Dreaming of Spain

by Alli Sinclair

  Katarina, Salvador, and Hernán held hands, bowed, and exited the stage, the heat from their bodies bouncing against each other as they dashed to the private back room where they could regroup.

  “Yet another marvelous evening.” Salvador pulled out a chair for Katarina, who sat, trying to catch her breath.

  “Yes, great performance again.” Hernán scratched the back of his neck, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I have to be somewhere.”

  Hernán disappeared out the door, and Katarina said, “He’s been acting so strange, lately.”

  “You have no idea, do you?” Salvador raised an eyebrow.

  “About what?” Katarina fanned her face with her hands. Beads of sweat lined her cleavage and lower spine, and she shifted on her seat, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable pools of moisture. “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “Have you not noticed how his girlfriend Laura doesn’t attend our performances anymore?”

  “Yes, I had. Oh no, did they break up?”

  Salvador shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “The opposite, in fact. He’s marrying her this weekend because . . . well . . . because they must.”

  “She’s pregnant?”

  “Yes, and to make things more difficult, Laura’s father has demanded Hernán work full-time in the family business. No more playing in bars.”

  “But we’re a trio!” Katarina’s shoulders fell. “There has to be a way around it.”

  “The decision has been made for him, and he’s an honorable man. What do you think Franco’s men would do if they found out about an unwed mother? Besides, we can’t expect him to do as we wish because it suits us. He’s doing the right thing.”

  “I know.” She rubbed the ache in her lower back. “How come you knew this and I didn’t?”

  “Because I talk to people, Katarina. They open up to me.” He gave a lopsided smile.

  “But I talk with Hernán all the time.”

  Sighing, Salvador said, “You do, but you don’t talk in depth. Only discussing the latest step or palo is not how you get to know a person.”

  “But I know details about you and Claudia and the baby.”

  “Only because we’re like family. You open up so beautifully when you dance, why can’t you do the same in real life?”

  Katarina sucked in her stomach as if she’d just been punched. She twisted her lips, refusing to answer.

  “Katarina?” Salvador raised his eyebrows in a caring, big brother way. “You can talk to me. Why is it so hard?”

  “It . . . just is, all right?”

  “Is it because you’ve spent most of your life hiding who you really are?”

  She nodded, annoyed but also relieved he’d tapped into her innermost thoughts. At least this way she didn’t have to say it out loud.

  “You don’t have to hide anymore, dear Katarina. You are a free spirit. Embrace it.” Salvador patted her knee. Had it been anyone else she would have thought it a patronizing gesture, but she knew Salvador’s heart and he did this out of kindness and concern.

  “I know you’re right, but you’re asking the impossible. Anyway, no one is truly free these days.” She didn’t need to say anymore, because Salvador knew her thoughts about Franco. Salvador was the only person she could ever trust to keep his mouth shut. Picking up a glass and filling it with water, she said, “I felt a little off tonight.”

  “I had an inkling that was the case. Is something bothering you?”

  “It’s April 26.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Salvador’s eye widened. “I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You have enough on your mind.” Preferring to change the topic, she asked, “How is Paulito?”

  Salvador’s grin spread quickly. “He is doing wonderfully. It’s hard to believe he’s already two weeks old, and every day I fall a little more in love with my wife and son. How is that possible?”

  “I imagine it’s easy to do. I’m so very happy for you all.” She finished her water and before she had a chance to ask for more, Salvador presented the jug and poured in the cool liquid. “You’re so fortunate to have found your personal duende, Salvador.”

  “I don’t know if duende can be used to describe one’s own happiness, but if it can be, then yes, I have found it.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “It would be nice if you could find yours.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he’d never broken.

  “It would. But I’ve yet to find duende when I dance, so how could I ever find it in love?”

  “Don’t you have Julieta in your ear, reminding you the only way to get duende is to make a commitment to experience every aspect of life—including love? Even heartache?”

  “I’ve experienced the heartache of losing my father.” Her lips pursed together, then she added, “And of losing the only chance I’ve had at romantic love.”

  “You told me you had deep affection for him but it wasn’t love.”

  “It was love.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “I just didn’t realize it at the time because I didn’t know how to let go enough to make it happen. I still find it next to impossible, but I’m working on it.”

  “Good.”

  A knock at the door halted further conversation.

  “Enter!” Salvador boomed, as if he’d been expecting a visitor.

  A tall, lean man in an ill-fitting but beautifully pressed shirt and suit strode in, his presence filling the room. Like Salvador, he had a natural air of confidence.

  “Ah! Federico! So nice to see you!” Salvador slapped his friend on the back. “Sit! Sit!”

  “Not before I introduce myself to this beautiful specimen. Señorita Sanchez, it is an honor to meet you.” He held her hand gently and placed his warm lips on her clammy skin. “To watch you dance is to witness a miracle.”

  Katarina forced a smile, wondering how a man this smooth could be genuine. “Thank you, Señor . . .”

  “Señor Basa Trujillo. Please, call me Federico.”

  His name sounded familiar but his face wasn’t . . . Oh! Federico Basa Trujillo had managed the most successful café cantante in Seville, then he’d gone off the radar a few years ago. Rumors had run rife about whether he’d joined the army, deserted, or fled to greener pastures in the Spanish protectorate in Morocco, but no one knew for sure. Yet here he was now, waiting for a response from her. “You may call me Katarina.”

