The Devil of DiRisio (8 page)

It made me laugh out loud the way he could capture the essence of each dialect so exactly.

“Why do you speak so many languages?”

“My mother is a world-famous dancer, and my father is a pilot. So, I don’t really have one place that I am truly from. I spent all of my life traveling. Along the way, I’ve learned a few languages.”

“How many?”

“I can get laid in seven languages,” he smiled. “I can at least get a date in about five more.” Damian chuckled and, despite myself, I laughed, too. I found him charming when he wasn’t trying to talk his way into my pants. “I’m fluent in Portuguese, Russian, Spanish, French, Italian, English, and German. And I can get by in Romanian, Greek, Hungarian, Dutch, Danish, and Swedish. Although, I apparently need to brush up on my Swedish,” he said, looking over his shoulder at
Gita’s
door. I laughed again.

Damian proceeded to tell me the story of how his parents met. His father was the personal pilot for his mother’s dance company. They saw each other nearly every day, but couldn’t speak to each other. His father felt his mother was the woman of his dreams and chased her relentlessly even though she was only sixteen. They had a passionate affair despite the language barrier, but once they learned to communicate they realized they didn’t have anything in common and that a relationship wouldn’t work. By that time, however, his mother was already pregnant. He spent the next eighteen years being shipped back and forth between his parents.

“I would spend two days in St. Petersburg with Mother, just to be swept off to spend three days with Papa in Portugal, and then he would drop me off to spend the day with her while she was dancing in France, and then he would pick me up again and fly to Germany for some reason or another. It was crazy. Sometimes, I would wake up and not know what country I was in. Once, when I was ten, I visited seventeen countries in one week. After that, I stopped counting.” He seemed bitter for a moment. Then he shook it off and smiled.

“Why do you call your mother, Mother, but your father, Papa?”
I asked.

He sighed, once again deciding whether he wanted to share an important piece of information with me or not.

“I guess I am more close to my father than my mother.” From his tone of voice I could tell he wanted to leave it at that, but I was not about to let him off that easy.

“Why?” I asked. Damian adjusted himself on the floor. For the first time since I’d known him, he looked uncomfortable.
Like he had lost the upper hand.

“I always felt my Papa loved me no matter what. He made it clear that I could do anything I wanted in life and he would support me. All my life, my Papa was more than my father, he was my friend. My mother,” he began as he took out a cigarette.

“Please don’t smoke. I hate smoke.” He flashed his turquoise eyes at me. For a moment, I thought he was angry, but he just put the cigarette away and continued.

“My mother always tried to make me into something I was not. I always felt if I did not do what she wanted or become who she wanted, she would not love me as much.”

“But you’re a dancer like she is. She has to approve of your talent and your success.” Damian shook his head.

“She thinks hip-hop is not dance. She says it is vulgar. I spent years trying to please her, but she never seemed to be happy with me. So, when I am eighteen, I tell her I do not want to be what she wants me to be and she tells me she does not want to see me anymore.” The more Damian spoke, the further and further he slipped into his Russian accent. It seemed to be his true self coming out. “I don’t speak to her for five years.” He grew silent and reflective.

“What changed?” I asked after a while. This seemed to snap him out of his reverie.

“MTV,” he said, once again going to an ambiguous accent. “I became a world-famous choreographer. I was sought after by famous musicians, dance companies, and even filmmakers. Her career started fizzling out. I started to get more famous than she was. She finally realized that hip-hop is art as well.”

“And now?”

“Now we are friends. I even performed with her company last year.” I smiled. I was happy for him. His story made me miss my mother. I wondered what she was doing. I tried to talk to her all the time, but she was always working. I settled for writing her once a week and sending her any money I’d saved from the monthly stipend I received from
DiRisio
. I didn’t really need much extra money. Will was always there to take care of my needs.
Hmph
, Will. Why did I feel like I was cheating on Will just by sitting here and talking to Damian?

“So, what about you?
What is your story?” he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I told him all about
Venton
Heights and growing up poor and how I had to clean the studio in order to afford ballet lessons. He seemed impressed.

“I knew there was a story behind your dancing,” he said when I was finished.

“What do you mean?”

“I was not just trying to sleep with you when I said you are an excellent dancer. You really are. There is a mystery, a depth to your movements that is entrancing. It’s like your body is telling the story of your struggle to get this far.”

“Really?”
I said as I blushed inside. I really needed that compliment. Even though Will told me all the time, it was different coming from another dancer.
Even if it was coming from a hip-hop dancer who knew nothing about ballet.

“I bet your boyfriend fell in love with your dancing before he even knew you.” I thought back to our time at Bridgeton and how Will watched me dance for two months before he had the courage to talk to me. He said that I filled a void in his life after his parents died, but I filled that void before he ever even spoke to me. It could have been anyone in that dance studio window, and he would have fell in love with them, as well. I didn’t want to tell Damian this, but I think he picked up on it from my facial expression. “How long have you been together?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.

“A few months,” I said.

“Months?
How many months?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Twelve months?” I didn’t say anything. “Ten months?” I still didn’t respond. “Eight months?” I was starting to feel a little silly. Will and I hadn’t known each other for seven months and he already wanted to get married. Why was Damian so concerned about my love life anyway? He was starting to annoy me again.

“So what if he fell in love with my dancing?” I said defensively. “Maybe I fell in love with his …
basketballing
.” Damian laughed at my made up word. I joined in on the laughing. “Have you ever been in love?” I asked trying to turn the tables on him.

