Act Thirty-Three
Baylee Wright
The Red Death is the epitome of sultry Vegas nightlife. The Masquerade’s most popular club is nearly pitch-black except for red strobe lights that sweep grinding, intoxicated bodies, and the sensual red bulbs above the packed bar, plus mandatory glow necklaces worn by all attendees.
I dance in a sweltering pit.
Last I knew, Kat and Thora were close by, but my senses are lost to the heady atmosphere and strong drum beats. Shutting my eyes, my limbs move in a natural rhythm. I feel more heavy than I like, but I don’t stop dancing.
And then hands spindle down my hips from behind. My eyes snap open, but his lips already touch my ear. “It’s me,” he whispers deeply.
It’s Luka.
My lungs expand.
It’s Luka.
Our bodies never pause, never go motionless. We move in sync to the music, fitting perfectly.
My arm curves upwards around his neck, my fingers running through his hair, and his hand dives down my hipbone. Feeling each shift of my body, from side-to-side. We dance as one, and my skin tingles, sweat building between us, lit alive.
Burning up.
I tilt my head back, happy to risk this moment with Luk. Our unrestrained energy seeps into my veins and bursts.
Reminding me why I love to dance.
Why I unequivocally love him.
I look up at his features, illuminated by his blue glow necklace, and he stares back down at me, my face glowing with the same blue.
On impulse, he snaps off our necklaces. Shrouding us in the club’s darkness, he drops his hand, glowing blue by our sides.
My back pressed up to his chest, our bodies are in equal rhythm.
And Luka—he never hesitates. Never falters. His lips meet mine, and he kisses me with a powerful insurgency of warmth.
His affection flames and dances inside of me.
I can’t help but smile against his lips, and I feel his own appear as strongly. We kiss and dance, and something overpowers me just knowing we’re surrounded by other people.
It almost feels like we’re a real couple. Like he could be my boyfriend. I could be his girlfriend, and we’re living inside a fairytale.
I clutch the back of his head for support as he deepens the kiss.
“GOD OF RUSSIA! GOD OF RUSSIA!”
We rip apart at the sudden chant, our feet falling flat. Stopping for the first time. And then a giant red spotlight glares down on us and our section of the club.
Our chests rise and fall heavily, and even though we’ve physically separated, our gazes stay latched. I’m scared to lose him in the massive crowds. I’m afraid to break apart.
I want him close.
Forever.
I wish it could be in the realm of possibility. I wipe sweat off my forehead with my arm, at least feeling lucky that Nikolai or Dimitri didn’t catch us kissing.
“GOD OF RUSSIA!” the Kotovas still chant. They pat Nikolai on the shoulder and push him towards the center of the spotlight.
People start backing up to make Nikolai the sole bearer of attention. I follow suit with Luka, standing more on the outskirts of the red circle. We fall even further into the shadows.
Our fingers brush, my nerves twitching in a good way, and with my other hand, I reach for my necklace.
“Let me,” he says.
I nod and collect my hair over my shoulder. He snaps the plastic around my neck.
“Thanks,” I whisper, not sure if he heard me over the music and chanting.
Luka thumbs the necklace for a second longer, and I see a sad thought cling to his gray eyes. I stare at his own blue glow necklace, and I wonder if any girls will try to hit on him.
I cringe at the possibility, but I know the glow necklaces signify relationship status.
Blue means single.
Green means taken.
Red means it’s complicated.
I thought about choosing red, but I figured it’d prompt too many questions by Katya and Thora. Blue seemed safer.
I watch his features darken. “What?!” I ask him over the music.
Luka lowers his head and raises his voice. “I cut off a few guys from dancing with you! Sorry!” He’s not sorry.
Neither am I. “I’m not here for other guys!” I shout back.
Luka smiles, so charismatic that I smile too. His hand tightens in mine, aching to pull me to his chest, but he glances at his cousins and the red spotlight.
Things are happening around us, and we’re not noticing.
We’re dangerously in our own world.
Reality catches up even more as Katya sidles close. “There you are,” she says to both of us. She tied her hair into a high bun, and her blue glow necklace brightens her big eyes. “You’re not missing it, right?” Katya asks and gestures to Nikolai.
“GOD OF RUSSIA! GOD OF RUSSIA!”
I’ve heard of this Red Death event enough to know that Nikolai isn’t about to breakdance and this isn’t special just because of his birthday.
Every Saturday night, Nikolai Kotova has an “after-show” for the crowds, mostly tourists and people staying in Vegas for only a few days. The Red Death promotes his theatrics—hence, the spotlight—because he packs the club.
I’m not sure if I should watch, but I can’t lie: I’ve always been curious. I’ve heard mutterings about what Nik actually does, and I thought they seriously had to be rumors. Until Brenden confirmed that Nikolai tattooed a fork on a man’s chest.
I jab my thumb towards the bar like I’m headed over there.