  “Katarina, I hope you do not mind me getting straight to the point. I am the manager of a new opera flamenca, and I would like you and Salvador to be the main drawcard. I would also ask Hernán, your guitarist, but I am informed he is leaving to pursue other endeavors. Is this correct?”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at Salvador who lowered his gaze. She was not happy about this surprise visit at all.

  She’d heard about businessmen starting up opera flamencas as a way to avoid Franco’s hefty taxes by making her beloved flamenco a theatrical event. The large theatres killed the essence of flamenco, and the watered-down performances pandered to Franco’s ideals.

  Katarina said, “We have so many of these in Granada already, why would you start a new one?”

  “Please, you must excuse Katarina, sometimes she lacks social etiquette.” Salvador furrowed his brows at her.

  Federico gave a small laugh. “I like direct people. I’d heard you were sharp, Katarina. My goal is to create the most magnificent dance company in all of Spain. This is the chance of a lifetime, not only for me, but for an elite collection of dancers, musicians, and singers. Together we will revolutionize opera flamenca.”

  If he wasn’t a dance company director he could easily work as a door-to-door salesman. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “So why us? We’re not popular like Carmen Amaya or Antonio Gades. Why don’t you enlist more seasoned performers?”

  “Because they don’t have what you and Salvador possess. It’s . . . magic.”

  “It’s not duende.”
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br />   “Some would argue that witnessing you perform is duende.” Señor Basa Trujillo adjusted his tie. “Don’t you want to make money? Surely you earn a pittance in a place like this.”

  “It’s not about the money. I refuse to dance in front of a bunch of people who don’t value the flamenco I love—stories of love and loss—not those meaningless librettos about powerful people looking down on the lower class.” A subject very close to her heart.

  “What if I promised you could dance your flamenco your way? This is what will make my company different. Obviously there are limits, but I’ve seen your dancing. You get close to that line, but you don’t cross it enough to warrant interest from certain factions.” He arched an eyebrow as if to say like Franco. His words came out way too smoothly.

  “It is a kind offer, Señor Basa Trujillo, but I am afraid I am unable to accept. Salvador, however, may choose to perform with your company, but I cannot.” The last thing she wanted was to split from Salvador, but the trio had already suffered a blow, and Salvador hadn’t been himself lately. She’d put it down to the new baby, but now that this Basa Trujillo character had appeared, she wondered if Salvador had instigated this meeting because he wanted to move on—with or without her. It hurt, but she understood. At the moment they were lucky if they earned enough money for a meal a day.

  “Is there a way I can change your mind? I have watched many dancers in this town, but none capture the essence of flamenco like you. Please, won’t you reconsider?”

  She shook her head and sipped water out of the stained glass.

  “I will pay handsomely,” Federico said.

  “Sorry, but my answer remains no.”

  “I am afraid your answer disappoints me.” He adjusted the sleeves on his jacket, then handed a business card to Salvador. Federico leaned in and whispered to her friend, and both men glanced in her direction. Straightening his spine, Federico moved toward the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Katarina. I wish a good evening to you both.”

  The door clicked behind him and she placed the glass heavily on the table beside her. “What’s the big secret?”

  “He doesn’t want anyone but you, Katarina. What he’s willing to pay us for one night is the equivalent of what we’d earn in a month slogging it out in these bars. I don’t know about you, but I, for one, could do with the money.” He eyed her dance shoes, with tiny holes worn in their soles. “I think you could, too.”

  “I could but I do not want to dance in a large theatre with Spain’s well-to-do looking at us like we’re performing monkeys.”

  “We’re performing monkeys in the café cantantes, and we get peanuts. Why can’t we get peanut plantations? Besides, Federico said you could continue dancing your way.” Salvador ran his fingers through his hair, then stopped and scratched his head. “Ah . . . I understand now.”

  Katarina stared at her clasped hands, her chest hollow.

  “Dear Katarina, the people in those wealthy circles have left the country. Or if they’ve stayed, they’re not paying attention to flamenco dancers who once shared fancy meals with them. Don’t let fears from the past dictate your future.”

  “It’s just . . .” She paused for a moment and let logic take over. Staring at the holes in her soles, she admitted, “The money would be nice.”

  “It would indeed,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t have to scrimp and could support your family.”

  “That I could.” Salvador did a terrible job of hiding his smile.

  “And you took me in when no one else would.”

  “That I did.”

  “I owe you a lot.” She placed her hand in his. “You saved me.”

  “It was the best thing I ever did. Well, apart from marrying my wife and becoming a father.”

  Katarina puffed out her cheeks. “I won’t compromise who I am.”

  “You won’t. I won’t.” His eyes widened. “Is that a yes?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “So that’s yes.”

  Laughing, Katarina said, “It’s yes, but just make sure I don’t regret it.”

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  Alli Sinclair is a multi-award-winning author of books that combine travel, mystery, and romance. An adventurer at heart, Alli has climbed some of the world’s highest mountains and immersed herself in an array of exotic destinations, cultures, and languages. Alli’s stories capture the romance and thrill of exploring new destinations and cultures that also take readers on a journey of discovery.

  Alli volunteers as an author role model with Books in Homes, promoting literacy and reading among young Australians.

  Alli can be found at www.allisinclair.com.

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