Love Tango

by J. M. Jeffries

  “Darling,” the woman said as she air-kissed Roxanne.

  Roxanne stepped back, avoiding her mother’s outstretched arms. “Mother.”

  “You look...a bit disheveled, dear.”

  Roxanne glanced around. “What are you doing here?”

  From the resemblance, he knew this man was Roxanne’s father. He stood back slightly. He removed his dark glasses and studied Roxanne.

  Her mother laughed. “Darling, you’ve become so cynical.”

  “I wonder why.” Roxanne’s tone was dry and tart.

  Roxanne mother smiled at Nick. “Hello, I’m Hannah Deveraux, Roxanne’s mother and this is Eli, her father. And you’re Nick Torres. I know all about you.” Hannah smiled pleasantly, but Nick knew he was facing a barracuda. A big hungry barracuda.

  “What do you want?” Roxanne’s voice was strained.

  “We haven’t spoken much the last few years, but we wanted to congratulate you for being chosen for Celebrity Dance. Such a coup. So much better than playing a corpse.”

  Hannah’s voice was smooth and gracious on the surface, but Nick felt an underlying subtext meant for Roxanne alone.

  Hannah turned her dark eyes on Nick. “And you, Nicky, you are so lucky to have Roxanne on your show. She’s always wanted to learn how to dance, but her feet never cooperated.”

  “I prefer Nicholas.” Nick ground his teeth together at the passive-aggressive performance by Roxanne’s parents. “And Roxanne is going to be great.”

  Hannah glanced at her daughter’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes, sweetie? You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot.”

  “I have to go,” Roxanne said, taking a step toward her car. “Nice to see you. Bye.”

  “But we need to talk,” Hannah sidestepped to cut off Roxanne’s attempt to escape. “We can put you back on top, sweetie. You’d be on every A-list in town.”

  “I don’t want to be there.”

  Her mother frowned. “Then why are you doing Celebrity Dance?”

  Roxanne said nothing, staring her mother down.

  Hannah broke the stare down first. “Did you look at the script I sent you? Your father and I own the rights to it. Starring in it could be an opportunity to mend fences. Clear the air.”

  “No, I haven’t read it. Nor do I intend to read it.” Roxanne skirted her parents, unlocked her car with the remote in her hand and was in her car before her parents could object.

  Nick stood back, half admiring as Roxanne deftly maneuvered her Prius out of its parking space.

  Hannah’s mouth tightened. “You must pardon my daughter’s rudeness.”

  Nick’s eyebrows rose. “She wasn’t rude to me at all.”

  “I hoped she would talk with us,” Hannah said with a sad little sigh. “She’s so very stubborn. We’ve only ever wanted the best for our daughter. I don’t understand what her problem is. We’ve done everything for her.” She gave Nick a coy, sideways look that contained an invitation to unburden himself in some way.

  Nick edged back. He needed to get out of here. Confession wasn’t going to be good for their souls and he had a sense they were trying to enlist him.

  “I have to get back.” He took another step away from them.

  “We need you to help us,” Hannah continued. “Will you talk to Roxanne for us? Tell her we love her and only have her best interests at heart.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but that isn’t my job. We’re coworkers and that’s all. So you have a nice day.”

  When he glanced back, Hannah and Eli stood in the middle of the parking lot. Hannah’s gestures were sharp and angry. Eli’s gestures matched hers. Nick wondered what they were arguing about. After a few minutes they climbed back into the black Escalade and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and burning rubber.

  Once they were gone, Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mike’s number. “We need to talk. I’ll be at the office in thirty minutes.” He disconnected and walked toward the locker room to get his stuff.

  * * *

  Nick opened the door to Mike’s office. His wife, Nancy, sat on the sofa, her legs crossed, hands fluttering as she laughed at whatever Mike had said.

  Mike looked up. He sat at his desk, one hand poised over a stack of papers. “How did the first rehearsal go?”

  “She stepped on my feet eight hundred times. She tripped over her own feet at least four times. She’s a challenge.”

  “You love a challenge,” Nancy said.

  “You’re right, I do. And she is that.” Nick perched on the corner of Mike’s desk.

  “Last year, you took over an overweight, over-the-hill actress...”

  “Ouch,” Nick said.

  “Those were Mia’s words, not mine... And you made her a dance champion and resurrected her career. She’s going to be in the next Joss Whedon film playing a superhero.”

  “Roxanne,” Nancy added, “is young, fit and easy to look at. She’s got a lot of personality.”

  And she was a delight to hold, Nick thought. Her skin was soft and her subtle perfume filled him with desire. “Her lack of grace is not going to be the problem.”

  “What’s going to be the problem?” Mike asked curiously.

  “Her parents,” Nick said with a sigh. “They were waiting in the parking lot after rehearsal. And I think things could have gotten incredibly nasty.” The kind of nasty that could end up in the gossip rags. True or not, the information crippled anyone involved.

  Mike rubbed his temple. “I’m glad Roxanne is not contractually obligated to them in any way. That could just be ugly.”

