by MB Austin
* * *
Imane called a halt and the music cut off. “Lunch. Better call your hungry twin.”
“She eats enough for both of us,” Erlea acknowledged, peering up to the box seats to locate Maji. And there was Celeste, the first Erlea had seen her since the other night. What had she said to scare her off? Whatever she’d done, at least now she could apologize. “Lunch break. Come on down, hollow leg. You, too, Doctor.”
“On our way,” Maji replied.
But Celeste seemed to resist. Erlea couldn’t hear them, but the body language spoke volumes.
“Uh-oh,” Imane said from behind her, putting her chin on Erlea’s shoulder. “I told you to behave. What did you say to offend her?”
“I’m not sure,” Erlea replied. “I did a few more shots after you left.”
Imane groaned. “Enough to think you were funny?”
Erlea shook her off. “I am funny. You just don’t get me.”
“Well, let’s hope Dr. Sexy—Celeste—does. Here they come.”
Celeste looked very professional in her work clothes, even without the white coat. All business, but not angry. And just as beautiful as always.
“Welcome to our feast, such as it is.” Erlea gestured to the table prepared by hotel catering, heavy on bread and processed meats and cheeses, light on fresh local ingredients. A pity, with all Majorca had to offer.
“I asked Alejandro to get us better options,” Imane said.
Alejandro appeared, pulling off his headset. “What? Oh, the food. Yeah, working on it.”
“Not that you’re eating anyway,” Imane grumbled at Erlea. To Celeste she said, “The diva is starving herself. Tell her to cut it out before she faints on stage.”
“I don’t need a doctor to tell me how to eat,” Erlea said. Or anyone.
Celeste put on a brittle smile. “Then I won’t.”
“Your loss,” Alejandro said to Erlea. “Don’t you know who Dr. Guillot is?”
Celeste stared at him. “My background really isn’t relevant here.”
“But you must tell the athletes how to eat,” Alejandro insisted. “As a performance coach to the elite. Olympic swimmers, prima ballerinas—”
“Magda Dobrovich?” one of the dancers blurted. “You’re that doctor she raves about?”
Celeste paled. “She was an excellent client. But—”
“Can I come see you?” another dancer asked. “On my own time, my own dime,” he added, looking to Alejandro.
“What are you doing here?” a third dancer asked. Celeste paled and looked frightened.
“Not giving interviews,” Erlea said. “Let her breathe, for Christ’s sake.”
“Sorry,” said the first dancer. “It’s exciting to meet you, that’s all.”
“Thank you.” Celeste composed herself with a deep breath. “I’m on sabbatical at the moment, but I’m happy to speak with any of you one on one, if you’d like a brief consult and possibly a referral.” She looked at Erlea. “And I usually leave dietary advice to the sports nutritionists.”
“There you go,” Imane declared. “Now fill your plates before the stage crew hear the quiet and descend like locusts.”
Erlea filed through the line, spotted an open chair by Maji and Celeste. “Sorry about them,” she said, settling next to Celeste. “I guess you’re a big deal in your field, huh?”
“A medium-sized fish in a very small pond,” Celeste said without smiling.
“She’s been very helpful to me,” Maji said. “With a sleep issue, actually.”
“Sleep?” Well, her eyes are hypnotic. Like the ocean. “That’s part of your…”
“Performance coaching,” Celeste filled in. “Yes. It can be. Any barriers to mental fitness.”
“Then why not diet?” Erlea prodded. “Isn’t that critical, too?”
“Yes, of course. And I am qualified up to a point. Safe muscle gain,” Celeste nodded toward Maji’s plate full of meat and vegetables, “and some tips for performance-oriented choices specific to concentration and mood. But not dieting as in weight loss.”
Erlea looked at her unappetizing plate. “If I promise to listen, could I consult with you? Starving is kind of kicking my ass. Don’t tell Imane I said so.”
Celeste laughed softly, a sound Erlea longed to hear again. “Yes. I’d be happy to.” Her smile evaporated. “However, I will have opinions on smoking and drinking also. Normally I refer those to a behavioral medicine specialist, but I doubt you want to seek one out right now. So you can hear my advice and follow it or not, as you choose. Fair?”
