Sasha: Book One

by Tonya Plank

  “We’ll do two basics, then an alemana turn, into a natural opening out, then a fan,” I said. “Ladies first.” I demonstrated their steps, hoping Rory could see me, sensing she couldn’t—she was too far back. I turned to face the women and demonstrated the men’s steps. “Good. Now we’ll put it together.” I held up my hand and Sadie was there in a flash. “Okay?” I said after we demonstrated twice. I was met with a sea of nods. “Take partners, then.”

  In an instant I was engulfed by female bodies. Every student wanted to start out with the teacher.

  “Can we spread out just a little, please?” No one moved. “Come on. We can’t dance without space,” I said, annoyance now showing itself in my voice. When no one budged, I moved a few steps to my right, nearly knocking into Rory, who was ready to dance with an older Asian man who took all the advanced classes. She appeared happy to be his partner, as if she knew him. But her position would make her the very last female in the class to rotate into me. When I looked at her, she didn’t even turn her head one millimeter toward me. Did she care? Was this a game? Or was she simply more mature than everyone else? Very likely the latter. But I still chose to be annoyed at her seeming lack of interest in dancing with me.

  I took Sadie’s hand, clicked on the music, and began counting the beats, letting everyone know we were beginning whether or not they found partners. It worked; people harrumphed, but they moved.

  “Good. Now rotate,” I said when the short routine was completed in full once. Luna was next to dance with me. Of course she’d gotten the most coveted position. I nodded at her politely; she lifted her chin and looked down at me in response.

  Rotation after rotation, I couldn’t help but watch Rory. She hadn’t had a good enough spot to see me at the start and flubbed a few steps up front. But she learned quickly, and by the time we had rotated about a quarter through the class, she knew all the footwork. That’s my girl.

  When it finally came time for her to dance with me, I decided to have a little fun with her. She’d been pretending not to notice me, not to care whether she danced with me this class, and now it was my turn. After I finished my dance with the woman before her in line, I looked at Sadie.

  “Okay. We’ve already made it through the first rotation? That was fast. Should we learn more?”

  More enthusiastic nods. Sadie looked stunned, then realized what I was up to, and gave me a playful glare, nodding toward Rory.

  I looked at Rory and pretended to be surprised.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. We have one more rotation.”

  Rory looked flummoxed. I extended my hand to her and resumed “Bésame.” Slowly, it seemed to dawn on her that I was playing. She shot me a glare similar to Sadie’s, then took her time placing herself in my hold. When she finally did so, she looked up and out over my shoulder, as if she didn’t want to look at me. I tightened my grip around her back, placing my fingers firmly under her shoulder blade and pulling her into me with a little nudge, which also forced her to stand up straight. She narrowed her eyes, still refusing to look at me.

  “You need to stand up straighter,” I said. “No one can dance with bad posture. It’s rule number one.”

  Finally, she looked at me. She narrowed her eyes even farther. I grinned and gave her a wink.

  “I guide you with this hand I keep on your back,” I continued, ever so slightly massaging the muscle under her shoulder blade. “You won’t connect with me properly if you’re slouching.”

  What made her want to slouch anyway? She was immaculate. What did she have to feel self-conscious about?

  I raised my arm slowly, for her underarm turn. I felt her nervous energy through her fingers. I pressed ever so lightly the muscle to the right of her spine, to lead her into the direction I wanted her to go. I could tell she was getting a little weak-kneed, as if she didn’t want to make a mistake.

  As she began her turn, I sped it up, whipping her around in a flash, her red skirt flying, her beautiful long hair cascading behind her. She giggled more as she returned to me.

  “Stand straight,” I commanded, pulling her back to me.

  As I whisked her into my arms, I held one arm out to the side, leading her into the natural opening out, and slightly pushed her to roll into that outstretched arm. She did as my body language commanded, rocking backward as my arm circled her back. I gently pressed my fingers right underneath her breast in catching her. I could feel her gasp.

