Act Thirty
Baylee Wright
“I’ve fortunately and unfortunately known him since I was twelve,” I explain to the girls in my bedroom while shaking out a dry tube of mascara. We’re all in bathrobes, our hair twisted out of our faces while we get ready for the club tonight.
I sit beside Thora on the floor, tiny mirrors propped up. One of my legs is outstretched and the other tucked beneath my ass. And I try really hard not to think about my texts or Luka and my brother chatting right now. My phone, I’ve set aside to ignore that stress for a second.
“Emphasis on unfortunate,” Katya agrees, seated at the desk chair.
The last girl here, I just met about an hour ago. She’s friends with Thora, and also John Ruiz’s twenty-three-year-old cousin.
Camila Ruiz draws the most even cat-eyeliner on Katya’s lids. Substantially more skilled at makeup than both of us. We couldn’t even do a halfway-decent smoky eye after two hours of trying.
“Why unfortunate?” Camila asks.
I blow a clump of mascara off my brush. “Besides the fact that Dimitri has a hundred different names for a vagina?” I say seriously.
“And he calls tampons string peens and spirit sticks,” Katya adds.
“He’ll also talk about his magic dick at some point.”
Katya nods. “And if you’re above eighteen and not related to him, he’ll hit on you.” She opens an eye and looks at the short blonde beside me. “Thora knows.”
Thora grabs a makeup wipe. “Yeah, it wasn’t…good.”
Camila smiles and quips, “Unfortunately.”
She’s better at banter than Thora, but I think Thora would say that most people are superior than her in that area.
I go still while I watch Thora rub costume makeup residue off her eyes, the silver streaks from her performance earlier tonight. She hasn’t missed a single Amour show, and I can’t believe that AE is making her perform aerial silk while she’s pregnant. It’s unfathomable to me.
My heart hurts for Thora. Because I know what it’s like to be boxed into a contract and dark threats. It’s a terrible, powerless feeling. I can’t ask if she’s okay or reach out since she still hasn’t announced her pregnancy to the troupe.
She also doesn’t know that Luka and I overheard the news, but I think she’s aware of my suspicion. I’ve seen her rush to our suite bathroom, her face pallid with nausea.
“Pick a color, birthday girl.” Camila raises four tubes of lipstick to Katya. I think we can all tell Katya is debating what’s the “right” color.
Kat studies the tubes and then Camila, who’s already finished her own makeup: bright magenta lipstick, neon-yellow eye shadow against her brown skin that’s golden in the lamplight. Camila wears striking and bold shades that most wouldn’t pick.
“What should I choose?” Katya asks.
“What are you wearing?” Camila wonders.
“I don’t know yet. Can you help?” she asks me and Thora and points to our shared closet. I already have her outfit covered, but it’s a huge surprise. Thankfully Thora is in on it.
“Definitely,” Thora says as we both stand. Keeping the birthday surprise alive, we pretend to search through the closet.
Thora plucks out a short emerald dress of mine, and my eyes grow in horror as she displays it to Kat. “What about this?”
I try to stifle a cringe. Don’t cringe. That dress—it’s six years old. I had sex in it. With Katya’s older brother.
Kat tilts her head. “Is it too plain?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Really plain. You can do better.” I snatch the dress from Thora, and she mouths, what?
Not able to tell her the full truth, I lean close and our arms touch as I whisper, “I had sex in this.”
Thora puckers her lips like ohhh. And she returns the dress. “I won’t suggest anything else,” she whispers. “We’ll tell her to open your gift soon, and I think Luka’s too. He wrote don’t show Nik on the envelope.”
I smile just hearing Luka’s name. I’m not sure why he texted me earlier about his gift to Kat. I think she’ll be over-the-moon when she sees it.
Thora slides hangers from left to right. “And then her cousins should’ve picked out jewelry.”
We’re very different—me and Thora. I see how badly she wants situations to work out in everyone’s favor, but I’ve been on the opposite side of luck too much to believe in real good fortune.