“Bossy suits you.” Erlea spoke before she thought, then felt herself color. “I mean, yes. Do I have to come to your office? I’d rather not be seen there, no offense.”
Celeste blinked. “Of course. Confidentiality is vital to my practice. The only clients you hear about have given unsolicited testimonials. I never ask for them.”
“How about her suite?” Maji suggested. “Do you mind working over dinner?”
Celeste looked uncomfortable.
“That’s okay,” Erlea jumped in. “I mean, you don’t have to. I can figure something—”
“No,” Celeste interrupted. “It’s no bother. I do business wherever my clients are. And it is better to talk in a relaxed setting.”
Erlea wasn’t sure how relaxed she would ever be around Celeste.
* * *
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Erlea plucked yesterday’s clothes off the couch and tossed them into her bedroom. She should take better care of the suite. It was her home for now, like it or not.
“Into what?”
Erlea’s head began to throb. “Into a house call. Like I am some kind of diva.”
“I don’t think Celeste is thinking of it like that. It’s more an excuse to hang out with us.”
“Hang out with me? She doesn’t even like me.”
Maji shrugged. “You know people get funny about celebrities. She’s actually a fan of yours.”
“Not of me. My music maybe. She thinks I’m some drunk who can’t take care of herself.”
“How do you know what she thinks?” Maji’s voice hardened. “Give her a chance.”
Erlea sighed. “Sorry.” Some of the lounge conversation came back to her. “Oh, shit. I think I hit on her.” She bounced to her feet, heading for the bar. “I need a drink. Dammit. When I really want one, it’s never a good idea.”
“Have you ever tried pretend drinking?” Maji asked.
“What, like pouring your glass of wine into a planter when a guy’s not looking?” Erlea frowned. “No. That’s stupid. Either I want the drink or I don’t.”
“Well, I do it all the time.” Maji looked annoyed at Erlea’s look of disbelief. “Because…sometimes I want to seem more relaxed than I really am, less like I really feel and more like I want to—or am expected to.” She held up her glass of mineral water with lime. “Who’s to say this isn’t vodka, or gin?”
Erlea poured a single shot into a tall glass of mineral water. “Just enough to take the edge off.” Enough to chill out around Celeste, but not enough to act like a jerk.
“Whatever gets you through.”
Erlea grabbed her acoustic guitar and headed for the balcony. She rolled a cigarette, a ritual that never failed to calm her. Maji appeared as she was about to light it. “Want one? It’s just tobacco.”
“No thanks, I never smoked that.”
“You’re smart. Quitting is a bitch.” Erlea took a drag. “I do much better at home.”
Maji nodded. “Gotta be hard there, too, the way everybody smokes outdoors. Can’t sit at a café without smelling smoke from the next table.”
“I suppose. Doesn’t bother me either way. I stay quit until the stress kicks in. Being on the road is the worst.”
“Also makes it very clear where you are out here, even in the dark,” Maji noted. “Not to scare you.”
Erlea remembered the gun pointing at her, thinking it was real. A
nd now she had to worry about someone she couldn’t even see watching her? “Fuck scared. I can’t hide all my life.”
“Not that long, no.” Maji sounded so reasonable, especially given she was a target herself, playing her double. “I wish we could rule out the ETA thing. We don’t even know if your father’s really trying to reach you.”
“Oh, he definitively is. I just didn’t want to tell those government assholes. They won’t care that he was set up for that bombing. But he would never have done such a thing.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He was my father. I knew him, what he was like. I may have been little, but a kid can tell. He hated the violence.”
“I believe you. He sounds a lot like my dad, taking on immigration and street thugs both, back in New York.” Maji paused. “What I actually meant was, why are you sure he’s alive? If you don’t mind telling me.”
Erlea picked out a few signature chords. With a touch of whiskey, a little nicotine, and most of all the feel of the strings against her fingers, she could talk about it. “First of all, the little hand-drawn bee. My logo is based on it. Papa’s wasn’t good enough for Nigel, not polished enough.”
