Page 35 of The Failed Audition

So I didn’t watch him perform exactly, but still…small world, as Timo said. I guess the industry is tiny.

He swishes his drink, in contemplation maybe. “You’re one of many, myshka. I hear that same story countless times. Girls say how they wanted to be ballerinas after seeing Swan Lake in Moscow, boys dying to win gold medals in hockey after watching a game up close.”

One in a million.I know I’m part of the many. It’s a thought I’ve been given by too many people. “Are your reasons for being an acrobat unique?” I ask.

Surprisingly, he shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

He spins to me now, his features harsh, his glare still daggering his eyes. It would be harder to meet if I wasn’t so curious. “I was born into this,” he explains. “I’m a fourth generation acrobat. It’s more common than you might think.”

I believe him.

Then he briefly drops his gaze, trying to hide his incensed emotions maybe, or at least trying not to direct his aggravation my way. He rests his elbow on the bar, fixating on the crowd, his fingers tightened around his glass.

I hesitate. “You’re angry.” He doesn’t answer. So I add, “You think I’m stupid for being here.” To try again so soon.

He takes a sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I think you’re brave,” he tells me. “But there’s a greater chance this city will strip whatever innocence you have left before you succeed, Thora.” He tilts his head at me. “And there’s a good chance you’ll fail. I have trouble imagining a girl like you on the brink of misery in a city that doesn’t want her. So yes, I’mangry.But not at you.”

My stomach roils. These truths are hard to hear, I’ll admit that.But I can’t leave.I lick my lips, tasting the tequila. “I can’t leave,” I say aloud, resolute on this decision. “I’m not turning back now. I’ll spend years regretting it.” I’ll go home empty-handed. With nothing but a big mistake on my chest, worn like a badge of shame.

He finishes off his second drink and slides it on the bar. “I used to be like you.”

“Brave?” I wonder.

“Idealistic.”

“What happened?” I ask, my drink cold in my hand.

“I grew up,” he tells me, a swift kick. “I have more responsibilities. There are people I can’t afford to leave behind.”

“Hey, Thora!” Camila calls out, stealing my attention. She slips to my side of the bar, but her presence only builds a strain between Nikolai and me. Like last week, her green glow necklace rests on her brown curls. Her gaze floats to the Russian guy. “Hey, sexy, don’t you have a bet to get to?”

“I’m taking a break.” And then he rests his palm on the small of my back. I cage a breath the longer he touches me out of the blue. “Thora has been telling me about her new job.” Each word sounds like liquid sex all of a sudden. He can layer on the smooth charm too well.

Camila’s lips rise, coated in purple lipstick. “Oh yeah, she’s a vixen at Phantom now.” The bride-to-be waves Camila down at the other side of the bar. She sighs heavily and focuses on me. “I need to talk to you about something important. So don’t move.” Her voice pitches a bit, and worry infiltrates my frozen state of being.

“I thought we were just celebrating my first week here.”

“That too,” she calls out as she darts away.

Nikolai studies her, way more attentive than me. His hand ascends to my shoulder, and he squeezes once, almost in comfort. “How long have you known her for?”

I shrug. “Just the week.”

“I don’t think she invited you here to celebrate.”

She does seem nervous. So Camila might’ve asked me here for another reason. That doesn’t mean it has to be a bad reason, right? I find myself chugging my drink distractedly, and I cough into my hand at the sharpness. As I go to take another sip to clear my throat, a very senseless act, Nikolai covers my glass with his hand.

Then he flags down a bartender as easily as he did the first two times. “I need a water.”

She’s quick to fill another glass, even plopping in a lemon. When she disappears, he passes it to me. I gratefully switch drinks, opting for the nonalcoholic one.

To lessen the tension, I change to a lighter topic. “Tattoo anyone special?”

“Everyone is special,” he says. I try to catch his sarcasm, but it’s hidden in his deep voice. I wonder if he’s still imagining me being sucked in Vegas’ black hole of sins and broken dreams.

“Anyone memorable then?” I wonder.

---