Act Fifteen
Luka Kotova
50 Days to Infini’s Premiere
“Stop making this personal,” I say calmly on my way out of the gym, showered and bag slung over my shoulder. I just had a brutal twelve-hour practice with Sergei on the Wheel of Death, and the last thing I want to do is start a pointless fight.
Sergei keeps my stride as I push through a set of blue double doors. “You’re the one who made it personal.”
I wish the doors would hit him in the face, but I spin around, just as the doors shut and enclose us in the long hallway.
“How?” I question with a shrug. “I did everything you asked me to do.”
I’m abnormally agreeable when it comes to work. I don’t roll my eyes. I don’t sigh heavily or pull passive aggressive bullshit. I just do my job and I leave.
Since Sergei has been performing on the Wheel of Death for the past ten years—and it’s a fairly new discipline for me—he has more experience. So he has to order me around, and I put up with his know-it-all attitude and constant reminder that “if you’re not concentrating, you’re going to get hurt. And that’s on you.”
(Thanks for the tip.)
Sergei blocks me from walking. “Seven practices in, I give you instructions and you only reply okay.”
“And?” That’s not me being personal.
“And if I were anyone else, you’d be more vocal. I’m tired of the one-word responses.”
I almost feel bad for him. “Yeah, no.” I shake my head and adjust my grip on my gym bag. “I don’t do the whole let’s-chat-about-every-little-thought-we’ve-ever-had bit.”
Sergei crosses his arms, disbelieving.
“You don’t know me, dude.” Something raw enflames at the cold fact. “You could be Nik or Dimitri and I’d respond the same way at practice.” He’s asking me to be someone else, and I’m not playing that game to appease him or anyone.
He gets me.
Whether he likes me or not, I couldn’t care less.
“I’d appreciate more enthusiasm then.”
Off his harsh expression, I can tell that he’s testing me. Silently, he’s saying, if this isn’t personal, then you’ll be happy like you would be with anyone else.
I force a genuine-looking smile and push past him. I don’t turn back.
Not even as he yells at me in Russian, and I don’t care to listen. He’s already ruined the allure of an apparatus for me.
Before he showed up, I was honestly excited about Wheel of Death. The forty-foot apparatus is one of the biggest in Aerial Ethereal. Two large hoops are connected together by a space frame beam, and with momentum, the structure rotates like a pendulum.
During the act, I run on the inside of a hoop, sometimes on the outside, while Sergei stays in sync with me on the other.
I first saw the Wheel of Death when I was about four or five, and I always thought it resembled two humongous hamster wheels. Men sprinted in the hoops, and once they started doing flips inside and outside, the wheel growing in speed, I thought it looked awesome. And later, dangerous.
Years went by and Sergei was chosen for the act. At one point, so was Timo, and I never thought I’d get the chance.
Of course, once I finally do, I’m paired with the only artist in the company that I literally can’t stand. His voice is like balling up aluminum foil next to my eardrum. If I could, I’d tune him out every practice.
Barely five feet down the hallway, I run into commotion that looks more fun than hanging around Sergei.
Artists linger outside the glass door of a Corporate office. Show posters hang on the plastered walls, and the artists press up against them, spying into the glass.
No one stands in direct view of the office.
I sidle next to Dimitri from the right side, and he cranes his neck towards the door.
“What’s up?” I ask him, but he’s too consumed by the drama. Laughter is caught in about fourteen throats.
I’m curious.
And unafraid.
It makes for a bad combination. I step in front of the glass door on impulse. Now in direct view of…Geoffrey Lesage. I eye him while he fixates on the new items at his desk.
He picks up a leather ball gag and glares at a neon-pink dildo. My lips pull upward at the blonde blowup sex doll sitting on his office chair.
Dimitri grins and whispers, “And here I was about to call today miserable. Little did I know we’d be given such a precious gift.”
I laugh as Geoffrey drops the ball gag and snags a piece of paper from a cardboard box. The big bold letters read: RELAX.
