Slave to the Rhythm (The Rhythm #1)

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “I don’t,” he said. “But I use light weights—the idea is to stretch and tone the muscles, not build bulk. For dancers, it’s best to go for more reps and fewer pounds, to build endurance. It’s not really necessary in traditional ballroom, but when you’re training to lift a partner, yeah, it’s useful.”

  “Will you be doing a lot of that, lifting, I mean?” I asked, puzzled.

  Ash gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and nodded.

  Ash

  I looked down at Laney, seeing the stress on her face, hating that I was the cause of it. She was in pain again, although she didn’t say much. She’d met me at the dance studio today because I’d been working late with Gary and we were all going to eat after.

  I hadn’t shared my ideas for the show, and when we got to really rehearsing—if that ever happened—I’d have to ban her from coming, which would be hard because she wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t explain yet.

  Laney was still watching me, her expressive face tired and worried. I leaned down to kiss her again, seeing in the studio’s mirrors, over and over, the reflection of two lovers, traveling into infinity.

  I kissed her once more, my lips lingering as ever. Then with a promise of more later, I headed for the showers. Gary was already dressing when I got there, discretely eyeing up some men I recognized from the weight room.

  He grinned and winked as I walked past, and I raised my eyebrows.

  “Hey, showboat! Your locker has been ringing for the last ten minutes. Laney must be missing you.”

  I frowned. “No, I just saw her in the studio. She’s going to wait for us at the front.”

  “Well, someone wants to get their hands on your cute ass, not that I can blame them.”

  I sat down on the bench and pulled my phone out of the locker—there was a missed call from a local number and a voicemail alert.

  I listened intently.

  “Hello, Mr. Novak. My name is Selma Pasic and I’m Director of the Savannah Phillips Theater. I’ve been reading about you and your dance performance. Well, we have a two-week slot available for the last two weeks of March and we’d like to offer it to you. If you’re interested, please call me as soon as possible to discuss terms.”

  I replayed the message for Gary. He stared at me in disbelief.

  “Holy shit! We have a theater!”

  I called back immediately but got voicemail, so I tossed my phone to Gary.

  “I’m going to shower. If she calls back, set up a meeting. I don’t care when. Now, if she wants.”

  Three minutes later I was trying to pull my clothes over a damp body and Gary was twitching excitedly.

  “She sounded really nice,” he gushed. “Totally in love with the concept. Oh, leave your shirt undone a bit more.”

  “What?”

  “She’s a woman. She has a pulse. Leave the shirt open.”

  “Fuck that. It’s January and five below out there!”

  “Listen, showboat! Right now the woman on the end of that phone is offering you everything you want. Work your freakin’ strengths. Shirt. Open.”

  Muttering to myself, I did what he said. At least no one would see until I took my coat off. I felt like a douchebucket.

  As soon as Gary saw Laney, he launched into an explanation, then grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and started to push.

  I elbowed him out of the way. “My job,” I growled at him.

  “Much as I adore your wife,” he said pointedly, “I’m still gay. Stop being so territorial.”

  “My job!” I repeated.

  Laney giggled, but Gary poked me in the ribs, making me squirm.

  We skidded along the rain-soaked streets, Gary marching ahead and waving everyone out of our way as if we were royalty.

  “Is he always like this?” Laney asked quietly.

  “Worse,” I snorted.

  “I can totally hear you!” Gary snapped.

  Laney buried her face in her scarf to stop herself from laughing.

  God, every day I fall deeper in love.

  It was a slow falling, like floating through clouds, my body weightless. It was a peaceful falling, with sun on my face, my heart warmed. Just ordinary things that nobody else would notice—the way she tapped her fingers out of time when a favorite song was playing, the way she looked at me when I walked through the door. Always the same: my eyes, my lips, my body, back to my eyes.

  And she was so strong. I was in awe of her.

  Also, sex with Laney was the best I’d ever had. I couldn’t figure that out. She wasn’t the most athletic, obviously; she wasn’t the dirtiest and it took a while to persuade her to try new things. But every time, the woman rocked my world. I came so hard and so often, I sometimes couldn’t believe I wouldn’t shrivel up and die happily.

  Maybe it was love that made the difference.

  We skidded to a stop outside a slightly shabby theater with fresh posters of new plays. It might be small and older, but they were showing some interesting work.

  “Uh, maybe I should wait at that coffee shop,” Laney said hesitantly.

  “What for, honey?” asked Gary, beating me to it.

  “Well, she’s expecting to see dancers, not me.”

  I yanked open the door, pushed her inside, then leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  “Where would we be without our producer?”

  “Besides,” said Gary, arching one eyebrow. “Between us, we cover all the diversity groups: gay, foreign, less able.” Then he frowned at Laney. “Can you pretend to be a black lesbian, too?”

  “I can’t believe you said that!” she snorted, trying not to laugh.

  A striking looking woman with long brown hair and a nice set of tits came around the corner to greet us.

  “Mr. Novak?” she asked, her eyes flicking from me to Gary and back again, then dipping to Laney.

  “Yes,” I said, holding out my hand and ignoring Gary’s whisper to open another button on my shirt. “Ms. Pasic?”

