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I TUGGED AT THE TIE around my neck as I waited at the table for Jaqui. It was comical to me that I was more comfortable in tight leotards, hip-hugging jeans, and leggings than I was in a suit. I’d only ever warn this suit one other time, the day we had accepted our awards after graduating from my master exam. My aunt had it made especially for me in St. Petersburg, and brought it with her when she traveled to Moscow for the ceremony. That was four years ago, and it still fit perfectly.
Except for this damn tie. Being constricted around the neck was not comfortable at all. I didn’t want to look at the menu in front of me; I already knew this place would take a serious hit to my savings. Why had I offered to pay? Oh, yeah, because my girl had literally traded a precious necklace and sexual favor to save my place at the academy.
My girl? What did that come from? Jaqui was technically my teacher, my boss, and I, her student, though so far, I had taught her more than she had taught me. And what was that kiss a few hours ago in my dorm room? I tried to dismiss it as a French thing. We had learned in class it was common for people to greet each other with a kiss. But on the lips? Even for Jaqui’s French heritage, that seemed much too intimate. I wanted to ask her, but even thinking about it made me break out in a sweat. What did she mean by it?
I didn’t have much time to think about it, because when she entered the small dining room, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take my eyes from her. Wrapped in a sleeveless deep purple dress that clung to her every curve, under a simple white fur-lined short cape, and ending in impossibly high heels, I realized it was the first time I hadn’t see Jaqui in a t-shirt and jeans or our typical dance wear. Everything I had seen about her was casual. But this ... she looked like royalty.
She’s descended from some dead king, Mira had said the first day we met her.
I believed it.
Smoothing my tie, I stood quickly, aware that even men with their wives were openly staring at Jaqui as she walked toward my table. I run to the other side of the table and pulled out her chair.
She smiled at me, and sat a small clutch, identical to her dress, on the table.
“You look beautiful,” I blurted out, feeling the heat rise immediately to my cheeks. What an idiot I was to say such things.
Her grin widened, and she leaned her head on her hand. “So, do you,” she said, then gasped slightly. “I mean, handsome!”
I resisted the urge to frown when I saw her giddy, almost elated mood had shifted since her breakdown in my room last night. Shaking my head slightly, I sat down, pulling my chair closer, and felt my heart beat return to normal. We were so awkward around each other, but somehow it made me feel at ease. How could this millionaire’s daughter, so calm and composed, with the best education money could buy, be so sheltered and quiet at times, yet at others quip intelligently and blind the room with her smile? I didn’t have an answer.
I couldn’t stop my awkwardness, which plummeted at high speed toward a terrifying end. “That dress is ... wow, Jaqui,” I couldn’t even finish my sentence.
She tugged it down over her knees, but I could tell it wasn’t going to stay there. That alone sent more blood pumping to my head ... and other things.
“This old thing?” She laughed. “It’s last year’s. And it’s the only one I brought with me. I didn’t think I’d have any need for them here.”
“Only one?” I repeated, frowning in worry. Her sudden excitement was odd. “You have more?”
“Hmm,” she mused for a few seconds, staring off into the distance behind me. “Probably about a hundred.”
“You have ...” I gaped at her, “a hundred dresses?”
“Yes. And shoes, probably.” She shrugged and opened the menu. She looked at me over the crimson cardboard, distraught.
I was still trying to imagine what kind of room held a hundred dresses and shoes. I knew she lived in a “small” mansion as she called it, but it was still strange to me. “What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“The menu ... it’s in Russian.”
“Da, it’s in Russian,” I chuckled. “What would it be in?”
“Well ... I thought maybe French.”
I laughed. “We are still in Moscow, Jaqui.”
“This I know.” She looked back down at the menu, still frowning even deeper.
A waiter appeared, the fancy kind with a black bowtie and a white towel over his arm. He poured two glasses of the red wine I’d ordered before Jaqui arrived, and sat down two glasses of water.
