The Standout (28 page)

He flicks his head ever so slightly. "I worry they think I kill Julie on purpose."

"No." I shake my head adamantly. "You were trying to save her. I know what I saw." I take his hand. "You did everything you could. This is not your fault, and I'll swear it up and down if I have to."

"You always see best in people, Zelda."

My only answer is a trembling sigh. Yuri just looks at me, blinking away tears but unafraid to meet my eyes. And for the first time ever, I feel like someone is looking at me and seeing what's really there.

"I call tomorrow," he says, right before he gives me a chaste kiss on the forehead. Then we say goodnight.

When I get inside Mom is waiting in the living room, wearing an old sweatshirt of Dad’s. "Tell me what happened to Julie,” she says, her flat voice rising to my ears.

There's a lump of regret swelling my throat shut. "I wish I didn't have to," I struggle out. "Mom, I really messed up and there's no way to fix it."

She stands and leads me to the couch so we're sitting side by side. "Tell me what happened to Julie." The second time she says this is a gentle, insistent nudge towards something I must do.

I try to breathe normally but I can't, not if I have to think about this. "She was so angry at me, Mom. The ballet and the modeling jobs and I sort of stole her boyfriend. . .and she wanted to go up to the roof, but. . .she'd. . . I couldn't stop her from. . ." I can't finish the thought because I'm crying too hard, but Mom lets it go.

"It's not your fault, Zelda." She hands me a tissue which is way too thin to absorb all my tears.

"You can't say that," I moan. "You weren't there. You don't know."

"But I know you," she insists. "So whatever happened, I know without a doubt, that it simply wasn't your fault." Mom sounds like she's going to cry too.

"I thought you hated me," I tell her.

"No." Mom tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could never hate you, Zelda. I love you, more than anyone, but I just get so angry and hurt sometimes. That's on me, I guess." She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. "There should be a personal standard that parents are forced to meet, but I always fall short."

"I feel like I'm always falling short too."

"No, Zelda. Don’t feel that way.”

She takes me in her arms and as we hug I become her little girl again. It's not everything, and it's probably not permanent, but this regression feels like a start.

The next morning I wake to Ted urgently tugging on my shoulder. “I can prove that your phone was spoofed!”

“Huh?”

Ted explains that he got up early and snooped around on my phone until he figured out at least part of the mystery. He shows me my phone’s history, something to do with the settings and downloads, and says it’s enough that we can contact Jim Giles. “But we still don’t know who’s behind the bribe,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ted insists. “This proves that it wasn’t you.”

That, and Julie’s taped confession about Kyla’s stupid pair of scissors, gets me an invitation from Jim Giles to come in for “a little chat.”

I have to take the first train to NYC, and I’m assuming it’s so I can take part in the next challenge. I try calling Nick, over and over, but he never picks up. Finally I just leave a message, detailing what happened last night.

"Nick,” I say, after my long explanation, “I still don’t know who is running that website, but I do know she’s not going to stop until we break up. So look, I'm probably going to be unreachable again, and obviously we have to talk, but. . ." I sigh, procrastinating and not wanting to say this next part. "I think we should go on a break, say that we're no longer engaged, because I'm kind of at a loss and I think you are too. I love you. You know that. . .."
but you won't even answer my calls,
"but it's probably better if we take some time to think."

There's a knock on the guest room door. Ted's standing in the entrance, tapping his watch. "Are you ready?" he mouths.

I nod and gulp back some tears. "I have to go, Nick. I'll call you as soon as I'm done with the show."

Yuri is given one of those terrible choices that’s not a choice at all. He can leave now, go back to Russia and enjoy his supposed freedom, or stay in the U.S. and face involuntary manslaughter charges.

“But that’s so unfair! You were trying to save her!” I pace around my living room while Yuri just sits still, his feet propped up on our marble slab coffee table. Good thing my mother is out meeting with a divorce lawyer. The feet on the coffee table would be an instant deal breaker.

“Julie’s parents decide to press charge,” he answers.

“Just on you? Not on me?”

“You were not in video like me.”

“But that video is all the proof they need. . .” I gnaw on my knuckle and think. “I’ll call and explain. They will listen to me.”

