4
“The bad news is that Clara will be out of commission for weeks,” the creative director said at Rick’s next meeting. “The good news is… well, there is no good news. We’re screwed.”
Everyone sitting around the table sighed, huffed, or leaned back in their chairs, creaking with their weight as they crossed their arms and looked as if they saw this coming. Rick drummed his fingers on the table, glancing over the email from Clara and her doctor. Inner ear problems? That was all it said. Apparently, whatever problem Clara had was serious enough that she couldn’t dance or otherwise perform for at least eight weeks. While they were able to make due on the music video a few days before, Clara was also supposed to accompany Rick on his upcoming world tour as his primary dance partner. Practice was to start later that month. If Clara couldn’t perform, then what the hell were they going to do?
“It’s clear that we’ll have to find a replacement,” José said to Rick’s right. “Half of the whole concert hinges on those pair dances. We can’t just get anyone. Dammit, Clara was perfect! Not only did she fit the vision of the music video, but she was free advertisement for the concert as well.”
Rick leaned his elbow on the table and snorted. “Maybe we should hire that girl who stepped up,” he said, only half serious. “I’m sure she won’t ask for as much money as Clara did either. Win-win?”
He flashed them his award-winning smile. The same one that got him out of countless trouble as a child, a teenager, and now an adult. His mother used to tell him that his smile was dangerous, that he should know when to properly use it for the greater good. “You know that Spiderman you like so much?” she would ask him in her native Spanish, a thick Argentinean accent overlaying her words. “Something about power and responsibility. Every time you flash someone that smile, you’re taking a bit of their sanity away. Only use it when you think you really have to.” Rick probably didn’t have to use it right now, even though it was second nature to him, and his primary nature said that he had to nullify every disagreement and ill feeling. His mother would have said it was because he was a Libra.
“We got lucky,” José said. He was one of the only people impervious to Rick’s charms. Probably because he had no charm of his own. “Even after what I saw she could do, she still isn’t my first choice for that music video. What’s done is done. She did admirable and managed to not throw up or otherwise hurt anyone. It’s a bit different for a tour. We need a woman with proper stamina, who won’t flake out on us between Mexico and Chile. Plus,” José lowered his voice, as if only Rick was supposed to hear this next bit of information, “Clara had the famous pedigree and a good hue, if you know what I mean.”
Rick looked away. Even on this end, it’s always about skin tone. He wouldn’t deny it was a factor. Most of his fame was centralized in the Americas. His fans wanted to see him dance with someone who looked like she could have come from their own neighborhoods, whether they lived in Colombia or Guatemala. Rick had no idea what Olivia’s ancestry was, nor did he care.
“All I know is that the woman could dance.” Rick fondly remembered the easy way in which Olivia melted into his arms. If he didn’t think she was a lovely woman before, he certainly did now – and not just because she knew how to tango with the best of them. Kinda hot too. This time Rick kept a smile to himself. José would’ve recognized this one and chastised Rick for thinking of women on the job. What else does one do in these boring, stuffy meetings? The only reason he was called in today was to discuss the matter of Clara and what to do about the promotions for his next single. Something they launched into quickly.
“We’ll be coming up on a fourth single if we decide to go through with it,” said one of the suits. “Of course it will highly depend on how well this third single does. Given your recent popularity, we are hoping that people will latch on to this single. If they don’t, I’m afraid there may not be a fourth one. In that case we will entirely focus on the tour and begin preparations for your second album.”
“Fine, whatever.” Rick didn’t care about promotions beyond what he could do directly. His goal was to write songs and perform them in front of screaming fans. When he was scouted by his manager two years ago, nobody thought that some bedraggled kid dancing and singing on a street corner would become one of the Western Hemisphere’s biggest stars. His debut album Midnight Tango peaked at number five, but had sold so steadily over the past year that people considered him a sleeper hit. Nothing sleepy about my songs. Especially that third single, which was an energetic dance tune designed to be a crowd pleaser. “I’m already writing songs.” He was always writing songs. “Just tell me when you want me in the studio. Although I prefer to already be in the country. Don’t want to be in Rio de Janeiro and get a call that I’m expected to record in LA the following week.”
