Cora persisted. “Tell me I’m not crazy. You’re keeping her!”
“I am, I am. I was trying to think of a cool way to tell you but I’m awful at keeping secrets.” He squinted at Cora. “Are you tearing up?”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I’m such a lightweight when it comes to dog stuff. It doesn’t take much to get me going. But this news deserves some happy tears.” She sniffled. “I am so, so, so grateful that she’s staying with you. It’s perfect!”
He rifled through his laptop bag and produced a small cloth handkerchief. “My mom gave me a bunch of these. Chronic postnasal drip. But this one is unused, I swear!”
Cora laughed and dabbed her eyes with the soft square of fabric. “This is such a relief. I wanted you to keep her but I didn’t know if you were ready for a dog. And I didn’t want to ask outright. I was sure that I could find her a good home, but that might mean that I’d lose touch with her. Her staying with you . . . well, I hope we’ll keep in touch.”
“Of course we’ll keep in touch,” Eli said gently. “I mean, I hope so, too.”
“When did you know she was the one for you?” Cora asked.
“The first minute I saw her. I had an immediate connection to her. Which was weird, because I’ve never been a small-dog guy.”
Cora understood the alchemy of a perfect dog-human match.
“Is everything going okay with her? Like potty training and all that?”
“She’s perfect. No accidents. And she goes to the door and barks when she needs to go out.”
“Speaking of barking . . . ,” Cora said with a grimace.
“I forgot to tell you! The barking problem is gone. The only time she barks is when she needs to go out. None of that awful nonstop stuff like she used to do. She’s totally different now.”
“Amazing. But now I feel doubly bad about her life with Beth Ann. Have you heard anything?”
“Nope, nothing. They’re cleaning out her apartment. I guess her parents hired a company to scour it down before they try to sell it.”
“They’ve got their work cut out for them.”
“I’m still in shock that it was so bad. Beth Ann was quirky, sure, but I never thought she was hoarding.” He shook his head.
“Yeah, it’s kinda scary how well some people can hide their true selves.” She shrugged and looked out the window at the people rushing to work, wondering how many of them were who they appeared to be.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “This might be prying, because it seems like there’s all kinds of secrecy surrounding it, and you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Cora said, grimacing.
“Is ChienParfait your website?”
Her eyes bugged.
“You need to work on your poker face,” Eli said, answering himself.
“How did you—where did—?”
“I’ll admit that I used to like Boris’s show because I didn’t know better, but Fran told me what you thought of him. I looked into him when I realized that he was going to be in town and I stumbled on a Washington Post video interview with him. Being the nerd that I am, I immediately went to ChienParfait and who did I see on the site but our mutual friend Sydney. I mean, I knew it had to be you.”
“So did you hate it?” Cora winced, anticipating the worst.
“Well, it introduced me to a totally different side of you. I mean, you know your dog stuff, but some of the Ershovich posts . . . you get kind of intense. I translated the titles, too. Yikes. Not what I expected.”
“Yeah, I get fired up about him. It borders on ranting, huh?”
“No, no . . . it’s great stuff. I like the passion. You’re not making personal attacks about him, and your arguments make sense. I actually read your entire blog, and you’ve got plenty of happy stuff mixed in there, too. I like your voice. You should write a book.”
“You sound like Fran. I’ve got plenty on my plate to worry about right now. I did this big—” She started to tell him about the audition but stopped. She was talking about herself too much. “Never mind. Listen, I’ve got to run. Please send me a photo when she’s done?”
“You got it. I feel like such a dork but I’m psyched to see what she looks like. I feel like she’s on a makeover show.”
“Same.” Cora paused, unsure of what to say next. She didn’t want to leave.
“Hey—Rivera tomorrow night. You going?” Eli asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. You?”
“Yup. I’ll text you a picture of Nell’s transformation.”
“Can’t wait.” Cora slung her bag over her shoulder slowly and lingered over the last few sips of coffee. She had six minutes to make it to a client who was seven minutes away, but for the first time she thought it would be fine to be a tad late. “Okay, better head out now. Bye.”
