Moon Dance

by Jillian Chantal

  Moon Dance

  By

  Jillian Chantal

  Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc.

  27305 W. Live Oak Rd #424

  Castaic, CA 91384

  http://www.DesertBreezePublishing.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Jillian Chantal

  ISBN 10: 1-61252-341-2

  ISBN 13: 978-1-61252-341-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Publish Date: July 21, 2013

  Editor-In-Chief: Gail R. Delaney

  Content Editor: Gail R. Delaney

  Marketing Director: Jenifer Ranieri

  Cover Artist: Carol Fiorillo

  Cover Art Copyright by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc © 2013

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Dedication

  This one is for the true heroes, the first responders. Gabe, the hero in this story is a former fireman wounded in the line of duty and this story is for all the real firefighters who put their lives on the line for strangers every day.

  I also want to thank my dear friend, Gus Krucke, medical doctor extraordinaire, for his assistance in answering the questions I had regarding blindness and retinas.

  Chapter One

  "All fame is dangerous."

  English Proverb

  "Ouch." Olga Quinn dropped the soldering iron on the marble countertop. It landed with a clatter and rolled off onto the tile floor of the lab. She sucked on her index finger with tears streaming down her face. "After all these years, you'd think I wouldn't do that anymore, wouldn't you? I mean, really, I've been making prototypes forever."

  "It has been a while since you worked really hands on, though, hasn't it?" Olga's co-worker, Gina Boudreau said. She bent down and picked up the soldering iron.

  "Yeah, in Houston, I was assigned to the design team. I created ideas and other people made the models to test them. Over here, it seems we do all the jobs. I'm glad they have someone to clean the bathrooms or we might get sucked into that as well."

  "We're much smaller here at British Aerospace than NASA, but I don't think they'll put us scientists to work in the loo." Gina giggled. "I do wonder why you decided to move here, though. You had a pretty cushy job. I'm a little jealous and why you'd give that up, I'll never understand."

  Olga made herself smile as she swallowed the lump in her throat that thoughts of Texas always brought. "I wanted a change of pace for a while. I'm here on loan only. I'm sure I'll head back across the Atlantic someday."

  "Maybe you'll decide you love the motherland so much that you'll want to stay forever."

  "Not likely since England isn't my motherland." Olga moved over to the stainless steel sink and ran some cold water over her hand that still stung from the burn from the solder.

  "I thought all you Yanks were descended in some way from the Anglo Saxons."

  Olga shook her head. "Nope. I'm part Russian and part Inuit." She dried her hand off, opened a drawer in the closest cabinet and reached for some burn ointment for her finger.

  "So that explains the darkness of your soul." Gina laughed.

  "You sound like you're stereotyping my people."

  "I'd never do that. Unless I was kidding around." Gina grinned. She pulled off her lab coat. "Quitting time soon. Come out tonight to the club with me and the gals. We'll have fun. They have a brilliant celebrity deejay there and I want you to hear him. He's quite good."

  "I have to head home first since I only have work clothes here in my locker."

  "We're all going to get tarted up and meet at the Weatherspoons near Tower Bridge and have curry. Then we'll head to the club."

  "I know I recently moved here, but where is this club that we're going to on the South Bank? I've never heard of it. I rarely go over to that side of the river."

  "It's called the Retro Disco. By City Hall."

  Olga laughed. "I know which Weatherspoons you mean, then. What time?"

  "Eight, for the curry night."

  "Okay, I'll be there."

  Their boss, Pete Gibbons, stuck his head in the door. "Hey, ladies, time to go home. Seems our digs are going to get a fresh coat of paint tonight and the men are here to get started. Grab your gear and get your fannies out of here."

  Gina saluted. "Yes, boss." She waved at Olga. "See ya in a little while." She left in a whirl.

  Olga let out her breath, a bit relieved that the enthusiastic blond was gone. She straightened up her work area, took off her own lab coat and tossed it over her arm. She walked out of the laboratory and down the hallway to her locker, wondering a bit about the British reserve she'd always heard about. Gina had none of that at all.

  She slipped out of the building and caught the tube to her stop.

  *****

  Gabriel Swicord shuffled through the bins of CDs and made sure they'd been returned to their proper cases by his assistant after the club closed the night before. He ran the tips of his fingers over the labels and checked that the music was all in alphabetical order. It wouldn't do for them to get mixed up. It wouldn't do at all.

  The door of the booth creaked open and Gabe turned toward the sound. "Ahh, Jacob. Come on into my lair."

  Jacob Rhys, the owner of Retro Disco, sighed. "How do you always know it's me? I could have been anyone."

  "I can tell by my super power sense of smell. Kind of like the x-ray vision that Superman has, except mine is my nose. You know you wear way too much Versace cologne, by the way." Gabe put the cd case back in the bin and fanned his face to mock the amount of scent his friend piled on. "Besides, we're the only two here right now."

