by Fred, Beth
“Kammy,” I answered, not thinking about it. “Her samba box needs serious work.” That last part was just thinking out loud, but the guy heard me.
“You’re a good dancer then?”
“Yeah.”
As the man beside me offered to pay for a private dance, a voice behind me cut into me. “I knew it was you without seeing your face. I hoped I was wrong, but I don’t think most strippers would correct someone’s samba box or whatever you called it.”
I turned and stared Enrique in the face. He took his jacket off and flung it over me as he pulled me off the stool by my arm.
“Enrique—”
“Let’s go.”
The man who had been sitting beside me jumped up. “Don’t touch the girl.”
“It’s okay,” I started to say.
“Did you pay for a lap dance?” Enrique took a wad of cash out of his pocket and threw it at the guy. “You’ve got a refund. She’s with me.” His jaw clenched. He pulled the jacket closed around me and led me outside by my arm.
My chest ached. I knew what he thought—what he had to think. “Enrique—”
“Don’t,” he growled.
“Please, let me explain.”
“There isn’t anything to explain. Is this where you were last night, while I was waiting on you for two hours?”
“No!” Tears rolled down my eyes. “Just let me explain.”
“You know what the worst part is? Luke was right about you.”
Yellow cabs formed a line in front of the building, and he walked me toward one. He pulled back a sliding door and barked the address to the driver. He handed her a bill and said, “Keep the change.”
“Enrique.” He shut the door.
The driver turned to me and said, “Honey, if you have a man like that, why are you strippin’ for money? That jacket costs more than I make in a year.”
I sobbed. “He’s not mine. He’s just my brother-in-law’s brother. We only really met a week ago, and I think he hates me now.”
“Ahh,” she said sympathetically. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t know a man who covers up a woman he hates and then pays for the cab home.”
I let her words sink in as she drove. Enrique cared about me—really cared about me the way I cared about him. But it was over.
I was back to square one. No job. Friends I couldn’t count on, and my family was tired. Except now it was worse, because I knew Prince Charming was real, and he thought I was a whore.
I needed to find a way to quit crying, before I got home. The metal wall that separated the cabbie from the backseat had ads on either side and I focused on a ballet shoe. Happy thought. Yeah, right. Like that was going to make me quit crying.
Chapter 14
Still crying, I buttoned Enrique’s jacket from top to bottom and gave the driver the gate code Tiffany had given me. She’d have a fit, if she knew, but I didn’t feel like climbing out into the street clad in a costume and Enrique’s jacket. When I walked into the house, Tiffany and Luke exchanged a look before he left the room.
“Where’s Lucí?” I asked, because she was usually with her parents, but mainly to avoid the questions I was sure Tiffany wanted to ask.
“Mom wanted her to spend the night tonight.”
I nodded and headed for the stairs.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying. Something happened. And is that Enrique’s jacket you’re wearing.”
“Yes.” The sound of his name hurt. I had finished the violent sobbing before I came into the house. Before she said his name, Tiffany had only seen silent tears.
“What did he do?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Could you just give him his jacket back?”
“You could do it. That way you could talk to him.”
“There isn’t anything to say.”
“That bad? Because he’s falling all over you? Luke’s mentioned it more than once and for a guy to notice—guys are dumb.”
“Well, he isn’t anymore. I need to go to bed now, okay?”
“It’s only eight. I could make cookies.”
“Drop it.” The words were too harsh. “Please?” I added.
“Sure. One more thing. Tell me you’re wearing something under the jacket.”
“I am.” Kind of.
I dragged myself upstairs and knowing I was too upset for anything else, I did plies until my legs hurt. There was a massive mirror on one wall in Tiffany’s guest room, so I could see that I still had excellent form, in spite of the fact that since I’d quit college I’d only been able to dance around the living room. Then I remembered the ballet shoe on the back of the cab wall. The words under the shoe had said something about auditions for the Bolshevik ballet. I was crying too hard to pay attention, but at this point I didn’t have much left to lose. A quick Google search from my smart phone told me that The Bolshevik Ballet was here and holding auditions. And I didn’t have anything left in Texas. My sister wanted me out of her house. I was down to eight days. My brother-in-law thought I stole from him, and my boyfriend—well, Enrique was not the kind of guy to date a stripper.
I was going to start over. It’s what I’d needed for the longest time. I kissed a guy who gave me butterflies on my parents’ front lawn, then learned he was my sister’s boyfriend. But I wanted him too badly to be deterred by that and every decision I’d made since that day had been bad. Self-destructive. And maybe, if I came back as a reformed ballerina, Enrique would at least hear me out. I wiped the tears from my face, tore off that stupid dance costume and put on some sweats. I ran downstairs with Enrique’s jacket over my arm. “Tiffany? Tiffany!”
Luke started up the stairs as I was coming down them. “Kammy, be quiet. She’s asleep, and she hasn’t felt well all day. That’s why the baby is with your mom.”
I groaned. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
I turned to go back to my room. I didn’t think I had money for a cab, and I couldn’t walk to the theater from here.
