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

“Okay so this year. We're doing something different this year with the Curtain Call. We're going to have two different Curtain Call numbers. A number for the girls and a number for the boys. Also, the entire Company will be involved and the featured dancers will have a more prominent role in the number. I will be choreographing the girls' routine and my friend Charlie will be choreographing the boys' routine. It's jazz so you will need jazz shoes,” Katie winked at me, “The girls routine is really sexy and has this Middle Eastern, belly dance feel to it. This is the song,” She pressed a button her remote and the pumping techno bass filled the room.



“Okay. Let's start,” Katie clapped her hands together. She started arranging us in cluster in the middle, posing us. I started in the back since I was so tall. She paced backwards, scrutinizing the shape, “Svetlana, come to the front and in the middle.”

I had to push past the girls to get to the front.

Katie started molding the girls around me. “Good. For two counts of eight you get to improv. Do what you want, just be sexy. On that last count, though, you have to be standing straight up and ready to go into the choreography. Svetlana, you're going to be front and center, basically leading the group. You need to really sell the routine and help the set the mood for the dance. Very sexy, very come hither. Okay?”

I merely nodded. I could hear snickering around me. It felt as if I was surrounded by nondescript whispering. I could hear snippets of rude. I was able to pick out whole phrases and sentences.

“I wonder why a sex god like Jordan Staal is doing with a prude,” A girl disparaged.

"She's always been such a frigid little girl," Another sneered.

Always been? I've only been here for three months. Not my entire life. My hands balled into fists as I tried to contain my anger. Telling her off doesn't make me a better dancer or her a worse one. I just need to show her. Prove her wrong.

“Okay from the top,” Katie played the song and clapped the beat. “One-and-two-and-three-and-four-”

Prove her wrong.

“Five-six-seven-eight.”

Prove her wrong.

“Good, good. Sexy not trashy, ladies. Keep it classy. I like the fire Svetlana.”

Prove her wrong.



“So you and Svetlana, shacking up,” He ribbed.

How did Eric even know about Svetlana?

“She must have not met me yet. After all, I am the better Staal,” Eric continued to badger.

“Dude, you have Tanya.”

“You know I'm just joking. I saw the cover. Mom sent me the magazine.”

Mom. Should've known. “What else did Mom tell you?”

“Nothing much. Other than that she moved in with you after three months. You got yourself a good one, here. She's really bendy. Seems like a nice girl-”

“She is a nice girl. Did you have any real reason why you called me today?”

“Nah, just wanted to bust your balls about the fact that you've only known her for three months and you don't really know who this girl is. Exactly how much do you know about this girl?”

“More than she'd ever tell you,” I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists, so hard that I left white half moons on skin.

“Relax. Just to let you know Marc, Jared and I have a pool going to see how long you guys will last. If you have any love for me as a brother, you'll end it in two months.”

“God, please don't tell me that's the longest one.”

“Jared was optimistic and said three months.”

Three months? “I'm going to prove you guys wrong. Svetlana and I have something special. You'll see.”

Prove them wrong.



“So I don't get it... What exactly is this Curtain Call number?” Jordan asked, his mouth full of the dinner we had just ordered in.

“It's the last piece in the Showcase. The whole company goes out there and does a number. This year though, it'll be split up into two numbers. One for girls and one for boys. It's important because it showcases PBT's best and brightest dancers. It should be a routine that sticks in the audience's mind and piques their interests into making a return trip to the Theatre. We were the dancers hand-picked to showcase what PBT has to offer. We were the gold standard, at least in Mr. Orr's eyes, and we have to dance like it.”

“So it's like the all-star game?”

I scrunched my nose as I thought, “Sort of. Except it would be like if the whole league got together and the best of each conference started and the other players only had one or two shifts.”

“Look at you, using hockey terms. You've been studying.”

“I watched Miracle, all three Mighty Ducks movies and Slapshot. Not sure if I should be proud of that,” I quipped.

“Definitely be proud. Pop quiz, how many periods in a regulation game?”

"I thought our 20 questions days were behind us," I was teasing, but Jordan had a serious look on his face. He had his game face on. “Three.”

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“How many game 7s have been through penalty shootout?”

“Trick question. There are no penalty shootouts in the playoffs.”

“Nice. How long are you in the box for a minor penalty?”

“Two minutes.”

“Major?”

“Five.”

“What's the crease?”

“It's the half-circle in front of the goalie's net. If a goal is scored with an offensive player in the crease, the goal does not count.”

“What does PPG stand for?”

“Power play goal,” I answered with confidence.

“What's icing?” Jordan asked, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms across his chest with a smug grin.

“Uh-um,” I stuttered as I could feel my cheeks burn to a red, “The stuff you put on cakes?” I offered.

“Close,” Jordan laughed, “It's when a player shoots the puck and crosses his red line and his opponent's red line without anyone touching it and without going through the crease,” He explained.

“Thank you, teacher,” I smirked.

“Sveta,” He was suddenly serious. “I'm leaving to play in Sweden in two weeks.”

“I know,” I nodded.

“I'm probably being really irrational but I'm worried about leaving you alone.”

“I'm not a child, Jordan. I can take of myself. If anything, I should worry about you. You're the one whose probably going to get body checked in the open ice. If you're worried, I can talk to Vero. I'm sure she doesn't like being all alone in that big house.”

“Body checked in the open ice? Where'd you learn that one from?”

“Oh your brother, Marc.”

“You talked to Marc?”

“Yeah. He called the apartment a few times and we talked. He seems nice.”

“What did he say?” Jordan said slowly, obviously curious and skeptical of his brother's intentions.

“Nothing,” I shook my head and smiled sweetly, “Pirate Jordan.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yeah. He emailed me the pictures. Pirate Jordan was fun but my personal favorite is Farmer Jordan.”

Jordan groaned.

"The beard was a nice touch. Very becoming."

"He must have shown you a cropped picture because-"

“No, I saw Marc-y Longstockings, too. Don't worry.”

“It's not fair. You have zero embarrassing pictures. I tried. I googled you and all that comes up are these photo shoots you've done and you performing or rehearsing. Not fair.”

“I told you I was boring. I don't even have a yearbook picture. At the Academy, we don't have yearbooks and we always had professional photographers come and take our headshots. We don't really have Halloween in Russia. It's more of a Western-thing.”

“You'd probably be a ballerina for Halloween.”

“I probably would. You would probably like me to be sexy hockey player or slutty nurse.”

“The shoulder pads would look really good on you. But I can think of something sexier.”

“What would be sexier than me in shoulder pads?”

“Exactly how you are right now,” He leaned over the table to close the space between our lips.