“Cabernet,” Jaqui said, and the French that rolled off her tongue was music to my ears. She took a dainty sip. “Good choice.”
“It’s not expensive,” I apologized, sipping my own goblet gingerly. I preferred a nice stout vodka, or even a good ale as a fall back; I didn’t like wine much. This was vaguely sweet, however, and not overly harsh on the palette.
“It doesn’t have to be, for the prices on the menu. Nine-hundred rubles for duck confit? That’s highway robbery!”
“Robbery?” I frowned at her. “They don’t steal from us,” I said, confused.
She shook her head. “It’s something my sister says. She’s from, er, lives in America. Some phrase that goes back to when trains were robbed in the Wild West or something.” When I stared at her, trying to catch up with her French, she looked at me and said, “never mind.”
“I’ve never been to America. Have you?”
“Once, when I was about eight years old. I only remember the ocean was a beautiful sight and it was very hot and humid. Like Greece. Have you been?”
“No.”
“Well, America, that’s when we met my step-father, Elijah.”
The waiter reappeared then, interrupting us, and sat down a plate of cheeses. Jaqui stabbed one with her fork and chewed slowly, sipping her wine.
“You met your step-father over ten years ago?” I questioned, remembering her father had died not long ago. “Was your mother not with your father?”
“Oh!” She said, setting her fork down. “It’s complicated. My mother knew my step-father for years before she met my father. See, my mother found out she was pregnant with my sister, Elise, after she met Father, Marceau Arnolt. He was working in a coffee shop at the time.”
“But, he was a millionaire?”
“Yes, something about his father wanted him to be ‘poor’ to appreciate being rich again. Something strange like that.”
“So, your mother married your father, had another man’s child, and then you. Are you also the other man’s child?”
“No, but my brother Renee is.”
What? I was intrigued, this was not something she had told me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to intrude, unless she wanted to tell me.
“I, uh,” I snatched a piece of cheese, because I had no idea what to say.
“Russians are very forward.”
She had no idea, I though idly. “Da.”
She finished her wine as the waiter arrived and poured her another glass, but I waved him away from mine. We ordered—something cheaper than the duck that involved chicken and pasta—and Jaqui continued her confusing family story.
“I’m sorry, you must think my mother is a whore,” she blurted out.
“I did not, but this is very confusing, I must admit.” I frowned at her.
“My mother couldn’t make up her mind, between Elijah and my father, for many years. It wasn’t until his death that she chose him.”
“So, your sister, Elise, lives in America, where your step-father, her real father, used to live?” I was trying my best to follow along.
“Yes.” She nodded in agreement.
“And your brother Renee, and the sisters, I forget their names, live with your mother and step father in Paris?” This was a lot to take in, but I thought I finally had it down.
“Yes!” she said, excited to the point of waving her fork around. “I forgot, America! Yes, I would like to go back sometime. It is wild, and the people are crazy, but it is very different and exciting.”
I stared at her. I wanted to say, Yes, I would love to visit America! Instead, her sudden hyper, fast speech, and delighted, easy laugh worried me. Along with her sudden change of subject, I wasn’t sure what to think; my head was spinning. “Are you okay, Jaqui?” I leaned forward.
“Famished. Excited to be out of the stuffy dorm. How do you do it every day for so long? It’s exhausting. And the students—it’s like they are at their own funeral every day. So drab and dark, like the weather in Moscow. It’s...”
“Jaqui.” My voice was low, and now I was concerned. I’d seen many drunk girls in the bars I visited with Igor. This was not the alcohol loosening her tongue.
“Enough about me, what about you? You said you were born and raised in St. Petersburg. Where is that, exactly?”
“It’s on the coast,” I answered, trying to dismiss the way she moved her hands while she talked and her rapid speech. Our food arrived, and she dug in with gusto, eating faster than I had ever seen her eat before. “It’s far, about eleven-hundred kilometers.”
“That’s as far as Berlin is from home,” she talked through her next bite.
