by MB Austin
* * *
Nigel introduced Erlea to José Luis Romero and Dave Brown. “Ms. Rios you already know, of course.” He handed her the card. “Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m expecting a call. Tour business, can’t be avoided.”
Erlea stared at the card with her father’s handwriting, nickname for her, and doodle, afraid to open her mouth. He’s alive. After all these years, she had finally given up hope, finally accepted her mother’s logic. How could he be alive, and never once contact them? He had loved them both too much.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Maji said, breaking the silence.
“Where did you get this?” Erlea asked.
Romero answered. “Mr. Winterbottom found it here in his suite. We think Arturo Echeverra is alive and trying to reach you.”
“You think?” Erlea spat. “My whole life I’ve listened to other peoples’ theories about my father. For all I know, the nationalists killed him.” She glared at Romero. “Who are you, again?”
He handed her the blue ID card. “Interpol, Madrid bureau office.”
“And what does the American government care about my father?” she asked Dave Brown. “Basque country is Spain’s business.”
Brown nodded gravely, his face a mask. “Yes, ma’am, it is. We have interests he can help us with, based on his time in hiding.”
“But you won’t tell me why you think he’s alive, or what these interests of yours are.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Brown said. “However, I can assure you we will not interfere with the peace process. As soon as we obtain the information we need, we’ll get out of the way.”
Erlea flinched. If they knew Papa was alive, the nationalists would send him straight to prison. They wouldn’t give him a fair trial, much less a seat at the table for the ETA. “Does Spain want peace?”
Brown’s blank look gave away nothing.
“Really. I am asking you, since you seem to know everything. If he comes here to find me, will my government let him attend the peace talks?”
“That’s our understanding with them,” Dave said. “We’ve promised to deliver Mr. Echeverra to Bilbao safely and on time. After that point, I can’t say what his future holds. I understand there are old charges still pending.”
“If he’s alive, he could be cleared of them,” Maji offered. “Can you tell us what the note inside the card means?”
Erlea read the poem and tried not to show her reaction. He’s alive and nearby. “I’m sorry. It’s just a poem. Everyone learns it in school.”
“Honestly, I don’t care for the risks,” Nigel said as he returned from the balcony. They all stared at him. “Erlea could get hurt. And the press will have a field day.”
Enough. She might not trust Brown, but if he left, the National Police would surely come instead. She should at least appear to cooperate. “Really, Nigel. Aren’t you the one who says all publicity is good publicity?”
Nigel sketched a headline in the air in front of them. “Rock Diva Gunned Down Before Tour Opens.” He frowned at her. “That’ll stop ticket sales cold, my dear.”
“Mr. Winterbottom, Ms. Echeverra, if you agree to help us, we will ensure the safety of your full cast and crew,” Dave promised. “If you don’t, we’ll pursue Arturo Echeverra through other avenues, without the mutual benefits that a partnership with you would provide.”
“This doesn’t prove anything,” Erlea said, waving the card. “But someone’s clearly trying to convince me. Next time it might be with a real gun. So yes, we will cooperate.”
Nigel cleared his throat but didn’t contradict her. “Your government will cover your own expenses, of course.”
“Yes, sir. Upgrades to the Gran Balearico’s security, according to the recommendations in Ms. Rios’s report. Free measures, such as impressing the need for confidentiality on your crew, will be up to you. Some of them already know about the internet threats, correct?”
“They know I get them, like anyone famous,” Erlea replied. “Only Alejandro has to read them all, as he manages my communications now.”
“We didn’t want to scare off good crew,” Nigel said. “Some of the emails are really beyond the pale.”
“I read them all,” Maji attested. She turned to Brown. “I recommended they hire someone in computer forensics to track down the senders on the biggest red flags. Maybe your people could help with that.”
He nodded. “We have the resources for that. If you’ll give us access, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me ma’am,” Erlea said. “And yes, sure. Anyone who sends that kind of filth for fun doesn’t deserve to hide out in their mother’s basement.”
