Act Thirty-Four
Luka Kotova
I can’t even keep an eye on Baylee in the crowd. Nik watches me so fixatedly that I worry he’s a fucking breath away from scolding me out loud.
Nikolai refrains from repeating the rules to the audience, and he asks me firmly, “Piercing or tattoo?”
“Tattoo.”
A server brings out shots of tequila. Nik and I clink glasses before downing two each, and the air tenses more. I don’t feel like he’s on my side when it comes to Bay.
He never has been.
“One-handed handstand,” he challenges me.
I nod, and he asks me if I’m okay in Russian. I just nod again. I don’t try to pick apart his expression. I don’t try to care about what he thinks of my irresponsibility and recklessness.
I go through the motions, and after he counts to three, I perform a one-handed handstand beside my brother.
(Don’t hold your breath. I never win at these types of competitions.)
Like clockwork, I fall after a few minutes. I barely hear the boos from Timo and Katya. While Nik gathers the tattoo equipment, I search the audience with my gaze.
She’s gone.
I sense it before I really confirm by sight.
She’s not here.
“Lift up your shirt,” Nikolai says, cutting into my trance.
I snap out of it and comply. I hear Timo say, “I bet a hundred bucks he inks a penis.”
“Deal,” Anton says.
“Good God, that’s a losing bet,” John says dryly.
Nikolai says under his breath to me, “I’m not inking a dick.”
“Thank you,” I say, wishing I could laugh at the absurdity, but my stomach is in knots.
“Stay still,” he instructs.
“Okay.” A chill runs down my spine. My body is screaming to run after her. Wherever she went, I want to be.
The tattoo gun buzzes, and Nik places the needle to my right ribs. “Be careful,” he says lowly, and I know he’s not talking about the ink.
He means Baylee. The contracts. The no minors policy. My own brother won’t rat me out, but he’ll caution until I stop.
“I am.”
Nikolai looks disbelieving.
So I rephrase, “I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
I can’t even nod or respond. I’m frozen solid, and he’s finished with the tattoo faster than I thought he’d be.
In tiny script, he wrote circus is family.
He bears the same words in the same place on his body. It means something to him.
And it means something to me.
I nod a couple times, and he touches the back of my head like earlier tonight.
Why do I still feel like he’s my enemy?
* * *
When I head to the bar with my brothers, sister, and cousins, I spot Baylee sitting at a stool and chatting with Camila, who wears a red glow necklace like a crown.
They’re both instantly distracted by the on-rush of Kotovas.
“Hey, cuz,” Camila says to John, who claims a stool about two down from Baylee. She departs from Bay and starts taking a slew of drink orders.
Baylee turns slightly, and our eyes lock.
I quickly occupy a free stool to her left, the music blaring. “Are you okay?!” I ask at the same time she says, “What tattoo did you get?!”
I lift the corner of my shirt to show my ribs.
Her smile appears and vanishes rapidly. “Yeah, I’m okay!” She raises her cup to me, the liquid clear. It’s water. I figured she wouldn’t drink tonight. When she feels a lot more low than usual, she’ll stay away from alcohol.
I scoot my stool closer, so we won’t need to yell. Bay casts a cautious glance to my siblings. And cousins. They all fight about what to drink, and Katya, back in her Calloway Couture dress, rolls her eyes and spreads her arms out. Giving herself a small bubble of space.
Robby, Dimitri’s younger brother, still bumps into her.
Baylee fixates on me again, and just as I’m about to ask another question, she says, “I invited Brenden here.”
It makes sense. “Okay.”
Baylee studies my reaction. “You’d really be okay with Brenden showing up?”
I nod, assured. “Yeah, Bay. He’s your brother. I’m not trying to tear you two apart. I’d never do that.” Does she really think I’d stoop that low? That I even have that in me?
“I know,” she says, taking a large breath like the strain from earlier starts to alleviate. “What if it’s awkward?”
“I can handle awkward.” I begin to smile. “I’d handle anything for you.”
Bay inhales strongly, eyes starting to glass, and a heartfelt, overwhelmed smile plays at her lips.
I want to reach out, but the bar, however dimly lit, is blanketed in a red hue from lights overhead. Making this area more visible than the rest of the club.
“Brenden actually can’t come until later,” she tells me. “Like a few hours from now.”
“Why?”
“He’s on a date. Tinder.”
“Fun,” I say easily.
Her brows rise in interest. “Luka Kotova has Tinder experience?”
