9. Act Nine
ACT NINE
1 :18 a.m.
After I make it to The Red Death, I check my phone for the time, the number illuminating my screen. Back at Ohio State, one in the morning was followed by sleep. Here in Vegas, it almost feels like the beginning of the night.
Just like last time, the female hostess mans the podium. “Are you single?!” she asks over the loud bass, glow stick necklaces stacked beside her in boxes.
“Yeah, I’m single!” I shout back, and she hands me a blue one. I fasten it around my neck and skirt past the drunken Vegas nightlife, shrouded mostly in darkness. A few elbows and hips bump into me as they dance, intoxicated on something stronger than alcohol.
By the time I arrive at the lit-up bar, a bachelorette party swarms the other end, swamping Camila’s attention. Flagging down the second bartender also proves near impossible. I wait patiently while those around me grow more and more frustrated and just wander off.
“Oh man, not another bachelorette party,” a guy says as he sidles to the open space beside my stool. He wears black leather pants and nothing else. Lanky with defined, cut muscles. “Hey!” He leans forward and taps the bar. In the red overhead lights, I suddenly make out his face.
“Timo?” I ask.
His head whips to me, his dark brown hair falling in his lashes, the sides shorter. His dangling cross earring sways with the abrupt movement. “Thora James,” he says my name into a wide grin. His gray eyes brighten, his smooth face illuminated red, green and blue by three stacked neon necklaces. “I didn’t know you live here.”
At the blackjack table, I never confessed about my job situation to Timo. Nothing about the audition ever came up, so I’m sure he assumed that I was a girl moseying in and out of Vegas.
“I do now,” I tell him.
“I’d toast to it, but you know…” Timo rests his forearms on the bar and leans over. “Bachelorette prejudice!”
Camila flips him off from the other side, her cheeks flushed from being hurried.
Timo shakes his head. “Next time, I’m wearing a bride-to-be sash if that’s all it takes to get service.”
“TAT! TAT! TAT!”
My pulse pitches. I crane my neck over my shoulder and notice the cluster of people, huddling together in the center of the room. Nikolai bets people every Saturday night then. Maybe because Amour isn’t scheduled for Sundays, so he won’t have to wake early for work. Wild and responsible.
It’s crazy to think that just behind the wall of people, he stands there, poised and confident—ready to provide an “experience” for some other girl.
Timo lets out a long groan. “I’m missing it.” He hunches over, keeping his forearms on the sticky bar, and he turns his head to me. “So what do you do in Vegas?”
“I just started working at Phantom.”
His brows jump in surprise. “ Phantom. ” He inspects my long coat and stilettos. “Are you one of the jello shot girls? Not that I’m judging.”
“No jello shots.” I highly doubt the manager would allow the Virgin Mary to lie on the bar and let men and women suck shots off my bare stomach, covered in pungent alcohol and wet dollar bills. “I do an aerial hoop act for a few hours and then they swap me out with another girl.”
His dazzling smile extends even wider. “A club acrobat. I always wanted to try it out, but my parents would never allow it. Too much entertainment, not enough art.”
I can’t see his parents stopping him from doing anything. He’s underage in a Vegas club, drinking. They seem really relaxed to me, but then again, I don’t really know him or the Kotovas. “You’re eighteen,” I remind him. “You can do what you want, can’t you?” It’s a stupid question. I understand, so well, the pressure to please a parent.
“I’m twenty-one , Thora James.” He gives me a look, and his lips twitch up in a smirk. “And it’s not just my parents. Nikolai would have me by the balls.”
“Timo!”
I freeze at the sound of his deep voice.
“Speak of the devil!” Timo yells, whipping around and setting his elbows on the bar. “Please tell me you know some trick into breaking the bachelorette hypnosis on all the bartenders.”
My joints stiffen as Nikolai scoots closer, not noticing my lingering presence. I keep my eyes planted on the racks of liquor instead of confronting him. But I sense his towering frame behind me.
I thought there was a slim possibility that he’d be here tonight. The scariest part: I think I hoped for it. My belly flutters with nerves. I don’t want him to think I stuck around Vegas for him. That’d be weird. And beyond awkward.
Nikolai slides even closer to the bar, and his arm actually grazes my shoulder. He’s not fazed by the touch, nor does he acknowledge the brief contact. I’m frozen solid to this place.
