“You did really well today,” he told me. “It’s like you’ve been with us from the first day.”
“Hardly,” I said. “I’ve still got a lot to learn. Especially in the fourth song. The steps are deceptively simple . . . but there’s a certain attitude you’ve got to hold to pull them off. No, maybe not attitude. Grace? Vibe? I can’t explain it, but the simplicity’s what makes it so genius. It seems like such a basic pattern, but how it’s executed is what truly brings out the beauty.” I was thinking aloud, just sort of rambling, and realized that I sounded kind of ridiculous. “Sorry. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, no.” Matthias stared at me wonderingly. “That’s exactly it. That’s how I intended it. I was inspired by watching classical ballet, how all the moves are amplified by the emotion put into the routines. Cornelia said it was crazy to try to think that deep for a show like this, but it just felt right.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said honestly. “I can absolutely see where you were going with it. Reminds me of something from La Bayadère.”
“You know La Bayadère?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s a classic. Who doesn’t?”
“You’d be surprised.”
I realized then that the seamstress had left, having achieved her goal. Matthias was still regarding me in amazement. Now that they weren’t focused on the clipboard, I was able to see how blue his eyes were. They were like the sky on a clear, crisp day.
“Are you busy tonight?” he asked a few moments later. “Would you . . . would you like to go get dinner? Or even just a drink? I’d love to talk dance more with you.”
For a succubus, I could be surprisingly naïve sometimes. Because for half an instant, I almost accepted. I was so keyed up after the rehearsal and so excited to talk more about the show that I actually briefly thought that was all he wanted to go out for. Now, I don’t mean to imply that his motives were totally base either. He wasn’t using this as a ruse to simply get me into bed. But he also wasn’t treating this as a meeting of colleagues. Bottom line: he liked me. I’d peaked his interest, and he wanted to go out on a date.
Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem . . . except, there was something I sincerely liked about him. He was cute, and I found his passion for his work endearing. I loved how he kept getting wrapped up in it, totally consumed and distracted like—Seth.
And there was the problem. This guy was the choreographer version of Seth. A one-night fling with some sleazy guy who meant nothing wasn’t cheating in the eyes of our relationship. But for me to go out with a guy I liked, that I found intriguing and attractive in the same way I found Seth . . . well. That was wrong, especially since Matthias was obviously interested in me. It was a strange situation to be in, one I hadn’t expected.
“Oh, that would be great, but my friends and I already have plans,” I told him. “We’re trying to make the most of my trip since it’s so short.”
“Oh.” His face fell a little, then brightened. “But you’ll be back for tomorrow’s rehearsal, right? It’d be great if you were able to get in the steps one more time before you left town. You know, give you something to practice.”
“Sure,” I said. “That’d be great.”
The rest of the evening went by in a blur of activity. Phoebe joined Bastien and me in a whirlwind tour of Vegas highlights, which included a lot of casino and club hopping. Phoebe and I both donned skimpy, glamorous dresses, playing up our succubus sex appeal to its maximum. We draped ourselves on Bastien’s arms, and he swaggered around even more than usual, smug with the envy he got over showing us off.
After hours of this, I was ready for some downtime. Phoebe and Bastien had a quick consultation and decided that if we hurried we could make the late performance of a magic show they knew.
“Magic?” I asked, more than a little tipsy from vodka gimlets. “Don’t we live a magic show?”
“Damn near,” said Bastien. He was ostensibly still being gallant in offering me his arm, but it was unclear who was really holding whom up. “There’s something special about this show, I’ve heard.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The three of us made our way to a modest, off-Strip hotel I’d never heard of. It still had alcohol and slot machines in its casino, which was probably all that mattered to most of its customers. Bastien bought us tickets to see The Great Jambini, and we hurried into the small theater—which was about half-full—just as the lights went down. A mediocre comedian did the warm-up act, and soon the star attraction himself came out. He had graying hair and a bright purple silk turban, along with a sequined cape that could have come straight from the wardrobe department at Sparkles. He kept tripping over its hem, which led to my first observation: he was totally drunk. A second observation soon followed, once I realized there were more immortal signatures in here than just mine, Phoebe’s, and Bastien’s. The Great Jambini was an imp.
He started off with some standard card tricks, receiving half-hearted applause from the audience. These were followed by juggling, which I found remarkable simply because of the concentration it required from someone so obviously intoxicated. He didn’t miss a move. I think the other members of the audience shared my opinion because their applause warmed up. Inspired by this, Jambini then made a great show of setting his juggling pins on fire. This brought the applause to a standstill, and some of the people in the front rows shifted uneasily.
“Is that a good idea?” I murmured to my friends.
“It never is,” remarked Phoebe.
“What do you mean nev—”
Within thirty seconds after lighting the pins, Jambini had begun juggling . . . and promptly set his cape on fire. People gasped and screamed as he flung it off him onto the stage. Considering its cheap material, I was kind of surprised the cape hadn’t ignited faster. He stomped on it until the flames were out, and I saw a few stagehands on the periphery ready with fire extinguishers, just in case. Once the cape was a black, smoldering mess, he lifted it up. A dove emerged from underneath it, flying up into the air, much to the awe and delight of the spectators.
“It was part of the show,” I breathed, equally impressed.
“Yup,” said Phoebe.
Jambini reached for the dove, which just barely slipped past him. It circled around the room, then swooped low into the audience. Along the way, it sideswiped a woman whose hair was elaborately French braided. The dove’s foot got tangled in her hair, and it soon became trapped, beating its wings frantically to escape as she leaped up and began screaming.
“Was that part of the show?” I asked.
“No,” said Phoebe in awe. “But it really should be.”
Within seconds, the stagehands were out in the audience, where they were able to remove and confine the dove. They escorted the woman off as well, heads bent low as they murmured apologies. The Great Jambini made a flourish-filled bow, much to the delight of the crowd. Everyone loves a wacky mishap.
He performed a few scarf tricks, most of which went off without a hitch, and then came to stand in the center of the stage, face grave. “For my next trick, I need a volunteer.” His eyes fell on our corner. “A lovely volunteer.”
“Oh, he noticed us,” said Phoebe, with a sigh. She raised her hand, along with others in the audience. When I did nothing, she elbowed me until I raised my hand as well.
After a great show of examining all the volunteers, Jambini strode up to our table and extended his hand to me. Bastien and Phoebe whistled and cheered, urging me up. I was a little nervous about being set on fire or attacked by birds, but it was hard for me to refuse an audience. I accepted Jambini’s hand and let him lead me up to the stage, while thunderous applause rang out around us.