by Lisa Luciano
“Then don’t.”
The answer seemed so simple to Robby. It’s always simple when it’s someone else’s problem, he mused.
“My wife would never let me take our daughter. I’ve asked her to consider coming with me, if only as a companion, but she is reluctant to leave her family behind. It’s all she knows. She’s afraid.”
“There must be some way out,” Robby said.
“There is. But I don’t know if I have the courage.”
“To leave?”
“To face what comes after.”
Dimitri stood up straight, put on his game face, and marched out the door with the defiance of a spy on his way to the firing squad. Robby wanted to call him back, but there was nothing left to say.
“First piece of business is to decide which network to sign a commentator deal with. You don’t need NBC because they re covering the pro championships and you’ll be in those. Right?” said Ralph Ratner as he stood beside Glenn who looked more than ready for battle in his blood red, military-style costume.
“I guess,” Glenn answered weakly.
If nothing else, Glenn grudgingly admired Ratner’s mind. He himself had never bothered with financial arrangements and wouldn’t know how to handle them if he had to. College had been put aside with the vow that he would go after it was all over. Now that seemed a nonsensical whim.
“Then it’s between the other two,” Ratner continued. “ABC’s got Nationals, but CBS has Worlds. You’ll have to see who offers the best long term package.”
Glenn was relieved when a voice interrupted them.
“Is the hunter ready to seek his prey?” asked a young man of about twenty five who possessed a broad grin and boundless enthusiasm.
Philip’s bowed legs pointed more toward B Westerns than ice dancing. A silver satin outfit bedecked with white ruffled sleeves had transformed the UCLA business major into a Tinsel town gaucho the day before. Now red, white, and blue sweats hung on his sturdy frame.
As Glenn shook his hand, he noticed all the people milling around and wondered if they were waiting for him to succeed or anxious to see him fail. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
“Hey,” Philip said. “What’s with the water works?”
“It’s the last time I’ll ever see this place.”
“What do you mean? They’re bound to use it for future competitions. Maybe a tour.”
“No. I’ll never be back here again. The next time I see another ice rink, I’ll be someone else,” Glenn said.
“Is that so bad? You’ve got the whole world waiting for you. Opportunities the rest of us would kill for.”
Ratner suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Tell him,” Ratner said, walking away. “He won’t listen to me.”
“I think I’ll be okay doing the commentary,” Glenn said, tugging at an epaulet. “You’ll be great,” Philip declared. “Nobody knows more about what it’s like to be out there than you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know about that other crap. I hate doing commercials.”
“What’s so tough? You don’t have to be Olivier to look into a camera and say ‘try Wheaties’,” Philip said, holding up an imaginary cardboard container.
“I know, but the last time I wound up doing beauty pageants and award shows.”
“Would you rather be a trivia question on Jeopardy? Hey, relax, will ya? Cruise, man. You’ve earned it.”
Glenn shook his head.
“I miss it already,” he said, wistfully.
“Oh, you need help, son.”
Paige bit off the last vestige of a fingernail. She didn’t notice TJ’s approach. “Can I give you a ride, little girl” he said with a wink as he snuck up behind her. “Take a hike, goof ball,” she declared.
He inched his body closer to hers.
“Don’t be that way. You’re with Donovan, right? Waste of time.”
“Look, I told you—”
“Just tell me one thing. What is it about him? What’s he got that makes all the girls go gaga?”
Paige couldn’t speak for anyone else, though she imagined the sight of Robby in body-hugging costumes that defined his broad shoulders, washboard stomach, narrow waist, and bulging thighs didn’t hurt. But for her, it was something deeper.
“Talent,” she said.
TJ seemed unconvinced.
“Being really good at something gives you confidence. And confidence is a definite turn on. Sometimes when I watch him skate, I can feel the energy and power flow from him.”
“Hey there, darlin’. I got something you can feel right here,” he said, sliding his hand over his crotch and giving it a squeeze.
Paige wanted to gag, but as she glanced over his shoulder she saw Robby heading toward them. She turned on her most seductive smile and offered it to TJ.
“You’re right. I was being a bitch.”
“Now that’s much better,” he said, when he suddenly felt himself being yanked backward.
He landed on his butt. Looking up, he saw the fury on Robby’s face.
“Oh crap,” TJ said as he scrambled to his feet. “Dude, this is not what it looks like.”
“In about thirty seconds, you’re not going to look like what you look like either.”
Dodging to get past him, TJ tripped and fell into a metal water fountain, slamming his face against the corner. He was stunned by the blow, but kept going, seeking refuge in the bathroom.
Robby stared at Paige hoping to find shame or embarrassment in her eyes. There was none.
“I can’t believe you’re pulling this crap now,” he said.
“Should I have made an appointment? Would that have fit more comfortably into your completely-planned-down-to-the-last-detail life?”
“McNally’s an asshole, but I don’t understand you. Did you come here just to make me look stupid?” Robby asked, trying to hide the hurt under a layer of anger.
“It got your attention.”
“What do you want from me? Did you expect to just pick up where we left off?”
“Which was where? Paige asked.
