CHAPTER TWO

WHEN THE SEGMENT ENDED, AND the show broke for commercials, Cleavon came to escort the skaters and their coaches back to the Green Room.

Fiona Turner came over and embraced Tabitha. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you. The best damn skater in the whole US of A, and you look gorgeous, to boot!”

“So do you Mom.” The blue and white sleeveless dress Peter’s assistant chose during yesterday’s shopping trip to Neiman-Marcus complimented Fiona’s autumn-red hair, and covered the large Yin and Yang tattoo on her right shoulder. Fiona would have chosen something that showed more cleavage.

“Yeah, I clean up good for an old carny gal.” Tabitha hoped Cleavon hadn’t overheard the carny gal comment. Peter had declared certain topics off-limits, Fiona’s unconventional background being one. “Where’s Samara?”

“I don’t know.” Tabitha felt a stir of uneasiness. “Isn’t she with you?”

Fiona’s mouth pinched with worry. “I haven’t seen her. ‘Course I’m not exactly her favorite person right now.” Fiona and Samara had been arguing for days over her sister’s loser, wanna-be rock star boyfriend. That Danté was the mirror image of Fiona’s loser, wanna-be rock star boyfriends wasn’t lost on Tabitha. “She could be anywhere,” said Fiona. “She’d better not have gone far, or else she’s grounded ‘til she’s thirty. If you see her, tell her I said so!”

“You can tell me yourself, though twenty-one’s a little old for grounding.” Samara strolled in, munching a cinnamon-sugar doughnut from the craft service table out in the hall. In a thrift-shop schoolgirl skirt, holey fishnets and crimson motorcycle boots, she was the polar opposite of Tabitha. “Mmmm, yummy. Too bad you can’t have one,” she said with a teasing smirk.

“Yeah too bad,” Tabitha said, though she could take or leave doughnuts. Chocolate however, was another story.

“Where the hell were you?” With Samara safe and sound, Fiona could return to being mad.

“One of the show runners heard I was in film school, so she took me upstairs to watch from the director’s booth.”

That was hopeful news. As much as Fiona disliked Danté, Tabitha was more concerned about her sister’s inability to focus on anything. Part of it was the Attention Deficit Disorder, which remained undiagnosed until Samara’s junior year of high school. After graduation, she dabbled as a student hairstylist, a barista and movie extra, until finally, she had pursued her dream of becoming a filmmaker. Last year, she’d been accepted into the University of Southern California’s prestigious cinema studies program. But lackluster grades were putting the dream in jeopardy.

Tabitha couldn’t shake the fear that if her figure skating hadn’t demanded so much of her family’s time, money and attention, Samara’s problems would have been noticed much earlier. Her sister might be almost through with college by now and making contacts in the industry, rather than struggling with sophomore classes and a bad boyfriend. “Did you learn anything?” Tabitha asked.

Samara brushed the heavy fringe of blue-black bangs from her eyes. “I learned I never want to work in TV. And I couldn’t believe it when Celeste brought up Peter’s ex, or he’s never had a skater win at the Winter Games. Who expects gotcha questions on a show like this? Talk about low.”

Tabitha couldn’t agree more. “I promise you, Peter’s bad luck at the Games ends this season.”

Though there were countless things that could go wrong between now and February, the words brought certainty. She would win gold in Grenoble. She had to. Peter deserved it. And he wasn’t the only one. Samara had grown up as an afterthought. Fiona had worked two jobs so they could live in Beverly Hills near Tabitha’s training rink, rather than move back to her hometown in Missouri.

Her mom and her sister deserved a victory and Tabitha would not let them down.

She turned back to Samara, who was savoring the last of her donut, a blissful expression on her face as she chewed. “How do you think I did on the show?”

Her sister brushed cinnamon sugar from her hands, and headed back to the food table, in search of her next delicacy. “Perfect. How else?”

Outside, the real sky was considerably grayer than the fake one on Good Day U.S.A’s backdrop. Peter flagged down a taxi. Tabitha, Samara, and Fiona climbed in the back, while Peter took the front seat. Fiona’s phone had chimed earlier, now, she was scrolling through a message. “Son of a bitch,” she said under her breath.

That could only mean man troubles. Ken, Fiona’s current boyfriend, and also their landlord, seemed to cause more than his share.

“Is the Ken-ster having issues?” Samara asked with knowing sympathy.

Fiona gave an exasperated sigh and shut off her phone. “He’s still pissed because I didn’t invite him along to Chicago. But it’ll all blow over by the time we’re home on Monday. He’s an Aries. What do you expect?”

