“Can I stay with you? Just to sleep?”
She smiled and nodded.
“Yes.”
We got ready for bed in silence. Yveta handed me a new toothbrush and we brushed our teeth, standing side-by-side in the bathroom, our eyes meeting in the mirror.
Her bedroom was a cool, white space. There were no posters or decorations, just one small photograph of Yveta dressed in a leotard, standing next to another girl who had a dancer’s body and long, brown hair.
“Who’s that?”
She didn’t even glance at the picture.
“Galina.”
“Your friend.”
I’d never seen a picture of her before. She was beautiful.
“Yes. More like my sister. Family. Like you and Ash, I think.”
Galina had been murdered in Las Vegas. Every night when we danced Slave, we told her story. No one had ever been charged.
I stripped down to my briefs, and turned my back while Yveta changed into a long, baggy t-shirt.
Then she climbed into bed and flipped back the sheet for me, an invitation.
I slid in, carefully keeping my body away from her as she turned off the light, a soft glow from the hallway pushing back complete darkness.
I heard the sheets rustling, and she laid her hand on my arm.
“Hold me?”
I rolled onto my side and pulled her gently to my chest.
She snuggled into me, her hands clasped in front of her, her head on my shoulder as my arms wrapped around her waist.
She sighed with contentment, and I let my body relax.
We were two lonely people who recognized each other’s loneliness, a mirror image that showed the empty ache inside.
I held her through the darkness.
I held her all night.
“ARE YOU SURE you’re ready for this?”
Was I? Yes and no.
When something means so much to you, it becomes all consuming: all you can think about, talk about. You dream about it and it haunts each waking moment. But it was the after that haunted me.
I nodded briefly as the music began.
The Viennese Waltz has a simple structure. The rhythm is 123, 123, with the accent on the one. The Natural Turn is a basic figure consisting of six steps where dancers turn to the right and progress down the line of dance. Closed Changes are a series of steps to transition between Natural Turns and Reverse Turns. There’s the Fleckerl, where dancers rotate on the spot, and the Contra Check. And that’s it.
Except it’s not.
You have to feel the Viennese Waltz. It has the fewest steps, but the most emotion. And I know that’s a contradiction, but it’s true. And at this moment, I feel the same.
The ache inside me is so deep and so painful, it’s almost the only thing I can feel. It’s simple, and it’s dark. I miss my princesa—because she is the light.
I fell in love with her the day she was born. I never could have imagined how this tiny human being took over every waking breath in my body, but she did.
So this dance, here and now . . . for me it expresses everything that I have lost.
The piano introduction begins for Steven Curtis Chapman’s beautiful song Cinderella, and I step onto the stage, facing Chloe, my partner for this dance.
She’s small, almost childlike, tiny. Only five feet tall. She has a lightness and joyousness about the way she dances. But she’s not a child: she’s a woman of 23, hard-working, gifted and graceful. It was a lucky day when she auditioned for us.
But it’s not Chloe that I’m seeing. In my mind, I’m staring at my daughter, my beautiful Beth.
She smiles at me and I take her hand, pulling her gently into my arms as I gaze into the warmth of her eyes.
And I feel it, that incredible weight of responsibility that I’m powerless to claim. I feel it in every bone in my body as we glide across the stage. I should be with her.
The aching beauty of the music, the depth of feeling in the lyrics slay me.
I need this innocent love in my life. I need my daughter to know that she has a father who loves her. A world where I can be the first man she loves, the one who holds her and teaches her and shows her how amazing the world can be. A father who protects her and keeps her safe, because the world can be dark and dangerous, and bad things can happen to princesses.
And she won’t be a child forever. She’s already growing so fast. I don’t want to miss her first word, her first step, her first day at school, her first love, her first broken heart. I want to hold her and comfort her, and let her believe that her father can do anything, fight anyone.
Even her mother.
