Double Down

by MB Austin

  He looked at her, hesitant. Was her Catalan that bad?

  “Call a medic, right now,” she yelled in full command voice, this time in Spanish.

  He lifted the radio mic to his mouth as the telephoto lenses on the other reporters’ cameras whirred and clicked. “Good luck,” she said to the fallen journalist, then pivoted and ran.

  “Good show,” Dave said.

  * * *

  Erlea stopped stretching and greeted Maji as she arrived on stage. “Good morning. I can’t believe I beat you here.”

  “Went running first,” Maji said. “Over to this beautiful old church in—”

  Nigel stormed onto the stage, spotted them, and didn’t even ask who was who. “You two. A word.” His nostrils pinched in that way that showed he was livid. “Do you know what’s all over the internet? Erlea helping the paparazzi.”

  “What happened?” Erlea asked.

  Maji lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “One of the journalists fell and twisted his knee. I stopped to see if he was okay. No big deal.”

  “So it was you,” Nigel said. “I thought as much.” He turned to Erlea. “She went back to him, heedless of the cameras closing in, and called out for the policeman to get him a doctor.”

  “Did they get close enough to tell it wasn’t me?” Erlea asked.

  He looked appalled. “No. But it was very out of character. They are calling you a hero.”

  “Well, that’s a little like calling me a decent human being.” Erlea threw one arm dramatically over her forehead. “How dreadful.”

  Maji just smiled softly and kept her mouth shut.

  Erlea did not wait for more from her manager. “If you think all good publicity is the diva melting down or blowing up, perhaps it’s not too late for me to talk with Claudia Sandoval.”

  “Break your contract and I’ll ruin you,” Nigel said in a low, dangerous tone. He stalked off.

  Erlea turned to Maji. “You’ve already had a workout. Want breakfast instead?”

  “Nope. He makes me want to puke. I need a dose of the energy harmonizing way before I can think about food. And I can’t wait to see what your style of Aikido looks like.”

  Erlea laughed. “It looks like flying lessons. You up for that?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  * * *

  Maji sat silently at the skirted table, glad for the big sunglasses. All the lights and camera flashes were trying to give her a migraine.

  “Just another minute,” Dave spoke to her via the earpiece.

  She gave Alejandro a nod.

  “Mr. Winterbottom is nearly here. We will begin in a moment,” he told the assembled press.

  “All clear, good to go,” Dave’s voice announced.

  Nigel stepped from behind the curtain and raised at hand. “Thank you all for coming today,” he said. “We understand your interest in current politics, but please limit your questions to those pertaining to music.” He managed to sound haughty even in Spanish.

  “Ready to swap out,” Dave said, and on cue Maji began coughing, softly at first, then harder. Red faced, she took a drink of water and held up one hand. “Momento.”

  She ducked behind the curtain, handing Erlea the glass with a smile. “Room’s secured. Knock ’em out.”

  Erlea, dressed and styled identically, gave her a wink and went out to face the media.

  Maji pulled baggy coveralls on over her outfit, tugged the knit cap over her hair, and settled in to listen to Erlea talk like a rock star.

  Nigel called on a reporter from Entre magazine first.

  “Erlea, what were you doing at a church at sunrise?” the pretty blonde asked. What was her name again?

  “Giving first aid to one of us, Julia,” a voice called out. “Can I get some CPR?” Laughter followed. Friendly laugher, Erlea noted with relief.

  Julia looked annoyed but pressed on. “Were you meeting with your father? Is he alive?”

  Erlea smiled and removed the sunglasses. “Julia,” she began, ignoring Nigel’s warning look. “I don’t know for sure. I would like to think so. From time to time I visit Our Lady of the Angels, which holds good memories for me. It makes me feel closer to him.”

  “But what about the bombing? The murder charges?” a man a few rows back called out.

  Nigel stood. “If you continue in this vein—”

  “Then we might clear a few things up,” Erlea interjected. “The man I knew as a child was truly devoted to peace for Spain, as well as cultural autonomy for his people. The bombing was a crime, a tragedy, and I find it hard to believe my father could have done such a thing. If he is alive, I hope we all will finally learn the truth.”

