The Merchant of Venice Beach (21 page)

Suzanna looked down at her wrist as if her carpal bones were going to give her up. Her sister had barely engaged her in conversation for the last ten minutes.

“I can’t believe you noticed I wasn’t wearing it.”

Erinn straightened up and looked at Suzanna.

“I’m a writer. I notice everything,” Erinn said.

“I . . . I’ve got to go . . .”

“I understand,” Erinn said, focusing on a hummingbird. “But Suzanna . . .”

Suzanna was looking at Erinn, who was still turned away from her.

“Try to be happy.”

Suzanna swallowed and headed back to her life. She thought about her sister as she drove toward the dance studio. She had a mental image of Erinn, years from now, standing in her beautiful, empty house, holding a grotesquely fat cat, an ever-growing stack of books on the Spanish Armanda piling up on the desk.

If I do end up like that, I’m getting a better-looking pet.

CHAPTER 17

Suzanna drove around the block several times, passing the DIAGNOSIS:Dance! studio over and over again. She had forgotten how crowded this part of town got during the day. By the time she found a parking space, she was so annoyed that she forgot how nervous she was about stopping in for her watch.

Until she walked in the door—and then anxiety flooded her. She hadn’t taken into account the fact that Rio would be teaching a class when she got there.

“Oh, hello,” the faerie at the desk said in her helium voice. “You’re usually in our evening salsa class, right?”

“Uh . . . yes!” Suzanna said, secretly pleased that the faerie remembered her.

“Well, the afternoon class is just getting started. Better hurry!”

Suzanna looked at her feet. She was wearing leather-soled maryjanes with a small heel.

They weren’t perfect.

But still . . .

Suzanna joined the group of men and women lining up. It was a much smaller crowd than the evening classes, but there were still a surprising number of men in the class. That was one of the perks of living in a city filled with freelance actors, writers, and producers.

Rio started the class—and manned his own iPod. Much to Suzanna’s disappointment, he didn’t look surprised that she was there. Suzanna started to dance with a short, affable Asian man in black workout clothes who introduced himself as Michael. He had a strong, decent lead. Rio called out, “Change partners.” Michael smiled, then turned his back to Suzanna and offered his hand to a new partner, one of the invariably tall, slender Amazons whose type seemed to make up the majority in her dance classes.

Suzanna also moved on. Her next partner was a female dance instructor named Paris—a good sport who filled in when there were not enough men. Paris was a really good dancer and a great instructor in her own right, but she was so small that Suzanna felt as if she might crush her at any moment. She avoided looking in the mirror when Paris was leading her around the dance floor. She felt like Goliath being taken for a spin.

When going through the rotations, Suzanna instinctively counted how many “change partners” it would take until she was dancing with Rio. Today, it was only three.

When her turn with Rio finally materialized, he offered her his hand, and the highlight of any dance class began. They practiced a triple spin. Suzanna was thrilled because she had noticed he only did triple spins with women he thought could handle it. He suddenly halted her and turned her toward the class.

“I think it is time to discuss dance etiquette,” he said, not looking at Suzanna, who stood there—the dance-etiquette prop. “Ladies, it is important to tie up your hair when you are dancing . . .”

Suzanna felt a heat in the pit of her stomach. Her hair was not tied up—and she was going to have to bear the brunt of this new transgression.

“Wild, flying hair is not attractive,” he continued. “It can also be deadly.”

Deadly?

One of the women in the class raised her hand. Rio nodded, and she said, in a casual tone, “I think long hair looks great flying around.”

“Save it for the bedroom.”

The class collectively blinked in surprise. Even though salsa dancing was incredibly sensual, the group always acted as though they were dancing the minuet. Actually mentioning its kinship with sex was pretty startling for a dance class.

“There are rules of dance etiquette and they must be obeyed,” Rio continued. “Long hair needs to be tied back because it is unpleasant to get one’s hand caught when one is trying to lead. Also, it is dangerous to gets one’s hand caught in unruly hair.”

Suzanna tried to picture Rio’s fingers getting caught in her unruly hair and the hand being pulled off as she changed partners. Normally, anything Rio said about dance was gospel, but she had to admit, she felt as if he were making too big a deal of this. However, if her hair was supposed to be tied up to save the dance world from one-handed instructors, so be it. Rio looked at her. Suzanna sobered.

Rio gave them a few more rules of etiquette, including:

1) In social dancing, couples should share the first and last dance but dance with others the rest of the time.

2) Good dancers should not only dance with those they feel can keep up. They should dance with beginners as well.

3) It is now socially acceptable for women to ask men to dance.

4) The dance world frowns on rejection, so if you are asked to dance, you better have a pretty good reason to say no. (Rio thought the only acceptable reason to reject a dance request was that you had danced so many dances previously that you just couldn’t go on. )

5) Men’s shirts tend to get damp during a strenuous evening, so it is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to arrive with a change of shirts.

Suzanna was skeptical. Just as a bathing suit with a ruffled hem signaled, “I have huge thighs and I’m trying to hide them,” a man with an armload of shirts was pretty much screaming, “I’m going to sweat all over you.”

That’s not exactly going to get the girls lining up.

Rio finished his lecture and they danced one last salsa before class ended. The other students filed out and Suzanna saw Rio standing alone by the iPod station. She gathered her courage and walked up to him.

“Hey, Rio, I . . .”

“I know why you are here.”

