“Ah yes.” Nana looked Win up and down. “I approve,” she said finally. “I approve of your looks, I mean. I certainly hope there is more to you than your pretty face. This”—she nodded toward me—“this one is a very good girl, and she deserves more than a pretty face.”
“I agree,” Win said. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Is that what you’re wearing to the wedding?” Nana asked me.
I nodded. I had on a dark gray suit, which had been my mother’s. Win had brought me a white orchid, and I had pinned it to my lapel.
“It’s a bit severe, but the cut flatters your figure. You look lovely, Anyaschka. I like the flower.”
“Win gave it to me.”
“Hmmph,” she said. “OMG, the young man has taste.” She turned her attention to Win. “Do you know what OMG stands for, young man?”
Win shook his head.
Nana looked at me. “Do you?”
Scarlet’s word. “Amazing or something,” I replied. “I always meant to ask you.”
“Oh my God,” Nana said. “Life used to move much more quickly when I was a girl. We needed to abbreviate just to keep up.”
“OMG,” Win said.
“Would you believe that I looked like Anya once upon a time?”
“Yes,” Win said. “I can see that.”
“She was prettier,” I said.
Nana told him to come closer, and Win obeyed. She whispered something in his ear, and Win nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”
“Have a good time, Anyaschka. Dance with your pretty boyfriend for me, and give everyone my best.”
I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. She grabbed my hand and said, “You have been a wonderful granddaughter. An honor to your parents. God sees everything, my darling. Even and maybe especially what the world does not. I wish that I could have been stronger for you. Always remember that you are powerful beyond measure. This power is your birthright. Your only birthright! Do you understand? I need to know that you understand!”
Her eyes were teary, so I told her that I did understand though, in point of fact, I didn’t. Her speech seemed rambling and incoherent, and I assumed she was beginning another one of her less lucid periods. I didn’t want her to slap me in front of Win and Imogen. “I love you, Nana,” I said.
“I love you, too,” she said, and then she started to cough. The coughs seemed more violent than usual, almost as if she were choking. “Go!” she managed to yell.
Imogen massaged my grandmother’s chest with her palm, and Nana’s coughing subsided somewhat.
I asked Imogen if she needed my help.
“We’re fine, Annie. Her lungs have been bothering her from the cold. It’s very ordinary for someone in your grandmother’s condition.” Imogen continued to work on Nana’s chest.
“Get out of here!” Nana yelled between coughs.
I grabbed Win’s hand and we left.
I whispered to him, “I’m sorry. Sometimes she gets confused.”
Win said he understood and that there was no need to apologize. “She’s old.”
I nodded. “It’s hard to imagine ever being that age.”
Win asked what year she was born, and I told him 1995, that she’d be eighty-eight that spring. “Before the turn of the century,” Win said. “Not many people that age left.”
I thought of Nana as a little girl and as a teenager and as a young woman. I wondered what type of clothes she wore, what books she read, what boys she liked. I doubt she thought she’d outlive her only biological son, that someday she’d be an old woman in a bed—powerless and confused and a little grotesque. “I don’t ever want to be that old,” I said.
“Yes,” Win agreed. “Let’s stay young forever. Young, stupid, and pretty. Sounds like a plan, don’t you think?”
The wedding was elaborate as was typical of my family. Golden table linens, a band, and someone had even managed to obtain (read: bribe someone for) additional flower and meat vouchers for the occasion. The bride’s dress was too big through the waist, but her veil was intricately embroidered and even looked new. Her name was Sophia Bitter, and I knew nothing about her. In terms of looks, it’s mean to say, but she was remarkable only in her plainness. She had limp brown hair, a long horsey nose, and she couldn’t have been much older than me. When she said “I do,” it was with an accent of some kind. Her mother and sisters wept for the entire length of the ceremony.
Natty was seated at the kids’ table among our cousins. Leo was placed with several of his colleagues from the Pool and their wives and girlfriends. Win and I were at a table of loose ends—not a family table, not children, just people who didn’t fit in anywhere else.