“It’s interesting you brought up St. Petersburg. I was going to ask you something.”
“Yes?” She didn’t look up.
“Would you like to come with me for Christmas, Jaqui?”
“Huh?” She looked up at me finally, letting her fork clatter to the plate. “To St. Petersburg?”
“Yes. On the train, that is. It’s only three hours or so.”
She blinked at me. “Russia has some great trains.”
“The best.”
She continued eating, as did I. We sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, I asked, “So you will come? Meet my Aunt Aloyna?”
Finishing her last bite, she pushed her plate away and downed the rest of her wine. “I don’t know, Vasily. I barely know you.”
“That’s why I want you to meet my aunt. She’s like a mother to me, or has been since I was very small.”
“Alright, I suppose.”
“Alright?” I repeated, not understanding.
“Yes, I will go to St. Petersburg with you.”
It was my turn to smile widely. “Good. It is settled. Now that this business with Misha is behind us, we can ...”
“Wait, stop right there.” Her fork clattered to her plate.
I threw my head up, feeling dizzy at how quickly her tone changed. This was not like her, not at all.
“What did you say?” she asked me.
“Excuse me?” I said, startled to see her glare at me suddenly.
“This ‘business’ with Misha. Your blackmail.” Her voice was growing louder by the minute.
I knew what was going on. Somehow, after two glasses of wine, Jaqui had reached her limit. I had been a fool—clearly, she had not grown up drinking vodka like I had, and had quite a lower tolerance. I raised my hand for the check.
“I think we need to leave,” I told her, concerned. “Get your coat. We can talk in the cab ...”
“No, I’m not leaving,” she said forcefully, “we haven’t had dessert yet. And I want you to tell me that it wasn’t you that took care of the ‘business.’”
“Jaqui ...”
“Last time I checked, it was me with Sasha’s cum rolling down my tits to protect your precious image.” She threw her napkin down and tried to stand, but stumbled and fell back into her chair.
The waiter appeared, and I pressed a handful of bills into his hand, probably overpaying, but at this point, we just needed to leave. I was worried for Jaqui, because something was seriously wrong. And I didn’t think it was the wine that was to blame.
“What about dessert?” she whined.
I was on high alert. Through our practices I knew were painful for her, through all the blackmail, I’d never heard her complain about anything, not once. But this reminded me oddly of Katarina. What was going on here?
“We’re leaving,” I said, trying my hardest to make my voice sound even. I threw her cover over her shoulders and tried to guide her to the door.
“I don’t want to.”
Inside, I panicked. No matter what had happened in my room earlier, I promised her I would never touch her unless she asked. And she certainly wasn’t asking right now. I decided to try something else.
“I’m going back to the academy, and you can try to figure out how to get there by yourself. Good luck finding anyone who speaks French or English on this side of town.”
That did it. I watched her face fall as she realized I was right. She followed me out of the restaurant, and we hailed a cab.
Her sudden burst of energy seemed to wear off as soon as we started back to the academy, and she dozed against my shoulder. I sat with my hands clasped between my knees, trying to figure out what could be wrong.
I remembered an Italian ballerina named Dannika, in my master class, three years ago. The rumors flew at the academy that she was taking uppers, pain pills, and a myriad cocktail of illegal prescription drugs, but I didn’t know her well enough to surmise if that was the issue. Drugs were easy enough to come by in Russia, especially for dancers, who only needed to tell a doctor they had pain. Russian doctors didn’t consider a vulnerability to such medication before handing them out like sweet treats. Dannika had been talented, but a slow decent into addiction destroyed her, and she failed her final exam.
“What are you doing, Jaqui?” I whispered, as she snored softly against me.
When we got back to the academy, Jaqui was far gone. “Where are we?” she mumbled almost incoherently.
“Back at Tanets,” I told her.
“Hmm?” she stumbled getting out of the cab, holding tighter to her clutch. “Where?”
