I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh

“Cover Girl!” Max exclaimed in his greeting to me, “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you,” I said bashfully.

“Now that you’re Cover Girl, why not trade up to a superstar?” He teased, gently elbowing Jordan in the ribs.

“What are you talking about? I am with a superstar,” I leaned into Jordan, who had his arm around my waist.

“You got yourself a keeper here,” Max jokingly punched Jordan in the arm.

“That’s what I said!” Jordan exclaimed.

“I’m going to get a drink, okay?” I smiled before walking to the kitchen. The moment I walked into the kitchen, I instantly regretted it. I regretted it because I found Evgeni sitting on the counter, kissing Oksana. My mouth went dry and my throat starting closing. I stood there with my eyes wide and mouth open. My red, plastic cup fell out of my hand and fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

Oksana turned around sharply, obviously upset that there make out session was interrupted, “Zhenechka, tell Svetka to go away,” She demanded in Russian.

Zhenechka. I didn’t like the sound of his name on her lips. It stung a little to hear her say it. The term of endearment I wanted to use but never could. Svetka. It's funny how in Russia, adding -ka to the end of a nickname can turn an affectionate pet name to a rude, derogatory slur. Svetka. Vovka. Mishka.

“Ksenya, go away. I want to talk to Lana,” Evgeni said tersely.

“Lana? She’s Lana, now?” Oksana asked, clearly angry.

“Ksenya. Please.”

“Hmph,” She pouted. The ice blonde turned on her heel and pushed past me to get out of the kitchen.

I quickly picked up my empty cup and fumbled with it, trying to keep my hands busy so he wouldn’t notice them shaking, “You- you didn’t have to tell her to go away, at least not like that.”

“I needed to talk to you. In person.”

“I’m here. What do you want to talk about?” I walked over to where Evgeni was, who was still sitting on the counter top his long legs dangling off the edge.



“So what’s going on with you and Sveta?” Sidney asked, innocent enough.

“I don’t know,” Jordan answered simply.

“Is she your girlfriend now?” Tyler’s interest was piqued by the mention of the svelte Svetlana, as they had been calling her.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jordan clarified, scratching the back of his neck.

“What would you say?” Marc prodding his way into the conversation.

“It’s not that simple,” Jordan stated dully.

“Sure it is,” Tyler said dryly.

“Like what? Are we ‘going steady?’ Come on guys, we’re adults. We know how we feel and we don’t need to label it.”

“It’s not an unreasonable question,” Sidney pointed out, “Watch. Marc, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Why yes, in fact, I do. Her name is Véronique but she prefers Vero. Sidney, how about you?”

“No, in fact, I find girls to be distracting and repulsive during the season. See, Jordan, it’s easy.”

“It is easy when you’ve been with the same girl since you were 18-”

“16,” Marc corrected.



“That phone call. That phone call has been replaying over and over again in my head. I can’t get what you said out of my head,” Evgeni looked down, as though he was hanging his down in shame.

“What did I say that was so memorable?” I leaned against the counter top, trying to act nonchalant.

“That you love me.”

“I do, but we don’t have a future together because I can’t trust you,” I looked up at those puppy dog eyes for a second, knowing that I have been sucked in by those chocolate eyes before. “Without trust, there can be no love.”

“I know. I know. I guess I thought I could have a second chance,” Evgeni drew the words out, saying them slowly; unsure of what the precise effect his words would have on me.

“I- I can’t,” I stuttered. I found myself, involuntarily inching closer to Evgeni.

Evgeni’s calloused hand ran up and down my arm.

Involuntarily, I shuddered and I could feel my knees turning to Jell-O.



“You’ve been seeing her for like what- two months now? And you’re moving in with her,” Tyler pointed out.

“Something like that,” Jordan grumbled. He did not enjoy getting grilled by his teammates over Svetlana.

“And you haven’t discussed it?” Tyler asked incredulously.

“Yes! No! She’s not- We’re not like that,” Jordan concluded.

“Like what?” Marc asked.

“Normal,” Tyler stated.



I found myself where I never wanted to be again. At mercy to Evgeni.

His hand caressing my cheek.

My eyes daring to meet his.

His head lowering ever so slightly.

I started to roll to the balls of my feet to meet his lips with mine. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. But he had this hold on me. Luckily, I was saved. The kitchen door swung open and I jumped back and away from Evgeni.

“There you are Sveta!” Jordan exclaimed. “Come on. We’re gonna light the cake.”

I nodded as my head was swimming. Did Jordan see me almost kissing Evgeni? I followed Jordan to the dining room, where everyone was surrounding a large, white-frosted, sheet cake and in pink icing said “Happy Sveta-mas!” The candles were lit. “Thank you everyone!” I exclaimed as Jordan procured a camera.

