“Go over there on the couch,” she said to Sharif, more commanding than she intended. This allowed her to put off the decision while she went off to think. “I’ll go find something in my closet, I have almost no time to get ready for this bash.”
She began to run toward her bedroom then whirled about.
“And don’t think this is a date. I just need an escort. We would only be going to the same place at the same time. Got it?”
Sharif bowed again before sitting. Rebecca wanted to gag at his obsequiousness.
Allison followed her into the bedroom, all giggles and questions. Rebecca wheeled on her, telling her that Sharif was just an acquaintance, that Jonas was not to know about this unwelcome visitor and that she could help best by finding a suitable dress. Allison, pouting a bit, dug through the dresses and costumes that were wedged into the tiny space the landlord called a closet and emerged with a navy blue, sparkling formal. It had been the company costume for the Twyla Tharp number the company did three years ago. Rebecca had forgotten to return it.
“That? I hate navy blue.”
“But it’s a formal dress. I don’t think you have any others.”
True. On a dancer’s salary, Rebecca got by with clothes picked up at discount stores and used-clothing shops. Nothing in her Iowa background had anything to do with designer attire. Occasionally, Jonas surprised her with a new blouse or something sexy. Not being on the social circuit, she never had the need for a formal dress. So, this glittery number was going to have to do. She hoped Randy wouldn’t be irritated with her for hanging onto the costume so long.
“Okay, okay. Let me shower, put it on, and I’ll get some makeup.”
Rebecca dashed into the bathroom. Her head raged, full of thoughts: That damn Sharif is making himself too familiar. Why? He knew all about Jonas. How? And what’s going on between Sharif and Lenore?
Ten minutes later, Rebecca stepped out of the bathroom, and Greta looked her over.
“It’s not like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s,’ but it’s an amazing transformation.”
Rebecca was so pleased she almost forgot the alarming male presence in the living room. She glanced over at Sharif, who was aglow in admiration. Inside, she was thrilled with her appearance, but she wasn’t going to let this troublemaker see that. Anyway, she’d made up her mind she’d go with him — but only because he was handy. If he made a move for her, he was history.
“Let’s get out of here,” she barked to Sharif, while grabbing an evening bag and starting down the stairs without waiting for a reply.
He raced ahead and hailed a cab. Rebecca mentally started counting how much money this mode of travel was going to cost her. However, Sharif opened her door and mentioned the cab ride was on him. Instead of sighing with relief, she ended up grumbling under her breath. She wanted it clear that she was putting up with his largesse for only a finite amount of time. The less she owed him, the better.
They arrived at the studio, and she sneaked in ahead of Sharif, leaving him to deal with the cabbie while she strode through the front doors by herself. Inside, something brightened inside of her as she saw the main studio transformed into a replica of a Pharaoh’s feast hall. A long table sat beneath model palm trees. Blue lotus flowers and potted papyrus plants decorated the spread. The walls featured the “Aïda” scenery, and Rebecca delighted in seeing the colors had been brightened as she had requested.
Randy caught her eye and rushed up, gathering her hands in his.
“Oh, the Tharp dress. I remember that. You look to die for.”
She did a dancer’s curtsy and was opening her mouth to explain why it took her so long to return the gown, when a tall body barged in between the two.
“There you are. I thought I lost you,” a breathless and ubiquitous Sharif said. He adjusted his bow tie with precision.
Randy turned an inquisitive eye on the interloper and arched an eyebrow at Rebecca. She felt herself sink a few inches into the floor.
“This is Sharif …”
“Sharif Cadmus, Egyptologist, Alexandria, Egypt,” the buttinsky said, pumping Randy’s hand. Randy had a pained look in his eye, as if Sharif was squeezing too hard.
“As I was about to explain,” Rebecca said, with frost dripping from her words, “Jonas had to work late. Sharif just popped up.” She mimed the last two words and Randy smirked.
