So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2)

by Mary Crawford

  She squeezes my hand. “You know I’ll always be your number one fan, right? It doesn’t matter to me if you make it big or not. I like being with you, even if we have to live like impoverished college students. I’m already used to top ramen and macaroni and cheese.”

  I snicker. “Well, I don’t think it’s going to get that dire. But it might be tight for a while until I get my bookings back up,” I explain. “On the upside, I don’t have to save for a demo tape anymore. I’ve got two months worth of them. So, I’ll have enough to live on for a while.”

  Tara winks at me. “Gee, that’s too bad. I was kind of looking forward to being your sugar mama.”

  I hoot with laughter and I pretend to be stabbed in the heart. “Come on now, I’m not that much younger than you.”

  Terra sticks her tongue out at me playfully. “Well, the fact remains, you’re still younger than me. So you’ll have to ignore my cougar-like tendencies. “

  “Why would I want to ignore them? They sound intriguing to me,” I answer with a wicked grin.

  “I should’ve known you’d find a positive spin on it,” she chuckles.

  “Any time I spend with you is positive,” I announce.

  “Do you want some wine with that cheese?” Tara asks sardonically.

  I hold up my hands in a defensive posture, “Hey it’s not my fault you don’t take compliments well and I have to keep repeating myself.”

  “Well, you certainly know how to make a girl blush,” she responds. “But all the flattery isn’t necessary.”

  “I hope to be around for a long time, so get used to it,” I assert. “I even sent you a special message last night in front of millions of people. Did you catch it?”

  “Yes, luckily I did. I would have been crushed if I would’ve missed it”

  “I’m glad you saw it and I’ll be happy to tell you every day, if you let me.”

  “What do you mean when you say, ‘If you let me?’ Why wouldn’t I be thrilled?” she asks incredulously. “Of course I’ll let you stay, for as long as you want to.”

  “When I go back to washing dishes, I’m afraid you’ll write me off,” I say, looking down at the floor in shame.

  When I look back up, Tara’s eyes are flashing with anger. “Do I look that shallow to you?” she demands. “What part of our past gives you the idea I would think anything like that about you. You know what kind of house I was raised in. Do you think I have any room to judge what other people do for a living?”

  I’m taken back by her vehemence. “Tara, I never meant to suggest that. I know you would never criticize me. But I feel like I need a career that’s more stable than waiting tables if we’re going to be in a serious relationship,” I explain.

  “You have a job!” Tara argues. “You are a singer-songwriter. You’re not an amateur karaoke singer, you’re a spectacular, professional musician who is popular enough to be booked months in advance.”

  “Sure, I can—three or four nights a week—but lining up a few gigs isn’t the same as a career. It could dry-up tomorrow. What if I can’t support you?” I respond, “You deserve so much better than what I can offer right now.”

  “Okay, I’m going to throw the BS flag on you. You’ve given me more in the past few months than anyone has in years. If I needed material things, I could buy my own,” she states firmly.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have to work crazy hours at the gas station to be able to go to school. It’s too dangerous if nothing else.”

  Tara scowls at me and replies, “Aidan, don’t be ridiculous. I have enough martial arts training to open my own dojo. If someone tried something, they would find themselves in a world of hurt. Further, if my life was about money, I’ve already got plenty of my own, thank you.”

  That statement has me totally stumped. So I ask her, “If you have plenty of money, why are you even bothering to work?”

  Tara sighs deeply as a myriad of emotions cross her face. “I’m going to tell you something virtually no one knows. The only people who know are the people involved in the case. But I won a civil judgment against Warren Jones. I have more money than I’ll ever spend,” she spits the words out as if they were abhorrent to her.

  “Now I’m even more confused,” I reply. “If you have enough money to live on, why are you killing yourself to work all these side jobs?”

  “Because that money is blood money. If I spend it, it makes me no better than a streetwalker,” she answers, avoiding eye contact with me.

  Of all the things I expected her to say, that was not one of them. I am completely befuddled by her logic. I try to conceal my shock “No, that’s not true.” I insist. “Warren Jones got punished. That money is the fine for his actions, and not nearly enough at that, no matter what the amount. How you spend it is up to you. No one in their right mind would consider it payment for the savage sexual encounter.”

  “So, you’re suggesting I should live it up on the million I got from Warren’s trust fund?” she asks. “Wouldn’t it be hypocritical? I don’t want to benefit from what was done to me. Every time I spent a dollar that money, I would feel as dirty as the night it happened.”

  “I can understand where you’re coming from, but it’s you’re wrong. It’s not payment for the so-called sex he had with you. Rape is not sex, in the first place! It’s to compensate you for the hell he put you through. You deserve every penny and more. If he ever gets out of jail, he should have to volunteer at a sewage treatment plant and roll around in other people’s crap all day. You should make sure he never has another dime to spend, ever, or he’ll use it to victimize someone else. If that involves pampering yourself, feel free to indulge. You’ve earned that right,” I declare.

  “You don’t think it would be wrong for me to spend the money?”

  “Oh hell no!” I exclaim. “If you want to wipe your butt with $100 bills, it’s nobody’s business but yours. By denying yourself what’s rightfully yours, you’re giving him far more power than he deserves.”