  “Now to the left,” I said under my breath as I pushed her with my rounded arm and flung her to my other side, my other arm now curving to catch her small, delicate body.

  I caught her again, placing two fingers right underneath her left breast now. Without looking at me, she swallowed hard.

  “Now the fan,” I said, raising my arm high like I was opening a door for her and inviting her to walk through.

  I sensed Luna’s glare. Rory seemed the type who could cave under nasty pressure from other women. I was suddenly driven to make her more secure, confident. I whipped her around to face me, then led her into the turn. But instead of doing only one turn, as per the choreography, I whisked her around four times. Enough to show her I knew what she was capable of but not enough to be showy to anyone who wasn’t looking at us. Turns were her thing. It was obvious. She followed my lead and kept going, now having no choice but to spot my face, lest she lose balance and fall. Again, that look of hard concentration combined with ecstasy shone on her face. I wanted to spin her more, but it would be unfair to the other students who couldn’t do such things. So, I stopped her at four, wrapping both hands around her back, stopping her momentum. I pulled her into me as she caught her breath.

  As soon as she’d regained her balance, I unwrapped my fingers from her small waist. “You will have to get used to my strength,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure why. I needed to say it to Arabelle.

  She gasped, a bemused smile lighting her face, as I released her completely.

  “Now we begin new rotation,” I called out. Of course it would be now that I’d flub my English. She’d gotten me worked up. She hiccupped and stumbled away from me. It was like we were both high on something. Well, I knew what on.

  Chapter 11

  My fears about Arabelle and me not working out were not unfounded. Our first full practice was a struggle, to put it mildly. Perhaps during our tryout, I’d been on a high over her potential to be a perfect Rory. But she’d been dancing show dance style for so long, her Latin really was wanting more than I’d thought. She lacked the proper grounding necessary to work her hips. She looked so feathery light she was always on the verge of being airborne. Perfect for the balletic lifts in cabaret comps; totally wrong for Latin. She was Rory with slightly more Latin background.

  I soon realized that, from the show dancing, she had all these ingrained problems that I’d have to relieve her of. It might well have been easier teaching a blank slate: someone with no bad habits. And I found them hard to even try to break. She’d lost her husband not long ago, and it was a tragic death. She was still so fragile, both emotionally and physically. Sometimes it seemed she could hardly hold herself up. Not that I could blame her. That was the problem. She wasn’t over things and I couldn’t really expect her to be. But if we were going to train properly for competition, I had to be honest, and that meant being hard on her. Still, I found myself conflicted, and often forced myself to hold my tongue. Which made me all the more frustrated, leading to palpable tension in the air.

  And to make matters worse, Rory was outside in the main practice room again. This time, she was watching some friends as they trained for the O.C. competition. I wanted her to see me having a great practice with Arabelle. She’d only ever seen me fight with Xenia, bursting at the seams with frustration. I wanted her to see that I could be a truly good guy, a solid partner, and half of a champion pair.

  Even though I’d managed to hold my words with Arabelle, she knew I wasn’t happy. She left our practice with her head down, making me feel
worse than I already felt.

  Greta walked up behind me, rubbed my arm, laid her head on my shoulder. “You know what I think,” she said.

  “What do you think?”

  She only sighed deeply in response.

  “That it’s not going to work?” I guessed.

  She was silent.

  “I have to make it work, Greta. I’ve had so many tryouts. There’s no one else. I’m all out of options.”

  “Are you?” she said, then gave me two pats on the shoulder and walked off.

  “Greta,” I said as she opened the door.

  She turned to me, shot one eyebrow up, then pivoted around and breezed right through the door, leaving me with a perfect view of Rory, sitting out on the bench, clapping and shouting “Bravi” to her friends.

  ***

  The night of my private with Rory had finally arrived. Talk about schoolboy nerves. I hadn’t felt this way since my first practice with Micaela, light years ago.

  But first, I had to make it through my private with Cheryl. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to need any kind of explanation as to why I’d canceled her lesson slot. Nor did she seem at all out of sorts. Unexpectedly, she was more flirtatious than ever.