“Too bad.” Randy covered his mouth as he spoke and then coughed, as if his phrase had been indelicate. “But another guest is always welcome.” He nodded his head at Sharif. Rebecca pulled Randy by the arm and called to Sharif that they needed to discuss some company business. They left him accepting a champagne flute from a waiter dressed like an Egyptian noble.
“Listen,” she said, sotto voce. “This guy, he’s not my date.”
“I gathered.”
“He’s here because Lenore stole my invitation and gave it to him. He’s been following me for some reason, so I’ve been trying to give him the bum’s rush.”
“Lenore stole it?”
Rebecca nodded and looked across the floor in horror to see Sharif rounding on Emmylou Sailor. The man was determined to meet all the movers and shakers of this production. What was his interest in a mere Chicago dance company?
Randy scanned the crowd, probably searching for Lenore so he could scold her. Rebecca knew the last thing she needed was a scene.
“Randy, just stay advised, and let’s not do anything about it now.”
He nodded and shot his cuffs before heading into the crowd. Rebecca mingled with a few dancers, declining the champagne but accepting a club soda with lime, talking the whole while about the difficulties of making their tight rehearsal schedule. Her stomach was in knots.
A young man announced dinner, and a number of dance cronies and well-meaning moneybags Rebecca recognized started crowding the table, reading the place settings. Rebecca found her place card next to an elderly dentist whose wife was one of their biggest donors. On her other side, the seat sported a place card for Jonas Jones. With a twist of her mouth, Rebecca realized who’d be taking his place.
“Here you go,” Raven said, plunking Sharif down in Jonas’ seat. She sent a quizzical look Rebecca’s way. Rebecca mouthed “at work,” but Raven didn’t understand and walked away with a befuddled expression.
“Can’t avoid me, now can you?” Sharif said as he flicked his napkin and set it in his lap.
“In America, we call it ‘ditching’ someone,” Rebecca said with a soft snort. “And that was exactly what I was doing. May I repeat: this is not a date.”
Sharif nodded without looking at her. He started a conversation with a female dancer who sat next to him.
“Oh, an Egyptologist,” Rebecca heard her exclaim. Good. Be impressed. It’ll take the pressure off of me.
Throughout the evening, they dined on figs and fruits of the Mideast region. They ate a couscous dish with roast duck, Sharif complaining all the while that the meal was more Moroccan than Egyptian. Rebecca pretended not to listen. During the dates and honey dessert, Randy stood up to make the usual pronouncements about the necessity of helpful financiers to keep a show like “Aïda” running. He introduced Rebecca, who took a bow. Then he announced Raven, Ricky Ramon and a few other dancers. Emmylou received the biggest ovation, for even the dentist from Evanston could appreciate the name of a New York star.
Randy led a question-and-answer session about the production, which lulled Rebecca into a stupor. When she shook off her sleepiness, she found herself staring into the porcine little eyes of Lenore. She glared back, and Lenore retreated behind a napkin.
A band struck up some music from the “Aïda” score, and Sharif turned to her and asked if she wanted to dance.
“Not at all,” she said with scorn. “I just want to get home as soon as possible.” However, soon was not possible as all the old couples began filling the dance floor, two-stepping and failing to catch up to the ambitious Verdi rhythms. Although she tried to fen
d him off, Sharif lifted her into his strong arms and whisked her around the perimeter of the room.
The minute he touched her bare arm, her skin began to sizzle. This was not like dancing with Jonas at all. Sharif cinched her waist and drew her close to his pelvis, and her own nether regions tingled in response. Oh, no! She thought she might explode from the physical overload. His touch, his movement, his eyes were all meant for the bedroom — and here she moved, captivated by him. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, tickling the skin on her neck, raising her body temperature.
“Wouldn’t you like it if I took control of the show?” he intoned. Her feet kept moving, but her heart froze. Despite her attraction, she worried about Sharif ’s motives. Now she remained convinced that he barged in as a committed meddler.
