She cannot dance.
Why did she say she'd mentor me?
She has no formal dance training.
I wouldn't be surprised if she has no formal training at all.
Naya looked out the car window from the backseat to see the town sign pass them by. She read the words clearly, seeing Elsa glance back at her slyly through the reflection of the rearview mirror as she drove down the long, unwinding dirt road leading out of town. She knew something strange was going on—they seemed to be driving in circles for the past hour and there had been no visit to any seamstress anywhere in Jupiter. She finally opened her tight lips and said something.
"Where are you taking me?" Naya asked forcefully. "Stop this car!"
"Oh, Naya," Elsa began, "I just had a better idea, that's all."
"Better idea, my tail!" Naya snapped. "Let me out right here!"
"Not a smart move, leibchen," the German snickered.
"You are not smart for thinking I'm stupid!" Naya barked. "Let me out right here! Stop this car! Please!"
Elsa slammed on the brakes really hard; so hard that Naya bumped against the back of the driver's seat before undoing her seatbelt. She opened the side door and stepped out on the long dirt road, much to Elsa's shock, but she didn't get out of the car to even stop the young woman. Naya walked down the long road, the violent sun beaming down on her raven-clothed form with the wide-brimmed hat. As she walked, memories from the past once again visited her mind:
En Route to Poland
August 1942
Through a space between the wooden-planked walls of the crammed boxcar, Katyenka could see that the blackness of night had set in. The boxcar seemed to move slowly, and everyone, packed like meat in a burger patty, had tired knees and feet. The environment forced them to stand as they were being transported. That little crack near Katyenka's place of stance had been her only contact to the outside world.
"Lebedska," a soft, shrill voice said behind the young albiness—turning her head, it was her grandmother. Her face was weathered by age, but her warm brown eyes looked quite young. Her head was covered with an old, plain, worn headscarf tied at the chin.
"Babushka," the girl whined. "I'm so afraid."
"Me, too," the elderly woman replied.
Oksana, squeezed in right next to her unnaturally pale sister, looked at her with starry blue eyes sparkling with tears of worry. She definitely was devastated by the loss of their home and being captured, but the pain seemed to cut as deep into her heart as it did the others. Her rich auburn-brown hair, once in a neat, simple bun, was now disheveled from running and being packed into the boxcar with her fellow Soviets. She still was incredibly beautiful, and some in the boxcar had even gone on their tip-toes to see above the others for the chance to see her beauty even if it were only for three seconds. She had chiseled cheekbones cut like glass, flawless smooth skin, a perfectly-sized straight nose, and full lips with a natural pink color. Even her frame was a lot to admire; she had a very small waist and a generous bosom that was flattered by any of the three outfits she had owned at home. She had been captured while wearing her most comfortable, but ragged-up dresses that was brown and went below the knees. August had also made her underarms perspire enough to produce wet stains on her clothes.
As the wounded Soviet soldier groaned in the corner, struggling to remove a bullet from his abdomen in the intense crowding, Katyenka felt a hand reach to her—Oksana met her gaze with hers.
"No matter what happens," she had told her, "we will survive."
Naya had tears in her eyes from the memory that had played in her mind. My sister, she thought, so strong and beautiful. I had thought we would survive together. Not just me living life alone. She and I could have made it to Americatogether after the war. Her legs were fatigued from walking six miles back to the heart of town, and once she stopped into the diner and had a seat at the counter, no one budged from their seats. Everyone minded their own business. She could've sworn she was still crammed in that smelly, sweltering boxcar with the rest of the soon-to-be inmates; the pain in her knees was akin to the pain of that long trip to the dreadful concentration camp, forced to stand with body on top of body in the box car.
She suddenly sensed a presence sit next to her; she glanced over slowly to see an all-too-familiar man with black hair in a more mature hairstyle rather than the foolish curls she first had seen him with, an a suit composed of a red, white and blue pinstripe blazer with a pair of black slacks and fine leather dress shoes. His blue eyes first caught her gaze as the waitress was silently filling her coffee.
"Naya?" It was Dandy. "What a nice surprise to see you here."
Naya sipped her coffee silently, but he continued to speak to her kindly and charmingly.
"Did you finally need alone time from the troupe?"
"I will not go back," Naya stated—her response was chilling. Dandy looked at her strangely as he was given a menu from the same waitress.
"Why?"
"Stupid games," Naya said, staring down into her black coffee. "Dreams are just stupid games. They get you to hope, but they let you go just as quick."
"You should be attaining your dreams!" Dandy exclaimed excitedly. "You are an amazing dancer, Naya. Do you realize how much recognition you would get from dancing on the greatest stage of the world? Do you—"
"Elsa tricked me," Naya interrupted softly. "She drove me just out of town. She promised me a dressmaker here in town to make me costumes. Mister Spencer said he had connections with Hollywood. He took me for an eat outside yesterday."
"And what happened?" Dandy was pryingly curious as he sipped his orange juice.
"He wants to make me the next Anna Pavlova," Naya answered, sipping her bitter black coffee. "He wants to make my dream come true."
This is my chance, Dandy thought to himself as he gazed longingly at the beautiful albiness; her white fringe cut straight across as it covered her forehead, her violet eyes, the blind one twitching involuntarily, staring into space; her pitch black ensemble to ward off the sun and its dangerously bright rays; her icy white eyelashes that were full and uniquely lush; her slender figure accentuated by her clothing choice. He smiled and nodded.
"If you're not going back, I have a proposition for you," he said connivingly.
"Oh?" Naya looked at him and listened with open ears.
"You can come live with me at my house," he smiled. "You won't have to pay any rent or anything. You won't have to do any chores, because our maids will take care of it for you. You'll have your very own room. Anything your heart desires, I will give you. You deserve to be pampered. You deserve only the finest things."
"But what about—"
"Forget about your cares," Dandy insisted. "You will be given the life you want, not what someone thinks they can give you by living in a tent with just provisions." He took her pale hand into his—she looked down and could feel the surface of his palm was manly but soft. "Naya, you deserve the world. I would be honored to be the one to do that for you."
"Mother?" Dandy called out, Naya behind him as they entered his home. The young woman looked around to see a grand staircase spiraling up to the second floor. He approaching the landing and called up the stairs with his hand on the polished stone railing. "Mother! I have the most wonderful news!"
Gloria, dressed in a white and pink floral dress with rose-colored low pumps, a white sunhat, and white Belgian lace gloves came strolling in gracefully with her hands to her sides, looking at her well-dressed man-boy of a son approach her with such enthusiasm the floor nearly shook.
"What is it, dear?" she asked in her shrill, elderly voice. Dandy gestured out his hand to Naya, and Gloria gasped—I can't believe this, she thought.
"Mother," he began. "Naya has come to live with us!"
A/N:
Keri, here! I know, it's a short chapter this time, but things will be more intense before you know it. Thanks for all the reads, reviews, favorites and follows guys! It's appreciated! :3
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