  “Call me Selma.”

  She looked at me expectantly.

  “Ash,” I smiled. “And this is my wife Laney Novak, also our producer; and my co-lead Gary Benson, also co-choreographer.”

  She led us to a small and cluttered office, pushing aside a prop of a horse’s head to make room for Laney’s wheelchair.

  “So, we unexpectedly have a slot for the last two weeks of March. Since it’s such short notice, we’ll cut our commission to 40% of the box office takings, and provide all the front of house services, as well as our sound and lighting team. You’ll be responsible for bringing the production to the stage: and that includes all the relevant permissions for music and insurances. We’ll take care of ticket sales and marketing, but we’ll need you to keep up some media presence. So, what do you say?”

  I was nodding throughout her whole speech, amazed that finally things were going our way, but Laney rested her hand on my arm.

  “It all sounds wonderful, Selma. If you could forward the contracts to me, I’ll have our legal team go over it.”

  I grinned at her. We had a legal team now?

  Thirty minutes later, we were out of the door with draft contracts in our pockets.

  Laney

  “I need a name for the company,” he frowned.

  “You could call it Novak,” I suggested. “You told me your surname translates as ‘new man’—it seems apt.”

  Ash shook his head. “It means something more like ‘rookie’. Anyway, I need something that explains us.”

  I wasn’t sure who he meant by ‘us’: the dancers, the story, or him and me, but I had an idea.

  “How about Syzygy: a union of opposites, a mystical alignment?”

  His face lit with a huge smile.

  “Perfect, my clever wife,” he said, kissing me soundly.

  Later, I wondered if that’s what love is—the never-ending conversation with a man who interests and excites you your whole life.

  The next day, I sat down with a pad of
paper and a calculator. After half an hour, I felt like crying. Whichever way I worked it, however much I tried to cut corners, the figures were stark.

  We were $80,000 short.

  But . . . if we sold half of the available seats for every single night, we’d break even. Anything above that, and we’d be in profit.

  It was a risk.

  But then again, life is a risk.

  Isn’t it.

  I picked up the phone and called my bank.

  “Hello, I’m calling to enquire about a loan, please.”

  Ash was furious when he found out what I’d done. He went on one of his famous, drama-filled rampages.

  “We’ve overcome the biggest hurdle, finding a venue,” I stated calmly. “And I know you can pull off the dance stuff, so what’s the problem?”

  His eyes flashed with fury.

  “The problem!” he yelled. “I have eighty thousand problems. Holy fucking shit, Laney! Eighty thousand dollars!”

  He prowled toward me, pushing his face into mine as he clamped his hands over the wheelchair’s armrests.

  “No! I won’t allow it!”

  “Too late. It’s done.”

  “Send the money back! Say you changed your mind.”

  “I’m already paying interest on the loan, so I’m really not keen on that option. You’ll just have to choreograph an amazing show and pay me back later. Do your dance thing.”

  “My dance thing? My dance thing! It’s hours of fucking work, Laney! The music, the choreography, costumes. Shit, I don’t know!”

  “By the way, I spoke to Selma and sent the signed contracts back. She’s also willing to hold open auditions at the theater on Saturday at no charge. I’ve placed an ad in several newspapers as well as online, and I’ve called half a dozen dance studios in the city to let them know. You should get a good selection of talent from that.”

  His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide with surprise.

  And then he kissed me. He held my face between his hands and ravaged my mouth with such passion and intensity that I was breathless.

  Later, as we lay in bed, warm and satiated, Ash absently stroking my thigh, he brought up the subject again.

  “We are husband and wife, yes? A team?”

  “Of course,” I said, snuggling into his chest.

  “But you made this big decision by yourself.”

  “Oh. Well, you’d have said no.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you. We can totally do this. You can totally do this.”

  He pulled away slightly so he could see my face.

  “Laylay, how mad would you have been if I made such a big decision and you had no say in it?”

  “Pretty mad,” I acknowledged. “But you would have said no for the wrong reasons. You think you’d be protecting me, but really you’d be taking away my chance to see you happy, to see you succeed—our future.”

  He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “You’re too clever with words for me.”

  I snuggled closer and kissed his chest again. “You’re clever with words, but it’s more fun when you’re clever with your body.”

  I felt silent laughter shaking his chest.

  “I do understand. You’re right to be mad at me, but please trust me, Ash. This is the right thing to do.”

  “I trust you with my life,” he said softly.

  Two days later, Luka arrived. He looked like a dancer and had the same lean build as Ash, with a thick thatch of white blond hair sticking out from under a wool hat, his eyes a startling dark blue. He was very attractive, but he knew it. I could tell from the confidence in the way he held himself and the assessing look he gave me that women usually swooned at the sight of him.

  “Luka, this is my wife Laney,” Ash said proudly.

  Luka took my hand, then pulled it to his lips and kissed the back.

  “Enchanted, madame,” he said smoothly, his accent stronger than Ash’s.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” I said, carefully extracting my hand.

  Luka gave me a wide grin, then slung his arm around Ash’s shoulder and spoke rapidly in Slovenian, making Ash laugh.