Luka raises his brows at me, smiling wide. “Come on, Bay! You want to see this!”
I give him a look. “No I don’t!”
“I know you!” he has to shout over his cousins like me, but the music lowers for Nikolai.
I find myself stepping closer to Luk. “What do you know about me?!”
He nearly laughs. “You’re a people-watcher. This”—he nods to the spotlight and his older brother—“is a spectator’s heaven!”
Okay, he knows me. “Fine.” I try hard not to smile.
“Come with me.” He clasps my hand before I can protest, and he wraps an arm around his sister’s shoulder, leading us to the front “row”—which is really the edge of the spotlight.
Our hands disentangle as soon as Nikolai saunters across the open space and eyes us. He carries a magnetic force that’s simultaneously hard to meet and abandon. A green necklace swaths his rugged features, and he assesses the gathering, rapt audience with keenness.
“What’d I miss?! What’d I miss?!” Timo bounces up to his brother and sister, wedging himself on the other side of Katya.
“Nik’s just starting,” Katya tells him. “Thora!” She hugs onto the short blonde who slips into our group with a smile.
For the first time in years, I feel a part of what I once lost. I’m inside the depths of Luka’s world. With his little sister and his little brother, who’s my age. I’m witnessing more than most ever will or can, and he’s letting me not only see but be here.
I smile, almost in disbelief that this isn’t all a dream.
Luka catches my expression, and his face brightens in an indescribable, profound way. He wants me beside him. Just like I want him beside me.
More than anything.
“GOD OF RUSSIA!” Timo shouts, hands cupped to his mouth.
“He’s ten feet away from you,” John says behind his boyfriend, clutching Timo’s waist. “Really, what’s the point in shouting?”
Timo leans back against him. “I’m working out my lungs.”
“Your lungs don’t need a workout. They’re fully-functioning every night you’re with me.”
Timo smiles like a five-thousand-watt bulb, his gold Venetian mask adding to his effervescence. I watch Luka grinning at his little brother, wholeheartedly happy for Timo.
Everyone will talk about Luka’s generosity, but I always see his empathy surpassing everything else. It’s his foundation. It’s why he loves so strongly. Why he cares so deeply. It’s why he can watch two people fall in love and not be weighed down by sadness.
I can be happy for Aunt Lucy and her husband. I can be happy for Luka’s brothers, but I can’t always separate what I lost from the love I witness.
It hurts. Plain and simple.
Luka notices me staring, and he puts two fingers to his upturned lips. As indiscreetly as possible, he rotates his fingers, imprinted with a kiss, and presses them to my own lips.
Quickly, I lower his hand, cast a glance at Nikolai whose back is to us and then his siblings who laugh amongst each other, not about us. That’s when I realize I’ve been smiling this entire time.
Luka laughs, and he opens his mouth to speak—but Nikolai suddenly casts his attention onto our “row” of onlookers. And I go rigid.
Luka is a hundred-percent relaxed, hands stuffed in his slacks.
I don’t know how because Nikolai keeps perusing us and Timo, Katya—Thora, too. Actually, Thora a lot. I spot the creases of Nik’s mouth slightly lifting at the sight of his girlfriend.
She’s smiling back at him.
“Can you unzip me?” Katya asks Thora. I know what this is about. Kat explained a little of it earlier, so I’m not surprised when Thora unquestioningly goes to unzip her dress.
“Wait a minute,” John cuts in, flabbergasted. “She’s not seriously undressing right here. Seriously. Seriously? Everyone.” His eyes ping to all of us, but no one disapproves. “Why does no one else see what I see?”
Timo twirls his scepter. “Because we’re not a hundred-and-fifty, old man.”
John rolls his eyes. “Pick an age that actually exists.”
Timo calls out loudly, “Two-hundred-and-fourteen!”
We all laugh, and John shakes his head. “I’m not even smiling on the inside.”
“You can smile?” Timo says. “I thought John Ruiz droids were programmed with one setting.”
I notice John giving Luka a look, and Luka shrugging in return. Then John tells his boyfriend, “You mean truthfulness.”
“Grumpiness,” Timo combats, pounding his scepter on the ground to the beat of the song.
John is entrapped by him. “I’m cheerful in my left pinky nail.”
“Let me see.” Timo inspects John’s left pinky, and John’s eyes smile more than his lips. He tilts Timo’s chin up and kisses him strongly.
I just realize—Luka, he’s tucking his shirt into his pants. Nikolai looks between Katya and Luka. “Who wants to go first?”
Katya steps out of her dress, spandex shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top underneath. Workout gear. Thora helps unclip her heels.
“You’re supposed to choose,” Katya tells Nik pointedly. “You said you wouldn’t go easy just because we’re family, and I’m the girl.”
My brows furrow at Luka.
He leans close and tries to explain quickly. “I promised Katya that I wouldn’t take Nik’s Saturday night bet until she did.”
