Chapter Text
They'd met at the Magnitogorskiy opera and ballet theatre in the Chelyabinsk oblast, nestled in the Uralskiye gory. She was on stage; he was sat in the private box of the man Sentsov.
"She is very beautiful, no?"
Alexei leaned forwards. The prima ballerina playing the Swan Princess stood out amongst the others, with her bright red hair pulled back into a knot, her pale skin, her long elegant limbs. "She seems quite talented," he allowed.
Sentsov chuckled. "No need to be a prude, Lyosha. She is one of our finest girls."
The third act finished, and Alexei rose to his feet and applauded with the rest of the audience. Sentsov beckoned to him.
"Come. We will go see her."
"I couldn't possibly..."
"Ah, you must! Follow me," said Sentsov. Alexei, having no better options, did.
He had accepted Sentsov's invitation to the Magnitogorsk Theatre for two reasons: firstly, the excursion would serve him well to bolster his reputation, and secondly, declining an invitation from such a reputable and lauded nomenklatura would be inane. Alexei was no fool, nor was he suicidal. And so he had scraped together the last of his roubles—farewell to all that time spent waiting in line for a car!—and dusted off his old uniform and medals. It had occurred to him, while bent over attempting to shine his shoes with a dish rag and a bit of grease from the stove, that perhaps arriving decked out in his best finery would present a bad image. But it wasn't as though he had anything else suitable to wear.
Sentsov had graciously not commented on the patches he'd missed while shaving, or the slightly threadbare look around the shoulders, or the fact that his hat had evidently seen better days. Instead, the man had gestured to the car behind him, sleek and expensive, something only the highest Party members would be able to obtain. "Get in, please," Sentsov had said; it had been not a request but an order.
The dancers backstage were fluttering around in varying states of disarray, feathers and tulle and powders everywhere. Their whispered chattering ceased once they noticed Sentsov.
Alexei followed along in Sentsov's wake until the two of them reached the table where the prima ballerina was sat, studiously unpinning her hair from its neat bun. She caught sight of Sentsov's reflection in the mirror, and tilted her head back to look up at him.
"Gospodin Sentsov," she said, smiling. Her voice was low, almost husky. She spoke with a strong moskvich accent. "A pleasant surprise."
Alexei didn't buy it, but Sentsov appeared charmed. "Ah, Natalyushka," he said jovially, "I have brought someone, to meet you."
Natalia glanced towards Alexei. "Hello," she said in her low voice. "My name is Natalia Romanova, and you must be...?"
"Alexei Shostakov, gospozha."
She laughed. "None of that, sir! I may no longer be a child, but that does not make me a starushka."
"Natashka, I will leave you," said Sentsov. He cast a stern glance at Alexei. "Watch over her while I attend to other business, Shostakov."
"Of course," Alexei said, dipping his head.
Natalia turned back to him once Sentsov had gone, her eyes twinkling. "Well? How did you enjoy the show?"
"It was beautiful," he said truthfully. "I wish I'd thought to bring a rose for you, but unfortunately they are in short supply."
"I could never forgive you," said Natalia, pressing her hand to her chest. "You didn't think to wait in line for three years, just to bring me a rose? On the day of the grandest performance Magnitogorsk has ever seen? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir."
"Please, just Alexei."
"Only if you call me Natalia."
He nodded. "Natalia, then. It was a splendid performance, honestly. I'm blown away by your talent, your ability."
"Oh?" She smiled. "You enjoy watching young girls showing off their flexibility, Alexei?"
He flushed. "You're not so young," he said, "are you?"
"I'm eighteen. Well, and how old are you, then?"
"Twenty-nine."
Natalia raised her eyebrows. "Such experience! I'm sure that you must have already seen a thousand performances of Lebedinoye ozero before."
"None so beautiful."
Her expression turned shrewd. "To think what my father and sisters would say, if they heard that a poor little girl from outside Moskva would be fending off flattery from one of the Politburo's revered officers of the State!"
"My family was not exactly wealthy," Alexei said dryly. "At the least, no more than yours, Natalia Romanova."
"I do miss them," she admitted.
That was dangerous. "I can't imagine the life of a ballerina leaves much time to visit family."
Natalia shook her head. "No. No, it does not. I've been training for nearly fifteen years for this performance, did you know that? The performance was to be recorded, so it could be broadcast on the television. Perhaps even in other countries... I think I would be amazed. I've never left Russia, you know... although of course I would love to be able to travel, someday." She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes. "Have you been outside the country before?"
"I have."
"And where did you travel?"
Alexei cleared his throat awkwardly. "I have been to Germany, and to Poland. But the rest I cannot tell you, because it is a State secret, and I am rather fond of keeping my head."
Natalia's smile didn't waver. She reached out and patted his wrist with one delicate hand. "I confess, Alexei, I find myself rather fond of your head as well. There are so many secrets inside it, I think."
"Perhaps," he allowed.
"I have toured all over the SSSR," said Natalia. She removed the last few pins from her hair, and it tumbled down around her shoulders, slightly kinked from spending so long in its tight updo. "But I have never left the country. Maybe someday I'll get to see another country. I'd like to visit Paris—it's such a romantic city! What about you, Alexei? Are you a romantic man at heart?"
Alexei shrugged. "Honestly, I've never been called a romantic before," he admitted. "But it's possible that I just hadn't found anyone I wished to treat romantically."
Natalia picked up a set of damp wipes and began to remove the layers of makeup from her face. He noticed that her lips, beneath their bright red lipstick, were slightly chapped from the cold; her cheeks were dotted with a faint dusting of freckles. She squinted at her reflection in the mirror, then noticed him watching her and winked in his direction.
"Scandalous, really," Natalia said. "Watching a woman take off her face. What would your Party friends say?"
The truth was that they would probably excoriate him for not seducing and then fucking her, Alexei thought gloomily. "What makes you so certain I'd want to tell my friends about you?"
Natalia laughed. "Oh, you want to keep me all for yourself, is that it?"
"I wouldn't dream of being so lucky."
She pretended to gasp. "So brash! Luckily for you, I enjoy a man who isn't afraid to speak his mind."
"I have been known to do so on occasion."
"Careful," said Natalia, wagging a finger at him. "The KGB would have your tongue for such talk."
"Then for your sake, I'll endeavor to keep my tongue in its proper place."
"Oh," Natalia said, coy. "I think I could come up with some better places for it to visit, if you wished to hear a poor young girl's suggestions."
Alexei glanced around, but there was still utterly no sign of Sentsov. The other dancers had all gone back to their business as though the room had never been interrupted.
He felt incredibly foolish. It was nigh suicidal to flirt with one of Sentsov's favorite ballerinas in such a manner, much less without informing the man himself. But then of course, Sentsov had appeared to encourage it, earlier in the private box... Alexei was horribly uncertain. He felt unsure of his footing despite the solid ground. And Natalia was only eighteen! The whole idea was foolish even to consider.
"Unfortunately, I don't think it would matter," Alexei said, forcing himself to swallow. "I don't think Brezhnev would take too kindly to the idea, if he truly sent the KGB out for my tongue and found it in your possession. With that in mind, I am forced to decline."
Natalia didn't appear bothered. Instead, she smiled.
"Oh, well," she said, in that throaty voice of hers. "If it's only Brezhnev you're worried about, I'll have to ask you to wait a month or so to give me a real answer."
"I'd gladly wait if you wanted me to, but I don't see what a month's difference will make, Natalia."
Natalia merely continued to smile, enigmatic. "Go find gospodin Sentsov for me, won't you, Alexei," she said. "And, in a month's time... we'll see."