  Tara looks contemplative as she replies, “Well, I’ve never really looked at it like that. But you are right that the only person I’m hurting is myself. I’m still giving him power over my life, and that’s just not right.”

  “You’re damn right, it’s not. So what’s on your wish list of things you’ve put off, because you told yourself you didn’t have the money?”

  “I’ve always wanted to pay my tuition and books without scrambling around for scholarships,” she admits.

  “Oh, come on! You can do better than that,” I cajole. “What’s on your ‘way out there’ wish list? One of my first choices would be to restore your 72 Baja. But that’s just me.”

  Tara smiles as she considers that option. “I’ve always wanted to fix it up to honor my parents. It’s about the only thing that’s left to remind me of the two of them.”

  “Well, consider it as good as done,” I announce. “What else do you have on your wish list?”

  Tara sits on the couch as she ponders her options. “Well, I’ve always wanted a new laptop. I guess this is as good a time as any.”

  “I think you have way too much common sense,” I retort. “I want to hear your wildest fantasies.”

  “When I was a kid, before all of that crap happened, I wanted to own my own dance studio,” she replies shyly.

  “What’s stopping you? You could build a phenomenal state of the art dance studio and still have tons left over.”

  Tara arches an eyebrow and says, “Have you forgotten I don’t dance anymore?”

  “But that’s where you’re wrong,” I argue. “I’ve personally seen you dance twice, since you told me that you don’t dance anymore. So I don’t think you can say that about yourself anymore. You, my dear Gorgeous Gracie, are indeed a dancer.”

  Tara rolls her eyes at me. “Aidan, you know what I mean. I don’t dance like I used to.”

  “So, maybe you’re a little out of practice. But I don’t for a minute believe you are incapable of dancing. Even
the small amount that we did on our date shows me you still have what it takes to be a great dancer.”

  In a small, tentative voice, she replies, “Do you really think so?”

  “Tara, there isn’t anybody who works harder than you do. I don’t have any doubt that if you decided to go back to dance, you could run the amazing studio of your dreams,” I state emphatically.

  “What about school and the interpreting program?”

  “I don’t think there are any time limits on your dreams. You can finish up your degree and plan the dance studio on the side. It’s not as if you need to immediately make money,” I tease.

  Tara chuckles. “No, I guess I don’t. But I don’t know when I’d have the time.”

  “I’m sure that you’ll figure it out,” I reason. “I’m really not trying to push you into one thing over the other. I just want you to know you have options.”

  “Okay, but all this is overwhelming right now. I need some time to think about it before I make any decisions. I’m not as spontaneous as you are.”

  “I understand. I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you into anything. But I really do hope you go back to dancing. Your gift is so phenomenal, it would be great if you could teach other people what you know.”

  “I’ve often thought how fun it would be to teach Mindy how to dance. I think she may be a natural talent,” Tara offers.

  “There you go, then,” I grin. “You already have the beginnings of a solid marketing plan.”

  Tara’s cell phone rings, startling us both.

  “Hello?” Tara answers.

  “No, I haven’t looked it up.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Yes, he’s right here. I’ll tell him.”

  “Okay, thanks for calling. I’ll talk to you later.”

  After Tara hangs up the phone, I ask, “What was that all about?”

  Tara turns to me with a grin so bright it could light a city. “That was Heather, letting me know your single released last night is already number 10 on the country music charts. It’s the third most popular downloaded music track on all of iTunes.”

  I almost lose my balance and fall. “What?” I exclaim. “That must be some kind of mistake! There is no way an unknown artist like me would climb the charts that fast.”

  “Well, it’s true. Heather was so excited, she had to double check it,” Tara responds with a smile. “So I think we can put to bed all your fears of not being a serious artist. You are now, officially, a singer-songwriter. Something tells me your table-waiting jobs are a thing of the past.”

  “God, I hope so. I don’t mind working with most of the customers, but the pay really sucks.”

  “Congratulations, I am so, so proud of you. This is cause for a celebration; what do you want to do?”

  “To be honest, I just want to go home and take a shower. I’ve got enough hair product in my hair to support a third world country. I want to get back to being plain old Aidan O’Brien.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan,” Tara replies. “Heather made some delicious homemade bread and cooked you some chicken soup.”

  “I only met Heather at Jeff and Kiera’s wedding. If she keeps feeding me like that though, I’m her new best friend,” I quip.

  “Not so fast, Heather can get her own guy. In fact, I would venture to guess she already has one, even if she doesn’t know it yet,” Tara explains.

  “If it’s the guy I’m thinking of, I met him at the wedding. He’s pretty determined to win her hand, I think.”

  Tara giggles. “Yes, I think that’s what Ty is planning to do. He just has to figure out how to approach the ‘hand winning’ first.”

  “I remember watching them at the wedding reception. I don’t think Tyler’s going to have to worry about winning her affections. She seems to like him a lot already.”

  “I don’t know precisely what is going on because we haven’t had a chance to talk about it,” she replies. “But you may be right. I think she is more interested in Tyler than she lets on.”

  “He seems like a pretty good guy,” I remark.