“Amen,” Maji said.
Nigel looked down at Maji. “And your services, Ms. Rios? We’ve already compensated you, I believe.”
“For the review, yes. And you’re welcome. But now my terms are between Paragon and the US government,” Maji replied as politely as if he’d thanked her properly.
Erlea reminded herself to watch what she said around Maji. All the men might underestimate her, but they were fools. She signed Brown’s nondisclosure agreement and handed it off to Nigel. “That document makes it sound like Paragon is providing a body double just to deal with the media.”
“Correct.” Maji said. “If the media should catch me out, it provides a paper trail to back up that impression. Nothing on your father.” She held eye contact. “That paints you as the wild child, the problem to be managed. You okay with that?”
Erlea shrugged. “It is what they all expect anyway.”
* * *
“At least you’re on the inside now,” Romero commented when they reached Dave’s room. “But I was sure she would know what the card meant.”
“She did,” Maji said. “She just doesn’t trust you guys.”
“Sounds like she needs a new best friend,” Dave said. “Lots of bonding opportunities coming up.”
Romero shot him a look. “Is it wise to become friends with this woman? Erlea is both protectee and suspect, after all.”
“If you don’t trust me or my methods, Mr. Romero,” Maji replied, “you are welcome to replace me.”
Romero’s thoughts moved briefly behind his otherwise bland facade. “No, Ms. Rios. You are uniquely suited to this assignment.” A whisper of a smile surfaced. “And please, call me José Luis.”
“Maji,” she reciprocated. “And while I’m out playing Erlea for the media and backstage playing her new BFF, what’s your plan? Bugs, video, RFID tracker?”
“Already in place,” Dave confirmed. “And some of JL’s guys just came on staff at the Balearico, you know, custodial and such.”
“Also, we will finish the background checks. Not just on the cast and crew but everyone at the resort,” Romero said. “This takes time, of course.”
“So get busy building rapport,” Dave encouraged her.
Maji nodded. “I’ll be like family before you know it.” To Romero she added, “And I won’t forget she’s under suspicion.”
* * *
Maji looked Erlea in the eye, trying to engage her while guessing whether she was annoyed, bored, or just tired. Erlea stared back and yawned.
At least tired, then. “You, too?” Maji yawned as well. “Don’t get me started. I never sleep well in hotels.”
Erlea didn’t bite.
“Is this better than touring?” Maji asked.
“Don’t know yet.”
To either side of them, Roger leaned in, stood back, and pointed to various body parts, considering how to transform them into twins, while Alejandro took notes. Erlea just closed her eyes.
“Nobody’s going to measure her exact height,” Roger said. “They won’t notice an inch or two. Still, I think we should put Maji in heels when she goes out.”
“You just want to show off those calves of hers,” Erlea grumbled.
Roger shrugged and resumed his point-by-point physical comparison, noting in clinical tones that Erlea’s bust was a full cup size large
r than Maji’s and her hips noticeably more rounded, along with a wider ass. Or as he put it, “Not like our Maji’s little bubble butt.” It was clear he admired a more muscular physique.
“Is he always like this?” Maji asked Erlea. A private comment was one thing; tearing Erlea down by comparison was another. Some friend.
“Oh no.” Erlea widened her eyes. “He’s on good behavior today. For company.”
“What about this then?” Roger touched the scar on Maji’s exposed left shoulder. “Should we cover it? Maybe a tattoo?”
“No,” Maji said, twisting the shoulder away from his fingertips and glaring at him. “I’m having it removed. I need the doctor to see it as is.”
“No worries, love,” Roger said. “Neither of you goes out sleeveless. Problem solved.”
“Contacts?” Alejandro asked Roger.
“Maybe sunglasses. Easier than matching, yeah?”
Alejandro looked skeptical. “Those photogs have amazing zooms. What if she takes the shades off indoors and one of them gets a shot off?”
Maji knew he meant a photograph but frowned at the specter of a sniper anyway.
