He casually draped one arm on the tabletop. "Want to dance?"
She swallowed a sip of her drink. "Sure. I'm not very good, though."
"That's okay. Neither am I." He held his hand out. "I'm Scott."
"Olga." She took his hand and he led her out to the dance floor. The dance floor was elevated on a wooden platform with clear Plexiglas tiles that had flashing multi-colored lights underneath that pulsed in time with the music. There were three disco balls hanging from the ceiling. They twinkled and glared across the space.
Olga stepped up onto the floor and staggered a bit when the lights almost blinded her in their intensity. Scott grabbed her elbow and steadied her. A Rod Stewart song came on.
Scott grabbed Olga around the waist and pulled her toward himself. He whispered in her ear, "I requested this song for you."
Olga giggled. "Good grief. That's so cheesy."
Scott's face turned red and he gripped her tighter. "I don't think so. I thought it was nice. You know, to let you know how I feel about you. To let you know I think you're sexy and want to hook up with you."
Olga pulled away. "Let me go. I don't think you're sexy and you don't even know me. I don't plan to hook up with you or anyone."
Scott jerked her back to his chest and held her by the waist with one arm and by the wrist with his other hand. "Don't make a scene. Dance with me. You said you would."
"That was before I knew you were such a jerk." Olga wrenched herself away from the idiot and lurched across the dance floor. She ran into a couple of other dancers as she reeled from her escape from the man's clutches. Several of the people she ran into berated her for her clumsiness.
She got to the edge of the dance floor and caught her heel on the rim as she stepped off. Almost falling into the arms of a man standing on the sidelines, she said, "Sorry. Excuse me."
"Quite all right, Miss Jasmine/sandalwood/grapefruit."
Olga gasped and stared agape at the man in the Pete Frampton tee and jeans. The hard-bodied, perfect pecs man she'd been chatting with earlier. "Gabriel. What are you doing?"
"Saving a damsel in distress, it seems."
"I'm not a damsel in distress."
"Well, you're at least a woman who's falling off a dance floor. It seems you needed a little help, anyway."
"A mere technicality. I was escaping from a creepaziod."
"And into the arms of another one." Gabe laughed.
"I didn't say that."
"You walked off in a huff earlier when you thought I was calling you insensitive."
Gabriel let Olga go. Strangely sad when his arms fell to his sides, she said, "Sorry. I sometimes have temper issues."
"Really? I'd have never known." Gabe laughed and gestured to the right. "Where's your table? It's my break time. Want to chat a minute with a lonely deejay?"
"I'd be honored, although I believe anyone in the place would be glad to keep you company so you wouldn't be lonely for long." She moved over to the table she'd abandoned when she went to dance with Scott and took her seat.
Gabe sat on the stool beside hers. His body heat was palpable from where she sat. It made her uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, but it was still distracting.
He raised his hand and a waitress came over immediately. "What can I get for you, Mr. Swicord?"
He nodded at Olga. "What'll you have?"
"Dirty Martini."
"Get me a The Macallans neat, and the lady a dirty martini." Gabe said to the waitress who went to do his bidding.
"Pretty prompt service, huh?" Olga poked her straw around in her almost empty glass.
"We'll see how fast she brings back the drinks before we decide if it's good service." Gabe placed his elbows on the table and leaned closer to her.
She could tell he was studying her behind his glasses and couldn't help from asking, "How much can you really see? You seem to be looking right at me."
"I am looking at you. I can see shapes and dark versus light. I can't tell what color your eyes are but I can tell where your head is, so I try to talk to your face and not to any other part of your anatomy."
"That's refreshing. So many men direct comments to my chest."
Gabe sat back. "From what I could tell, they would be right to admire your assets. They aren't too big, but they're pretty firm."
"What?" Shocked, she couldn't believe he'd say such a thing. "How do you even know that?"
"Remember, you fell into me. It would be hard for me to ignore what was so nicely pressed against me a few minutes ago."