  “I think he is, or I wouldn’t trust him with Heather. She just has to decide whether she likes him or hates him. She’s been vacillating for a while,” she elaborates.

  “So, Aidan, it seems like I might not be the only person whose financial situation just improved, and that means it’s time for me to turn the tables on you. So what’s your big dream?” Tara asks with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh my gosh, I still can’t get over what this is going to mean for you. Do you know how many downloads it takes to get all the way to number 10? You’re going to have so much exposure you’ll be booked out three or four years. You’ll be so famous I’ll have to make an appointment to see you. I’m so proud of you.”

  I take a moment to bask in her approval. It’s so great to see her happy and excited. I’m grateful for this moment, if only to see her so happy. But she’s right. I can’t imagine what having a hit on the country charts is going to mean for my career.

  In the meantime, it’s fun to dream. “I don’t know if we have time to share all of my dreams with you. In case you don’t remember, I’m pretty much a full-time daydreamer.”

  “I remember that. You could make my bleakest day better by telling me your vision of your future. You were planning to become a famous concert pianist who went by the initials AOB. You used to paint me word pictures of how perfect your life was going to be when you made it big. You were going to buy the company that made Pokémon cards and go to McDonald’s in a limousine every day for lunch. Do you remember that? I wonder how different your dreams are today.”

  I chuckle as I remember the pretentious little kid that I was, back in the day. “Well, a lot of my dreams are scaled back a bit. A decade in the music business has made me a tad more realistic. But some of my dreams remain the same. First, I would like to make some high-quality demo tapes with some of my original songs on them. Singing cover songs at wedding receptions is fun, but it’s not where I really want to be. I want to make my own music. If I don’t get to sing it myself, I’d like to write for some big name stars. I’d like to create a program that donates guitars and wind instruments for kids who are in the hospital long term. I’ve never forgotten how lonely and isolated I felt in the hospital. If it hadn’t been for Dolores encouraging me to become a songwriter, I don’t know if I would’ve survived that environment.”

  Tara nods in approval as she responds, “I like your grown-up dreams. They sound amazing. I hope you—”

  I interrupt her to say, “But wait, you haven’t heard the most important part of my dreams.”

  Tara laughs. “You’re funny. It’s like you’re an overgrown eight-year-old in an adult’s body. Okay, I’ll bite. What’s more important than what you just told me?” she asks.

  “Whenever I dreamed about what my life would look like when I grew up, I always envisioned you by my side,” I confide. “The way I see it, you’re my good luck charm. You were the best part of my life before I became deaf, and you’re the best part of my life now.”

  Tara looks like she’s about to cry. “I’m glad you think so. Because you’re the best part of my life too.”

  The last two weeks have been totally insane. Between my finals, work and being blindsided by a vicious head cold, I’ve barely had time to text Aidan, let alone see him. Even though Aidan thought he was going to be without work, he was booked for two weddings back to back right after he changed his Facebook status to reflect his availability.

  The last time I saw him, it was incredible. We came back to my apartment. Only someone totally in love with me would love my grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Let’s just say that Heather and Kiera have tried on many occasions to teach me how to cook. Unfortunately, I think I’m unteachable. I can’t seem to get everything cooked evenly and on the plate at the same time. But that didn’t seem to faze Aidan at all. He acted like it was the most high-class, gourmet meal he’d ever eaten. I know he shouldn�
��t lie, but it’s sweet that he’s willing to do so to save my feelings.

  My dad would’ve liked Aidan. Even though I was really little, my dad would tell me about the man I should marry. He told me the man who loved me should always be polite and respectful and, above all, he should think that I hung the moon. I can check off all of those boxes with Aidan, and so much more.

  After my sorry attempt at cooking dinner, Aidan suggested we watch a movie. We watched an old classic Eddie Murphy film. I couldn’t even tell you which one because honestly, I wasn’t even paying attention. My apartment is so small the only place for us to watch TV was on my big king-size bed. So Aidan propped himself up against the headboard using all my pillows. He made a space between his legs and placed me there. I have to admit, with my head and back on his chest, he made a pretty good pillow. Aidan used his phenomenal hands to give me a neck and back massage. After that, we just sat quietly and watched the movie. Occasionally, he would give a small chuckle which would shake his whole chest. Eventually I noticed his breathing slowed and evened out. It appears I’m such exciting company, my presence encouraged him to completely sack out in my bed. Rather than fight it, I just pulled up my comforter to cover both of us and soon after fell asleep as well. So much for my grand romantic plans. But I did have one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in forever.

  When I woke up, he brought me a tray of toasted English muffins and eggs. Now it was my turn to sample his cooking skills. Unlike his false praise of my cooking skills, I didn’t have to embellish at all. His food was scrumptious. I invited him to join me on the bed for breakfast. It’s amazing how sensual it is to feed someone else. Eventually we started kissing. I was getting more confident of my ability to make out. It seems like such a quaint term, but it’s exactly what we were doing. I was making up for lost time. I missed all these experiences in high school and college. When I was going through my self-destructive phase and sleeping with random guys, it was never this intimate. I’m totally amazed that something as benign as kissing can be so provocative.