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Alena Azarov was the image of perfection. She was a perfect five-foot-nine with jet black hair that hung in a perfect bob around her face. High cheekbones, naturally arched eyebrows, and a porcelain complexion that didn't seem to have a single blemish or spot made her look like one of Brenda's elegant figurines in her bedroom at home. Vladimir Garin, Alena's skating partner, was as perfect as she was, except he was about three inches taller with broader shoulders. In addition, his eyes were set a little wide apart and deep into his skull, making him look like something an artist might chisel out of marble.
Their reputation arrived a week before they did. Stoic and always serious, "The Russians" would be the team to beat at this qualifying event. Rumors floated around that they not only trained twenty hours out of every twenty-four and slept at the ice-skating rink where they trained, but they were on a strict diet of wheat germ, buttermilk, and their daily vitamin supplements. It was also going around that they were secret spies, members of the disbanded KGB, related to the President of Russia, and secretly married.
Neither Brenda nor Scott believed they were anything more than amazing skaters. But the rumors made them wonder what was being told to the Russians about them. So when they arrived in two stretch limos, one for Vladimir and the other for Alena and their coach, everyone stood back.
They entered the building like royalty, hurried into the locker rooms, and immediately began warming up. They spoke only Russian unless advised by their coach, who was an amazingly short man compared to them. He had a perfectly round head with very little hair. Unlike Vladimir, their coach's eyes were set close together, and his mouth stretched out in a thin line across his face in a permanent smirk. His eyes darted everywhere as if he were taking everything in, calculating every possible influence that might affect his skaters. Brenda found it fascinating to watch. Plus, she couldn't help but notice their beautiful costumes.
Alena's costume had a fortune of antique, gold-colored crystals that started at her shoulders and ran down her body to blend at midpoint with black crystals, which finished off the rest of the costume to the hem that hung in a slant over her hips and thighs. Her body was perfectly toned without a single ounce of fat. Her long, lean, sinewy muscles were the true testament to the hard work she put in. Vladimir's costume was precisely the same color scheme but with a daring V-neck collar that showcased his broad chest. He was also a perfectly sculpted exhibit, except his edges were slightly angular, more masculine, and the result of hours and hours of training.
Brenda looked away as they made their way to the center of the ice. So far, she'd only watched the skaters before them make their way to the middle of the rink before she looked elsewhere. Striking their pose, waiting for the music to start, Brenda wished she had a camera to snap that perfect picture. Standing still, they were beautiful to look at, and they'd be even more impressive once they moved. Brenda just knew it. She wondered what their training sessions were like.
Brenda wasn't a fan of The Russians. She wasn't jealous but wanted to stay focused, which required that she look away. She took a mental check of her body for pains or twinges but found none all the way up to her neck. Brenda double-checked her vision and discovered no blurs, double vision, or anything that might cause her to have an episode. But she couldn't bring herself to watch the competition. So instead, she checked the competitors' scores at the end and made a mental note of how far up the ladder she and Scott were going to climb.
Scott was right next to her. They'd warmed up together, not saying too many words, but she enjoyed the peaceful way they could communicate. They were nervous and excited, but they were focused.
The Russians had chosen a piece of music by the composer Wagner. It was sad and stern and quite intimidating, all at once. It was so dramatic that Brenda just had to take a peek. She saw Vladimir holding Alena over his head as if she barely weighed an ounce, with Alena perfectly arched backward. It was like they did this every day. Brenda imagined their neighbors watching Vladimir walking down the street, holding Alena arched over his head as they went to the grocery store or to the bus stop or the bank. "Look, Drago, there go the ice skaters. On their way to return a book at the library, I see. See, Ivana, the ice-skaters are going out to get their mail. Don't they look lovely?"
Brenda shook her head, slipped her hand into Scott's, and held it tightly. Then, shutting her eyes, she let a prayer pour out of her heart. "Dear Lord, I love you so much. I beg you to guide our steps as we skate, focus our minds, and let us perform to the best of our ability without worrying about the outcome, other than it please You. Amen."
When she opened her eyes, she saw Alena's and Vladimir's routine ending as they struck a final pose in the middle of the rink. The crowd applauded, but the audience went wild when the score popped up on the electric scoreboard over the judges' table. A 9.9.
