The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,53

Base and DJ E-Z Rock’s “Joy and Pain.” But let’s begin with a warmup. It’s old school to get you in the mood.”

I signaled the sound guy. He flipped on the strobe lights then started playing Cameo’s “Word Up.” I loved that song. Reminded me of high school jazz class, since my instructor had been stuck in the eighties.

I skipped to the front of the room and led everyone in a dance isolation routine. “Roll your hips to the right, now to the left, now circles.” The lights were kicking on and off, and Bret kept making goofy faces into the mirror as he tried to keep up with me. Hip-hop wasn’t his thing but he was doing a pretty good job.

“That’s it, Bret! Bend your knees. Good!” He ignored me, but Vika was actually following her steps and not giving me any attitude. And I hated to admit it, but she looked super cute in her low-rise pink hip-hop pants and matching bra tank top, which her breasts filled out perfectly.

Two hours into the actual choreography, Dima strolled in like he was in no rush, and the DJ cut the sound. Dima would get away with it, though. None of us were stupid enough to question him.

“Dude, where’ve you been?” Bret asked.

Well, almost none of us.

“None of your business,” Dima barked. “I’m here now.”

“Hell yeah, it’s my business.” Bret got right up in his face, sweating and huffing from the routine. “We’ve all been here for two whole hours, and now we’re gonna have to be here even longer to catch your ass up.”

Dima pushed Bret’s shoulder.

Dima must’ve had a death wish.

The other dancers froze in position as stocky six-feet, two-hundred-thirty-pound Bret looked at a gangly six-feet-two-inch and a buck-sixty Dima.

I cringed—this wasn’t gonna be good.

Bret narrowed his eyes, and his voice deepened. “Back up, Dima. You don’t want to fight me.”

“Don’t tell to me what to do!” Dima cursed in Russian and flew at Bret.

But Bret threw Dima down and had him in a headlock faster than I could say cha-cha. Dima’s scrawny legs were kicking in the air like a psycho Popeye cartoon. It would almost be funny if I wasn’t sure Dima was about to die.

“You motherfucker. You fucking raped her!”

Oh my God!

“Dimichka! Dimichka!” Vika screamed. “Somebody do something!”

Eric, Ricardo, and Jared were on it. They dove in and yanked Dima and Bret apart, successfully ending the combat. Then, after only a second of peace, Dima sucker-punched Bret.

Bret roundhouse kicked him in the face, and blood gushed from Dima’s nose.

The referees broke it up again. Like two snarling dogs, Dima and Bret had to be pulled to opposite sides of the room.

This was crazy. And it was all my fault.

Bret

I always loved the drive to Bolinas. It was windy and beautiful—the perfect escape from Hollywood and Selena.

The producers had the idea of filming my practice session with Robyn on the beach, which was fine by me. Bolinas was a great town. Selena used to want to own a little cottage on the beach here and spend her days playing with our kids in the sand. An ideal artist community, Bolinas was the home to surfers, poets, writers, artists, and recluses.

In order to keep their little slice of paradise hidden, the locals always destroyed any signs that identified the town. Robyn and I made the journey without needing a map, but I was delighted when we lost the filming crew behind us. I figured they would head farther down Highway One before they realized they’d missed the unmarked turn.

Robyn pointed ahead. “Could you stop here?”

I pulled in front of the Coast Café. We ran inside and ordered two coffees. I loved the surfboards that were hanging from the ceiling.

Robyn seemed mesmerized by the quaint town. We looked at the locals down below on the courtyard from the café’s sunny deck.

I took a sip of my coffee. “I feel like I’m back in the seventies.”

“Yeah, isn’t it awesome?” Robyn blended into the local scene.

My mind drifted to Selena. We had spent our last weekend together here before the cheating story leaked. Selena had even mentioned that she wanted to get married on the beach.

Robyn put her hand on my shoulder. “I can see you’re struggling with something.”

“There’s nothing to say. Selena and I gave our relationship another try, and it didn’t work out. End of story.”

“This isn’t about that, is it? This is about her cheating. I read the article.”

I grimaced.

“Look, Bret. Selena was young. I’m not saying