“Priceless,” Brenden says into a bright smile.
I just notice Baylee’s brother pressed to the wall beneath a Celeste poster. Zhen and Baylee are huddled with him, all three unable to contain their laughter.
I can’t stop watching Baylee.
Cheeks big and dimpling, eyes lit up, she laughs through her body. Arms shaking, limbs quaking. She always used to do this thing in a laughing fit—she’d cover her face with two hands, not because she wanted it to stop. Because it was so overwhelming.
Because the emotion was almost too personal for anyone to see.
On stage, she’ll give her all, but real life isn’t a performance. She doesn’t have to be an open book to everyone. Just like I don’t.
I wait for her hands to fly upwards.
“Shit, he’s coming!” someone shouts and rips into the moment.
It’s a mad dash.
People zip back into the gym, sprinting through sets of blue double doors, and just as I turn, I hear Geoffrey.
“Don’t move! You seven!”
Slowly, I rotate to meet his flushed face, cross. Full of indignation. He waves an accusatory finger at the seven of us closest to the office. “Names. Each of you. Now.”
He met us ten days ago, and I know he memorized our names. He’s just dramatic.
His pinched glare lands on me first. (Let’s just say he’s not shocked that I’m here.)
“Luka Kotova,” I announce easily.
“Dimitri Kotova,” my older cousin says, still grinning. Unable to mask his joy.
Geoffrey jabs a finger towards another artist.
“Baylee Wright.”
My stomach drops, and her brown eyes flit to me, cautious. Features tight. In the past few years, I’ve been in trouble with Corporate a lot (for stealing), but not with her attached. This’ll be the first time since we signed our contracts, and I have no idea what to expect.
Maybe they won’t even bat an eye. Maybe they’re opening the door to our prison cells.
Maybe they’re waiting for us to walk through, just to slug us in the face.
I do something I probably shouldn’t.
I nod to her like it’s okay. I’m here for you. I wish I could hug her. I wish I could just hold her hand. Something.
Anything.
“Brenden Wright.” He shifts warily as he says his name.
“Zhen Li.”
This—the blow-up doll, ball gag, dildo joke—it’s not something those two would ever construct. Zhen and Brenden are like the unofficial welcoming committee of Aerial Ethereal. Corporate has even sent them on luxury trips, just to convince patrons to shill out thousands of dollars to AE.
I don’t pull my gaze off Baylee, and she lifts hers to the ceiling, collarbones jutted out like she’s caging a pained breath.
I adjust my gym bag which feels like a million pounds now.
“Sergei Kotov.”
My head swerves to my older brother, but he’s only the sixth person in the hallway. The seventh is blocked by Geoffrey’s wiry body.
He sidesteps and my face falls further.
No.
“Thora James.”
Muscular shoulders and a short stature, Nik’s twenty-two-year-old girlfriend stands at five-foot-two, her dirty-blonde hair wet from a shower. She’s dressed down in a baggy Ohio State shirt, a college that she dropped out of to pursue her aerialist dreams.
It’s not like she was given a job at AE for talent alone. She worked hard, and as a lead in Amour, she doesn’t need to get in any kind of trouble.
Thora looks around uneasily, stapled papers in hand. “I’m not really sure what’s going on. I was just stopping by to drop off some forms…” Her almost black eyes dart around the hallway. “I mean, I can come back later…” She starts stepping backwards.
“Don’t,” Geoffrey snaps, finger aimed at her forehead.
Thora tries to freeze, but papers fall out of her hand, and nervously, she trips over her own feet to collect them.
Dimitri laughs, but it dies as Geoffrey verbally scolds him. I don’t listen.
I bend down and help Thora collect her forms. I barely glance at the papers, but I do catch the word Wellness Policy. The forms must be normal and routine.
“Thanks,” she whispers to me. We stand up at the same time.
