the browser on her phone and did a quick search. A photo appeared of a good-looking teenager in a slick Latin sort of way. “He has a face tattoo.”
“And a tongue stud, ear plugs and a nose ring. He has more jewelry on his body than I have in my jewelry box. And he’s four inches shorter than me and I’m not tall to begin with.”
Roxanne scrolled through the photos and articles. “What do Mom and Dad think your dating this...this...man-child is going to accomplish?”
“The Latin market is the fastest-growing market on TV—discretionary income and, well, just about everything. They think it would be good for my career. They want me to be the first black actress on a telenovela because I speak Spanish so well.”
“I told you to take German in high school,” Roxanne said. Portia had been surprisingly good at languages and picked up Spanish in no time. “I repeat—they are insane.” And greedy. “What did you tell them?”
“Words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I just got up and left.”
“Is our brother on board with this?”
“He hasn’t objected. It was originally Dad’s idea, and if I wasn’t driving, I’d add air quotes to ‘they’re all bros now.’ I’d feel like Esther the molester.”
Roxanne continued to read. “Do Mom and Dad realize his uncle is Manuel Gomez? He runs the second-largest drug cartel in Mexico.” Her parents may have been the most difficult people on the face of the earth, but they didn’t condone drugs. For that, Roxanne had to admire them. She started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just went to my future place and had this image of your wedding. His side of the church, your side of the church and the DEA in the middle.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh. Right now, I’m picturing my bridesmaids in jailhouse orange.”
“Since I’ll be your maid of honor, can I wear horizontal stripes and carry a bouquet that could double as a prison weapon?”
“Stop,” Portia begged. “I’m going to run off the road trying not to laugh.”
“We can serve prison-gourmet food of chicken nuggets and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches,” Roxanne continued, the image in her mind growing more detailed. “And sit on hard benches and bang our plastic utensils on the table.”
“We’re done,” Portia said. “My stomach hurts from trying not to laugh. But the reality is...he scares me. And what happens if being around him makes me a target, too?”
Roxanne sobered. The more she read about El Gomez the more he frightened her, too. “They can’t force you to date him. You’re a grown woman. If you want to walk away, I can help. I have money and I can protect you.”
“I’m fine,” Portia said. “I like doing the commercials and voice-overs. And I’ll deal with Mom and Dad.”
Roxanne didn’t say anything to her sister—Portia needed her dream of escape—but their parents wouldn’t let her go easily. She might be only twenty-two but as the middle child, she was the family peacemaker with their parents using her as a buffer even between themselves. She didn’t like the chaos or drama that dominated their parents’ lives and did her best to soothe difficult moments, to keep things running smoothly.
They would find a way to keep her trapped. Roxanne pondered what she could do to help, but nothing came to her. Sometimes she felt sad that she’d extricated herself from the chaos that was the Deveraux family and left her brother and sister behind. When she’d been sixteen, she’d been more worried about herself and anxious to get away. She never thought about how her parents would exploit Portia and Tristan. And now, with her parents all of a sudden encouraging their kids to run with people with hardcore criminal ties, she knew she had to do something. She just didn’t know what. She would again offer to pay Portia’s college tuition or cosign for a loan, and maybe this time she’d accept.
“I was surprised when you called me.” Surprised but pleased. Roxanne sat down at the sidewalk table across from Nicholas Torres.
The restaurant bordered Santa Monica Boulevard. Nicholas Torres had chosen an outside table to enjoy the pleasantly warm afternoon and watch the young people on spring break crossing the Pacific Coast Highway and making their way to the beach. In the distance she could hear the faintest roar of the waves and smell the tangy salt air. She loved living by the ocean.
“You looked a little uneasy yesterday,” Nick said, “and Nancy told me you’re concerned about being clumsy.”
A waitress handed her a menu and she asked for a glass of water.
“Uneasy was not the word I would use.”
Nick grinned at her. “What word would you use?”
“How about apprehensive, troubled or edgy? Or better yet, let’s try the phrase full-blown panic.” The waitress brought her water and she ordered a Greek salad with extra Kalamata olives.
“You seem very graceful to me,” Nick added.
“First of all, I wear flat shoes, walk slowly and concentrate on what I’m doing.”
“Dancing is the same thing.”
“At a much quicker pace. And then I have to throw in breathing and trying to look comfortable. I’ve seen some of the dresses you’ve put your contestants in. You know the scene with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers where she’s wearing this white dress with feathers. That is the most beautiful, seductive dance scene in the whole of movie history and all he could talk about was the feathers that kept flying into his mouth. I’m not Ginger Rogers. I’m the feathers—all over the place and in your mouth.” Oops, that was very suggestive. Heat spread across her cheeks. “Let me rephrase that...”
Nick just laughed. “Oh, no. You are funny.”
“Yeah I’m hilarious,” she said.
“You’ll do fine,” Nick said. “Again, the best dancer doesn’t always win. When you strip away all the glitter and sweat, it’s really a popularity contest. The person who wins is the one that connects with the audience the most. You’ve got that in the bag.”
“Then why do we have to dance? Why can’t we just be us and pose prettily?”
“Do you not want be on Celebrity Dance?”
She paused for a second thinking. “I’m going to be on your show. I’m going to practice my little heart out. I just don’t want you to be disappointed in me when I don’t measure up to your standards.” She had spent last night watching reruns on YouTube. His grace and talent took her breath away. She’d seen him dance on the show and watched clips of him on Broadway. That man could move like a cloud. Did he have any idea how sexy he looked? How strong and masculine. Oh, he gave her tingles in all the right places.
The waitress brought her salad and placed a thick steak sandwich in front of Nick. Their conversation paused while they took a few bites. “People who don’t