Nikolai raises his hand and flags down a female bartender. She immediately zips over to him.
“What the fuck?” Timo curses, annoyed and amazed at how easily his brother could summon the girl.
“I’ll take a Jack and Fizz.” Nikolai turns to his brother, his back facing me. His height is not only impressive and intimidating but it shrinks me to a little tiny thing. I might as well disappear from sight. “What do you want?”
“A Manhattan.” Just as the bartender goes to leave, Timo adds, “Wait!” He leans over the bar to look down towards me. “Thora, what do you want?”
Boom.
My cover is blown.
While Nikolai’s sweltering gaze bears down on me, full of what-the-fuck confusion, I peek at the drink specials. “Tequila sunrise,” I manage to say clearly.
The bartender swivels to her liquor bottles and juices, concocting our drinks. Every tendon snaps as I slowly turn to meet Nikolai’s piercing grays, steel that drills right through me. His glow necklace turns his white button-down into a deadly red hue.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure what to say. I end up swallowing air.
“You stayed,” he speaks first, his voice lower than before. He seems more than just indifferent, but I can’t place his sentiments. Good or bad. He inspects my outfit with a once-over, his eyes descending in a hot wave. “What for?”
He asked me a question for once. A personal question. I wonder if I’ve just become worthy of a backstory.
“I stayed for job opportunities.” I notice his jaw muscles tensing, and my frown deepens, maybe even into a scowl.
Timo slings his arm around my shoulder. “Thora, here, works at Phantom.”
Nikolai is incredibly rigid, and his eyes flash hot. “Doing what?”
“I’m a club acrobat,” I say. “I need money for an apartment, and I’m…taking some classes at a gym. So…”
“Formal training,” he says, understanding what I mean. “It’ll take much more than that to land a job in this industry, Thora. It may be months before there’s even another opening. I hope that I didn’t give you the inclination that a few classes is all you need.”
I shake my head, about to tell him no, but Timo holds up his hands in shock. “Wait—you two know each other beyond a nipple piercing?”
My neck heats, but I stand tall, not shrinking.
Nikolai shoots his little brother a disapproving glare and growls out a few words in Russian.
Timo gapes and touches his bare chest “I have tact.”
I help clarify, “I was auditioning for a role in Amour.”
“Oh,” Timo says with a nod, his smile returning. “Small world.”
This trains Nikolai’s attention back on his brother, the origin of why he even sauntered over here. He starts speaking in Russian, and I can’t piece apart anything except the aggravated tone. Timo’s lively features morph into mild irritation.
His reply comes out even more hostile.
The bartender appears and slides our drinks over. I collect the one with orange juice, fishing out a few bills. The other two drinks, a cocktail with dark liquid (plus a cherry) and a glass with soda and whiskey, go unnoticed by the Kotovas.
When Nikolai steps closer to Timo, his finger pointed at the exit, I pick up a new name: Katya.
A girl’s name, clearly. I wonder if she’s his friends-with-benefits. A chill creeps up my spine, and I tell myself that it’s simply the guilt of eavesdropping.
Timo glowers, his chest falling in a heavy, annoyed breath. Clearly upset, he spouts off a string of Russian words while he walks backwards. Then he flips Nikolai off. With two hands. And he storms away without his drink or another glance.
Nikolai rakes his fingers through his hair. He roughly snatches his Jack and Fizz, chugging half of it in one gulp. He must feel my loitering gaze because he says, “I told him to go home.” He grips the edge of the bar. “What did you leave behind, Thora?”
“What do you mean?” I take a very small sip of my drink that’s more tequila than orange juice. It burns my throat.
His eyes are suddenly dead-set on me again. “What are you giving up by being here?”
I chose not to look at it that way. It’s easier seeing the things I gain than the things I lose. Cold washes over me again. “Parents, my little brother,” I start listing things off, “my friends and…” I pause, knowing this last one will not be waiting for me when I return like the others. “…a gymnastics scholarship.”
He downs the rest of his drink and motions to the bartender for another. “And why the circus?” He no longer faces me. No longer peels back my layers with his intrusive gaze. He’s glaring from the gathering dancers to the racks of liquor bottles. A look that I’m glad I don’t meet head-on.