  “When you say his people, what do you mean? Aren’t you Basque, too?”

  That’s the part you heard? Erlea gave him a smile anyway. “I feel a misquote coming on, but let me try and explain. All my life, some people have told me that I am too Basque, and others that I am not Basque enough.”

  “And now on to music,” Nigel interrupted.

  “When we are done,” Erlea said. She took a moment to look at the men and women with their recorders and video cameras running, to see them as people, and to breathe down into her center. “I am, before all else, an artist. And art belongs to everyone. I have Basque blood, yes. But also Catalan. And I am Spanish from both sides. All of my grandparents remind me of what Spain was like under Franco, the repression even my mother grew up with. As a musician, I have a responsibility to reach for freedom, to honor all cultures, and to support the self-determination of all people. Spain’s diversity is its greatest wealth. If you find my music reflects this, then I am doing my job as an artist.”

  “Which brings us back to the show,” Nigel said, pretending with his tone and expression to defer to her. “Yes?”

  “By all means,” Erlea replied. “This show will slay you, I swear.”

  * * *

  Erlea sounded hoarse by the time Nigel finally called time on the press conference.

  Maji offered her a high five as Erlea followed Nigel and Alejandro back through the curtain. Erlea slapped her palm and collapsed into a chair. “Why can’t you learn to talk like me? We could have taken turns.”

  “You don’t want me talking music or politics for you,” Maji assured her.

  “Shut up,” Nigel hissed. “Are they gone yet?”

  Maji got Dave’s confirmation. “The room is clear. Awaiting clearance for transport.”

  Nigel turned on Alejandro. “Did you know she was going to pull this…this…”

  “Having opinions on things that matter?” Erlea suggested. “Or being nice to the press for once?”

  “They loved it,” Alejandro said. “But no,” he hastened to add, “I had no idea.”

  “Well, you’d better hope it plays well,” Nigel said. “Watch all the outlets and give me a report every four hours.”

  Alejandro swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maji and Erlea hung their gis in the dressing room, a postworkout ritual after only a few days practicing Aikido together. Maji hoped Erlea found the workouts as grounding as she did.

  “What sights am I seeing today?” Erlea asked.

  Maji shrugged. “I guess after the press conference, I get to lie low awhile.”

  “You deserve a break,” Erlea said. “But…never mind.”

  “No. What?”

  “It’s just, it seems like an opportunity to send my father a message back.” Erlea shook her head. “But that is selfish. Every time you go out as me, I worry someone will try to hurt you.”

  When were Romero and Dave going to approve the meeting? “I thought you weren’t sure if you wanted to see your dad.”

  “I’m a grown woman. It’s time to know the truth.” Erlea gave her a cynical look. “Without telling Nigel about it. He’s hoping the VIP reception will make the press forget about politics for a bit. Should I invite Celeste?”

  Maji had watched the attraction between them
bloom. “I bet she’d appreciate that. Don’t you?”

  Erlea shook her head. “Celeste might hate these things as much as I do. Just rich people trying to be seen and tabloid press there to help them. There’s not enough whiskey in the world. Not that she needs it—but I know I will.” She looked at the ceiling. “And I already made an ass of myself with her once.”

  Maji quirked an eyebrow. “You think Nigel is hoping you’ll get drunk and act out?”

  “Probably. But you know what? He’s going to be disappointed. I’m going to invite Celeste, and I’m going to behave myself.” Erlea glanced at her phone. “Shit. I’m almost late for morning call.”

  As Erlea rushed off, Maji followed, wondering at Nigel. What good would it do him if Erlea imploded? Surely a show with great reviews would sell more albums than a few scandalous headlines. She caught angry voices coming from the theater and hurried to catch up.

  “Not even English?” Nico’s voice echoed to the rafters. “Useless Russians. I should have known.”

  Must be the aerialists, finally. Maji saw a man and woman, their huge rolling trunks beside them, flinching as Nico yelled.