“And how many people know your father drew the original?”
“Two. Nigel and the artist he hired.” Maji probably didn’t trust Nigel. Couldn’t blame her. “But only I know what the poem means.” She looked to gauge Maji’s reaction.
“Heaven and forgiveness, et cetera? Seems kind of generic.”
“Not to me. To my father it means sunrise at Our Lady of the Angels.”
Maji seemed surprised. “Here on the island?”
“Yes. A few kilometers away, in Pollensa. Have you visited?”
Maji tilted her head. “Nobody put churches on your public appearances list.”
“No, it wouldn’t fit the image Nigel works so hard to craft for me. But this place is very dear to me. Not long before he disappeared, we vacationed near here on the Bay of Pollensa. He took me to the parish church that Sunday. That was later in the morning, of course, but the stained glass on the east side was still very beautiful. And I remember him telling me that in the first light of day it was like a peek at heaven.”
“What about the rest?” Maji prodded. “Tears, sin, waves. Another conversation?”
Erlea shook her head. “No. I think it is a metaphor and maybe a joke.” She sighed. “My mother finds the big Catholic churches a little much, along with other aspects of Catholicism. This one has a giant shell above the main altar, and she offended my father by joking about Mary on the half shell. They had a big fight, and I think maybe he regrets that in the last months they had together, things were very tense at home.”
“I’m sorry.” Maji let the silence rest a moment. “You’ve had a lot of time to look back and wonder, huh?”
“He’s been gone nearly two-thirds of my life. Every big thing since I was eight he has missed.” Tears threatened for the first time since they handed her that card. Erlea sniffed them back and took another drag on the cigarette. “I’m not sure I’m ready to see him.”
* * *
Celeste knocked, and the door to Erlea’s suite opened, but it was Maji who stood there with a welcoming smile. “You’re punctual.”
“I try not to keep clients waiting,” Celeste said. “Is Imane here, too?”
“Uh, no,” Maji said. “You want me to go?”
“God, no.” She wasn’t ready to be alone with Erlea. “I mean, not right this instant. Supper smells wonderful.”
They touched cheeks and Celeste heard the strains of a guitar, with that unmistakable voice singing softly. “Erlea?”
“Herself. Live in concert.” Maji pointed toward the balcony and led her to the gap in the curtain.
Under the night sky Erlea’s face was obscured. “I’ve never heard this song,” Celeste whispered. “It sounds old.” Then she sneezed.
Erlea stopped playing. “It’s a folk tune from my grandparents.”
“Beautiful.” Celeste sneezed again. “Sorry to disturb you. I’m allergic to cigarettes.”
Erlea popped up. “So sorry. I’ll come in, close the door. I only ever smoke out there.” She joined them inside, tossing her jacket into the bedroom and shutting that door as well. “Our American friend is probably fainting from hunger.”
Maji snorted softly. “Just because you Europeans like dinner in the middle of the night, that’s no reason to pick on sensible people.”
“With sensible shoes?” Erlea replied. “Celeste, look at her shoes. Do they look sensible?”
Celeste found herself momentarily tongue-tied. This wasn’t shy Erlea or drunk Erlea. This Erlea was trying to make her laugh, and it was sweet. “Well, they look athletic. I think we should feed them. Do you have suitable food for high-performance footwear?”
“Maji ordered it,” Erlea replied. Celeste laughed with her at Maji’s perplexed look.
Celeste helped herself to the fish and roasted vegetables. It was nice to dine with friends, not in a restaurant or on the boat alone. But when Erlea held the bottle of cava in her direction, a wordless invitation, she hesitated.
“No shots,” Erlea promised, her always expressive voice full of remorse. “Sorry about the other night. I had too many and I wasn’t thinking straight. No pun intended.”
“Are you sorry?” Celeste resisted the urge to capitulate. “Because a real apology includes steps to make sure a harmful behavior is not repeated.”
Erlea looked at the ceiling a few seconds, then met her gaze. “You mean the press? The supposed string of men from clubs? That’s overblown. And nobody gets hurt.”