Everyone broke into a rather, off-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday to You,” which made me smile. “Make a wish!”

I closed my eyes tight and made a wish. I wish things weren’t so complicated. I blew out the candles.

“What’d you wish for?” Vero asked.

“I can’t tell you, or else it won’t come true,” I said coyly.

“Oh we know what she wished for,” Max teased, “Right Jordan,” Winking at me suggestively.

“Who wants cake?” Jordan interrupted, saving me from any further embarrassment.



Jordan and I were in the kitchen, eating our slices of cake in private. Jordan’s fork flicked against my neck, smearing frost onto my jawline and neck. Jordan looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’ll take care of it.” Before I could say anything, Jordan’s mouth was on my jawline and moving down my neck, gently licking the sweet substance off my skin.

I heard the door swing open. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Evgeni standing in the doorway, staring at me. I could feel Evgeni’s eyes burning on me. My breathing hitched as Jordan’s lips found the sweet spot on my neck. “J-Jordan,” I stammered. I was absolute putty in his hands.

Evgeni cleared his throat. Breaking the spell.

I dared not think what would have happened next.

“Geno, hey what’s up,” Jordan said nonchalantly, as if nothing happened. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Evgeni grumbled.

“Ha, well, see you out there,” Jordan walked out of the kitchen.

“You can’t because of Jordan?” Evgeni asked. The jealousy evident in his voice.

“I told you why I can’t,” I uttered as I walked out of the kitchen, “Green doesn’t suit you, Zhenechka,” I said, mocking Oksana’s Moscow accent.



The whole group, more like the Pittsburgh Penguins roster, was piled into the living room, where Jordan had magically procured a video of me dancing at the graduation recital. I had the highest marks in the entire class so I was able to do a solo of my choice. I remember it so clearly.

The 'Dying Swan.' It was a role that asked so much of the dancer. The endless pas de bourée suivi and the port de bras. It was such a highly technical dance yet, the technique wasn't the focus. The technique is merely a vehicle to display the symbol of everlasting struggle and all things mortal. There is not only a demand on technique but on artistry. Every gesture, every movement must signify a different experience, a new emotion, which stems from someone trying to escape death. It is not only a dance of the limbs but of the whole being. It truly touches your soul. The choreography told the story of a dying swan, who is struggling to take it's last flight.

I remember my teachers remarking how it was too sad a number for such a joyous occasion, but I needed for that to be my last piece as a student. I needed to prove everyone, who said I couldn't make it, wrong and to prove the Bolshoi that they were right in choosing me.

The video had just finished playing my solo when...

“What did you talk to that slut about!” Oksana demanded, her face red with anger.

“What does it matter? Do you not trust me?” Evgeni trying to pacify her.

“Don’t try and get out of this! Are you cheating on me with that- that skinny, flat-chested whore!” Oksana screamed in English.

There was this silence, like everything was going in slow motion. Jordan’s arm wrapped around my waist, drawing me closer to him as if he was making sure that I was still there.

“Oksanochka,” Evgeni soothed in Russian, “Don’t be irrational.”

“Oh so I’m Oksanochka now? In the kitchen, I was just poor, little Ksenya. Am I being irrational? Am I?” She was seething.

“Oksanochka, you’re making a scene.” Gone was all sympathy and compassion. Evgeni had a steel-eyed look in his eyes. “Let's go.” He grabbed her arm. He turned to us with sympathetic eyes, “I'm sorry for Oksana. She's had too much to drink.” With that, he half-dragged Oksana out of the apartment.

“That effectively ruined the rest of the evening,” Tyler said flatly. “I guess I should be heading out, too.”

“Yeah see you at practice tomorrow,” Jordan walked everyone out of the apartment.

Before leaving, Max winked, “Happy birthday Sveta, and I happen to think you're not at all flat-chested. In fact, you have a great rack-”

“Okay, goodnight Max,” Jordan interrupted, shutting the door. “Finally, they're all gone,” he sighed.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling, “For everything.”



“What were you and Evgeni talking about in the kitchen?” Jordan asked as we both laid in bed.

“The past.”

“Oh,” Jordan's mouth making a large 'o' shape. “Sveta?”

“Mmm,”

“We're exclusive, right? We're not yet boyfriend-girlfriend but we're exclusive.”

I turned onto my side to look at him, “Of course, we are. I want to be your girlfriend.” Your girl. Three months ago, I didn't think I'd be anyone else's girl but Evgeni's. Yet, here I am. Wanting, wishing to be Jordan's girl.