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A photo of Ilya outside a nightclub had been attracting a lot more attention than every other photo of him outside a nightclub had before.
Personally, Ilya felt that there were plenty of far worse photos of him outside nightclubs that he was glad hadn’t caused this much fuss. If a paparazzi photo was going to blow up like this, at least it was one he looked good in, rather than one where he was a drunken mess or leaving with someone he didn’t want to land in a corner of a celebrity gossip column.
It was how good he looked in the photo that had caused all the drama. Winged eyeliner, grey eyeshadow, black lipstick, clip-on gold earrings. He had gone dancing with Svetlana and a group of her friends, all women, who had taken great delight at how receptive he was to letting them put make-up on him while they got ready together. The rest of his outfit was nothing he hadn’t worn out before; dark jeans, grey-gold marble pattern shirt with most of the front buttons undone. All together, he was very pleased with how he looked.
“He looks like he walked out of a modern re-telling of a Greek myth,” one of Svetlana’s friends said as the group gathered around to admire their finished work.
“Shut up before his ego gets so big that his head explodes,” Svetlana chide, “but we have done an excellent job.”
“My ego is enjoying this very much,” Ilya smiled.
“You’re going to have people lining up to dance with you,” another woman told him.
“Perfect.”
Ilya danced with many, many women that night. There were men who wanted to dance with him, of course, but Ilya didn’t want to dance with any man other than Shane. He kissed no one, made no suggestions of a night together to anybody, downed all manner of shots and magically appeared as a towering queer angel behind the women he was with whenever they started to glare at men trying and failing to impress them.
They danced through the night and then waited for taxis on the pavement in outfits far too small for the freezing Eastern Seaboard air.
“I hope you’re going to show Jane that make-up before you take it off,” Svetlana told Ilya. “And you better not take credit for it.”
“I would never,” Ilya wrapped his arms around Svetlana’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Also, how do I take it off?”
Svetlana and her friends started to scrabble through their bags to see if anyone had any make-up wipes, which they then bundled into Ilya’s pockets with far more drunken, mixed instructions than he knew what to do with. It was a problem that could wait until the morning, he felt, then regretted expressing that thought out loud as soon as a chorus of ‘No!’ was thrown at him by several aghast women.
His taxi arrived. The ride home was a blur spent thinking about how Shane would react to seeing the make-up.
Lily: can i call i have something to show u
Jane: it’s 2 in the morning
Jane: what have you done
Ilya pressed the call button as soon as he closed the front door behind him. The phone rang twice before Shane answered.
“Hey baby- oh my god,” Shane’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “You look-”
“Svetlana and her friends did it,” Ilya beamed. “The earrings hurt but are not real.”
“You look amazing,” Shane whispered. He sounded almost awestruck and Ilya hoped that wasn’t because of the phone line distorting his voice.
“Thank you.”
“Have you been out?”
“Yes.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“Nothing to be scared of. Never going back to Russia. I look wonderful. No one who wants to fight me for make-up will win,” maybe it was the vodka talking but he really hadn’t been scared. Why care if someone, anyone, the whole world, saw him looking beautiful because his best friend wanted to put make-up on him?
“It’s really beautiful, Ilya. You look amazing.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Ilya sat on the floor in the hallway and leaned back against the wall. “I wish you were here.”
“I wish I was with you.”
“The girls gave me all these things to take the make-up off,” Ilya fished the wipes out of his pocket and waved them at the camera. “I don’t really know what to do with them.”
“I have no idea how to take make-up off either,” Shane said. “Maybe leave it until the morning?”
“That’s what I said! Then they all told me I am stupid boy and that is stupid idea.”
“I guess it might go onto your bed sheets.”
“I don’t care what gets on my bed sheets.”
Shane blushed. Ilya smirked.
“Text me in the morning to tell me if you manage to take it off.”
“I will. Спокойной ночи, мой дорогой.”
“Goodnight, Ilya. I love you.”
“Я тебя люблю.”
