I smiled sadly at her, already knowing where she was going with this.
“There’ll be offers from theaters across the country. I’ll be able to put together a national tour.”
“I know.”
Her expression shifted.
“You’re not going to come, are you?”
I sighed and looked down.
“No. My body has been going through some changes, I know you’ve noticed. I’ve not been well . . . as well as I should be. That happens sometimes with RA. You have months, years even, of being at a plateau, and for no reason that you can think of, the meds don’t seem to hold it back anymore. My doctor wants me to try a higher dose of chemo, maybe even different drugs. And . . . I just feel I’d do better if I stayed in one place. At home.”
She nodded slowly.
“Have you told Ash?”
I shook my head.
“No, not yet. I wanted him to have this . . . tonight.”
“He’ll be devastated.”
“I know. But I’ll never be part of his world like that. It’s not possible for me. And I don’t think he can live without it.”
“Are you sure about this, Laney? Because I think it’s you he can’t live without.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I was saved trying to find a reply when the Mayor and his wife came to shake my hand and say how pleased they were that this ‘phenomenal work’ had premiered in Chicago. Then they had their photos taken by the Press as they stood with smiles next to the woman in the wheelchair.
The Police Commissioner came and said a few words to my mom and dad, smiled at me, and disappeared into the crowd.
There was a feverish excitement in the bar, everyone wondering how the rest of the show would play out, despite many of them having read about Ash’s story in the newspapers.
“Did that really happen?” asked Vanessa avidly. “Did that Sergei guy really drink a woman’s blood?”
I shivered at the mention of his name, and Jo elbowed her in the ribs.
“What?” Then she looked at me. “Oh, sorry.”
“I think it’s a metaphor,” I said, my voice tight. At least I hoped it was.
My cousin Paddy strolled across, casting an appreciative eye over my friends.
“Some show,” he said thoughtfully, handing me a glass of whiskey.
“What do you think of it?”
“Totally fucked up,” he grinned, “but the dancing is fuck hot. Nice one, cuz,” and he sauntered away, winking at Vanessa.
“Is he . . . ?”
“Off limits,” I said, as she pouted at me.
Jo laughed.
“Trust me. Paddy has slept with half of Chicago, and the other half is in his contacts list. Don’t even think about it.”
I groaned as I saw the light of challenge in Vanessa’s eyes. Oh well, she’d been warned.
As everyone settled into their seats for the second half, my nerves were wearing a permanent groove. I felt the show was good; it seemed people were enjoying it. But my objectivity was long gone, so I couldn’t be sure.
I had to smile when the stage burst to life in a blaze of color and light as the pulsing, happy beats of Viva Las Vegas erupted from the orchestra pit.
Ash swaggered onto the stage, dressed all in black, although sequins on his shirt caught the light and I think someone had dusted his chest with glittery powder. He was doing some sexy shimmy thing, followed by samba rolls, his crotch pressing into Yveta’s ass. I winced, finding it hard to watch my husband getting so up close and personal with another woman, especially since I knew he’d slept with her before we’d met. I saw the way she watched him when she thought no one was looking and she totally ignored me.
Sergei and Volkov were haunting the stage again, and wherever they went, blood red spotlights followed them. There was something macabre about the way they moved, prowling, gliding—the ghosts at the feast.
I gasped when they suddenly descended on Ash, gripping his arms and tearing him out of the chorus lineup. None of the other dancers noticed and I wanted to scream at them to look, even though I knew it wasn’t real.
While the dancers quickstepped in the background to Tu Vuo Fa L’Americano, their smiles transformed to clowns’ grimaces, bathed in a ghoulish green light, Volkov dragged Ash across the floor in a parody of a Paso step.
Two of the backing dancers ran onto the stage, holding Ash’s arms. Then Volkov ripped the shirt from Ash’s back, and Sergei tore the pants, waist to ankle.
Ash stood with his back to the audience, seeming completely naked, although I knew, of course, that he’d be wearing an almost invisible dance belt.
Even so, seeing my husband stripped naked on a stage was horrible to watch. And when Volkov handed Sergei a whip, I couldn’t look. Horrified gasps cut through the horribly upbeat music and I could hear the special effects sound of a whip cracking through the air as Sergei appeared to laugh, his free hand clamped over his own dick.