“What gives you the idea anyone would let you?” she asked as he spun her off to another corner. The whirl altered her world as if he shot her off to the sky.
“My powers of persuasion are honed to perfection, my dear,” he said, as drew her close again. “You see how Sailor enjoyed my discussion of Egyptian themes.”
“Oh, really,” Rebecca said, trying to sound unimpressed. A sneer worked its way into her voice. “She’s a rather tough nut to crack.”
“Oh, she thinks the world of you. But I intend to make myself invaluable to her, also.”
“For what reason, Sharif ?” He maintained a mysterious silence as they stepped around a middle-aged duo of gay men. Rebecca found herself wondering who made the decision to lead in that sort of pairing.
To answer her question, Sharif turned up the corners of his lips in something that resembled a genuine smile. It gave Rebecca tingles up her back. When the music ended, she knew she had to escape this man and the frightening complexity of sensations she experienced: attraction, anger, lust and guilt about Jonas. She made an excuse about the frigid blast of air conditioning and ran back to the table for her shawl. Anything to get away.
She hurried off to the ladies’ room. The outer door slammed shut to reveal Lenore standing at the sink.
“Nice job, robbing my mailbox,” Rebecca said to the purple-haired midget.
Lenore tossed her head in smug dismissal. Rebecca leaned against the wall, crossed her arms and glared at her adversary. Lenore continued to primp in front of the mirror but began to lose interest in whatever cosmetic she was applying. She tossed it into her purse and swooshed out the door. Rebecca, feeling victorious, stalked to the mirror and opened her evening bag to reapply her own makeup, all the while running through methods of escape from the dinner. Feign a headache? Just disappear out the back door? Would that be fair to Randy? After she steadied herself, staring into the mirror, she decided duty came first. At that thought, she perceived an altogether different face staring back at her. One with exaggerated eyeliner and thick black bangs. She, too, was dutiful. Honorable. Did her job with grace.
Rebecca shook her head and the image disappeared. Seeing things. What’s next? Channeling voices? However, that face in the mirror steadied her and gave her purpose. She decided she needed a blast of that cold air and pulled open the bathroom door for another encounter with her tormentor and seducer Sharif.
The band was on break and to Rebecca’s horror, Sharif was addressing the crowd just as if his speech were on the agenda. She scanned face after face, looking for Raven but couldn’t pick her out. Sharif ’s words were familiar: a discussion of the state of Egypt at the time of the action in “Aïda.” She’d heard that speech at Ravinia before she had fainted dead away. She watched Randy eating up the information. Emmylou stared open-mouthed at this impromptu discussion. Oh, my God, Sharif really is going to take over. Rebecca fretted, picking at her fingernails. Someone nudged her with care on her exercise-sore back. She turned. Raven stood expressionless.
“Can you believe he’s doing this?” Rebecca whispered.
“Oh, he’s got them bobbing like marionettes,” Raven whispered back. “Thanks so much for bringing him into the fold.”
“I didn’t!” Rebecca whirled to face Raven. “He just attached himself to me.” Raven knew this was the same man who had watched Rebecca lose consciousness at the last fundraiser. Didn’t she remember?
“He always manages to get into the spotlight, doesn’t he?” Raven answered.
“Always making trouble for me. That’s more like it.”
“Try to see if you can make him go away.”
Some of the crowd turned and mumbled disapproval of the women’s conversation. Rebecca clammed up, but her mind chattered on. No, no. This isn’t my fault. Raven disappeared the moment Sharif ’s speech ended.
The energy in the room switched, and Sharif was the new star of the evening. Rebecca ran over to Randy to make apologies, but he spoke first.
“Great guy you brought along. Great. We ought to make him an artistic advisor.”
Rebecca stomach lurched in free-fall.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Better research his background first,” she said, looking at the floor, hiding her emotions. “He has a way of just appearing out of nowhere, and I don’t know where he comes from, really ...” She decided the time had come to make her break. “Anyway, my plate is full, Randy, I think I’m going home to rest up for tomorrow.”
