The car stereo blasting her favorite warm-up music, her fingers tapping out the beat on the steering wheel, Yaz pulled out of her driveway. Minutes later, she approached Maria’s school. Out of habit, she flicked on her blinker and veered into the turning lane at the school’s entrance. At the last second she caught herself and swerved back into the continuing traffic lane.
A car behind her honked, bursting the bubble of nervous energy in her stomach. Regret ached in her chest.
Since her replacement had taken over at Hanson’s when Papi’s health started deteriorating, she’d barely spent any time with Maria. In the weeks after the funeral, Yaz had purposely kept her distance, too emotionally drained to be around anyone. Not to mention, it wasn’t healthy for her to rely on Maria and Tomás’s company for comfort.
Her heart a little heavy, but her determination strong, Yazmine blew a kiss in the direction of Maria’s school, sending love for her one-time sidekick with it. As the building grew smaller in her rearview mirror, Yaz kept her foot on the gas pedal. This was for the best.
* * *
Tomás trudged into his office, head pounding with the threat of a migraine. He’d done a final run-through of the Linton campaign fairly early the evening before, then had gone to bed, intent on getting a good night’s sleep. Too bad he’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, visions of Yazmine dancing on a stage, far out of his reach, invading his dreams.
Eventually, he’d given up on getting any rest and spent the last few hours of the night channel surfing, tired yet unwilling to face the disturbing vision again.
“You look like hell,” his secretary greeted him when he walked in.
“Thanks, Myrna, you look lovely today, too.”
The older woman tsked as she followed him into his corner office, a hot cup of coffee in her hand. Her gray hair pulled back in a chignon, his ever-ready secretary rattled off the day’s schedule, passing along messages and easily dismissing the calls she deemed unworthy of his attention at the moment.
“You’re an angel,” he said, gladly taking the mug of hot coffee she offered him.
“The Linton pitch starts at eleven thirty sharp. Main conference room. How are you feeling? You look like you’re coming down with the flu or something.” She pressed a cool hand to his forehead. “Has Maria been sick?”
“I’m fine. Something didn’t agree with me last night, that’s all.” He took a deep drink of the coffee, needing the caffeine to fuel his system. He’d been waiting all morning for his usual pre-presentation adrenaline to kick in. So far it had abandoned him.
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be good,” he said. “The drawings and everything are in the carry-case. Will you make sure it’s all set up and ready to go?”
“Sure thing. I’ve got it covered.”
The older woman hurried off, closing the door quietly behind her.
Leaning back in his chair, Tomás closed his eyes, searching for the stamina that had gotten him where he was today. He knew it was in him. Somewhere. Buried under thoughts of Yazmine.
Was she still at home, or on her way to the audition? She’d mentioned the studio where the audition would be held, but he hadn’t thought to ask what time it started when he’d called to check on her the night before. He smiled now, remembering her complaint about his nagging.
“You’d make a good fishwife,” she had grumbled, smart-ass that she was.
His office intercom buzzed, reminding him of what he should be focusing on.
“Yes, Myrna,” he answered.
“Little Boss Man’s on line one.”
“Thanks.” Tomás clicked over to speak with the younger of the two partners who had founded the advertising firm. “Good morning, Wayne. What can I do for you?”
The next several minutes were spent verifying that all was set to go for the presentation. Apparently, with Linton himself here for the final pitch, the partners were antsy that no surprises crop up. All hands were expected on deck, spit polished and pristine.
Tomás knew he needed to be on his toes if he wanted to pull this off. Linton might look like Elmer Fudd, with his short, portly body and balding head, but the old man had a snappy sense of humor and a shrewd mind that served him well. Far too many business opponents had underestimated his prowess and smarts over the years.
Today, Linton was looking for a top-notch team who understood his company’s vision—the pursuit of perfection, one loyal customer at a time.