That’s what they all call Nikolai’s performance: a bet. In a lot of ways it is a bet, but Nikolai almost never loses.
Nikolai tilts his head at Katya. “People also don’t usually come prepared.” He motions to her workout gear.
“I wasn’t going to flash the whole audience,” Katya says. “And you’re just worried I’m going to beat you, aren’t you?”
Nikolai almost smiles, and he doesn’t deflate her confidence. Instead he says, “I choose you.” He asks her something in Russian, and she replies back with a nod.
He backs up into the center. Kat follows suit, but she makes sure that Thora is protecting her dress.
A server carrying a tray of shots enters the red spotlight, and everyone starts cheering. I clap, the energy wild and heady. My phone buzzes in my wrist wallet.
I unzip and try to keep watching.
Before they reach for the shots, Nikolai addresses the crowd while speaking to Kat. “Tell me your name,” he says. “And speak loudly and clearly so everyone can hear.”
She raises her chin. “Katya.”
“Katya.” Nikolai is full of charm, his on stage demeanor commanding everyone’s attention so easily. “For everyone new, I’ll explain the game. I bet Katya that she can’t beat me in a handstand competition. Two-hands.”
Katya crosses her arms. “Easy enough.”
I squint at the bright screen of my phone.
Nikolai acknowledges the crowd again. “If you lose, I pierce or tattoo you, and I choose where and the design. If I lose, you can tattoo me. You choose where and whatever you like.”
Katya is grinning from ear-to-ear like she’s imagined those words and this moment forever. It must all be colloquial. Routine. What he says every Saturday night to random people and sometimes family members and friends.
I have something to tell you – Brenden
My lips part, unsure of where this is going. Kind of scared. I still don’t know what Luka and Brenden talked about, but I type back: what is it? After I press send, I try not to let my curiosity consume me.
Nikolai angles towards his sister. “Tattoo or piercing? Your choice.”
Katya thinks for a moment. She has a tattoo already, a cluster of little stars on her left shoulder blade. She told me that she got it inked last year at a shop with Luka and Timo.
“Piercing,” she decides.
Nikolai nods and downs three shots in a row. He’s been drinking all night, and Katya only takes one shot. Nikolai asks her something in Russian. I wish I knew what, and I must wear that on my face.
Luka whispers to me, “Nik asked her if she needs more time before they begin, and she says”—we watch her lips move and hear the Russian—“I’m ready now.”
They stand side-by-side, and after Nikolai counts to three, they place their hands on the floor and hoist their bodies into the air. Effortlessly.
Luka whistles with his fingers, and I clap while the crowds shout loudly.
“Kick his ass, Kat!” Timo yells.
“Go, Katya!” Thora cheers. “Go, Nikolai!” She’s rooting for everyone to win.
Luka shouts, “Beat him, Kat!” Another long whistle. I missed that noise. I feel my smile and press my fingers to my lips.
My phone vibrates in my other palm.
Luka told me that he loves you. Crazy, right? – Brenden
My mouth drops at Luka.
His face falls at me. “What’s wrong?” He sees my phone. “Is that your brother?”
“What were you two talking about?”
He licks his lips and leans close to say, “Sisters.”
I spin the phone screen at him, so many emotions tumbling through me. Should I be angry or upset? Should I not care? I don’t know at all. There’s no precedent for anything like this.
Luka blinks a couple times, trying to wrack his brain for what to say. “We were talking about you and Katya, I promise. I only let that slip.” He nods to the screen. “But…it changed nothing.”
It changed something.
It means I have to lie more to Brenden. It hurts again. I pass my phone in both hands, my eyes scald, and I end up typing quickly: yeah crazy.
I’m not sure he’ll believe me.
I wouldn’t believe me if our places were reversed.
A loud “awww” rings out, and our heads swerve to Katya, who fell to her knees. Nikolai stands on his feet and then helps her up. I zone out a little as Nik chooses her nose to pierce. I have a feeling he knew she’d want that place pierced anyway.
And yeah, he pierces her right now, right in the middle of the club. One of his cousins hands him a sterilized hollow needle, and a minute later she returns to our group with a glittering stud in her nose.
“Bay,” Luka says, trying to grab my hand.
I shift away. “I’m okay.” I just feel weird. Like a traitor to my family. Like maybe I should be with Brenden right now. Not here.
Not lying to my brother, who I love with all my heart. He’s been struggling with the new choreography changes for aerial straps, and I haven’t been around as much as I want to be.
I should back up, but I’m cemented to this place. My feet unmoving.
“Baylee.” Luka reaches out to touch my cheek, but Nikolai faces him.
Luka and I jerk away from each other on instinct, and I avoid Nikolai’s domineering and disapproving stare.
“I choose you,” Nikolai tells Luka and motions him forward.
He reluctantly and painfully tears away from me.