“May I help you?” I asked, frowning.
“I can do it,” she insisted.
I paid the cab and trailed behind her, grateful it was late at night and even the front desk was empty as we made our way to the elevator. I kept my distance, ready if she might fall, but not touching her in any way.
We made it to the third floor, and she forgot her room number. I gently reminded her.
“I remember!” she nearly shouted at me.
When we finally got in her room, she dropped her clutch and kicked her heels off, one of them flying across the room, nearly hitting a lamp. She seemed oblivious to where they were. Using the wall for support, she made her way to the bed.
“No, Misha,” I heard her mumble. Before I could stop her, she fell across it sideways, face first.
I stood in the open doorway, my hand on the frame, more to help ground me than for support. Why had she said his name? What exactly what going on here? I frowned, not exactly sure what to do with the situation. She was on something, clearly, and the alcohol had only made it worse.
I didn’t have any idea what she was on. I could call the doctor the academy kept on staff for emergencies. But then, what would that do? Pytor would fire her in an instant if he knew she was abusing something. Not in his ballet, surely.
Sighing, I closed the door and walked to the bed. I thought about moving her slightly, so her legs weren’t hanging at an awkward angle, but I was worried for her wrath if she woke with me touching her, especially given that asshole from France she told me about. In the end, I covered her with a spare blanket from the closet, and went into the bathroom to splash water on my face.
I envied her private bathroom, the only one on the floor. The rest of us lived the communal life, as we had always done, in the bathrooms at the end of the hallway. Those bathrooms had to service fifteen of us, and were only on every other floor. I was lucky enough to be on one of the odd floors with the large commodity.
Jaqui’s bathroom was clearly owned by a woman. Brushes, curling irons, curling sets, cannisters of hair spray, and makeup in all colors of the rainbow were spread out on the sink. Discarded towels were thrown in the corner, and the narrow shower stall door was still wet with condensation.
In the midst of all the chaos of this bathroom, one hand towel was neatly folded into a little triangle on the counter. It was so out of place here, when everything else had been idly discarded in a hurry. I picked up the towel, revealing a Ziploc bag under it. Holding it up to the bare light in the ceiling, I sighed, my heart dropping a million miles in my chest. A menagerie of brown and white pills, a dozen at least, sat idly at the bottom of the bag.
Fuck.
I had hoped to find a bottle, with a French address. Something I could recognize, and if nothing else, modern Russian. I had a feeling her doctor at home had access to better quality medicine than a stranger here in Moscow. This ... this came from someone within the academy. Who would give, or even sell, these to her? I had no idea.
Oh, no.
Misha was dealing pills. Dannika had been close with Misha, too. And not just to Dannika – to Jaqui, too.
An even bigger question—why did she even need them? And why now, just before dinner? I knew her pain was great, but over the last two weeks I hadn’t seen many signs of it. I figured she was getting better, but now I knew I had been wrong. The pain hadn’t subsided. She had just masked it.
Disgusted, I turned the baggie over and dropped the rest of the pills into the toilet, then swiftly flushed it. I crumpled the bag and stuck it in my pocket. No one needed to know about this.
Peering back in the main room, I saw Jaqui was now curled up on her side on the bed, snoring softly. The blanket had fallen to the floor, and I recovered her. I started back to my room, but her breathing hitched suddenly, and she started to cough. I spun on my heel, staring, making sure she was still breathing, and not vomiting, or anything worse. I hit my knees next to her, holding her head up, making sure her airway was clear.
Fuck. Whatever she’d had—it was the wrong mix; and then I gave her alcohol on top of it. I was worried they would start to take a bad toll. What if I left and something happened?
Despite our early morning class and that fact it was now close to midnight, I decided not to go back to my room. I slid out of my jacket, pulled my tie over my head, and settled into the narrow plush chair next to the small table in the corner. Covering my arms with my jacket, I decided to try to get some sleep.
At least she wouldn’t be alone, even if she never knew I was there.