“All right then,” Roger agreed. “Sunglasses and contacts.”
Erlea stretched and yawned. “Coffee break.” She reached the door and turned to catch Maji’s eye. “C’mon.”
Maji grabbed a pullover and scrambled to catch up, tugging the top over her head as she trailed down the corridor.
“Are you cold,” Erlea asked as she waited by the coffee table, “or self-conscious? Not that you should be. I’d kill to be built like you.”
“I need to eat more. Lack of body fat has its downsides, too.” Maji reached for a croissant. “Less of this, though. Simple carbs make me bitchy, plus ache all over.” She sighed. “I know better. I just haven’t managed to care lately.”
“Me, too. It’s like I’m one person at home, another on the road.” Erlea tilted her head toward a woman building sets. “The stage crew runs on coffee and sugar. Not like the dancers.”
“We’ll get better catering then?” Maji caught herself. “I mean, you will. I’ll be out getting harassed by the paparazzi, right?”
“If Roger’s comments got to you, maybe you shouldn’t go out there. You have to ignore the press, even when they get in your face. They don’t respect boundaries, and you can’t go off on them.”
“I promise not to get you in trouble. How do you tune them out?” Maji didn’t have to feign interest. She was used to being invisible, not in the spotlight. “Meditation? Aikido practice?”
Erlea laughed. “Earbuds. Even if nothing is playing, I can pretend I don’t hear them.” She smiled wistfully. “Aikido does help at home. Here there is no one to practice with. Going to a dojo on the island is too risky.”
“What if the dojo came to you? The stage is huge and marley’s not bad for falls and rolls.”
Erlea scanned the thin vinyl sheet taped over the sprung wood floor of the stage. “Really? How would you know?”
Maji set her plate and cup aside and crossed the stage with a forward roll followed by a backward roll. She made sure Erlea was watching and returned with a series of diving rolls, coming up to standing only a foot away from her.
“Am I allowed to hate you?”
Maji smiled. “Not if we train together. Onegai itashimasu.” Might be an overly humble way to ask permission, but Erlea might be higher ranked.
“Don’t butter me up. I’m only first dan.” Erlea looked amused nonetheless. “You?”
Maji had been truthful all morning. It seemed to be a winning strategy. “Second. But I’ve been off the mat several years. And I have to be careful to not injure myself.”
“Imane would kill me if I got hurt and screwed up her choreography.” Something behind Maji caught her eye. “And so would Nico. Heads-up.”
“Morning, Mr. Allarcón,” Maji said.
He ignored her and spoke to Erlea as he passed. “Onstage in ten, ready to work.”
They watched him disappear down the corridor. “Well, at least he can tell us apart. For now,” Maji said. She didn’t really care what he called her, if anything.
“After you get a taste of the paparazzi, you’ll be grateful somebody ignores you. Of course, with Nico that’s always a blessing.” Erlea picked up her plate and mug. “Let’s go wrap things up with the Beastie Boys.”
“There you are,” Roger greeted them as they entered the do shop. “Himself gave us five to wrap up, so tick-tock.” He nodded to Alejandro. “Hair.”
Alejandro stood by as Roger thought aloud, stroking that silly little green goatee. “It’s a little longer than Erlea’s and definitely thicker. Nicer brown, too, not mousy,” he commented. “What did you put these highlights in with?”
Maji smirked at him. “The sun.”
“Well, we could give you both fauxhawks, maybe go platinum blond. No? Okay, fine. It’s overdone already. Blue?” Roger frowned as Erlea kept shaking her head. “Work with me here. You’ve done green, orange, and yellow already.” He perked up. “How about a dark red?”
“Not a Basque red,” Erlea cautioned. “I get enough shit about being too Basque or not Basque enough already.”
“Any color’s fine. But I need to keep as much length as possible,” Maji said.
Roger smiled. “We’ve got wigs. You could wear a new one each time, let the media try and keep up.”
“No wigs,” Maji said. “They could come off in a fight, and then I’d definitely be pegged as an impersonator.”