I wince through my teeth. “Maybe.”
She laughs once. “Me too. Only it went pretty much nowhere.”
“Same.” I nod, and Timo hands me a beer bottle. I say thanks in Russian, and then I’m met with Bay’s disbelief.
“If sex is nowhere for you, what’s somewhere?” she wonders.
“Emotion. Love.” I stare straight into her. “You.”
Baylee bunches up her face to keep from smiling. “Stop.” She grins into a sip of water, and I smile into a swig of beer. She groans and touches her cheek.
“Naughty children of mine.” Dimitri comes up behind us and hooks his muscular arms around our shoulders.
I face the bar at the same time as Baylee, and I take a larger swig of beer.
Dimitri drops his husky voice another octave. “You can pretend not to know each other, but I saw what I saw—and it looked a lot like smiley flirting to me. Which I advised Baylee against, but here we are.”
Baylee shrugs. “It’s hard taking the advice of someone who sings to their protein shakes.”
I grin into another swig.
Dimitri says, “It gives my banana extra pep.” We can’t respond because he physically wedges his body between our stools, separating us now.
“Come on,” I say to my cousin.
He cocks his head and nears my face. So only I can hear his next words. “History isn’t repeating, little Kotova. I’m not screwing you two over.” Determination hardens his already hard features, resolute with this idea.
That he won’t be the cause of our demise again.
I didn’t realize he still blamed himself for that night. If doing something, even separating us, makes him feel better, then I won’t argue.
Baylee also resigns, shrugging like it is what it is.
Setting down my beer, I crack my knuckles and scan my surrounding family members. One person has been missing. It’s why Timo sits carefree and untroubled on the bar, a whiskey-bourbon cocktail in hand, his laughter radiating.
“Where’s Sergei?” I ask Dimitri, who tries to flag down the bartender. Camila raises a finger at him like one second, busy making a tequila sunrise for Thora. Though, I doubt she ordered it since she’s pregnant, but Camila probably knows her friend’s regular order.
“I don’t keep tabs on Serg.” Dimtiri cranes his neck over his shoulder, and asks Nikolai in Russian, “Where’s your brother?”
Nikolai hangs back from the bar with Thora. She’s turned into his chest more than usual, and her arms are curved around her stomach.
“Sergei,” Nik says in English, assuming it’s about our older brother.
“Yeah, the one who thinks you two are best friends and sip from the same straw,” Dimitri retorts. At work, Dimitri has been cordial with Sergei, and outside of work, they get along alright. They’ve argued a few times, and they’ve made up just as fast.
I sense something different here.
I grab my beer. “Jealous?”
“No,” Dimitri denies, the same time Nik says, “Yes.”
Dimitri glowers. “Being jealous of Sergei implies that he’s your best friend. When I know that I am.”
Nikolai rolls his eyes. “Just this morning you complained that he spent more time with me yesterday than you did.”
“That’s not jealousy,” Dimitri growls. “That’s inequality.”
Baylee snorts into a laugh.
I smile wider, and Dimitri gives us both a look. Like we’ve chosen the enemy’s side.
“I’m not Team Sergei,” I assure him.
“Neither am I,” Baylee says seriously.
Nikolai cuts in, “There aren’t teams.” He glares at Dimitri, wearing an expression that says: don’t add a greater divide in our family.
Dimitri groans lowly but nods. “There aren’t teams. Just assholes, bigger assholes, and slow-as-fuck bartenders playing favorites.” He raises his voice. “How much do I need to tip to get a beer?!”
“A hundred bucks!” Camila yells back, but she’s focusing only on John. If I strain my ears, I’d pick up the words, but I don’t try.
Dimitri digs in his pocket for a wallet, and not far away, I spot my sister’s disgruntlement at the pushing bodies. I act on impulse.
And I stand on the bar.
“No,” Camila reprimands.
I swing my head back to her. “For Kat.” The soft sides of my features allow me passageways to too much probably.
“One song,” Camila says with a smile.
And I already reach out to my little sister.
Katya smiles big, and I help her up onto the bar.
Timo is beside us in less than a second, scepter in hand. As an upbeat Saint Motel song plays, the club’s energy livens like fireworks blasting off in three-hundred-sixty degrees. The three of us dance with silly throwback moves: the windshield wiper, the sprinkler, checking out groceries.
I pull my baseball hat out of my back pocket and fit it on backwards. Timo tosses me the scepter. I spin it like a baton and then throw it to Kat.