“No.” He is calm as he lowers his feet from the table, gets up, and takes me by my shoulders. “Some fights we cannot win. They lost only daughter. If I must go back to Moscow so they do not mourn so much, then I go.”

“But you got cast as Albrecht in
Giselle
. I thought you wanted to stay and be a big star.”

His lips part so that he’s almost smiling. “I wish to stay for many reasons,” he says softly, “but I will still be big star. And I come back someday.” Yuri’s hands drop from my shoulders down to my waist. “When I return, I will look for you, yes? I will not forget.”

It’s probably just some line he’s feeding me; that’s what my mom would say. I shouldn’t believe him, especially since he’ll soon be half a world away.

But life is short.

“Robin, I hope you will accept my whole-hearted apology.” Jim sniffs emotionally. We’re surrounded by all the remaining contestants on
The Standout
and of course, a bunch of cameramen, though Gabe is conspicuously absent. The workroom clock is ticking away and time is running out before the next runway show. Jim looks at me but his words are meant for a much larger audience. “After last night’s tragedy involving two of our models, some truths have come to light, and we know now that you’re innocent.” He places his palms against the lapels of his double-breasted suit and takes a deep breath. “Will you please return to the show?”

My reply is choked with emotion. “I’d be honored.” Everyone claps, even Kyla, but when no cameras are on her she squints and makes that
I’m watching you
sign, pointing to her eyes and then to me.

At first I’m stepping into another role.
Tonight, the wronged reality show contestant will be played by Robin Bricker.
I finish up my plaid tutu dress in record time, and it miraculously scores in the middle, even though I have a substitute model and my crafting was super-rushed.

But during the next challenge I know I won’t get a free pass. I just keep my head down while I sew pleats into a sheer Wili-inspired camisole. The Wilis are this crazy gang of dancing phantom girls from the ballet
Giselle
. Since they’re all abandoned brides who died from heartache, I create this alternative sort of wedding dress, with tulle and wire, giving the image of constant, weightless movement.

“It’s certainly ambitious,” Jim places his finger against his chin. When it becomes clear he can think of nothing else to say, he pats me on the shoulder. “Keep working.” Then he moves on to Amos.

Jim and Amos confer over Amos’s dress which has golden embroidery and bugle beads. I overhear Jim’s effusive praise and wish I could work like Amos, unencumbered by emotional baggage. But I’m glued to this wedding dress, unable to detach from everything it represents.

Oh well.

I’d rather create a wedding dress for a dead, heartbroken bride than talk about my feelings.

On his last night in New York, I come to Yuri’s apartment, and by some miracle he is alone when I get there.

“What do you want to do?” I ask. “We could go out dancing, or to some touristy place that you haven’t seen yet? Maybe ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” I purposefully don’t bring up the Empire State Building. No more rooftops.

He shrugs. “I wish to spend time with you.”

His grey T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, his jeans have a slight rip in the knee, and just looking at him makes me warm. If I were to touch him, it would be the strongest, most delicious warmth I’d ever feel.

“Well, we could just get dinner,” I answer.

“Dinner. Yes.” He grabs his jacket, which is lying atop a packed bag. The finality of his impending departure hits me with a nauseating punch to the stomach. Yuri stands by his apartment door, waiting for me to join him on our way out. I walk over and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

Then we kiss. I thought it would be a mild kiss, more perfunctory than passionate. Nope. He holds me like I’m the black swan.

When I pull away, his cheeks are pink with anticipation and his hair is tussled. I remember him and me, our first time on top of a building, and I am sure.

“You look strange,” he says. “What is wrong?”

“I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”

He gives me a sad smile. “It will not be goodbye.”

Even though I’m shaking, I reach behind and lock the door. Then, praying he won’t laugh at my inexperience, I gaze at him with slow, seductive eyes. “Dance with me,” I whisper, holding out my arms. His face softens and he pulls me in.

After a moment he turns on music and we sway to it. It’s a soft and rhythmic orchestra and a vibrant chord is struck inside me. Moving together, touching constantly, I breathe a sigh of relief as I become a different version of myself. I bury my face into the curve of his neck and feel myself lifted into the cradle of his arms.