“Look, I’ve been honest with you from the beginning.”
“What about being honest with yourself? You hide behind skating like it’s some jealous lover that won’t let you go. It’s just an excuse not to face the world. What are you afraid of? Me? Do I scare you? Or is it any woman who gets too close?”
A garbled voice filtered into the hall through the public address system, cautioning the skaters that the five minute warm up was about to begin. Robby turned to leave.
“You can walk away from me, but you can’t run from yourself,” Paige said. Waiting just off the ice, TJ touched his fingers to the red bruise under his eye as Robby and Dale joined him.
“Not enough pancake makeup in the world to cover that,” Dale said, not knowing the reason for it, but enjoying TJ’s problem more than he cared to admit. “You shouldv’e used Vaseline. It would’ve kept the swelling down.”
“Gee thanks, professor, but it’s a little late now. The damage is done,” TJ said, disgustedly.
He and Robby exchanged a long look. TJ shook his head.
“Dude, you disappoint me. You’ve got everything going for you and you violate the cardinal rule of success. You let a woman mess with your mind.”
“Maybe,” Robby said. “But I’m not the one who looks like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.”
“Man, I don’t need this,” TJ said. “I’m outta here.”
TJ headed for the tunnel, but was blocked by a smaller, yet fiercely determined Dale.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Dale asked.
“A—none of your business. Two—what are you gonna do about it?”
“Whatever I have to.”
“Ooh,” TJ cooed. “You gonna throw a hissy fit?”
“I wouldn’t waste the energy. I’m just going to make sure you do the right thing.”
“And what is that, Master Yoda?”
; “People all over our country have put out ridiculous amounts of time and money supporting you, though God knows why. All they want is to see you skate. And you’re damn well going to. You think you’re so cool. Well, you’re not. Wasting talent isn’t cool. It’s moronic.”
“I don’t want their support and I don’t need it. That’s the work of the Bitch Goddess from whose loins, I’m sorry to say, I escaped. And because of that I’m supposed to go out there and smile like some escaped mental patient and pretend I’m having the time of my life?” TJ asked.
“Yes. People need something to believe in, even if it’s a lie. We give them that. And you have no right to take it away from them. So you’re going to get it together and get your ass out there, and give the performance of your life.”
TJ would never admit that Dale had just grown a good six inches in his eyes. He simply stood erect and saluted.
The first group of five men began their warm up like ghosts risen from the graveyard. Since Freeman had withdrawn, Robby was the only known skater among them. Carol watched him puff with each stroke of the blade as if he were climbing a mountain. If he felt the pressure of every eye on him, he didn’t outwardly acknowledge it, but she knew his moods. He was scared.
“Gentlemen, please clear the ice,” a voice commanded.
Within seconds, Robby stood alone. Everything he had worked for was now. He should have been thinking about his program, running it over and over in his mind. Instead, he looked up. The stands were only half full as people slowly filtered in, chattering away, carrying popcorn, sodas, and programs.
This is the Olympics. Don’t they care?
He didn’t need their attention, but he wanted it. For the first time in his career, he wanted them to watch. That thought frightened him more than the triple jumps that were only seconds away.
Brigitta and her commentating partner sat in the TV booth, looking down on the action as they offered pre-competition analysis to millions of viewers.
“Of all the men, Robby has the highest level of technical content in both his short and long program. I think he felt he needed it to overcome his artistic scores which are usually lower,” she said, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart that wasn’t the result of the live worldwide feed, but rather the sight of Robby.
“Why is that?”
“He tends to hold back. He’s reluctant to share himself with… the crowd.”
“Unlike Glenn Chandler or TJ McNally.”
“Yes. Robby is technically the best, but he’s not comfortable trying to seduce the audience. He doesn’t skate for them. He skates for himself,” she said with a hint of disdain.
“Is that wrong?”
“It’s not what the judges want.”
“Are you saying he has to compromise who he is in order to win?”
“No. He just has to show it.”
As the meager crowd settled, Carol stared at Robby. The frisky young colt of four years ago was gone. His body had changed. The muscles were longer, more evenly distributed. His face had thinned out just enough to give him an almost wistful look. A mature elegance surrounded him.
When did that happen? she wondered.
Robby circled close to the boards listening to the buzz of the fluorescent lights and an occasional cough from the audience. His maroon pants matched a collarless tunic top. Edging the v-shaped opening that plunged to the middle of his chest was an embroidered design. A knotted rope belt hung down beside one leg.
TJ, who had a long wait, was still in his sweats. He sidled up next to Paige who was breathing so hard she began to feel lightheaded.
“Come on. What’s the scoop?” he asked, being sure to stay out of Robby’s sightline.
“He’s skating to music from an old ballet called The Prodigal Son,” she said, seeing no point in protecting the information any longer.
“You mean the story from the Bible? That sounds like a real knee slapper.”
“It’s not supposed to be a square dance. It’s about making the wrong choices and taking people for granted and hurting others because of it, and it’s about—”
“Forgiveness,” TJ added solemnly. “I know.”
