by MB Austin
“No,” Erlea replied, scowling. “You’re helping enough already.” She swallowed. “And I appreciate it. You did like the aerials, didn’t you?”
“It was very exciting,” Celeste replied. Especially with you touching me.
* * *
Maji opened the door of her hotel room to Celeste. “Hey, thanks for the house call.”
“Of course,” Celeste said, touching the red hair. “I think I would hate being famous, always worrying who saw me doing what. I am too much the introvert.”
“That makes three of us,” Maji said, ushering Celeste in. “We’re lucky to have you.” Maji pulled a chair out and sat facing its back. She lifted her right arm and rotated it until a pain shot down her bicep. “There.”
“Okay. Give me dead weight while I move it through the full range. Call out at the first twinge.”
Maji let her manipulate the arm and made a conscious effort to be compliant, describing what hurt, how, and when. She couldn’t afford to be stoic now—she had to stay in the game. “Rotator cuff?”
“Sounds like you’ve been here before. You remember the exercises, stretches, rest, and ice regimen?” When Maji nodded, Celeste continued. “If it does not improve, I’ll refer you for an MRI.” She paused. “Dare I ask what you did? Was it the Aikido?”
“No. Erlea is a great partner. I got carried away trying out the aerials.”
“Really? Are you going to stand in onstage?”
“No. They’re just fun and—” A knock at the connecting door stopped her. “Hello?”
“Dinner’s nearly ready,” Imane called.
Maji hopped up and opened her side. “Great. Got enough for one more?”
“Sure,” Imane said. She eyeballed Celeste. “Erlea won’t touch the pizza or the liquor. And she’s stopped smoking. That’s some spell you’ve put her under.”
Looking past Imane to Erlea’s suite, Celeste frowned. “I should get back to the office.”
“Oh no, really,” Imane protested. “I’m grateful. Please stay for supper.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
Maji exchanged a knowing look with Imane. “Just supper with friends. You’ve already worked a full day.”
“Fine. If a guest needs me, I suppose they can call or page me.”
* * *
Erlea didn’t trust that glint in Imane’s eyes. “What?”
“Set another place. Dr. Sexy Eyes is making a house call.”
“Don’t call her that,” Erlea said. “She’s next door? Keep your voice down.”
“Hey, stop sweating.” Imane squeezed her arm affectionately. “I haven’t seen you like this in years. Not since…”
“Stop it. I don’t need reminding.” Or a calendar to know the date of Laura’s death.
“Fine. But I’m rooting for you. And she would, too, you know.”
“Don’t pull that shit on me.”
“It’s not shit,” Imane replied, her voice rising. “Laura loved you.”
“And look how that worked out for her.”
“It’s not your fault and you know it,” Imane insisted. “We were kids. And two of us got to grow up.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, stop wasting yourself on assholes you don’t even like. If you were the one who died, would you want Laura to be miserable ten years later?” Imane didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course not. You’d want her to grow the fuck up and move on.”
As Imane stomped off to the bedroom, Erlea opened the cabinet with the whiskey. She eyed the bottle, growled in frustration, and slammed the door.
“Hello?” Maji called from the living area. “We let ourselves in. Door was open.”
Erlea put on a brave face and greeted them, pulled dinner from the oven, and offered Celeste some wine. Seeing her hesitation, she said, “It won’t bother me. Imane might as well have some company. As well as all the pizza.”
“Oh no, I’m taking my share,” Maji joked.
Erlea served them and sat, feigning interest in her healthy plate. Imane emerged a few minutes later, looking composed again. Why must she keep poking old wounds?
Celeste dabbed salad dressing from her lips. “You did a marvelous job at that press conference.”
“Thanks. For a reward, now Nigel has a party that I have to make an appearance at. More nosy strangers, but with mingling.”
“Oh God,” Imane said. “That VIP thing the celebrity doctor is hosting? I hear he gives out free Botox shots.”
“Is he licensed for that?” Celeste asked.