Olga threw her head back and laughed. "You know, it'd be so easy to be mad at you for that comment, but you said it so charmingly, I can't be angry."
The waitress arrived with their drinks and sat them on the table. "Do you need anything else?" she asked.
"Nope. Thanks," Gabe smiled at the woman. When she was gone, he turned back to Olga and lifted his glass of whisky. "To new friends."
"Is that what we are?"
"I'd like to think so. After all, I played an ELO song for you earlier."
"And that's your definition of friendship?"
"Yeah. I mean, really? Who else would do such a thing for you?" Gabe raised his eyebrows so high, she could see them over his dark glasses.
Olga lifted her martini. "You're right. I guess we're best pals now." She clinked her stemmed glass against his lowball glass.
Before they could drink, Jacob interrupted them. He joined them at the table. "Hey, Gabe, did you think any more about tomorrow? I really need you to do me that favor."
"Sorry. Like I told you, I have plans."
"I still want to know what kind of plans."
Olga noticed Gabe's face turning red. Before he could answer the man who sat with them, she said, "Sorry. Gabe and I are going to the British Museum tomorrow. He's promised to take me over there to see the Elgin Marbles. I've never been."
Gabe nodded. "Yes. That's what I have planned."
Jacob stood up so fast that the stool he'd vacated clattered backward into the table behind them. "Bull. You told me before she even got here tonight that you had plans after the club closes and I know you don't even know her name. How the hell did you have something to do tomorrow with a woman you don't even know?"
Gabe rose from his own seat and loomed over Jacob. "Are you calling me and the lady liars?"
Jacob moved away with his hands raised in surrender. "You have to admit, it's fishy. The whole thing makes no sense."
"It's the truth. I'm going tomorrow with this lovely lady to the British Museum. You can follow us if you don't believe me."
Jacob kept moving. "No, I won't do that, but I'm disappointed that you're not willing to help out one of your best mates."
"Look. I know you're up to something and I'm going to get to the bottom of it someday but, right now, my break is almost over. I need to get back to the booth." Gabe picked up his drink and drained it. He slammed the glass back down on the tabletop.
He turned to face Olga. "I know he's gone. Now, do you want to tell me why you lied to Jacob about you and me and the museum?"
Chapter Six
"Some have fine eyes and can't see a jot."
French Proverb
Gabe stood next to the table waiting for the woman to answer his question. He waited patiently and didn't say a word. He knew if he waited long enough, she'd get uncomfortable with the blind man staring at nothing. It happened all the time. People got disconcerted and then started to talk and give out information with the intention of filling the void in conversation. He knew it was a dirty trick to stay silent, but he also wasn't above using what he had to get to what he wanted to know.
This woman intrigued him. She smelled wonderful, had a bit of a chip on her shoulder and was American. He'd always been fascinated by American women and this one was one he wanted to get to know better, so he waited.
Soon enough, she said, "It seemed like he was pushing you to do something that would cause you to get upset, so I wanted to rescue you."
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br /> "Oh, no, a woman with a savior complex. That's exactly what I need in my life." Gabe snorted.
"Hey. That's not nice. I tried to help you out and now you're saying such a thing about me?"
"I call them like I see them, lady."
"Except you can't see me, can you, Gabriel?"
"Ooh, nice one, but, you know, a blind man can see much better than a sighted one sometimes."
"Maybe so, maybe so." She sounded as if she were conceding the point.
He took a step toward the direction of the control booth. "My break is over, but tell me, what's your name? After all, if I'm taking you to the Elgin Marbles, I'm entitled to know the name of my date, aren't I?"
"Are we really going?"
"Of course. I can't let you make a liar of yourself." He grinned and held out his hand. "Your name?"
She took his hand and shook it. "Olga. Olga Quinn."
"Nice to meet you, Olga Quinn." He squeezed her hand, then let go and headed back to work, walking the path he was very familiar with.