Shane ended the call. Ilya stared at the wall. The make-up wipes slid off his lap and onto the floor. It was a sign from the universe. The make-up removal would have to wait for later.
-
Taking make-up off after going to sleep, Ilya discovered at about midday, was a mistake.
-
By mid-afternoon, several people had messaged him about the photos and some of the accompanying commentary. Ilya found the scale of the internet’s reaction highly amusing. There were no photos of him smoking outside the nightclub, saving him trouble with both his boyfriend and his entire coaching and medical teams. He had nothing to worry about.
-
Two matches after the photos had made their rounds and Ilya was staring down the Buffalo captain in a face-off in Boston.
“I didn’t know they let girls play professional hockey,” the captain muttered, looking Ilya straight in the eyes.
The referee didn’t even get to drop the puck before the first fight of the match broke out.
-
“What did he say to you?” Marleau asked Ilya once they were both sat on the penalty bench. Ilya had a clump of tissues held to his split lip. Marleau had a purple smear spreading across his cheekbone.
“He called me girl so I decided he has too many teeth.”
Marleau stared at the blood splatters on the ice yet to be cleaned. “If he comes back onto the ice, I’ll help him lose some more.”
Boston won 5-1.
-
To no one’s surprise, Ilya was dragged out of the locker room after the match by the coach.
“What on earth were you thinking, Rozanov? Punching someone before the-”
“He said he didn’t know girls were allowed to play pro hockey,” Ilya said flatly. “I guess he saw the photos of me in make-up.”
Coach’s face changed from furious to seething. His daughter, who he proudly mentioned on a near daily basis, had just signed her first professional hockey contract. She had come to training a few times, wearing a different colour of bright lipstick on each occasion. “We will be making an official complaint to the NHL for sexism.”
“Good.”
“And you are not to repeat this to the others, but I’m glad you broke his nose.”
Ilya grinned. “Me too.”
-
Shane called Ilya after the match. “I saw the fight, are you okay?”
Ilya told Shane what had happened.
“I will slam him into the boards so hard next time we play them,” Shane declared at the end of the story. “Sexist, homophobic pig.”
Ilya’s heart soared at Shane, who was perhaps the least-violent player in the league, being willing to body-slam someone for him.
“Has anyone else said anything to you about the make-up photos?”
“Marly said I looked beautiful. No one else cared.”
“Tell me if anyone does say something bad and I’ll slam them too.”
If Ilya could have jumped into his phone to push Shane against a wall and kiss him breathless, he would have.
-
Shane turned the TV on as soon as he got home from a late practice. Ilya was playing that evening and he wanted to catch the start of the game, or maybe the pre-match interviews. His breath caught for a moment when the screen turned on- there was his boyfriend, stood next to the coach, with a crowd of microphones around them. Most importantly, Ilya was wearing winged eyeliner.
The coach was answering a question about defence and then came the question every journalist must have been itching to ask.
“Rozanov, why the eyeliner?”
Ilya laughed. “I am the best player in the league. Eyeliner makes me prettier while I beat everyone. That is all.”
“And what do your teammates and coach think about it?” the reporter asked.
“My teammates are jealous of my good looks,” Ilya grinned and turned to the coach. “What do you think about it?”
“There’s too much sexism in the NHL and some players need to learn that not wearing make-up doesn’t make them better than people who do.”
Shane hadn’t expected any of this from the press conference. He had his phone out of his pocket before he realised what he was doing.
Jane: You look so good with eyeliner on.
Jane: Go show them what you can do.
Ten minutes passed.
Lily: watch me score more goals in one match than some players in a season
-
Photos of Ilya in full hockey kit and eyeliner were everywhere on the internet the next morning. With them came the match’s score: 4-0, every goal scored by Ilya Rozanov.
Svetlana: Do you get commission on your goals?
Svetlana: I deserve a share.
Svetlana: Am I getting my eyeliner back?
Ilya: 1. no
Ilya: 2. putting my eyeliner on doesn’t count as an assist
Ilya: 3. Jane says you can have it back once I have bought my own one