What did Tabitha expect? Heartbreak and disappointment, which seemed to come with every guy, regardless of his zodiac sign.

If she’d learned anything from Fiona’s and Samara’s chaotic love lives, it was that following your heart after a troubled bad boy was a recipe for disaster. Tabitha had sworn off romance. If the day ever came when she let a man into her life, he would be neither troubled, nor would he have issues. But with the Winter Games coming up, it wasn’t something she thought about.

Not much, anyway.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder. “I thought that went well.”

“Really? Even though they brought up Claudia? And Harvard? I didn’t know they would ask about that.”

Peter flicked his hand, brushing off her concern. “Things come out of left field. As this is my last season coaching, and Claudia coaches your closest rival, someone was bound to ask eventually. But next time someone mentions Harvard, don’t correct them.”

This again. Tabitha sighed and crossed her arms. “You know I don’t like lying about it.”

“You aren’t lying. Technically, you were enrolled.”

“Online, and for no credit. That’s a lot different from what you implied.”

“Trust me, dear. It’s best this way.”

Samara was intent on her phone, scrolling through pages as if the rest of them weren’t even there. Her black polished fingernails made a tapping sound on the glass. “I didn’t know Catwoman was a lesbian.”

“Not true.” Fiona shook her head. “Julie Newmar wasn’t a lesbian.”

Samara scowled. “Who’s Julie Newmar?”

“Catwoman. And by the way Missy, you didn’t bother to tell anyone where you were going during the show. For all I knew, you’d taken off for God-knows-where because you were pissed at me. How do you think I’d feel, knowing I’m the reason my baby girl wound up dead in a ditch someplace?”

“I told a page. He was supposed to tell you. It’s not my fault if he didn’t. Besides Fiona, I wasn’t talking about Julie Whoever. I was talking about Catwoman.”

Tabitha rested her head against the seat. Though she was glad her family had come to see her skate, sometimes they made her crazy. “She means the character, Mom.”

“That’s another thing!” Riled up, Fiona turned on Samara. “Your older sister calls me Mom, but you can’t even manage that.”

“To me, you’re Fiona,” Samara said, with a shrug, staring at her phone again. “Anyway, the director’s booth was sick and I’m not dead in a ditch, so you can relax. Shit’s under control.” She returned to scrolling on her phone. Tap, tap, tap.

Tabitha closed her eyes, and wished she could return to her room for a nap, rather than head to practice. Last night, she’d hardly slept. They’d arrived late from California, and it felt like only a few hours later, she’d had to be up for her early call at the morning show. She never slept well in hotels. Come to think of it, lately, she didn’t sleep that great anywhere.

“So.” Peter clapped his hands together. “Star Spangled Skate. We have two days to whip these programs into shape and Antigone still isn’t where it needs to be.”

Tabitha pressed her lips together. The state of her long program was the elephant in the room. “I have all the elements.”

“Except one,” Peter said, quietly.

Passion. You’ve lost it and if the Winter Games aren’t enough to bring it back, what is?

“I’m just not feeling Antigone. It’s too heavy, it’s too sad, it’s too... much.”

“It’s opera,” Peter said. “Not your favorite, I know.”

“I wanted to use the program Misha and I choreographed to the Hozier song. You said you liked it.”

“I like it, and it’s fine as your show program. Which it will stay. Contemporary music is a good fit for some skaters. A teenage girl, for example.” Though he didn’t name names, everyone knew Mia Lang was using One Direction’s “What a Feeling,” for her short program. “But it isn’t right for who you need to be on the ice. A piece like Antigone carries a gravitas that isn’t suitable for a fifteen-year-old but is perfect for a refined, sophisticated twenty-three-year-old Harvard student.” He paused to let his point sink in. “Is everyone straight on that?”

By everyone, he meant the only person in the cab likely to challenge him. Fiona always took Peter’s side. Samara couldn’t care less. Tabitha stared out the window. On the sidewalk, people passed by, free to go where they wanted, and do what they pleased. Would that ever be her life?

She glanced over at Fiona, who’d cleaned houses and served hot dogs to pay for Tabitha’s ice costs. She thought of Samara, who’d spent her childhood being dragged along to Tabitha’s competitions, while her needs were ignored. Her family had sacrificed so much to give her this chance. Three years ago, she’d let them down. Not this time. She turned back to her coach and nodded. “Everyone’s straight.”

A snicker came from the other side of the back seat. “Everyone except Catwoman.”