“Sure, sure,” he waved her off, and his gaze wandered back to Sharif. She slipped on her shawl and gathered her things at the table when a voice came from the back of the room.
“So soon?” The sound made her want to scream. Was it with delight or consternation?
“Why, Sharif ? Can’t you leave me alone? You just appear unwanted. Can’t you just magically disappear?”
“Do you not see this is all for you?” He stepped into view and fastened her in place with his hypnotic eyes. She knew he tried to weaken her, drink her in with that gaze. He touched her forehead with a gentle caress. He leaned in, almost kissed her, then seemed to think better of it and pulled back. “I’ve been in love since the first minute —”
“Don’t say it,” she snapped, “Just don’t say a word. Stay out of my business. Stay out of my world.” She swirled around, terrified for a second, and rushed for the door, her heels clacking in reproof the entire way.
#
Jonas listened as Rebecca poured out her troubles at the coffeehouse adjacent the medical association building. Both of them had only a short lunch break, so she attempted to get through the previous night’s events as fast as possible. Jonas listened, picking at the cardboard band around his coffee cup.
“So that’s it?’ he said, when Rebecca came up for air.
“Isn’t that enough? I’ve got some goon swooning over me and trying to take over the production — the one with my starring role.”
Jonas frowned at the wooden tabletop, then took another swig of coffee and stared out the window at passers-by. Rebecca tapped her near-empty cup on the table, waiting for a response.
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” he said, his face contorted in a knot of concern. “They’ve been working us so hard lately.” He waited a beat. “You say Lenore stole your invitation?”
She nodded.
“Something’s not right. I don’t mean just the theft. The way he just showed up like that in a tux. As if he had the whole thing coordinated.”
“He did.”
Jonas peeled his cardboard wrapper some more and set his mouth in a tight line.
“Now this nut says he’s in love with you …”
“And is trying to take over the whole production.”
“Well, you don’t know that for sure.”
“He told me that.” Rebecca ran her hands through her hair in exasperation. She couldn’t tell him how Sharif said it, nuzzling her ear as they danced. Her guilt chewed at her stomach. “What good can he possibly do? We don’t need him. He’s only going to get in the way. And the deal with Lenore. It’s creepy. She does his bidding for no apparent reason. He’s like Svengali.” She waited a beat and tapped her foot
on the floor in sheer irritation. “I don’t want that jerk around me anymore.”
He turned and touched her shoulders, which were so tense she almost hiked them to her ears.
“Have you felt faint at all lately?”
“No. That’s not the issue …”
“Listen to me: I’m worried about your health, and I’m worried about your safety with that loon running around.”
She shrugged in assent and felt her back muscles begin to unwind. He massaged her shoulders with care.
“How do I find this guy?” he asked, jaw set, ready for battle. Oh, no, here comes the control freak, she thought. Please don’t let him find Sharif and beat him up.
“You can’t. I mean, I don’t know. I only have his cell phone number.”
“That’s good enough.” She produced the business card with Sharif ’s number, and Jonas scribbled the digits down in his reporter’s notebook. “If I find this guy, he’ll be sorry he met me.” His eyes glittered with rage for a second. He stood up and grabbed her in an embrace.
“I’ll do the best I can to take care of you,” he said. People in the coffee shop stopped their activities and gawked at their public display of affection. He looked into her eyes, his blue irises wide and frank. “I don’t want some guy running around saying he’s in love with my girlfriend.”
He kissed her and then charged through the door before she could answer.
She watched his retreating form on the sidewalk: a tall, athletic man who could easily take the thinner, more elegant Sharif down in a fight. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Thinking, she fingered some graffiti an errant customer had scrawled on the table. The truth blared out, refusing to hide. She could be the only person who really had a chance to get rid of Sharif. She rose, feeling little resistance left in her system, walked to toss away her cup and headed back to the studio.
THE GOD'S WIFE Page 13