If Ever(41)

"Um, you bet," I answer, trying to find the right mix of willingness to cooperate and yet not wanting to over engage. We take our place in the center of the room facing the wall of mirrors.

"The rumba is the slowest of the Latin dances, which lends it to also being the most erotic." He takes me in his arms, closer than seems necessary. "The core of the dance is a basic box step."

He guides me into the steps, which really are rather simple. We go over it a few times.

"But what makes the rumba different is the quick, quick, slow pattern." His arm on my lower back tightens so that our bodies are pressed together as he leads me into the moves.

Maybe if I imagine I'm in Tom's arms this won't be so uncomfortable, but Ivan's pungent cologne makes that impossible.

"Very nice. You catch on quickly. Now you add hip movement," he says in a low whispery voice, his cigarette breath in my face. "You see, it's like sexual foreplay, building and teasing in a constant movement of seduction." With his hooded eyes on mine, he grinds his hips against me.

I push against his arms, forcing him to release me, and step away.

"Ah, what is this? You are shy?" He says, feigning surprise.

I notice the camera guy focusing on me. I want to tell Ivan to take his trumped up Latin accent and rumba his pretentious ass outta there, but instead say, "Nope. Just need a little space."

Ivan chuckles. "Such an innocent you are, jumpy as a young colt. But I will change all that. Mark my word. By Monday night, you will be an alluring seductress with every man in the audience wanting you."

What I want is to vomit.

By the end of the day I'm so disgusted I flee the building and rush home to shower off his odorous stench.

My first impulse is to call Tom, but he already warned me he couldn't talk tonight. He's doing some sort of workshop for another show, which makes no sense since he's in a hit show, but on top of it he has a two-show day, and then the workshop and a show tomorrow too. With him unavailable I call my best friend.

"Oh my God, Anna. Ivan is a total piece of work!"

"He does come off as pretty confident on the show."

I check the cupboard for a bottle of wine, but I have none. "It's more like egotistical, puffed-up, grade-A asshole." I slam the door shut and settle on a lemonade.

"He can't be that bad."

"And he's the handsy-ist guy I've ever encountered." I shudder in revulsion. It's not just how often he touches me, but how he does it. If a guy touched me that way at a bar, I'd throw a drink at him.

"He's probably trying to get a rise out of you. You'll have to fight fire with fire."

"And how do I do that?"

"You could play along and meet him grope for grope."

"Yuck."

"Or you could work a little passive-aggressive magic on him?"

Now she has my attention. "Go on."

"You're so dedicated. Have you ever watched his partner Haley? She totally runs the show with him. Take a page from her book. Show up late. Take your time. Don't be so willing to get to work. Keep your phone on and I'll text and call you every ten minutes. It'll throw him off his game."

"You think Haley has been acting that way on purpose? I thought she was just flighty."

"Okay, maybe she is, but she's also a model. She deals with jerks like him ten times a day. I doubt she's a total airhead."

I think of how she saunters around with her nose in the air avoiding rehearsal. I figured she didn't care? But I can see how it could be a defense mechanism.

"I can do that."

The next day I saunter into rehearsal at eleven o'clock.

"There you are. I was afraid you forgot about me," Ivan says pursing his lips in a pout.

My stomach churns, but I gush, "I am so sorry. I overslept and that never happens." I take my time setting down my bag and organizing my things. When I can't stall any longer, I join him in the center of the room. He opens his arms as if I'd step right in for his groping session. At the last second I turn back, leaving him with only air, and dig out my phone to send Anna a quick text.

Satisfied, I finally return and stop two feet away and face the mirror.

"I'm over here, kitten," he purrs.

"Of course." I turn and he steps closer.

"Let's see if you remember the routine after lazing about in bed all morning." He holds out his arms and I take his hand, his arm clamping tight at my waist. I fight the urge to stiffen and instead smile amiably.

We work through the steps and I'm amazed at how well I remember it as Ivan's teaching technique is so different from Dominic's.

"Excellent my brilliant little protégé. Today I will school you on passion, allure, the je ne sais quoi. The audience must see your desire, feel our heat. It will be as if we're making love." He speaks in what I assume is his bedroom voice, husky and over pronouncing each word while his hand caresses my upper ass.

I choke back my revulsion.

"Look deep into my eyes and feel my desire."

Focusing on him is near impossible.

"Relax your body. Come closer."

I lean in, and maybe it was his cloying cologne, or maybe it was a self-defense mechanism against his smarminess, but out of nowhere I let out a huge, juicy, "Achoo!"