by Cynthia Dane
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Keep Up
Lyrics to Twilight Rumba
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Thanks and Connect
Also Available
Dances With The Rock Star
#3
Twilight Rumba
Cynthia Dane
BARACHOU PRESS
Twilight Rumba
DANCES WITH THE ROCK STAR, #3
Copyright: Cynthia Dane
Published: 6th July 2015
Publisher: Barachou Press
This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Cover Design: Clarise @ CT Cover Creations
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READING ORDER
1: Midnight Tango
2: Starlight Samba
3: Twilight Rumba
Lyrics to “Twilight Rumba”
The night is upon us
You want me to go slow, but all I want is now and here.
When we dance in the moonlight
I have nothing to hide from you, and from me you have nothing to fear.
If we could take these stars
And count them for many nights
We would spend eternity together
Bathing in those golden lights
If I see you one more time
I’ll never let you go
Just kiss
Just dance
Go, go slow
Take my breath away
I need to say a prayer, because my faith has been restored
I almost lost my chance
I almost let you get away
Thank God I came to my senses
From you I’ll never stray
If we dance until the end of time
I’ll never have to let you go
Just kiss
Just dance
Go, go slow
If we could take these stars
And count them for many nights
We would spend eternity together
Bathing in those golden lights
If I see you one more time
I’ll never let you go
Just kiss
Just dance
Go, go slow
If we dance until the end of time
I’ll never have to let you go
Just kiss
Just dance
Go, go slow
Until the twilight comes to take us
Go, go slow
1
Everyone in the studio sat with rapt attention, their eyes locked upon the pair strutting across the wide floor with a precision they did not often see. In fact, these same people came by most days, even if they were practicing for other events or for fun. That’s how the independent studio ran. Whenever a professional production was practicing in one of the large rooms, other dancers would crowd around the door, windows, and even sneak inside to watch the people they aspired to one day be.
Olivia didn’t pay attention to them. She was too busy making sure her partner didn’t step on her damned toes again.
“One, two!” shouted their choreographer Linda, a middle-aged woman with big glasses so she could better see their footwork. “Come on, Dan! Don’t let her actually hit the floor!”
Dan wasn’t a bad dancer, but the company didn’t have any men who were great at keeping women off the floor during dips. They had to get her close, though – it was about the illusion of being dragged across the floor amidst their passion. Dan would flat out drop and drag her like a Neanderthal if Olivia didn’t throw her weight into remaining anything but lax.
Rick didn’t have that problem. Olivia never once feared that he was going to actually drop her on the floor.
Don’t think about him right now. How many times did she have to tell herself that? Ever since she was cast to star as a lead dancer in a regional production, she had to force herself to not think of Rick Rodriguez and his prowess on the dance floor.
Dan was shorter than Rick, so when it came time to lift Olivia he grimaced, and sure enough Olivia fell with a splat on the floor, their spectators making disapproving faces as if their empathetic pain could make her feel better about being dropped.
“Stop the music!” Linda slapped her notes onto the nearest bench and marched toward the couple, Olivia still on the floor and Dan behind her. “The hell was that?”
“Sorry,” Dan said, and Olivia could only scoff. Not the first time that’s happened. She pushed herself up, avoiding eye contact with anyone around her as she pushed her hair out of her face and straightened out her clothes. “Didn’t mean to do that.”
“You never do,” Olivia muttered.
“You two are driving me mad,” Linda said. By now the spectators were dispersing, some of them snickering and others shaking their heads. No one would argue that Olivia and Dan weren’t talented, but nobody was surprised to hear Linda’s next words. “There is no chemistry in what you do. When I watch you two, it’s like watching two machines attempt to bump and grind on a pornographic film. Nobody wants to see that. Nobody but a bunch of perverts, good Lord.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” Linda said to Olivia. “We hired you because we’ve seen your talent. Part of that talent was the chemistry you created with your partner. A good dancer can have chemistry with one partner. A fantastic dancer will have chemistry with any partner.” At least she glared at Dan with that remark and not Olivia.
Still, she can piss off. Olivia knew what her choreographer alluded to. The music video and tour with Rick Rodriguez, the best dance partner she ever had. One of the best lovers too, up until he dumped her weeks ago. Olivia was still sore about that, and she did not appreciate being told to conjure up some chemistry with her new dance partner.