  “Wait till you see my costume for the comp!” she said, flashing me a wicked grin.

  “What does it look like?” I asked, trying to sound as flat and professional as possible.

  “It’s a surprise!” she squealed with that quarter-smile she always wore.

  “Okay, then.” I invited her into dance position. “Let’s go over the routines.”

  “Oh don’t you go worrying, though!” She nearly fell into me, her practice heels were so high. I’d told her not to wear the four inches for practice. Umpteen times now. I didn’t know what she didn’t want me to worry about. “I’m not going to be a diva like Luna and make you go getting a special costume just for me. No, no, mine’ll be onyx, just like your Latin tux. But with a nice big split up the…ohhhh, I wasn’t going to tell you!” She beat at my chest, meaning to be playful. But her nails were so long and sharp. It was anything but.

  I backed away a bit. “That’s quite all right, you don’t have to tell me now. It does sound lovely. Now let’s work—”

  “‘Quite all right!’ ‘Lovely!’” she hooted. “Where did you learn English? In England?”

  I was trying so hard to maintain professional airs with this woman, I’d gone too far with formal grammar. She was so tiring. “Yes, I lived in England for a little bit. Anyway—”

  “No, it’s totally okay. I actually love it! It’s ‘quite all right,’” she said with air quotes before bursting into laughter. She went to whack at my chest again but I backed away before the lacquer struck.

  The whole hour went this way. This woman had a concentration span of about fifteen seconds. If even that. I’d never make her presentable in time for the competition.

  The last fifteen minutes were the slowest. That’s because Rory showed up early and waited outside, watching the pros rehearse. My heart raced the second I saw her, and then I couldn’t get her out of my mind. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Spurring Cheryl from the practice room was hell. I kept telling her I’d see her next week and reminding her to practice, but she kept blabbering on about the competition. I could see Rory looking around, ever so nonchalantly peeking in. Cheryl followed my gaze out to Rory. The quarter-smile immediately disappeared and her eyes registered understanding. The spot that was formerly hers had been given to this other new student. She looked back at me, into my eyes, then immediately looked down, brushing her skirt, though she wasn’t wearing one—only fishnet tights and a leotard. It was just a self-conscious gesture. I noticed a tiny bit of water puddle at the edge of her eye, and, for one small moment, I actually felt a bit of pity for her. She seemed lonely. Maybe her husband didn’t give her a whole lot of attention. Maybe he was having an affair with one of those young female lawyers. But then she threw her head up and back, lifting her chin high, peering down at me.

  “I’ll see you next week. And remember, practice makes perfect.”

  Without a word she left, chin in the air. Rory stepped back when she passed.

  Rory’s cheeks reddened, and she rushed in as if she were late for a very important appointment. She was, as a matter of fact, but it was hardly her fault.

  I nodded and opened my mouth to formally introduce myself—since, oddly, we hadn’t yet—when she beat me to it. “Hi, I’m Rory Laudner, your new student.” Her voice trembled, as did her hand when she extended it toward me.

  It was cute how she thought I didn’t know her name. And how nervous she was.

  “Hello, Rory Laudner,” I said. “I’m Sasha Zakharov.” I wanted to start using my American name, Alex, more often, but in the studio, where everyone already knew me, I usually forgot. It felt wrong to correct myself, like I didn’t know who I was. So, I simply took her hand, which tingled with nerves.

  She held her chin down but her eyes peeked up at me over her deliciously long-lashed lids. The antithesis of Cheryl and Luna. Humility instead of condescension. It made me want to devour her. In a good way, of course.

  “Come in,” I said. She was still halfway in, halfway out. She looked around the room, eyes widening with wonder about what was about to happen to her, as if she’d signed up for some BDSM experiment or something. The very thought, which I now couldn’t get out of my head, sent a thrill down my spine. “So. What can I do for you?” I asked, trying to get things moving and make her relax a bit.