She lip syncs into the staff, and Timo and I do a dance from The Breakfast Club, one of his favorite movies.
We all clap at a heavy drum beat, even Bay and my family down below.
I think I was worried for no reason.
I think the bad feeling is me being overly paranoid.
Because everything is great right now. We’re all having a good time. That’s what birthdays are about, right?
As the song changes, Camila lets Kat sit on the bar, and I drop onto my stool, catching Bay’s rising smile before Dimitri’s body blocks us again.
Timo stays standing and raises his glass of whiskey-bourbon. “Listen up!” he shouts jubilantly, stealing the attention of more than just our family and friends.
We all grab hold of our drinks.
Timo points his scepter at our sister. “To Katya Kotova.”
Kat cups a vodka soda, her gaze lit up at Timo.
“I wouldn’t choose any other sister but you. May your seventeenth be the best it could ever be.” Everyone raises their drinks in agreement.
“Thanks, Timo,” Kat breathes, eyes welling in happiness.
“And to Nikolai.” Timo spins his scepter towards Nik.
I look back at my older, stoic brother who holds onto Timo’s gaze. In the creases of Nik’s no-nonsense demeanor, there’s light. I can’t say these two have always gotten along.
They haven’t.
But some sort of peace hangs in the air.
Resolution between them. And love.
Timo says loudly and deeply, “You’re the brother we all don’t deserve, but I’m damn happy I have you. You’re irreplaceable to us. I hope you know that.”
Nikolai nods, telling him he feels the sentiment.
Timo raises his glass higher. “Happy Birthday to Nik and Kat…” His voice trails, and his eyes widen, lips down-turning at someone in the distance.
I can’t see from the ground, but I know who it is.
Timo collects his thoughts and repeats the same phrase and cheers in Russian. Then we all drink. I already finished off my beer, so I set my bottle down and keep an eye on Timo.
He hops off the bar and then tries to stand behind John’s stool, shielding his boyfriend from the incoming person.
Sergei.
My older brother squeezes between jam-packed bodies and somehow reaches the bar. Of course he chooses the only free stool, which happens to be in the middle of Baylee and John.
(I’m not happy.)
Timo tries to wedge himself between our older brother and John. The same tactic Dimitri is using towards Bay and me.
It literally only causes Sergei to focus entirely on Baylee.
I rest my elbow on the bar and peer beyond Dimitri, who’s busy waving a hundred dollar bill at Camila. With the strobe lights, the music, and the chatter—the chaos should disorient me, but I hone in on Sergei.
“Can I buy you a whiskey?!” he asks Baylee over the commotion. I remove my hat, just to run my fingers through my hair.
“No thanks!” she shouts back.
Sergei scoots closer to Bay like I had done. “I always find you sitting alone.”
(She’s not alone.)
Baylee shrugs, tensed. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” She eyes his Black Sabbath T-shirt and the leather bracelets on his wrist. He’s definitely dressed differently outside of work.
“Other than it being lonely.”
Dimitri shifts forward, obstructing my view again. “Bartender girl, I have a hundred dollars for you!”
I grab his shoulder and pull him back slightly.
He doesn’t even notice.
Baylee flashes her phone at Sergei. “I have baseball streaming to fight boredom. I’m good.”
Sergei laughs. “Why even stay here if you’re just watching baseball?”
Because she can. What other fucking reason does she need? I shake my head a couple times, my muscles more constricted than normal. Nik said there aren’t teams concerning Sergei, but I instinctively feel Team Baylee. I can’t help it.
Baylee shrugs again. “Says the guy who hates baseball. I don’t think you’d understand.”
Sergei goes quiet instead of becoming defensive like I assumed he’d be.
I edge forward more and wave my empty beer bottle at Sergei, catching his attention. “Where’ve you been?”
My brother rotates towards me. “Convincing Geoffrey to return our act’s music to the original tempo.”
My brows knot. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes I did,” he says. “You couldn’t keep up.”
I almost laugh, and my smile stretches very wide. It’s ridiculous how easily he can blame me and think it’s a constructive critique. I’ve been trying. I practice for twelve hours a day. I can do more within the fast tempo than I could days ago, and he missed a rotation in his triple-full yesterday.
So it’s not all on me.
Baylee gives me a look like is he for real?
I nod in reply. He’s a hundred-percent unaware of how people perceive him.