Funny thing was, her whole reason for auditioning to be Rick’s partner was to advance her career. She never intended to fall in love with the guy. Quite the opposite. She wanted to get paid and get references. Instead she got paid and got laid. The whole time she thought she held all the cards. The ones dictating whether or not they continued their liaison after the tour was over. Olivia never thought she would be the type of girl who kept it going. Then she fell in love, and not just with the way Rick could take her between the legs. He was sweet. Kind. Funny. The kind of guy who often didn’t make it in show business. Plus the man could freakin’ dance. That played a lot into Olivia’s attractions.
Dan could dance too, but not in any way Olivia cared about. He was a job. Rick had been so much more.
After being chastised by her choreographer, Olivia gathered her things and checked her phone for messages. Before she could escape the studio, however, Dan approached and asked, “Want to go get a drink? Maybe we could talk about what will make our routine better.”
Good gracious, Olivia could think of about five she’d rather do. Clip her toenails. Vacuum the living room. Listen to her mother lecture her about career choices. Jump into traffic. Take a ban
king class. Anything. Anything is better than a work date with you Dan. At least she didn’t have to worry about him hitting on her. She was pretty sure he was gay – which, hilariously enough, rarely had anything to do with how much chemistry she had with a guy on the dance floor. They were faking it most of the time, after all.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to remember to smile. “I’m already meeting someone.” It was the truth, but she wasn’t going to say who.
“I see.” Dan backed away, his own fake smile rivaling Olivia’s. “Well, enjoy your date.”
“It’s not a date.” Olivia said that a bit too sharply. “I mean… thanks.”
She wasn’t going on a date at all. The man she was about to see was one of the last people she wanted to interact with. For weeks she had been stewing in suspicions, and well, if she could get some other information then all the better…
Olivia said her goodbyes to the other members of the dance company and hustled out of the studio, taking time to mutter pleasantries to the previous spectators who now came up to express their admiration. Most of them knew her from the music video for “Midnight Tango,” and a few others also asked if she had more plans to work in that industry again. So far Rick’s label hadn’t extended any contract offers to her. She doubted they would, either. He probably talked them out of it so he wouldn’t have to be around her. Bastard!
Although she had no messages from the person she was meeting, she didn’t take that as a sign that their meeting was off. The man was often reserved in his thoughts and only let them out when it was imperative. If he were going to cancel, he would tell her. To hear nothing meant they were still on. That also meant Olivia had to go through the folder she had in her duffel bag one more time to make sure she had her evidence.
They weren’t meeting for dinner. They weren’t even meeting in a public place, since that could raise suspicions if someone caught them and knew who they were. Instead, Olivia walked five blocks to an empty lot full of shipping containers. She felt like she was about to sell state secrets to Russians or North Koreans or something. It’s not that serious. Personally, it was, but if the NSA were monitoring her location they would be sorely disappointed to see that who showed up five minutes later was not, in fact, a foreign spy.
“All right, I’m here.” Thomas leaned on one of the containers as if it had labored him to walk seven blocks from the label offices downtown. For all Olivia knew, he drove there anyway. “This is a stupid thing for me to do, but I admit, your message had me intrigued.”
A week ago Olivia finally built up the courage to message Thomas – since she still had his number from when they were on tour – and ask for a brief, albeit private meeting. There was something of great importance to discuss, and Olivia had a feeling that Rick’s manager would want to be privy to the information she had. Well, none of it would have been news to him. Yet if Olivia were correct, then the news would be in the form that she knew at all.
“Thanks for taking the time to meet me.” Olivia cleared her throat. “How’s… Rick?”
Thomas smirked, as if he had expected such a question. I’m so stupid. Why lead with him? “Rick is Rick. He’s recording a new album, so that’s why you haven’t seen him in the media much.”
Olivia hadn’t been looking. Too enraging. “Look, I’m sorry for dragging you all the way out here, but there are a few things I need to know.”
Sighing in that old ,grandfatherly way of his, Thomas stood up straight again and looked as if he were going to think up an excuse to leave. “I don’t know why Rick broke up with you. Sorry. Is that all?”
“No.” Olivia held up her hand before Thomas could make his escape. “Please, do you think I’m really that sad? I mean, it would be nice to know a real reason for him dumping me, but I’ll get over it eventually. There’s something else I want to know instead.”
