with his dark clad form.

  They swirled about the floor, her dress following, flowing with sadness, her hands, even her fingers, expressing her great love, her inconsolable sorrow. Their hands clasped, she fell to her knees …bowed her head.

  So you'd think I could learn

  How to tell you goodbye

  You don't bring me flowers anymore …

  Andrei pulled her gently to her feet and their bodies entwined again, mirroring each other’s movements, their two broken hearts part of a whole. As the steps of the dance began to take her away, Andrei lightly crossed the floor, grasped her wrist and spun her back into his embrace. And right on cue Sasha leapt up into his arms and he held her horizontally across his body and spun with her, round and round, faster and faster, until they merged into one gorgeous pink and black entity. The faces of the audience were a blur of complex colour, their attention riveted on the tender couple on the floor. As the dance came to an end, they sighed as one and a ripple of applause surged into the room.

  On her feet again, she slowly let her hands run down his chest, her touch, even through layers of clothing, seeming to sear his skin. They moved apart for the last time, the desolation of the lyrics apparent in the lilting language of her body and, as she bowed her head again …Andrei saw the tears on her face and his breath caught in the back of his throat.

  She was crying real tears and hope leapt in Andrei’s chest. Was it just the emotion of the dance or something else, something real? The audience were on their feet, women were wiping their eyes, men were clearing their throats and fiddling with their ties. Smiling despite himself, Andrei held out his hand and beckoned her to his side and they took their bows together before running across the floor to face the judges.

  Chapter Five

  Sasha helped Yana on with her coat and scarf. The one good thing about Mondays was that she got to see her daughter onto the school bus, which would be here any minute. For just one morning a week it was almost like being a real mother.

  ‘Got your apple?’

  Yana patted her bag. ‘Yeah. Are you going dancing again today?’

  ‘I’m practising, yes. You will see me on the telly again on Saturday. You can stay up late especially.’

  ‘When can I come to the studio to watch again?’

  ‘Not every week, Sweetheart,’ Sasha kissed the top of Yana’s head. ‘If I don’t get thrown out this week maybe you can come the week after.’

  She stood in the street and watched Yana waving from the bus as it drew away, then she turned, unlocked the car and threw her bag onto the back seat. Another week of rehearsals, another week of being with Andrei, the torture of not being with him in the way that mattered.

  This time they were to dance the Samba and it was not a dance Sasha was looking forward to. The steps were frantic, the story passionate and the costumes tiny. If Terry had her way she would erupt onto the floor clad in just feathers and a few strategically placed diamante ribbons.

  ***

  ‘Are you okay, Sash? Really, I mean, you look fantastic but …well, you’re not just keeping things bottled up or anything are you?’

  Sasha had wangled a rare mid-week lunchtime to spend with Lisa. Although they shared a flat during the week, apart from using the same bathroom and kitchen, their lives were wide apart. Stirring her coffee, which these days she took black, Sasha smiled wryly.

  ‘I like the dancing part of it, I really do. If I wasn’t partnered with Andrei I think I’d be revelling in the competition.’

  ‘You are streets ahead of everyone else, Joe runs a close second and Vanessa is making progress but the chemistry between you and Andrei is uncanny. That Foxtrot at the weekend, it was, well, it was the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.’

  Sasha stiffened. ‘It’s supposed to be like that, we were acting.’

  ‘Were you?’ Lisa was unconvinced. ‘It didn’t look like acting to me, or to the rest of the audience, who were in tears. The lady behind me kept saying over and over again, ‘Oh, that was so beautiful, that was so beautiful.’’

  ‘I studied drama at university, remember?’

  Lisa put down her cup sharply, slopping coffee onto the table.

  ‘Sasha! I know you too well. You can’t fool me! If that was acting you should both get Oscars. Admit it, you still fancy him, don’t you and he definitely has the hots for you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Sasha’s face was pinched, her mouth pursed, her eyes deeply clouded. Lisa knew she was getting nowhere and changed the subject. ‘So, what are you dancing this week?’

  ‘Samba.’

  Lisa lay back in her seat, a teasing smirk on her face. ‘Ooh, now that should be interesting.’


  ‘Just stop it, Lisa! There is nothing between us, nothing at all. And, for your information, there never will be.’

  And grabbing her bag she slid from the booth. ‘I’m due back at the studio, see you later.’

  In dismay Lisa watched her friend weave her way from the crowded coffee bar. If Sasha really believed what she was saying then she was delusional.

  Sasha hurried back to the studio. It was empty and she sighed with relief as she changed into her dancing things. It was good to be free of Andrei’s stifling presence for a short while. On her own she could breathe properly, free her mind of some of its worries. The music system was in its usual place and, after some preliminary warm up exercises, she switched it on, took up her position in the centre of the floor.

  It seemed strange going through the routine without Andrei there, without him it was just half a dance, rather like her life, there was only one man who could complete it. The music, chosen by Andrei, began. It was Young Hearts Run Free, and again, the lyrics seemed to be an echo of her life.

  Sasha began to dance with her imaginary partner and this time, because she was alone, she was able to give rein to her feelings and express herself freely. She knew they would be wearing white on show night; she closed her eyes picturing how it would be. The bright lights, the animated crowd, the atmosphere zinging with energy.

  In her mind she saw Andrei before her, clad in white, his tanned body clearly discernible through his diaphanous shirt, his biceps defined, his hips wriggling, tight bottom gyrating.

  Sasha went through her moves, reaching out for a man who wasn’t there, pirouetting toward him, moving seductively as the routine demanded. She put her hands up to lift her hair free of her neck while she snaked her body, pouted her lips, thrust her hips, imagining him drinking in the sight of her.