Geoffrey addresses us. “Congratulations, the seven of you will be signed up for a sexual harassment seminar tonight. You’ll be emailed the location and time. It’s mandatory, so don’t even contemplate skipping.” Storming back into his office, he slams the door.
Thora frowns. “Who was that?” She looks to me for answers, but Dimitri’s mouth is bigger than mine.
“A man who can’t take a joke,” Dimitri says.
Zhen picks up his Nike gym bag. “Maybe because it wasn’t funny, Dimitri.”
Dimitri cocks his head. “I saw you laughing.”
“Everyone was laughing,” Brenden cuts in, “but the humor kind of dies when we’re the ones getting into trouble for a prank we didn’t start.”
Dimitri scoffs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about—it’s still fucking funny.”
These arguments happen about every hour in our suite, and I stay out of it. Dimitri likes to hear his own voice, and Zhen has known him way too long for any real fight to start. He’ll pull Brenden out of the crossfire after a while, and it’ll all simmer down until it heats up again.
By now, it’s just ordinary.
Sergei steps forward. “Let’s just end this. Whoever set up the joke, go confess.” He wants someone to fall on a proverbial sword so he doesn’t have to go to the sexual harassment seminar.
(Predictable.)
No one speaks at first.
So I say the logical thing, “It could’ve been someone who fled into the gym.” I know a handful of cousins who would’ve put a dildo in Geoffrey’s office.
“Or it could be you,” Brenden retorts.
It stings, but our history together has always been strange. I can’t touch it now. I don’t want to, but I remember how moral he is. It’s a good quality. Something I admire. He started a petition when he was sixteen to have equal pay for all minors. The girls had a lower salary than the boys.
He helped get his sister, and mine, a pay raise.
And there I was stealing a souvenir cup and three bags of Cheetos.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “It’s not me,” I say coolly, knowing why he’d believe it was.
“You could be lying.”
“Yeah, I’m not.”
“What about Dimitri?” Baylee asks, steering the attention off me.
(Thank you, Bay.)
“Not me, Baybay.” Dimitri walks backwards towards the elevators. “This is someone else’s genius handiwork.”
I watch him leave with Sergei, and Brenden and Zhen speak in Mandarin before following in tow. The only way out are those elevators.
Baylee is slower to exit. We barely speak at work unless it’s necessary, and we haven’t even tried to talk as frankly as we did in her suite. I worry that I might’ve scared her back then.
Her body is rigid, eyes pinned ahead. If she looks at me, it means she still cares about the possibility of us.
It means there’s something still worth fighting for.
It’s what I think. I stare intently, hoping. Praying she’ll glance back. She passes me, staggering slightly.
(Come on, Bay. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.)
My stomach knots, and I fixate on her back as she leaves. Is it wishful thinking? Am I just dreaming—believing we could have something real outside of the gym?
She waits at the elevators, says something to her brother, and in the briefest moment, her head turns. Her eyes touch mine, and my lips begin to rise.
Hers pull up too. In a small, heartfelt smile.
“Okay, I’m…” Thora’s confusion steals part of my attention, then all of it as Baylee disappears onto the elevator.
I help her out. “That was Infini’s new choreographer. Let’s just say I could cough and he’d glare.”
Thora winces. “That bad?”
“Oh yeah.”
“He might not last long.” Always the optimist.
“Maybe.” In my world, bad things don’t disappear. They fester and extend for years.
Thora wears concern and sympathy, but her eyes are on the double doors. “He’s not going to be happy.” In the tiny squared window, I just barely distinguish Nikolai.
He ties up the aerial silk so no one slips on the fabric, finished for the day.
She’s right. Nik will be pissed and agitated that some choreographer—on a different show—just sentenced his girlfriend and siblings to a sexual harassment seminar. And there’s nothing that he can do about it.
He won’t pull strings for this. My brother saves his influence for much bigger, more serious issues.
“You know,” I say, swinging my head towards Thora, “besides you, there’s not much that makes Nik happy. So it’ll be like any other day.” I don’t think people remind her enough how much she’s affected my brother. How much joy she brings him.
