by Alta Hensley
“I’m pretty sure you make her smile quite often,” he said, taking the vase out of the sink, and, after dumping out half the water, set it on the counter before me so I could start arranging the flowers I hadn’t massacred. “And your babushka reminds me of my mother. It’s nice to hear the mother tongue again.”
I smiled, not denying that hearing my grandmother address me as dorogoy, which meant “my dear child” always made me feel special… loved.
“You’re good with her,” I said, placing a zinnia in the vase. “I really am sorry about your mother. I would have loved to meet her.”
“And she would have loved to meet you,” Alek said softly. “Treasure every moment you have with your grandmother, Clara. You never know how long you’ll have with her. Cancer took my mother away when she was way too young, but she knew she was very much loved by both her sons.”
I noticed he hadn’t mentioned his father, but didn’t say anything. Instead, I nodded. “I will.” Placing the last piece of baby’s breath into the vase, I said, “Speaking of which, we’d better get back in there before she manages to get herself out of her chair again.”
He smiled, bent down, and chastely kissed my cheek before picking up the wine glasses. “After you,” he said, gesturing with the solo one held in his left hand. “I love watching you coming, but I also really enjoy watching you going.”
Instant heat flooded my face as I considered how that could be taken in so many ways. “You’re incorrigible,” I said with a smile, picking up the vase and turning to walk from the kitchen, never as aware of every move of my body as I was now, knowing his eyes were on me.
My goal had been to allow my more feminine side to show tonight, wanting Alek to see that part of me. Since most of my days were spent in leotards, baggy sweatshirts and a ponytail, I’d actually allowed my hair to flow past my shoulders and chosen a dress that clung to what few curves I had. I even took extra care with my makeup, applying it with a far more gentle hand than stage makeup required, but brushing on mascara and a bit of blush though he was totally capable of making my skin flush with nothing more than a look or a few words.
“I thought perhaps you two had snuck out the back door,” my grandmother said as we entered the room.
“And have you follow?” I asked, shaking my head as I set the vase down on the table by her side.
“Here you are, Mrs. Simyoneva,” Alek said, holding out a glass.
I noticed he didn’t let go of its stem until he was sure that she had a secure hold on it. Just that simple act had my heart filling.
This was a good man.
“You may call me Olga,” she said and then smiled. “But I’d much prefer Babka.” I smiled at hearing the address. It wasn’t as intimate as Baba but was another shortened form of babushka and showed my grandmother approved of Alek.
“It will be an honor,” Alek said, passing me a glass before lifting his. “Krepkoye zdorov’ye.”
If he hadn’t already charmed the pants off my grandmother, toasting to her good health in her native language sealed the deal. She was beaming like the spotlight I stood in on center stage. Nodding, she clinked her glass against his and took a sip and then a longer one before lowering her glass.
“Go on now,” she said as if she were the tzarina dismissing us from her court.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” I asked, suddenly a bit unsure about going out.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got my phone right here and this rather ugly necklace you insist I wear,” she said, reaching to pull the medical alert button she wore that she could use to summon help if she needed it. When I still hesitated, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t treat me like a child, Clara. It might take me longer to do things, but I am still perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“All right,” I said, giving in before I truly upset her. Setting my glass, which was still half full, down beside the vase of flowers, I bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “We won’t be late.”
“Don’t hurry home because of me,” she said, reaching up to pat my cheek again. “But feel free to bring me dessert.”
“Baba,” I said, shaking my head and pulling the afghan from the back of the loveseat and tucking it in around her legs.
“We’ll do that,” Alek assured her, returning from the kitchen which I hadn’t even noticed he’d ducked into. He topped off her wine, filled my discarded one as well so she wouldn’t have to lift the far heavier bottle, and said, “If there’s anything else you need us to bring you, don’t hesitate to call.”
“I won’t, young man. Oh, if you’d hand me the remote first?” she asked, nodding toward the shelf.
Alek moved to the shelf where she’d nodded but instead of picking up the remote, ran his fingers over the surface of an item next to it. “My mother collected matryoshkas,” he said, a tone in his voice of fond nostalgia and a bit of sadness. “May I?”
“Certainly,” Baba said, her face lighting.
Alek lifted the top of the doll, removing the torso of a brightly painted character to reveal another doll. I moved toward him as, one by one he pulled the next doll from its hiding place, each smaller than the previous one until he had four of the nesting dolls lined up on the shelf. He turned to look at me before glancing back toward the dolls featured in Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet, The Nutcracker.
“The Nutcracker, Drosselmeyer, the Sugar Plum Fairy, Hans-Peter, or the Mouse-King… but one is missing. The most important one,” he said, turning his gaze back to me.
“I’m afraid little Clara was lost years ago,” Baba said.
Alek looked from me to my babushka, back to the shelf and then to me again. “I think perhaps she decided to come out of her hiding place and grace the world with her presence.”
