She lifted out several used books on the Spanish Armada—obviously a special order for her sister. She registered them quickly and put them in a recycled bag. She looked at her wrist and for the tenth time that day realized that her watch was still with Rio!
She was debating whether she could casually stop by the dance studio to retrieve it or wait until the next class. She shot a look at her sister’s bag of books. The dance studio and her sister’s house were only a few minutes apart. She could deliver the books and just drop in at DIAGNOSIS:Dance! on the way home. It might seem a little awkward, showing up at her sister’s uninvited. She had never actually delivered books to Erinn before.
But still . . .
She shelved the other books quickly and made a speedy inspection of the tables that were now functioning as the tearoom. She wiggled the table with the shim under it. It was nice and sturdy. She wiggled another one. Wobbly! Suzanna dropped to her hands and knees and crawled along the floor, studying the bases of the bookcases for another one of those handy shims Eric had used. She found one and tried to nudge it out from under the wooden bookcase. The bookcase didn’t budge. Suzanna stood up and threw her whole weight against the bookcase, which titled back against the wall, surrendering like a fugitive trapped by the police in an alley. She kicked the shim out from under the bookcase base, settled the bookcase back in place, and hoped for the best. She gingerly poked the bookcase. It certainly wasn’t what you’d call sturdy, but it wasn’t going to topple over, either.
Just like Jenga.
She wedged the shim under the offending table leg, grabbed Erinn’s pile of books, and headed upstairs long enough to change into black yoga pants, black shoes, and a yellow T-shirt with a large sunflower on it. She thundered down the stairs and into the backyard to retrieve her bicycle, but decided that riding meant she risked being sweaty when she stopped in—ever so casually—at the dance studio. She rummaged in her purse to make sure she had the keys to the car. It was a shame to miss out on a beautiful bike ride, but a girl had to have her priorities straight!
She crossed the palm-tree-lined streets of Venice into Santa Monica and pulled up in front of her sister’s impressive Victorian on Ocean Avenue—one of the last of the old homes on the ocean-front boulevard that was now lined mostly with imposing glass condominiums. The house had been a mess when Erinn first rescued it, but now it was a showcase. The clapboard-clad building featured boxed eaves, bay windows, balconies, elaborate molding, and a steeply pitched roof. There was also a two-story round tower, which reminded Suzanna of her own book nook. Suzanna thought back to the years of helping her parents renovate their barn–house, and often wondered if she and her sister were genetically programmed to save old buildings from disrepair.
She hoisted the bag of books, locked her car, and headed toward the front door, threading her way through her sister’s prize rose garden. After she had gotten the house restored to its original glory, Erinn had rototilled the entire front yard and replaced the grass and hedges with a massive rose garden. The new landscaping was not universally loved by the neighbors, but that was something Erinn never seemed to care about . . . or even notice. Suzanna stopped to admire the flowers, with their heady scent, then knocked on the front door.
No response.
Oh, hell!
Deep down, Suzanna realized that she didn’t actually have to deliver the books to Erinn in order to stop in at DIAGNOSIS:Dance!, but when she created a scenario, she liked to see it through. She waited another minute, ringing the doorbell and knocking, and finally admitted defeat. She turned—and was startled by Erinn’s huge cat, Caro, who had lain down at her feet.
“Caro!” Suzanna said. “You scared me to death.”
Caro stood up and leaned heavily against Suzanna’s legs. She put the bag of books down and scooped up the cat, which hung limply in her arms, purring in fits and starts like a badly tuned engine. Caro’s attention span was pretty short and after a few energetic pats from Suzanna, he jumped down. Suzanna watched him as he padded lightly toward the backyard. He stopped just as he was about to round the corner and meowed at Suzanna.
Surprised, Suzanna followed him. She stood open-mouthed as she realized the cat had led her to her sister, who was photographing flowers in the backyard. Erinn was completely focused, pointing a gigantic black camera with a telephoto lens at a sunflower. Suzanna knew that photography was one of Erinn’s hobbies, one that she focused on when she should have been writing. Suzanna cleared her throat and Erinn looked up.