  “They’re her family,” Nick said. His own family was so different. They supported each other.

  “Family means nothing in this town. It’s what’s written down on paper that counts.”

  Nick shook his head. “I still think they are going to be a problem.”

  “I don’t think much is going to stop them from being a problem,” Nancy added.

  “You’ve been friends with Roxanne for several years now. What does she say about her parents?”

  “Nothing,” Nancy replied. “She never talks about them and I don’t ask.”

  “Roxanne is a nice woman and I like her.” He liked her a lot. “Her parents might prove a big enough distraction to keep her from doing her best.” Roxanne had an honesty about her that appealed to him. She had no illusions about who she was.

  Nancy frowned. “Roxanne is too classy to get dragged into a tawdry controversy with her parents. And I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  Mike looked thoughtful. “Controversy can be great publicity, but it’s not something I want for my show. I don’t want this season to be overshadowed by a mudslinging war between Roxanne and her parents. It’s unfair to the other contestants who are actually trying to revive their careers. Plus it creates all kinds of tension on the set.”

  “Do you honestly think that will happen?” Nick asked, although he knew the answer.

  “You know how the paparazzi and gossip rags love that kind of stuff,” Mike replied.

  * * *

  Roxanne pulled into her driveway to find Portia’s car parked on the street.

  “What are you doing here?” Roxanne asked after walking into her home.

  Portia stood in the kitchen making a chicken-salad sandwich. She wore her zoo uniform with the faint hint of hay clinging to her. She held a knife and waved it through the air. “Mom and Dad sent me.”

  Roxanne stopped and stared at her sister. “Speak of the devils, I just ran into them. They were waiting for me outside the rehearsal studio.”

  Portia patted the top piece of bread into place, cut it and took a bite. She chewed her food for a half minute, swallowed and took a sip of iced tea. “Well, they wan
t to bury the hatchet, extend an olive branch, so to speak. Whatever they can do to bring you back into the fold. I’m supposed to be their ambassador.”

  Roxanne opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Why?”

  “They’re bleeding clients like mad. Mom and Dad are giving them all the runaround while they’re trying to sort out their finances. Having the IRS hanging over them every second is messing with their ability to run their business, and even though none of the clients know the details of their tax troubles, Mom and Dad’s erratic behavior about the whole situation is not breeding confidence in their ability to handle their clients’ affairs because they can’t seem to handle their own. And this script they want you to read, they own the rights and it’s actually pretty good.”

  “So why don’t they get another actress—a bigger actress? Tons of actresses would kill for a great starring role.” Even as the words left her mouth, Roxanne knew the answer.

  Portia gave her an exasperated look. “Public relations. Image rebuilding. Think about it. They have a great script. And with the prodigal daughter partnering with them on it—you know how far that would go to rebuild their image. If you trust them, others would, too.”

  Roxanne knew. The industry was full of sheep. Where one went, often more followed.

  Portia sat at the table across from Roxanne. “I just spent the morning brainstorming with them and their plan of attack is to bring you back into the warm embrace of our harmonious family and take advantage of your new fame on Celebrity Dance. If they can get you back for this film and show that you have every confidence in them, they would be able to rebuild their client base.”

  “Ow,” Roxanne said. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Tristan’s.”

  “Oh, baby brother.”

  “He desperately wants to be on Broadway, especially since his character is being written out of that medical drama he’s on, and the lead in the revival of Timbuktu is coming up for audition. Even I know he’s perfect for the role.”

  Roxanne said in a jaundiced tone, “He’s going to have to give up drinking, partying and chasing women. That type of behavior is only excused when you reach the top.”

  Portia nodded as she bit into her sandwich and gave a little sigh. She ate in silence for a few minutes. “Mom and Dad are frantic.”

  “They’re seeing their little empire crumble around them.”

  Roxanne didn’t want to be drawn back into her parents’ domain. Until she’d turned sixteen, she’d been under their controlling thumb and spent a lot of days resenting them.

  The garage door opened and their grandmother walked into the kitchen carrying a load of grocery bags. “Hello, girls.”

  Portia jumped up to kiss Donna Deveraux on the cheek. Like Portia, Donna was small and compact with gray hair cut tight to her head and expressive brown eyes. Her voice still held a hint of Southern cadence from her Mississippi childhood. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her granddaughters.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you, Portia. Are you staying for dinner?” Donna asked as she set grocery bags on the counter.

  “Sure.” Portia said. “I was hoping we could have a slumber party tonight.”

  Roxanne kissed her grandmother on the cheek and set about unpacking the groceries and putting them away.

  “We can do that,” Donna said.

  If not for her grandmother, Roxanne might have gone insane as a child. Donna had cared for her, homeschooled her, acted as guardian when Roxanne was on the set and generally kept her grounded in the real world. Donna had always been around when Roxanne needed her and once she’d graduated college and bought this house, she’d moved her grandmother in with her. She’d set up a modest trust fund that generously supplemented her grandmother’s social security because somewhere down through the years, her parents had forgotten to pay her for her services. When Roxanne had found out, she’d been livid.