Alena jumped into Vladimir's arms, hugging him and smiling. It was the first sign of emotion anyone had seen in the duo. Then, they embraced their coach, who didn't smile but patted them both enthusiastically on the back and spoke wildly and quickly in Russian, making the skaters nod their heads.
"Almost perfect," Scott said. "Yup. I can see that."
"We don't need to be perfect. We just need to be good enough. Perfect can be saved for the Olympics," Brenda said, still holding Scott's hand.
He smiled down at her and squeezed it. "I think we're next," he said, his right eyebrow arching playfully.
"Well, let's show them what we can do."
Brenda's mother had made Brenda a simple, royal-blue costume. Hanging on a rack, it didn't look all that special, but once Brenda slipped into it, the gold flecks could be seen for miles, and it seemed to dance and move on its own. Scott, who traditionally wore a black skating shirt with black Lycra pants, this time had added a blue sash around his waist.
When they stepped onto the ice, the audience went wild. Brenda and Scott had become somewhat famous—or maybe the word was infamous—because of her severe injury followed by the success of the earlier competition and, now, the pressure of this Olympic qualifier. Reporters had tried to snag them alone or together for a word or two. The only thing they ever said was they were feeling marvelous and wished all the skaters good luck—much to the disappointment of the journalists, who were looking for a little more of the Nancy Chen/Nika Babikov kind of scandal. Both Brenda and Scott had decided there would never be any of that.
Holding each other's hands, they waited for their music to start. It was a bold piece of music from a movie about people who chase tornados for a living. Admittedly, it was a silly concept from a silly movie, but Brenda had always found the music inspiring. She'd suggested it to Pamela when she first started training, and now, when she was at the very top of her career and looking back, Brenda felt as if maybe she was chasing that storm.
Unlike the previous competition, this time, Brenda was alive at the moment. She smiled happily. No one would notice she was counting steps or adjusting herself slightly to any of Scott's subtle signals.
As they stood, poised like statues, an overwhelming feeling of joy overcame Brenda. Standing in the spotlight, she felt God's glory shining upon her. Of course, she wanted to win and go to the Olympics, but she knew that even if she missed a step...or worse...It would all be according to God's plan, and she was blessed.
The first powerful note of their music boomed, and she and Scott accelerated into their routine. They sped around the rink, Scott hoisting Brenda into graceful lifts before mirroring one another as they glided side by side. Brenda felt total mastery and total freedom at the same time under Scott's powerful guidance. She knew she was as good as she'd ever been—no, she was better. She knew without a doubt that she was better as a pairs skater than she'd been as a single performer. With this thought, she burst into a trill of laughter.
Everything proceeded as if in a dream as they neared the end of the routine. The final triumph was Scott flinging Brenda across the ice, where she was to perform a challenging set of moves as he skated on the periphery. This was the trickiest part of their performance because Scott was far away, and the movements were quick and in rapid succession, followed by a backward glide culminating in a layback spin.
Brenda did a fancy quickstep and swung into the glide. She'd practiced gauging the distance to the edge of the rink countless times, but it always made her nervous moving backward on her own. Scott was to swoop in and dance her away once she completed the spin.
She began to spin, and something went awry in her vision. Spinning was dizzying enough, but she could distinguish the usual vertigo of the spin from what was happening now. She immediately pulled out of the move, hoping Scott would notice the change in the routine and come to her assistance. Soon, Brenda became wobbly, and dark spots danced before her eyes. It felt like an eternity of uncertainty as she tried to orient herself, but it was less than five seconds between the time she'd come out of the spin and when Scott arrived at her side. Then he grabbed her firmly around the waist and by the hand, and they moved into the less challenging stroll built into the routine to follow her difficult solo performance.
"Are you OK?" Scott murmured, a broad smile for the crowd plastered on his face.
"A little dizzy, but OK now," she panted as she smiled. "Thank you, Scott."
The spots disappeared, the dizziness vanished, and they completed their performance perfectly.
Brenda felt electric as they stood in the center of the ice taking bows. She remembered everything this time. She looked up at Scott and laughed a little. Even with the stumble during the spin, Brenda knew they'd nailed it, and she felt Scott knew it as certainly as she did. The scoreboard reflected it in a 9.8 score.
