Act Fifty
Luka Kotova
Aerial Ethereal’s end of the year holiday party is my absolute favorite of all Corporate events. It surpasses the promo pool parties by a million leagues.
The Masquerade’s grand ballroom is decked out in garland, snowflakes, twinkling lights, about ten different fir trees, and a row of country flags, representing the homelands of AE artists. And everyone brings a dish, either cooked or store-bought, the buffet table overflowing with homemade recipes, passed down from generation to generation.
And the music.
It’s holiday music; and look, I like anything with a good beat.
I dance with Bay, our heads nodding, silly shoulder-pumping while we hold holiday-patterned disposable plates. We’re off in a corner, doing our own thing by a popcorn-garland tree, and I catch her free hand and twirl her in a circle.
Her smile instantly grows, and mine stretches higher. Last year, I didn’t have Baylee. I was just dancing by myself for a while.
This is a thousand times less boring, but this particular year is also laced with gravity. Her smile fades quickly, probably remembering what I do.
The whole cast of Infini has been on edge ever since we received an email. It said Perrot would announce the show’s fate at this holiday party. He’ll tell us if our contracts will be renewed for another year or if this is the end.
If the worst happens, I know it’s the close to one chapter of our lives, but I worry Bay will feel like it’s the end of the entire book.
Our dance slows with a song switch and Bay’s approaching aunt. She flew in from New York for the weekend, and Baylee finally met her baby cousin last night. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her aunt. Not since she’s been in town, and definitely not before that.
Even though she supported my relationship with Baylee the second time around, I want to make a better impression.
Baylee wears a funny look.
“What?”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
I nod and wipe my lips with a flimsy napkin, my plate half-filled.
“She’ll be nice to you,” Bay has to whisper as Lucy nears.
Her aunt slows to a stop, sipping a cup of eggnog. “I love the dress.” She appraises Bay’s simple red sweater-dress. “You didn’t find anything CC?”
“Calloway Couture looks best on Posh Spices,” Baylee says.
Lucy wears a white-knit dress, the collar high. “CC looks great on every woman, every girl.” She steals a Polish sweet off Bay’s plate. “As the niece of the brand & marketing exec, you should write this down.”
“I’ll remember this,” Baylee says seriously. “No more journaling for me.”
Her list is completed and done, but we’re not over. We’re still going strong. I slide my arm around her shoulders, and Bay rests her weight against my side.
Lucy dusts crumbs off her lips. “How have you been, Luka?” It should be a light phrase, but she wears deeper concern than a stranger would. Lucy knows everything that happened a couple months ago.
I start nodding. “Better. A lot better.”
Geoffrey Lesage was fired.
That day inside the auditorium—while he began unearthing my past about me and Kat and Timo for the whole Infini cast to hear—Dimitri called Nikolai to come help me.
Nik was halfway across the hotel, too far from the auditorium to reach me in enough time, so he told Dimitri, “Film him.”
Without Geoffrey knowing, Dimitri slyly took out his cellphone and recorded the choreographer harassing me. Nik sent the footage to Corporate. Geoffrey was fired within two hours.
A significant weight has lifted off the cast, off Bay and me since then. Bay said it was like the Mets won the World Series, and I said, “Or the Knicks winning the NBA Finals.”
“Or Infini surviving,” she added more solemnly, and I hugged her, kissed her, hoped that it’d turn into reality.
(We’ll see.)
“That’s good to hear,” Lucy says. “Anything new?”
I smile. “I’m pretty boring.”
“That’s so false,” Bay tells me.
I can’t help but laugh at how she says this like it’s written in the stars. “You’re the most exciting part of my life, Bay.”
“Aw,” Lucy says.
“That’s not true,” Baylee says pointedly and looks to Lucy. “He did a backflip off a casino machine with Timo and was chased by security for a full hour.”
(Yeah, that happened this morning.) I also called Baylee in my hiding spot. That was one of my favorite parts, but the thought drifts off.
Lucy holds my gaze, and I wonder if she thinks I’m too rebellious for her niece. And then she says, “I just had a realization.”
“What?” I ask.
Her eyes ping between us. “Baylee smiles the most when she’s around you.”
Baylee doesn’t restrain her next smile, lips pulled high.
I grin down at her, and she shrugs like it’s fact.
I shrug back the same way.
Lucy gets a phone call, and I hear the words explosive poop and diapers before she leaves to help her husband.
“You’re lucky she didn’t ask you about babies,” Bay says seriously.
“Why’d that be bad?” I bite into a pizzelle, a flat waffle-shaped Italian cookie.
“I don’t know. We never discuss that far into the future.” She shrugs slowly. “I guess we never thought there’d be a future…but I’m not suggesting or assuming anything.”
She’s nervous.
Bay.