  "So, you really don't have super powers?" Jacob asked.

  "No more than any other mostly blind bloke." The bark of laughter that erupted from Gabe's lips frightened him in its bitterness. He thought he was over the anger at his fate, but it seemed he was fooling himself.

  "Whoa, mate, are you all right?"

  Gabe sensed Jacob take a step toward him and said, "Fine, fine. I'm good." He held out his palm to stop the other man from hugging him or something. That wouldn't do either.

  "I didn't mean to offend you by asking the question." Jacob placed a hand on his friend's upper arm.

  "No, it's nothing." Gabe shook his head. "If I'd have had the balls to stand up to my father, I would've been on a West End stage and not at that fire."

  "Don't forget the lives you saved that night."

  "Thanks for the perspective. You're right. Four lives in exchange for my vision seems like a pretty fair trade, doesn't it?" Gabe's voice still held a tinge of sarcasm.

  "Not sure that was the way it was meant to be, my friend, but it is what it is, right?"

  "Yes, it is. Now let me get back to work since I think it's almost time for the crowd to arrive." Gabe ran
his hands over the face of his Braille watch. "The rest of the staff should be straggling in soon." He went back to his task sorting the music.

  Jacob snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah, I got distracted. I came in to let you know there's a hen party tonight for the daughter of a baronet and she's asked -- no demanded -- that you play some Kool and the Gang. Can you handle that?"

  "Sure. I can handle anything. Even that." Gabe laughed as he knew the spoiled daughter of a baronet would want to hear that Celebration song over and over and maybe even the Ladies Night one. Not maybe. Would. Guaranteed. He inwardly stiffened his spine. It was going to be a long night.

  Jacob said, "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Yes. Go on and open the doors. Let's get the drunken hen party on its way to oblivion." Gabe turned back to his music selection as Jacob turned to leave.

  Over his shoulder, Jacob said, "Don't forget all the rest of the drunken clientele. It's our blessing and our curse." He shut the door behind him.

  As soon as the door was closed, Gabriel sat down on his stool and put his head in his hands.

  Chapter Two

  "A foolish bride gets no presents."

  Indian Proverb

  Olga walked into the Weatherspoons pub on Tower Bridge Road and waited for a second for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was a nice place, but she wanted to plug her ears from the loudness. The sound reverberated through the space. Once acclimated to the noise and lack of lighting, Olga glanced around for her friend.

  She finally spotted Gina across the room with a group of about five other women who all had a drink in each hand. She groaned. "Oh, no. I sure don't need this. Maybe I'll eat and run back home."

  Gina waved madly at Olga and shouted, "Over here, over here."

  Olga put on a brave face and headed toward the ladies. Their table was under a huge mirror hung on the sidewall, furthest from the bar. As she got closer, Olga realized that the group was a hen party. Oh, no, again. I definitely don't want to be part of this. The bride was dressed in an Alice in Wonderland dress and all the bridesmaids were in Queen of Hearts outfits. They wore very short-skirted dresses with fishnet hosiery and black patent high-heeled shoes. Several of them had theirs so short, that Olga could see their panties. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

  Olga scooted between the tables and finally made it to the corner where the other ladies already seemed to be well on their way to being drunk. It was all she could do not to turn tail and run.

  "Why didn't you warn me this was a hen party? I'm not sure I can handle that on a work night." Olga addressed Gina and waved her hand around the table. "And besides, it's not good form to horn in on such a party where one doesn't know the bride."

  "That's not a problem. Trust me. Marisol won't care. Hell, she probably doesn't even know you're here. I think she started drinking at three o'clock. She'll be pissed and most likely passed out in the corner by the time we get ready to move over to the Retro." Gina grinned, "Or maybe not since she's been in training for this night for a few months."

  "I've never understood the thrill of drinking until you can't walk or until you vomit. I don't get what's fun about that."

  "You obviously didn't attend school in the UK. It's a hobby here for some people. Going on a bender is a regular weekend event. "

  Olga shuddered. "Not for me, although I think I'll head over to the bar and grab an ale. I like that one from Switzerland made with apples and vanilla."

  "That's a cider, luv, not an ale."

  "Whatever." Olga left her friend standing at the table and went to the bar to order her food and drink. The thing she found most amazing about the English pub was that there was no table service except for the delivery of the food. All orders were placed at the bar. Food and drink. How the waiter knew which table in the chaos to deliver the food to was beyond her comprehension. They never made a mistake to her knowledge. It was some type of pub miracle.

  Once she placed her order for chicken masala and had her drink in hand, she worked her way back through the crowd to the table of drunken women. Most of them had food in front of them now. Olga hoped that meant they'd at least sober up a bit before the move to the dance club. There was almost nothing worse than a group of loud, inebriated women celebrating the end of one of their number's freedom. Almost.