I whisper, “You’re way too optimistic about the Kotovas.” In New York, they always purchased one large ticket item for Kat’s birthday. Usually it’s superfluous and something they can use. Like a dirt bike.
And golf clubs.
“Katya said the same thing,” Thora tells me. “I gave them a list though, and I wrote down which stores to visit. If they can’t follow that, then…” She scowls, an intentional scowl. Not just RBF.
“If they screw up, it’s their fault,” I whisper, “and Katya appreciates us just being here.” But I understand wanting to give Katya more. Especially when she asks for so little.
As slowly as I’ve crept back into Luka’s life, I’ve been sliding into Kat’s too. At night, we lie on our bunks and chat for hours about nothing and everything. Baseball and PoPhilly and fashion, my interests and hers. But there’s an underlying fear that it’ll all come crashing down.
One day. One moment.
That’s all it took the first time.
“You don’t have to overthink,” Camila tells Kat, waving the lipsticks hypnotically from side-to-side. “What speaks to you?”
Katya sighs sadly. “I don’t know.”
“You like glitter,” Thora says. “Don’t you?”
I nod in agreement. Katya has tons of feather boas, most coated with glitter.
Camila rummages in a makeup pouch. “I can highlight your cheekbones with glitter.”
Katya tucks a flyaway hair behind her ear. “Isn’t glitter juvenile?”
“Not really, and even if people think it, so what? I was bartending yesterday and some guy said that my green lipstick looked like a Fruit Roll-Up.”
“What’d you do?” Katya wonders.
“I told him no free shots for you, and I applied an extra coat of lipstick in front of his face.” Camila procures a tube of silver glitter highlighter. “Look up.”
Kat lifts her face higher. “Would you’ve done that, Baylee?” She’s always remembering that I exist in the room when, to most people, I just fade into the background.
“I’m not that outspoken to strangers unless I’ve had about three shots.” I shrug. “I probably would’ve just glared, taken my drink, and walked away.”
Thora leans on the closet door frame. “I think I would’ve stumbled over my words and then waited for the awkward reply.”
Katya ponders this.
I hope she sees that she doesn’t have to be Camila or any of the Calloway sisters. Or me or Thora. She can just be Katya Kotova. Whoever that girl ends up being, I’m glad I’m here to witness. I really don’t want to miss that too.
I pretend to examine a new romper that Katya bought. “Where do you bartend?” I ask Camila.
“The Red Death. I’ll be there tonight. Can’t pass up the tips if I’m hanging around there anyway. Plus I can dole out more free drinks.” She bites the end of her makeup brush and bobby-pins Katya’s flyaways.
“How haven’t you met Dimitri?” I ask since the Kotovas flock The Red Death every Saturday night. Dimitri was only initially brought up because Thora asked about my forearm burn. It turned into an explanation about Dimitri tossing me clubs. The burn wasn’t his fault, but he also accidentally singed his neck lighting my prop on fire this morning.
Camila releases the brush from between her teeth. “I generally try to stay away from Kotovas because half of them are shitty tippers—no offense,” she says to Katya.
She laughs. “I bet it’s Abram. He’s so cheap. He won’t ever pay for cab fares.”
This is really true.
“Could be,” Camila says. “I don’t know their names. What does he look like?”
Katya tries to describe him, and I put the romper back on the hook. Thora mouths, where are the gifts? I gesture with my head to a drawer, and Thora casually approaches the dresser.
“The only Kotova guy I really know is Timo,” Camila says, “and that’s mostly because he’s been crashing at my cuz’s apartment.”
“He’s trying to avoid Sergei,” Katya tells us. “It’s kind of complicated.” She says this sort of tensely and morosely, like she can’t explain more. None of us delve into the subject, but Thora and I know bad blood exists.
I abandon the closet, a heaviness inside my body that I can’t kick. It lingers quietly and silently. Even when I don’t mention it.
There’s no source, but lying on the floor or bed and sinking seems too nice right now. I hope music will lift my spirits so I fiddle with Katya’s digital stereo on her desk, right beside her makeup spread.