“I’ll see you on the dance floor.”
“Ha! Unlikely.” She waved awkwardly at Eli and headed out, computing exactly how late she’d be.
She peeked in the window at Eli as she passed. He was staring off into the distance, talking to himself and gesturing with one hand. Quirky, she thought. Nell found her perfect match.
THIRTY-FIVE
* * *
“Does this look okay?” Cora asked Maggie.
Maggie had finally come back to the real world, but even if she’d still been in her funk, there was no way she’d miss a party of Rivera’s caliber. Unemployed or not, she was always up for an adventure, particularly when it involved free alcohol and dancing. She looked at Cora’s jeans, silky silver racerback tank, and ballet flats with a sneer. “Absolutely not. You look like you’re getting ready to mow the lawn. Latin clubs demand sass. They will turn you away at the door if you show up in that, so go find a skirt and some heels. The tank is tit-a-licious, everything from the waist down has to go.”
Cora found a short flippy black skirt from her pre-Aaron days in a ball in the back of the closet. A wrinkled mess and it smelled musty, but it was the only remaining sass in her closet. She tried on her strappy black heels and winced at how tight they were in the toes. It was as if wearing flats every day allowed her feet to spread out and grow half a size. She threw on a pair of Bollywood-inspired dangly silver earrings, a wide black belt, and hobbled to Maggie’s room.
“Better?” she asked.
Maggie looked up from her makeup mirror. “Aiii papi!” she purred. “Your hair looks great down. But can you dance in those shoes?”
“There’s no way I’m dancing. You know it takes a crapload of alcohol to get me on the floor, and my client is going to be there tonight. I’ll watch you tear it up, but I’ll be sitting the whole night, thank you.” It was an excuse. Cora knew that Fran was probably going to be drunk, and the mood was going to be over-the-top celebratory.
“Oh come on! You can’t go to a Latin club and not dance! I think it’s illegal in some states.”
“Nope. Not happening. So this looks okay?” She twirled around.
Maggie laughed. “I can totally see your underwear when you spin—mint green with lace around the edge! But I guess since you won’t be dancing, it doesn’t matter anyway. You look great. Now go put some makeup on. Oh, and put these on, too.” She tossed her a pair of thigh-high fishnets that barely cleared the bottom of her skirt.
“Seriously? That makes the outfit sort of trampy.”
“Exactly.”
Cora finished getting ready and sat with Fritz on the couch while she waited for Maggie to complete her toilette. Josie was with Maggie, watching the transformation. The two blondes were inseparable.
“Are you ready to see some mega bonita?” Maggie called from around the corner.
“Yup, hurry, we’re late.”
Maggie spun into the room and posed like a professional ballroom dancer. She looked phenomenal, perfectly dressed for the occasion, as always. Her black V-neck dress left her back completely exposed. The top o
f the dress was formfitting, and the bottom flared and fluttered when she moved. Her hair was teased into a hybrid bouffant Mohawk.
“Gorgeous. But you look so dressy. Aren’t you worried about being too glammed up?”
“There is no such thing as ‘too glammed up’ at Café Fuego. Just wait till you see some of the outfits. Now, don’t forget, the rules are different in a Latin club. Not everyone who asks you to dance wants to fuck you. Sometimes they just want to dance, so don’t be afraid to say yes.”
Don’t be afraid to say yes. Seemed like good advice.
They each gave Fritz and Josie lipstick kisses on the top of their heads and dashed out the door. After walking a few blocks hoping to hail a cab, they realized the city was jumping and they had no choice but to continue on foot.
“Hey, girls! Girls!” a voice rang out.
“Joe Elvis, it’s been a while,” Cora called to him as he walked their way.
He assumed his signature stance and belted through the entire first verse of “Girls, Girls, Girls,” looking at Cora when he got to the “big and brassy” line and Maggie when he sang the “small and sassy” line, a nod to the height difference between them. He finished and awaited their applause.