“Kammy, are you okay?”
I turned back to him. “I’m fine. Why?”
“You didn’t look so good earlier. Did you need something? You looked like you were on a mission coming down the stairs.”
“I needed a ride at six a.m. But Tiffany’s asleep, and I’m not going to wake her up to ask.”
“Where are you going that early?”
Luke was not one of my favorite people, but my sister was asleep and I felt like talking to someone. It had been a rough night.
“You can’t tell anyone. Not even Tiffany.”
“Why?”
“Because if it doesn’t work out, it’ll be just one more screw up.”
He laughed. “You know, you’re fun to talk to, but you act sixteen.”
“Never mind.”
“Tell me. I won’t say anything.”
“I want to audition for The Bolshevik Ballet.”
“In Russia?”
“They’re auditioning here, at the Lone Star Theater.”
He nodded. “I won’t say anything, but what’s my brother going to think about that?”
I felt like someone ripped my heart out. Why did people have to keep bringing him up? “I don’t think he will care.” I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back tears as I said it. I handed Luke the coat. “You’ll see him tomorrow. Could you just give him this?”
Luke looked at the coat for a minute like he knew the story attached to the coat was big. He hesitated for a second then took it. “He’s kind of a dumbass when it comes to women. If you talked to him—”
“It was my fault, but I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
“Did you apologize?”
“He wouldn’t let me. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Give it a couple of days and try again. He probably just needs time to cool down.”
“Luke! Drop it!”
“Sorry. If Tiffany’s not up, I’ll gi
ve you a ride.”
That was strange. “Why?”
“Because you’re family, and this is the smartest thing you’ve done since I met you. Good luck.”
I called Enrique before I went to bed. I got his voicemail, but I knew he was ignoring me so I tried a couple more times before finally sending a text.
When I woke up at 5 a.m., he had text me back. “Don’t do this again.” I didn’t know if he meant the dance club or calling him. I replied, “Hadn’t planned on it.” It worked either way. Guys didn’t like easy girls, so it was a better answer than groveling, and I had no intention of going back to that club. Besides, if this went well, I wouldn’t even be in the country.
Chapter 15
Downstairs, I realized neither Tiffany nor Luke were up yet. I couldn’t wake them up to drive me across the universe, so I was trying to figure out another way to get there when Luke came downstairs. “You’re up,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “You have to know you’re not the most responsible person in the world. It’s a half hour drive. Are you going to tell me what happened with Enrique on the way?”
“No, but I figure you’ll hear about it.”
When we pulled up at the theater, he parked the car, which surprised me. I expected him to pull up to the curb and drop me off.
“Is it okay, if I watch you dance?” he asked.
“Uh—why?”
“I’d like to record it for Tiffany. She would have come herself, but she’s throwing up this morning. And she doesn’t know why you needed to leave so early.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
He sighed. “She’s been sick for weeks, and she’s trying to hide it. I’m worried, okay? So if I’ve been unreasonable, that’s why. I know something is wrong with my wife. I can’t fix it and I have to watch her take care of everyone else.”
I nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t realize she was sick.”
“I know.” It was an accusation. I should have noticed.
“But why would Tiffany want to watch me dance? She always knocked me for being a dance major, because I’m not smart like her.”
“She didn’t knock you. She thought you needed a major you could get a job with.”
I thought about this for a second. “She could have said that.”
“She tried.” Another accusation. I wasn’t listening. “Can I say something?” he asked as we walked inside.
“You’re going to anyhow.”
“Your sister loves you, but you can’t ignore things and hope they go away.” He was quiet for a minute. “That’s true with Enrique, too.”
For the audition, we were divided into groups of five. A choreographer danced in the corner of the stage, and we followed. If the panel felt a dancer was strong, they’d ask for a solo.
The sea of people I saw from the stage made it hard to breathe. I hadn’t danced in years, and so many people had come to watch auditions. I was at a disadvantage. My pointe shoes were at my parents. I happened to have a pair of soft shoes at Tiffany’s because I wore them for house slippers. I was the only person dancing in soft ballet shoes. I kept my eyes on the choreographer, and more than once I felt my feet fumble during complex steps.
“Dancer Two step forward, please.” My chest tightened. I stepped forward and a spotlight shone down on me. “Triple pierouette,” the panelist said.
I spun three times, but the landing could have been tighter.
The choreographer stepped forward and started a new dance. I mimicked her in the spotlight.
The panelist who had been speaking made a scowl. “How long has it been since you danced?”
“A few years.”
She nodded. “You’re very talented to be so out of practice. You’re not lead material though.” My heart sank. I shouldn’t have expected this to work out. “You’d be a nice addition to the chorus. Perhaps, lead chorus, but the chorus girls will audition for lead chorus in Moscow. You may pick up your dancer package from the back table on your way out.”
Talented. She said talented. I made a professional ballet after no real dancing for three years. I did not screw this up. My chest still throbbed with the knowledge that Enrique would never talk to me again, but I could numb the pain with this.