She pulled the folder out of her bag and prepared to embarrass the man who had been nothing but kind to her since she started working with Rick. It’s not like I want to do this. Not really. Olivia pulled out a picture she had taken with her cell phone the last time she saw Rick, back in his mother’s old studio full of photos from an age long gone in that area.
The picture was one that had intrigued her, but Rick, in his great distraction, could not tell her anything about it since it was taken before he could remember. In it his mother Angelina embraced a young, handsome man named Tomás. At the time Olivia didn’t want to think about it, but when she put the other pieces together it was too obvious.
“You’re his father, aren’t you?” Olivia had to say the words, even though they and the picture made Thomas’s gaunt face turn paler than the white storage crates around them. “I mean, I may be way off base here, but…”
Thomas regained his composure by clearing his throat and looking away from the photo. “There’s no need to make such accusations.”
“Accusations? It’s pretty obvious to me. Aside from this,” she pointed to the photo, “there’s everything he told me about his father. Like how he was Brazilian and possibly of Japanese immigrant descent. Why do you speak fluent Portuguese? You’re Brazilian, aren’t you?”
“That’s hardly a case, Ms. Owens.”
“Okay, so how about the Japanese? You seemed pretty comfy with it.”
“Japan is one of the biggest music markets left in the world. It’s good for me to know basic Japanese. I am hardly fluent.”
“Come on! You look like this guy, but only fatter and twenty years younger!” The picture shook in Olivia’s hand. “And Tomás? Really? Tomás? Is that your real name?”
“No.” Thomas took the picture from Olivia’s hand and held it up to his face, studying the young man she claimed him to be. “My name is as I say it is.” The picture lowered, revealing a stoic face lined with wrinkles. “Thomas Thompson, because my mother had a sense of humor.” Before Olivia could rebuttal, he continued, “Not my fault if some people in my past called me Tomás because… for whatever reason.”
Olivia almost missed that. “So it’s true? You’re Rick’s father?”
“Now hold on.” Thomas gave the picture back with a stern look. “I’m not saying anything. For all I know you’re trying to blackmail me.”
“I’m not. I swear.” Olivia shook her head. She didn’t mean to make Thomas uncomfortable. She didn’t even mean to call him out on this beyond confirming her suspicions. What business is it of mine anyway? She wouldn’t want someone sniffing around her parents under the guise of sousing out who fathered or mothered whom. “I wanted to know.”
“And what good does that do you?”
“So it’s true?”
“You keep asking me that, and I’m going to remain noncommittal.”
“You’re admitting your guilt.”
“Guilt? What guilt?”
“Does he know? He doesn’t know. He’s completely oblivious around you.”
“Look,” now Thomas showed some anger, his eyes furrowed toward his nose and his fingers gripping the bag hanging around his shoulders, “as far as I know, he has no idea who his father his, whether it’s me or not.”
“Would you stop it? You’re his father.”
“Fine!” Olivia had never seen Thomas this angry – in her direction, anyway. He usually reserved it for the dancers showing up late to mic checks or departure vans. Or Rick. “Do you feel so clever for figuring something like that out?”
Olivia heaved a hard breath. “What in the world is going on? Why doesn’t he know? If you abandoned him, why are you working with him now?”
“Abandoned him? I didn’t even know he existed until three years ago!”
Olivia should have guessed. Based on what Rick said about his mother and upbringing, Angelina wasn’t the type to share such details or even hunt down Thomas to say, “Hey, you fathered this child, pay up!” Instead she would do everything herself. “Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s a long story. Last time I saw his mother was over twenty-five years ago. She di
dn’t say anything about being pregnant. So after she got bored with me and I moved on, I went on with my life. Just so happened I got into the entertainment industry like this.”
“And?” Well, he started it.
“And three years ago I met up with an old friend who hung out at Angelina’s studio even after I last saw her. Off and on for years. She told me about her kid, and after I did the math I investigated it and realized I was probably his father. I also found out that he was busking with a guitar and his own two feet in his old neighborhood and around LA. So I tracked him down. When I found him performing on a street corner with this huge crowd around him. I went right to work. Convinced him to sign with the label, and convinced the label to let me manage him. You know the rest.”
“But he doesn’t know?”
“And what should I say? ‘Hey, Rick, by the way, I’m your supposedly deadbeat dad.’ Are you serious? It’s best to keep things the way they are. He doesn’t need that kind of news.”