“Awesome, as always, buddy.” Maggie laughed and clapped.
He whistled. “Y’all are lookin’ fine! Where y’all going tonight?”
“We’re going dancing at Café Fuego. Do you dance?” Maggie asked.
“Nope, nah, I’m a singer. No dancing.” He waved good-bye as they finally hailed a cab.
The block surrounding Café Fuego was packed. Clearly, word had gotten out about the invitation-only party, and throngs of gate crashers and wannabes were attempting to talk their way in. The cab couldn’t even get close because of the Town Cars and Escalades with blacked-out windows idling out front, so the driver dropped Cora and Maggie off on a parallel street. They jumped the long line and walked up to a young woman in a fashionably distressed Santiago Rivera T-shirt near the front door holding a clipboard.
“Cora Bellamy and guest,” she said to the woman, raising her voice over a pounding baseline that seeped through the closed club doors.
The woman scanned the list on the clipboard. “You’re guests of Miss Channing, so here are your VIP passes.” She handed them two hot-pink wristbands. Cora and Maggie looked at each other with wide eyes but played it cool as they affixed the paper bands to their wrists and walked into the club.
The music throbbed around them, making it impossible to hear anything they tried to say to each other. It sounded like hip-hop with a Caribbean flair and Spanish lyrics. “Reggaeton,” Maggie shouted in Cora’s ear. “I love it!”
The lighting was dim, with red spotlights piercing the shadows like torches every few feet. It was so dark and crowded that Cora doubted that she would be able to find Fran to thank her for the invitation. The narrow hallway opened up to a packed room ringed with a balcony. Cora could see the musicians setting up their instruments on a stage across the room, and she strained to see if Santiago Rivera was among them, but couldn’t find his trademark Panama hat in the throng. The dance floor was already crowded with people gyrating against one another. Maggie was right—there was no shortage of sparkle and glitz. Most of the women wore short tight dresses and heels, and the men wore slim-fitting pants and dress shirts. Now that she was here, she was glad Maggie had forced her into a skirt.
Cora pantomimed drinking, and Maggie nodded. As they threaded through the crowd, Cora noticed men making way for them, nodding as they passed. A man grabbed her hand and swayed his hips in an invitation to dance, but she pulled her hand back, smiled, and shook her head no. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
Maggie turned to Cora, pointed to a handsome man standing in front of her, and shouted, “He’s getting us drinks, what do you want?” Cora could always count on Maggie to score them a few rounds of freebies. She drew attention wherever she went, and Cora didn’t mind hanging out in her friend’s shadow. The mix of Maggie’s adorable features—pink cheeks, anime eyes, and button nose—with her shocking white-blond hair, mermaid tattoo, and good-time-girl personality made everyone want to be close to her.
“It’s a party—prosecco!” Cora pretended to hold a champagne flute.
Maggie nodded and cupped her hand by the man’s ear. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and Cora knew that Maggie had already cast her first spell of the evening so she moved away from the crush at the bar and turned to watch the dance floor. The DJ changed the music from the thumping Reggaeton to a more sensual song, and many of the dancers left the floor. The few that remained stood belly to belly, swaying slowly.
Then, as if they all heard a cue in the music that was inaudible to the rest of the room, they began to move in unison, each couple melting together as if they were just moments from stripping off their clothing. The women snaked up and down their partners’ bodies in fluid waves. The dancers alternated between tango-like steps across the floor and hip-hop–influenced body rolls, undulating together from their shoulders to their hips, as if they were missing spines.
Cora’s eyes were drawn to one couple in particular. A beautiful brunette in a microscopic skirt straddled her equally handsome partner’s leg and popped her perfectly round rear from side to side. Her partner flipped her away then twirled her around and around, and her head fell back as if she were exhausted and didn’t have the strength to lift it up. Like most Latin-style dancing, even though the man worked the floor like a panther, he was there only to highlight the sensuality of the woman’s moves. Cora wondered if Charlie knew how to dance.
