The Devil of DiRisio (9 page)

“I was … I mean … I am,” he stuttered. “This is a
video
and I’m going to be
playing
basketball which is a
game
.” He smiled innocently with that adorable smile that usually won me over instantly. It didn’t work. I stared at him in disbelief. How could he try to pass off such a flimsy excuse? Anger eclipsed my speaking capabilities. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I spun around and stormed off. Will followed.

“Angel, baby, wait,” he said, grabbing my arm.

It pained me for him to use that nickname that meant so much between us. He called me that the night of our first kiss, when he said I had helped him work through the pain of his parents’ tragic accident before we had even met. When he called me angel, I knew it meant I was his everything. But when he used it then, it just seemed cheap and insincere, like he only used it to get himself out of trouble.

“Don’t call me angel. I am not your angel. If I was your angel, you wouldn’t lie to me,” I said, trying to jerk my arm away from him.

“Sonya, I’m sorry. But I didn’t lie. I
was
playing video games, then Ronnie called and asked me to come down and be in her video I was
gonna
call you but
… ”

“W-w-wait a minute.
Ronnie?” I asked with more attitude than I expected. The group of guys, who for a while found this amusing, finally saw the proverbial steam seep out of my ears and decided they better leave.

“Yeah, Veronica,”

“When did Veronica become Ronnie?” I asked. Will stuttered incoherent syllables while still refusing to relinquish my elbow. “Let go of me,” I said as I yanked my arm free and went to pack up my things.

“Where are you going? Let me take you home,” Will begged as he followed me to the bench that contained my cluttered dance bag and scattered clothing.

“Leave me alone!” I snapped. Will jumped back as if he thought I would really bite him or something. I swung my bag over my shoulder and practically ran off the set. As I left, I caught a glimpse of Damian Karl, smiling.

~ * * * ~

As if that wasn’t enough to make it the most horrific day ever, when I got back to my room, I found a note from Alejandro. On official
DiRisio
Academy letterhead he informed me that my performance academically and artistically had been subpar and that after my next performance with the company I would sit down with the enrollment committee to discuss my future at the Academy. I knew exactly what this meant. I could read between the lines and see that I obviously had no future with the Academy. I was out.

I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay in that cramped dorm room anymore. I needed to go somewhere, anywhere, just to clear my head. So I started walking. I didn’t know where I headed, I just walked. I ended up at the train station buying a ticket to Nice, France. I don’t know why. Maybe I blamed Italy for all my problems, and I just wanted to get out of the country. On the eight hour train ride, I contemplated my life. I lived in a beautiful city and danced with world-famous performers on a daily basis, but I felt completely miserable. I missed my mother, I missed my father,
I
missed my sister. As crazy as it sounded, I missed my life in that cramped, roach-infested apartment in
Venton
Heights.

I got off the train and walked some more. Then exhaustion overcame me. I couldn’t take another step. I took my phone out of my purse to look at the time and noticed I had thirty-six missed calls from Will. With the phone on silent, I could easily ignore his persistent attempts at communication.

A little after midnight, I made my way back to the train station. I knew I couldn’t afford to stay in France for the night. I had just enough money to get a train ticket back to Rome.

When Will called my phone again, I felt I had cooled off enough to talk to him.

“What are you doing in France?” he said without even saying hello.

“How do you know where I am?”

“It’s after midnight. You shouldn’t be in a strange country all by yourself.”

“How do you know where I am?” I asked again looking around suspiciously. Had he hired someone to follow me?

“The phone I gave you has a GPS system.”

“What?”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I knew I sounded like a child, but I couldn’t help it. Who did he think he was, keeping tabs on me? And how could he be here in an hour?

“I left right after my game to come find you. I’ve been following the signal for hours. Go to a crowded area and wait for me,” he ordered. I hung up on him and went to buy my return ticket. I didn’t need him to come rescue me like I’m some sort of damsel in distress. I could take care of myself.

I went up to the ticket counter and suddenly realized my purse was gone. I had set it down when I answered Will’s phone call, then I got so angry and flustered while I spoke to him that I just got up and left it. Now it was gone. I was stuck in France with no money. Thankfully, I had gotten in the habit of wearing my passport in a little pouch that I wore around my neck so I wouldn’t lose it. So at least I didn’t have to worry about that. But how would I be able to afford a ticket out of France? Maybe I could sell this stupid cell phone with its stupid GPS tracking system from my stupid stalker boyfriend. I screamed in frustration,
then
kicked the ticket counter before settling down in a seat to wait for Will.

I saw Will enter the train station looking for me frantically, but I didn’t let him see me at first. I just sat back and let him search. Why didn’t he just take out his creepy little GPS system and use it like a metal detector to find me?

As I watched him, I noticed that my once-carefree boyfriend who never concerned himself too much with clothes had recently started dressing more like some sort of fashion model. I hadn’t seen his favorite dirty Converse All-Stars in weeks. They had been traded in for Italian leather shoes. And he had apparently started a collection of designer trench coats, since he seemed to wear a different one every day. They made him look even taller and more dashing. The women in the train station apparently agreed, since they were now all staring at him. I crossed my arms, slouched in my chair and glared at him. He must have felt the fire in my stare because he turned and spotted me. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked toward me.

Will squatted before me and rested his hands on my knees.

“Sony, you can’t go storming off out of the country every time you’re mad at me,” he said calmly.

“Why not?”
I fired.