  Erlea plugged one ear, grimacing. “Tranquilo. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Really? Do you speak Russian? They lied about their Spanish, who knows what else?”

  “Couldn’t we just hire a translator?”

  “You going to pay for that from your pocket?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “I didn’t think so. And Nigel’s already impossible on the budget.”

  “Hey, Nico,” Maji called from the wings. “Can I help?”

  He sneered at her. “Do you speak Russian?”

  “Da.” Maji continued in Russian, addressing the anxious couple. “Welcome to the show. Don’t worry, we’ll work something out. And please say hello to your real boss, Erlea.”

  They followed her head tilt toward the star.

  “Hola, Erlea,” the man said with a strong Russian accent to his Spanish. “I am Dimitri, and this is Tania.”

  “Welcome,” Erlea said with a smile, shaking their hands. “Maji, can you tell them that I admire their work and am sorry the visa process was so difficult? Oh, and that Nico can’t fire them, so they should relax.”

  The message, along with Erlea’s warmth, visibly assured them. Nico fumed, but at least he did it quietly.

  “Mind if I get them checked in and set up?” Maji asked.

  “Please,” Erlea answered.

  “You can’t babysit them every day,” Nico said. “You have your hands full babysitting Her Highness.”

  “No worries,” Maji replied. “I’ll have them flying solo in no time. Get it—flying solo?”

  Nico didn’t laugh.

  * * *

  From her seat next to Alejandro in Row L, Celeste observed Maji up on the lift with Dimitri, taking notes as he pointed up into the rigging and gestured descriptively.

  “Thank God she speaks Russian,” Alejandro said. “We need to start incorporating the aerials as soon as possible. I know Imane has some ideas, but Erlea must agree, too.”

  “Will Erlea be performing with them?”

  “Oh no,” Alejandro responded. “She refuses. Erlea can dance like a dervish, but she’ll keep her feet on the ground.”

  “Damn right,” Erlea said as she slid into the seat next to Celeste. “Where’s Imane?”

  “In the wings,” he said, handing her a headset.

  Celeste began to cough, just a tickle in her throat.

  “Are you okay?” Erlea asked. “Do you need some water? Alejandro—”

  He was up and off before Celeste could protest. “I’m fine,” she told Erlea.

  “Oh, shit, I must have smoked in this.” Erlea pulled off her sweatshirt and threw it down a few rows. Her T-shirt clung to her, damp with sweat. “I should send all my clothes to the cleaners. Sorry.”

  “Oh no—I should go and let you work,” Celeste said. “Besides, you’ll get chilled.”

  “I’ll live. And you shouldn’t suffer just because I can never stay quit.”

  Celeste gave her a stern look. “There is no call to beat yourself up. Nicotine is an insidious addiction. If you want to be free of it, I will help any way I can.”

  “Really? I don’t even like the smoking part of smoking, you know. It’s the ritual I like. I roll my own, and I think about things.” She mimed the action.

  Celeste watched those nimble fingers dance in the air, as they had on the strings, and her mind slipped again to a vision of those hands in motion on her. Be professional. “Do you do that at home?”

  “No. Instead I play with the cat or fiddle with the plants.”

  “Excellent,” Celeste said. “Let’s schedule a time to talk, and I will teach you some mindfulness exercises.” She remembered her original excuse to visit. “Oh, and here are my notes on diet, as promised. I wasn’t sure where to deliver them.”

  Erlea took the folder. “Thanks. You’re always welcome to stop by my room, if I’m not here.”

  “No, I shouldn’t make a habit of that.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

  Celeste frowned at her. “That’s not funny. We may be friends, but the media would make it look like I date my clients. Image matters in my field, too.”

  “Of course it does. I didn’t mean to imply that my career is more important than yours. If anything, what you do matters more, I mean…” Erlea caught herself. “I should just shut up.”

  Celeste smiled at her. “Let’s just agree that art and health are both important. Call me for an appointment, yes?”

  Erlea reached out for her. “No, stay. I mean, if you want.” She flushed adorably. “It’s just, the aerials are really cool.”

