So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  Tara nods, appearing grateful to have something tangible to focus on. “Let’s go tame this beast, Aidan—or are you still planning to go by A.O.?” she asks, her eyebrow lifted in challenge.

  I snicker over the idea she remembers my childish plans. “No, that’s quite all right. Aidan O’Brien will do just fine, thank you,” I reply, still chuckling.

  “Are you sure?” she challenges. “Because the initial thing seems to work for k.d. lang, B.J. Thomas, Mr. T., R. Kelly and the artist formally known as Prince.”

  Tara’s feisty sass and teasing manner fills me with relief. This is the Gracie I remember; it’s like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon.

  “Those are very good artists and they would be wonderful mentors, but for now I think I’ll stick with my full name. If I ever make the big leagues, I might consider more exotic names. My name is as plain Jane as it gets, but at least it belongs to my family.”

  “If we’re going to dream, we should dream big. You want to be known by your first name like Elton, Michael or Billy,” she replies.

  “Billy Jack?” I tease.

  “Uh … no!”

  I walk around the taxi and open the door to help her out. As I do, I lean over to kiss her behind the ear and murmur, “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  We link fingers and walk up to the reservation desk. “Aidan O’Brien, I have a reservation under 5 Star Creative Arts and Industries,” I state, handing the reservation clerk a piece of paper with my confirmation number.

  “Okay, Mr. O’Brien. Your room is 317 on the third floor. The ice machine is down the hall on the left. The pool is open from 11:00 AM to 8:00 PM,” he explains as he hands me a map with the room number highlighted.

  Studying the map, I notice a problem. “Excuse me, sir? Is this room ADA compliant?” I inquire, hating this part.

  The reservation clerk looks at me skeptically as he replies, “Why? You don’t look handicapped. Maybe you and your girlfriend should go play your kinky role play games somewhere else. Those rooms are reserved for people who really need them.”

  Tara’s jaw drops open in shock as her eyes widen and meet mine. She tilts her head slightly at me, then back at the clerk, and raises an inquisitive eyebrow. I nod tightly. Oh boy! This guy might wish he had stayed in bed this morning. Tara is usually as laid back as an arthritic basset hound until you give her a cause, but then she turns into a Jack Russell terrier. I have a feeling this guy has about two-seconds of ‘nice’ Tara left. She winks at me and digs in her purse for a minute. With a gleam in her eyes, shows me a hair band. Almost before I can blink, she has her long hair in a slick high ponytail. She winks at me and starts to sign as she addresses the clerk, “My client here may or may not have heard you since he is deaf. However, I can hear you just fine. The stuff that just came flying out of your mouth could keep your boss tied up in court for years.” Tara turns to me to confirm. “Years? Right?” she signs to me and voices the question to the clerk.

  “Absolutely,” I agree, trying hard not to grin ear to ear with pride.

  She turns back to the clerk, but continues to sign. “Perhaps you’ve not heard of invisible disabilities? My friend Kiera is in a wheelchair, but she needs the room even less than he does.”

  “He doesn’t look like he needs anything,” the clerk argues. “If he’s so deaf how come he can talk to me? Why isn’t he doing all that weird stuff with his hands?”

  I roll my eyes. “I can hear you, you know,” I say dryly.

  “Oh, can I have this one?” Tara asks, turning to me.

  I shrug. “Sure, you’re on a roll.”

  “Thanks. You’re so good to me,” she responds with a small grin.

  Tara looks over at him and studies his name tag. “Well, Eddie K. If you took the time to figure out a little bit about the world around you, you’d understand that not everyone’s disability is the same. Mr. O’Brien here wasn’t born deaf, so his speech is not as impaired as someone who was. Also, he’s one of the lucky ones who has benefited from cochlear implants. In most situations, he can function pretty well. However, at night he has to take them out to clean and recharge them. Despite his amazingly handsome and debonair appearance, which I’m sure intimidates the hell out of you, he remains deaf. Without his implants in, Aidan cannot hear the smoke alarm, the phone, the alarm clock, or someone knocking at the door. That, Eddie, is why Mr. O’Brien asked for an accessible room. That is not to say there won’t be some kinky stuff going on in those oversize bathrooms. But I’ll leave that to your under-sized brain and over-sized imagination.”

