Chapter 258: Elena III—Sometimes it means everything
Her knee had not heeled quite properly; Elena could feel it aching and raw, throbbing. It reminded her of the pain in her chest, when she felt as if she were choking and emptied. She dipped her fingers in her glass of water and slipped out a cube of ice. Her knees were bare, her skirt was short, and she pressed the ice onto her aching knee, closed her eyes briefly at the bliss the melting water sent through her as it slid down her skin. Standing up against a wall earlier today, feeling how rough his hands were over her body, and his mouth on her skin. She pushed it from her mind. She listened to the throb of music in the club, exotic, erotic it was billed as being. It was part of the new wave sweeping the city, the craving for Middle Eastern pop music. Glorified belly dancing tunes, but it was chic.
“…got to stop moping, Elena! You’re bereft of life darling, you’re drowning.”
Elena opened her eyes; saw Alastair’s dark eyes, dark lashes, dark skin. His fingers were on her other knee, burning, slick and somehow intrusive. She pressed her hand over his and pushed it away. “What?” she asked.
Alastair sighed, pursed his lips which were faintly tinted, his eyes were lined with dark make-up; all the young men were wearing it now. His accent was British, a soft voice, always a soft personality. Everyone said they would be beautiful together, he was refined, he was a dancer, and he had been her partner for so many years on the stage as they delighted crowds. He had been the one to hold her close when her knee had ripped and taken her from ballet. Otherwise, she would have been alone.
“Elena you’re not even listening to me,” he said, “I brought you here to get you moving, to get you back to youth! We have to enjoy our age darling, not wizen before our time, before we have a chance to reclaim our viatality.”
Elena wrinkled her nose. “Alastair I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so awful to you.”
“Now don’t tear yourself down, darling, it isn’t your fault, everything that has happened is not your fault and that’s been part of your problem,” Alastair said, his voice caressing vowels like precious plums. “The problem is the company you allow…”
“Don’t start with me!” Elena snapped, sitting straight up, “I thought you said you wouldn’t lecture me anymore.”
She didn’t want to glare at him though and she looked away from him and down into the throng of dancing, glittering, sparkling youth on the floor. It wasn’t dancing, not these people with no training, with no refinement, undulating on guts and instinct.
“I saw him with you today,” Alastair said and Elena glared at him but before she could say anything, he held up his hand. “No don’t think that I’ve been lying in wait to catalogue your gentleman callers but dammit, girl. Dammit he’s no good for you, he’s horrid and he’s sucking every last breath from your body.”
Elena scowled and looked back at the dance floor; she felt the pain sledge into her breast. He was leaning on the bar, his ashy hair twirled and unkempt, his eyes lined with black make-up but not as much as others did. His grin was cocky, his arms around the shoulders of a wide-hipped, wide-mouthed bottle blond. She was laughing; he was bowling her over with his charm and his humor and his status, his money. Elena knew that he didn’t need much of it to impress that girl, she only cared about his name from the hockey roster.
“What do you know about him?” Elena said.
Alastair narrowed his eyes. “I know enough. I’ve heard enough.” He reached over the table and squeezed her hand. “Elena, you’re too good for him, you’re too good for them.”
Elena raised her eyebrows, remembered her large blue eyes, her warm hand.
You’re too good for us Elena. You degrade yourself with him.
“You’re a higher breed than them, we’re a higher breed. Why waste yourself when they don’t appreciate your talents…”
“HE does!” Elena cried. “He appreciates what I do… used to do. He does! Alastair you should have seen his face the first time I played and danced for him, you should have.”
Alastair shook his head. “Perhaps he does, but he doesn’t deserve it and even then he’ll be the death of you. What are you expecting him to give you? What will he give up for you? Anything?”
Elena looked at him again. His large hands were around the blonde’s slim waist now, he was rocking her back and forth, not dancing so much as screwing her in public. This was not dancing, none of it.
“Oh speak of the devil,” Alastair said in a glum voice, he was looking at him as well now. He was seeing what she saw.
“Elena,” Alastair said in a deep, trembling voice that caught her attention. She looked at his glistening eyes. “You can’t deny how much better I am for you, and you are exquisite for me. I would never let you want or need or feel lonely. We understand each other, we always have.”
“But I can never dance with you or anyone anymore,” Elena said. “And I will hate you for it every day I see you.”
Alastair shook his head. “You say that now but…”
“I know that now,” Elena replied. She looked down at him again; there was no daylight between his body and that blonde’s.
“Darling,” Alastair said. “I say this as a last resort.”
