An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (4 page)

Adriana

One
step. Almost there.

Two
steps. Not quite.

Three
steps. I got it!

I’m
standing on the very edge of my toes, the bones cracking. I don’t even realize
Ines isn’t paying me any attention until I spin around and almost wind up on my
ass again.

The
difference between today and my audition last week is that I don’t intend to push
my luck by telling the owner of my repertory company to go fuck herself again.
Yes, she forgave me and even let me come back to work. And yes, I suspect
Mother had everything to do with Ines, unashamedly, overlooking my little
outburst and moving forward as though the incident never happened. Just like my
father, Sergey, his ex-wife knows the value of a dollar, how to throw it
around, and how to make people sorry when they take too long to accept the
help, if that’s what you want to call the way my parents do things.

I
didn’t get the lead role in Seraphine—no surprise there—but Ines hasn’t chosen
anyone else yet, either. Turns out, I’ve earned yet another chance to get my
crap together. The other girls now tiptoe around me; whispering behind my back
and making me feel like the menacing presence I am in this company. The idea of
becoming a world famous journalist sounds better each day I live this life of
influential parents, bad things, and girls who put tacks inside my tutus.

The
voice attracts my attention before I notice the faces of all the girls turned
toward the front of the practice room, so I do the same. Luca Martuccio stands
beside Ines. He’s dressed in designer black, of course, but his gorgeous dirty-blond
hair and bright blue eyes, which are full of mischief, turn the depressing look
into something that’s hard to describe in words. Even Ines, in all of her
witchiness, gets animated as she talks to him. And did I hear her laugh. I turn
toward Lis and raise my eyebrows, silently asking for a confirmation that our
frigid troupe leader just actually laughed out loud. She shrugs, giving me an
‘I don’t know what’s going on’ look.

I
turn back toward the entrance and freeze. I’m not sure why, I just do. He’s
staring at me while Ines is signing whatever forms he brought for her to look
over. I get a beaming smile, a gorgeous one that highlights his dimples and
eyes, not a hint of darkness inside them anywhere. I smile back and give a
little wave, but sigh loudly after I realize how silly and childish that
probably looks. However, if he does think that I can’t tell; his smile deepens
and he flashes a set of pearly whites, making me think about the tongue ring I
saw in his mouth the other night. And yes, I can’t help but wonder exactly what
he does with it.

I
wish I had more experience in sexual matters. It’s almost like a handicap to
have a brother who watches over me, protecting me the way a father does, and
threatening any boy who has ever shown any interest in me beyond a conversation
about coffee or tutus. Regardless, I am human, a red-blooded, sex starved
woman. Something tells me that tonight, Luca Martuccio will probably be the
subject of every single fantasy the girls standing here, gawking at him, has.

But
he has eyes only for me right now. I should turn around and stick out my tongue
at everybody else. The goofy Dostovsky girl with the scandalous family has the
attention of one of the hottest designers in Italy. I just kind of keep
standing there in the middle of the floor, waiting for Ines to return her
attention to me, stealing the moment to check out Luca’s ass and the way it
fills out the designer jeans he’s wearing. His build is different from
Nikolai’s: shorter hair, slightly broader shoulders, but with form and
definition, a tapered waistline that doesn’t make me feel fat—unlike Nikolai,
who could easily pass as one of those androgynous models—but he’d be a model
with a dangerous edge tacked on to the package.

I’m
completely intrigued by this guy.

“I
dare you to go over and speak to him, little girl,” a female’s voice says from
behind me. Grounding my temper, I glance up at the ceiling before turning
around to face Melody Tomzcak, the tacks-in-my-tutu girl number one. Her
sister, Harmony, is leaning on her twin sibling’s shoulder, a devious grin
etched into her model-like face.

The
auburn-haired sisters, who are actually spawns of the devil himself, are
nothing like their birth names would suggest. Born to Polish parents, the
sisters have a residential history that’s very similar to mine; they’ve spent a
large part of their lives living in both Poland and California. Mr. Tomzcak, a
seemingly nice man with kind, dark eyes and movie star looks, works as an
international real estate agent. He met their American mother, a woman who
reminds me of Lucille Ball, red hair included, at a society party in Los
Angeles. Like my mother, Mrs. Tomzcak created a way for her daughters to learn
dance from an early age and to develop the skills necessary in order to attract
one of Aterballetto’s toughest scouts. Unlike my mother, the Tomzcak sisters’
mom makes sure she’s available for every audition and performance despite the
distance. Without a doubt, I know that Melody and Harmony are the ones
responsible for sewing tacks into the lining of my tutu last week.

“This
isn’t high school. We’re dancers. This is a repertory company. Translation ...
we act mature. I know that’s a pretty big word for you two to understand, so
I’ll give you a moment.” Hot damn! What a comeback.

“Is
that right? You’re a baby, Adriana. A spoiled little princess who couldn’t get
anything without Mommy and Daddy’s help. Oh yeah, and your dance
instructor-boyfriend. What’s his name again, Harmony?”