“Who’s your favorite?” Camila asks me.
“Favorite Kotova guy?” I follow her train of thought and click into a soca playlist Katya created. A Nori Amada song floods the bedroom, the tempo upbeat and lively. I smile more.
“Yep. Which guy?”
And my smile flat-lines, eyes growing as I contemplate no great answer. Katya frowns deeply at me, Camila brushing highlighter on her cheekbones.
“It’s apparent. Right?” Katya asks me.
It is. I just don’t know if I’m allowed to spread this news. Katya is the best secret-keeper, but she has no idea why Luka and I are so private about our mere friendship.
My shoulders bind. “Yeah.” I have to say his name. “It’s Luka.”
It’s always been Luka.
“Luka,” Camila muses. “I think John has mentioned him. What does he look like?”
I rub my lips together, thinking before I speak. “Tall-ish. Not Nikolai’s height, but tall for an acrobat. Dark hair that’s between short and long, and the Kotova gray eyes.” I pause. “Pale, clean-shaven.” I look faraway, picturing Luka standing at Two Kings. Waiting for me to near. “His features are frozen between youth and maturity, and he’s so welcoming. That one frame at the end of Titanic, where Leonardo DiCaprio extends a hand to Kate Winslet—that’s Luka. Charming and kind inside silence.” I begin to smile. “He’s the one sitting on the armrest of a couch, trying to make you smile when you’re sad.”
I’m lost in my head, and when I break from this warm reverie, I realize all three girls are staring knowingly at me.
I straighten up. “We used to be really good friends.”
“Best friends,” Katya clarifies. “Luk always called you his best.” She nods at me like I deserve that title, but it hurts to think that we can’t even be called friends now.
Just co-workers. Always co-workers.
I stare at the carpet, my stomach clenching.
Camila twists the lid on her highlighter. “You really weren’t together? Like boyfriend-girlfriend? Friends-with-benefits? Nothing?”
“No,” I lie and try to subtly deflect. “I can tell you which Kotovas are single, if you’re looking.” I’ll selfishly omit Luka off that list.
“Not looking.” Camila dusts extra glitter over Katya’s eyelids. “I’m actually seeing someone.”
“What…when?” Thora asks, collecting the purple-wrapped wardrobe box from the drawer and an envelope.
“Last night. Craig apologized for being standoffish, and then we had makeup sex.”
By the shock on Thora’s face, I feel like this isn’t a good thing.
Thora frowns. “What happened to not touching his dick with a forty-foot pole?”
“He’s the only dick I’ve ever touched,” Camila says honestly. “He’s my first everything, and I can’t give up on him yet.”
I empathize with that currently, but not the standoffish part. “What’d he do?” I ask.
Thora and Camila exchange a heated look. I sense that Camila would rather tell a half-truth but Thora isn’t an advocate.
“We have a very passionate relationship,” Camila explains vaguely.
Thora is upset, but she keeps quiet.
“You and Craig are on-again-off-again?” I realize.
“More on than off, but for about three years. I was nineteen when I randomly met him. I was eating off the strip at a little café with family, and Craig and I were both waiting for the tiny restroom to free-up. We started talking and instantly clicked.” She uncaps a burgundy lipstick and asks Katya. “Yes? No?”
Katya smiles. “It’s pretty.”
And then the loudest, most raucous clamor enters the suite. Rowdy footsteps and too many Russian words and phrases to untangle. We all pause and look at the bedroom door, but no one pounds the wood or slips inside.
“Damn,” Camila whispers, her honey-brown eyes alight in shock. “Is that all of ‘em?”
“Probably,” Katya says in a louder voice. “Unless they’re my brothers, they won’t come in here. So they won’t bother you.” She has a rule about “no cousins” allowed in her bedroom, and they all respect her wishes.
We flinch at the sound of glass shattering, and I roll my eyes. I’m afraid for Rudy. Seriously, I left my potted cactus on the coffee table in the living room and there’s a chance someone will knock him over on purpose.