And the emotion is overpowering, and I can’t see because tears are clouding my eyes. Chloe senses my faltering steps, and with the lightest of touches, she guides me gently across the stage.
And I don’t have much, but I have this. I want to be the one to teach her the joy of dance. I want to be there for all her firsts. I want it to be me. I can’t fail in this.
And in that moment, with the motif of the clock striking midnight, I decide. I’ll fight for my right to be fully involved in my daughter’s life. Not some part-time parent who visits twice a year, sending expensive presents from across the ocean. To hell with her mother! To hell with her grandmother! I’ll fight them all! I am a fit father. I took care of Beth when no one else could or would, and they took her away from me. Because of a promise I made to someone who betrayed me.
To hell with her uncle.
I will fight!
Faster and faster, we spin around the floor, lost in the music, lost in the dance, the burn of passion heating us from our hearts, blood pumping through our veins.
More than my own life. I love my daughter more than anything in this cold, hard world.
I didn’t remember finishing the dance or leaving the stage.
Ash pulled me into a fierce hug.
“I love you, brother.”
I nodded blindly, wiping the tears from my eyes, a new determination in my heart.
“Listen to that!” he said gruffly, turning me toward the stage. “Listen to them cheering! Go take your bow!”
Chloe grabbed my hand and towed me onto the stage. I presented her, then bowed low, the blood rushing in my head as I heard the yells and cheers.
This dance had touched them. We had touched them.
And it gave me hope.
We bowed once more, and I walked from the stage.
I gripped Ash’s biceps.
“I’m going to fight for my daughter.”
He smiled at me, then hugged me tightly.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
The door of the theater’s Green Room banged open. It was one of the nicer ones, with several sofas, a TV, vending machine and fridge.
We’d all been required to meet the Press after the show and talk about the concept for Life Circles, but now we had the place to ourselves and would be heading back to the dressing rooms. First we needed to hear what Selma had to say. We were all on edge—bad reviews could end a show in the first week. It felt like it had gone well, but you can never be sure.
I looked up to see Ash walk inside with Selma. He was, grinning, running his hands through his sweat-dampened hair, his jaw ticking impatiently.
I glanced at him questioningly, but it was Selma who spoke.
“We have news,” she said. “I’m pretty certain that we’re going to have a hit on our hands.”
“So not all reviewers are psychotic idiots,” Gary pouted.
Everyone laughed, and Selma grinned at him.
“Our critics,” she said, waving her hands theatrically, “are discerning men and women of impeccable style and taste. But seriously, people, it’s going to be positive. I have it on good authority that they’ll be printing a line of five-star reviews in all the weekend papers. By next Monday, we’ll be booked solid in Chicago, and we’ll have our pick of theaters around the country—maybe further. Good job everyone.”
r /> I was pleased, but it was mixed news for me. Wall-to-wall bookings meant there’d be no chance to see Beth. In six months, I’d be a stranger to her.
I tried to smile, unwilling to spoil everyone else’s happiness.
“And I have more news,” said Selma.
I glanced around, puzzled, and when I looked at Gary, Oliver and Yveta, I got the impression that I was the only person who wasn’t in on the secret.
“The tour has been slightly rescheduled,” Selma continued. “We’ll now be taking a week-long break between venues, allowing you to travel home, should you wish to do so.” Then she looked around the room, pausing dramatically. “Or should anyone wish to visit London, for example.”
She gazed directly at me, a small smile on her lips.
“Just because other dance companies tour back to back for six months or a year, it doesn’t mean Syzygy has to do things the same way. Innovation is part of our founding belief, after all.”
Everyone was looking at me, grinning hugely.
“You . . . you did this for me?” I asked, disbelief making me doubt the evidence of my own ears.
Ash plopped down beside me and punched me in the arm.
“Of course we did. Beth is part of our dance family, and how will we get to know our niece if we’re always on the road?”
I’d be able to visit Beth every month. I swallowed hard.
“You did this for me.”
And this time it was a statement.