Striding out of his office to check the setup, Tomás was confident in his ability to lead that team. His ideas were rock solid. All the hours of hard work, of tossing out the bad and perfecting the good, of seeing how others reacted to his idea—especially Yazmine—would pay off.
She had played an integral part in getting his thoughts focused in the right direction. Helping him infuse passion into his work. Evoking emotions like love and commitment, words like forever . . . ideas Linton Jewelry strove to convey to their customers. Sentiments he’d blocked from his radar—until Yaz.
He reached the conference room, but paused to gather himself before going in. Yazmine was the last person he needed to be thinking about when he walked in there. Anyway, by now she was probably at the studio, mid-audition, dancing her way out of his life.
His heart slowed to a dull thud.
He felt the blood drain out of his face, leaving him clammy and nauseous.
Dios mío, he was an idiot. Letting her go could be the biggest mistake of his life.
The heavy wooden door pushed open from the inside, knocking him back a step.
“Whoa, good morning, son.” Bradford Linton stood in the doorway, his bald head shining, his pudgy figure sporting a tailored suit. “I was just coming out to see if the posse was rounding up.”
“Uh, yes, sir. I was, uh, about to head in.” Tomás stumbled over the words, his mind still grappling with the finality of Yaz’s departure and the gaping hole it would leave in his heart. In his life. A chasm he suddenly realized only she could fill.
Linton backed into the room. Tomás followed, unnerved by this new revelation.
“I’ve been admiring your mock-ups,” the older man said. “You’ve been paying attention to my suggestions, but staying true to your vision as well. I noticed you didn’t add the tiki bar over to the left. Didn’t care for that too much, huh?”
Tomás blinked several times, trying to follow the conversation. Somehow his brain had turned to mush the moment he admitted to himself that letting Yaz go without telling her how he felt had to be the ultimate asinine move.
“Tiki bar? Uh, yes,” he finally answered. “I know you made that suggestion, but when I added it, I felt it drew the eye away from the couple, and the ring.”
“You’re right.” Linton stepped closer to the mock-up boards depicting the sunset beach scene Tomás had described to Yaz the night Rey had taken a turn for the worse. “I don’t admit to being wrong very often, but that’s just ’cuz I rarely am.”
The older man chuckled and bent to peer closer at the boards. Tomás snuck a quick glance at his watch. Eleven fifteen.
Would the audition last all day? Would Yaz commit to something immediately? Could he wrap things up here quickly and race over to the audition studio to be there when she finished?
“You’ve got some beautiful imagery here.” Linton tapped a picture with a pudgy finger. “The colors, the slogan. There’s something about the couple that grabs me, y’know? What a man wouldn’t give to find a woman this beautiful. Somehow, the way you’ve captured them, I know she’d be something special.”
Tomás nodded, his gaze transfixed by the woman who embodied Yaz in his mind. From the graceful arms, the long satiny hair, the dreamy expression on her face—the same one she’d worn when he’d shared the ad idea in her kitchen. And he—Tomás tightened his fists, angry with himself for taking so long to recognize this—he was the man with her, down on his knees, humbling himself for the chance to have her at his side for eternity.
&
nbsp; “Yeah, she’s special, and a whole lot more,” he answered.
“Ah, I see how it is.” Linton’s crafty smile split his round face. “After our last meeting I wondered where your inspiration came from. Reminds me of my Betty, God rest her soul. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. Married forty years before the cancer took her.” His smile slipped, his voice growing wistful. Turning toward the mock-up board, he traced the figure with the pad of his finger. “If I had a woman like this still waiting at home for me . . . I don’t think I’d work such late hours anymore. You’re a lucky man.”
Only, this woman wasn’t waiting at home for him. She was getting ready to go. And he’d done nothing to try and stop her. Or at the very least, be honest with her. All because he’d been afraid of getting hurt again. Of losing in love again. The problem was, now he was losing anyway.
Regret shot through him, reverberating through his entire body. He sucked in a quick breath, staggered by his utter foolishness.
