Chapter 7: A Short Program
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"He threw that kiss for you, I'm sure he saw you." Vitor insisted.
"Yeah right, like he would be able to see me, know to look for me in the athlete's section, with the Russians or even care that I'm alive."
"He's staring right at you."
"No he's not."
"Blow him a kiss and see."
As my fingers left my lips, a smile as fleeting brushed across his face, a confident, charismatic smile drowned in his solemn concentration. The music began. I watched him skate as I had watched the other men before him. It was thrilling to see him jump. He had such perfect form. I mean, I had seen him him jump before, in practice, but this was different. It was the Olympics... I can't quite describe the elation I felt and how every move was nerve wracking until completed. I was on the edge, afraid that he'd fall... towards the end, I wondered why I cared so much. I didn't know why. I thought about it. I'm not sure that I was very happy with what I thought.
When it was over Sasha was in 1st.
"I haven't seen him since before Christmas. It wasn't for me." I whispered to no one in particular.
"Let's go back stage and congratulate him." Vitor suggested.
"Yes, Yes" Irina and Elisaveta Buddina agreed.
Whereupon each woman took me by a hand and moved in the wake that Vitor left as he pushed through the press. There I was between two of the greatest female pairs skaters of all time. Me! Elayne Smith. Wonders never cease. "But, I can't get backstage,"I protested, as we approached that stage door." I don't have the credentials."
Vitor held up a hand, palm out,"I'll get you in."
"Oh, come on, Vitor, you know how tight security is."
"Don't you think he wants to see you?"
"Why would he want to see me?"
"He did kiss you."
"Vitor, he blew a kiss in the general direction of the athlete's section."
"No, I mean before, in the States." Irina had blabbed. I was going to kill her.
"How did... " I sputtered,"Listen, I'm sure you know the type. Sasha Klukov has kissed alot of girls. He's real popular. The reputation proceeds him. I may be young, but I'm not stupid."
Of course, I was right. I couldn't get back stage. . No amount of cajoling on the part of my friends could get me there. I told them that they could go on without me. I'd go back to the hotel. Vitor insisted on arranging and paying for a cab, all the while grumbling in Russian about"damn independent American women who wouldn't let a man take his rightful place." While I grumbled in English about "egotistical, paternalistic, Russian pairs skaters bothering an American woman who can take very well care of her-damn-self." Truthfully, though I'd never let Vitor know it, being 3000 miles from home alone was a bit intimidating, frightening because I speak so little Japanese.
"I told Russavini that I'd take care of you and I will. Do you have your key? Promise that you'll go straight to the hotel."
"Yes, Papa, I won't talk to strangers and I'll eat all my peas and wash behind my ears."
"Huh?"
"American Joke... " I commented as the cab pulled away.
I sat back in the seat with a"harumph." I played over Sasha's program in my head. Well actually, I played over the smile that flitted across his face when I blew him a kiss. I'm convinced that he can't know I'm here, he doesn't even know I'm alive. One little kiss doesn't mean anything to a man like him.
For a fact, every girl in the club and probably half the women in the world think he is the sexiest thing on the face of this earth. The ones that aren't captivated by the purity of his skating technique, drool over the sheer power of the standing-still-on-the-floor triple axel. There's those who melt to the tones of his deep voice and halting English, which is undeniably naive sounding and cute. The sports car attracts some, the Marlborough-smoking bad-boy image gets others. He's got money and looks. He's cocky and confident, a real alpha male, and they line up like bitches in heat.
Okay, so he's charming, when he wants to be. I'm completely not into it. He doesn't interest me at all, I don't like men like that. I'm just some American kid who had the gall to ask him to a high school dance. He doesn't think of me at all. If I never came to club again he wouldn't miss... " Miss... Miss. Your hotel."
"Huh! Oh... oh. Thank you." The cabby refused a tip." The gentleman"paid. Damn Russians!
I went up to the suite. There was a message in the sitting room. It was hard to read, in execrable English. It read:
By telephone to call from your unknown admiration. He request your companion for supper. He lift you at 6 PM. Wearing is formal dress for nice restaurant dinner. Russavini
"Lift me"indeed, she must mean"pick me up." It was 2 PM already. I felt thoroughly whipped. I wasn't going anywhere with any strange"admirer." That's for sure. I used the tickets to Japan, who wouldn't? Being accidentally double booked in a suite with one of the great pairs coaches of all time was a real dream come true and luck of the best kind. I wondered if it was Russavini who had arranged it, or one of her protegee. This was certainly not the normal way to get a pairs partner. They couldn't be that desperate. I was certainly not that good... okay, I was close to being that good, once upon a time.
Jet lag must have been getting me. I looked like hell and I couldn't think straight. If I didn't get any sleep, I wouldn't be impressing whoever it is who showed up. I might not sleep, but I would rest.
Text Copyright © 1998-2003 Mary E. Tyler
