“Care to join me for a smoke?” Sergei asked.
Xavier didn’t smoke, so I declined his cigarette, but I agreed to join him outside. I followed him out of the dressing room to a back exit, which led into the balmy night. Winter temperatures in Miami seldom dipped below 60 degrees Fahrenheit, and on that night in particular, it was even milder. Sergei lit his cigarette and drew a long inhale while I waited for him to initiate conversation.
“How long have you known Orlando?” Sergei asked.
“Since he was six.”
“That long.” Sergei glanced over, perhaps to assess my background and wonder at how I made your acquaintance at such a young age. “Do you know how he refers to you around the school?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” I said gamely, doubting he could say anything that would shock me.
“He calls you his demon boyfriend.”
It was similar to when you were a child and the other kids would pick on you for talking to yourself. I wouldn’t admit to this viper the tenacity of our relationship, but I didn’t want to make a fool of you either.
“There are behaviors of mine that could be considered demonic,” I said.
“Yes, I’ve seen your work.”
He must be referring to Derek’s finger, which had caused problems for you that I hadn’t anticipated.
“Orlando is very talented,” Sergei said, which, despite my feelings toward him, did make my heart swell with pride.
“He works very hard. His career is important to him.”
“I’m considering him for the company,” Sergei said conversationally, “but I worry about his commitment. He is too easily distracted.” Sergei shot me an insinuating look.
“You’d be a fool to overlook him,” I said, and then, when Sergei’s attention was on the gentle pull of his cigarette, I leaned in closer and purred, “He’s such a beautiful dancer.”
Sergei exhaled and stared contemplatively across the parking lot. “He’s such a beautiful dancer.”
“Yes, he is.”
“If only he weren’t so…” Sergei’s expression darkened. He didn’t finish articulating the thought.
I didn’t see any point in playing games with this man. In matters of the heart, it had never benefited me to be circumspect. If a land is yours, you claimed it.
“Orlando is mine, Mr. Voronin. He willalwaysbe mine. You may admire him, you may covet him, and you may fantasize about him in the privacy of your home, but if you ever try to coerce him into something he doesn’t desire for himself, I will come for you with the wrath of a thousand demons, and there will be nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me.”
Sergei’s mouth fell open, and he stared at me, stunned. A light drizzle began to fall. I bid him a good night and went to collect you, leaving your brooding ballet instructor standing dumbstruck in the rain.
I escortedyou to a restaurant where your dance friends congregated to indulge in a variety of celebratory deep-fried foods and alcoholic beverages. It was feast or famine with your tribe—so many months of hard work and deprivation culminating in a gluttonous celebration.
I made sure to compliment Bruno generously on his performance and answered questions when they were posed to me. I knew Xavier’s history already and used his life story instead of my own, which was significantly more complex. About my profession, I was an importer. My ethnicity, Cuban. How long had I been in the United States? Since the Mariel boatlift when I defected my homeland with my older brother. How long had you and I been seeing each other? A few months.
“Did you know he calls all of his boyfriends ‘Henri?’” This question was posed to me by a tiny woman with birdlike features and shrewd eyes. She clearly held some unfavorable opinion toward me, though I didn’t know if her questions were out of concern for your well-being or her own insatiable curiosity.
I glanced across the table to where you were delighting in some story Bruno was sharing with the group. Sensing my wandering attention, you caught my eye and smiled, lighting up the room.
“With Orlando’s charms, he can call me whatever name he wants,” I said to the woman.
She smirked but seemed dissatisfied with my answer, for she soon posed another pointed question. “And how old are you, Henri?”
I bristled at her boldness, for I was thinking not of Xavier’s age, but my own, which was just one of the many obstacles we had to overcome. Your knee brushed against mine under the table, and I watched you devour a French fry, then lick the salty residue from your greasy fingers in a highly suggestive manner.
Age difference be damned, I’d resurrect myself from the dead for this opportunity to be with you.
“A lady never tells,” I said to the woman, borrowing an expression my mother was so fond of using. I then changed seats so I could occupy the vacant chair beside you. You leaned toward me, and I wrapped my arm around your shoulders, drawing you nearer so that I could whisper in your ear how aroused I was at your taunting gestures.