  “Grams,” Roxanne said, “What are you cooking tonight?”

  Donna grinned at her granddaughters. “Chicken and dumplings, child.” She reached into one of the plastic bags. “And a bottle of your favorite pinot grigio.”

  “Maybe not,” Portia said. “I’m being considered as the lead in a series of commercials for some car ads.”

  Roxanne countered, hating to see her sister deprive herself. The industry was merciless on women who weren’t a size two. “One decadent meal isn’t going to kill your figure.”

  Portia looked thoughtful. “I can always spend a little more time working out tomorrow.”

  Roxanne took the wine bottle and put it in the refrigerator to chill.

  “Are we celebrating something?” Portia asked.

  “I just felt like doing something special.” Donna opened a cabinet and pulled out a large pan. “How did your first rehearsal go?”

  “My feet hurt,” Roxanne said. “I want to soak my abused toes and everything else in between that and my ears. I stepped on Nick’s toes so many times, I’m surprised they aren’t broken, and tripped over my own feet. I lost count after five.”

  “That bad, was it?” Donna said.

  “And that wasn’t the worst part. Mommy and Daddy showed up.”

  Donna’s eyes narrowed. “And they wanted what?”

  “They want me to read that script Portia brought a couple weeks ago.” Roxanne sat down at the table and cupped her chin in the palm of one hand.

  Donna poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the table with them. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing,” Roxanne replied.

  “Don’t you want to help them?” Donna asked.

  “No.”

  Donna grinned and walked over to the table. Putting an arm around her granddaughter’s neck, she said, “Just testing you.”

  Roxanne hugged her grandmother.

  “Forget the wine, we need the hard stuff.” Donna straightened, opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila.

  Roxanne burst out laughing. “Is that your answer to everything?”

  “It is. Especially since you girls are both over the age of twenty-one. Margaritas, anyone?” Donna then opened the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of margarita mix and limes. “I made myself a solemn promise. If I exercise every day, I can drink margaritas.”

  “Didn’t you spend an hour at the gym this morning doing Pilates?”

  “Just so I can have a cocktail,” she said to Roxanne.

  Portia shook her head. “Grandma, you’re my hero.”

  Roxanne hugged her grandmother. “Mine, too.”

  “Then we’re going to sit down, put our heads together and figure out what we can do to foil my DNA’s contribution to the future.” Donna pulled out the blender.

  “Grams,” Roxanne said, “At some point you have stop blaming yourself for Mom and Dad’s decisions. Life is a crapshoot.”

  Portia jumped to her feet to retrieve ice from the freezer. She filled a bowl and handed it to Donna who dumped it into the blender, then added tequila and margarita mix. Roxanne stood and opened a cabinet and brought out the margarita glasses.

  “What are our options?” Portia asked.

  Donna thought hard for a moment. “Just ignore them. That irritates them the worst.”

  “Having my parents back in my life would bring up all the old anger, resentment and distrust. I don’t need them.”

  “Then option two would be figuring out a way to get them to back off,” Donna continued.

  “Maybe if I accused them of stalking...” She doubted an accusation would stop them. They were too determined. “Is there an option three?”

  “Pack up and move to Norway,” Portia said.

  “Paris,” Donna said, “and you’d have a deal.”

  “London,” Portia said. “I don’
t speak French.”

  “There’s an island right in the middle of the Channel,” Roxanne said with a laugh. “We could go there.”

  “What would you do?” Roxanne asked. She trusted her grandmother implicitly.

  Donna pursed her lips. “Let your parents initiate all the drama. I think in the long run, it reflects badly on them and not you, no matter how hard they try to spin it otherwise.”

  Roxanne spun all the information through her mind. Maybe she needed to stop worrying that bad stuff was going to happen. After all, the endgame was building her business and making Nancy happy, not diving headfirst back into show business. Her bit parts were enough, and even those were becoming less and less appealing as they pulled her away from her true passion of genealogy.

  Her grandmother took her hand. “What happens, happens. You have no control over your parents and what they think or do. All you have to do is act in the gracious manner you’ve cultivated all these years. Be classy. Be above the madness.”

  Roxanne closed her eyes. She would try, but with her parents on her back, it was hard to rise above it.

  She just hoped her parents didn’t interfere too much. She needed her head in the game so she didn’t let everyone at Celebrity Dance down.

  Chapter 3

  Tristan Deveraux was tall and thin. He shared the same facial structure as Roxanne, but his mouth was tight and his eyes held an angry, challenging gleam as though daring the world to cross him. Though he wore a business suit and all his tattoos were covered except for the snake curling up the side of his neck, Nick knew he ordinarily dressed like a thug with gold chains around his neck, no shirt and lots of leather.

  Nick had seen Tristan in his parents’ restaurant in the past, but tonight Tristan had a look about him as he approached Nick, a small, pudgy man in tow.

  “Nick Torres,” Tristan said, keeping his voice low and pleasant. “Can I have a minute?”

  “What can I help you with?” Nick said, annoyed at being approached. Both of the men reeked of whiskey fumes.