“Come here,” I whisper to my beautiful girlfriend, drawing her close again. And again. Her arm is around my waist while mine hooks around her shoulders.
I nod to her. “Later in life. Like thirties, I can picture us in the circus, and we’ll wake up each morning and dance with our kids in our kitchen.”
Tears well in her brown eyes.
I mention Trivial Pursuit after dinner, and she puts a palm to my chest. My eyes burn, but this is one of the best paternal memories I have. And it’s not even my dad.
“I’ll lose on purpose, every time,” I tell her. “Though, knowing your genes, our kids will be really intelligent. The Kotova part…” I wince through my teeth. “Sorry about that.”
She smiles a shaky, tearful smile. “You’re smart, Luka.” Then she wipes at the corners of her eyes; no tears have fallen, but I feel her swelling emotion. She stares off for a second, thinking.
“What is it?”
“It’s weird talking about years into the future when in ten minutes, Infini could be cancelled and I might be out of the circus.”
“Baylee the Realist is on the rise,” I tease.
(Don’t doubt my love for the realism inside of her.) I love every part of Bay.
She gives me a look. “It’s true.”
“Sort of, partially. Maybe not at all.” I smile.
“Luka the Dreamer is on the rise,” she says pointedly, starting to smile off of my smile—but we’re both distracted as Nikolai’s lengthy stride aims for us.
He looks antsy.
“Yeah?” I ask him.
“Erik said you know Katya’s porter.”
I easily spot Kat from across the ballroom. She reads a paranormal paperback with Thora, both on velveteen stools.
I look back at Nik. “The porter that dropped her?”
“That one.” His gaze darkens. (Yeah, he’s not my favorite dude either.)
“I talked to him once in passing.”
I remember I said try to stay focused.
Katya asked for a show transfer about a month ago because she doesn’t trust that porter. Since she’s already in AE’s artist database, HR will direct her to a show that has an open slot. Then she would have to audition for the director, etc.
Problem is, she’s a minor and Nik is her guardian, leaving her with only two real possibilities.
1.) our parents could agree to look after her, and she’d go on tour with Noctis. (I’m praying that’s not happening.)
2.) she’d be transferred to Infini, which is…unstable at the moment.
She can’t join Amour; it’s too risqué, no minors allowed. It’s more plausible she’ll stay in Viva.
Nikolai clutches his phone in a tight fist. “Auditions are open for Somnio. I thought you could try to convince him to attend.”
I nod, understanding. If he leaves on his own accord, then Kat will have a new partner. “I’ll see what I can do.” I barely hear him say thank you, my attention on Bay who stares at the carpet, deep in thought. A cookie is frozen between her fingers.
If Infini is cancelled, it’s possible I could be shifted back to Viva and return to my old job as Kat’s porter. And I don’t know where that’d leave Bay.
* * *
I’m outside the Masquerade’s ballroom. Sitting in the semi-quiet lounge area, I hunch forward on the edge of a leather chair. Before I forget, I take a moment to jot everything I ate in a tiny spiral notebook.
“Hey, man.”
I look up at Brenden and nod in greeting, but it’s not like we’ve talked without Bay present. We haven’t since that long, awkward time ago we made sandwiches.
Brenden motions to the adjacent leather chair. “Can I sit?”
“Yeah.” A pianist must be playing somewhere on this hotel level, music echoing towards us.
His eyes ping from my notebook to a paper plate in his own hands. “I don’t know if you’re allowed, but Bay said to give this to you. She’s in a long conversation with our aunt about PoPhilly.” He stretches forward and hands me the plate. “She said to tell you it’s not an ‘air patty’—and the meat quality is a solid A.”
My lips stretch. “It’s from a restaurant in New York?” Bay had been trying to convince Lucy to freeze a box of beef patties and bring them on the plane.
“Yep.”
My lips fall as I remember the first part of what he said. “Why wouldn’t I be allowed to eat it?”
“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes, being considerate of my feelings.
And I think of Bay. How important Brenden is in her life, and while I don’t like getting deep with a lot of people, I think I should make a better effort with him.
“You can ask, dude,” I say. “It’s okay.”
He slides forward to the edge of his seat like me. We’re closer, and he lowers his voice so no one can overhear. “Do you have to change your diet? If you’re working on controlling it, do you need to eat healthier?”
That’s why he’s unsure if I should eat the beef patty. “No, everyone is different, but for me, my issue is more about moderation and timing…like if I overeat or if I eat too close to practices.”
I stare at my notebook, not able to talk in detail, but I know my issue well.
I convince myself that I’m in control by doing something Corporate would disallow—eating before practice—but then I have to purge at that point. And I become a prisoner to a different monster.