Roger sighed. “Well, how much fun are you?”
Maji gave him a dead serious look. “Trim two inches, take out some volume without making it look like I have mange, and find a nice color that will wash out in a couple weeks. Can you do that?”
Erlea clapped Roger on the shoulder. “It’s almost like she’s done this before.” She gave Maji a wink. “Have fun with it. I’m off to face Nico.” She turned back at the door. “Could you order us each a gi?”
Maji nodded. “Sure thing.” She gave a little bow. “Onegaishimasu.”
Chapter Eleven
Celeste peeked into the theater from the lobby and couldn’t spot Maji anywhere. She started to turn away and head back to her office. Then her phone buzzed.
First tier box seats. Stage right.
Celeste zeroed in on that section and spotted Maji waving to her. Why did they have to talk about the boat here, within sight of rehearsals? She headed up the ramp.
The music stopped and Celeste paused to look at the stage. There was Erlea, now with flaming red hair but just as attractive as ever, damn her. The tabloids made a big deal of the hair, which the paparazzi used to spot Erlea as she played tourist all over the island. Didn’t her manager know how exposed she was out there? Erlea’s safety should come before his demands for publicity. At least Erlea was back to work now, following Imane’s direction like a professional. Watching them create a new show was movie-worthy, she thought, spotting Alejandro in the wings with a video camera.
“Hi,” Celeste said, taking a seat near Maji. “I like your hair color. Seems to be very popular all of a sudden.”
“Yeah,” Maji said. “It’s been getting a lot of coverage in the tabloids. Did you know red hair was a Basque thing? Not this shade, but still.”
“The internet has been quite educational these past few days,” Celeste conceded. “About all things Basque—and Majorca, too. The tourism bureau should pay her for the publicity.”
“No. They should pay me. Though it has been fun, taking that little train up to Sóller, touring the nature park, visiting the Miró museum. Turns out I really like Miró.”
Celeste looked from Maji’s red head to Erlea’s on stage. “Oh my God. Why?”
“Misdirection. I play hard so she can be in here ten hours a day, working her tail off.”
“Is that safe for you? Overzealous fans are not to be taken lightly.”
“I promise to be careful,” Maji said. “And you know th
is is a secret, right? Like the review.”
“No need to worry about me.” Celeste glanced at Erlea moving sinuously in time with her backup dancers. “But if you don’t want her talking, you’ll need to keep her sober.”
“Ouch.” Maji raised an inquiring brow. “Did she get worse after I left the lounge?”
Celeste rubbed her temples. “It’s none of my business. I was just put off by her behavior. But I suppose it comes with being a rock star.”
“Do I even want to know?”
Celeste thought about it. Compared to what she had told her new friend already, this was nothing. “She made a pass at me. And said I was…real.”
“So suave. But sincere. Gotta give her points for that.” Maji looked to the stage. In profile, she looked remarkably like Erlea. “About the boat…”
“Of course. I can be out whenever you like.”
“Actually, would you mind staying? Maybe a couple weeks.”
Celeste laughed with relief. “As long as you like. The peace is delicious. Also my cooking. Come for supper.”
“Not looking like this. Think how the press would talk: Erlea and mystery woman dine at love nest on the water.” She stopped laughing when she caught Celeste’s expression. “What? The thought of being linked to a rock star, or making your ex jealous?”
The whole world could gossip about her love life, for all Celeste cared. But not Adrienne. “She found me once already. Sent me a threat,” Celeste confided. “She can’t know I’m here.”
“You sure I can’t set you up with some help on this?”
Celeste looked away. “No. I got myself into this mess. I’ll find my own way out.”
“Hey.” Maji took her hand. “If you’re in danger, it’s not your mess—it’s a crime she’s committing. And you deserve safety. It’s not on you to shield her from the consequences.”
“I know. Intellectually, I know.” Celeste squeezed Maji’s hand. “And when I’m ready, I’ll tell you.”