“You’re my true brother,” Ash said in Slovene.
My head dropped into my hands, my throat too tight to express how I felt.
“Hvala,” I stammered. “Thank you.”
“And that’s not all,” said Selma. “Ash has named you as the author of Life Circles, so you’ll get royalties on each performance from the theaters. That should buy a few return flights to London.”
I stared at her in disbelief, my eyes then searching out Ash’s to see the truth.
He nodded, smiling at me, and I knew what his look meant: I love you, my brother.
Gary wiped his eyes, threw his head back flamboyantly and planted his hands on his hips.
“Who planned this? I have to go shopping for a fabulous new outfit immediately—something for a Christening—before we catch our flight tomorrow.”
My head jerked up, stunned, turning to Ash who was laughing at my wide-eyed expression.
“We’re all coming, brother! We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
I shook my head in amazement. I’d tried so hard to shut off my feelings, and now, in two minutes, I knew the true meaning of the world family.
My friends, my dance family, had just rearranged their entire lives for the next six months, so I could see my daughter.
THIRTY HOURS LATER, I was standing in the men’s bathroom at Heathrow airport while I pulled my new dark suit out of a garment bag, relieved that it wasn’t too creased after the overnight flight from Chicago.
Ash and Oliver were shaving in the small basins, while Gary moaned and whined about the crumpled state of his orange jacket and pants, complaining that he’d look hideous.
Well, I said it was ‘orange’, but he argued that it was ‘burnt sienna’ and I knew nothing about style. I winced slightly at the clashing tomato-red tie, but couldn’t help smiling at the same time.
We’d definitely make a statement when we rocked up at my daughter’s Christening.
Ash had a slate-colored suit similar to mine, both picked out by Laney, and Oliver looked like a banker in his gray pinstriped jacket and pants. It brought back memories.
“Gary, darling,” said Oliver calmly, as he straightened his dark blue tie, “I adore you beyond words, but if you don’t get your delectable ass in that abomination of a suit right now, we’ll be unfashionably late.”
There was only a minor tantrum when Gary couldn’t find his tie-pin, but once again Oliver talked him out of a complete meltdown.
The girls were waiting for us when we finally managed to get ourselves out of the bathroom.
Laney was wearing a cute yellow dress, because that was Ash’s favorite color for her, paired with a short cream coat. She looked really pretty, and I leaned down to kiss her cheek.
But Yveta took my breath away. Her hair brushed her sharp cheekbones in a sleek silky wave, and her pale blue bandage dress that skimmed her slender curves was going to be responsible for stopping a few hearts. She looked incredible. And pissed at being kept waiting, tapping her foot impatiently.
I realized, somewhat surprised, that the tie Laney had picked out for me matched Yveta’s dress. I wondered if that was deliberate, but decided it was probably a coincidence.
We headed for the exit, and I was amused to see that several people stopped to take photographs of us, as if we were celebrities. I guess we did look kind of different, striding across the concourse in our going-to-church clothes at 10 o’clock in the morning.
“Um, Luka, I hate to bring this up seeing as we’re all on our way to Beth’s Christening,” began Laney as she trotted to keep up with Ash’s long paces, liberated from the confines of her wheelchair on a pain-free day, “but aren’t godparents supposed to be baptized? Does Sarah even know about us?”
I frowned as I strode along next to her. “I don’t know about the baptism . . . but no, I didn’t tell her.”
“Luka!”
I shrugged as Laney shook her head.
“You know that Sarah has arranged a Church of England Christening?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So,” she said, slightly breathless, “godparents are usually from the same church, or at least baptized. Ash and I are both Catholic, so we’ve been done. I don’t know about anyone else.”
“I’m the church of Garland,” Gary announced. “I worship at the shrine of all things Judy.”
“Be serious,” Oliver chastised him.
“I’m always serious about Judy!” Then he sniffed. “Fine. Presbyterian. Although I swear my parents are Amish.”
