Page 41 of The Failed Audition

But I guess when my world is in flux, I naturally gravitate towards someone who’s more stable.

And he’s that fortress again. Standing tall in a land of straw huts.

“This is it,” he tells me, stopping abruptly in front of Fellini’s. He pushes inside the upscale Italian restaurant that’s at least a mile from The Masquerade. People cram around the door, waiting to be seated. The dim lighting is going to make it hard to spot his sister.

His hand falls to my lower back again. “This way,” he says, guiding me past the hostess podium.

“What does she look like?” I ask him, inspecting the cloth tables and leather booths from afar, walking deeper into Fellini’s. Everyone wears formal outfits: suits and ties, cocktail dresses. Nikolai fits in with his black slacks and white button-down.

“Brunette, young…” he trails off. “There she is.” Relief fills his voice, and he zeroes in on a girl in a corner booth, a purple feather boa around her neck. Her straight brown hair is parted in the center, draping along her thin shoulders.

Glitter is splashed across her pale skin and chest, wearing a low-cut top.

She looks her age.

The extra mascara and red lipstick, applied with a heavy hand, makes it seem like she’s trying too hard to be older, like costume makeup. Pain twists my stomach.

Nikolai storms forward, his angry stride way too lengthy for my leg-span. I lose his pace the minute he detaches from me.

As soon as Katya notices her brother’s giant, consuming presence, her large, orb-like eyes widen even more. “Oh crap,” she says.

It’s like slow motion. I watch her turn, as if to shield her face with her wall of hair, and her elbow catches the half-filled martini glass. It splashes on the tablecloth and just barely misses the candle.

One of the three other girls giggles and rights the glass. “Party foul.”

Katya slumps further in the leather cushion, refusing to meet Nikolai’s eyes as he halts right beside her—with me in company. He doesn’t give the other girls a single glance. But I do.

They appear even older than me, maybe early thirties or late twenties. With curled hair and bandaged dresses. Katya, slender, lanky and flat-chested, is just a girl in comparison. I try to think positively. She probably knows the women from the circus. It could be worse, right? At least forty-year-old men didn’t accompany her to a late-night dinner.

Nikolai speaks in Russian, his tone rough and biting. I waver beside him, unsure of my place again. I’m certain it’s probably back in Cincinnati.

Silence lags in Nikolai’s speech.

“I’m not talking,” she hiccups, “…to you.” She hiccups again. “Unless you speak in…” She sips her water. “English.” Her eyelids droop, and she slips on some of her words. I wonder if “no Russian talk” is a tactic that Katya employs out of anger towards him. If so, it works. He’s most definitely frustrated by it, his nose flaring and forehead wrinkled.

“Stand up, Katya. We’re going home.”

“To…Russia,” she hiccups, her lids still heavy.

“You’ve never been to Russia, sono,” he says lowly. “Standup.”

The blonde says, “Don’t be a mood killer. Stay and have a drink with us.”

“Yeah,” another pipes in. “We have plenty of room for you and your friend.” They scoot closer together, smashed in the middle.

I’m no longer invisible. Katya finally looks over at me, as if I appeared out of thin air. Surprise breaches her face for a second, especially as she stares between me and her brother.

She suddenly rises from the table, too quickly, and falls back into the seat.

“Party foul,” the blonde laughs again.

I actually put my demonic-looking eyes to good use. Unfortunately, she never meets my glare.

Katya tries to stand again, and Nikolai reaches out and grabs underneath her arm, steadying her. “This is what happens,” Nikolai says, “when you decide to go on a Vegas adventure without one of us. At leasttext me, Katya. Stop screening my calls.”

She presses a hand to her ear. “You don’t…have to…scream.” Her hiccups infiltrated that statement, big time.

“I’m not even raising my voice. You’re drunk, Kat.” He shakes his head repeatedly, and I see the guilt and concern brim.

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