Our dance becomes something more, something precious, something I’ll never forget. It’s dreamy and intimate, better than how I’d always imagined it would be.

We are reaching, climbing, hearts beating in the hope that this moment will not end.

When Zelda comes back we don’t speak about what happened on the roof. I worry that she is just a broken Wili now, heartbroken, dancing in misery but not for joy.

Or maybe I’m just projecting.

My Giselle dress gets chosen as one of the highest or lowest scores, and my heart trips but I regain my composure almost instantly. “Robin,” Hilaire asks, “do you think your design is on the bottom or the top?”

“I have no idea,” I tell her. “I can never predict what you’re going to like. If that means I don’t have vision, maybe you should send me home.”

Hilaire tilts her chin in her charming, ex-supermodel sort of way. “Are you sure about that?”

“No” I reply. “I mean, I want to be here very much, but I can’t apologize for creating something I believe in. And if that’s what you’re asking me to do. . . well, I won’t, even if it means I’m going home. ”

Hilaire’s gaze is as thoughtful and soft as I’ve ever seen it. “I understand, Mon Cherie. But I thought your design was both skilled and highly original. You are on the top and you are not going home—at least not tonight.”

There’s a hitch in my chest and my knees threaten to buckle. With all the turmoil and drama, I’ve been wondering if doing the show is worth the price. But Hilaire’s praise is like the designer clothes she wears, so beautiful and stylish that I want to keep it on forever. I win the challenge and I’m in the top for the next two challenges after that. Then I keep landing in the middle but never in the bottom, and I stitch away, my vision and my design concepts clear.

The final challenge is on
Swan Lake
.

“It’s a nice story,” I say to Zelda. “But I don’t buy it. People’s hearts break all the time and yet they stay stubbornly alive.”

“That’s the part you don’t buy?” Zelda shakes her head. “Forget the broken heart bit, he falls in love with a bird. Twice.”

Zelda and I are waiting for the stylist to do her hair and makeup. Kyla and her model are hogging up our time and I should demand that my consultation start. But there’s no hurry; for now I’m happy watching Zelda scuff her tattered Converses across the floor in large, balletic loop-de-loops.

“Sometimes I think the characters in these timeless tragedies are better off, just keeling over once they’ve lost the love of their life. They don’t have to deal with the tedium of getting over it.”

“You don’t mean that,” replies Zelda. “Think about Julie.”

“Sorry.” I shift in my seat. Zelda is standing above me, too energetic to sit. She arches her back and does this twirly little jump that I don’t know the French term for. I’m glad she’s dancing again. I’ve been worried that Zelda’s love for ballet died along with her friend.

“You know who I feel sorry for?” Zelda rolls her shoulders back and arches her neck, looking very swan-like. “Odile. She was under the sorcerer’s spell when she made the prince fall in love with her. And who knows, maybe she loved the prince just as much as Odette did. But everyone thinks she’s this evil black swan when really, she never meant to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah.”

For the millionth time today there’s this weird pressure in my chest, and my pulse quickens while my heart turns to lead. It happens whenever I’m reminded of Nick, or my stupid mistakes, or how my feelings have been hurt. “I guess we’re a sisterhood: you, me, and Odile.”

Zelda raises an eyebrow and I can’t tell if she agrees or not. “I wish we got to find out how Odile’s story ends. She leaves the party and that’s all we know.”

“Maybe she goes to college, starts a career, and marries a nice man with a bird fetish.”

Zelda laughs, although I would have missed it had I been blinking. Still, it’s progress.

I tap my foot impatiently. “Seriously, how much longer is Kyla going to take?”

“She is so inconsiderate,” Zelda says. “I don’t care if you take me to Fashion Week, but if Kyla gets to go and you don’t, I will forever lose faith in reality TV.”

“You don’t care if I take you to Fashion Week? But you have to be my model! I couldn’t do it without you.”

Zelda regards me, hands on her hips. “Of course I’ll come. But you
can
do it without me, Robin. We both know that you can do anything you set your mind to.”