This Much Is True (34 page)

“How do you
know
all of this?” I shift uncomfortably as my body reacts to Nika while my mind scatters to someplace else entirely.

“Do you really want to
know
? Have you never done this before? The world is a very connected place, Lincoln Presley, unless people choose to not be connected. I see it all the time.” Nika gets this serious expression. “This photograph was taken eighteen months ago. Weeks of photographs of the two of them that followed a pattern. She was
with
him then and she is most certainly with him again now. They started showing up again in late December up to now. She seems to have chosen. And so has he.”

This hint of sadness crosses Nika’s beautiful face and then it’s gone and I begin to wonder if I just imagined it. There’s a long, protracted silence between us. We both seemed troubled on some level by all these revelations.

“Why?” I finally ask, bewildered by Tally’s alliance with Rob Thorn and stung by it on whole other level.

“My guess is she’s hiding something or she needs his help or his money. People do strange things for a lot of reasons. They lie for a lot of different reasons. It’s not like you promised her anything; right? You left. She moved on. Obviously, so did he.”

Each word she says stings worse than the last.
I left her. She moved on.

Nika’s right. I did those things. What did I expect? Her to wait for me, until I…what? Got my shit together? Or, the world stopped judging our age difference because she was finally old enough for me? What was I thinking?
Was
I thinking?
Probably not. No, not at all, not on any level.

“She’s old enough, I suppose; she can do what she wants, except drink.” Nika tries to smiles. It doesn’t work. She seems to see and feel my pain as if it’s her own.

After a while, she nods slowly as if having made a decision and begins to lightly sway above me again like she’s performing some hypnotic dance and is just waiting for me to finally pay attention to it and her. I dazedly watch her swirling movements but am instantly reminded of Tally’s spectacular dance moves. Nika’s calculated assessment of Tally and Rob’s relationship sinks in on me. This truth annihilates me all over again.
She’s fucking him.
Nika’s obscene expression runs through my mind like an unwelcome mantra but my mind holds onto the truth of the Russian girl’s words. It’s there in every photograph—the way Tally looks at this guy. She
trusts
him—Rob Thorn. I can see that for myself.

“She chooses to be with him,” Nika says softly.

“I can see that.”

“And I thought we should do this in person.

“Do what?” I ask with a faint smile and intently watch as her expression changes.

“Say good-bye or say hello. You choose. I know what she has meant to you—this girl. I just want to make sure you are…okay.
Fine
. Whatever it is you Americans say.” She gets this secret smile.

“Really.” I don’t attempt to hide my sarcasm. I already know deep down that Nika could prove to be more dangerous. When I first met her at Stanford and acknowledged her beautiful face and the body to match and her lightning-fast mind, I knew she could be trouble. And then, yesterday, after all this time, she’s just standing there at my L.A. apartment front door, looking resplendent and confident like she owned the world and a part of my soul already. Of course, she already knew my truths. And yet, somehow, a part of me already accepted that and another part of me wanted to better understand Nika’s sense of control for the world. That part of me wanted her to take over because this much is still true: I just want to throw baseballs and concentrate on the one thing I’m good at for a while and let everything else fall away.

Instinctively, I know Nika will allow me to do this. Even now, in this moment when I look far into the depths of her crystal blue eyes and catch a glimpse of her soulless soul, I know she might be able to help me move on and away from all of this. Nika’s dark in a way that Tally could never be. Nika can help me forget Tally.

Apparently, a part of me has already decided that maybe Nika Vostrikova is just what I need. In what swift estimation I still possessed in that first moment, even before I let her in, I knew full well that when I did that she would take all possession of me and would probably prove to be even more detrimental to my psyche than Tally has ever been. There’s no doubt Nika Vostrikova lies better and more frequently for a myriad of reasons that I will probably never come to understand. I have no doubt that Nika’s emotional wounds will attempt to cut me deeper and perhaps be no less painful than Tally’s have been. Yes, getting involved with Nika again could lead to even more deep emotional cuts and wounds and eventual scarring, but I already know and accept this.

It’s true. Nika will exact her pound of flesh from me in different ways; yet I allowed her entry yesterday and silently embrace her particular web of deceit—willingly, knowingly, and with true intent—now. I already sense I am her finest prey. I understand this, too. And yet, I willingly accept my fate in order to feel something with someone else. It’s been too long. It’s all been for nothing in the end.
Tally’s found someone else. That someone isn’t me.

She casually shrugs again for the desired effect; while I just watch her fine bony shoulders move up and down as she seemingly tempts me in every way possible. Of course, my mid-section responds like clockwork this time. It’s the only thing that isn’t truly demolished by this latest news that confirms the permanence of Tally and Rob.