  Poor Eddie K. looks like he’s been punched in the chin by Evander Holyfield. I kind of feel bad for him. He had no way of knowing that Tornado Tara was coming. She is so magnificent. She looks like a strong wind would knock her over, but when her mind is set on something, you’d best get on board or get the hell out of her way.

  It’s all I can do not to laugh out loud at his expression. I look back at Tara. She’s suddenly very interested in the nail polish beginning to flake off of her thumbnail. I catch her eye and sign, “Impressive. Scary as hell, but impressive.”

  Tara gives me a micro smirk and shrugs one shoulder as she signs back, “Really? I was going for educational. But scary works. He was an ass.”

  I almost choke on my tongue trying not to laugh. “You’re so bad,” I sign, trying to be discreet.

  Eddie notices, though. He turns to Tara and practically shouts, “I thought you said he didn’t have to do that weird stuff with his hands.”

  Okay, that’s it. I’m done. I don’t know why this guy feels like he has to be an asshat. The only one he’s embarrassing is himself. Does he think he’s the only person who thinks talking louder is somehow going to make me less deaf?

  “Eddie, I’m sorry, you’re absolutely right. That was probably rude of me. I shouldn’t have had a conversation in front of you in a language you don’t understand without translating for you.” I admit. “But, since it was a private conversation and all, I figured it was none of your business. Speaking of rude, you never answered my original question. Is the room equipped with what I need?”

  Eddie K turns to his computer and begins banging on the keyboard. I hope his employer has insurance on the thing, because after tonight I suspect that it’s going to be toast. He turns back to me and says, “No, I’m sorry sir. That room is not equipped. The only room we have available that’s equipped is a single, smoking room.”

  Tara meets his gaze with fire in her eyes. “Eddie K., I want to make sure I understand this correctly. Even though we called and made arrangements days ago for specific accommodations and made it clear why they were necessary, you’re telling me that no such room exists in your huge hotel? Tell me, Eddie, if we were to ask your supervisor the same question, would we get the same answer?”

  Tara points to our confirmation printout that clearly spells out the fact that we asked for a non-smoking ADA compliant room. We even had a specific room assignment given to us by the person making reservations. Eddie rips the paper out of her hand and resumes pounding on his keyboard. After a few minutes, he snarls, “My mistake. One of the executive suites just opened up. I’ll be happy to change your reservation, sir.” The last syllable was dripping with sarcasm.

  Two could play this game. I don my most engaging smile and reply, “Why, thank you Eddie. We appreciate your exemplary customer service skills.”

  I take the new key and paperwork from him and hand it to Tara and I grab our suitcases. As we’re walking away, I hear Eddie mutter, “Stupid retards, think they run the world.”

  I grab Tara’s hand to stop her from using her considerable repertoire of martial arts training to tear this guy apart limb-by-limb.

  “Let it go, Gracie.” I direct softly. “We can’t change people like him. It doesn’t matter what we say or do, his opinion is always going to be the same.”

  A tremble passes through Tara’s body as if she’s shaking off a bad dream and she pops her neck as sh
e rolls her shoulders. She sounds anguished as she hisses, “AJ, did you hear what he called you? You want me to walk away from that?”

  I drop the luggage and gather her up in a hug right there in the middle of the lobby. I really don’t care who’s watching. “Yeah, baby, I do. He can’t hurt me and he can’t hurt us. If he chooses to remain ignorant and intolerant, that’s on him. It’s not our responsibility,” I answer as I kiss the top of her head. Just then a luggage attendant comes by and offers to take our bags to our rooms. I wasn’t planning to use these extra services, because I don’t have a lot of money for tips. She must have read the look of panic on my face because she says, “No worries, this one’s on me.”