Brenda shouted and did a little skip as she and Scott skated back to the corral to hug Pamela, who had tears in her eyes. The crowd broke loose and kept clapping until Brenda and Scott made a second appearance to take a bow. Then Scott sent Brenda out alone. It was her they wanted to see. She was the one with the story, the fierce obstacle that maybe none of them thought she could overcome. None but her family, that is. And Scott. He watched her as tears fell down her face. Modestly, she waved and then skated back to the corral to finally walk out of view.
Taking a seat away from the other skaters and next to Scott, Brenda wrapped a towel around her shoulders and grabbed her water bottle. Scott began to untie his laces and slip into his Nike walking shoes to make his way to the locker room. They didn't speak, but Brenda nudged him with her elbow. He pushed her back, making her laugh. She did it one more time to him, and he elbowed even harder, causing her almost spill her water on herself. They both laughed out loud.
Pamela had made her way to the row of reporters, who weren't allowed in the skaters' corral. Without waiting for questions, Pamela said, "Brenda and Scott worked harder than any skater out there. They had more to overcome. And I believe it was their faith in each other and God that got them this far. Without either one of those things, they never would have succeeded. But then again, none of us can succeed without those two things." She watched as the reporters wrote down her words.
"Do you think the pressure of the Olympics might be dangerous for Brenda?" a reporter with square black glasses and hair that stood out in every direction asked, pushing those glasses up with his index finger as he spoke.
"Is there any kind of romance between the skaters?" asked a woman with frosted blonde hair wearing a thick, gray turtleneck.
"What will your training schedule be like, and will you take it easy on Brenda because of her delicate condition?" asked a young man with a bald head and a black scarf around his neck.
Pamela looked at him sternly. "I'll answer that question. Brenda is anything but delicate. In my years of being her coach, delicate is never a word I'd use to describe her. But, you'd know if you'd been paying attention to her career. Brenda is a great skater. Scott is a great skater. And together, they'll become Olympians."
Pamela waved off the rest of the reporters' questions and walked away to speak with some of the other coaches she'd known and seen at events.
Skaters came up to Brenda and Scott as they wiped their foreheads and drank more water, giving them hugs and pats on the back. Everyone was so cordial that it made Brenda feel even more humble.
Once they were alone again, she said, "I don't know what to say, Scott."
"Me neither." He grinned. "Let's not say anything and just ... enjoy."
Brenda nodded and looked deeply into Scott's eyes, noticing the minor variants of color and how sparkly they were. She nodded some more as she took off her skates and slipped into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers her mother had given her. She hadn't taken three steps in them when her mother came bounding up the second hallway that cut over to the locker rooms, waving her arms and laughing loudly.
Mrs. Wagner just held Brenda, hugging her tightly and rocking her back and forth. When she finally let go, she pulled Scott to her for more hugs and rocking. Peter gave his sister a bouquet of a dozen roses, then shook Scott's hand and patted him on the back. But Brenda's father stood back a little, giving her and Scott a shy wave as he wiped his eyes.
At the end of the hallway, half a dozen reporters were milling around. As soon as they saw Brenda and Scott, they began waving and calling their names, marching up to them as if they were heading into war. They all talked at once, holding up their mobile phones for quick pictures and recording themselves asking questions.
"Miss Wagner, were you nervous?"
"Uh, yeah. Wouldn't you be?"
"Miss Wagner, did you experience anything that made you think this wasn't such a good idea?"
"Nope."
"Miss Wagner, do you think training for the Olympics will be even harder?"
"There's a good chance it will be."
"Miss Wagner, what do you have to say to anyone who didn't think you'd make it?"
Brenda took a big breath and calmed herself. She smiled nicely at the reporters and blinked with every camera flash. "I'd like to say that I respect everyone who puts on a pair of skates, whether competing or just having fun. It isn't easy out on the ice." She looked around at her mom and dad and smiled at them.
"Those are my parents. Ever since I was a kid, I have wanted to go to the Olympics. Now I'm going. And I wouldn't be if I didn't pray to God for the strength. God gave me someone even stronger than me, and that's my partner, Scott, who ..." Brenda looked around and then at her mother, who shrugged her shoulders. "Well, now, he was here just a second ago. Thanks, guys, but I need to find him. We can talk later."
Brenda looked at her mother again, pointed to the locker room, and headed off to change her clothes and get washed up, wondering where Scott had gone. He'd probably gotten stuck with his own swarm of reporters as he'd tried to make a getaway and was somewhere answering stupid questions. Were you nervous? What kind of question is that?