Win went to get drinks, and since my shoes were my mother’s and thus a size and a half too tight for my freakish size ten feet, I decided to stay behind. A man across the table from me waved, and I waved back, though I wasn’t sure who he was. He was Asian and in his twenties. He was probably a member of another chocolate family.
He walked around the table and sat next to me. He was very handsome, with longish black hair that kept falling into his eyes. He spoke English with a bit of a British accent though he wasn’t British. “You don’t remember me, do you? I met you and your sister when you were children. Your father had a meeting with my father at our country house in Kyoto. I showed you our gardens. You liked my cat.”
“Snowball,” I said. “And you are Yuji Ono. Of course I remember you.” Yuji shook my hand. He was missing the pinkie on his right hand, but the rest of his fingers were long and extremely cold. “Your hands are like ice.”
“You know what they say. Cold hands. Warm heart,” Yuji said. “Or is it the reverse?”
The summer before I turned nine, the summer before Daddy died, he had taken us with him on business to Japan. (This was before international travel had become so difficult because of both cost and worries about disease.) Daddy very much believed in the benefits of travel for young people, and he also hadn’t wanted to leave us alone after my mother’s murder. One of the people we visited was Yuji Ono’s father, who was the head of the Ono Sweets Company and the most powerful chocolate dealer in Asia. Incidentally, I had had a huge crush on Yuji Ono though he was seven years older than me. Fifteen at the time; now, I suppose, twenty-three.
“How is your father?” I asked.
“He passed away.” Yuji lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.”
“Yes. It was very tragic, though he wasn’t murdered like yours. Brain cancer,” Yuji said. “It seems you don’t follow these things, Anya, so I’ll tell you. I am the head of Ono Sweets now.”
“Congratulations,” I said, though I wasn’t at all sure if this was the right thing to say.
“Yes, it was much for me to learn in a very short time. But I was luckier than you. My father was still alive to teach me.” Yuji smiled at me. He had a sweet smile. There was the slightest gap between his front two teeth, and it made him look more boyish than he was.
“You came a long way for a Balanchine family wedding,” I observed.
“I had other business, and I am a friend of the bride as well,” he said, and then he changed the subject. “Dance with me, Anya.”
I looked over to the drinks line—Win was about halfway through. “I’m here with someone,” I said.
Yuji laughed. “No, I didn’t mean that way. I’m practically married myself, and you’re far too young for me. Forgive me, but I still see you as the little girl you were, and I feel almost paternal toward you, I suppose. I think my father would want me to dance with you. Your boyfriend can’t possibly object to old friends like me.” He offered me his hand, and I took it.
The band was playing a slow number. Though I didn’t feel in the least romantic toward him, dancing with Yuji was no hardship either. He was a good dancer and I told him so. He said that his father had made him take lessons when he was a kid. “When I was a child, it seemed an incredible waste of time,” he said, ?
??but now I’m glad for the skill.”
“You mean because women like it?” I asked.
A tap on my shoulder. I expected Win, but it was my cousin Jacks. “Do you mind if I cut in?” he asked Yuji.
“It’s up to Anya,” Yuji replied.
Jacks was flushed and his eyes were overly bright. I very much hoped he wasn’t drunk. Still, I decided to consent because it seemed that if I didn’t my cousin would make a scene. “Yes, it’s fine,” I said.
Jacks took my hand, and Yuji left. His palm was damp and a bit greasy even. “Do you know who you were dancing with?” Jacks asked me.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Yuji Ono. I’ve known him for years.”
“Well, then, do you know what they’re saying about him?” Jacks asked me.
I shrugged.
“There are people who think he’s the one who orchestrated the contamination of the Balanchine chocolate supply.”
I considered this. “What would be his interest in doing that?”
Jacks rolled his eyes. “You’re a smart girl, Anya. Figure it out.”