Why the circus? I’ve never had to share this story with anyone other than my bedroom mirror. “When I was fourteen, my mom took me to the circus…I fell in love with it.” I pause to form a better explanation, of how I sat in that velvet-lined seat and longed to share the performer’s experience. To be the girl flying in the air, to captivate an audience and enchant them. To be superhumanly strong.
To be something more. Awe. And power. And grace.
The words stick to the back of my throat.
“What show?” he asks.
“Aerial Ethereal’s Nova Vega.” It was one of the most popular touring circus shows, going on a twenty-year run, and now it’s found a permanent home in Montreal. As Nikolai stays silent, I wonder… “Were you…in it?”
The bartender passes him another drink, and he nods to her in thanks. To me, he says, “When I was twelve, I assisted the Russian swing in Nova Vega for a year.”
So I didn’t watch him perform exactly, but still…small world, as Timo said. I guess the industry is tiny.
He swishes his drink, in contemplation maybe. “You’re one of many, myshka. I hear that same story countless times. Girls say how they wanted to be ballerinas after seeing Swan Lake in Moscow, boys dying to win gold medals in hockey after watching a game up close.”
One in a million. I know I’m part of the many. It’s a thought I’ve been given by too many people. “Are your reasons for being an acrobat unique?” I ask.
Surprisingly, he shakes his head. “No.”
“No?”
He spins to me now, his features harsh, his glare still daggering his eyes. It would be harder to meet if I wasn’t so curious. “I was born into this,” he explains. “I’m a fourth generation acrobat. It’s more common than you might think.”
I believe him.
Then he briefly drops his gaze, trying to hide his incensed emotions maybe, or at least trying not to direct his aggravation my way. He rests his elbow on the bar, fixating on the crowd, his fingers tightened around his glass.
I hesitate. “You’re angry.” He doesn’t answer. So I add, “You think I’m stupid for being here.” To try again so soon.
He takes a sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I think you’re brave,” he tells me. “But there’s a greater chance this city will strip whatever innocence you have left before you succeed, Thora.” He tilts his head at me. “And there’s a good chance you’ll fail. I have trouble imagining a girl like you on the brink of misery in a city that doesn’t want her. So yes, I’m angry. But not at you.”
My stomach roils. These truths are hard to hear, I’ll admit that. But I can’t leave. I lick my lips, tasting the tequila. “I can’t leave,” I say aloud, resolute on this decision. “I’m not turning back now. I’ll spend years regretting it.” I’ll go home empty-handed. With nothing but a big mistake on my chest, worn like a badge of shame.
He finishes off his second drink and slides it on the bar. “I used to be like you.”
“Brave?” I wonder.
“Idealistic.”
“What happened?” I ask, my drink cold in my hand.
“I grew up,” he tells me, a swift kick. “I have more responsibilities. There are people I can’t afford to leave behind.”
“Hey, Thora!” Camila calls out, stealing my attention. She slips to my side of the bar, but her presence only builds a strain between Nikolai and me. Like last week, her green glow necklace rests on her brown curls. Her gaze floats to the Russian guy. “Hey, sexy, don’t you have a bet to get to?”
“I’m taking a break.” And then he rests his palm on the small of my back. I cage a breath the longer he touches me out of the blue. “Thora has been telling me about her new job.” Each word sounds like liquid sex all of a sudden. He can layer on the smooth charm too well.
Camila’s lips rise, coated in purple lipstick. “Oh yeah, she’s a vixen at Phantom now.” The bride-to-be waves Camila down at the other side of the bar. She sighs heavily and focuses on me. “I need to talk to you about something important. So don’t move.” Her voice pitches a bit, and worry infiltrates my frozen state of being.
“I thought we were just celebrating my first week here.”
“That too,” she calls out as she darts away.
Nikolai studies her, way more attentive than me. His hand ascends to my shoulder, and he squeezes once, almost in comfort. “How long have you known her for?”
I shrug. “Just the week.”
“I don’t think she invited you here to celebrate.”
She does seem nervous. So Camila might’ve asked me here for another reason. That doesn’t mean it has to be a bad reason, right? I find myself chugging my drink distractedly, and I cough into my hand at the sharpness. As I go to take another sip to clear my throat, a very senseless act, Nikolai covers my glass with his hand.
Then he flags down a bartender as easily as he did the first two times. “I need a water.”
