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VASILY CAUGHT UP WITH me back the academy. “What’s your plan?” He whispered as we stood waiting for the elevator.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, wrapping my resolve around me and brushing the tears from my eyes. I tried not to think about Father’s ruby I’d dumped in Svetlana’s hand. For what? To absolve Vasily? To absolve myself, and finally say goodbye to my father? I didn’t know. All I knew was I wanted this over. Vasily words from earlier kept repeating in my mind: you don’t have to let a man treat you that way.
“We can’t just waltz into Sasha’s room and demand that picture, Jaqui.”
“We can’t?” I knew he was right, but I asked anyway.
“I took his position, as understudy. Did you forget? He’s heard the news by now.”
I shrugged. “He’ll give us the picture.”
The elevator dinged at Sasha’s floor, but he stopped me with his hand over the doors. “In all my years here, Sasha has never been denied a position. He’ll not be in good mood to see me.”
“Do you want to stay behind?” I held the doors open, but bit my lip. Please don’t leave me alone with him, I silently begged. Not after Misha... I was too scared to tell him what happened. I had rejected Misha, but at what cost? Eventually, the truth would come out about me, and it was all a matter of time. But if Sasha had the last picture, this ended here. I had to end it.
“I won’t let you go there alone,” Vasily said, dropping his hand. “But don’t you think we should...”
“This ends here,” I whispered. My eyes narrowed, and my tears dried for now, I marched out of the elevator to Sasha’s door with Vasily on my heels. I briskly knocked.
While we waited for the door to open, Vasily whispered in my ear, “You need to know, Jaqui, Sasha is a main of peculiar tastes.”
“What does that mean?” I asked sharply.
“It means he won’t take money. He might insist on some other form of payment.”
I shivered and wrapped my arms around me. Oh no.
Before I could even consider running, the door flung open, interrupting what Vasily was about to say next.
“Jaqui,” Sasha sneered at us, “and Vasily.” He threw a swear word out I didn’t understand as he crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame and glaring at Vasily. Sasha spit his name like vile poison, and I knew Vasily was right, he was likely the last person Sasha wanted to see. “What do you two want?” Sasha barked at us.
“Enough of this shit.” I pushed past him into the room. Vasily followed me, shutting the door. I was glad he’d followed me, even though the danger would evident with Sasha’s volatile greeting. The last thing I wanted was to be in a room alone with any of them at this point. “You have the last picture. We want it.” I reached into my purse, hoping against hope Vasily would be wrong about him not taking money. “What’s your asking price? Name it.”
“I don’t want your rubles,” Sasha sneered at me as he sat on his bed. “My family has plenty.”
“Oh,” I said, stuffing the bills back in my wallet. I fought to hide my dismay. Vasily had been right. Also, it was the first time someone had ever turned down my money, so I wasn’t sure how to respond. I looked at Vasily, my weak resolve fading like a wisp on the wind.
“What do you want?” the force in Vasily’s voice as he addressed Sasha surprised me.
He smiled at me, I would know that lecherous smile anywhere. I froze, remembering the same smile on Claude, the same leer and look on Misha’s face two days ago. Another shiver ran over me, and my hands began to shake.
And the Russians, if anything, were even more blunt than the French. His next words shouldn’t have been a shock.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck a French girl.”
I cringed inwardly, my mouth moving but no sound coming out.
“No,” Vasily said immediately, stepping between us.
I glared at Sasha over Vasily’s shoulder. “You can’t be serious!”
“I said no!” Vasily slammed his fist on the table next to the bed, surprising me. Where did this come from? “Pick something else, Sasha,” he continued, “we can get you anything. A French hooker if you want. But not Jaqui.”
Sasha laughed. “Isn’t that what got you into this mess, Vasily? Loose women?”
He looked directly at me at the last part, and I fought the urge to shiver.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the menace in Vasily’s voice clearer than ever.
“I’ll do it,” I tried to shove Vasily out of the way.
Vasily grabbed my hand. “I can’t let you do this.” He looked at Sasha. “Whatever you have in mind, forget it. Take the money.”
“I wasn’t finished,” I said to Vasily, squeezing his hand back. “Just a hand job,” I glared at Sasha.
“With your—” Sasha started.
