* * *
Nadia leant her head against the window of the cab and watched the Las Vegas scenery flicker by—wide plots of vacant land populated by dry brown scrub and tumbleweed, huge outlet malls, wedding chapels, drug stores and casinos so big that the time away had made far smaller in her mind.
The years she’d looked out over Vegas’ shimmery horizon every day felt like a lifetime ago. Her year in Melbourne was still far too significant. The memories too raw. The people left behind like anchors around her neck.
But seeing old friends, visiting old haunts, making new memories would take care of that. As would setting up her silks, getting back into the swing of the hoop and enduring the punishment of the rehearsal schedule. She would immerse herself so deeply in the dance that by the time she came blinking back out into the real world the permanent ache in the centre of her chest would have faded. Some of it at least. Oh, she hoped so.
And then Norah Jones came on the cab’s radio.
Her mind filled with the memories of other car rides. Of Melbourne rain sliding down other windows, and down her back. Of dancing with a deep voice in her ear, a hot chest against her own as she swayed with no purpose other than to be near. Of sharp suits and shiny shoes. Of bare feet curled over hers in bed, a strong arm wrapped possessively over her naked waist—
“We’re here, missy.”
The taxi driver’s twang snapped Nadia out of her reverie. She stared blankly at the guy, who grinned as he leant his arm on the back rest of his seat, no doubt mistaking her silence for awe.
“What’s the plan?” he asked. “Gonna win big? Get yourself hitched?”
“I’m a dancer,” she said, the words settling her some. “In the new Sky High show.”
His eyebrows disappeared beneath a thatch of dyed black hair; the guy probably moonlighted as an Elvis impersonator. “Never seen a show, but my girlfriend can’t get enough of them. Know what? I’ll be sure to see yours, since I can say I met you and all.”
Nadia paid out the fare. “Do. It’ll blow your mind.”
The driver shrugged, as if being local to this part of the world it’d take a hell of a lot more than a fancy dance show to surprise him.
Check-in papers in one hand, handle of her small wheelie case packed with her meagre worldly possessions in the other, Nadia looked up at the multicoloured façade of the structure that would be her home until she found herself a place. She would be sharing accommodation with a bunch of the other dancers, no doubt. Rehearsing all day. Partying all night. And when the show began it would be two shows a day, six days a week, for months on end. Her ankles killing her, her knees protesting, her hands worn till they resembled those of a woodchopper...
Her dream come true.
The double doors slid open and she was instantly hit with the sound of slot machines a level above. The carpet was a Harlequin pattern in a riot of eye-watering colour, the walls just as chaotic.
She joined the line at Reception behind a group on a girls’ weekend, and another at a buck’s party. She could all but see tomorrow’s hangovers in their eager faces.
Better get used to it. They were the minutiae of her new life. Her people. Day trippers and weekenders. Honeymooners and gamblers. And a dance company of thick-skinned kids with hollow legs and a taste for danger. Transient and impulsive. Drawn to the bright lights and constant noise. Never wondering if they were really living the dream or simply blinded by fluorescent lights, endless buffets and not a second’s down time to just think.
No shiny-faced Tiny Tots who thought her an honest to goodness fairy princess here.
No senior pole dancers who found more simple joy hooking a leg around a chair than most of her peers did successfully completing a triple-twist death drop.
No boss who remembered her birthday and gave her the day off, and gift certificates to get massages if she looked worn out.
No local markets where the stall owners knew her by name.
No Sam and Ben. Or the sweet crew of fun, crazy friends who actually cared about one another and would have laughed themselves silly at the very thought of competing against one another for anything.
Nadia breathed deep, held the suitcase handle tighter again, and did her all to stop the next name from slipping into her mind. But there was no stopping it. No stopping him. There never had been. From the moment he’d waltzed into her studio, so magnificent and foreboding, it was as if her soul had said, So there you are.
But he wasn’t there now. Not any more.
As it always did at such moments, her mother’s voice seeped in knocking her to get up, move on, stay tough. And most of all not make the same mistake she had, in letting her future go up in smoke for some guy. Well, it had sunk in all right, because here she was, with the job of a lifetime in the palm of her hot little hand, while the guy she loved was thirteen thousand kilometres away.