Dirty Desires: Interracial Russian Mafia Romance

Letting out a long breath, I moved O’s shoes to the side and grabbed mine. I had prepped five pairs before this season. Most ballerinas prepared around twenty. A pair of shoes could be worn out after one ballet event. A single performance was the equivalent of running eighteen miles.

Therefore, a prima ballerina required multiple pairs. I hadn’t needed so much due to my lack of appearing, but now I had to get more.

I made a mental note to fit shoe shopping into my newly hectic schedule.

On my off day, I would have to break new shoes in. New pointes were like new baseball mitts or a pair of cleats, they had to be broken in to reach a perfect state.

Everyone had their own way of breaking them. My methods included banging them against a wall, squashing them in a door, and then shaving some of the leather sole with a razor.

Misha will have a ball watching that.

After the prepping, I did what only other ballerinas of color did, I pancaked them. Theater companies wanted the shoes to be as uniform as possible on the stage. Additionally, ballerina shoes were meant to match the skin tone, to give a sense that the dancers were floating on their actual toes.

Artistic directors requested it.

Masters of ballets demanded it.

With the shoes typically being pale pink, cream, or nude, ballerinas of color painted our shoes to match our skin tone.

Pancaking involved applying foundation or powder to the shoes. My Chinese friend Ying would use pink calamine lotion.

Many complained, but it wasn’t too exhausting. I would get a bowl, foundation matching my skin, a few makeup sponges, some paper towels, and my new pointe shoes. The next step was the most important. I turned on some Netflix and found a tv season to binge—usually comedy. I held the shoes from the inside. And then it was dip and blot. Dip and blot. Long and light sweeping strokes. Then, dip and blot. Dip and blot. It took a few episodes to work my way around the shoe, making sure I got all the creases and wrinkles.

We had to color the ribbons too, lying each ribbon flat over our open palms and using the same long and light sweeping motions. By the end of a tv’s season, I would hang the shoes by their heels to dry in my bathroom.

It took a good hour for them to be fully complete.

But I wouldn’t be done yet. Touch ups always needed to be made.

Misha will be bored out of his mind. Maybe I should do all of the prepping and pancaking, when he’s not there. Dang it. How will I fit all of this into my two free days?

I took my practice pointes out, zipped up the bag, and began stretching.

Several guys came onto the stage. I knew a few of their names, but overall none of them ever talked to me. I assumed many didn’t think I spoke Russian. I barely talked during practices or performances.

I thought back to what grandma had asked me long ago, after my first year of ballet classes in New York.

“Why do they give those boys such tight pants?” Grandma had shook her head. “You can see all their stuff.”

“I think it’s to show the movement of their legs better.”

“Those white people just want to look at those little boys thing-things.”

I giggled.

Grandma grinned. “What do they call them anyway, baby?”

“What do you mean, grandma?”

“They can’t be ballerinas. They’re boys.”

“Oh.” I’d nodded. “They’re danseurs.”

Grandma fluttered her eyelashes and did a dramatic shake of her hair. “Danseurs. My baby is so smart. Go on, girl.”

I smiled at the memory.

Several years later, and now I held the principal role in a famous ballet. Who knew how long I would keep it? It had taken me a long time, but I finally received my blessings.

Thank you, God. I swear I won’t mess this up.

This rehearsal wouldn’t be longer than an hour and a half. It would just be warm-ups and refining any techniques that the artistic director believed we needed to work on from last night’s performance. Overall, the point would be to not tire our bodies out, before the performance later tonight.

A ballerina’s time was never hers.

Off season, my weeks would be filled with daily ballet technique classes and rehearsals for upcoming programs. A typical day began early in the morning with an hour and half of warm up. Next, class came and lasted for six hours. Sometimes we got two days off, but most of the time it was one day. For me, that free day was usually packed with grocery shopping, laundry, and Netflix binge watching.

With Misha now in my life, I’ll have to make more time for him.

“This is only temporary,” a female said behind me.

I turned around.

Eisenia stood with two other ballerinas. I never knew their names. O nicknamed them Thing One and Thing Two. They didn’t speak much and mainly followed Eisenia around like her servants.