Chapter 50: "You Look Awfully Funny Washing That."
Private Ice is Best Viewed in Firefox.
Saved by the bell, or the alarm clock I should say. I would have to move about quickly, I desperately needed a shower before practice if I wasn't to smell suspiciously. I climbed over Sasha and out of bed.
He grabbed my arm." Where are you going so fast?"
"Madame Russavini doesn't tolerate lateness. We have the early practice. I've got to get a shower before I go. I smell just like I've spent all night... "
"You have."
"Not all night."
"If you're not too tired tonight, I'm sure I could oblige."
"Sasha, you may not be impossible, but you are highly improbable." I shook his hand off my arm. "I have got to go get in the shower."
I darted across the hall into the bathroom. I could hear the water already running in the master suite. I knocked on the wall of the shower and received a return knock. Then I turned on the water. I heard a howl and then some hastily offered expletives in Russian in a voice which had to be Yelena's. As I bent over again to adjust the water temperature and turn the shower on, I felt Sasha behind me. He thrust his hip lightly into my behind. I stood up.
"Interesting position. Could you do that again? I can see alot of potential."
I turned around, put my hands lightly on his chest and pushed him backward. Instead of the rebuff which I'm sure he felt was coming, I simply said, "You're too tall, I'd need something to stand on."
He followed me into the shower. He was all hands. It started to get annoying. I washed all over with soap, his hands followed making slippery paths on my slippery skin.
"You look awfully funny washing that." He commented as I tended to a particularly awkward portion of my anatomy. Then he added brightly, "I could help."
"Business is business and pleasure is pleasure." I said flatly, handing him the soap. "And this is business." I finished rinsing and stepped out of the shower. "Did you get yourself a towel, darling?" I asked sweetly.
"No."
"Guess you'll have to go without one. Watch for Yelena, I think she's in her room now." I lied as I placed a clean towel on the outer door knob. "You wouldn't want her to see anything awkward. "I heard him curse vehemently as I walked down the hall and into my room.
Knowing his predictably Russian hands, I got dressed as quickly as possible and made my way to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Sasha arrived about 10 minutes later. He sat at the table looking disgruntled.
"Thanks for telling me about the towel."
"I figured that you'd find it."
"I did, after I almost ran into Yelena half way down the hall."
"Yeah, and he's got a remarkably cute behind." Yelena commented as she entered the kitchen dressed in her running clothes. "Leave some of that for me will you? I've got to run an errand between breakfast and ballet, I won't have time to cook." She said as she went towards the door.
"Yelena!" I ran after her. "Please don't spread that story about Sasha all around the rink like you did with that funny one about Alexi!"
"What story?"
"About Sasha's cute behind?"
"Oh, no problem," she added softly, "What story about Alexi?"
"Nothing, I just want Sasha to be looking over his shoulder."
She laughed quietly." And I didn't think that you were capable of the mind-games needed to hold the interest of such a man. You'll do just fine." Louder she said, "I'll be home at 6:30 like usual. Try to keep your clothes on."
Sasha was leaning on the table, holding his head in his hands, mortified.
"Girl talk, Sash."
"Are girls always so frank?"
"Between themselves... Usually."
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "So what's your schedule?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing. Do you have to go on to Hollywood with Passia and Dralidze?"
"No, they'll only be out there for the weekend. I'm to meet them Monday at the airport and we'll all fly home together."
"I see, and where are you planning to stay?"
"Here."
"Don't you think you should have checked with Yelena and me about that one?"
"I didn't know I was coming. Am I not welcome?"
"Of course, you're welcome. You do hog the covers, but I'm glad enough to have you. "I kissed him on the cheek and then evaded him, almost tipping over the orange juice into his lap. "You really have to stop lunging for me like that. You almost got a lap full of cold orange juice."
"Brrrrr."
I set a plate down in front of him with some eggs and toast on it. They were, of course, done as he liked them.
"Where's my kiss?"
"You already got it, while I was pouring the OJ."
"Oh. So what are you doing today?"
"Well, I've got practice til 11, a lesson, then lunch and ballet. Then I've got to run and lift and the cupboard is bare, so I'd better include a trip to the grocery store. It's my turn to cook and it's Friday, so I imagine that Mikhael, Alexi and Ivan will be over for dinner." I checked for the shopping list and double checked the plan to make sure that everything was on it.
"Who's Ivan?"
"Ivan Stanachev, he's Alexi's little brother. He lives over at the skate house. "I laced up my sneakers and threw on my sweatshirt." I have to go."
"This early? I thought that you said you didn't have to be there until 7?"
"I walk. It saves me time warming up. That and it's my only conveyance." I threw the backpack containing my skates over my shoulder. "Did you bring yours? Skates, I mean?"
"Yeah, they're in the car. I wasn't planning any major practicing, but I should take a few turns on them."
"Do you want me to ask Russavini if you can share some of our ice?"
"If you want. I'll be down later. You know, I'll drive you if you like." He offered.
"Nah, that's okay. Routine is routine. I wouldn't want to mess it up."
"You'll eat lunch with me, won't you."
"No, you'll eat with us. I usually eat with the skate house bunch, since Alexi does. It saves me from having to cook too many times a day."
"Are you sure I'll be welcome?"
"Nadya will probably have a fit, but it's only for one day." I headed for the door. He followed after me.
"Hey, don't I get a kiss?"
"Of course, beloved." I gave him a quick peck on the lips and was gone out the door, running down the drive before he could protest.
Text Copyright © 1998-2003 Mary E. Tyler
