The restaurant gets busiest during lunch and dinner hours. In between those rushes, there’s a brief window to catch your breath. I slip out through the back door to get some fresh air. The kitchen is sweltering, and my head’s spinning from the heat. If my mom saw me now, she’d give me an earful. She’s always warning me not to step out into the cold when I’m sweaty and overheated. But do I ever listen?
“Hey, Sophie!” Ostap calls out as he approaches. He’s our supply manager and, unofficially, the heartthrob of every girl working here. Tall, athletic, he flashes me a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial.
“Hey.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“Just breathing. How’s it looking in the dining room? No new orders piling up, right? Because the chef will have my head if it’s busy and I’m out here.”
“Nah, don’t worry. It’s calm. The calm before the storm, though.”
“Great. Thanks for the reassurance.”
“Want me to cheer you up even more? Come with me to a Tarabarova concert on Sunday. I know you’re a fan,” he says. Wow, he remembered? That’s sweet. But for some reason, I’m not too eager to start anything with him. I don’t want to be just another name on his list of broken hearts.
“Thanks, Ostap. I’m flattered you remembered. But… just the concert, as friends. That okay with you?” I ask. I do want to go, after all. He looks taken aback for a moment before responding:
“Why just friends? Don’t you like me at all?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” I say with a laugh. No need to inflate his already oversized ego. He steps closer, almost too close, with a challenging glint in his eye.
“Oh, you’re playing hard to get… Let me help you decide!” He suddenly pulls me by the waist and kisses me on the lips. Caught off guard, I freeze for a second before pushing him away.
“What are you doing? Listen, don’t overstep! You think that pretty smile gets you a free pass for everything?”
“Doesn’t it?” he smirks, cocky as ever. What a peacock! The nerve of this guy, loving himself so much.
“No! Not with me, it doesn’t! If you want, I’ll go as a friend, but don’t expect anything more,” I say firmly. Ostap tones it down a bit and replies:
“Come on, Sophie, don’t be so tough on me. Ksyusha would’ve jumped at the chance to go with me, no hesitation.” That stings a little.
“Then go with her. What’s stopping you?”
“Sophie, come on, don’t be like that…”
“I’m heading back to work. No time for this,” I say, turning to go inside.
Closer to evening, Katya comes into the kitchen and whispers something to me while I’m loading dishes into the dishwasher.
“What? I didn’t catch that. It’s noisy in here.”
“I’m asking if you’ll come dancing with me tonight,” she repeats. She’s been taking belly dancing classes for months now and has dragged me along a few times.
“No way, are you serious? I’m not up for it. It’s so late… I’ll be too wiped out.”
“So what? Just for a little bit, even half an hour. It’s not as fun on my own. Please…” she pleads with those puppy-dog eyes.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks, you’re the best! I knew you’re a true friend!”
“I haven’t even agreed yet…”
“We’re go-ing!” she sings out happily before darting back to work. Ugh, what am I supposed to do with her?
By the end of the shift, all I want is to collapse into bed. But Katya isn’t giving up:
“Come on, let’s go! It’ll be fun!”
“Katya, I can barely keep my eyes open…”
“I know, but you *have* to come.”
“Why’s that?”
“Listen, Sophie, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but… have you looked in a mirror lately? When you started working here, you had an amazing figure. And now?” I glance down at myself, a bit flustered. Okay, yeah, I’ve put on quite a bit of weight…
“Katya, what am I supposed to do? This job is ridiculous… I’m on my feet all day, barely eating, and by the time I get home, I’m starving like a wolf. Doesn’t matter that I work in a kitchen. I stuff my face at night. And the stress… I crave sweets all the time.”
“I get it, it’s tough. That’s exactly why I’m saying you need to shake things up a bit, burn off some of that extra fluff. Let’s go!” She’s relentless. She’d probably drag me to dance even if I were half unconscious. That’s just who she is—like a wildfire. She burns bright and lights up everyone around her. Always coming up with new ideas, new hobbies. Guys fall for her left and right. But in the end, she’s right. I’ve let myself go lately.
“Fine, let’s do it,” I say with determination. Katya jumps for joy, then rushes off to get ready. We ask to leave a bit early and head out.
In Katya’s dance group, only a few girls show up this late. Probably because they work too. We start changing into our outfits. Katya brought me a costume—a short, sequined top, a skirt that’s more like strips of sheer fabric stitched together, fluttering apart with every move to reveal my legs, and a wide belt adorned with shiny metal pieces that dangle like raindrops. Once I put it all on, I feel like a completely different person. Like some exotic beauty, a concubine in a sultan’s palace. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—yeah, I definitely need to lose some weight. But overall… not too bad. If I could just drop about 20 pounds. Somehow, the extra weight distributes evenly on me, so even at 150 pounds instead of my recent 125, I don’t look *that* terrible.