  As the attendant, a tall woman, steps on the elevator with us and maneuvers the cart around, she waits until the door closes before saying, “Look, that guy doesn’t represent all of us, or even most of us. He’s a really big jerk. My son has autism. Everybody has something that makes ‘em unique. Normal is boring. I apologize for him. I’m going to have my friend Sarah send you something down from the kitchen. She is an amazing pastry chef.”

  I reach out to shake the lady’s hand, but Tara has beaten me to it and has her wrapped in a hug. When she’s done, I shake her hand and say, “Thank you, ma’am. Your words mean a lot.”

  She blushes slightly. “You all have a great stay. It was nice meeting you. Please call #211 if you need anything.”

  “Thank you so much, you have a great day too,” Tara says as she slips her a five dollar bill.

  “You don’t have to do that,” the attendant insists.

  Tara nodded. “I know. I want to, because you made a crappy situation better. Besides, a trucker gave me that last night on a ninety-nine cent cup of coffee. It would be totally creepy Karma to keep it,” she explains with a cheeky grin.

  The attendant shrugs. “If you insist. It doesn’t matter to me. Money’s money. Thank you. I appreciate it. Good night, folks.”

  After I lock the door, Tara walks up behind me, places her arms around my waist, and hugs me. “Thank you, Aidan. That was a pretty epic save back there,” she mumbles into my shirt.

  “Really? Because, from where I was standing, you didn’t need much saving. In fact, you were the one slaying my dragons,” I quip.

  “No, Aidan. I’m serious.” Tara argues. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I might have ruined the whole trip. I was about to go ballistic on that guy, I’d get arrested and you’d have to visit me in prison … a bad scene all around.”

  I grin. “Yeah?”

  “Seriously, I did get in trouble once because this perverted old man was trying to jerk off in the presence of a young girl on public transportation, and I was trying to divert his attention so that she could get away. It worked, but somehow, I ended up with a criminal record over it. I’m not even sure he was ever caught and punished.”

  I turn around so that her face is buried in my chest. I feel her tears through both layers of cloth. “Now they might not let me in the schools or adopt a little girl like Mindy, because I was so stupid,” Tara hiccups as she sobs the words.

  “You did the right thing. Don’t give up yet. There are things that can be done to clean up your record. I’m sure you remember my dad is a sort of big-shot in the business community. He’s got a stable of lawyers at his beck and call. I’m sure one of them can do something to fix that mess, because that’s just wrong.”

  Tara walks over to the nightstand and grabs some Kleenex to blow her nose. “I hope so. I’d hate for this to ruin my chance of working with kids. I was just trying to help her and it was a really long time ago. I would probably handle things differently now. I just saw the potential danger and reacted without really thinking it through. I think I’ve made a lot of progress since then,” she says in a tired voice.

  “Come on Gracie, it’s been a really long day, and since the hotel has been so gracious as to provide this awesome room with a sunken tub, you should totally take advantage of it.”

  “Oh, that sounds heavenly,” Tara exclaims. “I just wish that I had some of Heather’s homemade bubble bath. It smells phenomenal.”

  “Does Heather make your perfume too?” I inquire. “Because you always smell spectacular.”

  Tara grins at me and answers with excitement in her voice, “Yes! She makes it for all of us, and it always suits our personality. I keep telling her she needs to go into business professionally. But she’s so talented, she can’t decide which business she wants to get into. She is also a spectacular chef and needs to open a restaurant. Unfortunately, her family has undermined her confidence and she’s too scared to take the leap. I’m working on her, though. She has an old dilapidated food truck she’s working out of now.”

  “From what I’ve read, it’s not easy to run one of those either,” I respond. “I’ll let you take a bath while I get things unpacked and work on the stuff I need for the audition. I just need to be ready for the meeting tonight at 7 o’clock.”

  I’m trying to play it cool and act like this is not the most nerve-racking thing that I’ve ever done. I’m glad Tara gave me the warning about the acoustic environment. We are in the middle of an old soundstage. That is, it used to be a soundstage. Today it looks like an old Army Depot, with sound bouncing off cement and metal everywhere. The line we’re in snakes around the whole perimeter of the building and out into the parking lot. Fortunately, we were able to be here early, when they first allowed people to stand in line.