“Hi,” Suzanna said.
“Hello,” Erinn said, hanging the camera around her neck. “This is a surprise.”
“Oh, I know! Sorry!” Suzanna said, holding out the books. “Your books came in and I just thought I’d deliver them.”
Erinn took the books. She blinked at them as if Suzanna had handed her dirt samples from outer space.
“How is the play going?” Suzanna asked, unnerved by her sister’s silence.
“It’s about as big a catastrophe as the Armada was for the Spanish.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Suzanna said. “Don’t be depressed.”
“I’m not depressed,” Erinn said. “Just honest.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Hope springs eternal, Suzanna,” Erinn said. “As Longfellow once said, ‘Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger. ’ Of course, that didn’t exactly work for the Spanish, but perhaps it will work for me.”
Suzanna remembered why she rarely stopped in to see her sister. She tried another avenue of conversation.
“Caro led me around to the backyard,” Suzanna said, bending over and patting the cat. “Who says cats aren’t as good as dogs?”
“I don’t know,” Erinn said. “Who?”
“I better go,” Suzanna said. “I know you want to get back to
work . . . photographing the flowers.”
Erinn had lain flat on her stomach, shooting at a tangle of ivy.
“Go into the guesthouse and grab my 200-millimeter lens, would you?”
“Uh . . .”
“It’s the big one. It’s sitting on the desk.”
Suzanna looked at the guesthouse that was tucked into a corner of the yard. It was a miniature Victorian on which Erinn had lavished a lot of attention and money.
“Okay,” Suzanna said, noting the closed door. “Where’s the key?”
“The guesthouse is in my backyard. I don’t lock it!”
“You keep your photography equipment in there,” Suzanna said. “You should lock the door.”
“I will not surrender to that kind of thinking.”
Suzanna got the lens and held it out to Erinn, who took it without ever looking up, so engrossed in the ivy that speech, apparently, had left her. Suzanna scurried around the side of the house, down the path toward the safety of her car. She turned when her sister called out her name. Erinn was now sitting cross-legged on the grass, tightening the new lens onto the camera. She was not looking at her and Suzanna wondered if it had just been her imagination, and Erinn hadn’t called her at all. Suzanna turned back down the path, when Erinn asked, “Where is your watch?”
Suzanna looked down at her wrist as if her carpal bones were going to give her up. Her sister had barely engaged her in conversation for the last ten minutes.
“I can’t believe you noticed I wasn’t wearing it.”
Erinn straightened up and looked at Suzanna.
“I’m a writer. I notice everything,” Erinn said.
“I . . . I’ve got to go . . .”
“I understand,” Erinn said, focusing on a hummingbird. “But Suzanna . . .”
Suzanna was looking at Erinn, who was still turned away from her.
“Try to be happy.”
Suzanna swallowed and headed back to her life. She thought about her sister as she drove toward the dance studio. She had a mental image of Erinn, years from now, standing in her beautiful
, empty house, holding a grotesquely fat cat, an ever-growing stack of books on the Spanish Armanda piling up on the desk.
If I do end up like that, I’m getting a better-looking pet.
CHAPTER 17
Suzanna drove around the block several times, passing the DIAGNOSIS:Dance! studio over and over again. She had forgotten how crowded this part of town got during the day. By the time she found a parking space, she was so annoyed that she forgot how nervous she was about stopping in for her watch.
Until she walked in the door—and then anxiety flooded her. She hadn’t taken into account the fact that Rio would be teaching a class when she got there.
“Oh, hello,” the faerie at the desk said in her helium voice. “You’re usually in our evening salsa class, right?”
“Uh . . . yes!” Suzanna said, secretly pleased that the faerie remembered her.
“Well, the afternoon class is just getting started. Better hurry!”