Before he got to the booth, he sensed a presence. A female. From her massive amounts of Gloria Vanderbilt perfume, he knew it was Mary before she ever said a word.
"What happened to your rule about not dating customers, Gabriel?" Mary asked, the hurt coming off in waves that broke over him.
"Nothing. What do you mean?"
"Don't try to trick me. I saw you having a drink with that woman who looks like she belongs in a movie."
"Huh?" Confused, Gabe shook his head. A movie? What?
"Yeah. The one you were sitting with right before you got up and came back over here. She's gorgeous and I know I'm not, but how can that make a difference to a blind guy?" Mary stopped talking and grabbed Gabe's upper arm. "Or is this whole blind guy thing a gimmick to make people come here to spend their money on drinks to listen to the hero deejay who lost his sight saving a family from a fire?"
She didn't wait for an answer, but snatched his glasses off his face.
He threw his hand up to shield his eyes from her view, but she obviously saw the scars anyway because she gasped and shoved the glasses back at him.
"Uh, sorry."
He placed the glasses back on his face and jerked the booth door open. As he went in, over his shoulder, he said, "I suggest you stay out of my way in the future, lady." He slammed the door behind him and leaned back against it to catch his breath and calm down. "Damn. I hope no one noticed that."
A knock on the door and Jacob's voice told him that the scene hadn't gone unnoticed. Gabe could tell by the tone of the one word, "Gabe," that his friend and employer saw it and pitied him.
Sick of the constant sense that everyone was sorry for him, Gabe slammed his hand down on the counter nearest him and said through the closed door, "Sod it! Leave me alone."
"All right, all right, I'm going... but if you need me, I'm here."
"Fine. Fine. Whatever."
Gabe picked up the microphone and said, "Okay, ladies and gents, time for that song everyone loves to spell. Get up on the dance floor and shake your rears as we go for a stay at the Y.M.C.A."
Once the song was cued up and playing, he lay back and took off the glasses. He ran his hand across his eyes and rubbed the area of scarring around the rims and sides. The burns had healed but the scarring was significant and was the reason he wore the glasses. Hiding behind them made him feel a little better about himself since people didn't seem to react quite so viscerally when he wore the shades.
That damn woman, Mary, was a menace. As if someone would pretend to be blind to get attention or make money. What kind of person does she think I am, anyway?
He ignored the next knock. This one at the window. He felt the face of his watch to see if it was almost closing time. No such luck. Another hour or so until last call.
With a deep sigh, he opened the window and said, "Sorry. No more requests tonight." Before he shut the window, he realized it was Olga and stopped.
"I was on my way home and wondered if you really meant it when you said we'd go to the museum tomorrow."
"Sure. I meant it." He nodded.
"Then shouldn't we decide where to meet and exchange cell phone numbers?"
"Good plan. You're a smart woman. I guess I'm distracted tonight." He pulled his phone out of his front pocket. "What's your number?"
Olga placed her hand on his. "Are you okay? I saw that woman come over and jerk off your glasses."
The moment her hand touched his, he wanted to grasp hers and never let go. Where'd that thought come from? He shook it off and responded to her question. "I'm fine. She's a bit of a pain."
"I'm sorry, she seemed to upset you."
"Nah. It's fine. Now, what's your number and where do you want to meet me?"
Olga took the phone out of his hand.
Puzzled, he glanced up. "Why'd you do that?"
"I was going to put my number in for you." She handed it back, "In fact, I already did."
"I can do that myself, you know." He slid the phone back into his pocket.
"Sorry. I didn't know. I've never really been around someone who's sight impaired and have no idea what kind of equipment they've invented."
"I can still see some things in my mind and know where the numbers are on the thing. I can't really do text messaging, but I can sure dial like a demon."
"I'm glad to know that. Tell me what time and where to meet you tomorrow and I'll be there."