“You were so keen to cut in on me. Why don’t you just tell me yourself?”
“The Kid—that’s what they call Yuji Ono, Junior, to distinguish him from Yuji Ono, Senior—the Kid’s eager to prove himself. Everyone thinks the Balanchine organization is weak. What better way for the Kid to make his mark than by destroying the Balanchine business in North America?”
I nodded. “If people think that, why’s he at the wedding then?”
“He says he didn’t have anything to do with the contamination, of course. His presence is a gesture meant to show that we believe that, too. I’ve got to tell you, Anya. It doesn’t exactly look good for you to be dancing with him, though.”
First, I laughed because I wanted him to know that his opinion didn’t matter to me. Then I asked him, “Why?”
“People will think you’ve made some sort of alliance with him.”
“Who are these people, Jacks? The same people who rose to my defense when I was hauled into prison a few short months ago? Tell these people that Yuji Ono has been my friend for years and I’ll dance with who I like.”
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Jacks said. “Everyone was watching you. You might think that you’re unimportant but you’re still Leonyd Balanchine’s oldest child and you mean something to these people.”
“That is unbelievably rude! What about my brother, Leo? Doesn’t he count? You’re the one who’s always telling me not to underestimate him.”
“I’m sorry, Anya. I didn’t mean it that way. I—”
At that point, another tap on my shoulder: this time, Win wanting to cut in, thank God.
I shrugged Jacks off and gladly moved over to Win. The other song had ended, and a slower one had begun. I hadn’t even noticed because I’d been distracted by my argument with Jacks.
“I didn’t think you liked to dance,” Win said.
“I don’t.” I was annoyed over Jacks’s comments and I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
“You’re very popular,” Win continued. “When you were dancing with that black-haired man, I wondered if I should be jealous.”
“I hate these people,” I said as I buried my head in Win’s chest. His coat smelled like cigarettes. Although Win didn’t smoke (no one really smoked anymore because of how much water it took to grow tobacco), the coat must have once belonged to someone who had. The scent made me a little sick but I still kind of liked it. “I hate being dragged into this. I wish I had never been born. Or that I had been born someone else entirely.”
“Don’t say that,” Win said. “I’m glad you were born.”
“And my shoes hurt,” I grumbled.
Win laughed gently. “Should I carry you?”
“No, just don’t make me dance anymore.” The song was over, so we went back to the table. Yuji Ono wasn’t there, and someone else occupied what I’d thought was his seat.
Because we could not make it back to the city by curfew, we had arranged to stay the night in Tarrytown in one of the carriage houses on the compound property. I bunked with Natty, and Win was meant to share a room with my brother. Leo went to hang out with Jacks and some of the other unmarried guys from the Pool, so I put Natty to bed, then went to keep Win company. Win was something of an insomniac so I knew he’d be awake. I was the opposite, by the way. I pretty much always fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. And, if I hadn’t felt bad for dragging Win to this awful wedding, I would have happily curled up next to Natty and gone right to sleep. The combination of the travel and my uncomfortable shoes had exhausted me.
It might seem silly but I made sure to wear my pajamas and a bathrobe I found hanging in the closet. Despite our multiple conversations about waiting, Win and I had had more than a few close calls. So, bathrobe and pajamas it was.
Win was lying on the bed, strumming an out-of-tune guitar he’d found on the premises. It was missing a string and there was a hole in the side. He smiled when he saw me in my getup. “You look cute,” he said. I sat in the only chair in the room. I curled my knees up to my chest and rested my head on them. I yawned. Win suggested I lie down on the bed, but I shook my head no. Win continued to strum the guitar, and the radiator came on. The heat made me even sleepier, but also, um, hot. I took off the bathrobe.
“This is ridiculous. Use the bed. I won’t try anything, I swear,” Win said. “I’ll wake you when Leo gets back.”
I nodded. I lay down on the other side of the bed, and I drifted off.