Suzanna looked at her feet. She was wearing leather-soled maryjanes with a small heel.
They weren’t perfect.
But still . . .
Suzanna joined the group of men and women lining up. It was a much smaller crowd than the evening classes, but there were still a surprising number of men in the class. That was one of the perks of living in a city filled with freelance actors, writers, and producers.
Rio started the class—and manned his own iPod. Much to Suzanna’s disappointment, he didn’t look surprised that she was there. Suzanna started to dance with a short, affable Asian man in black workout clothes who introduced himself as Michael. He had a strong, decent lead. Rio called out, “Change partners.” Michael smiled, then turned his back to Suzanna and offered his hand to a new partner, one of the invariably tall, slender Amazons whose type seemed to make up the majority in her dance classes.
Suzanna also moved on. Her next partner was a female dance instructor named Paris—a good sport who filled in when there were not enough men. Paris was a really good dancer and a great instructor in her own right, but she was so small that Suzanna felt as if she might crush her at any moment. She avoided looking in the mirror when Paris was leading her around the dance floor. She felt like Goliath being taken for a spin.
When going through the rotations, Suzanna instinctively counted how many “change partners” it would take until she was dancing with Rio. Today, it was only three.
When her turn with Rio finally materialized, he offered her his hand, and the highlight of any dance class began. They practiced a triple spin. Suzanna was thrilled because she had noticed he only did triple spins with women he thought could handle it. He suddenly halted her and turned her toward the class.
“I think it is time to discuss dance etiquette,” he said, not looking at Suzanna, who stood there—the dance-etiquette prop. “Ladies, it is important to tie up your hair when you are dancing . . .”
Suzanna felt a heat in the pit of her stomach. Her hair was not tied up—and she was going to have to bear the brunt of this new transgression.
“Wild, flying hair is not attractive,” he continued. “It can also be deadly.”
Deadly?
One of the women in the class raised her hand. Rio nodded, and she said, in a casual tone, “I think long hair looks great flying around.”
“Save it for the bedroom.”
The class collectively blinked in surprise. Even though salsa dancing was incredibly sensual, the group always acted as though they were dancing the minuet. Actually mentioning its kinship with sex was pretty startling for a dance class.
“There are rules of dance etiquette and they must be obeyed,” Rio continued. “Long hair needs to be tied back because it is unpleasant to get one’s hand caught when one is trying to lead. Also, it is dangerous to gets one’s hand caught in unruly hair.”
Suzanna tried to picture Rio’s fingers getting caught in her unruly hair and the hand being pulled off as she changed partners. Normally, anything Rio said about dance was gospel, but she had to admit, she felt as if he were making too big a deal of this. However, if her hair was supposed to be tied up to save the dance world from one-handed instructors, so be it. Rio looked at her. Suzanna sobered.
Rio gave them a few more rules of etiquette, including:
1) In social dancing, couples should share the first and last dance but dance with others the rest of the time.
2) Good dancers should not only dance with those they feel can keep up. They should dance with beginners as well.
3) It is now socially acceptable for women to ask men to dance.
4) The dance world frowns on rejection, so if you are asked to dance, you better have a pretty good reason to say no. (Rio thought the only acceptable reason to reject a dance request was that you had danced so many dances previously that you just couldn’t go on. )
5) Men’s shirts tend to get damp during a strenuous evening, so it is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to arrive with a change of shirts.
Suzanna was skeptical. Just as a bathing suit with a ruffled hem signaled, “I have huge thighs and I’m trying to hide them,” a man with an armload of shirts was pretty much screaming, “I’m going to sweat all over you.”
That’s not exactly going to get the girls lining up.
Rio finished his lecture and they danced one last salsa before class ended. The other students filed out and Suzanna saw Rio standing alone by the iPod station. She gathered her courage and walked up to him.
“Hey, Rio, I . . .”
“I know why you are here.”