“It’s not funny,” Sergei tells me. “You need to take this seriously.” And he’s reading my expression incorrectly.
“I have been,” I assure him. “I don’t know what else to say, dude.”
“You could say thank you.”
My brows jump. “Geoffrey really returned our act’s music because you asked him nicely?” That’s incredibly hard to believe.
“Yes,” Sergei says like it’s simple logic.
It’s not.
I don’t understand how that worked at all.
Dimitri leans forward, forcing me to edge back, and Camila Ruiz stands in front of him.
She splays out her palm for the money.
“Ah-ah-ah. Beer first.” Dimitri wags a finger at the draft spouts.
Baylee is near laughter, and I understand why. Neither one of them have recognized each other yet.
Camila looks to Baylee and asks, “What?”
“No, no, no,” Dimitri chimes in, putting his hand at Bay’s face. “Ignore this one. She’s purposefully trying to make me dehydrated.”
“If only that were true,” Baylee says into her sip of water.
Camila squints in the poor lighting and tries to scrutinize Dimitri. She stiffens at the sight of his neck. “Is that a burn mark?”
“Yes, Nancy Drew, now beer. Right there.” He jabs another finger. “I’ll make it easy: I don’t even care what kind. Just give me something.”
Camila smiles. “You’re Dimitri.”
I can see the gears clicking in his brain, processing her voice, maybe. And then he says, “Princess?”
Camila curtsies.
Simple as that, he forgets about his pursuit of beer. Dimitri grins and rests his elbows on the bar, leaning so far over. “You’re obsessed with my cock.”
“Tiny cock,” she corrects.
“Whatever you like to call it, it’s fine with me, princess.”
Camila taps the red glow necklace on her head. It’s complicated could mean anything, and Dimitri would hit on her even if the necklace represented taken.
“You know what the red one means?” he says.
Camila crosses her arms and waits for the punch line.
Dimitri straightens up. “It means you’re confused until you’ve met me.”
She stretches her hands on the bar, and confidently, she says, “Take a long look. Because that’s all you’re ever going to get.” At this, Camila snatches his hundred-dollar bill and starts filling a pint of beer.
I pat his shoulder. Dimitri is the underdog, every which way you look, and I understand that more than I do a champion. I understand someone losing more than winning and fawning over people you can’t have from afar.
Dimitri isn’t pushy. When someone rejects him, he accepts this fact, but he still watches like maybe there’s a hidden chance. A world in which he gets what he wants, too.
So I’m not even a little surprised that he hasn’t peeled his gaze off Camila—or that he doesn’t pressure her either. He just grins when she glances back at him.
Horns and trumpets suddenly blare through speakers, and multi-colored lights flash. Girls in matching silver cocktail dresses parade into the club. Carrying baskets and bottles of booze.
John scoffs. “Not this stupid thing again. Why didn’t you warn me?” He’s asking Camila.
She slides the overflowing pint to Dimitri. “Because you still would’ve come and complained for a solid three hours beforehand. I was saving myself, cuz.”
“What is it?” Baylee asks, just as the girls strut over to the bar. They pause to pour liquid in a few mouths, and then they reach into their baskets.
I can’t see what they grab.
“It’s a promo thing,” Camila says. “The club offers free booze and a Vegas experience. People tell their friends, and then before you know it, we have a full house and I’m swamped at the bar with tips ranging from best night of my life to I want to eat a tub of rocky road.”
“Vegas experience?” John arches his brows. “That’s what we’re calling it now?” He doesn’t see the girl with the basket behind him, or the others pouring shots into my cousins’ mouths.
In one swift move, a girl procures a pink fuzzy handcuff from the basket and clips John’s wrist to Timo’s.
John gapes. “What.” He looks personally affronted, and we’re all laughing. Except for Timo, who’s really trying to avoid Sergei. I think the handcuff situation makes it harder to keep John away from our older brother.
“Natalie,” John says dryly, knowing the basket girl who works here.
She high-fives Camila.
“I hate you all,” John says. “Where’s the key to this fucking atrocity?”
“There’s never any keys,” Camila reminds him. “That’s the whole fun. If you understood that word, this would make more sense to you.”
John cringes. “Whoever came up with this idea is a sadist.”
“Don’t diss my boss. She’s the best.” Camila tosses a dirty towel at John, and he dodges the rag.
Natalie digs in her basket for another handcuff. (Wait, no.) I rise halfway off my stool, but she’s fast. In two movements, she cuffs Sergei to Baylee.