Page 50 of Sway

“Ow! Venya!”

“Dude!” Tony blurts, catching me in both his arms.

“You can have her if you want. She may be a good root but she’s a wanker.” Benny lurches my way and tugs my wrist until I yelp. “Don’t come home tonight,” he spits. “Or ever again.” Then he turns and walks out of the studio, like a dancer after the music ends. Jive over. Next!

Without a sound, Tony pulls me to him and embraces me. I look in the mirror and see our reflection multiplied in the hall of mirrors.

“Oh, my God,” Tony finally says. “I can’t believe him.” Then he starts laughing. “A wanker? You’re a wanker?” He really busts up then. “That dude’s fucking hilarious!” He lifts me up in his arms and kisses me hard, right between my breasts. “Me and my widdle wanker.”

I am not laughing. “We don’t have to hide anymore. I’m yours now,” I say flatly. Tony kisses me, but he might as well be kissing cardboard. This is not what I wanted. I don’t have my own bank account, the car and house is in Benny’s name. I’ve worked so hard over the past six years and now I’ll have nothing to show for it. My competitive dance career is now over. Benny will never allow his son to dance with me again. And no judge will give me good marks.

Benny’s a producer of Dancing under the Stars. What if they don’t ask me back next season? Or what if they do and the show tanks? It’s reality television. Nobody watches American Idol anymore. How will I support my baba! Poor Babula! Her retirement home is so expensive. And my darling Cha-Cha is at home! What if Benny hurts her? In an instant, everything I’ve sacrificed my life for is gone.

Shit.

Tony takes my upper lip in his mouth and bites it. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re my problem now. I’ll take care of you.”

Woozy, I look around the studio. My studio. At least, it was until five minutes ago. I pick up my Hermès handbag and get my phone. Better use it quickly before Benny turns it off. I make a call to the one person in the world I can turn to.

“Hi, Babula. Don’t panic but I just left Benny . . . I know. Don’t worry.” I take a deep breath and try to sound like I mean it: “Everything will be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Tango

Their eyes locked on the crowded floor. He grabbed her in a predatory embrace. He took control, she resisted his will. Bodies intertwined, they both moved as one. Passions rose as the music pulsed through their bodies. Their legs weaved together and his breath tickled her throat. They aggressively moved, chasing the cadence, playing with love and hate. She gave herself over to the rhythms of the song, quickly challenging the beats and cherishing the silence when time seemingly stopped.