"Either entrance. Which do you prefer, Montague Street or Great Russell Street?"
"If I remember right, the Holborn tube stop is the closest one and it's near the main entrance. How about there?"
"I'll be coming by cab, not tube, so that's not important," Gabe said.
"Let's do the main entrance anyway at opening time. Ten?"
"All right. I'll meet you there and afterwards, we can go out the side door and have a picnic in Russell Square."
"Sounds good. I'll see you then."
"Looking forward to it." Gabe smiled again. "I better get this wrapped up since it's soon going to be last call. I want to find a slow song for the gents to end up with the girl they want to go home with in a clinch."
"You're a full service deejay." Olga laughed.
"I aim to be. After all, didn't you see that newspaper article about me about a week ago comparing me to the American deejay of the sixties and seventies called Wolfman Jack?"
"No, I didn't see it. Was he a full service deejay?"
"All I know is, if he liked a song and played it a lot, it became a hit and all the ladies loved him. The men, too, since he took requests and those same ladies could cuddle up to their men. I don't see myself as anything like him. He's a legend and I'm plain old Gabe."
"And I'm holding up plain old Gabe from his work. I'm going to go. See you tomorrow."
"Okay. Ten at main entrance." Gabe nodded and when she moved away, he shut the window.
*****
Olga dressed with care the next morning. She laughed at herself since Gabe wouldn't be able to see her outfit, but she wanted to look good anyway. Wearing a red knit skort, and a white long-sleeve tee shirt since it was supposed to be somewhat chilly again, she knotted a red and white flowered scarf made of a thin lawn material around her neck. Olga pulled her hair back with a large barrette and applied a bit of lip-gloss before she grabbed her tote bag and flung the strap over her shoulder.
She clattered down the outside staircase leading from her flat to the street. Olga was looking forward to seeing the marble exhibit but, even more, she was looking forward to spending time with Gabe. Something about the man made her feel compassion and something else she couldn't quite define. All she knew was that she felt better in his company than she'd felt in a long time.
The smell of the coffee wafting out the door of the corner bakery lured Olga in to get one to go. She needed the jolt after the second late night in a row. After adding cream to her cup, she strode further down the street to the entrance to the tube station.
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The train was pulling in as she arrived at the platform and Olga joined the others in the car that was less than half full. Sunday morning was apparently a slow time. She found a seat and sipped the coffee as she people watched.
Her gaze moved around the car. The man across from her was reading one of the early papers. He held it up in front of his face as if he was near sighted. The headline, facing her in bold, dark print practically screamed at her. Another Dead Woman Found Near Waterloo Station.
Olga gasped and leaned forward a bit to try to see the article. The woman next to her said, "Why didn't you get your own paper, love? They hand them out for free at the entrance to the station."
"I know. I walked right past them but I didn't know about that dead woman or I would've gotten a copy."
"Did ya know her then?"
"I don't think so. I don't know. I can't see who it was."
"Why would you think you might?"
"I knew the first one. The one who was killed on Thursday night." Olga put her hands over her face.
The woman next to her called across to the man with the paper. "Can we see that rag when you're done, sir?"
The guy looked over the edge of the paper at her. He took off the front section and passed it over. "I'm only looking at the want ads so, sure, here you go."
Olga and the woman eagerly scanned the page. They both looked up at each other at the same time. Olga said, "Should've known they wouldn't identify her until the next of kin was notified."
"I never talk to anyone on the tube and today I broke my rule and don't even get the payback of knowing the outcome." The woman laughed so hard the tears ran down her face.
Olga found herself giggling with the stranger. "I could get your mobile number and call you later when the paper puts out the identification."
The train pulled into the station at the stop before Olga's. The woman beside her, as well as the man who'd given them the paper, stood to exit.
The woman looked down at Olga. "Let's not get carried away, love. I might snag you a free paper, but I won't give you my mobile number." She stepped off the train, still snickering as she went.
Moon Dance Page 4