An hour or so later, I woke. Win was asleep with the guitar across his chest. I picked up the guitar and laid it down on the floor. And I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him.
He stirred, then woke, then kissed me back.
I wanted to feel my skin against his skin, so I reached my hands up under his T-shirt.
And before I knew it, my pajamas were off. This happened so quickly that in retrospect, it seemed silly that I had thought pajamas would be a significant barrier to anything. And I was asking him if he had something. Me, Anya Balanchine, mostly good Catholic girl. I could scarcely believe the words had come out of my mouth.
Yes, he said, he did. “But only if you’re sure, Annie?”
My body was, even if my mind wasn’t. “Yes,” I sputtered. “Yes, I am. Just put it on already.”
And then there was a scream in the other room. Natty was having another nightmare.
“I have to go,” I said, pulling myself off him.
Because there was no time, I left my pajamas on the floor and threw on the bathrobe.
As I walked to the other room, I felt hot and flushed and altogether ashamed that I had let it get so far. That scream had saved me, really.
Natty was already awake when I got there. Her face was pink and tearstained.
I took her in my arms. “What was it this time?” I asked.
“Nana,” Natty whispered. “I was in the apartment, and Nana was dead. Her face was gray like stone. And when I went to touch her, her fingers started to fall off, and then she was just sand.”
The content of this nightmare was not unique, and though a large part of my brain was busy thinking about what had almost happened with Win, I was still able to comfort Natty. “Nana will die someday, Natty,” I said. “We have to be prepared.”
“I know that!” Natty yelled. “But Nana dying was only the beginning. When I went into your room, you were lying on your bed, and your skin was gray like Nana’s. And then I went into Leo’s, and he was the same way. I was the only one left.” Natty began to weep.
“Leo and I aren’t going to die, Natty. Not anytime soon, at least. We’re young and healthy.”
“So were Daddy and Mommy,” Natty replied.
I pulled Natty even closer to me, and Win seemed miles away. “Our lives won’t be anything like theirs. You’ll see. Everything I do, every thought I have, is about protecting us, and especially you, from that sort of life.”
Natty nodded though her eyes seemed doubtful.
I tucked her into bed. As I was about to get in next to her, I remembered that I wasn’t wearing my pajamas. I would have to sleep in this moth-eaten flannel bathrobe. I hoped I wouldn’t get body lice or something awful. Then again, maybe that would be a good lesson about remembering to keep my pajamas on.
Uncharacteristically, I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay awake thinking about my sister, and whether I should arrange for her to talk to someone. And then I thought about what Win and I had been doing (or about to do) in the moments before Natty’s nightmare. Though I was basically a good Catholic, I didn’t consider myself a spiritual person. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if Natty’s scream had been a sign of some sort. God, or maybe my dead parents, telling me to stop. Or was this reading too much into things? Natty had nightmares regularly, after all, and they didn’t necessarily mean anything. And who is to say I wouldn’t have stopped things with Win myself? Win and I had been nearly as close before, and I had always put the brakes on without need of any higher intervention.
And yet the timing certainly gave me pause.
My skin was itchy from the bathrobe. For a while, I tried to ignore the itch, but then I couldn’t help it. I gave in. I scratched my calf until it bled.
I heard a gentle knock at the door: Win. He was carrying my pajamas, which he had folded up. Win was gentlemanly that way. Gable, for instance, would have thrown my discarded clothes at me in a rumpled ball.
So as not to wake Natty, I went out to the hallway. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry,” I added.
Win shook his head.
“No. I am sorry. I don’t want to keep doing this to you. I want …” It was embarrassing to say this next part out loud. “The thing is, my body and my mind don’t always agree on what to want.”
Win kissed my cheek. “Well, normally, that would be incredibly annoying, but luckily for you, I’m crazy about you.”
For now, I thought.
“What? You’re furrowing your little brow. What’re you thinking?”
“For now,” I said. “You’re crazy about me for now.”