That was the end of the meeting. It seemed like nothing was decided, and yet Rick felt haughty enough that he had some effect on his staff and executives. When he got into his van later, he turned to Thomas, his manager. Before he could open his mouth, however, Thomas said to him, “So how about that news, huh?”
Rick relaxed in his seat, seatbelt digging into his chest while Thomas had to remain upright in order to drive safely. “Just another day in the business.” He lowered his sunglasses even though it wasn’t that bright outside. “Everyone’s got a stick up their ass regarding this dancer ordeal, though. I don’t know why they don’t hire that girl from the music video. What was her name, Olivia?” He knew her name.
“You know how it is. Everyone has to be vetted. It’s amazing you were able to get her as a replacement so quickly. If it weren’t for the tight schedule, they probably would’ve postponed the shoot or prayed that Clara got better quickly. This tour thing, though…” Thomas shook his head. His salt-and-pepper hair conveyed the wisdom of an old sage, but his thin frame made it hard for the executives to take him seriously. They often joked that Thomas looked like he was about to blow away in the wind. “Might be easier to give you lots of solo dances and hope that one of the backup dancers can fill in here and there. Either way, José is going to be pissed. When is he not pissed?” Thomas laughed. “Especially when you suggest that you hire the woman who roundhouse kicked him at the audition. Or whatever happened.”
They stopped at a red light, halfway to Rick’s place. “She was cute, wasn’t she?”
Thomas gave him a knowing look. “If that’s all you care about, then you’re not going to convince anyone to hire her.”
“Fine. She was a good dancer, wasn’t she?”
“I doubt anybody will be complaining when they see the final video.”
Within ten minutes they were at Rick’s building, a more modest dwelling than most people took him for having. Oh, it was spacious enough. Certainly enough room to store his instruments and to let him feel like he could breathe. But at the end of the day it was a converted warehouse and nothing more. Good security, though. Someone at his level of new fame needed that much at least.
Thomas parted ways with him in the lobby of the building, and after saying hello to the front desk manager, Rick entered the elevator and went up to his loft. He had the afternoon off and felt lazy enough to take a well-deserved nap and maybe write a song or two. I’m not counting on the fourth single. Best to start working on the next album right now. Or so he thought when he entered his apartment and didn’t expect to find a visitor waiting for him.
It was Fiona. Fiona Fairweather. Once upon a time she was one of Rick’s backup dancers. Well, if once upon a time could mean three months ago. During that time she became more than just a dancer. Never a girlfriend, but she was hot, and as Thomas established, sometimes that’s all Rick cared about.
“Hey, I was wondering when you would be back.” The woman was not so inconspicuously dressed in cotton shorts and a baggy white shirt. Draped across Rick’s bed in the corner of the room, she looked as if she belonged there.
“Had a meeting.” Rick tossed his bag into the entryway closet but didn’t spare Fiona a second look. “What are you doing here? And furthermore… how did you get in?”
That flirtatious smirk was what did Rick in the first time they met. “You gave me a key. Remember?”
“Not at all.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “You were pretty drunk at the time. You said I should use it whenever I wanted to come see you. Well, I wanted to see you.” Before Rick could thank his lucky stars, Fiona continued, “I’m not here for that. Just wanted to have a chat.”
Damn. Well, if Rick wasn’t getting any, he would at least offer his invasive, door-breaking guest some coffee or tea. If he could find any in his kitchen. Did he even have any refreshments? When was the last time he went grocery shopping? I can’t go shopping anyway! Time to call Thomas and ask for a bag of perishables. “What are we chatting about? The weather? Current events?” There was a big gubernatorial election heating up that was all over the news. Anything but that.
The young woman sat up on Rick’s bed, straightening out her clothes and fluffing her auburn hair. “It’s about your tour coming up. Why haven’t I gotten my call about joining yet?”
Rick found some clean glasses and filled them with tap water. No Evian in his house. Hey, the water is purified! He had a few standards. “Calls haven’t gone out yet. They’re still deciding.”
“They? Isn’t it your tour?”