“Son, you doing okay? You look like a kid who’s lost his best friend or his dog, or both.” The older man moved to the wet bar in the corner of the conference room where he poured mineral water in a glass, then handed it to him.
His mind foggy, Tomás took a shaky drink. On the other side of the door he heard the firm’s partners speaking in the hallway. He gulped down more water and wiped the sweat from his brow. Damn it, he had to pull himself together or risk making a mess of everything. He’d lost Yaz, he couldn’t risk losing this account, too.
“I—Mr. Linton—Have you—” He broke off, at a loss for where to begin when his career was on the line, yet the one person who could complete his future was in a studio somewhere in the city, on the verge of dancing off into the sunset.
“Son, I can see that your presentation is ready. Are you?”
“Yes.” Tomás drained his glass, then set it on the conference room table with a thud. “Sir, I can knock your socks off, show you the best-selling idea you’ll ever hear. But may I ask you a question? If you’d mistakenly let your Betty think you were fine without her—would you let her go, or fight to win her back?”
Linton’s gaze narrowed, his keen eyes assessing Tomás. “What are you trying to tell me, son?”
“Everything needed to convince you that my campaign, this firm, is a perfect match for Linton Jewelry is right here, no problem. I assure you, there isn’t anyone else in the country who can do better than what we’ve put together for you, now and in the future. But . . .”
“I’m listening,” Linton said when Tomás trailed off. He’d never gained anything by holding back before. Now was not the time to start.
“In here,” Tomás put a hand to his heart, “I’m not the man you need to represent your company’s vision. Not in this precise moment. But I have been, and I will be again, if you can give me a little extra time today.”
Linton frowned, the skin from his brow to the top of his bald head wrinkling in his confusion.
“I’m about to let the most perfect woman I’ve ever met—my Betty—walk out of my life.”
The older man’s mouth curved in a conspiratorial grin. “Your Betty, huh? Your inspiration?”
Tomás nodded, hoping his people-reading skills hadn’t steered him wrong. Linton’s grin, the way he rocked back and forth on his toes, hands deep in his trouser pockets, told Tomás that maybe, if luck was on his side, the old man understood. That he wasn’t about to cross the firm off his list of potentials.
“She’s more than my inspiration,” Tomás said. “Much more. If you can give me a couple of hours, I swear to you it’ll be a move you won’t regret.”
The door opened. The two partners’ conversation came to a halt when they spotted Tomás and Linton already inside the room. Tomás silently pleaded with the old man to trust him. To give him a shot.
Linton eyed him speculatively for a few interminable seconds. Then, the sly dog winked at Tomás before striding over to cut off the partners before they entered. “Gentlemen, I missed breakfast this morning and now I’m feeling as ravenous as a lone wolf. I can’t think on an empty stomach. Why don’t you two join me for an early lunch, tell me a little more about your company? Then we’ll rendezvous back here around, say”—Linton looked back over his shoulder at Tomás—“two o’clock.”
The partners glanced from Linton to him and back again. Though his stomach felt like a million Mexican jumping beans were bouncing around inside him, Tomás kept his expression bland.
Without waiting for a response from the partners, Linton slapped the two men on their backs and led them out the door.
* * *
Yaz took a long drink of water from her bottle, her body tired but exhilarated from the exertion of the audition. She’d made the first two cuts. Now there were ten women and ten men left. Only half of them would be cast.
She eyed the other dancers spread out around the studio. A few of them were in a small group, obviously friends or acquaintances from previous auditions. They bent and stretched while they chatted, tossing the occasional sly glance over a shoulder at someone. Ay, the gossip and cattiness was probably flying in that little circle.
The rest of the dancers, like her, had kept to themselves. Of course, that didn’t mean the sizing up of their competition hadn’t taken place. Case in point, the thin blonde currently poofing her hair in the mirror. Yaz had smiled in support earlier when the blonde had missed a step. As a show of thanks the blonde had shot her a mutinous glare.