“I love all women,” he said evasively. “I especially love beautiful dancers,” he added with a smirk.

“No, I mean real love. The kind that keeps you up at night wondering what the other person is doing. The kind that makes your heart
flutter
when you think of her.
The kind of love that gives song lyrics new meanings and paintings new colors.”

He grew serious for a moment and then said, “Nope, never.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I haven’t found the right person yet, that’s why.”

“I don’t think you’ve tried.” Damian looked unsure of himself. He seemed confused by my comment. “I don’t think you get to know people enough before … you know,” I said awkwardly, implying sex by waving my hands in the air. “You just see women as conquests or collectibles. You just want to play the game.”

Just as he was about to respond,
Gita
opened her door and Damian fell backward into her room. She started yelling again in Swedish. Damian smiled and she softened. After he said a few words to her, she actually let him in. Wow, he was good.

Now I was sitting alone in the hallway wondering what I was going to do. I had just decided to walk to Will’s house when I saw him coming up the stairs holding my purse and my keys.

“I tried to call you to say goodnight and someone at the performance hall answered. I figured you might need your purse,” he said. He kissed me goodnight again leaving me thankful that I had such a loving perfect boyfriend. So I thought.

The next morning was a
Saturday morning. I knew it was Saturday. I was positive. I rolled over in bed and thought about it some more. Yes, it was Saturday. So what unholy, unearthly, ungodly, cruel-intentioned person was banging on my door at four thirty in the morning on a Saturday? When I realized the banging wouldn’t stop, I dragged myself out of bed and answered the door. When my eyes registered that it was Damian standing on the other side of it, I flung it closed and shuffled back to bed. Damian caught the door before it shut and let himself in.

“What do you want?” I said from under the pillow.

“You are coming to the video shoot, right?”

“Not if it means I have to get up within the next two hours.”

“Get up. Let’s go.” Was he serious?
At this hour?
He had to be kidding. I lifted the pillow from my head and looked at him. His definitive glare revealed just how serious he was. His fierce blue eyes filled with annoyance as he looked at his watch and noticed the time. Lifting his eyes from his watch, his expression changed from annoyance to … lust. I looked down at myself and noticed that I was wearing very little. I had on one of Will’s
Lottomatica
T-shirts that came to about mid-thigh.
Nothing underneath.
Damian Karl stood in my room, leering at my practically naked body. I jumped up and wrapped the bed sheet around me.

“Fine, I’ll go. Just get out and let me get ready.” One corner of Damian’s mouth
raised
into a wicked grin, but he didn’t move. “I said get out!”

Damian still didn’t move or wipe off his evil smirk. My heart pounded and my hands began to shake. I knew what he wanted. I could see it in his eyes. What if he tried something? What would I do?

Just then,
Gita
poked her head in and spoke to him in Swedish.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he said as he followed
Gita
back to her room. I quickly got up and locked the door.

So that was how I found myself at the set of Veronica
Valerio’s
new music video. The song was called ‘
Colpa
mia
’ or ‘My Fault’ in English and, God, it sucked. I had forced myself to listen to its ridiculous lyrics and upbeat, sugary, candy-pop rhythm several times over the past couple of days as I rehearsed the choreography.

In the song, Veronica unwittingly steals another girl’s boyfriend. The chorus drummed in your head the idea that it wasn’t her fault because she was just too sexy. And it’s not her fault because his girlfriend was just not around enough. And it’s not her fault that she had everything he needed.

I wanted to gag. I couldn’t believe I let myself be a part of this. Damian assured me that the exposure of a music video could get me discovered. Someone could see my face and my talent and perhaps want me in a movie or to join a company or something. He said the opportunities it opened up far outweighed the pain of listening to Veronica’s voice.

Most of the video had already been filmed earlier in a studio somewhere. They just needed the group dance scenes, which took place at an outdoor basketball court. The princess Veronica stayed in her trailer for most of the morning while everything was meticulously prepared for her emergence. God forbid she might have to stay outside one minute longer than necessary. Her silicone might freeze.

As Damian rehearsed the sixteen back-up dancers, I noticed that one of the extras looked a lot like Will. There were nine or ten guys hired to play basketball in the background and one of those guys looked totally like my Will. I mean exactly. Even though I only saw him from behind, his mannerisms and the way he leaned on the fence all gave weight to my suspicion.

But I knew it couldn’t be. When I told him where I would be today … Okay, so I didn’t tell him
exactly
where I would be. I was too embarrassed to admit I would be in this imbecilic video, so I told him that I had rehearsal. Anyway, when I told him I couldn’t hang out today, he told me that he was going to stay home and play video games. My Will wouldn’t lie to me. My Will wouldn’t …wait a minute. The Will look-a-like had on a Jersey that said El Matador on the back and a number three. Okay, that’s just too much of a coincidence.

When Damian gave us a break, I went over to the doppelganger and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, I gasped.

“What are you doing here?” I yelled at Will. Just the tone of my voice implied the answer. He was a liar who was cheating on me with Veronica.

“Sony!
I thought you had rehearsal,” was his pathetic response.

“This
is
my rehearsal,” I said pointing to the area where I’d just been dancing. “I thought
you
were playing video games.”

“You’re in trouble now, Will,” one of the guys said with a mischievous grin. Will
reddened
with embarrassment.