“Well, if you aren’t
fine
,” Nika says softly. “I’m going to ensure that when you I leave you that you are feeling
fine
. I thought I’d stay and watch you finish your season. I owe you that much after taking all this money from you.” She waves her hand around my expansive living room.

And the seduction begins again.

“Ah, we’re back to the money again.” I sigh.

Resigned to her, I take a deep breath and hold it for few seconds. I know she is the Bering Sea, where the sea still freezes, and that she is just as deep and dangerous. This much is true. She’ll take my heart and plunge it with an emotional knife that penetrates deep and beyond repair before we’re through. I know this already, and yet most of me will go to her freely with the clear intention of playing this treacherous game because I have nothing left to lose. I face down my fear of losing. It’s pretty bad—this losing. But I’ll survive. With Nika.

“Is it always about the money, Nika?”

“I have found…that it always comes back to the money. At least, for me.”

Nika retrieves the pile of photographs from my lap and tosses them aside. They splay across my Travertine floor like a collection of accusations.

I stare long and hard at the one photograph that’s landed on top, Tally smiling at Rob Thorn. I wince while this incredible pain shoots through me from all directions. It feels like I’ve lost her all over again.

I look up as Nika. She still towers above me presenting herself as a golden opportunity. She is equal doses of permissible torment and pleasurable fun in the extreme. My hand of its own volition sidles up the length of her long, swanky leg. She moans and unwinds her goddess-like limbs down on top of me.

“Let me help you, Lincoln Presley. Let me make you feel better and not so lost; huh? Free of charge. I’ll stay for your season. I’ll be here for you,” Nika says.

I close my eyes and let Nika Vostrikova take all control. I shut off my mind and allow this woman to do whatever she wants because it’s just game after all. A game I’ve been losing since I started playing. Maybe, if this girl wins, the memory of the other one will finally disappear once and for all.

* * * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tally ~ Bereft of true emotion

E
urope brings much-needed distance from the shredded mess my life has become. The time spent in Rome and then Paris brings unexpected solace and holds a distant promise for future inner peace. Someday. My mind doesn’t race as much with all these uncontrollable thoughts of Lincoln Presley or the baby I gave away although I still subconsciously calculate the time since I last saw them. It’s been more than four hundred days since I last saw Linc and more than two years since Cara was born. I dedicate a few minutes each day to this calling and determine her age at an almost a rote pace and allow myself to recall Linc’s face the last time I saw him when he trusted me. Even so, it’s true that the blameworthy noise inside my head is muted, almost absent, and I welcome that respite. It gets more tolerable, the longer I stay away. So I embrace the aloneness. I wallow in the solitude because all the turmoil goes away. It’s as if a negative neutron has been forced by the physicality of nature into traversing in the opposite direction away from me. Nothing touches me. Nothing reaches for me. Ballet becomes my singular focus while the chaos that is my life effectively disappears.

Rob is busy with classes at NYU, living a separate life far away from me in Manhattan. He expresses his love for me in all these sweet, reachable ways through notes and flowers and little gifts that the hospitality staff leaves in my hotel room for me at each place we’ve stayed during the tour. I’ve already broken up with him at least a dozen times in my mind, at least six times on the phone, and three times in person. The topic of our being together is raised on every phone call. It begins like this:
“Rob, we can’t do this anymore.”

His response is always the same. “Tally, give it some time.
We can do this. We are.”

It’s been more than a year, since the scene at the cemetery, more than six months since I’ve been home and that visit was brief—three days as a stopover on my way to Europe. I haven’t even seen the new house my family has moved to. If I fly in to San Francisco again, I’ll have to call and get directions to it. I’m still part of NYC Ballet’s expansion dance troupe in Europe as the dance company fully establishes a reputation for itself internationally. This will be my second year on tour when we leave in a few months.
In exile.
I view it as an opportunity that nothing and no one can stand in my way. No one. Not even me.

I’ve changed my name and for the past eighteen months, I have taken on the professional persona of Talia Delacourt for my personal life as well. Tally Landon is long gone. I like it that way. “A rebranding of
you
.” Sasha Belmont had called it when she first brought up the idea.

I was game. I was ready to forget who I was. I was ready to be someone else. I’ve told Rob and my parents about the stage name change; that’s it. Marla’s stopped calling. She never answered my infrequent texts. The roaming charges became so cost prohibitive that I finally turned off my phone and stopped trying to reach her all together. Since I so easily changed my name, I decided to change my look. My hair has gold highlights now, and the color catches the stage lights and all of me. I’m more golden blond than a brunette now. I feel and act differently as Talia Delacourt. And to the world, I shine and glow as the dance world’s newest star.
Inside?
I’m dying little by little; yet, no one knows this but me and the critics.

The critics
know
. “Her dance is exquisite. Her form is perfect. Her performance is long on depth and beauty, but what it is bereft of—is true emotion.”

