vnNeSsa1 (10 page)

The music swells, the curtains part, lights blind me and my muscles freeze. My brain screams for me to
Move!
But seconds tick by and nothing happens. From the wings, I see blackness in front of me. The blackness takes shape in the form of rows of theater seats filled with people. So many people. My heart is beating wildly and that roaring sound is starting.

I can’t do this.

But you will.

Something clicks in and my legs carry me forward. Thank God. My body is automatically doing what it knows how to do. I’m unsteady and my mouth is dry, but it’s getting a little easier.
Wow, even in this huge theater you can see the people’s faces in the audience. That’s scary. OK, look over their heads to the back. Better.
My confidence picks up. Soon, I’m moving with the abandon I witnessed in the other dancers. It seems the number is over in an instant and I’m running breathlessly backstage to Josie to change.

With each number
, I’m enjoying myself more and more. My horse smile at the audition of several weeks ago has been replaced with a genuine smile of pleasure. I can even look at the audience from time to time. Tink is doing OK, which has made me relax even more. We talked during a break when another act was on stage. Like me, once she got going, she was fine.

The
black and white number, my favorite, is next. My body is humming with anticipation instead of nervousness. The music begins, the curtains open and I’m floating across the stage. The audience is responding with their undivided attention and warm smiles to this tribute to old musicals. My anxiety is rising because of all the eye contact with the audience, so I shift my gaze to the back of the theater. I’m nearly thrown off beat because standing in the shadows by the exit is Victor. He’s leaning casually against the wall, staring straight at me, following my every move. Even with the distance, I swear I can see his eyes sparkling. My heart pounds in my ears, louder now than the music. He sees me staring at him and catches me in his spotlight of a smile. My smile widens in return. This is a beautiful number, but now my heart is in it. I’m dancing for him. At the end of the dance, he just looks at me for a long moment, his face serious. Then, holding my gaze, he presses his fingers to his lips and slips out the doors. The curtains close.

My heart is still beating hard. The other dancers are jostling past me, impatient with my slow progress back to the dressing area. What did that serious expression mean? I really couldn’t tell
whether he liked what he saw. But I’ve got to get through this show and can’t be worrying about Victor.

The moment the curtain closes on the finale, I find my friends on stage. We all hug, hooting, laughing, jubilant that we’ve made it through our first performance. We chatter loudly, talking over one another, down the steps and through the hallway. Ian intercepts us, breathless from running.

“Directions to the party in your honor!” he pants, thrusting sheets of paper at us.

“Another party in our honor?” Tink asks, scrutinizing the directions. She looks up, sees the hopeful expression on Ian’s face, and adds, “Sounds like fun.”

“Will there be food?” Lily asks.

“Give me five minutes to get ready.” Jennifer takes off for the dressing room.

“Great,” I say, without much enthusiasm. What if Victor has planned to see me after the performance? Ian’s face falls and guilt sets in. “Give me two minutes to get ready,” I say more brightly, forcing a smile. Ian perks up.

The location of the party is a condo high rise just off the Strip. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows is dazzling. You can see the entire length of the glittering Strip and much of the city beyond. Startling me from my reverie, I feel strong arms encircle my waist and a warm body press up against mine.

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Ian breathes in my ear.

“How do they afford it?” I relax against him, surprising myself.

“Justin is in finance. He and Tyler met at a party and moved in together three years ago.” He says this slowly as he brushes his lips over my hair. I’m about to pull away when Jennifer breaks off from another conversation and strolls over.

“Well, aren’t you two cozy,” she purrs. My lips press together.
Let her think what she wants.

“Hey, beautiful,” Ian greets her, amiably.

“You just say that because you know we look alike,” Jennifer teases, referring to their remarkable similarity in appearance. They both have soft, wavy brown hair and huge, dark eyes. “Nice touch with the flowers for Savannah, by the way.”

“What flowers?” Ian’s normally sunny mood has darkened instantly.

“You mean you didn’t send them?” Jennifer sounds genuinely alarmed.

“What’s the big deal about flowers all of a sudden?” It comes out of my mouth angrier than intended, but really, the two of them are being silly. I leave them standing by the window and search out the kitchen. Jennifer follows me.

“I saw Vic in the theater tonight.” She looks at me accusingly as I hunt for a glass in the cupboard. My fingers grip the glass too hard when I fill it with water and drink it down before answering her.