Erlea nodded. “Lyttleton is a plastic surgeon.”
“And a starfucker,” Imane added. “A lot of rich expats here are. They’ll all attend, of course, and make sure the gossip columnists spell their names right.”
“I have a favor to ask, when you talk to Lyttleton,” Maji said. “I need an appointment for him to look at my shoulder.” To Celeste she added, “The left one.”
Imane lit up. “Brilliant. Erlea gets an appointment, then you go to it.” She looked thoughtful. “Let me guess—tattoo removal?”
“Scar. It’s been reduced, but I keloid, so it’s hard to get rid of completely.” Maji kept her face blank, and Celeste held very still.
Erlea remembered how touchy Maji had been when Roger suggested tattooing over the scar. She sensed an unhappy story there. “Consider it done. It’s high time I did something for you for a change.”
* * *
After dinner they all moved to the balcony. Celeste noted that Erlea skipped the cigarette rolling ritual and went right for her guitar. “Good substitute?”
“Works at home,” Erlea said and began strumming a slow tune.
Celeste removed Maji’s ice pack and worked on her pressure points. Maji made no sound, stoic again. “You know,” she said, “regular massage would help. And Reimi misses you.”
“Who’s Reimi?” Imane asked. Now that they’d cleared the air, Celeste decided she liked this exuberant woman, even her touchy ways and teasing. It came with love, after all.
“A blackjack dealer here,” Maji told her. “Who I can’t see, looking like this.”
Celeste dug a thumb in under Maji’s shoulder blade. “Too bad. You made an impression. She came to my office asking how to reach you. And I hate to lie, even for a good reason.”
“Can’t you just swear her to secrecy?” Imane asked. “It’s just the press you’re fooling.” Maji stiffened under Celeste’s touch, and Erlea’s sure fingers faltered. Imane took it all in. “What? Are you in danger?”
“Just the usual threats,” Erlea said. “Look, I’ll talk to Dave, okay? Maybe he’ll clear it. Celibacy’s a lot to ask, on top of everything else.”
“Dave who?” Imane asked, making Celeste both curious and regretful for having started this. “Beatriz Echeverra Carreras, you tell me what’s going on, this instant.”
“Dave Brown,” Maji answered. “My manager at Paragon. Nigel hired us to find out who’s sending some particular threats and to keep Erlea out of view in the meantime. That’s it.”
“So this has nothing to do with your father?” Imane persisted.
Good question, Celeste thought. The press was certainly interested. “Yes. Is the ETA dangerous? To you”—she looked from Erlea to Maji—“and you, too, if you’re out there in public, fooling everyone.”
“That’s above my pay grade,” Maji said. Her face gave nothing away, but then it didn’t when she was in pain, either. “But Brown has contacts with the National Police, and a support team watching my back. Nobody’s getting hurt on my watch—including me.”
“She’s a professional,” Erlea assured Imane. “And you know I would never ask anyone to put themselves in real danger for me.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about the bungee,” Imane said.
Erlea frowned. “And yet here is the doctor, tending to her shoulder.”
“Nobody asked me to,” Maji said. “I was just playing around and overdid it.”
“It would be a perfect number, with you in it,” Imane said to Erlea. “A great finale.”
Maji nodded. “It’s the easiest aerial to learn. Not that different than a flying roll.”
Ah, the Aikido practice. Yes, Celeste thought. Not a bad analogy.
“The hell it’s not. On the mat, I’m in control every second.”
“Sure, now that you’re a black belt. But how were rolls when you started?”
Erlea gave a short laugh, almost a huff. “I would lean forward and just start to cry.”
“But at some point you tried anyway. Right?”
“Yes. My friend Laura had started at the dojo a few months before me. She talked me through the fear and showed me what worked for her.”
“There you go. Everything is learnable,” Maji reminded her. “Once you get the hang of this it’s really fun.”
“Maybe. But it took me months to execute a decent roll. I don’t have that luxury here. We have barely three weeks.”
Celeste couldn’t resist. “If you want to accelerate the process, I am happy to help.”