“It is. However, there have been some SNAFUs. You know Clara? The gal I was supposed to dance with?”
“Yeah, I remember. The cute thin one?”
Why were women always so hung up on how big she was? Meanwhile, the men at Rick’s label only cared about her skin tone. “She’s got some chronic thing going on. Had to drop out. Now people are scrambling to find me a replacement.”
“Aw, poor Ricky.”
He flinched as he put the glasses down on a coffee table. “Don’t call me Ricky.”
“Ricky. Ricky. Ricky Martin.”
“I swear…” Rick had nothing against his industry predecessor, but he was nothing like Ricky Martin. “This is why we don’t date anymore.” He wouldn’t call Fiona his ex, per se, but the amount of times they cashed in on their friends-with-benefits chips went down over the past few weeks.
He considered telling Fiona about Olivia, but then thought against it. Bringing up Olivia all the time was only making Rick antsy, and he had no idea why. Other than because Olivia was such a natural in his arms… ah, so was Fiona. Okay, so were lots of women. One of the perks of being a celebrity raised in a sexually free household was that he got to have a lot of fun.
They drank their water, flirted, and talked more about the tour. “Don’t think I want to come to be with you. Although before you ask, I have no interest in being your star partner. Too much pressure.”
“I know.” Fiona didn’t like being the center of attention. She wasn’t shy, but she could be quite introverted. Her idea of a big date was staying in with her honey and watching movies by candlelight. The one time Rick asked if she wanted to star in a music video, Fiona laughed at him and said, “Hell no!” He rather liked that about her.
“Do you not want me on tour because of our history?”
Rick nearly choked on his water. “Huh? What makes you think I don’t want you on tour?”
“Just wondering. You know I had a thing with the last guy I worked with, right?”
“Yeah, you told me.” Another guy in the industry. It didn’t bother Rick, but Fiona had a habit of bringing it up as if it were a mark against her.
“Things got weird with him pretty fast. I was supposed to go on a small tour with him and some other dancers, but he fired me at the last minute. Still wanted me to be his girlfriend, though. Didn’t the asshole know he was a byproduct of me wanting to dance?”
“I get it.” Right. Rick was a byproduct. Another reason our relationship calmed down.
“Sorry.” Fiona ran her fingers through her silky hair, enticing Rick to peer at her from the rim of his glass. “Guess I’m sensitive to guys getting too clingy at the expense of my job.”
She said it sarcastically, and yet Rick could only shake his head. “Like I said, I don’t know anything about the hiring of dancers right now. I’m a bit invested in who is going to be my partner for the next few months while on tour.”
Fiona opened her mouth to say something or other, but there was a knock at the door. A forceful, jarring knock that could only belong to Thomas, who made a point of announcing himself in such a way. The man could barely text, even for a manager.
“Come in!” The door was unlocked. No way he was getting up just for Thomas.
He strolled in, took one look at Fiona, and failed at hiding a snort. Jealous? “Wanted to tell you…” The news wasn’t interesting. Rick forgot it within five minutes. When his manager was done talking, he took his leave, sparing Fiona one glance. “Wear a condom, you two.”
“Always do.”
“Rick!’
“What?” Rick waggled his eyebrows. “You sticking around? I’m going to write some songs. Let’s write about safe sex.”
“Let’s?”
“Or I can fly solo. I’m used to either.”
“I have no idea what you’re serious about anymore.”
Rick picked up his acoustic guitar as Thomas showed himself out. “Me neither. Let’s play.”
***
Dishes clattered and conversation flowed with every beer and glass of wine someone brought to the table. Olivia was used to the chaos these extended family gatherings caused every Friday night. Perks and downsides of everyone living in the same neighborhood. Tonight the aunts, uncles, and cousins were dining at her place. For the past few weeks she had managed to avoid these gatherings due to other commitments, or needing to go to bed early. When they came to her house, however? There was no getting out of it, especially when her mother enlisted her help preparing dinner that night. One of these days I’ll make enough to live on my own.
