Page 34 of Sway

Iswear to God, the man outdid himself this time. He hired celebrity event designer Preston Bailey to coordinate his “Savoy Ballroom Bash.” Preston rented out the ballroom of the Beverly Hills L’Hermitage hotel and booked the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra for a night of 1920’s era swing jazz music. It’s off the scale, this shindig. Party of the century, if not the millennium.

We enter through an elegant lobby, crowned by a majestic crystal chandelier, and climb two flights of marble steps. With each step, the sounds of the orchestra grow louder, and then we arrive and the doors burst open. It’s even better than I imagined—the raised bandstand filled with gleaming instruments, the pulsating music, and the bubbly performers set against vibrant orange and blue decor. And the dance floor—God! I’ve never seen anything like it. Burnished maple, accented by a shiny brass rail tracing its perimeter. There are round tables and a soda fountain dispensing tall mugs of root-de-toot root beer and ginger ale for a nickel each. It’s gorgeous here. I think I’ve died and landed on the set of Harlem Nights. I love it.

Dolla takes the stage as me and my posse move through the crowd.

“Welcome, everybody, to the new Savoy Ballroom,” he says into a mic. “I have created this evening in appreciation for the jazz legends who inspired me: Louis Armstrong, Cab Calloway, Duke Ellington, Fess Williams, King Oliver, and Chick Webb. Ladies and gentlemen, the music never stops at the Savoy Ballroom.” He waves his arm broadly to the left. The spotlight follows, picking up Uther emerging from the wings.

Christ, can this night get any better?

On stage, R&B singer Uther, wearing a yellow zoot suit, belts out Cab Calloway’s song, “She’s Tall, She’s Tan, and She’s Terrific.” We walk up to the bar and I order a peach brandy and some fried chicken and barbequed spare ribs.

“Hey, Sal,” I hear Genya say.

I turn to face him. He is also costumed in head to toe 1920’s garb—and looking way sexy in the midnight blue double-breasted tuxedo. Diana jabs me in the ribs with her elbow, making me damn near spit peach brandy at him. My girl needs some serious lessons in subtlety.

“Hey, Dimka,” I say, stepping to the other side of him—away from Diana. “I’m sorry you got low scores tonight.”

He blows it off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t care about that stupid show, Sal. I won first season with that soap star. Winning sucks because you have to do all these lame interviews.” He orders some corn whiskey. “You wanna dance, Sal, for old time’s sake?”

Diana gives me a huge grin, mouths “he totally loves you,” and leads Jenny away from the bar. I scan the room. “What, and have your fiancée sneak up behind me and slash my Achilles tendons?”

“Iza’s not here.” He takes a deep breath and downs his whiskey. He licks a drop from his lips—the lips that kissed me just two weeks ago. “She had migraine so she stayed at home tonight.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, fine. I’ll be your second choice.” I hold up my plate. “But let me finish my food? I’m starving.”

Genya laughs.

I take a big ol’ bite of the chicken and a nibble of the sparerib and—oh shit. Gabriel just spotted me stuffing my face. I toss my plate behind a large plant and grab Genya’s hand. “No time like the present.”

Gabriel is still pushing through the crowd when Genya whisks me away to safety.

He leads me to the packed floor. Uther is singing Louis Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife.” I dig into my purse and pop a Mento into my mouth before tossing my bag onto a nearby table. Then I wrap myself in Genya’s arms. Ummmm. I can’t believe it’s been six years without these arms.

He squeezes me tight. “Do you remember time in Croatia at Junior Worlds when we ditched our sponsor and spent entire night playing quarters with that Icelandic guy Ingibjörg?”

“Totally. That was the first night I got wasted. And we still won the next day.” I rest my head on his shoulder.

His hands lower on my hips and he sways me into him. “Salomé. You’ve never been my second choice.” He pulls my chin up with his thumb and forces me to look at him. “You left me, remember?”

Oh, no, let’s not do this. . . It’s all I can do not to pull away and end the dance. I so don’t want to go there with him, not about this. Things were just getting good between us! I couldn’t say no to Ricardo and he knows it. Ricardo was the world professional Latin Champion, for Christ’s sake, and I was a lowly youth amateur champ—of course I said yes when he asked me to be his partner. Genya was the one who made it all or nothing. He could take an emotion to the moon and back in a heartbeat.

“You could’ve said no,” he says as if reading my mind. He spins me around to a drumroll. When I land back in his arms, he squeezes me even tighter. “See that? You can spin away, but always you end up in my arms.” He kisses my neck. Good gawd, does this man remember my buttons. “It feels so good to have you back in my arms,” he says into my ear. “I wonder where we’d be if we never broke up.”

We’d be married, with at least two kids. “Me, too,” I say. “But you’re happy with Iza?” I question. The saxophone kicks in, slowing the tempo even more. He twirls me around. “I mean, she’s so gorgeous.” And I bet she didn’t just down a thousand calories in two minutes flat.

“She’s not you. It’s not the same with her. I don’t think I realized it until our rumba the other night.” He cradles my face and looks into my eyes. “We can win again, Sal. Let’s beat Jared and Vika. I don’t ever want to dance with another woman again.” There he goes again, letting his emotions rocket to the moon—and taking me with him.

I’d forgotten how good that ride could feel.

I lean into Genya, my first and only love. He embraces me in his arms, and I remember who I was when I started to dance with him. We built our world together. And I tore it apart. And now I am back where I should be. In his embrace. Swaying to the music as if we have never been apart.