Elena looked at him, saw humor on his painted mouth. “Yes?”
He grinned. “I am the only male ballet dancer in the city who is straight, why are you wasting me?”
Elena stood up, and she laughed. She leaned forward on the table and hugged Alastair. “I love him.”
Alastair nodded. “I know. Go on, claw out her eyes, at least I can get a free show.”
He saw her before the blonde did. He raised his eyebrows, made a face hauntingly reminiscent of his father, he grinned. The blonde was giggling and talking loudly. Elena sniffed and tapped her on the shoulder. The blonde smiled. “I’ll have another Orgasm please.”
“Get lost,” Elena said. “Now.”
“Excuse me?” The blonde said, cocked an eyebrow, “Who the hell are you?”
“Get lost,” Elena repeated.
The blonde narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?”
He shrugged. “Get lost,” he said.
The blonde’s mouth twisted with a scowl and she hissed, “asshole” as she stomped away, no doubt to find someone else to cling to.
Elena sniffed and looked at him. “What the hell are you doing?” she snapped. “Honestly, Jonathan, you’re gonna kill me.”
Jonathan nodded. “Who the hell have you been with, I saw you come in with him?”
“You know Alastair,” Elena sighed, “Jonathan you are the last person who has a right to be jealous.”
“I didn’t say I was jealous,” Jonathan said. His face was cool, his smile impassive.
Elena felt the anger. “Good,” she snipped. “Cause I fucked him before we came here. I’m still warm from it.”
She saw it, his eyes flashed and she turned around, left the throbbing, humid, sweating club as fast as she could. She tottered into the cool, humid air of the street, the noise of the traffic and people. Within the instant, she felt his hand grip her arm she turned and slapped him on the cheek, he let her go.
“You’re lying!” Jonathan yelled. “I know it! You’re not like that.”
“Not like what?” Elena yelled back. “You? I’m not like you?” Jonathan’s face crumpled but he composed himself. She nodded. “Right, right.” She said and she turned away from him, waved down a taxi.
She was barely inside the cab when she felt him press into her from behind, his mouth at her ear. The warmth fired through every point of her body and tore her brain, her will and reminded her of how helpless she really was.
“You’re lying,” he snarled.
“Yes!” she gasped. “I am. I wanted to make you hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Words he overused had watered pointless. But there was the same thrill in the next words, her heart floated with that hope. “I love you.”
“Take me home,” Elena whispered. “I can’t be alone tonight.”
The sound of the television is what woke Elena. She opened her eyes and she could hear the low voices and the sounds of the channels being flipped. She looked up and saw Jonathan with his back propped up on pillows; the remote control was in his hand. She could see his eyes glistening and reflecting the blue glow of the television.
“Can’t sleep?” she said.
Jonathan looked down. “Did I wake you up?” he asked in a concerned voice. “Sorry. I’ll turn it off.”
“No,” Elena said and she yawned as she rolled to her back and sat up. “Who needs sleep?” She yawned again and leaned into Jonathan’s shoulder, it was bulky, hard and warm. But he was never rough with her; he was always gentle and sometimes too quiet. “What are you watching?”
“Dunno,” Jonathan replied. “I can’t hear it.”
Elena smiled and grabbed the remote control; she pushed a button and turned it up. It was an infomercial, something about knives that could cut through a steel pipe. “Oo,” Elena said, “Seriel killer shopping list.”
“You’re always so morbid,” Jonathan said.
Elena handed him the remote control. “Find your own programming then,” she replied and she leaned back into him. “Slim pickings at this time of night.”
“It’s two in the morning,” Jonathan said. “At least it’s still the off season, we could actually be together, you know, like you wanted?”
“Jonathan,” Elena sighed. “I haven’t seen you in two months, not since…” but she didn’t finish the sentence. Red lipstick and red heels… she wouldn’t finish the sentence.
“Elena… I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “I was the wrong one but I want things to be different now, I can be different. We can make a new start right now, you’ll see that I’ve changed and…”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Elena said. “We can’t spend time together, I’ll be gone for a month, and when does training camp start for you? In a month? You’ll be busy again.” She was feeling heavy and tired again. All of the dizzied intoxication she had been feeling with him hours before was gone, leaving only the ghost of his warmth between her thighs.
“Where are you going?” Jonathan asked. “Can’t you cancel it?”
Can you cancel roadtrips? Elena thought but she didn’t say it. “No,” Elena said. “Jonathan I can’t dance anymore, my career is finished but my music. I’m playing for Charlotte Savoie’s tour, we’ll be going to fifteen cities, it’s not huge but it’s going to pay well and my agent said that if I perform well, there’s people out there looking for my type of music. I could get some recognition for this. It’s important to me.”
