Pas De Deux: A Dance For Two

by Lynn Turner

  They started again.

  “You’re late, Mina,” said Will, the assistant choreographer, from the aisle. “Try and keep up.”

  Zack zeroed in on her feet.

  “Mina—” Will started again, narrowing his eyes. “Bloody hell…what are you-? That’s incredible. What are you doing, darling?”

  He turned to Zack. “What is that?”

  “Flirting.” Zack’s gaze flickered to Mina, who looked decidedly pleased with herself, then back to his notes.

  “Flirting?” Will scratched his prominent brow.

  “With the time,” Zack said, as if Mina’s quirk was standard practice. He signaled to Harper at the piano. “Let’s see that again.”

  Neal, Zack’s standin, played the dashing but fatefully unwealthy Armand Duval, who fell in love with Camille at first sight. The young man’s eyes gleamed with obvious appreciation and approval.

  Method actor, that one.

  “She’s an elegant little thing, isn’t she?” said Faye. She sat beside him, front row. Her role was administrative, but her importance was tantamount to the entire production not falling on its ass. “There’s something so…vivid about her.”

  “Well, she’s a courtesan, not a hooker from Murray Hill.”

  “Not that we’re knocking hookers from Murray Hill.”

  “Little more heat, ladies and gents,” Zack barked. “This is more genteel than Murray Hill…” He looked sidelong at Faye. “…but it’s still the nineteenth century red light district. Sell sex. Keep it classy. I can appreciate it’s a little contradictory, but I trust your artistry.”

  The dancers snickered. The unity was there. They were already acting like a tight-knit family after a three-day whirlwind of read-throughs, blocking, and grueling rehearsals. Made sense, bonding after a traumatic experience.

  Zack grinned. “On eight…”

  They started again.

  “Nice diversion there, Jason Bourne.” Faye leaned in. “But all that yelling doesn’t hide the Tex Avery wolf in your eyes every time you look at her.”

  “What are you rambling about?” He didn’t care that he sounded rude. He’d worked with Faye for three and a half years. They’d long discarded their filters.

  “Nothing.” She kept her face forward. “I try to stay out of other people’s business—”

  “A fantastic character trait.”

  “Just reign in the wolf. The media hounds will sniff him out and we don’t need that kind of publicity.”

  “Noted.” He looked at her then, giving her an appreciative smile. “They’ve got nothing on your nose. You’re a shark.”

  “Damn right.” She still watched the stage, but the fine lines near her gray eyes and around her mouth indicated her smile. “Wouldn’t have made it far in this business without it.”

  “I’m grateful.” He squeezed her arm. “What’s next?”

  “Final costume fittings in two hours. Pre-party starts at eight—your tux is in your office. All set for dress rehearsal at Radio City tomorrow. We’re up first, before the cast of the umpteenth Grease remake.”

  “They’d be a tough act to follow.” Zack turned to yell at his standin. “That’s good, Neal. I’ve seen enough. Take five, everyone.”

  Faye lifted a brow at him. “Suiting up?”

  “Time to reprise my role.” He stood up. “I promise not to howl and beat my head with a mallet.”

  “Atta boy.”

  *

  The pre-party at the Ritz later that night was in full swing by the time Mina arrived. There was a small stage set up outside, where Tony-nominated cast members performed snippets of songs from their favorite Broadway hits. There was a bit of fanfare upon her arrival, a firework show of flashing lights and press yelling at her from every direction. The photographers loved her, scrambling to capture her svelte body in her mini cocktail dress the color of merlot, and her face (which made no effort to hide her delight at sharing the red carpet with The Muppets…Miss Piggy was giving her a serious run for her money).

  She answered their questions about her transition to Broadway, and how she was adjusting to American culture, though they seemed far more enthused about the veteran American headliners with whom she also shared the red carpet. That was fine with her. She held her own, wooing them with her accent and self-deprecating humor before exiting to the ballroom inside.