“So?”
My glass makes a cracking sound on the countertop when I set it down.

“It looked like he was watching you.” I don’t say anything. She glares at me. “Who sent you those flowers?”

“I don’t know who sent the flowers!” My raised voice causes a couple of people to turn their heads in our direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lily, Tink, and Ian head our way.

“You know I really like him. Leave him alone,” she hisses before the others reach us.

The tension in the air is thick. The other dancers do what they can to diffuse it, but some of the strain remains as Jennifer and I ignore each other for the rest of the evening. Tink is sensitive to my restlessness and as soon as she can, says she’s exhausted and needs to go home. Ian’s happy disposition has returned. As we’re about to leave, he whispers in my ear that flowers are stupid—he can do better than flowers. Then he puts his hands on both sides of my face and plants a big kiss on my lips in front of everyone.

Tink and I don’t say much on the way home. She gets it without my having to say anything. She gives my hand a squeeze before going off to her apartment. My hug back says thanks better than words can. My steps drag on my way to my apartment. Performing was wonderful
; seeing Victor in the back of the audience made my heart stop. But missing him after the show and all that business at the party wore me down.

There’s a note wedged in my front door and hope rises in my throat as my shaking fingers hastily unfold it.
I waited, my beautiful dancer, but you didn’t show. Perhaps tomorrow? V

“You have my cell phone number!” I shout at the note
. “Why didn’t you call? Are your fingers broken—you couldn’t text?” I then let fly a string of obscenities, nearly crying with frustration and disappointment.

“Are you going to give me a chance to explain that?” asks a smooth, Latino voice behind me.

Chapter 13

My body responds to Victor’s voice in a purely instinctual way by launching at him. My arms fling around his neck; my lips cover his face with kisses. I hear my own laughter as background noise, embarrassed and giddy. Victor is laughing, too, and the sound is free. His eyes are shining even more than usual.

“What a greeting.” He reciprocates my kisses
and then buries his face in my neck, breathing in deeply.

“Ooh, do that at your own risk. I’ve done a whole show and haven’t taken a shower.”

“Mmmm, you smell wonderful. You are wonderful. You looked like a dream onstage tonight.” He continues to nuzzle my neck. Chills run down my spine and pleasure surges through my body.

“Uh, let’s go inside. I just have soda…”

“Sounds perfect.” In a gesture reminiscent of the previous night, he takes my bag, finds the door key and lets us in, somehow still keeping hold of me. We collapse on the sofa, entwined, kissing, stroking each other until I push back with effort.

“We can’t go crazy here.”

“You’re right. I have to explain myself.”

“No, it doesn’t matter.” And it really doesn’t at all. Looking at his face right now, I can’t imagine thinking some people wouldn’t find him handsome. It’s impossible to stop my fingers from
tracing the curve of his cheekbone. His skin is pleasantly rough, as expected. Energy and magnetism radiate off him. I’m sucked in, unable to take my eyes off his face.

“What?” Victor asks, apparently confused about my intent look.

“You are the most beautiful man in the world.”

He looks surprised for a moment,
and then laughs. It’s a joyful sound. He pulls me over on to his lap.

“And you are the most beautiful woman in the world. And the most beautiful dancer.”

I make a dismissive sound in my throat.

“You are. You were floating across that stage tonight. And the expression on your face was…you looked like an angel.”

“I couldn’t tell if you liked it. You looked so serious at the end.”

“You got to me. Deeply.” I lie back in his arms, savoring his words. “And you say it doesn’t matter to you why I didn’t call or text, but it does to me. I wanted you to sleep this afternoon. I thought you might be hung over. And tonight, I thought you might want to be with your friends. I didn’t want to interfere. I can wait. I’m a patient man.”

My back vibrates every time he speaks and his voice lulls me into a peaceful state. I don’t want him to stop talking. What is it about him that makes me trust him so? How can I feel this much this fast?

“Doesn’t matter,” I murmur, turning my face up to him. We kiss, getting lost. Victor stands abruptly.

“Better have that soda if you want me to stay in control.”

He takes my hands and pulls me up from the sofa. We go into the small kitchen, and root around in the cupboards and the fridge for glasses, drinks, and ice. He lifts me onto the countertop and puts muscular arms on either side of me. I flash back to the night on the bridge in front of the hotel where that creepy guy accosted me. Far from feeling trapped as on that night, I feel a jolt of attraction. A frustrated sigh escapes me. My sweating glass is cold in my hand and I press it against my flushed neck. It leaves wet marks and cools me down a bit. Victor watches me, a smile curving his lips. My mind gropes around for something to say to distract me from his mouth.