“Perhaps they don’t, but you could.” Celeste took the bottle and poured herself a glass.
“Women get raped sober, too.” Erlea watched Celeste process that, then added, “But I do practice safe sex, and for the record, I get tested regularly. And Imane’s way ahead of you on lectures.”
“Well, she is your best friend,” Maji noted. “Mine gives me endless grief. And I can’t argue, ’cause she loves me.”
Celeste nodded in agreement. “A true friend is priceless. Imane’s concern comes from love, I am sure.”
Erlea laughed. “That’s never been in doubt. She says she loves me, right out loud regardless of who’s around. Used to embarrass the shit out of me. In high school we got bullied for it. When they ran out of other excuses.”
“I’m sorry,” Celeste said. “I preferred books to teenagers, myself. Adolescents can be such assholes.”
Erlea stifled a laugh, and Celeste wondered if she was buzzed or just relaxed. She wished she knew her well enough to tell the difference. “Well, as I said back then, I’m flattered you’d think I could get so lucky.”
“I think you would both be lucky,” Celeste said. And I would be jealous.
Erlea blushed but also look skeptical. “I already get the better deal in our friendship. She has her shit together. As you’ve noticed, I don’t.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Celeste replied. “I admire your work and your professionalism. If you think drinking is a barrier to your success, then I will do what I can to help.”
And there was the shy Erlea again. “Thanks. When I figure out how to stop screwing up, I’ll apologize again, for real.”
“We all have areas to improve,” Celeste conceded. “A good diet—for health, not appearances—helps in all areas. Including the physical craving for alcohol.”
“I don’t really have that at home. I mean, a beer at lunch or a glass of cava with tapas, but I don’t go out clubbing. Bars aren’t my scene anymore.” Erlea’s husky voice held no regret.
“I’ll let you two talk shop in private,” Maji said, rising. “Thanks for supper.”
Alone at the table with Erlea, Celeste searched for something to say. Something appropriate for a professional meeting, not a date. “Since we are talking shop, let me get my notepad.”
“Right, yeah,” Erlea said. “You want some tea? We c
ould move in there.”
Celeste looked at the cozy sitting area. This little suite was comfortable and functional, but not lavish like Nigel’s. Not long ago that would have surprised her; now it seemed to fit the Erlea she was coming to appreciate more and more. “Yes. By all means, let’s get comfortable.”
Erlea busied herself in the kitchenette. Celeste grabbed her notepad and took a corner of the couch. She wondered if Erlea would share it. Being that close would not help her concentration.
When she returned with the tea mugs, Erlea took the overstuffed armchair, tucking her bare feet up. “Where do we start?”
Kissing. I would start with kissing that adorable mouth of yours. Celeste gave herself a mental kick. “With your goals. What does success look like to you? In terms of energy, mood, strength, comfort in your body.”
Erlea frowned, fiddling with the teabag in her mug. “Well, for that of course I need to lose some weight.”
“Really? According to whom?”
Erlea blinked back at Celeste. “Everyone.”
“Everyone does not count. What counts is what you think. And how you feel. Which is?”
“Fat.” Erlea stripped off her pullover and stood up, turning around. “See? Compared to Maji, I am—”
“Womanly. Curvaceous.” Celeste longed to trace those curves. She cleared her throat. “Are you weak?”
Erlea frowned. “No. But don’t you think she looks like a better version of me than I do?”
“Definitely not.”
Erlea looked over the rim of her mug, a sly smile starting. “Is that your opinion as a physician?”
Dangerous territory. Celeste needed them both back on track. “Your shape is perfectly you. If you want to burn fat and add muscle, of course you can. And with the changes in catering that Alejandro is making and the amount of dancing you are doing, that is likely to happen.”
Erlea sighed. “That sounds very clinical. Look, I’ll follow whatever plan you prescribe, but my shape will never be perfect.” When Celeste didn’t try to mask her irritation at that attitude, she pressed on. “Trust me. When I was twenty kilos lighter, the tabloids still called me fat. They want a Barbie doll that sings.”