She felt a hand on her lower back. “Hey,” someone yelled into her ear. She was ready with an apologetic look and a “no, thank you” when she realized Eli was standing beside her. He was wearing jeans and a fitted light pink button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up, exposing a faint lock-and-key pattern on the inside of the sleeves.
“Hey, Eli, long time no see! Love the pink.” The music was still so loud that they had to lean close together and yell into each other’s ears in order to be heard. Eli smelled good, like sandalwood.
“Thanks! You look really nice. I’ve never seen all of this action before.” He gestured around her hair.
“Thanks, sometimes I let the beast out. So, that photo of Nell you sent! How does she feel about her new look?” Cora had been stunned by how good the little dog looked.
“Molly is a miracle worker, thanks again for helping me get the appointment.”
They stood side by side, watching the soft-core action on the dance floor.
He nodded to the dancers. “Isn’t that amazing? It’s called ‘zouk.’ ”
“How do you know that?”
“Three sisters, remember? Two of them took dance classes until high school. And my parents love to dance, too. I know more about dance than I care to.”
“Can you do that? Zouk?”
“Oh my god, no way. I could never dance like that with my sister.” He made a face and shuddered.
The music faded, and the DJ broke in. “Muy caliente! Muy muy! Ladies and gentlemen, Tiene un buen momento? Are you having a good time?” Everyone cheered. “Are you ready to welcome the man of the hour?” The crowd roared. “Okay, okay, Mr. Rivera will be on in just a few minutes. You know he’s worth the wait, right?” The entire room screamed in response. “Now back to bailando!” The music swelled again, this time a repetitive three-count beat with a distinct drum pop at the end.
“Bachata,” Eli said. “Do you dance?”
Cora shook her head vigorously. “No, not really. Maybe at a wedding after a few drinks, but nothing like that,” she said, gesturing to the crowded dance floor. Just then Maggie swooped in with drinks in hand.
“She dances,” Cora said, pointing to Maggie. “Eli, this is my friend Maggie, and this is Eli, who works with my client Fran. He’s the one who is taking little Chanel-Nell.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eli shouted over the din, raising his glass to Maggi
e and bowing. She smiled and returned the toast. “So you dance? Do you want to go out . . .” He pointed to the dance floor.
Maggie nodded and turned to Cora. “Do you mind?”
Cora felt an involuntary clench in her stomach, but she shook her head no. “Go for it! I’ll hold your drink.” She couldn’t believe that Eli was so eager to get on the floor that he’d ask someone he’d just met to dance. I might have tried it if he pushed a little more, Cora thought.
The handsome dark-haired man who bought the drinks for them walked up as Eli led Maggie to the dance floor. He held out his hand. “I’m Juan. Would you like to dance?” He was short and muscular, with his dark hair gelled into a faux hawk.
Cora balanced both glasses in one hand and shook Juan’s hand with the other. “Sorry, no thanks. But thanks for the drinks!” She had a feeling that she was going to be giving apologetic refusals all night.
They stood at the edge of the floor and watched Maggie and Eli. Cora was curious to see how lanky loping Eli would handle her tiny friend.
The bachata looked like a simple dance; three steps forward, hip bump, then three steps back and another hip bump. Some of the dancers repeated those same movements over and over without any variation, while others added turns, gyrations, slides, and small kicks. Eli started off with just the basic steps, leading Maggie backward and forward rhythmically but without much flair. Cora could tell that Maggie was holding back, keeping her stripper-grade hip bumps subdued.
Little by little, Eli added more flash to his moves, as if he had to feel her out as a partner before he could really get to work. A double turn here, a stutter-step there, until it was clear that Maggie had met her match. By the end of the dance, they’d closed the polite gap between them, and Maggie had her hands clasped behind Eli’s head instead of typical partner position.
Cora couldn’t believe how good he looked. Sexy, even. The dance floor transformed him in a way that caught her off guard. Granted, he wasn’t as fluid as some of the other men on the floor, but for a tall goofy white guy he was peerless.
Life on the Leash Page 20