“Why?” Jonathan said in a desperate voice. “You don’t need to do that; I’d take care of you. You can stay here. If you’re worried about money it’s no problem.”
“It’s not just about money,” Elena snapped and she sat up, feeling the old anger as she looked at him. “It’s about my name and my independence. Jonathan you have to understand it. I’m not ready to leave crowds, I’m not ready to abandon the audience and hear them applauding and knowing I caused that. Jonathan you understand? I can still perform and I am going to, and I’m not going to stop for anyone.”
“Attention?” Jonathan asked. “You’re doing it just for attention?”
Elena closed her eyes. “I am not and never will be your mother.” She opened them and saw the pain in his face, and she knew she had harmed him, especially at this time, knowing what had happened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But I can’t marry you and let you have your career and watch you in the news and bear babies and wash dishes and make dinners and friends with dumpy wives. I am not going to do that. I couldn’t do that. I need to drain myself in different ways and being a house wife, forgiving your every slip up is not the way I want to do it.”
Jonathan sighed. “I understand,” he said. “Elena, I love you, does that mean anything?”
Elena shook her head. “Sometimes it does. Sometimes it means everything.”
“Do you love me?” he asked, and his voice was calm but she knew he couldn’t be inside. Not if he was like his father.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Alright,” Jonathan said and she felt his arm slide around her body and he pulled her to him. “We just have tonight then?” He asked. “Why did you chase that girl away?”
“Because she doesn’t deserve you.” Elena said.
“You love me,” Jonathan said.
Elena didn’t answer him and they looked at the television. Jonathan had turned the channel and it was a tape of the news. The cameras were focused on a stage and of a woman who had her hands on the cheeks of someone who was on his knees. Elena recognized immediately that it was footage of that nun, Sister Cecilia Lafet, everyone called her a saint. She was a glamorized faith healer. Tricks of the church, was how Elena saw it, they needed anything to distract the world from the indiscretions of their deposed Pope, and the chaos it had caused.
“Oh God,” Elena groaned. “Turn it. She’s a con artist.”
“No wait,” Jonathan said, “Let’s see if they show a close up. I want you to look at her.”
Elena frowned. “Okay?”
“She’s not a con artist either,” Jonathan said as the man on the television that Cecilia was touching stood up and began to declare that he had stopped beating his wife because of her and had come back to thank her and then his wife fell upon her and covered her cheeks in kisses. “She’s bringing world peace, it’s amazing. After what happened at Kuala Lampur and she just stepped in there and…”
“Yeah I know what she did,” Elena said. “I know all of the things she’s done and I’m not gonna knock that, she’s doing some awesome things, but that just goes to show you what a woman can do in diplomatic affairs. I just don’t like all this show boating and religious holy drivel she spouts, why cover up her good things with a magic show?”
“Whatever,” Jonathan said, “Look at her face.”
The camera had a close up of her face and Elena looked at the woman, she was emaciated and pale, her black hair pulled back from her face and her eyes were green and slanted. “What about her?” Elena asked. “She needs a hamburger.”
Jonathan replied. “Doesn’t she remind you of my old nanny, do you remember her? Cecile?”
Elena yawned and closed her eyes, trying to remember her. “Just barely,” Elena said. “I remember she had green eyes. I thought that was cool.”
“They don’t know where Saint Cecilia came from, you know?” Jonathan said.
Elena smiled and she looked at him. She found his faith intensely adorable. “You think that Lafet was your nanny?”
Jonathan grinned. “Noo, but I thought it was funny. She reminds me of her. I wonder if they’re related.”
“Whatever happened to her?” Elena asked.
“Dunno,” Jonathan said. “I don’t remember a lot of stuff from before I was billeted. Junior hockey kinda messes with the brain pan, heh heh.”
Sister Cecila’s voice rang from the television screen. “….they may hurt us sisters, womankind, but we are the dominant sex. We are the weaker physical vessels that are cherished and sometimes broken but men are the ones infinitely more fragile. Listen to me dear sisters and let us not be so harsh on mankind as a result of the few who have been cruel to us. Men are weak and they are frightened so easily, we should not hate men, we should take care of them and comfort them. They may not realize sometimes how much they need us…”
Jonathan turned off the television and Elena laughed. “She’s got the right idea,” she giggled. “Men always need comfort don’t they? Sometimes that means everything.”
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