Cat In A Topaz Tango

Hot Stuff

Zoe Chloe was one subdued little Goth girl by the time they arrived at the men’s dressing room door.

Rafi Nadir wasn’t the dumb, disgruntled ex-cop Molina acted like he was. Maybe he’d been bitter and angry when he’d first discovered his ex-roommate was alive and well with his unsuspected child in Las Vegas. That was then. He’d pulled it together since, as far as Temple could tell, maybe because his ex-roommate was alive and well with his unsuspected child in Las Vegas.

And maybe he was just a tad jealous of any man Molina knew in this town, which included two of Temple’s.

Rafi knocked on the open dressing room door. “Femme coming through.” He must have done touring show security work to know the backstage routines.

A leg trousered in black kicked the ajar door wide. “We’re loaded with femmes. Bring her on in.”

José Juarez was lounging in a metal folding chair, his dress shirt open to the navel. He eyed her. “You one of the kiddie dancers? Sure you’re old enough to be here?”

Rafi was there like a bodyguard. “Ms. Ozone is the celebrity emcee for the junior competition. She wanted to acquaint herself with the adult division competitors.”

José spread his arms to display his pecs and washboard stomach, reassured she was of age. “Acquaint yourself.”

Obviously God’s gift to the female gender. Temple eyed the women costumers who were still fussing around with final touches.

Three of the four men contestants were stationed at mirrors framed with lightbulbs as thick as dotted Swiss. Tasty snack food on hotel ware lay amid the scattered hair products and makeup, a buffet for the harried hoofer.

At Keith Slater’s station, a full dinner filled a room service tray accessorized with linen, sterling silver, and a single rose in a vase. Too bad Keith was standing, with a weird air of satisfaction and embarrassment, as a female costumer knelt before him to repair an entire seam on the fly of his pants that had ripped out during the rehearsal.

His food was getting cold, but he must be so severely corseted for the dance that the trousers couldn’t be removed for repair. Backstage mishaps broke down the usual modesty bounds, and at least Salter’s corset ensured he’d have good posture during the waltz.

Matt was at the other end, wolfing down a ham sandwich while being admonished by Tatyana.

“Shoulders back and you will be perfect,” she was saying.

His grooming remained perfect, except for his tucked front white shirt, open at the neck for breathing and eating room, and revealing a bit of tan rub-off inside the collar.

“You were awesome in rehearsal,” Zoe Chloe cooed. (When you had a name like Zoe Chloe, you could coo.)

Tatyana rolled her hazel eyes. “When he has shoulders back properly, he will be this ‘awesome.’ Do not swell his head too much, little Miss Muffet, or his collar will not close for the actual performance. A good rehearsal can jinx the real thing.”

She huffed away to pick at another of her pupils, the Cloaked Conjuror, whose costume and full-face mask forced him to stand and watch the others eat while he killed time. He was just visiting, as Zoe and Rafi were. Because of constant threats on his life, he’d been given a separate dressing room, with his own bodyguards on duty as well as hotel security.

Matt sighed relief to see Temple and Rafi.

“You are looking at an airbrushed portrait of a person,” he said. “Was the waltz all right? I felt like a badly soldered tin soldier on parade.”

“First-rate,” Temple whispered in her own voice. “Right, Rafi?”

“Jumping around in that monkey suit must be worse than having shingles,” Rafi said, “but even Molina shut up to watch you. You must be doing something right.”

Matt momentarily shut the unexpectedly brown eyes that made his enhanced blond hair look so electric. “That’s right. This is not radio anymore, Dorothy. Everybody will be watching me. I just ask that my performance be passable, and the kids’ leukemia fund gets lots and lots of money.”

“Don’t let that dance machine hear you say ‘passable,’ ” Temple warned, eyeing Tatyana. “She is a Russian bear down to her size-five jackboots. Besides, you were great! Unbiased reaction from a Goth brat totally unimpressed by anyone and anything. All right?”

“All right,” Matt answered. “You better spread your unbiased sunshine elsewhere for a while, but not on Mr. Leer near the door.”

“He is so lame,” Zoe Chloe said. “Hitting on a teen babe like me. I mean, I go for younger guys, like those Los Hermanos hotties. Speaking of which, I gotta peel to see what the deal is with my crew in the junior division.”

“Mariah okay?” Matt asked, his eyes darting from Temple to Rafi.

“Super,” Zoe answered. “I’m leavin’ my man Raf here to watch all you big, bad boys, and will be hangin’ with my homeys down dressing-room row. Mariah is in her girlie element, believe. I will have her running off with a Hermanos brother before Mama Molina can say ‘Amber Alert.’ ”

“Poor Molina,” Matt said.

“You watch the kid,” Rafi ordered Temple. “This isn’t all fun and games.”

She left them, Rafi standing uneasily by Matt, eyeing the guys being fed and primped down the mirrored line, looking like a visitor from another planet who’d like to level this one.