They riveted their eyes on Robby as did every other person in the arena. He took one last deep breath. His body was healed. The program was in place. He was ready. Cameras, judges, and competitors were only yards away, but suddenly he didn’t care where Glenn or anybody else was. He would deal with Paige later or maybe not at all. No matter what else went on between them, he knew she wanted him to win.
He had to stay focused. The only two people that mattered, the only two that cared, were right behind the gate and would be waiting for him no matter what happened. That’s all he needed to know.
Paige took a quick look at Carol, not sure she was welcome in the same building, much less by her side. But she was sure it was what Robby wanted, so she edged closer until they were only inches apart. Together, they began taking breaths with each of his.
If he blows this, I’ll kill her, thought Paige.
If he blows this, I’ll kill myself, Carol promised herself.
Robby slid his hand along one blade and squeezed the ice chips between his fingers. The crowd was gone. There were no sights and no sounds until the roar that followed the announcement of his name momentarily broke through his defenses.
He allowed himself a quick glance up at the audience from center ice. A huge impressionistic painting surrounded him. The faces were blank. Only splashes of color remained. A moving canvas poured energy out to him. He shut the gate behind him in his mind. Everything but the task before him had been obliterated.
The music began. He stroked hard and fast. Little by little, layers of fear began to peel away. His billowed sleeves flapped like the sail of a powerful ship cruising toward its destination. With each jump and spin, more emotion was pushed to the surface.
The passionate rhythms swelled as Robby reenacted each moment of the story. He stroked furiously away from his home to a new more exciting life. His body writhed and spun as he escaped the clutches of a beautiful seductress. He fell out of a masterful death drop into the hands of false companions who robbed him of all his worldly goods.
As the music faded, he glided on his knees, broken and battered, stretching his arms skyward. A perfect performance. No marks, good or bad could change that. The absolution he sought was finally his. He found it, not in Carol’s eyes as he always had before, but in his soul.
The applause was respectful, but thin due to the limited number of hands available. He didn’t even hear it. He stroked off the ice and sat between Paige and Carol on the couch in the ‘kiss ‘n cry’ area. He was breathing so hard, he couldn’t help inhaling the earthy scent of the sprays of flowers decorating the section.
The scores came up. 5.4’s and 5.5’s. Lower than he was used to, but not as bad as Carol anticipated considering the fact that he had skated first. She refused to think about what it meant.
Ten competitors later, it was Dale’s turn. None of the other skaters in between had matched Robby’s technical standard, yet their marks came dangerously close. Still, he was able to hang on to first place, but everyone knew it was merely a matter of time. The question was not if, but how far he would plunge.
Dale looked past Andre at his former coach one last time, wanting to thank him, not only for being there at the beginning, but for so much more. Suddenly, despite his fear of what Andre might do, he wanted to win, not for himself, but for Donald Conway.
The program was going well. He’d completed a less difficult, but respectable triple-triple combination. No problem with the rest of the required elements. He lifted off for his last jump knowing it was the final hurdle to clear.
Hubris, he thought, preparing to suffer the same fate as the Greek hero who was punished for the sin of pride.
He popped the triple Lutz into a double. The program was over. It wasn’t nearly as good as he knew he could be. And it didn’t matter a damn. Andre looked shocked
as did the crowd when the second highest marks of the night were displayed. Dale was still in the hunt.
“Donovan’s marks are good, but not unbeatable,” said Petr Ilyukin, a small, brooding man who was standing beside Blasko as a TV camera followed Dimitri pacing just off the ice.
His eyes resembled two black pearls. Small, round, shiny, and lifeless. They snagged Dimitri’s. The young man was suddenly struck by how much he resembled a weasel.
“Dimitri can win,” he said as Dale’s marks faded from the scoreboard.
“Yes, but…” Blasko began before silencing himself.
“But what?”
“Nothing. He knows what must be done. I have faith in him.”
“Let’s hope we are left with more than that when it’s over,” said Ilyukin.
Blasko was concerned by his tone. Secretary General Illyukin was Minister of Sports, but had always shown a special interest in skating. In any other country that would be a bonus. In Russia, it simply meant the expectations of a nation had a face.
Dimitri knew what he had to do. He could not afford to miss a single element. He paced, trying to shut the world out, but his thoughts stubbornly flew back home. His parents would not be watching on TV. His father’s job on the railroad could not support such a luxury. Most of his friends would not see his efforts either. They would most likely be on a line waiting for a piece of meat that didn’t exist. Blasko glared at Robby as he approached his friend.
“Good luck,” Robby said, extending his hand.
Dimitri returned the handshake, grateful for the warmth of human contact.
“I cannot win.”
“Yes, you can.”
If it was to be the last time they saw each other, they would go out as winners at least in their own minds.
Dimitri felt the sweat soaking his costume. When his time finally arrived, he took the ice with a stoic intensity. There were moments of technical brilliance during the program, but it was a flame without heat. The fire that burned within this enigmatic young man was safely bottled up. The performance was uninspired, but it was enough. The functional choreography and solid jumps could not be faulted and earned him first place as he edged past Robby. He watched the high marks come up, then followed his coach into the recesses of the arena without comment.