Luke drove me home in silence, but when we pulled up in front of his house he said, “I know he’s not talking to you, but someone has to tell him you’re going to Russia.”
“He won’t take my calls.”
He nodded. “I’ll tell him.”
“I’d rather do it myself, but I don’t think he cares.”
“Then why do it yourself?”
I squeezed my eyes shut again. “I need to know.”
I got out of the car, clasping my dance package to my chest.
“Kammy, if Tiffany gets worse text me, and if she tries to go to work, slash her tires.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “No, but try to talk her out of it, and if you can’t, call me.”
Tiffany stayed in bed most of the day. I tried to call Enrique, but he didn’t pick up so I busied myself with arrangements for Moscow. Russia was much colder than Texas, so most of my clothes would be useless. I was not a fan of snow, but I could deal with it for a year and come back with savings. The ballet would pay my room and board, so my paycheck was free. The ballet would help me, but I had to call the embassy to get my visa expedited. Because in seven days, I’d be a ballerina in Moscow.
Chapter 16
I tried to call Enrique for three days, but he wouldn’t answer. Luke and Tiffany would have to tell him, since he wouldn’t talk to me and I was running out of time. I didn’t want to lose what we had. That connection had been obvious from the first time he talked to me, but I was more angry than apologetic by now. I’d had time to think. I was working at a strip club, and I shouldn’t have been. But what was he doing there to see me?
He came over in the middle of the day Sunday while I was sitting on the couch watching TV. His eyes connected to mine for a second, but he made an effort to look past me.
“Enrique?”
He kept going like he didn’t hear my voice.
“Enrique!” I called, following him up the stairs. He headed into Luke’s office and I was right behind him. He didn’t acknowledge me as he walked behind Luke’s desk and into a corner.
“Kammy, we need to talk about work, could you come back?” Luke asked.
“It won’t take long.” I tracked behind his desk too, nose to nose with Enrique. The feelings I had for Enrique were stronger—deeper—than anything I’d ever felt before. Since I knew I was leaving the country in a few days, it would have been logical to talk. But I was irate. He could have at least picked up the phone. He’d been there, too!
So I slapped him in the face. He clasped his hand over mine, glaring at me as he pushed it away from his face. “We’ll talk later.”
Luke pushed his roller chair back and stared at us.
I wouldn’t be able to put it off until later. We didn’t have “later.” “Enrique Hernandez, you are such a jerk!”
“How did I become the bad guy?” he shouted.
“That is one mad white girl. She even got the silent H right,” Luke said.
“I shouldn’t be there, but it’s okay for you to? How can you go to a strip club, and then trash me? If guys like you had better things to do, I couldn’t have gotten the job,” I said.
“Oh, wow,” Luke said.
His words were so slow that I realized he didn’t know about it. Enrique didn’t tell anyone Why not? Duh. He didn’t want anyone to know he was there.
“I guess your brother that I’m not good enough for, isn’t so perfect after all.”
“No—Kammy, I went for Luke.”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Luke was supposed to meet someone there. He sent me instead. I don’t hang out at places like that, if that’s what you think. Tell her, Luke.”
That was too much. He treated me like I was some sort of pariah because I got arrested with a stripper in Cancun, and he was going to strip clubs. And I knew my sister—his wife—didn’t go to strip clubs.
“Tiffany!”
“I’m busy with Lucí,” she called from down the hall.
“Come! Now!”
“Kammy—” Luke said. “Chica,” Enrique started at the same time.
Tiffany appeared in the open doorway of Luke’s home office with Luci following behind her.
“Kammy,” Luke said.
Enrique’s eyes traced to the baby. “Don’t.”
“Take the baby to her room and come back,” I said.
“What’s going on?” Tiffany asked, the panic obvious in her voice.
“Just do it.”
Tiffany picked up the baby and started down the hall. “It’s not like that,” Luke said. “It was a client.”
“Tell her, not me.”
She was back without Lucí. “Tell me what?” Tiffany asked.
I turned so that I was facing Tiffany now. “That was fast.”
“Yeah, her room is only two doors down. Now tell me what.”
“Enrique and I are no longer speaking because he thinks I’m a whore.”
“I did not say that,” Enrique said.
“Because he ran into me at a strip club that he went to for Luke, because Luke couldn’t go.”
Luke held his hands up in defense. “Anjel.”
“What is she talking about? Luke—”
“Come on. Sweetheart, you know me better than this.”
“This is not a good time for you to screw up.”
“I—”
“Lucas Hernandez, I cannot handle this right now. You can’t do this because—”
“Anjel—”
“Because I, we’re—”
“TIFFANY! Listen to me. A prospective client wanted to meet me there. I sent Enrique because I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to go to a strip club with a wife and daughter at home. I couldn’t tell the client that since he’s married and suggesting strip clubs. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” but she was crying. Something was clearly wrong.
Luke moved to my sister, taking her in his arms. “Tiffany, don’t lie to me. You attacked me in front of people, and you’re crying. What is wrong?”