Vasily sighed next to me, squeezing my hand even harder. I looked at him and his eyes were glassy. “Let’s discuss this outside,” I pulled him away, determined to explain things to Vasily.
“Is the offer still on the table?” Sasha asked, apparently confused about what was happening. “Because I have things to do, and I won’t be feeling this generous later.”
I gaped at him. “You want ... payment ... right now?”
“Why not?”
Fuck. I was some plaything to them, and I knew it. The fragile respect I had earned over the last few weeks didn’t make a difference to them. I knew now that they were interested in me more for what was between my legs and less for my ability to dance.
I felt sick to my stomach, and the alcohol that rolled on it, mostly empty, wasn’t helping at all. But what could I do? I didn’t see any way out of this. No doubt Sasha knew he had the last picture, and he had the upper hand. I held up my hand to him and dragged Vasily into the hallway.
Once I was sure no one was in sight, I dropped his hand and whispered in his ear, “Just go, I’ll take care of this.” I swallowed hard and the tears sprang to my eyes again. No, I can’t. Please... my mind screamed at me as I searched Vasily’s eyes, begging for him to save me from this. He told me not to let men treat me like this, but here I was again, a toy to be used and discarded, just as Claude had.
I saw his fists curl at his side. “No, Jaqui, you can’t do this. This isn’t right. The money is one thing, but this ... this is just wrong.”
I tried to smile but my trembling lip gave me away. “I don’t think I have much of a choice.” Besides, compared to what Misha had in mind, this was a walk in the park, no matter how disgusting it is.
“Yes, you do have a choice.” He grabbed my hand and started dragging me to the stairs.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to tell Pytor everything!”
“Vasily! You can’t! What about the Nutcracker? You’ll lose everything!”
He froze, and I pulled my hand away.
“Just go, Vasily.” I demanded. I may not be able to save myself, but I could save him. His dancing, his painting, all of it. He deserved to be a star. I realized then that despite my protests about reputation of the ballet, it was all for Vasily. I stared at the sweet man who had rejected me, who despised me, but yet talked with me into the night and held me when I fell. I was doing it for him.
He started breathing heavy and I knew he was two minutes from a panic attack. I could see it, as much as I could see it in Renee’s eyes. “Go!” I shouted, pushing the door open behind him. “Let me take care of this!”
A solitary tear escaped his left eye and he quickly brushed it away. Without saying a word, he turned and rushed down the stairs.
Pussy, I thought, ashamed of myself for thinking of my friend that way.
I reminded myself Vasily was talented, and if not for Misha, deserved stardom. And for that alone, I was willing to put this entire blackmail business behind us.
Even if it meant I had to do the unthinkable. Christ, I had turned Misha down twice and I wasn’t able to escape this low level of vileness. I hoped Vasily would never know this wasn’t the first time I’d used my body to get what I wanted. I knew first hand money didn’t always talk, but lady parts spoke a universal language.
I closed Sasha’s door behind me slowly. “Jesus,” I breathed. Considering what I had almost let Misha do last week, this was nothing, really. Nothing ...
He was already on the bed with his pants off. He stroked the smallest dick I had ever seen in my life, like it wasn’t this horrible tiny, thin, and disgusting pencil like flap of skin. I nearly gagged at what I was about to do.
I sat on the edge of the bed, turned away from him, and reached out. Hopefully a few quick strokes and it would be over. I could snatch the picture from his disgusting hands and be done with this entire mess, once and for all.
“Oh, you do better that,” he spoke in broken English. I turned to look at him, much to my disgust. “Your shirt. Remove, please.”
“You have got to be kidding ...”
He pulled the picture from under his pillow and held it up. “You want, da? Shirt. Off.”
I sighed, clenching my jaw, but did as I was told.
“Brassier, too, please.”
“Oh my god.”
He waggled the picture at me.
I reached behind me and unsnapped my bra, letting it fall to my shirt on the bed.
“Come closer,” he demanded.
I did. He thumbed over my nipple, which betrayed my disgust by hardening at his touch. Everything in me wanted to cringe, cry out, run from the room. One hand on his dick, the other roughly slapped at my breasts, painfully squeezing and pulling on the tips.
My body betrayed me with my desire for pain. I closed my eyes tight and clamped my teeth to my tongue to prevent a betraying moan from escaping.