  Olga sat and tried to eat her curry as fast as she could. As she inhaled it, she decided she'd leave and go home. It wasn't worth it to stay with these women. Gina was all right, but the others were a little self-centered and foolish. Their conversation was inane and hard to follow. They looked stupid in their costumes, too. Way too slutty for her taste.

  Once she cleaned her plate -- after all, the curry was marvelous -- Olga stood and looked down at Gina. "I'm going to go now. I feel out of place."

  Gina got up so fast, her chair fell back. "No. Don't go. Come to the club. It'll be brilliant. They'll disburse and dance. We can grab a table alone."

  "You can't. You're in a queen outfit, too. We won't blend into the shadows at all. I'll come with you another night."

  Olga turned to go and ran into the chest of a burly man. He pushed her back. "What's the rush? This party's just getting started. Why are you not in the spirit of things like your mates?" His gaze raked down her body and made her feel dirty.

  "Cut it out, jackass." Gina swatted at the man.

  In response, he waved his hand behind him and six more men came over. "I said the party hadn't started yet, miss. These here are my mates and we're here to drink and get laid. It's your lucky day." He nodded at each of the women at the table in turn. "Yes, this lot will do nicely, won't they boys?"

  One of the other men said, "I want that one what seems to have nothing on under her skirt."

  "They's a couple of them, Marcus. Which one you want? You gotta be more specific, like."

  Marcus snickered, "You'se right there, David. Hell, I'll take any one of them. They's all pretty sweet looking, ain't they?"

  Olga whirled around to try to find some help but, before she could take a step, the man called David snatched her upper arm. "Where do you think you're going, love?"

  She jerked away from him. The table wobbled. Dishes clattered to the floor. Everyone in the pub looked in their direction and the group of men disbursed out the two side doors.

  As soon as they were gone, the bride, Marisol, said, "Gee. They were trying to ruin my party."

  Olga let out a deep sigh. "I'm leaving now, Gina. It's been fun. No, scratch that. It hasn't been nice at all and I'm done."

  Gina took Olga by the hand. "Come on. At least hang around long enough to see the deejay. Forget those guys. They needed to be hauled off to the police station next door. I think you'll love the music at the club. The guy is supposed to be brilliant. And I hear he's super cute, too. In a mysterious way."

  "How can someone be mysteriously cute?" Olga laughed.

  "I dunno. I guess you have to come see for yourself."

  Giving up on getting to go home early, Olga followed the entourage out the door and into the street.

  *****

  Gabriel was on his third diet soda of the day. He felt wired. He wasn't normally a fan of carbonated drinks, but sometimes all he wanted was the taste of the metal from the can. Must be some kind of vitamin deficiency. My body must crave something for me to like these canned drinks.

  He laughed at himself as he scrolled through the CDs trying to find something he wanted to hear. The good thing about this gig was that he was allowed to play what he wanted to most of the time as long as it was from the 60s, 70s or 80s. Except when some big shot came in. Then all bets were off.

  His mobile phone buzzed. He snatched it up. "Gabe. Talk to me, babe."

  "Oh, God, I wish you'd stop with that greeting. It's lame." Jacob laughed.

  "You know you're jealous that you don't have a name that rhymes as well as mine does. Besides, it's my claim to fame. My persona, if you will."

  "It's nonsense, is what it is."

  "Na. You know it
's important that I keep up the radio personality, too. It keeps your customers coming in when I'm here."

  "Damn, man, I had no idea the size of your ego. Do you hear yourself?"

  "It's not ego if it's true." Gabriel wiped his brow. "Besides, you didn't ring me to get into this conversation, did you? I presume you wanted something?"

  "I did. I wanted to let you know that the baronet's daughter and her friends are here. I wish you could see their getups. They're awful." Jacob snickered. "Well, not really awful if you like to see a lot of cheeks."

  "Mini skirts, huh?"

  "Yeah, and little else."

  "I'll come out and walk around in a while. Check it out. I may only be able to see shapes but I can remember what a woman's butt should look like. This may be the highlight of the day for me."

  "Just play something apropos next so they know we know they're here."

  "Fine. Fine. I'll play something appropriately bridal." Gabriel shut his phone. He snickered and pulled a cd from the case under the cabinet. His secret stash. He queued up the next song.

  When the current song ended, he thumbed the microphone. "I hear we have a group of ladies here tonight to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of one of their number. Here's a song for her." He turned off his mike and turned up the song. A Dan Fogelberg song that was impossible to dance to. He could hear the groans from the other customers since most of them were there for some hard driving dancing. This place was called Retro Disco for a reason, but he couldn't resist the urge to play the song.

  Someone rapped on the glass window of the booth. He slid the left side open. "Can I help you?"

  A woman said, "Yeah, can you play something faster for my friend, Marisol? She loves this song, but it's making her gloomy since she usually dances this one with her fiancé."

  "Sure. No problem. I wanted to start slow." Gabriel smiled. "What's your name?"