The aura of egos bigger than their bodies shimmered off many of them. The scent of blood in the water had others gnashing their shark teeth when a fellow dancer flubbed a combination. The negativity was something Yazmine had not missed about auditions. The dog-eat-dog mentality of needing to be cast to make rent, to move up, to be seen by the movers and shakers who could help launch you on to bigger and better.
Gracias a Dios she’d had Murphy to greet her when she’d arrived this morning. Being out of the game for so long, her nerves had nearly turned her feet to quivering masses. Not good when you were learning new choreography.
“You holding up okay?” Murphy asked, walking up to her now.
“Yeah, it’s tough, but it feels good to push myself. Where have you been?”
Midmorning, after the first cut had been made, she’d realized Murphy wasn’t sitting next to the director at the front table anymore. If it came down to a close decision between her and someone else, she hoped Murphy would put in a good word for her.
“Had to run out for a bit. I’ve been working with a nonprofit group in New York for a few years,” Murphy replied. “They’re looking at branching out to open an office in Chicago. I’m doing some legwork while I’m here.”
“Really?” Yaz hooked her foot on the barre, continuing to stretch during the break. “What’s the program about?”
“We teach dance to inner-city kids during the school day. It’s been a pretty cool experience.” Murphy bent at the waist to do a stretch of his own. “I met with one of the Chicago sponsors for a quick planning session.”
She thought about the time she’d spent at Hanson’s, how rewarding it was to see her love of dance reflected in her students’ eyes.
“I’ve always enjoyed teaching, almost as much as performing,” she shared, before taking another swig of water. She pressed the squirt top closed, then tossed the bottle into her bag a few feet away. It landed on the edge of the opening and teetered out. “Sounds like a great idea.”
“It is. And you know”—Murphy eyed her speculatively—“we’re looking for instructors. Paid instructors. If you had turned me down for the audition, my next question would have been whether you’d like to work with us at the foundation.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I’ve seen you dance, and I want you in my show.”
Yaz laughed at the implied “duh” in his tone. She hunkered down to retrieve her bottle of water before it rolled away. “I’d like to hear more about the or
ganization when we’re done.”
“Sure, if you know anyone local who—”
“Murphy, would you mind running through the third combination with me?”
Yaz looked up from her bag to see the slender blonde who’d shown no interest in making friends earlier, hooking her arm through Murphy’s. Before he could respond, the girl tugged him away, sending Yaz a satisfied smirk.
Annoyed at the girl’s pettiness, Yaz shoved her bottle into her bag’s side pocket. Her finger jammed against something hard and she winced.
Pushing her knit cap aside, she dug deeper and pulled out a ballerina Barbie doll. One of a trio Maria had played with at the studio while Yaz had practiced.
Ay, how the two of them had struggled with pulling the tiny pair of leotard pants over the doll’s stiff plastic legs. Knowing Maria, she’d probably turned her room inside out looking for this straggler. Yaz could already picture Maria’s excited eyes, feel her little arms wrapped around her for a hug of thanks when she dropped off the doll later tonight. Anticipation at seeing Maria again brightened Yaz’s mood.
Grinning, she unzipped the inside pocket of her bag to tuck the doll in for safekeeping. Papi’s farewell letter caught her eye. Dios mio, she’d forgotten that she’d put it in there last night as a good luck talisman.
Carefully she withdrew the envelope. The Barbie in one hand, her father’s letter in the other, she recalled from memory the last few sentences he’d written:
Tus sueños necesitan ser tuyos. Eres una estrella donde quiera que vayas. Más importante es ser feliz y tener amor.
Fear, relief, uncertainty, and excitement coalesced into one big ball of emotions that bowled her over with its intensity. Eyes closed, she pressed the doll and the letter to her chest, repeating Papi’s words to herself.
Your dreams need to be yours. You are a star no matter where you go. More important is to be happy and have love.
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