“Nikolai,
the hot Russian with a body worth scratching out someone’s eyes for,” Harmony
purrs as she runs her hand along her chest. “Is he in the market for a real
woman?”

“Sure
he is,” I begin, smiling wide and glancing at her chest. “Too bad that wouldn’t
be you. He’s not into silicone. Sorry.”

“I’ll
give you a silicone fist, preemie,” Harmony threatens. She’s the hot-tempered
one of the two, while Melody is the talker and the one who’s most conniving; a
girl who’d find a way to get into my dressing room and insert tacks into the
lining of my audition outfit without me being any wiser of her doing so.

“Get
off her back, plastic twins,” Lis interrupts, coming to stand by my side. She
might be petite, standing at only 5’3”, but she has a tall girl’s attitude and
a wicked gleam in her eye that tells you she’ll bust your ass if you mess with
her.

 “Since
when did you start fighting the brat’s battles, Rollins?” Melody asks, her
green eyes brimming with disgust.

“I
don’t know. Maybe since chicken shits started pulling cheap tricks on my
friends. Stuff like mucking with their dance uniforms. Get a life and stop
hating on those of us who actually have talent,” Lis scolds. And on that note,
she takes me by the wrist, leading me toward the back of the room and out into
the hallway leading to the dressing areas.

“Wait.
What about practice?” I ask, easing my wrist away from Lis before she manages
to pull me too far away from the entrance and the view I had.

“It’s
over early today. Seems the designer dude worked his charms on the boss. You
didn’t hear that part because you were too busy eating someone up with your
eyes.” She turns to me and wags her eyebrows. “Guy like that can weave his
charms on anyone. Hey, wanna get a few laps in this evening?”

“Sure.
Why not?”

“M’kay.
I’ll see if Jojo wants to come, too.” Jobeth Allenton, my other roommate, grew
up in sunny Los Angeles, California. Her mother has her own talk show and her
father’s identity-occupation remain a mystery. She never talks about him, and I
don’t push the issue. Staying true to her California roots, Jojo thrives on the
opportunity to enjoy any of these three things: music, sun, and water sports.

 “Sounds
good,” I confirm.

“Super!
Gotta work off that relapse I had into the land of powdered donuts and clogged
arteries. Ugh. I’m so weak when it comes to those little demons.”

“All
right. I’ll meet you outside in ten,” I say off-handedly, realizing that
Nikolai hasn’t called all day.

I
steal a glance behind me, wondering what’s happening with Luca and Ines, but
there’s nothing. He’s gone ... just like the wind, leaving Harmony, Melody, and
every other female in the room swaying in the after-gust.

My
family’s troubles began in Moscow and have followed us wherever we’ve gone over
the past few years. Finally, Mother gave up and decided Milan was going to be
the place where she started both her repertory company and our new lives,
inside a city as old as the Roman gods. Dealing with people and their
preconceived notions—girls like Melody and Harmony—has become a staple of my
life, one that doesn’t usually bother me. I’m the family’s glitter girl, the
kid who’s always laughing no matter what crazy thing my brother has done. No
matter how many BDSM parties Nikolai gets busted for attending and then asks me
to cover up. No matter how many businesses Mother buys and then devours with
the money my father has made sure she’s able to get hold of at any time. I just
keep on doing what I do best: dancing, making silly faces to keep everyone
laughing, and covering up the growing fascination I have for a man who doesn’t
acknowledge my body, even when I’m practically smacking him in the face with my
nudity. Thinking about the way Nikolai rejected me the other day rips my mind
back to the coolness of the water flowing around my shoulders.

 “The
pool water turns me on. Don’t ask me why, because I’m not sure,” I say to Lis
as she backstrokes past my head, going in the opposite direction from me. Her
brown legs flap with the ease of a professional swimmer, even though neither of
us does anything serious outside of dance. That’s the beauty of being a
ballerina; we know how to make certain parts of our bodies seem lighter so that
we can float on the water in a pool, or lift the full weight of our bodies up
on our big toes. I guess it’s like magic in a way, because it’s something that’s
very hard to explain.

“What
the freak? Must get you laid soon, girl,” she says as she swims by. Ignoring
her, I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of the water flowing over my legs,
tickling my skin and caressing my body. Lis is right; I’m sex-starved. I need
to rid myself of this burdensome thing called virginity.

For
now, the water will do. I keep my head afloat, staring at the sky, the sun
beaming down on my face. The coolness of the liquid running over my skin
soothes me, making me feel beautiful, even when Nikolai has a way of making me
feel insane. I’m completely jealous of his latest conquest, a girl who reminds
me of that supermodel Gazelle or Giselle something other. She’s someone who’s
totally opposite in appearance from me, standing at 5’4” with long, dark hair
and bright blue eyes that accentuate my big forehead. Also, my hips are almost
too curvy to be considered acceptable in my world of the thin and obsessed.

“You
know what I want?” Lis asks as she backstrokes past me, her face a dreamy, happy
mix of thoughts that I’m pretty sure are centered on one handsome Wall Street
tycoon of hers, a man who’s also too gorgeous for words. Byron is an investment
banker who spends equal amounts of time working at both his New York and
European offices.