  She was in the corner putting her things down. She looked back at me, over her shoulder. “Um… Well, I’ve decided I really like the international Latin dances and I have a dance background but I want to learn these really well, and well, I thought private lessons would help me, you know, learn and get better quicker,” she blurted out, all in about two seconds. It was a good thing I’d learned English well. Otherwise, at that speed, I’d have had no idea what she said.

  “I see,” I said. “Well, I may be able to help.”

  She laughed. I hoped because what I’d said was stating the obvious. She seemed to be loosening up though.

  “We will start with rumba,” I said. “The movement of rumba is the basis of all Latin dance. If you master rumba first, it will make everything easier.” I tried to enunciate and use proper English. Not because she made me nervous. I could tell right away she wasn’t a Cheryl. But just because that was me. “So, let me see your r-r-r-rumba walks.” Agh, those rolling r’s again. I had to stop that.

  She didn’t seem to have any reaction to my imperfect pronunciation. But she did to the content of what I’d said. That doe in the headlights look returned.

  “I…your class is the first international rumba I’ve taken. I’ve only taken Mitsi’s social. I don’t know how to do walks.” She said all this in half a nanosecond again, then shrugged and rocked from foot to foot, looking down. This girl was kind of amusingly nervous. Good, it meant she wanted badly to please me. She’d be all the more willing to listen carefully to my instructions, take my corrections to heart.

  “So I will teach you. Stand behind me but look in the mirror so you can see both of us.”

  She did as I said.

  “Start with the right leg back. Both your feet have forty-five degree turnout, but no more or you may hurt your hips when you settle your weight.”

  “So not as much as in ballet,” she said.

  “No, not like ballet,” I said, after a brief hesitation. Her question initially delivered a jolt of panic to my gut. If she had too much ballet background, I might have the same problem ridding her of bad habits, as with Arabelle. “So the right leg is in back, toe pointed,” I continued. She extended her back leg long behind her, pointed her toe, doing as I said. Exactly as I said. The first time, on the first try, her form was utter perfection. “Yes, yes, beautiful,” I said, the words coming out almost as a whisper. Which meant I truly meant them.

  “Like arabesque!�
�� she nearly shouted, the antithesis of my whisper. She was excited. She’d connected the form to something she knew. I tried to remain optimistic and think of it this way rather than worrying she’d hold on to bad habits.

  “How long did you study ballet for?” I asked.

  “Fourteen years.”

  I took a breath. Okay, so she was not a tabula rasa. But I hadn’t seen anything yet that made me worry she wouldn’t be a good fit for Latin. No, it was a good thing, her dance background. She was comfortable with movement and had a strong understanding of concepts like line and center and balance.

  “It will help you. But it can also hurt you. Latin and ballet are very different. You’ll see.”

  She nodded. She had an intensely serious look in her eye, and now she regarded me straight on. She wanted badly to do well with this. I could tell. She had a passion not just for dance generally, but for perfection of style-specific technique. We were one and the same.

  “Fourteen years is a long time,” I said. “Why did you stop?”

  Her soft beautiful eyes darkened. She looked down. I’d opened a wound.

  “I…I was accepted to a summer program at the School of American Ballet in New York. I was prepared to go but…my dad got sick and then I got a little sick and my mom…withdrew me.” She spoke quickly, as if she wanted to get the explanation over with.

  “Sick? I hope your father is okay now?”

  She continued to look down. He wasn’t.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “No, it’s totally okay now,” she said, looking up, forcing her lips into a smile. Her eyes met mine. “It was a long time ago. It wasn’t my calling anyway. I think. I mean, I’m here now and ready to learn ballroom,” she said with a firm nod and a more genuine smile.

  “Okay, then. We will learn ballroom,” I said, returning her smile, and trying to remember where I’d left off. “Okay, so both legs are completely straight. As you brush your right foot forward, your toe never leaves the ground. When the right foot passes the left, your heels touch, and your weight slowly begins to shift. When your right foot is about a foot in front of you, you step on it and complete the weight transfer, putting your weight into the right hip now. And then your left toe is pointed in back.”