“So, do I have you to thank for those gorgeous flowers?”

His smile deepens and the edges of his bright white teeth show.

“They’re done in Japanese High Style.” He says this distractedly while watching me take a sip of my soda. His hands grip the counter, his muscles bunching under his shirt. “Did you leave them at work?” he asks, although he sounds like he doesn’t much care about the answer. His hand has come free of the counter and is slowly stroking my throat.

“Yes, I was going to leave them there to be inspired by them every night,” I say, a little breathlessly, my eyes closing with pleasure from his touch. “But, I’d better pick them up tomorrow afternoon. Jennifer found out they weren’t from Ian, guessed they were from you, and told me to stay away from you.” Victor surprises me by looking completely unconcerned about our fight, as though girls fighting over him happened all the time.

“And the
Niño
? How did he react?”

“I don’t think he was too pleased either.” Victor smiles at this, prompting me to say, “You know, we were really mean to him last night. I feel bad about that. And you call him a boy, but he’s older than I am.” Victor’s smile fades.

“Really? How old are you?”
Oh, damn! Damn my big mouth!

“Eighteen.” I’m lying to him, desperately not wanting to lie to him and my heart is pounding.

“I thought you were older.” He sounds disappointed. He stops stroking me. Feelings I can’t put a name to start churning inside.

“So now I’m too young for you, or you’re too old for me?” It comes out far more defensive than I want it to. But the feelings are too strong. He must see something on my face because he sweeps me off the counter
as if I weigh nothing, sets me on the kitchen floor, and puts his arms around me.

“Understand something,
Bonita
,” he says, looking into my eyes. “I am concerned about your age because you may not have experienced all the people you need to experience. Me? I’ve been around. You? Probably not so much. How do you know what you want?” His eyes are soft, but searching.

“I know what I want! I know my
—” and the words, so forceful at first, falter.
Someone who doesn’t even know her own name can’t claim to know herself well, now can she?
I think to myself, bitterly. There’s a stinging behind my eyes. “I just know,” I say, quietly.

Victor pulls me closer, looking into my eyes. His eyes are such a dark brown, they’re almost black. “You look so sad. I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.”

“Does this have to be about age?” I plead. “Can’t we just be together and get to know each other and have a good time?” Victor stands, pulling me with him.

“Of course. Let’s find out more about each other.” He takes my hand, leads me to the couch, and we talk. My back is against his chest again, feeling the vibrations as he speaks, and soon the peaceful feeling returns. The only time the feeling is disrupted is when I lie to him about my military family. He’s very quiet throughout my quick monologue about my family history and he doesn’t ask questions. He moves me gently to one side and cranes his neck around to look at my face when my story is finished. Still, he says nothing. My tongue licks my dry lips and I hurriedly ask him a question about his background to cover my nervousness.

Victor tells me he went to a private school in Mexico City until he was twelve years old and then his family moved to San Diego and started a business. He says his father was upset when he didn’t want to take on the family business. But he had always wanted to be in law enforcement. He served with San Diego County Sheriffs for a while, but it was not what he expected, so he quit and became a private investigator. Through a friend, he found out about this high-paying security job in Las Vegas, interviewed and got it.

When Victor’s telling me all this, his voice is monotone and his gaze is fixed on a spot across the room. It feels like there’s something he’s not telling me. Could this be how he felt when I was telling my story?

“Brothers and sisters?” I ask, pushing away the disturbing thought.

“Two older sisters, one younger brother, all still in San Diego.” Then before I can question further, “And you?”

“All alone,” comes out of my mouth. Strange to put it that way. There’s a hollow feeling in my stomach.

“You’re not all alone now,” Victor says, softly. He deftly turns me over and gives me a sweet, loving kiss
as if he’s trying to make up for an invisible hurt that he senses is there. My response is immediate and much less sweet. Forget words. Let me show him who I want. After a while, Victor picks me up and walks to the door with me still wrapped around him.

“If I don’t leave now, I won’t leave at all,” he says, his voice full of emotion. He stops at the door and I reluctantly slide off him. He holds me for a long time. As he makes a move to go, my hand grips his arm.

