I couldn’t help shaking my head in sour amusement at her expression.
“You don’t like Laney because she’s happy?”
She grinned at me, unrepentant.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Her smile dimmed. “But it’s more than that. She knows as well as any of us that the world is not a kind place. People do cruel things, evil exists, and we all flail around in a sea of selfishness, insecurity and misery. She knows this, but she acts like it isn’t real. It’s very real.” She paused, lowering her eyes. “I have nightmares,” she admitted as if ashamed. “Every night, another horrible dream. I cut my hair, I fix my face, but I can’t fix inside here,” and she pointed at her head, “or inside here,” pointing at her heart. “I’m so cold inside.”
I put my arm around her and she leaned her head on my shoulder. I don’t own all the pain in the world—Yveta reminds me of that.
“I don’t like Sarah either,” she said, a tiny smile lifting her lips. “Always smiling, always happy. You can tell that she’s never suffered.”
I felt a stab inside my chest—I didn’t think that was true anymore. And it was my fault.
Yveta sighed with frustration.
“I don’t want people to suffer, but I’m just so jealous of everyone who’s had it easy. Like they don’t understand what they have. Sarah had you, and she threw you away because you’d slept with her brother. I would never do that.”
My body stiffened.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not making a play for you, Luka. I don’t want a man. Or a woman,” and she smiled at me mischievously. “But if I had what she had, I would never let it go.”
Her smile slipped away as her lips clamped together in a hard line, and I saw the pain in her eyes—that was the real Yveta under the hard shell that she wore like armor.
“She has the dream, and because it wasn’t the perfect picture she had in her childish mind, she decided it wasn’t good enough. She is greedy. And you are the one who suffers. Although, I think she must suffer, too, because she has lost you.”
I thought about what she said. I didn’t agree with all of it, but I could understand her perspective.
“I think she hates me,” I admitted, a sort of horror of speaking the truth sparking inside me. “She can’t forgive me for being with her brother. I don’t want to be forgiven—I didn’t do anything wrong! But she blames me, because she can’t blame Seth.” My shoulders dropped. “I just don’t know how to be a part of Beth’s life when her mother hates me.”
My head rolled back. I was tired of feeling so hopeless and helpless, so full of hatred, raging against the unfairness of the hand that I’d been dealt.
It infused my dancing with a rage-driven adrenaline that even Ash couldn’t match, and I dropped into bed exhausted, but still unable to sleep.
All night I would wonder what Beth was doing, how she was feeling, how much she’d grown. Did she miss her father?
Yveta huffed impatiently.
“Fine. Give up. And a year from now when Sarah has a new man, your daughter will be learning to call him papa.”
God, that hurt so badly, my stomach churning, my heart beating wildly. No! No!
“Don’t ask Sarah,” Yveta continued,” her eyes glittering with anger. “Be there for your daughter, Luka. You can’t go on in this fog of indecision, this self-flagellation. It’s harmful and pointless. And selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“Yes! Your friends are miserable trying to make you happy. But it’s like you don’t even know what you want anymore.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s bullshit. You do know what you want. Just say it!”
“I want to be Beth’s father.”
“You already are.”
“No!” I yelled, frustrated that she didn’t understand. “I’ll be a name on a check, a twice-a-year dad that she’ll resent and . . .”
“What do you want?”
“To be there as she grows up.”
“Then you have to go back to London.”
“And do what?”
“Fight for her.”
I gripped my hair in frustration.
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do. You get in their faces and you demand to be part of her life. They can’t shut you out—they have no grounds. None.”
She caught my guilty look.
“And getting sucked off by your ex in a nightclub doesn’t make you an unfit father. It just makes you a horny idiot, and they didn’t even try to use that against you in court, because they know that they’ll be the ones who look stupid. No one cares about it—not anyone worth bothering with. But instead of fighting for your daughter, you’re in Chicago licking your wounds.”
“I can’t do the tour and be there for her every day.”
“No, you can’t. But children are resilient. Just show up and keep showing up. She’ll learn that you always come back. Always. You’ll be no different from any other father or mother who travels with their work. And when you’re not on tour, go live in London.”
She patted my knee and stood up with a groan.
I grabbed her hand before she could leave.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you.”
She winked at me. “I’m a bitch, but I’ll always tell you the truth.”
“You’re not a bitch.”
Her smile faltered and she looked away.
“You should go to your daughter’s Christening.”
I scowled.
Sarah had arranged for Beth to be Christened without discussing a word of it with me. I’d gotten a short message via email last week from her mother. From her fucking mother! It was too much effort for Sarah to tell me something about our daughter that was pretty fucking important.
I didn’t follow any faith, and I’d never seen Sarah in a church, but I still respected the rite. I suspected the hand of Mrs. Lintort.
They’d chosen a week from now when Sarah knew I’d be at the start of the tour. I was furious to be excluded, but there was only a weekend between the first performance at our Press night and the start of a four-week run in Chicago.