“Because it’s childish.”

“And so is telling your girlfriend you’re playing video games when you’re really sneaking off to play with another woman.”

“That’s not …” Will
started
to raise his voice, but then forced himself to calm down. “Let me just take you home, and we can discuss this in the car.” He spoke to me like a father speaks to a misbehaving child. Who did he think he was?

“I got here by myself and I’ll get home by myself.” I crossed my arms and stared off to the side.

Will sighed. “You’re shivering. Take my coat,” he said as he draped his trench coat over my shoulders. I
was
freezing, so even though I wanted to, I didn’t refuse the coat. Then he started looking on either side of me. “Where’s your purse?” I didn’t respond. Will took out his wallet and said, “If you insist on being ridiculous, at least take this.” He handed me some money.

“I don’t want your money,” I almost yelled. Suddenly I was even angrier. “You’re just like all the other rich kids back in Bridgeton. You think you can solve everything with money. You think because you have money, you can get whatever you want.” I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. What the hell was the matter with me? How could I be so cruel and petty? I honestly thought I saw tears in Will’s eyes.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “After all we’ve been through, that’s really what you think of me.”

Will stood up to leave, but I grabbed his arm. “No, that’s not what I think of you. I’m sorry.”

He folded me into his arms and said, “I love you more than anything in the world, Sony. Please believe that.”

“I do. I believe it. I love you, too.”

~ * * * ~

“Veronica and I are just friends,” he explained during the long car ride home. “She is a big fan of basketball. She attends all the home games and even goes to some of the road games. Sometimes, she’ll join us in a celebration party or something.”

Will looked at me to see how I handled this information. I continued to stare blankly out of the window at the southern French countryside. It was beautiful even in the dark. “Lately, you’ve been really busy and preoccupied. Veronica is just someone to talk to.”

“She’s really pretty,” was all I said. Will
didn’t
disagree.

 “Where’s my bag!” I snapped at Anna Marie as I ransacked our room.

“What is your problem?”

“What are you talking about?  I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.  You’ve been snapping at me all day.”  Anna Marie walked over to my side of the room, lifted up a pair of filthy jeans and pointed to my dance bag.  “If you would clean up your side of the room you wouldn’t lose things as often,” she mumbled to herself.

“Thank you for that brilliant summation, but when I want your opinion, I’ll ask.”  I didn’t know why I was being so mean.  Oh, wait, yes I did.  I hadn’t slept in days, my boyfriend was cheating on me with a walking venereal disease, and Alejandro hated me and was on the verge of kicking me out of the Academy.

My only hope was to wow everyone at this next performance, but my partner was a complete moron and no help whatsoever.  I prayed that he would get struck by lightning or hit by a bus or anything so that I wouldn’t have to dance with him.  I would rather dance alone than with that klutz.

I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the room to go to the studio for some last minute rehearsing.  I thought maybe if I practiced alone I could find the magic again.  That magic that made me love dance. That magic that made dance the air of my soul instead of the thorn in my side.

I went through the routine five times and I still didn’t feel it.  I could do the steps, but not with any passion.  I didn’t feel transformed and uplifted.  I gave up and began to pack my dance bag, resigned to the fact that I would have to give up my dream.  Or at least fulfill it somewhere else.  Rome just wasn’t for me. 

I couldn’t find my street shoes in my bag so I dumped everything out on the floor.  Out tumbled my first pair of ballet slippers.  My mother bought them secondhand when I was eight-years-old after I begged her for two weeks to let me take dance lessons.  She couldn’t afford it, so I cleaned Ms. Alexander’s dance studio every day in order to be able to take lessons. And now, nine years later, I was dancing in Rome and frequently shared the stage with world class dancers. 
Dancers that I had read about in magazines.
  I had come so far. 
Too far to let Alejandro suck the joy out of dance for me.
 

I looked in my CD case and found my favorite Shostakovich CD.  I knew it would make me feel better to dance Natalia
Karleskaya’s
solo.  That was the solo I had performed to get into the summer festival in Barcelona four years ago.  She actually wrote to me to tell me how well I’d done.  It was my proudest moment.  She was my all-time favorite dancer. 
My fascination with her bordered on obsession.
  If she had ever performed in front of a camera, chances were that I had tracked down the recording and watched it.

Dancing that solo, I could feel her presence.  Her spirit infused mine. I’d found the magic again.  Now I remembered why I loved dance.  As I made my final leap and struck the closing position, I heard someone clapping.  In walked Damian Karl.

“You’re a big Natalia
Karleskaya
fan,” he stated.

“What?”

“That’s her solo.  I’ve never seen anyone besides her perform it so well.”

“You know ballet?”

“I know a lot of things. I know you are too good for him.”

“Pierre? Yeah, I know.  Why couldn’t Alejandro see that?”

“I meant Will,” he said.

 My heart fluttered. 

“You knew he would be at that video shoot, didn’t you?  That’s why you wanted me in the video so badly.”

He shrugged. “So what if I did?  I just thought you should know where your boyfriend spends his time.”

“Will
loves
me.  He’s not cheating on me,” I said more for my benefit than for his.

“And what about you?
What do you call your feelings for me?”

“Who says I have feelings for you?” I tried to sound as confident and detached as possible. For a moment, he looked vulnerable and not the usual suave arrogant Damian Karl at all.  Then as if a switch went off, the egotism came back.  He shrugged off my confidence in my boyfriend and swaggered further into the room.