“Victor, I do know what I want.”

“I believe you, Bonita.” Then he’s gone into the darkness.

Something is buzzing insistently in the distance. It goes on and on. It finally stops,
and then starts up again. The edges of sleep fall away. My cell. My nearly useless, disposable phone is going off. My friends are frustrated by my reluctance to use it and keep asking me to get a “real” phone. They don’t realize my paranoia of being tracked through my cell phone. I grope around for it and mumble, “Hello?”

“If I’m there in a half
-hour, will you be ready?” Victor’s voice sets my heart tripping and brings me fully out of my sleep haze.

“Oh, yes.” I say a quick “
’Bye,” jump out of bed, shower, dress and am waiting impatiently when he knocks at the door exactly thirty minutes later. My eagerness makes me fumble helplessly with the lock. Victor’s trying not to laugh at me when he finally walks through the door. He immediately takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply. My senses are fully awake this morning. He has his own distinctive smell. It’s the same scent I detected before of pine and wood smoke. Breathing in his aroma now makes me lightheaded.

“This feeling
—this thing between us—is even stronger today.” Victor’s breathless when we finally break apart. His accent is thicker when he’s feeling emotion, I’ve noticed. “We need to stay away from your apartment.”

“How about your apartment?” I joke.

“Ha; worse,” he laughs. “I thought it might be this way, so, being the wise old soul that I am, I made plans for a day out.” I feel a twinge of annoyance at his reference to age.
How’s this for wise? You’re giving me time to know whether this is right for me—whether you are right for me. This may be beyond understanding, but I already know.
But I don’t say this out loud because Victor’s so proud of himself for making plans. His eyes are almost shooting off sparks, they’re so bright. My irritation fades immediately.

“I can’t wait,” I say, and mean it. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. You might want to change your shoes.”

Once my shoes are chosen to his satisfaction, he takes me by the hand and leads me out to his car. It’s a metallic charcoal Audi S5 with the windows tinted nearly black.

“So, don’t think me rude, but how does a security officer, ex-cop afford this?”

He opens the car door for me, bends his knees and looks me straight in the eyes.“And
how does a dancer afford a Z4?” he counters, eyes twinkling, but there’s something serious there, too.

“Touché,” I say, without explaining anything at all.

How are we going to get closer with secrets between us? But, somehow, we do. With every minute we’re together, things become easier between us. Talk is effortless. The silences between topics of conversation aren’t awkward. Sometimes we look at each other and something goes on between us without either one of us saying a word.

The drive takes us into the mountains to the southwest of Las Vegas. Fall is creeping into the air at this elevation and the crisp breeze has me rooting around for my sweatshirt. Victor has pulled up to a ranch. It looks like they have horseback riding, judging from all the stables on the property.

“Wait here, Bonita.” Victor squeezes my hand, jumps out of the car, and disappears into a main building of some sort. His eyes are doing the sparking thing again. It’s fun to see him so excited. Nothing feels familiar to me about a ranch or horses, so my goal is to not break my neck. Victor returns to the car shortly, a smile lighting up his face.

“Have you ridden before?” he asks brightly, opening the car door for me.

“Can’t say that I have.” A true statement. I can’t say because I don’t remember.

“All right. Well, we have a few choices, so we’ll choose a tamer horse for you. I’ve ridden a bit, so I can talk you through some things.”

Victor was grossly understating his ability when he said he had ridden a bit. He sits on a horse as naturally as he sits in his car. With just the slightest movement of his knee, foot, or arm, he gets his horse to obey. He speaks to her in Spanish, telling her what a good girl she is. When he eases her from a gallop to a full run, he’s as in sync with his horse as two dancers in a pas de deux.

I, on the other hand, plop around in my saddle like a loosely tied
-on bag of fertilizer. Most of the time, my horse stands to the side of the path and stubbornly munches whatever grass she can find. She pretends not to hear my nonstop tongue-clicking and nagging. Victor has to constantly turn around, grab my reins, and coax her forward. He seems to be greatly amused by my complete lack of riding skills.

Finally, Victor shows mercy by sliding expertly off his horse and helping me to dismount without face-planting. He leads me through pines that seem incongruous so near the desert of Las Vegas. There’s a small, flat, open area with a panoramic view of a valley and trees beyond. The air is clear and fresh and smells of pine. It smells like Victor.