He unplugged the iPod and locked it in a drawer as Suzanna mutely stood by. She decided that since he said he knew why she was here, she need not mention the watch.
“Come with me,” he said.
Rio turned on his heels and walked through the mysterious mirrored door. Suzanna stood rooted to the floor. She could not get her legs to move. She was too panicked for even a panic float, apparently. Rio stood in the doorway. She finally got control of her feet and walked clumsily in Rio’s direction. She caught a glimpse of herself wearing her sunny yellow T-shirt.
I really have to get more of a grip on my mystique.
Suzanna’s heart was thudding in her chest. Rio ushered her into the office and closed the door behind them. The room was dark and her eyes had trouble adjusting after the bright glare of the studio. She had no sense of where Rio was and stood stock still for fear of banging into him. She blinked, frog-like, trying to determine exactly where Rio had gone. Suddenly, she felt his hands on her waist. He spun her around to face him.
Are we practicing a dance move?
His hands started traveling up the inside of her shirt. Suzanna was stunned, but luckily she had enough presence of mind to suck in her stomach. Other than that, she was in a state of near-lyrical hysteria. He spoke to her in Spanish and kissed her neck, but, since she didn’t speak Spanish, she had no idea what he was saying.
What’s going on?
Suzanna deliberated on this most interesting turn of events. She tried not to think that she was sweaty from class.
But then again, so are you and you didn’t change your shirt either, Mr. Dance Etiquette.
Suzanna wracked her brain, trying to remember if she left enough time on the meter for this.
Concentrate, concentrate.
She could not believe that for some heaven-sent, inexplicable reason she was making out with her hot dance instructor. Then the door burst open and they jumped apart. Actually, Suzanna jumped apart and Rio ran a hand smoothly over his ponytail. It was Paris. She flicked on the lights and beamed at them.
“Just need to get some hip-hop CDs for my next class,” she said.
She was gone as fast as she’d arrived. Suzanna stared at the floor, mortified, and when she finally willed herself to raise her eyes, she was alone in the room. She peered through the office door out into the studio. Rio was approaching a woman who was seated on the side of the room. He offered his hand and led her out onto the dance floor.
Suzanna tried to slink out unnoticed, and somehow managed to propel herself to safety outside. The neon DIAGNOSIS: Dance! Sign blinked behind her. She casually turned around and looked in the window. Rio was completely absorbed in his next salsa lesson.
She sat in her car, trying to steady her heartbeat. It took her a minute to realize that Rio still hadn’t given her back her watch!
That’s weird. He said he knew why I was there. Did he think I came to make out with him?
She put her head on the steering wheel and groaned. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, if she had a choice between a make-out session and a timepiece, she had to admit, she could always buy another watch.
It took her forever to drive home. She couldn’t concentrate and kept driving the wrong way or overshooting the alley behind the shop. When she finally got home, she made sure Eric was in the nook and Fernando, Carla, and Harri were all occupied when she stumbled into the back office, where she could be alone and think. Had she
really been in a fierce lip-lock with Rio? How did such a thing come about?
Too bad I don’t speak Spanish . . . there might have been a clue in his murmurings.
She felt as if she’d explode if she kept this to herself any longer. After all, like the ad said: Making out with your dance instructor: $49. 99. Sharing it with a sex-starved best friend: priceless.
“Are you alone?” she whispered to Carla, who was mulling over paint chips in the tearoom.
Carla nodded, gesturing dramatically to the empty room. Suzanna leaped into the shop and grabbed Carla’s wrists across the counter.
“You will never believe what just happened.”
“Okay.”
“No, really.”
“Okay, I believe you. I’ll never believe what just happened.”
Carla could be such a spoilsport. Suzanna looked around conspiratorially, making sure Harri and Fernando were nowhere around.
“I made out with my dance instructor.”
Carla’s mood changed at once and her eyebrows shot into her hairline.
“It was the most amazing thing. He just grabbed me in the office.”
The Merchant of Venice Beach Page 15