  The theme was Old Hollywood, with a live band and incredible vintage lighting. Stars she recognized from stage and set formed dozens of high-profile clusters, filling the air with exuberant conversation. Waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of glasses exploding with champagne bubbles, and elegant amuse bouche. The scents permeating her nostrils were rich, and she thought about swiping a few more of the decadent treats from the next tray that passed when a flash of gold caught her eye.

  “Hey, honey,” Kyoko said breathlessly, sidling up beside her at the bar.

  “Kyoko, you look gorgeous!”

  “Thanks.” She beamed a little at Mina’s praise, then gestured toward the hors d’oeuvres table none-too-subtly with her glass. “I think she’s warming up to me.”

  Riha, the costume designer for the show, sparkled in her salwar kameez…and she was piling a tower of mini quiches onto her plate.

  Mina leaned closer to Kyoko’s ear. “Can you be sure it’s not the wine?”

  “Don’t know.” Kyoko drained her glass. “Only one way to find out though.” She kissed Mina’s cheek. “You look yummy, babe, too yummy to stand here all alone. Go mingle.”

  And she was off on her quest, leaving Mina contentedly alone, merci beaucoup. Her eyes scanned the room at the exact moment Zack walked in, and she nearly choked on her champagne. He wore an impeccable black suit, with just a hint of a white dress shirt showing beneath his buttoned jacket and tie. The tailoring showed off his height, the width of his shoulders, the lean line of his hips and thighs. He wasn’t alone for a second, constantly stopped for animated conversation with colleagues and adoring fans.

  He must have felt her staring, because his eyes drifted to hers and held, and heat rose on her skin. They weren’t touching, and yet, they were. The room and everyone else in it disappeared, and there was only them, eating each other alive with their eyes. Hands trembling, she handed off her glass to a blur of a passing waiter. She felt a stifling need to escape his hungry lion’s gaze and the cacophony of laughter and inebriated chatter.

  Drifting for a few minutes, she followed the maze of the first floor away from the ballroom, until she reached the end of a long wing of hotel rooms where it was reasonably quiet. Then she was being spun around and pressed up against the wall.

  “Zack!”

  He cut her off, crushing her mouth with his.

  Maybe it was his own obvious need that drew hers out…parting her lips, making her head tilt left, then right, her body shivering in satisfaction when she finally achieved the perfect angle. She whimpered, he moaned, his hands racing over her until she was writhing and murmuring mindlessly, trapped between him and the wall.

  Scrambling into him, she dragged her nails down, then up his back, sending shock waves down his spine, making him rock into her. His heart thudded faster with each movement and sigh, pounding a hectic rhythm in his brain. He breathed her name against her lips, into her mouth, the sweet, soft skin of her neck.

  “Zack…”

  It was so sweet and intoxicating—his name on her lips, her warm and welcoming, her hot and ravenous. He drank it all down until he was lightheaded, until his lungs burned for air.

  “You’re so gorgeous, petite,” he panted, still holding her beautiful, flushed face in his hands. Her chest heaved, pleasure shuddering over her expression. “God, if you knew…if you knew how hard it is for me…not to think about the way you feel when we dance together…not to touch you when you look like this.”

  She sighed, and he kissed her again, struggling to regain some control, but her body began to move, elegant as a minuet, erotic as her character’s tit
le. Melting into him, she fisted his suit jacket in her hands, driving him mad with a thigh between his legs.

  Someone’s key card opened a door, its mechanical sound registering in the air like a fog horn, and Mina yelped, hiding her face in Zack’s neck.

  “It’s okay.” He sent a quick glance down the hall. Whoever it was had stepped quickly into the hotel room, probably to avoid an uncomfortable encounter. “It’s okay, petite. They’re gone.”

  “Bon Dieu,” she moaned, moving away slowly, trying to smooth her clothes. “I—it could have been worse, Zack. It could have been someone important—someone we know.”

  “Christ, I know that.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She was skittish, like a deer in headlights. “I can’t—I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want the first impressions of me dictated by les tabloïds.”