His words struck a chord within me that had my eyes welling. As a little girl, I’d cried for days when the smallest of the Russian nesting dolls had been lost. For the first time I considered how Alek might be right. I smiled as he bent forward to kiss my forehead and then slipped the dolls back into their hiding places until he settled the top of the Nutcracker back on, making me smile as he carefully aligned it just so in order that the outer doll appeared seamless. Picking up the remote, he turned to hand it to my babushka who was smiling brightly in apparent approval.
“Thank you. Now, go. I’ve got another sexy man to watch.” As if to demonstrate her sincerity, she carefully set her glass down and took the remote from him.
“Do you need help with that?” Alek asked as gnarled fingers curled around it.
“No, my granddaughter got me the fancy one,” my grandmother said, lifting the remote to her mouth. “Alexa, turn on The Movie Channel.”
Alek chuckled and then turned and took my arm. “I think we’ve been dismissed.”
“We have,” I agreed, and we left the house to the sound of the opening strains of Dr. Zhivago.
17
Clara
A half hour later Alek extended his hand to offer me help out of his car. Once I was standing beside him, he splayed his fingers against my lower back as he led me up a sidewalk. He’d not pulled into the parking lot of some restaurant. Instead, he’d pulled into a driveway.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said as I carefully navigated my way up the stone steps that led to a porch.
Stilettos required an entirely different set of muscles than a pair of ballet flats, and a hell of a lot more attention to where you placed your foot. Snapping a pencil-thin heel could do a lot of damage to a dancer’s ankle, but I’d really wanted to play the girly girl tonight.
Once we stood safely on the porch, I turned my attention from my feet to look up at his face. “What? Did you find some private chef to cook for us in her house?”
“Sort of,” he said. “I did hire a chef and, while he did cook us a meal, I’ll be the one serving it in my house.”
“Your house?” I said. While it might be sexist, my eyes swept across the façade where certain touches had me thinking the house
belonged to a woman. Brightly colored pots filled with ivy spilling over the edges were arranged in groupings along the porch. A rocking chair sat at the end, angled toward the street as if its occupant enjoyed sitting and watching the world go by.
“Well, it’s mine now,” he said. “I bought it after my mother died.”
I looked back at him and smiled. “That’s sweet.” Another thought had me not smiling quite so wide. “Um, does Yuri live here as well?”
“Hell no,” Alek chuckled. “We might work with each other, but no way are we going to live together. I bought out his half. He owns a loft closer to the theater.”
“That’s a relief,” I said and watched as his eyebrow quirked up, feeling my cheeks heat. “Come on, Alek, I’m not some naïve little girl. You change our professional meeting assuring me that nothing ‘personal’ was going to happen to a ‘date’ and bring me to your house? If that doesn’t mean things are going to get quite ‘personal’ then this dress and these fuck-me shoes are a total waste.”
His laugh was instant and unchecked. It warmed my soul, and the look in his eyes warmed me in a far more personal place.
“God, you’re like no other woman I’ve ever known,” he said as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my home.”
I walked inside and that was exactly how I felt… welcomed. The interior was light and airy, natural wood tones shone with the patina of age, and scattered rugs assured comfort yet I could so easily imagine them being pushed aside so one could lose oneself in dancing across the room. Colorful pillows provided spots of color. “This is beautiful,” I said, turning to look back at Alek.
“Thank you. My mother deserves all the credit.”
“Maybe, but the fact you kept it tells me you find it attractive as well.”
“I do. Now, I remember promising to feed you. The kitchen is through here,” he said, placing his palm against my lower back to guide me across the room.
“Oh my God,” I said, teetering on my heels as I came to an abrupt stop. “Alek, this is… this is unbelievable.”
I knew his mother had been an icon in Russia, that she’d turned her passion of dance into an extremely successful career, but now I was really seeing that up close. Memorabilia were scattered among volumes of books on the shelving of a bookcase that took up an entire wall. Framed photos of famous dancers held places of honor. It was a collection like I had never seen before. Even though I knew the entire Volkov family had been and still were involved in the ballet world, I didn’t think I ever really realized how much until now. Photographs weren’t the only items framed. I stepped closer to see beautifully illustrated covers of playbills autographed by some of the most famous dancers and choreographers of all time. The space was its own museum.
“Thank you.” His smile was soft as his eyes roamed over what I knew he must have seen a million times before. “I’m glad you like my collection. I know it might be overboard, but our entire family loves history and ballet, so combined…”
“Some of this has to be extremely rare.” I stared at a signed picture of Mikhail Baryshnikov.
“That was one of my mother’s favorites,” Alek said, picking up the frame. It was at the beginning of his career, and she said she always knew he would make his mark on the world.”
“She was right. He was magnificent both as a dancer and as a ballet director.” I smiled as I ran my fingers along the paint of a set of nesting dolls, feeling a connection with his mother. Alek hadn’t been exaggerating — there were at least two dozen different matryoshkas including the tiniest set I’d ever seen. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes locked onto an item tucked into a little alcove. “Alek… is this real?”
He reached past me to pick up the item, attempted to hand it to me, but I shook my head and stepped back.
“No way. I might drop it!”