“Russian Orthodox,” said Yveta.
“I’m Jewish,” Oliver smiled.
“Uh, great. Thanks, guys,” I said, scratching my head, and none the wiser.
Laney shot Ash a panicked look that I pretended not to see.
Yveta and I took the first cab, and everyone else piled in the second. I was nervous, anxious to see Beth, hoping that she still knew me, that she hadn’t forgotten me.
Yveta squeezed my hand and gave me a calm smile. I held on to her, desperate for any life-raft in what could be a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Not that I cared about that so much, but if Beth screamed when I held her or fought to get free of me, I didn’t think my heart could take it.
But it seemed my heart could take a lot more jolting around than I would have believed, because waiting outside the picturesque stone-built church was my little sister, Lea, with my beloved grandmother, dressed in her habitual widow’s black clothing.
“Lea?”
She had a huge smile on her face as she threw herself at me.
“You’re such an ass!” she said in Slovene. “I can’t believe you went and had a baby and never said a word! I’m an aunt, and if it wasn’t for Aljaž, I would never have known. You’re so going to pay for this later, buster!”
Ash grinned at me and winked.
But then moja babica was in my face, pinching my cheeks, scowling, and spitting out words like hailstones.
“You don’t call, you don’t write! What am I to think, bonbonček?”
Ash grinned broadly at my grandmother’s nickname for me: bonbonček was a little piece of candy.
“And you’re as bad, Aljaž!” she snapped, turning on him and slapping his shoulder. “Going and getting married without a word to me! I should spank the pair of you, but later, not in this house of God.”
“I’m sorry, babica,” Ash grinned, rubbing his shoulder. “This beautiful woman is my wife, Laney.” And he put his arm around her. “Laney, this is moja babica, Luka’s
wonderful grandmother.”
Laney went to shake hands, but my grandmother pulled her into a tight hug, talking rapidly in Slovene as Laney laughed and widened her eyes at Ash.
I pried babica away from Laney and introduced her to the others. Her gaze paused on Yveta before she turned to me again.
“Now take me to meet my first great grandchild,” and she charged into the church.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I hissed at Ash.
“Don’t blame him,” laughed Lea. “If Aljaž hadn’t gotten in touch, we wouldn’t be here, and babica would never have forgiven you. Well, she would have eventually. But trust me, this way is easier.”
She was right, and truthfully I was happy to have them here. But yeah, I’d be having words with Ash in private later.
“Thanks for coming, sis.”
“You’re welcome, bonbonček!” she grinned, pinching my cheeks, before following Ash and Laney, laughing her head off.
“Wait, babica,” I said, grabbing my grandmother’s hand and kissing it gently. “Take my arm.”
The church was old, very old, and the entrance was a wide studded oak door that we had to stoop to walk through. Inside, it felt as if we’d drifted five centuries into the past when I saw ugly gargoyles guarding the entrance, carved wooden pews with rigid backs, and beautiful stained glass windows that filtered the morning light into a soft glow.
Heads turned as we walked inside, and I immediately recognized Julian sitting at the back of the church, his mouth dropping open when he saw us.
“Is the circus in town?” he said snippily, his eyes flicking from my grandmother to Yveta, Gary to Oliver, Ash to Laney and Lea, and back again.
Yveta glanced at him dismissively from her 6’ 3” height, gliding like a runway model on five inch heels.
“What an annoying little man,” Yveta said loudly, her head turning dismissively from Julian.
“Oh my God! I’ve just fallen into ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’,” said Gary loudly, in a shrill voice designed to attract maximum attention. “Now where is Hugh Grant? Hugh! Coo-ee!”
There was a shocked gasp, and I saw Sarah turn around.
She looked stunned, eyes widening as she took us in. Her face paled, and I saw her glancing at Mrs. Lintort, who seemed surprisingly calm, given that her nice, British church service had just been invaded by a motley contingent of Eastern Europeans, homosexuals and even Americans.