  “I know,” he said gruffly, silently cursing his blood-filled extremities. Any other time, he would have laughed at the thought that arousal made men stupid, but it didn’t feel funny now. Not at all. “I have nothing to say for myself, petite. I lost control. But given our…positions…the way we were standing, I’m sure we weren’t recognized.”

  She looked at him warily, still visibly shaken, her fingers at her lips. Truthfully, neither of them were A-list celebrities, and paparazzi weren’t hiding behind trash cans for a money shot. Still, it was careless to get caught up with so many cameras around.

  To lose control.

  “I’ll cool my heels, for both our sakes, okay?” He resisted the urge to touch her again, haul her to him for a reassuring hug. “I promise, petite.”

  Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “Okay.”

  “You go ahead back to the party. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

  She nodded and started to walk away but paused just after she passed him. “Merci…for what you—what you said.” The vulnerability in her smile seized his heart mid-thump. “I feel the same way, when I dance with you.”

  A distinct feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed him as he watched her retreating form. Just like the night he met her outside the Palais Garnier, he was left alone, staring after her for minutes after she’d disappeared.

  *

  Hours before the Tony Awards, stars from Broadway’s biggest shows gathered at Radio City Music Hall for a final dress rehearsal in front of a live audience. The two hosts were beloved veterans in the industry, finding a way to parody most of the nominated musicals, softening the blow of sound and technical glitches (of which Zack’s number had its fair share). By one in the afternoon, rehearsal finally closed out with the synchronized dance moves of the Grease cast in their flashy red jackets. Performers filtered out, abuzz with performance day excitement.

  *

  The Tony Awards

  It was ShowTime.

  Mina had performed her two-minute song and dance with the other courtesans in the first half of the opening act, and her body still hummed with adrenaline. She’d flown from the stage to her dressing room, where a blur of hands skillfully peeled her from her courtesan gown. Riha had cleverly infused the costumes with Eastern influences, lending a richness to the fabrics and prints that conveyed a life of excess without the restrictions of ribbing and petticoats. The same hands carefully removed Mina’s artfully coiffed courtesan wig, let down her hair, and fluffed it out. Then, they slipped her into her short, minimalist red dress, and shoved her back out for her bedroom pas de deux with Zack.

  Performers were all around them, bustling backstage and in the dressing rooms, and waiting in the wings, feeding on the nervous energy, until it was their turn to take to the stage. Lifting her hand to her chest, Mina felt for her heartbeat in the dipping neckline of her costume.

  “You were amazing out there, nice and strong,” Zack said in her ear. “We don’t sing for this part, so whatever it is inside you, give it to me with your whole body. I want all of it, petite.”

  The thirty-second warning came. Shivering, she looked out at the rest of the Lady in Red cast, an explosion of bodies and voices finishing up their part of the opening act on stage. She started to turn inward, absorbing herself, becoming Camille.

  Fifteen seconds.

  There was a rush of movement, the cast clearing the stage in a small stampede. Then, a flurry rose in her chest as Harper’s gorgeous composition poured into the enormous space.

  “Tell me.” She sounded far away to her own ears, like she was hovering over herself, watching from outside her body. “Tell me again.”

  “Are you gonna tell me what this is?” Zack’s breath tickled her ear, gently disturbing her straightened tresses.

  She looked at him then, at his freshly trimmed hair and clean-shaven jawline, lingering on his expressive green eyes, and the smooth, hairless breadth of his naked chest. “I-I can’t. Not yet.”

  Five seconds.

  “Petite-”

  “S’il te plaît…”

  Three seconds.

  “Never be dishonest.”

  Dancing on stage with Zack was a miracle.

  It was a slow, provocative number, with intimate holds and daring, dizzying arcs. They were all fluid feet and legs and spines, wheeling torsos and tangled limbs. His pantomime felt real, as convincing as a sonnet, tricking her heart into believing him desperately in love with her, fueling her own performance. They fought and cried and made love on that stage. In a room full of voyeurs, an entire lifetime played out in a single dance.

  And Mina had never felt so free.