Alek grinned, took my hand and laid the jeweled egg into my palm. “It’s just an egg.”
“Just an egg?” I said in relief. I gingerly released the little clasp and opened the top then pulled out an intricate golden carriage. “This is beautiful. It is a truly extraordinary replica.”
“Oh, it’s a real Fabergé,” Alek said, causing me to freeze in place.
“Alek! Take it back! Do you know how much this has to be worth!” I said, each sentence rising in pitch at my terror of dropping something priceless.
He chuckled and shook his head. I didn’t dare breathe until he took the egg back and tucked the carriage safely inside.
“It might be worth millions but, it’s still just an egg, an inanimate object,” he said, as he put it back on its pedestal. “I prefer my art to be brought to life by musicians, composers, and dancers like my mother.” His eyes locked on mine. “Like you.”
I felt both honored and humbled. “I could stand here for hours getting lost in the visions everything is painting in my mind.”
Grinning, he reached down and slapped my ass, and, when I jumped forward with a squeal, he said, “Speaking of art, if I don’t get Daniel’s masterpiece on the table before it’s ruined, he’ll never cook for me again. Come on, I’ll feed you, we’ll get the professional stuff out of the way, and then I’m going to give you all the personal attention you could possibly want.”
And feed me he did. The steak was perfectly medium rare, the potato gratin crisp on the outside and deliciously creamy beneath the golden crust. I took the last bite of white asparagus and then sighed and set my fork down.
“If Daniel doesn’t own a restaurant, he definitely should open one. This was delicious. Give my thanks to the chef.”
“I will,” Alek said. “Do you want your dessert now, or would you prefer it later?”
“Definitely later,” I said, not able to imagine eating another single bite right now. Tucking my napkin beneath the rim of my plate, I asked, “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Pushing away from the table, he said, “Let’s take this into the living room.”
A few minutes later, I was sitting on the couch, and he was in a chair opposite me. The fact this was the professional part of the meeting was the only reason I kept my shoes on. I’d not worn heels in years and probably should have gradually reintroduced them into my life or at least started with a pair that weren’t quite so high.
“We had a meeting with the committee from New York yesterday… and it was about you.”
The moment he’d said New York and “the committee,” I forgot all about my aching feet. I knew exactly who he meant… anyone connected to the ballet world did. And when he added that the meeting had been about me, I knew it couldn’t have gone well.
“Let me guess, they aren’t happy you hired me?” I asked and felt an anger welling within me. “You didn’t have to wine and dine me in some sort of effort… to what? Let me down easy? To fire me? I don’t know how many times I have to say this. I’m a big girl and know how this world works. I fucked up and, no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be forgiven. God damn it, I knew I should never had let you goad me into trying out—”
“Stop!”
It shouldn’t have, but the barked command had my mouth snapping closed.
“You done?” he asked in a quieter, but still firm tone.
Not truly trusting myself to either not say anything I’d regret or, more likely, burst out crying, I simply nodded.
“Good. You’re not completely wrong”—a hand went up when I started to stand—“and you’re not right. First of all, I don’t give a rat’s ass what they think about you joining our company. You didn’t seek us out — we sought you out, and both Yuri and I are glad we did. As for the committee, they’re just scared. They’re afraid the rumors about you will come back to haunt them. I don’t think they’re too bothered about the media stuff, because, of course, it will help bring in revenue. They’ve offered us the opportunity to put on a production, but they’ve told Yuri to keep a strict eye on you and axe you if you start to behave suspiciously.”
When he
stopped speaking, I smiled and nodded calmly at him. “Okay.”
Evidently not quite trusting the total one-eighty I’d done, he lifted his brow. “Okay? You don’t have anything else to say?”
I nodded and brushed away a tear that slipped free and, maybe for the first time, truly understood how isolated I’d felt. It didn’t mean I was making less of Alek’s offer, but I knew that while Chicago had a fabulous theater district, and this was my home, it wasn’t New York.
“They’re giving me another chance.”
“They are,” Alek confirmed, “but only because Yuri basically told them they could go fuck themselves if they thought he was going to dump his best ballerina because they were too cowardly to stand up for what was right.”
“He did? Wow…”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t be watching for you to make even the smallest stumble, and if that happens, don’t think for a moment they won’t pull you.”
I nodded. “I understand, and I don’t blame them. If I were in their position, I would probably think the same thing. I hold no grudges.”
“That’s very mature of you,” Alek said.
I smiled and then stood. Putting every bit of sexiness I was capable of into the short walk between us, I sauntered to where he was seated and sank down onto his lap. “I’m assuming the business side of this conversation is over?”
Alek grinned and slid his hand behind my head. “You assume correctly,” he said a moment before he pulled my mouth down to his. “So, I think you should tell me some more about you,” Alek said after he’d made sure to end the meeting in the best way possible. “And I don’t mean anything about the ballet. I feel like you’re something of a closed book, but I know there’s more to you than the ballerina.”
It was a compliment I’d never truly heard before. Smiling, I nodded. “May I take my shoes off first? My feet are killing me.”