He unplugged the iPod and locked it in a drawer as Suzanna mutely stood by. She decided that since he said he knew why she was here, she need not mention the watch.

“Come with me,” he said.

Rio turned on his heels and walked through the mysterious mirrored door. Suzanna stood rooted to the floor. She could not get her legs to move. She was too panicked for even a panic float, apparently. Rio stood in the doorway. She finally got control of her feet and walked clumsily in Rio’s direction. She caught a glimpse of herself wearing her sunny yellow T-shirt.

I really have to get more of a grip on my mystique.

Suzanna’s heart was thudding in her chest. Rio ushered her into the office and closed the door behind them. The room was dark and her eyes had trouble adjusting after the bright glare of the studio. She had no sense of where Rio was and stood stock still for fear of banging into him. She blinked, frog-like, trying to determine exactly where Rio had gone. Suddenly, she felt his hands on her waist. He spun her around to face him.

Are we practicing a dance move?

His hands started traveling up the inside of her shirt. Suzanna was stunned, but luckily she had enough presence of mind to suck in her stomach. Other than that, she was in a state of near-lyrical hysteria. He spoke to her in Spanish and kissed her neck, but, since she didn’t speak Spanish, she had no idea what he was saying.

What’s going on?

Suzanna deliberated on this most interesting turn of events. She tried not to think that she was sweaty from class.

But then again, so are you and you didn’t change your shirt either, Mr. Dance Etiquette.

Suzanna wracked her brain, trying to remember if she left enough time on the meter for this.

Concentrate, concentrate.

She could not believe that for some heaven-sent, inexplicable reason she was making out with her hot dance instructor. Then the door burst open and they jumped apart. Actually, Suzanna jumped apart and Rio ran a hand smoothly over his ponytail. It was Paris. She flicked on the lights and beamed at them.

“Just need to get some hip-hop CDs for my next class,” she said.

She was gone as fast as she’d arrived. Suzanna stared at the floor, mortified, and when she finally willed herself to raise her eyes, she was alone in the room. She peered through the office door out into the studio. Rio was approaching a woman who was seated on the side of the room. He offered his hand and led her out onto the dance floor. Suzanna tried to slink out unnoticed, and somehow managed to propel herself to safety outside. The neon DIAGNOSIS: Dance! Sign blinked behind her. She casually turned around and looked in the window. Rio was completely absorbed in his next salsa lesson.

She sat in her car, trying to steady her heartbeat. It took her a minute to realize that Rio still hadn’t given her back her watch!

That’s weird. He said he knew why I was there. Did he think I came to make out with him?

She put her head on the steering wheel and groaned. If she were being perfectly honest with herself, if she had a choice between a make-out session and a timepiece, she had to admit, she could always buy another watch.

It took her forever to drive home. She couldn’t concentrate and kept driving the wrong way or overshooting the alley behind the shop. When she finally got home, she made sure Eric was in the nook and Fernando, Carla, and Harri were all occupied when she stumbled into the back office, where she could be alone and think. Had she
really been in a fierce lip-lock with Rio? How did such a thing come about?

Too bad I don’t speak Spanish . . . there might have been a clue in his murmurings.

She felt as if she’d explode if she kept this to herself any longer. After all, like the ad said: Making out with your dance instructor: $49. 99. Sharing it with a sex-starved best friend: priceless.

“Are you alone?” she whispered to Carla, who was mulling over paint chips in the tearoom.

Carla nodded, gesturing dramatically to the empty room. Suzanna leaped into the shop and grabbed Carla’s wrists across the counter.

“You will never believe what just happened.”

“Okay.”

“No, really.”

“Okay, I believe you. I’ll never believe what just happened.”

Carla could be such a spoilsport. Suzanna looked around conspiratorially, making sure Harri and Fernando were nowhere around.

“I made out with my dance instructor.”

Carla’s mood changed at once and her eyebrows shot into her hairline.

“It was the most amazing thing. He just grabbed me in the office.”

“No explanation?”

“No!” Suzanna replied. “Maybe it’s a Latin thing.”

Carla snorted derisively, assuring her that, whatever it was, it was not a “Latin thing.” Eric popped his head in. Suzanna felt herself turning red. Somehow she felt as if she’d cheated on him, which added yet another weird emotional layer to the day.

“So I hear you’ve found yourself another man,” he said.

Carla and Suzanna appeared to be in an eyebrow-raising contest at this statement. How did he know? Did he overhear their conversation just now? Was he psychic? Did he follow her?

Could I get any more paranoid?

“A guy named Andy just called. Said you guys hired him this morning. Wanted to know what time he should come by tomorrow. I told him one of you would call him.”

“We will,” Carla and Suzanna said in unison.

Two men noisily entered the book nook.

“Well, I guess that’s a sign I need to get back to the salt mine,” he said, and headed back to the store.

Eric and Harri passed each other in the hallway between the establishments, practically bumping heads. Harri came through the torn-apart teashop on her way to the kitchen. She stopped and looked accusingly at Suzanna.

“This is really impossible,” she said. “The tables are set up across the hall, I have to take orders, get them to the kitchen, take more orders, come back to the kitchen, and by the time I deliver the tea, it’s cold.”

“I know it’s hard,” Suzanna said as Harri stalked away.

“And I couldn’t care less,” she said to Carla.

When Harri came back through the construction site again, this time carrying teapots with double tea cozies on them, she shook her head in confusion at Carla and Suzanna, who were hopping around the room like a couple of teenagers.

CHAPTER 18