  For Zack, everything after the performance happened in accelerated motion. He’d swept Mina up and kissed her cheeks, then they were engulfed in cheers and embraces by the rest of the cast. Next, they were whisked apart backstage by stylists and makeup artists eager to get them into their evening clothes.

  He didn’t need to look for Mina when the biggest night of the season came to an end, because he was flanked by two of the loudest women in New York City. One of them had a train a mile long, and an obnoxious voice that called out to Mina in the elaborate foyer of the music hall.

  Drinking her in as she descended the curving stairs, the pulse in his neck pounded against his restricting shirt collar. There was a flash of silver at her feet, and her shimmering emerald gown split to reveal the endless, exquisite perfection of her legs. Her satiny brown skin was on full display in the deep, plunging V at her neckline. Her eyes danced, and her mouth smiled as she made her way over. She turned to Vera and he nearly choked to see an identical V at her back.

  “Vera,” Mina greeted with cheek kisses. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Oh, you look splendid, dear! On stage and off!” Vera raved. “Everyone’s talking about it. You keep that energy up through the season, you’ll be a shoo-in for next year’s awards.”

  Mina flushed, and her beauty made his gut ache, a bittersweet blend of desire and ecstasy and pain. “Mina.” There wasn’t much he could do about the thickness in his tone. “My mother, Carmen.”

  Carmen turned to him briefly. “Muy hermosa,” she said with wonder. “Blushing, too. Tan humilde.”

  Mina’s skin deepened further. “Merci. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Carmen gasped, letting go his arm to take both of Mina’s hands in hers. “You speak Spanish?”

  “Sí.” She looked meaningfully at Zack, a teasing smile at her lips. “Espero que él dijo sólo cosas buenas acerca de mí.”

  Carmen laughed, then seemed to remember she was in mixed company. “Forgive my rudeness, Vera.” She looked back at Mina with warmth. “Yes, of course, he’s said wonderful things about you, only good things. I’m just happy I got to meet you before you left to dance the night away. I’m too old for that now, so, lo siento, but this is hola and adios.”

  “I have to run too.” Vera was already moving toward the exit. “I see a lifelong friend of mine and I must flag her down. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  They watched her go in a burst of noise and r
umpled fabric.

  “Ridiculous, exhausting woman,” Carmen muttered, shaking her head.

  “Mamá,” Zack warned.

  Carmen sucked her teeth. Mina made a strange noise, like she was trying to stifle a laugh, drawing his attention to her face. He noticed the faint circles under her eyes for the first time, the subtle slouch in her typically immaculate posture. She was exhausted.

  “I’m just escorting my mother to her car,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll take you home.”

  “Merci.” She exchanged cheek kisses with Carmen. “I hope to see you again soon.”

  “I hope so too, linda. Goodnight, Mina.”

  When Zack returned, he offered Mina his arm. “It goes without saying, you look amazing, petite.”

  “So do you,” she said shyly, taking his arm. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure—”

  “It’s not uncommon for cast members to leave together. But since you’re worried, we’ll try something else.”

  “Won’t I be keeping you from the after parties?”

  “I think the adrenaline is starting to wear off, so I’m heading someplace a little less—Broadway.”

  “I didn’t know there was such a place. I—Could I come along? I don’t want to go anywhere too crowded, but I don’t want to be alone.”

  Her eyes sparkled as much as her dress, and he couldn’t resist hamming it up. “Oh, there is such a place.” He flagged down a town car. “A magical place that doesn’t turn into a drunken vaudeville hour after midnight.”

  “Sounds fantastical.”

  “You have no idea.” He saw her safely into the back of the car, then instructed the driver. “Fifty West Forty-Fourth, between Fifth and Sixth. Park until I get there.”

  “Zack?”

  “I’ll see you in ten.” He shut her door.

  Chapter Ten

  Forty minutes after Zack swooped her up in his Audi from the nearby parking garage, away from cameras and onlookers, he turned onto a familiar street. Mina hadn’t anticipated their destination at all. Coming here above-ground was so different from riding the train.