Guys, in a huge pack, are idiots. Not all the time, but most of the time, it’s true.
I’d go save Rudy, but running into a huge hoard of Kotovas is never a good idea. There will be teasing. Inappropriate jokes in Russian and English. If they know you’re cool with it, they’ll even pick you up and throw you over their shoulder.
I’m not cool with it, but Dimitri will mime the gesture to try and piss me off. I don’t get angry that easily, so it’s a futile mission.
Camila finishes Katya’s makeup: dark smoky purple, sparkly gray, and shimmery silver. Her orb-like eyes appear less youthful and more sultry. Even with all the glitter.
Katya can’t stop grinning at her features in the mirror. “Thank you.” She’s about to cry.
Camila hugs her tight. “I can always show you some tricks and tips when we have more time.”
“That’d be amazing.”
I jump at another crash, followed by cheering and laughter. “Shit.” I expel a breath, hoping Rudy is in one piece. Their noise drowns out the soca music—that’s how boisterous they are.
Returning to my seat on the floor, I apply ruby red lipstick.
“They’re probably trying to slap Nik’s ass,” Katya tells us. “They always do this two days in a row since we celebrate both of our birthdays on my actual birthday.” Nikolai turned twenty-seven yesterday.
Camila presses her ear to the door and listens but also whispers to us, “I’m close to my family, but there’s enough girls to offset the rampant testosterone. John is the one with all brothers…” she trails off and her jaw drops. “Oh my God.” She makes a face that sits between humor and what the fuck? “They really love the word tits.”
I shake my head with a wince. “I don’t know why they can’t call them nipples.”
“Or nips,” Camila adds.
“Boobs,” Katya chimes in, carefully opening the envelope.
Thora stares at the ceiling for a good response. “Breasts?”
We all laugh with Thora, and then Camila goes quiet, trying to hear through the door again. “Wait,” she says, “they said Baylee.”
Do I want to know?
Kind of. Maybe.
Okay, yeah I do.
“Someone mentioned ‘tits’ and your name together,” Camila says and pauses to listen more. “Rude, what the hell.”
I already know, and I don’t care. “They talk about which girls have ‘small tits’ all the time. I’m on the list.” I have A-cups. It’s not a secret, and this list isn’t glamorized. It’s a “meh, don’t touch that” list. I couldn’t care less about their fantasies.
“Let’s talk about their dicks,” Camila says, crossing her arms. “Which one has a small wiener? I’ll yell it.”
I’m all about ribbing Dimitri. So I say, “Dimitri has the tiniest dick.”
Camila grabs the doorknob, but before she opens it, she asks Katya, “If I just stick my head out, will they come in here?”
“Nope. They’re not allowed.” Katya unfurls Luka’s letter and the actual gift falls to her feet.
“Perfect.” Camila cracks open the door, not enough to be seen but to be heard, and she yells at the top of her lungs, “DIMITRI HAS THE TINIEST DICK!” Then she slams the door shut.
We all burst out laughing. I lie on my back, my stomach rising and falling and I have to cover my face with my hands—my smile hurts.
I hear the commotion outside. Russian curses and then in English, a lot of them shout, “Who was that?! Who is that?”
I roll on my side, a laughing cramp forming. And then slowly, my humor wanes and my smile softens. I see Katya reading Luka’s letter.
Love in her glassy eyes, she tries to suppress waterworks because of her makeup. She delicately picks up the fallen item.
An ID.
“What’s that?” Camila asks.
Katya flashes the present. “Luka got me a fake ID. It has my own picture and everything.”
“Cool brother,” Camila says, and her eyes flit to me with a smile. Like she knows I feel something at the mention of his name. How can she know for sure? I just met Camila.
My love for Luka can’t be that obvious. Can it? We would’ve been caught from the start of the list.
Suddenly a few hard knocks rap the door. I flinch.
Camila backs up and plops down on my bottom bunk, sitting forward in intrigue.
“You’re not allowed in here!” Katya calls out.
I strain my ears for the response.