“She performs. We applaud. But where’s the feeling in this young lead dancer’s exquisite performance?”

“Don’t read the reviews,” Rob had said more than a few times when he’s called. “Stop reading them, Tally. They know not of what they speak.” The way Rob said this makes me laugh. He always makes me feel better.
Mostly
. Rob always knows what to say, what not to say. That’s probably why Holly must have loved him so much. I try not to dwell too often on why I can’t feel the same way about Rob, or why I won’t marry him, or why I still read the reviews, every last one of them.

* * *

In early January, I land at JFK on a return flight from Paris after doing a bonus performance that Sasha Belmont insisted I be a part of after a brief return to NYC Ballet’s holiday performances of
The Nutcracker
over Christmas. I automatically turn on my cell and hear the automated voice say, “You have eight voicemails.” Strange. You would think the entire world would know that I’ve been traveling pretty much non-stop for the past two years. Seven messages are from Rob about: flight times, my passport, delays, he’ll be there later, eat something, drink something, and see you soon. The eighth causes me to stand stock-still among the continual stream of deplaning passengers. “Tally, it’s Marla. Hey, we’re getting married. Charlie and me. On Valentine ’s Day. I want you here in San Fran. You have to stand up for me. Call me when you get this. Your mom said you were coming home from Paris this week. Everyone will be there. You have to be there, too,
with me
. Bring Rob. Call me. Bye.”

Marla sounds good.
Happy.
I resume my walk down the jet way and largely ignore the
lady-are-you-coming-or-going?
trash talk taking place all around me as New Yorkers hurry on their way to somewhere. She’s getting married. She wants me there. We’re going to be okay. I don’t even want to think about who she’s marrying, for the moment, or his cousin and most likely his best man. No. I refuse to dwell on that aspect of what she’s asking me to do.

Two minutes later, I glance up and spy Rob holding a sign that reads:
Delacourt’s Enterprise
.

Funny. Funny guy.

I fall into his arms and kiss him hard because, today, I need Rob Thorn and no one else. After we come up for air, he signals to our limo driver and tells him which bags to take; then he pulls me into his arms and kisses me everywhere all over again.

“I’ve missed you.” He brushes his lips against my forehead and runs his fingers through my hair. I shiver at his touch. We haven’t seen each other for a few months and the last time we did; we’d had a huge fight even though it was his last night in Paris. Pressing me for a commitment; I told him, in no uncertain terms, to quit asking for one. I look up at him now. He’s dressed to the nines in a dark grey Italian suit and a silver and black silk tie. He took a financial position with one of the Wall Street investment firms. Something, he confided to me once, he would never do, but here he is, doing it.

“Is everything okay? You’re acting weird, more than usual,” I say stepping back and gazing at him intently.

“Yes. Just glad you’re home.” He sighs and looks away. He’s nervous, and I become suspicious of this whole strange demeanor of his.

“I hope you didn’t plan anything…you know,
big
…for my homecoming.”

“No.” He shakes his head but avoids looking at me directly.

“You’re scaring me. What did you
do
?”

He winces. “I don’t want you to freak out.”

“Well, now I am. So, out with it, Thorn. Like you said once to me…a long time ago.” I force myself to smile at him even while my pulse begins to race. “What did you
do
, Rob?”

“I got us something. A place.
To start over.
Ours. Not my father’s. It’s pretty nice with a view and everything and I just don’t want you to freak out too much when you see it. I think you’ll want to call it
home
.”

“A place to call
home
? We
moved
?” There are too many implications in that little statement. We fought at Christmastime about where our relationship was going or not.

“Yeah.”

“And you think I’ll like it?”

“I do.”

“Okay, show me,” I say.

I can’t really explain where the agreeable nature is coming from. We’ve had numerous discussions about our place, his place, my place,
a place
.
Us
. Because if we’re getting technical, and that’s what we’re really talking about here, after the last year away from him most of the time, I’m actually ready to talk about all of that—meet up with all of that—with him. Marla’s getting married. We’ve all moved on. Rob puts his arm around me tighter and leads me to the car. I climb into the limo and give him a hard stare as I look around because this is no ordinary car ride. There are white roses and champagne and two types of wine and a dozen chocolate truffles. It’s not Valentine’s Day quite yet. Neither one of us has found peace with that holiday yet.

“Red or white wine or champagne, Ms. Landon?” the driver asks.

“Champagne,” I murmur and take the glass with unsteady hands from the helpful limo driver.

Rob’s sliding in right beside me and looks even more nervous. He’s shaking as he holds my hand in his and gives me one of his soulful looks.
Oh shit.
He’s gone all out, and this isn’t just a ride home to a place that he wants to be ours.