  Not to use a really bad pun or anything, but the noise in this place is deafening. It’s an echo chamber. I’m grateful that I can communicate with Tara without adding to the cacophony. Even so, processing all the input is giving me a huge headache. Tara notices my grimace when someone knocks over a rack of folding chairs. The sound ricochets through the building like a string of firecrackers. The insane level of the sound input reminds me of when I first got my cochlear implants, and my brain was first learning to interpret sound again.

  She touches my arm drawing me back to the present. “Aidan, do you trust me to have your back?” she asks, studying the room.

  “Of course.” I answer without hesitation. I’m totally confused by the random question. Maybe I missed part of a conversation, because of the extreme environment.

  “Just turn your receivers off, then. Obviously, you’re not getting any usable input, and they’re about to scramble your brain. So let me be your ears,” she offers. “That’s what I’m here for!”

  My whole body sags in relief. It is incredibly fatiguing to try to sort all this out in my head. Tara’s idea is brilliant. On the other hand, I don’t want to be treated any different as a “special needs” contestant. I run my hands through my hair in frustration. There’s really no good answer. Either choice has a downside. But just then, a couple of teenage girls start to shriek in excitement. In a normal environment, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But we’re in a building with no carpet, with metal walls and hundreds of other people also making noise. It’s the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. Wearily, I reach up and turn off my implants.

  I watch as Tara swallows hard and her eyes mist over with tears. “Thanks for believing in me. I’ll take care of you,” she signs. Today, she’s dressed like a traditional interpreter. Her clothes are solid black with very little embellishment or frills. Her long hair is caught in a single braid down her back. She looks buttoned-down and corporate. If someone were to meet her for the first time, they would never believe under all of that cool perfectionism beats the heart of a passionate artist.

  The silence feels like a cloud of marshmallows. For the first time, I can study the crowd around me. When I do, I begin to feel positively ancient. After doing some mental math, I decide that it’s mathematically possible that some of these kids trying out alongside of me could be my own children. Now isn’t that a happy little thought? I’m just a tad late to this party, I’m thinking.

  Tara notices the glum look on my face and starts to interpret some of the conver
sations taking place around me. Up until now, I had only gotten glimpses of her interpreting skills. Some interpreters are so boring. It’s the equivalent of listening to someone speaking in monotone. It’s enough to put you to sleep. The other extreme is an interpreter whose facial expressions are so exaggerated that their signing gets lost in the process. Tara has the perfect balance. When she’s interpreting the conversation of a large group, she plays each speaker just slightly differently so that it’s easy to keep track of which person is talking. She is animated and entertaining, but not to the point that it’s distracting.

  Listening to conversations around me, via Tara, distracts me from my own nervous energy and provided me with some interesting information. For example, many of my fellow competitors have never actually sung for a crowd before, but only in their bedroom, using a WebCam for YouTube. I find that absolutely stunning. I think back to my early days on the stage. I can’t imagine what it would be like to make your singing debut for the whole world to see, on national TV.

  Yet I’m doing virtually the same thing. Aside from Rory, Renée and Tara, I’ve kept my singing ability a big secret from the world. So this is my debut as well.

  Unconsciously, I start to gnaw the inside of my cheek. Tara notices what I’m doing and gives me the sign for stop. “Aidan, relax. You got this. You’ve had this since you were five. It’s just taken you a while to capitalize on your talent.”

  I give her a grateful smile as I sign, “I’m so glad you’re here. Not only are you a phenomenal interpreter, you make a kick-ass cheerleader, too.”

  Tara winks at me as she signs, “No problem. I’m just glad I could be of service.”

  Finally we get to the check-in table and I hand over my paperwork and confirmation number, along with a headshot Renée was kind enough to take.

  The event coordinator starts rattling off instructions at a million miles an hour. I have turned my receivers back on, but I still look at Tara so that I can follow the conversation. Geez, this lady needs to cut back on the Red Bull. When she notices what I’m doing, she stops mid-sentence and screeches, “You’re deaf? Deaf people can’t sing!”