Page 10 of Sway

4

Vika

“VENYOCHKA,” I PURR into his ear in my best breathy phone sex voice after I just gave him a blowjob. “I love you for getting producers to pair me with Tony Zave.” I flip on my back and twirl a lock of my still perfectly curled hair. “Möxie Cörps is my favorite band since I was little girl. I am happy to dance together with him. This will be best season.”

Benny goes in for another sloppy kiss. “Sure, Lassie. Anything for my baby girl,” he says, clearly still high from his post-coital bliss. “But luv, I have to tell you something about this season.”

I stare up at the eyelet canopy draped across our bed. “What? I don’t care about nothing as long as I dance together with Tony.”

“All right, Lassie.” He strokes the ruffles on the edge of my pink frilly slip. “But I got a call from Mr. Applebaum this morning. He just made an offer to five new dancers this season. Pasha and Olga were deported, Jill had a baby, Tommy was arrested, and Oksana is recovering from knee surgery.”

I roll over, sit square on top of him, and stare him down. “Benjamin Russell Brooks, don’t you dare say that little man asked Salomé to be on a show.” He looks away. “But you promised to me!”

Benny pushes me off of him. “I know luv, but there is nothing I can do. The public is sick of seeing all you Eastern-European dancers and Mr. Applebaum interviewed her and found her to be a delight. He decided to give her a go.” Benny turns his hairy back to me and pulls on his white Jockey underwear, making sure to avoid eye contact. He lowers his voice. “And that’s not all.”

What, there’s worse news than Salomé?

“He also made offers to Ricardo Mancini, Jenny Ming, and Diana Young. And I think he mentioned asking Stanislav Vronsky.” He gets out of bed.

Hell no—not Stanislav! “They asked Stas?” I launch myself off the mattress and put my flawless face right in his wrinkly one. No more purring. “How could you let this happen? You swore to me! After Diana humiliated me and bribed my Stas to dance with her! When did he get back in United States? I thought he was rotting away on cruise ship.”

He waddles over to the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet. “Now Lassie—”

“Diana sucks, Venya. You know it. And Jenny can’t even dance Latin!” I slump onto my goose down comforter. It smells like lavender and vanilla, but the scent does little to squelch my anger. “What about the ratings? Salomé is fat. She’ll look horrible on television.”

Benny slathers menthol-scented shaving cream all over his whiskers. “I honestly don’t understand why you care. You’re the reigning champion on the show and in the United States. They’ll all just make you look better, luv.” He smiles at me and a glob of cream drops on our white marble floor. “Whatever happened with you and Salomé, anyway? You two used to be best mates.” He turns back toward the mirror and starts pruning his beard.

I stay silent. He knows exactly what happened between us. I just choose not to rub it into his face that our marriage was the last drop of vodka that made the glass overflow for Salomé and me.

He rinses his razor. “Don’t worry, you’ll be apples. Let’s not have a blue about this. We have to go to the choreography rehearsal in an hour, you need to get up and be a beaut’.”

I crawl back out of bed and step onto the ice-cold marble, careful not to chip my pedicure. I tip toe to my side of the bathroom and glance in the mirror. Even after a blowjob, I look fresh as a cucumber. Thank God for Dr. 90210 and his signature brow lift. I smile, testing his work. Not a single wrinkle.

I sigh. Benny is right. I will look better next to them. Salomé will look nasty on television. Even our makeup and hair people aren’t that good. And Diana can’t dance to save her life. Her daddy will have to rig the show and pay people to vote for her if she stands even a chance of not humiliating herself by getting booted after the first segment. The only thing worse will be seeing Jenny try to dance Latin.

I shudder then check my teeth. Da, bright as the stars.

Bring it on, ladies.

* * *

IPUSH BACK my Christian Roth sunglasses and try to adjust to the bright lights of the Beverly Hills sun streaming into the studio window. Luckily, today’s choreography session is at our studio, Brooks Ballroom, off Rodeo Drive. I scan the main ballroom for Stas. Thank God, he hasn’t arrived yet. A few young girls are cuddled up on the couch in front of the television together watching a video of Jared and me winning nationals. Michael Bublé’s voice is radiating through the studio’s stereo system and two couples are trying their best not to slam into each other while fox-trotting. Salomé is standing in front of me, a nightmare in her standard uniform of black Puma sweats and a see-through mesh tiger-printed top with a black bra underneath. Her frizzy mane of hair is slicked into an awful Geri curl. God, she looks like a dog recovering from the Chernobyl disaster.

Diana and Jenny are huddled around her, blathering like the idiots they are.

“Oh my God, I’m so excited!” Diana exclaims. “I just read on Perez Hilton that I’m dancing with Xavier Viramontes. He’s so totally hot. Sal, you’re dancing with C. Dolla, and you’ve got Tim Lee. Oh, c’mon, Jen, stop the eye-roll. You think he’s hot.”

Jenny puts her hands on Diana’s shoulders, probably to stop her from levitating. “No, I’m not happy. Tim is a fig newton: yellow on the outside, black in the middle. Sure he’s gorgeous but he’s a sellout. No big shock that they paired me with him. The producers would never place a Chinese-American man with a white woman. It stems back to the Yellow Peril fears at the turn of the twentieth century.”

Diana and Salomé look like they are trying to comprehend what Jenny is saying. Both are clearly unsuccessful, so they ignore her.

Salomé says, “Riiight,” as she squints her eyes. Not that you can tell. She always looks like that. The girl needs an eyelift.

“Anyways,” Diana says, “I’m so happy that we’re doing this together. It’s gonna be so awesome!”

I strut over to them, carrying Cha-Cha, in her pink Juicy Couture Carrier. Might as well make nice. I’m stuck with them.

Diana shrinks when she spots me and mumbles something I can’t quite catch.