  But he wasted no time, barely letting Luka put his suitcase down before they were making plans. I reminded Ash that we’d arranged to meet Yveta and Gary for dinner in a small diner that I knew. Yveta was very self-conscious about going out in public, so she preferred quiet places.

  I decided to take the wheelchair because although I felt reasonably well, I tired quickly. But the look on Luka’ face as his eyes shuttled between me and Old Ironside . . . and he said something in Slovenian.

  Ash frowned, replying quickly. Then he looked at me, smiled and shrugged.

  “I forgot to tell him.”

  He needed to be kissed for that, because my man, my husband, always saw me as a woman first, never as a problem to be taken care of.

  When the kiss became a little more heated than was appropriate in company, Luka cleared his throat, an amused expression on his face, and he spoke in heavily accented English.

  “Maybe I should go for dinner by myself, or is one minute still long enough for you, Aljaž?”

  Ash cuffed him lightly around the ear and muttered something that sounded very rude.

  Luka grinned. “My friend is in love—I never thought I’d see it happen.”

  Ash grinned and winked at me, tightening his arm around my waist.

  I loved the way he looked at me. I’d never get tired of that.

  Then I remembered that Luka might not know about Yveta. Ash might have forgotten to tell him that, too.

  “Uh, Luka, when you see Yveta, don’t stare at her scar, okay?”

  He gave me a serious look as Ash nodded his agreement. But when Yveta and Gary walked into the diner, Luka did stare. Ash kicked him under the table.

  He said something in Russian to Yveta and she flushed but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “What did he say?” I hissed at Ash.

  Ash gave me a small smile. “I think he told her she’s beautiful.”

  “I did,” Luka nodded. “I told her that I stare at all beautiful women.”

  Gary was still standing, hovering protectively next to Yveta. But hearing Luka’s words, he rolled his eyes and sat down heavily.

  “Another Slovenian hunk with more charm than is healthy—they must breed them specially. I think I’ll plan a vacation there.”

  Luka gave him a flirtatious look and leaned in closer, resting his hand on Gary’s thigh.

  “I’m already on vacation.”

  I threw a questioning look at Ash while Gary fanned himself.

  Ash shrugged. “Luka likes men and women.”

  “It’s true!” Luka smiled, then said something that made Ash laugh.

  Three voices at once yelled out, “What did he say?”

  Ash held up his hands and shook his head.

  “Excuse me,” Luka said slyly, “my English is not always good. I said that I am equal opportunities in fucking.”

  I choked on a cough and Gary burst out laughing. Yveta looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but instead she gave him a shy smile.

  Luka’s grin softened as he smiled back.

  I relaxed in my seat and took a long sip of water. Things were going to get even more interesting—and by ‘interesting’ I meant complicated.

  But what the hell. We’d survived worse, so bring it on.

  The next day was auditions. Gary and Ash were running the show, but Yveta and Luka hovered in the background, making notes and whispering to each other.

  Selma was there, too. I liked her and the way she got things done, but her personality was something of a freight train. In her enthusiasm, it was quite possible she’d run right over you.

  “Are you liking being the producer?” she asked.

  I gave her a quick look, knowing she didn’t make small talk.

  I shrugged. “I’m learning.”

  She gave me an appraising
look.

  “No offence, but this is a big job for someone who doesn’t know what the heck they’re doing.”

  “True. But we can’t afford to pay anyone. We’re barely scraping by as it is.”

  I didn’t tell her about the massive loan that was giving me nightmares.

  “I have a proposition for you,” she said, leaning forward, her astonishing cleavage lending a playful tone to her serious and intense expression. “I’ll take on producer duties—no fee necessary. I’ll accept a percentage of the profits instead.”

  I sat back in my chair, my mind ticking over the possibilities.

  “There might not be any profits,” I pointed out.

  Selma smiled. “I believe in this project. And if it goes as well as I think it will, I’ll be amply reimbursed for my time.”

  I studied her thoughtfully.

  “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” she said. “What your husband is doing, it’s new and fresh. For now, I’d keep my job at the theater, but if Slave takes off—and I really believe it will—it’ll be a huge stepping stone toward working as a theatrical producer full time. Everyone wins.”

  “Have you discussed this with Ash?”

  “You’re the producer, honey. He’s just the talent.”

  I laughed as she winked at me.

  “I’ll get back to you,” I said, and we shook hands.

  Luka waved as soon as he saw me, and I sat next to him, trying to ignore the fact that Yveta seemed oblivious to my presence. Again.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Good, very good,” he said, leaning forward. “See that older guy, the small one at the left? That’s Oliver—he’d make a great Sergei.”

  Hearing his name, I shuddered, and Luka threw me a sympathetic look.

  “It was really good of you to come here,” I said. “Especially when everything was on a wing and a prayer.”

  Luka seemed uncomfortable.

  “It was the least I could do. I couldn’t help him before, so . . .”

  Then he turned back to the dancers on the stage.

  Ash was there, wearing a black wife-beater, gray sweatpants and his ballroom shoes. He and Gary were working together to give the dancers the steps they wanted them to follow. His expression was focused and thoughtful, a small frown of concentration etched on his forehead.