I’d been toying with the idea of flying back to London for 48 hours, but hadn’t made a decision yet. I wanted to go. Badly. I missed my princesa. I missed holding her in my arms, breathing in the warm milky scent of her skin, touching the softness of her tiny body that was just becoming plump.
At least Mrs. Lintort sent me photographs. It was odd how she had become my closest connection to the family, when I’d loved and lost both her children.
Sometimes Seth was in the pictures, and my bruised, traitorous heart still ached when I saw him.
Sarah looked beautiful and happy, and I was pleased for her . . . and hated her at the same time.
Yveta pulled me out of my thoughts, grabbing my hand as I stood and stretched.
“Come! We have much work to do.”
Later that evening, exhausted from eight of hours of rehearsals, we went to Ash and Laney’s favorite bar, an Irish pub near the lake.
We’d auditioned new dancers for a key role, and had found a jewel in Chloe. She was petite and blonde, not unlike Sarah, and perfect for what we needed. Her boyfriend was an NBA basketball player who towered over her, protectively tucking her into his side when she introduced us.
They stayed for one drink to celebrate her joining Syzygy, but then made their excuses and left.
So it was just Ash and Laney, Gary and Oliver, Yveta and me, crowded into a small booth, finishing off a bottle of Hennessy’s whiskey.
Well, Laney was sipping mineral water because alcohol interfered with her drug regimen.
Gary and Oliver were having an intense private discussion in hushed voices.
I nudged Yveta. “How long has that been going on?”
She cocked her head to one side.
“They think we don’t know, but it’s been at least a month now.”
I lo
oked across at them: Oliver was older, small and dark-haired, quiet and restrained but passionate about his craft, his dancing; Gary was exuberant, hiding a damaged soul behind loud words and lurid gestures. His first love was ballet, but he’d become a pretty decent ballroom dancer and an amazing choreographer. He could see the dance—it made me envious.
“Why are they keeping it secret?”
Yveta gave me an amused look. “Because of you.”
“What?”
“You were always going on about how all the drama should be on the stage and you shouldn’t date a co-worker.”
I grunted with annoyance.
“I’d say that one-nightstands work better, but in the circumstances . . .”
“Yes, that would be ironic,” Yveta nodded. “They think you won’t approve . . . and no one must upset Luka with his heavy burden of misery,” and she rolled her eyes.
“That’s not . . .”
“Fair?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe not, but we all tiptoe around your sadness.”
“You don’t,” I pointed out sharply.
She slid me a sly smile. “No.”
“Fine, okay! I get it! No more misery. I’ll paste on a fucking smile if it makes you happy!”
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “It’s a start. We smile through the pain—it’s what dancers do.”
That was Yveta—taking a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. But she was right, as well.
“Hey, Gary,” I called across the table. “I learned a new word when I was in England: shagging. It’s like fucking, but you can say it in front of anyone. I think.”
He looked confused. “And?”
“And I was wondering how long you and Ol have been shagging?”
Laney coughed on her water and dribbled some onto the table, while Ash laughed out loud.
Yveta leaned back, a proud look on her face.
Gary threw an uncertain look at Oliver who shrugged and gave a small smile.
“Well, seeing as you ask so nicely,” Gary replied snippily, “we’ve been dating for three-and-a-half weeks.”
“That’s nice,” I smiled. “How long have you been shagging?”
Oliver laughed aloud while Gary huffed and puffed.
“Three-and-a-half weeks,” he admitted.
“Let’s toast that,” I said, pouring everyone a shot. “Here’s to three-and-a-half weeks of non-stop shagging.”
“No one said it was non-stop,” Gary argued.
I grinned at him, and he waved his hands in the air.
“Fine! FINE! Three-and-a-half weeks of non-stop, wonderful shagging! Are you happy now?”
“Getting there. Na zdravje!”
Ash clinked his glass against mine and we toasted Gary and Oliver in style, until the bottle was empty and Gary was threatening to sing all the songs from The Wizard of Oz.
“I think I’d better take him home,” said Oliver, smiling at Gary. Then he turned to Yveta. “We’ll see you home first, honey.”
“I’ll walk you,” I offered, earning a speculative glance from Gary.
I nodded at him.
“I’ll keep her safe.”
He giggled drunkenly.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m more worried about who’s going to keep you safe from Yvie.”
Yveta raised an eyebrow.
“Who will keep your Judy Garland posters safe?”
And she mimed clawing like a cat, while Gary blanched.
“You wouldn’t!”
“Goodnight, Gary,” she laughed.
He muttered something under his breath, but whatever it was, he wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud.
We all left the pub at the same time, Ash pushing Laney’s wheelchair, so at least he’d have something to hold onto as he weaved his way along the sidewalk, laughing at something she said.
Bitter envy bubbled through me again as Gary and Oliver left hand in hand.
“Come,” Yveta said softly, linking her arm through mine.
She was only a couple of inches shorter than me, and in pumps, she was statuesque, to say the least, but such a beautiful dancer, you didn’t notice her height. Ash said she’d been an amazing Las Vegas showgirl until . . . the evil happened.
