***
‘That was awesome, guys. The manager is really pleased with us and has booked us in for an extra show next month when we’re back from Gran Canaria, as well as the bookings we’d already secured for early next year.’ The guys cheer and there’s a bit of back-slapping. ‘We have the show over in Playa de las Americas tomorrow, which is going to be huge, and there’s a British newspaper doing a piece on the resort – they want to include a short review of our show, so I want you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the rehearsal tomorrow. That means one drink tops in the bar tonight then bed, okay?’
I glare pointedly at Ant and Hugo. Ant looks sheepish and Hugo looks downright confused. He speaks English fairly well, but he doesn’t always catch what I’m saying if I go off on a rant and sometimes I wonder if it’s ‘selective’ understanding. I’m hoping a stern glance in his direction is enough to stop him going home with an audience member or two, tonight at least.
‘Love you, Kat.’ Pauw leans in for a hug.
‘You too. Make sure you get yourself to the doctor’s tomorrow and have that mole on your back checked,’ I say, unhappy with the raised appearance it’s taken on recently. He gives me a salute and blows me a kiss. I shake my head as he walks away.
‘Marcus, you left your driver’s licence in the dressing area,’ I sigh, holding it out to him between my fingers.
‘What would I do without you, Kat?’
‘I honestly have no idea,’ I say drily as he wanders off.
Hugo gives me a sheepish look and waves goodbye as the rest of the guys give me hugs and disperse. When I’m alone, I take a deep breath, gather my things and walk out through the hotel’s reception on a high.
Chapter 2
As I walk out into the crisp silence of the early hours, my skin bristles. I feel on edge. A man is loitering across the street. He has a messy bun and a giant camouflage-print Puffa jacket on. Granted, it can get chilly here at night in September but it’s hardly the Arctic Circle. My body is tense with apprehension; each nerve ending senses danger. He’s watching me whilst sipping something from a bottle. I tuck my bag under my arm and walk briskly past. It isn’t until I’m much closer that I realise he’s sipping some kind of smoothie drink. I relax a little, as though it’s a given that muggers don’t really worry about their vitamin intake or care much for liquefied kale. It’s silly how our perception of people works sometimes, but right now it’s making me feel safe.
Something grabs my shoulder, and my heart catapults out of my chest. I spin, fists clenched, ready to pound seven bells out of Smoothie Man or whoever it is.
When my eyes focus on the person in front of me, I get quite the surprise.
It isn’t the camouflaged man-bun-man I was expecting. It’s a dark-haired man I don’t recognise. Something about his soft-brown eyes, fixed with concern on my clenched fists, stifles my alarm.
‘Sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He holds his hands in the air. ‘Just realised how bad it was to touch your shoulder. I didn’t want to just shout a random “excuse me” down the street at half twelve.’
‘But grabbing a lady on a dark, lonely street at half twelve is okay?’
‘Like I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through, I just really wanted to talk to you and you left the hotel before I got a chance. Can we start again?’ He grins a wide smile and two small dimples form either side. He may have terrible etiquette but he is handsome. That thought is quickly overshadowed. What could he possibly want to talk to me about at this hour? I’d send him away but I’m too intrigued.
‘What is it?’
‘I saw your show tonight and thought it was great …’ He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the longer-on-top side-parting thing that seems trendy these days. ‘Anyway, I think I have what it takes and I wondered if you might have an opening for another dancer? I’ve just moved out here and I’m looking for work. I think it would suit me.’
I get a pang in my stomach. He certainly looks the part despite perhaps seeming a little older than the others, but that’s not a problem. The age range of our audience is eighteen to anything goes. I just can’t take someone on at the moment. ‘Look …’ I look pointedly at him, hoping he’ll furnish me with a name.
‘Jay,’ he says, taking the cue.
‘Jay. It’s not that I’m trying to brush you off. You certainly look the part and if you can dance I’d definitely audition you if I had space … The thing is, our profit margins are small and I’d not budgeted for taking on another dancer this year. I’m sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hijacked your evening. It was just an idea. I’ve just got out here and I’m looking for work. It looked like fun, that’s all.’ He drops his head and turns to leave.
I feel really bad, not that he’s my responsibility or anything but when I first arrived out here, desperate, I was given a chance and it indirectly kick-started the Hunks. Perhaps I’m just shattered after back-to-back gigs but I want to throw him a lifeline. I’m sure we probably could afford another body on stage and it will give us an excuse to update our posters and fliers.
‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come along to a short audition tomorrow and I can keep you in mind.’
The dimples reappear. ‘Yes, great. Tell me when and where you want me.’
I shiver. Must be the arctic conditions. I rummage in my bag and pull out a tatty old business card for the bar we rehearse in. ‘We practise at three so come at two. Prepare a routine to “Pony” and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Okay, I’ll be there …’ he gestures to me with an open hand.
‘Kat,’ I say and take his hand in mine sealing the arrangement with a firm shake.
‘Nice to meet you, Kat.’
Chapter 3
We rehearse in a dance bar about a ten-minute walk away. The owner, Andrea, is a Spanish woman in her mid-forties who lets us use it for free. I suspect it’s for the view, but I like to think it’s because she’s my friend. I like Andrea a lot; she takes no nonsense from anyone.
When I get to Andrea’s bar my insides are twisted in all kinds of knots. In the heat of the moment when I’d invited that guy in for an audition, I wasn’t thinking. If he turns up and does a routine and he’s really bad, I’ll feel terrible for giving him false hope.
A cheerful hello breaks through my anxious thoughts.
‘Jay, you made it,’ I say, forcing a smile. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white tee and there’s a khaki bag slung over his shoulder. He’s got a certain Channing Tatum look going on – I can definitely picture those promo posters.
He shuffles awkwardly and points to the small dance floor area. ‘Should I just get straight to it?’
‘Yes please, then we’ll chat after. I have the music set up ready to go when you’re ready.’
He’s nervous, I can tell. I don’t think he’s done this before and I have butterflies on his behalf. Plenty of blokes think they can dance and look sexy simultaneously but it’s not as easy as it looks. Oh God, I’ve been here before with blokes who think they can but really can’t. As the music starts, I’m braced for something terrible.