“So you said.” Erlea shook her head. “You’re doing too much for me already.”
Imane set her glass down hard on the table. “Seriously? The best performance coach in Europe is offering you help and you’re turning her down?”
“You overstate my standing,” Celeste said. “But still. I may be offended if you refuse. My shoes may even think you don’t like lesbians. If they tell your fans, you’re in trouble.”
“Blackmail.” Erlea pointed at Maji. “And don’t look confused. I still blame you.”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s this with the talking shoe thing?”
Erlea gave Celeste a mischievous look. “Inside joke. Sensible shoes and all that.”
Celeste felt herself color, not from the subject but from the way Erlea was looking at her, the teasing edge in that damn sexy voice.
“Settled,” Imane declared. “Next order of business—the party. What are we all wearing?”
* * *
Erlea felt sheepish, using the promise of another consult to spend more time with Celeste. The looks Imane and Maji had exchanged as they headed out said she wasn’t fooling them.
“I think we should talk about heights down at the theater,” Celeste said, “where I can see what is physically involved.”
“Sure.” Erlea’s hopes rose. Then Celeste had stayed just to hang out with her. As Erlea reached for her guitar she saw Celeste shiver. “You want a blanket? Or to go inside?”
“I love it out here, with the view of the harbor. But a blanket would be nice, thank you.” Celeste’s profile against the sunset’s backdrop was so exquisite Erlea wished she could take a photograph to hold the memory of the moment.
When she returned, Celeste was at the rail, watching the last pinks turn to darkness. So Erlea draped the blanket around her shoulders. She wanted to wrap her arms around her as well, but Celeste had been clear. If they were hanging out, even alone, it was as friends.
“It’s the little things,” Celeste murmured. She turned and faced Erlea. “Sorry. I was miles away. Ha. So much for mindfulness. Shall we begin?”
Of course. Celeste had stayed to work on another of her endless issues. “Ah, the smoking. You know, I’m doing fine with that.” If Celeste couldn’t be around smoke, Erlea would simply never light a cigarette again. “You’re doing so much for me as it is. And you haven’t even charged me yet.”
“Tell you what, if I get you flying onstage, I will bill you properly. But for the rest, consider it an old debt settled.” Celeste didn’t smile, and her eyes still had a faraway look. Like the ocean on a cloudy day, still beautiful but poignant.
Erlea stepped back, needing something to do with her hands. Rolling more unsmokable tobacco? No. She plucked up her guitar and sat with it across her lap. “You don’t owe me anything.” Dinners and parties didn’t count between friends.
“You don’t remember, but I do,” Celeste said, leaning back on the balcony railing and pulling the blanket snug. “Almost a year ago now. You told Adrienne to treat me better. And then you intervened when she hurt me, right in the middle of a crowded club in front of her teammates and everyone.”
The soccer player? Erlea racked her memory, but the whole evening was hazy. “That woman assaulted you? That’s why I went after her?”
Celeste half smiled, but her eyes held pain. “Yes. A perfect stranger. And yet you stood up for me. At the time I thought it was the alcohol making you brave. Now I know better.”
Erlea couldn’t imagine anyone hurting Celeste. Not on purpose. “She was your girlfriend?”
Celeste nodded. “It was the beginning of the end for us. For that I owe you more than you will ever know.” Celeste winced and looked away. “But at that moment, I was so ashamed. I didn’t stay to tell the police what happened, just fled. I thought surely someone would speak up. If I had realized she was going to sue you, well…I’m so sorry.”
Erlea shrugged. “Don’t worry about me. Nigel settled it.” She hung her head. “If I hadn’t been wasted, I would have made sure you were okay.” She set the guitar aside, prepared to get up and embrace Celeste, comfort her. “And I would have made her pay for hurting you.”
“More violence would help no one. And only land you in jail,” Celeste said, her voice cracking. She looked to the night sky and blinked hard.
Erlea was by her side in a flash, reaching out to hug her. She stopped short. “May I?”