Katya comes over and says:
“Looks good! Just let your hair down too.”
“Nah, I don’t want to. It’s not like anyone’s watching us.”
“You don’t get it! You can’t keep hiding your best asset. At work, sure, you have to. But here… Let it loose. You’ve got such gorgeous curls. It’ll look stunning when you dance,” she insists. I give in, running my damp hands through my long, curly blonde hair that reaches halfway down my back.
“There we go. Perfect,” she says, satisfied.
“Yeah, perfect now. But if you only knew how much grief this hair gave me in school… The nicknames I got! Poodle, Dandelion, Fluffy,” I say. Katya laughs:
“But you *are* Fluffy. What’s wrong with that?” I hope she means my last name and not my weight.
“Sure. And one particularly nasty classmate even tried to set my hair on fire with a lighter. She was so jealous because she barely had any hair herself,” I recount. Katya covers her face with her hand.
“No way! Seriously? What a witch. I would’ve made her regret it!”
“I don’t doubt that. Come on, let’s go.”
We head into the studio, and the music is incredible. Those lively Middle Eastern melodies make it impossible to stand still. My body starts moving to the rhythm on its own. And the other girls around us—they’re so good! I try to mimic the moves our instructor demonstrates. She’s a striking young woman in a stunning costume. We get so caught up in it that I don’t even notice when I completely let go, shutting off my mind as my body sways to the music. My hips trace figure eights, doing those little shakes they call ‘shimmies.’ It’s as if the long, grueling workday never happened. The tempo picks up, hotter and faster. It’s unreal. I’m swept away by these strange, exhilarating feelings, transported somewhere far off, into a tale of Scheherazade. The instructor’s cues and the fiery melody echo in my head… My body moves obediently, weightless. Strange… where does this energy come from?
We dance and spin until the music finally fades.
“Great job, ladies! You worked hard today,” the instructor claps and praises us. “That’s it for now. See you in three days. Does that work for everyone?” The girls nod in agreement. I snap back to reality and check the time—11:10 p.m. Since it’s February, it’s already pitch dark outside. Time flew by so fast.
“You did great today,” the instructor says to me. “You don’t come often, but you’ve clearly got talent. You should join us more regularly.”
“Thanks. I… I work a lot, so I don’t have much time. But I really enjoyed it,” I reply. She smiles, invites me again, and assures me it’s both beautiful and beneficial. As if I don’t already know that. Maybe I should start coming more often?
Katya lives close to me and the sports complex, so we walk home together in the freezing cold. The street is dimly lit by scattered streetlights. Bundled up in my warm puffer jacket, Katya brags about her latest boyfriend along the way.
“You know, Jake’s a race car driver. Super cool. And his car… it’s insane! I’ve never ridden in anything like it before. I don’t know where he gets all his money, but… he’s really generous.”
“He’s not some kind of crook, is he?” I tease.
“No way, are you kidding? He’s no criminal. Probably just a rich kid with a loaded dad.”
“Got it. I’m happy for you.”
“Hey, there’s a race on the outskirts this Saturday. Want to come with me? You can ride in a sweet car, and who knows, maybe we’ll find you a guy,” she winks. “You’re single right now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am. You know Bogdan and I broke up. But… Ostap invited me to a concert on Sunday…” I hesitate but finally spill it.
“What? *Our* Ostap? Interesting…” she drawls. “Just be careful—don’t tell anyone at work. Oksana or someone else will claw your eyes out. They’re all over him like bees on honey.”
“I know. And he’s so used to it, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. They’ve spoiled him rotten.”
“Totally. You know, props to you. Even with a few extra pounds, you’ve still hooked a guy like him…” Katya laughs.
“Hey, I’m not *that* round,” I laugh back. “Just wait till I shed a bit more, then you’ll see…”
“Oh yeah… Then every guy will be yours!” she jokes. I sigh.
“I don’t need every guy. Just one. But… a good one. Honest, caring. Someone who makes me feel safe, like I’ve got a rock to lean on,” I muse aloud.
“Oh, is that all? What about handsome or rich?”
“That’s just a bonus if it happens. Obviously, I don’t want a broke slob or some ogre. A regular guy would be fine with me. As long as he’s not selfish or a player.”
“Got it. Your standards aren’t too high…” Katya says. She’s always chasing after flashy, high-rolling types.
“I think they’re pretty high, actually. Guys like that are hard to find these days. It’s all posers and playboys.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” she sighs. “So, are we going to the races or what?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see. Maybe Andrew will call,” I say. My cousin sometimes races for cash and occasionally takes me along. Though I wish he wouldn’t. I’m terrified for him—it’s so dangerous. Especially since he drives other people’s cars. God forbid something happens…