She’s quick to fill another glass, even plopping in a lemon. When she disappears, he passes it to me. I gratefully switch drinks, opting for the nonalcoholic one.
To lessen the tension, I change to a lighter topic. “Tattoo anyone special?”
“Everyone is special,” he says. I try to catch his sarcasm, but it’s hidden in his deep voice. I wonder if he’s still imagining me being sucked in Vegas’ black hole of sins and broken dreams.
“Anyone memorable then?” I wonder.
“There was the forehead tattoo...”
My jaw unhinges.
His brows shoot up. “Joking.” And a smile pulls at his lips, a charismatic one.
I must be scowling because he gives me this usual stare like you seem mad. I’ve been asked “what’s wrong?” for merely walking along campus with headphones in. I thought I looked fine, but my face sucks at conveying my emotions properly.
He tilts my chin up with two fingers, his eyes doing most of the smiling now, searching me. “What black eyes you have…”
“All the better to devour you with.” That wasn’t me. I’m not that witty. Camila is back with a bigger, wider grin than she’s worn all night. “Are you two friends?” She radiates at that possibility. And I swear she glances at my nipple, recalling that he was the one who pierced me.
Neither of us answers. We’re not exactly friends, but we’re not strangers anymore either. The music switches to a louder dance beat by Jennifer Lopez.
“This is so perfect!” Camila shouts over the song. She stretches over the bar to talk to us. “I’ve been stressing out all day, trying to find you a place to crash.”
The bottom of my stomach collapses.
What?
I struggle to ask at first, but I find my voice. “What happened to your couch?” My throat throbs. I told her that I’d be out of her place in a week and a half, the day I receive my first paycheck. She said that was fine.
“My extended family is here, and they want to stay closer to the strip. So they’re going to use my place. They surprised me with the news this morning. I’m really sorry.” Her green-shadowed eyes apologize enough. “John’s brothers are crashing at his place, so he has a full house too. I’ve called a few girlfriends, but no one is answering tonight.”
I’m essentially on my own.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, wracking my brain for the cost of a room at The Masquerade. I can tap into my savings until my paycheck comes in, I think. But what if my parents snoop into my account and see what I’ve spent my money on? They believe I’m receiving free room and board, so they’d question the charge. It’s my only choice though. “I can figure it out. A few nights here won’t be that much.”
“No, no ,” she forces with giant eyes. “I would feel terrible if you had to spend your money because of this.” She reaches out and latches onto Nikolai’s wrist. “You’re friends with Thora, right?”
“Best friends,” he says deeply. And he curves his strong arm around the slant of my hips. He tugs me to his side. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Cardiac arrest is in sight again.
I feel winded. I look up at him for answers, but he pins his focus on Camila. Not me.
“So you won’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he says. Wait…what is happening here? “I have a spare couch.”
Is he offering—
“Thank you so much.” Camila releases her grip on him, and she falls to the flats of her feet. She nods to me. “I’m so busy tonight, but I’ll see you later this week, right?”
I nod, realizing she’s telling me goodbye. She waves before she darts over to someone in a suit-and-tie, decked out in blue glow sticks.
Nikolai’s hand rises to the back of my neck, a place he’s fond of touching, I’ve concluded. “You’re glaring at me,” he states.
“This is my confused look.” I scrunch my face to relax the muscles. Frustrated, I give up the lame attempt.
He’s trying hard not to smile. “Let’s go, my demon,” he says, tossing cash on the bar counter.
“Go where?”
He pockets his wallet. “My place. You can sleep on my couch for a few days, whatever you need.”
I shake my head on instinct, my heart and stomach performing intricate choreography. “Why are you helping me?”
The muscles in his arms flex: stiff, unbending posture. “I feel responsible for your wellbeing,” he says. “And don’t ask me why. Because I don’t have an answer.” I watch his gray irises peruse my features in a languid stroke, like he’s caressing my cheek.
Even outside the gym, he has serious bedroom eyes.
It’s almost too much to handle. I exhale a shallow breath. “Just tonight,” I tell him.
“Whatever you need,” he repeats. I wish I could tap into his mind, even for a moment. To see how he sees me. For as much as Nikolai conveys, he’s still a mystery.
And I’m the curious girl who’ll step into it. Time and time again.