Before Thora, Nikolai just swam through the motions of life, living dully day by day, sacrificing everything for Timo, Kat, and me. Then he started falling for Thora, and I saw him smile for no reason at all. I saw him breathe wholly and freely, and it’d been some of the best days of my life.
For once, my brother finally got something good.
Thora scowls. She’s so laidback and down-to-Earth that her “resting bitch face” or RBF (as she calls it) throws me off a lot. She’s not mad, but really, she looks it.
She shakes her head at me. “I’m not the only happy thing in his life…he loves you. And Timo and Katya.”
I shrug because I recognize that Nik loves us. I see that in everything he’s done for us, but I can’t say that I’ve made him happy. I’ve disappointed him, caused him anxiety and restless nights. I wasn’t what he needed.
Guilt hurts like twenty knives in my gut, and I laugh into a weak smile. I don’t have the strength to wrench out the blades. So I feel them.
(Every fucking day.)
Thora is about to reply, but Nik pushes aggressively through the double doors. Cellphone in hand, he aims for me. Gray eyes zeroed in, single-minded.
“What?” I ask, knowing it’s nothing good.
“Timo just lost nine-hundred dollars on roulette,” he says. “I need you to go to the casino and talk to him because I’m not getting through.”
I frown. “He was just here. I saw him like ten minutes ago.”
“Then it took him less than five minutes to lose nine-hundred bucks.” Nik’s muscles are hard as rock, more tensed than me. “Five more minutes and he’ll be down another grand. Go.”
“Okay, okay.” Gym bag on my shoulder, I turn but hesitate. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to tear him away.” I couldn’t last time, but Nik knows this. “When Timo’s down, he just says he’s going to win it all back.”
“But he’ll listen to you over me,” Nikolai rebuts.
I’m the good cop to Nik’s bad cop. In one breath, we’re co-parents. I’m the consoling mother figure, who hugs a crestfallen Katya. Who soothes a heartbroken Timo. And then in another breath, Nikolai is scolding me, and I’m back to being a child in his eyes.
(Our relationship is weird.)
“Okay, I’ll try.” Before I turn around, he speaks again.
“And I need you to take Katya to the gynecologist. She has an appointment next month, or the month after—I’ll text you the date and time.”
My face scrunches. “Since when does she need to go to the gynecologist?” I shake my head. “She’s not…” having sex. I just see Kat as a little girl. She’s not having sex. She’s not…even dating. Right?
I remember how she called herself a woman, and then the makeup, needing to keep things private from Timo and me and—shit.
Katya is getting older.
She could definitely be having sex. Or at least, acting on romantic feelings and desires. I don’t want to think about it.
“She needs to go,” Nik explains. “She told me that most girls go by the age of fifteen.” He expels a heavy breath, and he glances at Thora for confirmation.
“I mean…some, not all…” Thora shrugs. “It just depends.”
“On what?” I ask.
“On whether you’re having complications, or want to be more informed, or are sexually active—”
“She’s not,” Nikolai says like it has to be a fact.
“Is it so bad?” Thora wonders. “Timo said he lost his virginity at fourteen. Just because she’s a girl…” she trails off at the thickening tension.
Nik and I exchange a look, both of us knowing Thora is right, but our feelings don’t waver. Double standards exist, and I know we’re at fault for perpetuating them. My huge extended family bubble-wraps Katya because we’re all afraid. We know men.
We know Vegas.
I think we’d just rather Katya stay young forever.
Lingering for a short second, I ask Nik, “Why aren’t you taking Kat to the doctor?”
“Because I have a show, and I’m sure she’d rather you do it.”
(True.)
My brother must assess Thora’s features because he states, “Something happened.”
She lets out a breath. “You’re not going to believe it.”
I check my emails on my way out. The seminar is scheduled for 7 p.m. Thirty minutes from now. I realize that I’m going to have to choose between the seminar and my little brother.
Really, the choice isn’t hard at all.