Especially since word got out that she starred in a famous singer’s music video. At first nobody in her family believed her, and then the video came out the day before. She never mentioned who it was, and yet the extended family all managed to get a copy of the video in their email boxes as friends who were fans instantly recognized her. Olivia received quite a few calls that day regarding the way she was dancing with a man who was not her husband or long-term boyfriend. Yet nobody gave her as much grief as her little sister Bethany did. Poor Bethany, the young teenager who was convinced her life would end if Olivia did not spill the glorious details.
Hard to believe that when Olivia was two years shy of puberty she was excited to have a new baby in the family. Now, well over ten years later, she couldn’t stand being around her little sister. Not that she didn’t love her, but Olivia only had so much patience for the emotional volatility of a teenage girl.
“Did you really meet Rick?” she asked for the thirtieth time that day. Olivia begrudged being sat across from her sister at the long table, but she could only pretend to chew on fried chicken and mashed potatoes for so long.
“What do you think? You saw me dancing with him in that video.”
Bethany’s bottom lip trembled as she considered this gross betrayal on her sister’s part. “How could you meet him, touch him, and talk to him so much without even thinking of getting an autograph for me?”
Their half of the table stopped eating and talking just to look at them. Olivia could feel the judgmental eyes of three uncles, one aunt, and two older cousins as food fell from their mouths and one belch echoed across the table. “I didn’t know that you are such a big fan,” she said diplomatically.
Before Bethany could throw another fit, one of Olivia’s uncles spoke up. “Seems like I can’t go anywhere these days without hearing that fella’s name. It was on my dancing show the other night. Pretty talented, I guess. I prefer some Jennifer Lopez, myself.”
“Of course you do,” Olivia’s mother said. “Didn’t your last wife leave you because you couldn’t stop staring at other women’s asses?”
Laughter erupted around the table, but Olivia didn’t find anything funny. “He’s pretty popular, yeah. It was a good career move for me because it will look great on my résumé.”
“Career? Are you still calling it that?” More laughter, this time at Olivia’s expense. It was no secret in the Owens family that she intended to make a career out of dance. However, such a family preferred to keep careers in a more traditional line. Most of the men worked as managers for various companies, while the women were respectable teachers, secretaries, or the elusive housewife. Olivia’s own mother worked part-time at a grocery co-op to help her husband the car lot owner make ends meet. Olivia was expected to go to college when she was in high school, and she worked hard enough to get into a local university with a fair reputation. Yet after only two years she dropped out to pursue her artistic ambition. This was the same ambition that kept her living at home and doing the odd job here and there to save some money. Her family never let her forget it.
“Yes, and tomorrow I will add it to my résumé and go apply to some other gigs. I can only go up from here.” Olivia was full of bluster, but she had to be around the Owens. Showing the slightest bit of weakness would only make them want to tear into her. I’m not that much of a masochist.
Each well-meaning elder in her family expressed her least favorite look. The one that said they were deducing whether or not she was full of shit. The first uncle who spoke was, in particular, critical of her ambitions. “What’s going to happen if you can’t get any other gigs, huh?” he asked. “Seems to me that it would be best for you to go back to college and get a degree for a real job. You’ve had your turn in the spotlight, so now would be a good time to get serious about your life.”
I am serious. Olivia kept her thoughts to herself. She had argued with her family multiple times over the years, and she finally learned to keep her mouth shut. Soon enough the topics would turn to something else, and Olivia’s business would be forgotten. That was until her cell phone rang in her front jacket pocket.
“No phones at the table,” her mother reminded her.
Olivia was going to send it to voicemail, but then she looked at who was calling her. Rick’s agency? Without apology, she scooted back in her chair and retreated to the kitchen where she could hear the voice on the other end. “Hello?”
The person calling her wasn’t someone she recognized at first. Then she pinpointed the voice as one of the men who was on set for the video shoot. He rambled on about how great it was to work with her, and then cut straight to the chase. However, the only words to parse in Olivia’s brain were “world tour” and “Rick’s main dance partner.”
Olivia lowered her phone, stunned. She stared out into the dining room where her extended family spat over biscuits and complained about indigestion. How in the world was she going to explain this? I’m going on tour!