For the last eight months, she and Gary had rented a small apartment together, a couple of blocks from Oliver’s new studio. They were good friends, having become close through darkness and despair, and then learning a new way as they joined Syzygy Dance Theater. I wondered if Ash truly knew how his vision had given us all hope, a reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
We didn’t talk much as we walked. I kept seeing things that made me think of Beth, although every waking thought was already tuned to what she might need or want or think. I noticed a store that sold baby clothes, and saw a fluffy toy rabbit that I thought she’d like. I decided I’d come back tomorrow when the shop was open.
“It’s going to be okay, Luka,” Yveta said, tugging lightly on my sleeve. “Things seem dark now, but day always follows the night.”
I smiled at her, watching the play of streetlights and shadows on her sharp cheekbones.
“When did you become such a philosopher?”
“Living and working with screw-ups,” she smiled. “It’s my specialty. I started with myself and voila!”
A cold breeze whipped off the lake and she shivered. I pulled her in closer to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“Do you hate Sarah?” she asked suddenly.
Her question should have caught me off balance, but I’d been asking myself that a lot lately.
“Yes. No. Sometimes, yes. But she’s Beth’s mother, so . . .”
Yveta nodded, understanding.
And there was something else.
“I’ve been thinking of pulling out of the show,” I said carefully, trying to measure her reaction.
She inclined her head toward me.
“Why would you do that?”
“So I can be in London. For Beth. My lawyer said I don’t need to be there for the paperwork to be approved, but . . .”
“But?”
“If I’m here, I’ll see her twice a year. Arlene, my old boss, she said she’d always find work for me. It wouldn’t be this . . .” and I waved my hand around, vaguely indicating the show, Chicago, my friends.
“You think you have to choose: one or the other, so you don’t look for solutions. Your expensive lawyer makes you panic.”
“No, you’re wrong,” I said roughly. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Luka, this isn’t a race. Beth is forever.”
I rubbed my face with my free hand.
“You don’t get it! I’m missing so much every day that I don’t see her! I know you don’t like kids . . .”
Yveta looked offended. “Why do you say that?”
“I just thought . . . um . . . well, you never seem interested when I talk about Beth.”
“Babies aren’t interesting to talk about,” she shrugged. “They eat and poop and sleep. Every parent thinks that their child is the most beautiful, the most talented, the most amazing pooping-machine that ever existed. It’s boring, listening to all that.”
“That’s my point,” I said drily.
“My point is that it’s the parents who are boring, not the children.” Her face softened. “Children are honest. Brutally honest. Like animals. Animals don’t pretend to like you.”
“Um . . .”
“Yes, if they take you into the pack, you are accepted, part of them. They fight among themselves, but still protect the pack, you know?”
“You have a unique way of viewing the world,” I grinned at her.
She nodded, smiling to herself. “I know.”
We walked in silence, lost in our separate thoughts.
“I hate the men who raped me,” she said suddenly. “But I also know that hatred is a pointless, wasteful emotion. I don’t forgive them, but I try to make them irrelevant to me.”
“Is it working???
?
“Yes. No. Sometimes,” she said, smiling as she echoed my words. “I have another question for you: do you hate Seth?”
His name froze my breath. I tried so hard not to think about him at all.
“Ah,” Yveta said, her voice soft. “I see.”
“What do you see?”
“You love him.”
I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t. I despise him!”
She shrugged. “One coin, two sides.”
We didn’t speak again after that. Yveta seemed completely relaxed, but I was pissed. At myself, mostly, but also at her, for making me face my most secret thoughts.
God, she was ruthless, wielding the sword of truth like a fucking Cossack.
When we reached her apartment, I looked up and was surprised to see it blazing with lights.
She raised one shoulder at my questioning gaze.
“Gary leaves the lights on for me. I’m afraid of the dark.”
My anger crumbled at her stark admission.
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
“Spasibo, Luka,” she said gratefully.
I had to smile when I walked into the living room. Hardly a square inch of wall could be seen behind Judy Garland posters.
Yveta smiled. “They’re cheerful, yes? Even though her story was sad. Gary likes the colors. I don’t mind.”
“I think I’d get a headache looking at these all day.”
She turned to the iPod on the corner table, and the soft notes of Dami Im’s Sound of Silence floated from hidden speakers. It was one of the songs we were using in the show, the story of a relationship breaking down.
“Dance with me, Luka.”
“This song . . . it hurts.”
“I know.”
She held out her hand, and I reached for her. She spun in toward me, then leaned back in a graceful backbend. It was contemporary, a rumba, beautiful in its simplicity and severity.
We danced together, our bodies telling a story of love and loss, burning hearts and breaking hearts, music reaching out through the silence of despair.
Then the song came to an end, and we held each other, our hearts racing.
I felt selfish holding onto Yveta, but I wasn’t ready to be alone again.
“You don’t have to go,” she said, as if she’d heard my thoughts. “You can sleep in Gary’s room. Better than Ash and Laney’s couch, I think.”