Celeste shook her head, and Erlea stepped back.
“See? The little things.” Celeste gave her a weak smile. “You are a better person than you give yourself credit for. And I didn’t want you putting me on some pedestal, taking my advice about your life, thinking I am so strong and together.”
Not holding Celeste was killing Erlea. But it was good Celeste said no. If she touched her now, she wouldn’t stop until she had kissed all the pain away. “I think you are a survivor. And they are the strongest kind of people.”
“Thank you.” Celeste unwrapped the blanket and handed it to Erlea. “I need to go and be alone now.”
“Whatever you want,” Erlea agreed. “But soon you will come to rehearsals and help me tackle my demons?”
Celeste gave her a real smile, a little light back in her eyes. “Count on it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Celeste handed her invitation to the man at the door. He looked so familiar, despite the change in clothing. “You must be Dave Brown,” she said.
“At your service,” he replied with a smile. “Enjoy the party until the press arrive.”
“Thank you. I will appreciate knowing when to disappear. Like the buffet.” The crew were working diligently on the sumptuous spread.
“Always come early if you’re hungry,” Dave said with a smile, then pressed a finger to the earpiece attached to the wire that disappeared under his collar. Like Secret Service. “Speaking of which, please take a plateful into the control booth back there for Ms. Rios.”
The booth was dim, set up for a DJ but occupied only by a security guard in uniform. “Hey, I’m glad you made it. Thanks for the food. I’m kind of stuck in here.”
“Maji?”
“Call me Tomás.”
“Incredible.” Only her voice gave Maji away. “I never would have recognized you.”
“I know. I helped Erlea haul you up onto the stage a couple weeks back.”
“No wonder you didn’t talk.” Celeste laughed. “We thought you were a starstruck fan.”
“Speaking of herself, there she is with full entourage. You should go save her.”
Celeste looked down at her dress. “Do I look like I fit in here?”
“No, you look too classy.” Maji smiled and the little mustache lifted. It reminded Celeste so much of Santxo that she had to laugh.
* * *
Erlea spotted Celeste emerging from the dark-windowed booth and smoothing down the short skirt on her jewel-toned blue dress. She
looked at home in heels and makeup, like she belonged on the glossy pages of a magazine. Couldn’t blame her for insisting on leaving before the press arrived, but…wow. Erlea made a beeline toward her.
“You look like a rock star tonight,” Celeste said as they touched cheeks. She caressed the soft leather of Erlea’s tailored leather jacket.
Erlea felt the touch through her sleeve and was glad she’d let Imane talk her into the jacket, extra zippers and buckles and all. She melted a little under Celeste’s attention, the sound of her voice, her touch, her scent. “Is that gardenia?”
“That and lily of the valley, jasmine, some other flowers. White Shoulders. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I like it for special occasions.”
“It goes with the look.” Erlea resisted saying just how hot that look was. “Kind of Taylor Swift, but more mature, of course. In a good way.” Oops. “Hey, did you see Maji’s getup? So not like me, for a change.”
“Good thing—if she looked like you tonight it would be like a time-travel novel, where two versions of the same person appear and one has to hide.”
“Exactly. That’s what I thought the first time I saw her made up like me. Like, no wonder you’re not allowed to meet yourself.” Stop rambling and breathe. “It was really unsettling.”
“I love time-travel novels,” Celeste said.
“You do?” Erlea grinned with surprise. “Like The Time Traveler’s Wife?”
Celeste considered. “Yes, but also Kindred, The Redemption of Christopher Columbus, Doomsday Book…”
“Heavy stories. Serious. Hmm, what about To Say Nothing of the Dog?”
“Sure. I love Willis when she’s funny.”
“Funny? Hilarious.” Erlea knew she should probably dial it back, but really. “She’d totally get the lesbian shoe thing.”
“I hate to interrupt your geeking out,” Imane said, slipping an arm around Erlea’s waist, “but Lyttleton is here. Go ask him for an appointment.”