He must have seen it on my face, mistaking my disgust for pleasure. “You like that, don’t you, whore?” Slap! He hit me harder.
For Vasily, I told myself. Instead of Sasha, it was Vasily’s face in front of me. Instead of Sasha’s hand guiding me to touch him, it was Vasily’s soft fingers.
You can do this, I kept chanting, keeping my eyes shut tight. I moved my hand quicker, sliding along the shaft as fast I could. I heard him moan, but in my mind’s eye, it wasn’t Sasha. Not anymore.
“Oh, you French whore!” He called as he came, spraying his warm fluid straight onto my bare breasts. I choked on the gag trying to rise in the back of my throat at the horrible feeling of him, and the shame that threatened to drown me.
I opened my eyes as he pressed a handful of tissues into one hand and the picture in another. He pushed me aside and he redressed, smiling at me as I cleaned up. I struggled into my shirt as fast as I could, not bothering to even re-hook my bra.
“If you ever decided you want a real man ...”
Real man my ass! “Fuck you,” I yelled as I slammed the door behind me.
***
I SLUNK INTO THE ELEVATOR, slipping down the gray walls and hugging my knees, holding the picture and my bra. My shirt stuck to me from the remnants I hadn’t had time to clean off in my haste. When it dinged at the third floor, I struggled to stand, gripping the slick hallway wall for support. In less than forty-eight hours, I’d let two men destroy what was left of my dignity. As if I’d had many tattered remains when I arrived in Moscow, that was. Between Misha and Sasha, I was barely myself anymore. I rubbed my sore cheek and wrapped my arms around me tighter, wincing. God, I was a mess.
My only consolation was it was over. I had ended the blackmail. But I couldn’t go home ... no matter how bad it was here, it was worse in France, especially with Claude on the loose. I clung to the tiny bit of hope things would smooth over now, that everyone would leave me alone.
I froze in front of my door. I couldn’t go in there; the pills sang to me, called to me from their hidden spot in my bathroom. Too weak to resist their comfort, I pushed the door open and snagged a pill off the bathroom counter, throwing the towel down to hide it once more. Swallowing hard, I stumbled out of my room and trudged down the hallway. I didn’t want to be alone right now.
“Jaqui,” Vasily said when he opened his door. “Did Sasha ...? Your cheek...” He reached up to touch me, but withdrew as I involuntarily backed away.
I shoved the picture at him, saying nothing.
He took it and ripped it into a million pieces, tossing it in a nearby trashcan. The sob I’d been holding back the entire time in Sasha’s room threatened to strangle me. I had to get back to my room. I had to get out of here. My head swam as I imagined the last of the white and brown pills on my bathroom counter; they promised me I could forget this nightmare, if only fleetingly.
“Hey, come here,” he reached out, and I knew he was going to grab my hand, but he stopped short and dropped it. Instead, he said. “What do you need?”
Through everything with Claude and this entire blackmail mess, being screamed at by Pytor every damn day and feeling like a giant failure, losing my Father’s ruby and Sasha’s demand, through all of it, I never let myself cry. I held my head up, like my father would have wanted me to.
But this time, I couldn’t do it anymore.
Vasily’s words sang in my head, like water to my thirsty, dying soul. No one had ever asked what I needed, what I wanted. Except him. And even though I’d told him not to come near me, not to touch me, I collapsed in his arms. He was hesitant to touch me, but wrapped an arm around my shoulder, backing up slightly to close the door behind me. “Shh,” he whispered into my hair.
I grabbed his collar, my anchor, sobbing into his shoulder with more energy than I’d had at my father’s graveside.
“Jaqui,” he murmured my name.
He sat on his bed, keeping distance between us, but this time, I was having none of it. I swung my legs onto his lap and hugged his neck. He froze, not touching me, as I clung to him.
“You asked me what I wanted?” I mumbled into his shoulder. “Hold me and tell me I’m not a failure.” And you don’t even know what else I’ve had to do, but I couldn’t say it out loud, yet.
He obliged finally, and that shiver, the agony his touch would burn me, disappeared. His arms wrapped around my waist and he sat there and let me cry, saying nothing. I clung to his neck desperately as I tried to reign in the tears, but the dam had broken.
“You’re not a failure,” he whispered. “And it’s over. It’s over!”