I love candy, hamburgers, all junk food, and I always randomly order off of menus, and in my healthiest months, I still eat the same kind of food—just at healthier times and portions.
When I’m really stressed, I will start believing that puking will make me feel better and more in control. That’s what happened this year.
Brenden slowly nods. “And the notebook helps?”
“Yeah, sometimes. I’m not always at a place where I need it.”
I haven’t thrown up in three weeks, which is good. Really good, and I’d say that my compulsion to steal is down to a 4.5 rating. (Decent for me.)
A long moment passes. It’s an awkward beat, and the more we stare at one another, I think he’s looking at me differently.
The answer hits my head—why he’s being so cool with me. I give him a look, setting down my beef patty.
“What?” he asks.
“Don’t pity me,” I tell him. “I’m the same guy you disliked. I haven’t changed. I’ve been the same person.”
He shakes his head. “I thought you were an adrenaline junkie who stole crap for the hell of it.” He heard about my childhood trauma from Geoffrey in that auditorium. He’s had a couple months to reevaluate who I am.
I’m still Luka Kotova.
A kleptomaniac.
A bulimic.
And I’m more than that. I’m a brother to five siblings. A fourth generation circus performer and a high-risk acrobat. I’m Russian-American, a proud Kotova. A dreamer and a rebel.
“Look,” I try to explain, “it doesn’t change the fact that I steal. It’s still wrong.”
“It changes something.”
No. I don’t want it to. Here’s why. “When I was a kid,” I say slowly, these words edging to the forefront of my brain, “my therapist used to tell me that I need to be accountable for my actions. If I get caught stealing, I can’t just blame it on my issues. I have to take responsibility. I could’ve turned around, set the item back—I could’ve paused one moment longer, and I have to try to be better.” I capture his methodical gaze. “I don’t want it to be okay with you that I steal, is what I’m saying. Because it never was before.”
He understands, clarity flooding his eyes.
I wonder if Bay told him that I found a therapist in Vegas.
I’m going once a week. It’s more expensive than I really like, but I forgot how much it helps. I can’t really put a price value on my health. So Baylee tells me.
Brenden sits back. “Where does this leave you and me?”
We hear commotion in the hallway, our heads turning slightly. Dimitri is inbound. He must’ve taken a piss break.
Brenden and I acknowledge each other again. The awkwardness is literally still there. I don’t think it’ll ever leave. Maybe that’s just how the two of us are meant to be together. Awkward.
I almost laugh. “I like how we were before. In New York, before I got caught with Bay.” We weren’t friends, but we were cool enough to play board games together. For him to share his family moments with me—I was a part of his world.
That’s all I’d want.
His smile gradually appears. “I did too.”
I think we’ll be able to return to that.
“Princess!” Dimitri calls across the lounge area. Our heads swing to the right. Camila is with her boyfriend, Craig.
He’s a redhead. That’s all I can hone in on. Dimitri looks like a kid in a candy store, grinning from ear-to-ear as Camila’s eyes grow like a deer caught in headlights.
Brenden says, “He has no chill.”
I nod in agreement as we stand. I grab my beef patty and pocket my notebook. By the entrance to the ballroom, Dimitri extends his palm to Craig.
“Dimitri,” he says, “Camila’s friend.”
Craig reluctantly shakes. “She’s never mentioned you before.”
“Probably because she nicknamed me.” Dimitri doesn’t say that the nickname is tiniest dick—and it’s not for the obvious reason. He’s not embarrassed. He just doesn’t want Camila to be in hot water with her boyfriend by mentioning his dick.
It’s why Dimitri isn’t peacocking. He’s assessing Craig like he’s learning more about Camila by meeting him. Nothing more than that.
Camila sees me nearing. “Hey, cool brother.”
I nod to her in reply, eating the last of my patty that’s stuffed full of beef. I can definitely imagine Bay melting in heaven when she took a bite of hers.
Craig looks irritated. “Let’s go, Camila. I don’t want to be here all night.”
Camila sighs lightly, and she smiles at Dimtiri. “See you Saturday.”
“See you, princess.”
They are really friends. Been that way since the summer.
Brenden looks to me as we walk. “I meant to ask you. Did you ever figure out why you were put in Infini with Bay?”
“No clue.”
“Little Kotova,” Dimitri says as we reach the door. Craig and Camila already disappeared inside the ballroom.
“What?”
He cocks his head, and I figure out that he just heard Brenden.
“Do you know why I was put in Infini?” I sway back, surprised. Has he known this whole fucking time?
“Have you ever asked Sergei about himself? Not if he’s a titty or ass guy or likes to rub it out in bed or the shower.” Only Dimitri has to clarify that he’s not talking about body parts or sex. “His hobbies. His interests.”
“I…” (No, I haven’t.)
Dimitri pats my shoulder. “Start there.”