The limo moves out onto a more familiar-looking route towards Manhattan. Rob’s drinks from a glass of sparkling wine and playfully kisses my fingers, one by one.
I want this; don’t I?
I start to go through the list in my head as to all the reasons why I should want this because the aloneness of the last year all but engulfed me most of the time.
I missed him. I missed Rob. He’s here. So am I.
I lean into his white-pressed dress shirt and breathe him in.

“What did you do?” I finally ask after a long shared silence.

“Like I said. I got us a place. To be together.”

“That’s not what you said.” I shake my head. “Before. You said I got us a place to start over. Ours. Not my father’s. It’s pretty nice with a view and everything.
That’s
what you said. So. Why does it feel like it’s more than that?”

“Tally? Why do you have to complicate absolutely everything?” Rob asks sweetly.

I don’t have to formulate an answer or a lie for that one because the limo pulls up in front of one of the taller buildings in downtown Manhattan. I choose silence.

I can’t believe we sailed through forty minutes of traffic, and I didn’t notice. The driver must be as magical as Rob right now. Rob jumps out and leans back in and takes my hand and pulls me from the car. It’s like getting out at a film screening. I note the red-carpet treatment just as a few camera lights flash.

“What is going on?” I look over at him like he’s lost his mind, and he’s looking at me as if I’m the unicorn that he’s just successfully captured for the very first time. Where are these fairy tales coming from?” I ask.

Now, it’s his turn not to answer. He just gets a little smile while it begins to dawn on me that he is shrewdly forcing my hand.

There’s a little round of applause as we make our way to the front doors of the building. There must be at least twenty people gathered there. I recognize a few faces from the dance company. Sasha. Kimberley. I’m really confused now.
A place. Ours. Together.
This doesn’t look like a nice evening where we’re sitting at home getting to know each other all over again and discussing our future now that I’m back.

We’re rushed up a private elevator and I steady my nerves by counting the floors. We stop at the forty-ninth floor, not the penthouse level. That’s one more above us, according to the lit-up panel. I breathe a sigh of relief; maybe, Rob didn’t overspend on this idea.

There’s twinkling white lights everywhere throughout the apartment, which is mostly white and sparkling glass and beautiful. The place is beyond anything I ever imagined living in. He’s managed to replicate all the things that I mentioned that I did love when I once saw Tremblay’s place into this one, including the Impressionist artwork displayed throughout. Although I have a feeling that some of the pieces displayed on the wall in the living room are actually original.

His parents are here. The older version of Rob walks toward me and grabs my hand and kisses the top of it. Rob’s blond and beautiful mother is dressed in a long, black form-fitting dress. She comes over next and kisses each side of my face and whispers ‘Tally’ loud enough that everyone hears it. I’m being anointed here in some way. This is a party—a celebration—I’m the star attraction, whether I want to be or not. It seems we all need this. Rob is no further than six inches away from me. I hold on to him for all kinds of support—moral as well as physical.

After a half-hour of this, I’m in need of an explanation of some kind. I have to hope he’s going to give me one, but I’m not sure that he will. He pulls me away from my parents and his. I mindlessly follow him down the long hallway. Black and white. Shiny and beautiful. Nouveau riche. This place must have cost a fortune. I’m enamored and terrified at the same time and left wondering how we’re going to live here and afford all of this.

He stops in front of wide-open doorway and gives me the smirky smile. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it. I reach up and trace his lips.

“Here, I got you a dress to wear.”

“What is all this?” I ask.

“I want to show you how it could be. How it could work. I want you to see me. To see what I see and show the world—our world—what I see with the two of us together. I want that for you and me. I want you…if you want me. Do you?”

“Rob,” I hesitate, secretly begging for more time without saying another word. He winces. “You know…I do.” I practically choke on the words. My heart rate speeds up because I already know where this is going, and I know what I want to say.
No. No way. No fucking way. Why are you doing this to me?

“I do? Because the fight the first time you were in Paris left me…reeling. I didn’t know what to think, and these fucking phone calls between us seemed more rote, as if we just recorded them in advance or something and just said the same things over and over again.” He runs his hands through his hair in obvious frustration.

I close my eyes, intent on erasing the memory of someone else first. When I open them, Rob is staring at me. He’s just a mere six inches away from my face, discerning every emotion that crosses it.

“I keep thinking you’ll forget him. That time will erase all of him from your mind. It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” Rob gets this determined look as if he’s hell-bent on finishing this tonight.

I take a little step back, uncertain where he’s going with everything, uncertain I want him to go
anywhere
with all of this. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He sighs in frustration. “I wanted to give you this.” He flips open a red velvet ring box and gets down on one knee in the next. “I wanted to ask you this...to be my wife in front of every single person out there.” He frowns. “But I’m afraid to do that, Tally Landon, because I really don’t know what you would ever say besides
no
.”

He laughs a little and shakes his head side-to-side in disbelief.