She looked at him again through long, thick lashes, and he thought he saw a smile that was meant for him alone. Perhaps they all thought that. But he also felt a sense of his own destiny, and knew that she was part of it.
The longest veil wafted to the floor. The drumbeat quickened and the long, lovely hips quickened with it. Another and another twitch of filmy cloth and gracefully spasmodic movement... and she was almost naked in all her female glory. The houselights died silently and the one big beam began to dim. She stretched out her arms imploringly in a gesture that could have meant she’d had enough, or wanted much, much more. Then she tore the last strips off her body almost savagely. An animal grunt swept through the house. For a fractional beat of time she stood there with her magnificent body completely bared and almost still but for a tiny muscular quivering that was far more provocative than the most blatant of sexual gestures; and then the light went out.
Nick felt the breath go out of him like air out of a balloon and he knew from the gusty sounds around him that every red-blooded male in the place was having the same reaction. He felt oddly jealous.
A saxophone crooned into the darkness and the lights came on one by one. Mirella and all her veils had gone. A thumping, clapping, cheering audience demanded her return, but Mirella, said the giant Senegalese emcee, did no encores. One act like hers was all any man deserved, he said, and rolled his eyes. The males in the audience cheered.
The small band was good and a little dark-skinned crooner sang the latest hits from Ghana, the lyrics of which were apparently packed with sly meaning and good humor. Gradually, Mirella’s exotic aura faded and a hundred male dreams melted in the air. Feet tapped, hands clapped, full glasses clinked.
Nick felt deflated. The Ghanese songs were fun, but they had nothing on Mirella. Her spell still lingered over him. It was a long time since he had felt so completely captivated by any woman, so painfully drawn to such overwhelming beauty and desirability. He wondered how he could manage to meet her — send his diplomatic compliments perhaps, and would she join him in a drink? But why had she looked at him like that? If in fact she had. He thought it over. Yes, she had been looking at him. Maybe a message via a waiter would do the trick...
But the message came to him.
“Mr. Ambassador Carter, sir?”
Nick raised his eyebrows and nodded at the waiter before him.
“Miss Mirella sends her greetings, sir, and requests your kind presence in her dressing room. She would come out herself, but she prefers not to be stared at by all the people, if you don’t mind, sir.”
“Delighted,” said Nick. “That’s very kind of her. You’ll show me...?” He reached for his cane and rose.
“This way, sir.”
Nick followed the man across the room and through a swinging double door to the backstage area. It was clean and cheerful and brightly lit, and he had none of the sense of foreboding that so often came when he stepped through strange doorways into back passages.
“Here, sir.” The waiter stopped and tapped at a starred door.
“Come in.”
Nick entered. The waiter closed the door quietly behind him and padded away.
Mirella rose from a soft settee against the wall and stretched out an arm in graceful greeting.
“Mr. Carter? I am very honored.”
Nick held her hand briefly but with warmth. “The honor is mine — and all the luck. To what do I owe it? And what do I call you?”
She smiled, and a chorus of slightly fallen angels sang. Her beauty was even more striking from so near at hand, but she was no wide-eyed innocent working her way through nursing school, nor was she the usual hard-bitten bitch of the nightclub circuit. Everything was her own, from the lovely, knowing eyes to the slightly crooked teeth, from the smooth copper skin to the firm but supple flesh, and everything about her was breathtaking beauty that knew its way around but still thought the world a fine and lovely place. A place more for wild creatures than for human beings, perhaps, but still a place for joyous living and ecstatic loving.
“You call me Mirella. Please sit down.” She gestured at the settee. “Perhaps you would like a drink more satisfying than our light wine?” A small cabinet came open at her touch. Nick noticed ice cubes and glasses waiting. “I almost live here, so I like to have refreshments for my friends. Cognac? Scotch? Irish whiskey? I even have some bourbon.” She smiled again. Nick liked the slightly crooked teeth and the warmth that lit her eyes.
“Scotch, please,” he said. “Save the bourbon and surprise some other guest.”
“There’ll be no other guests tonight,” she answered. “And I haven’t answered your first question.” She paused for a moment while she poured two sturdy shots into the glasses and added just a touch of soda. “I asked you here for two reasons. One, because Rufus asked me to look out for a tall, distinguished looking American with a cane who was doing all he could to find out what’s troubling Nyanga; and two, I saw you watching me. You weren’t — what is the word? yes — drooling, so I liked you. I do not often like the audience, even though the management is very strict about the clientele.” She handed him a glass and sat down on the settee beside him. “To your success and health, Ambassador Carter.”
She raised her glass and looked deep into his eyes. His heart skipped one tiny beat and settled down to something close to normal.
“To yours,” he said warmly. They drank.
Mirella... Mirella... Mirella... Was that what they called the wind? No, not quite. But they should have. She was a sultry summer breeze, a breath of spring — no, she wasn’t. She was a siren on a rock, filling his ears with the music of her voice and turning his knees to jelly, a lovely Lorelei who was all woman from her dark hair to her toes.
They talked for a while, and then they stopped. He found himself staring at her face as if it were the one face in the world he’d ever wanted to be gazing at, and she looked back at him with something in her eyes that matched the pleasant tension of his body.
When they had stared for moments she lowered her eyes and turned her head away. Nick put his glass down and rose instantly.
“Don’t let me outstay my welcome,” he said longingly. “I’m sure you want to rest. I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, no!” She got up and lightly touched his arm. “Don’t go. I was wondering — you see, my day starts late, so for me it is still early. There are friends I must see tonight, friends of the Makombes, and I thought perhaps you... might care to come with me.” Her dazzlingly lovely face looked into his, and there was something pleading in it. Nothing desperate, nothing of fear; something pleasantly urgent that struck a harmonious chord with what he felt himself.
“I’d love to,” he murmured happily. The back of his mind said “I wonder where the body will be buried?” and all the rest of him shivered pleasurably and said “Oh my God, what a woman, what a woman!”
He helped her into her coat. It slid on smoothly over the gauzy gown that was so much like the one she’d stripped off in filmy pieces onto the floor.
“Thank you,” she said. “Do you mind if we stop off at my place for a moment? They’re the sort of people who sit outdoors at night and listen to the crickets; I’d like to change into something a little warmer. It won’t take long — my apartment’s on the way.”
“Whatever you say. But I’m afraid I don’t have a car.”
“Mine’s outside. Perhaps you’ll drive.” She flashed the wonderful smile at him again and took his arm. The warmth of even that small touch spread through him like a brush fire. He longed to kiss her. But even for Carter it was a couple of minutes too soon.