“It’ll never be over,” I cried into his shoulder. “They will always use me and toss me away. I’m nothing, no one.”
“You are not, not to me.” His hand brushed the hair from my face.
“No one respects me. No one understands how hard I had to work to get here.”
“We all had to work hard,” he tightened his grip around me slightly.
“But you don’t know what it’s like to have to prove yourself, that you’re more than just a spoiled rich girl.”
“Do I? Jaqui, look at me.”
I wiped the tears as best I could, my fingers come back black from all the running mascara. I was sure I was a mess. “My grandfather was Sergei Rachmaninoff.”
I pulled away, still wiping at my eyes. “The famous composer?” My voice cracked. “But... he didn’t have any children?”
“My mother and aunt were born in secret, to a woman in St. Petersburg that no one ever knew about,” he explained. “He was older when he met my grandmother, and died before I was born. But did you know my grandfather always thought he was a failure, and not as good as the likes of Tchaikovsky?”
“But he’s ...”
“One of the most famous modern Russian composers, I know. And not many besides Pytor knows of my heritage. How do you think my aunt can afford tuition here? Pytor worked out a deal to have the grandson of Rachmaninoff at his academy.”
“Oh, Vasily,” I breathed.
He smiled. “So, you are not the only one to prove to the world they are something different. Look at me! I can’t even play the piano!”
“You can’t?”
“No, that’s my younger cousin, Sergei, who my aunt oddly named after her father. Strange coincidence, no?”
I smiled, though it felt forced. “It is an amazing coincidence.”
He reached up with his hand and I winced, involuntarily. He frowned, but I took his hand and put it on my face. He thumbed away the last of the tears.
“You are beautiful even in moments like this, Jaquellyn Arnolt.”
“How can that be?” I tried to say, but another sob choked at my throat. “I’m damaged, broken. A whore, Vasily. Who would want me?”
“That’s enough of that,” he said, handing me a tissue and finally releasing me. He held me at arm’s length. “You look exhausted. Dead on your feet. You need sleep.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“It’s after midnight. Lay down.”
I started to shake at that. I doubted Vasily would do anything to me while I slept, but I was so scared suddenly. “No, no, I can’t.”
“We have no practice tomorrow. Come, take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I—” Do you want to end up in a coma? Misha’s voice haunted me. I knew I shouldn’t be alone. I bit my lip. “Okay,” I said finally.
He covered me with a thin woven blanket from the nearby chair. “I’ve got to go find food, but I’ll be back soon. Do you want me to lock the door?”
“Please, please,” I said, growing drowsier by the minute. What were those pills doing to me?
He frowned. “You would rather I stay?”
“I’m so tired. I’ll just sleep. Wake me when you return?”
“Da,” he said, letting himself out.
***
THE NEXT DAY, I WOKE to Vasily gently shaking me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Four in the afternoon.”
“I slept for fourteen hours?” I said, trying to shake the foggy, pill-induced feeling.
“I told you were exhausted,” he smiled at me, “you look ten times better, more yourself. Now, get dressed. We go out tonight.”
“I’ll pay,” I protested, trying to wipe my eyes but only making it worse by smearing my makeup around. I was still groggy, though from sleeping too much or the pills, I wasn’t sure.
“No, I will.”
I just looked at him.
“I sold a painting,” he shrugged.
“You did?”
“Yes. Someone paid a thousand rubles for it, can you believe this?”
I should have smiled, but I realized I was the one that paid for that painting. I pushed myself off the bed and stood. “Where are we going, then?”
“There is a French restaurant, across town. Would you like ...?”
“That sounds wonderful.” I thought fondly of home. I had dreamed of it. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
I left him sitting here, dumbfounded, with a finger pressed to his lips. I wasn’t entirely sure a girl had ever surprised him like that. What had come over me? In the space of a few weeks, this man had gone from a stranger that scared me, whose touch terrified me, and made me want to run to safety, to someone who held me when I needed it. And best of all? He didn’t try to get in my pants.
Every day he surprised me.
Yet, despite what he said, there was only one thing that could make me not feel like a failure, and the tiny white pills of forgetting were locked back in my room. I hurried down the hall, anxious to prepare for the dinner ahead, with just some of Misha’s medication to take the edge off.