  “Ready when you are, boss.” Alejandro plunked back down, handing Celeste a bottle of water.

  Hemmed in, Celeste hesitated.

  “You are a perfect test audience,” Erlea assured her, pulling on her headset. “I’ll tell you what they’re doing. You tell me what moves you, makes you feel something…visceral.”

  Being so close to Erlea did that. With the sweater gone, Celeste could smell a spiciness on her skin. “I’ll be happy to tell you what I can.”

  Alejandro got on the headset and started conferring, with Maji as translator.

  Dimitri stood by a thick braided rope that fell in a straight line from its trestle and carabiner on the crossbeam over the stage to the floor, over forty feet in total. He wrapped a length around one foot, reached above his head, and lifted himself both vertically and horizontally, smiling.

  “The corde lisse is a classic art,” Erlea said. “Over twenty moves can be executed with just one rope.” She narrated as he flipped and turned his body, working his way higher. “Arabesque. Leg wrap. Horizontal flip. Crucifixion.”

  A few feet from the girder Dimitri paused and smiled. Though he made the moves look easy, Celeste could see him breathing hard. Then he descended halfway, repeating some moves in reverse. Celeste held her breath and grabbed Erlea’s hand. Erlea gave it a gentle squeeze and held on.

  Tania approached the rope and began ascending.

  “Some pairs work is quite nice on the corde lisse,” Erlea commented. “Watch how they move between the two.” She pointed with their joined hands, but didn’t let go.

  After the corde lisse, the couple used a remote to make a large metal hoop descend to knee height. Tania climbed inside it, her feet curled around the bottom of the metal rim and her hands near the top. Dimitri held the remote, smoothly sending her about twenty feet up as she performed a graceful routine. At two points, she fully extended her body down, dangling by her hands from the bottom rim before sliding up and back through the center.

  “Wow,” Celeste said. “The upper body strength, the agility.”

  Erlea leaned close. “Admit it. That’s sexy.”

  The rasp in Erlea’s voice begged Celeste to flirt back. Unprofessional. “Because she’s skinny?” Celeste
challenged, instead.

  “No. Because she owns that space. She’s…” Erlea looked sideways at her. “Okay, I get it. Point taken.”

  As the hoop ascended into the girders, two long swaths of cloth descended. Tania and Dimitri each took hold of one, which they revealed to be two very long loops of a silky-looking fabric about four feet wide. Then each lay in one as if it was a cocoon.

  Celeste watched entranced as the couple emerged and used their silks like the corde lisse, pulling the whole width into one large handful, twisting the length around one limb or another, turning, flipping. “Marvelous.”

  Back in their cocoons, the partners reached out to one another, pulled themselves together, and kissed.

  “Aw,” Celeste sighed.

  Erlea chuckled and caressed Celeste’s hand with her thumb. “Mark that down,” she instructed Alejandro.

  Finally, Dimitri sent the silks back up to the girder and lowered a harness on a thick black rope. Tania stepped into it and snugged it on. Dimitri took the slack out of the rope attached to her low back, almost to the point where it looked like it would lift her off the ground. Tania walked in a small circle.

  “Here is one of my favorites,” Erlea said. “The dance bungee is very playful.”

  Tania leaped forward, catching herself with her hands, her feet up in the air. She pushed off from the ground with no apparent effort, and the bungee carried her backward onto her feet again.

  “That does look like fun,” Celeste whispered.

  Tania reached up with her right arm, grabbed the rope and leaned forward, starting a counterclockwise circle. At first she appeared to be walking, in long, tilting steps. Then she flipped herself into an upside-down split, continuing the walk on her hands before scissoring her legs and righting herself. Celeste clapped.

  “Yes, agreed. Those have to be in the show,” Erlea said into her headset. “No, just them. Not a chance in hell, Imane. End of discussion.” She pulled off her headset.

  Celeste reached over and touched her arm. She wished they were still holding hands. “Are you afraid of heights? I could help with that. If you wanted.”