Hannah looked at him, puzzled.
“I get out at the front; the main entrance is around the corner. But you get out here.” He could tell by the look of shock on her face that she had no idea what was happening. “I know I told you that jazz is still not a popular thing in my country. I just didn’t tell you why. You see, women, well, they do not have the same rights here that they have over in the States. It is seen as, well, how can I put it, inappropriate for a woman to be performing on stage at a club.”
He watched as Hannah took in what he was saying. “So,” she began, “you’re telling me that I’m good enough to sing for you and your royal friends, just not good enough to use the front door?”
Sadiq looked down, ashamed. He knew he’d offended her. Maybe he should have told her this before he had brought her here. But then, she might not have come.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” he said. “It’s just that, I figured if you knew you would have to do some sneaking around, that you wouldn’t want to come here and sing. I was afraid the people of my country would never get the opportunity to hear your voice.”
Darn him, she thought. He’s trying to flatter me, and it’s working.
Hannah sighed and looked at the scratched metal door they had entered before. She finally understood why she was being paid so well; she was black market goods. But, hell, it wasn’t so bad. Some part of her quite liked the whole sneaking around thing. It made her feel like a spy. A good spy, who happened to work for a very rich, very good-looking sheikh. She could live with that.
“Okay,” she said, “I get it, and I don’t blame you. I understand our cultures are worlds apart, and I guess I should be flattered that you want me here to sing. So, I can live with the whole back door thing.”
Sadiq’s face light up. “Thank you,” he said, reaching out to hug her. “Thank you!” He squeezed her hard and then planted kisses on each of her cheeks. “Okay, so you go in here and I go in the front, but I’ll be watching you the whole time. When the show is over, Raffi will escort you out to the limo. Got it?”
Hannah nodded. “Got it.”
He hugged her again and then nodded for Naasir to go around and open the door.
A moment later, Hannah, dressed in a cobalt blue evening gown, stepped out of the limo and into the Shimab backstreet. Minutes later, she was inside the club and waiting behind the curtain for her cue.
The band started up and Hannah stepped out onto the stage and grabbed the 1940s-style microphone. The houselights were dimmed and with the spotlight on her, she could only make out shadowy figures in the crowd. Just the way she liked it. She never liked being able to see who was watching her. It made her nervous. Besides, there was only one person she wanted to see tonight. And she could tell, even in the shadows, that the tall, dark figure with the wavy hair in the back was Sadiq. Just knowing he was there put her at ease.
After a few measures of music, she opened her mouth and began to sing. She closed her eyes and fell into her groove, feeling the band, tasting the words as they flowed out of her, breathing in the soul of the jazz. She was quietly amazed that here, in this distant land, where she spoke not one word of the language, the music was the same.
Jazz was like that. It was a universal language. She could go anywhere and people would understand her, even if they didn’t understand the words. They could feel the message in the way she sang the lyrics, in the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and pushed words out. That was what music was all about. That was what she loved. And she got lost in it.
So lost, in fact, that she never saw Sadiq leave. When her performance was through, the house lights went up and Hannah got her first real look at the guests. She scanned the audience, smiling and bowing slightly to the cheering fans. The stage lights made her eyes sparkle as she looked across the faces and toward to the back to where Sadiq had been. She didn’t see him. Her eyes moved across the room more quickly; she didn’t see him anywhere.
Where was he? She glanced over to the stage door; nothing. A wave of panic rose up in her. All the fearful thoughts she had had the night she first met him came back to her. What if really he was a crazed stalker?
Hannah felt the fear creeping up inside her. She knew she was thinking crazy, but couldn’t help herself. Here she was, in a city she had never been in, at a club she didn’t even know the name of, in front of a room full of men all speaking a language she didn’t understand. This was not good. She was on the verge of having a full-blown panic attack when she heard her name being called.
“Miss Green! Miss Green!”
Hannah turned her head to the stage door and saw Naasir’s smiling face standing at the open door.
She let out a huge breath and gave a final wave to the crowd before practically running off the stage and into the waiting limousine. She hopped in and Naasir closed the door behind her. It wasn’t until he started the car that Hannah realized she was alone in the back seat.
“That was wonderful, Miss Green! A wonderful performance!” Naasir smiled at her through the rear view mirror as he pulled out into the busy city traffic.
Hannah looked puzzled and was still breathing hard from her panic on stage. “Thank you, Naasir. But where is Sadiq? I thought he would be at the show? I mean, he was at the show, and then he wasn’t.”
Naasir nodded to her. “Yes, ma’am. He was. But he got called away on urgent business. He asked me to extend his apologies to you.”
“Oh,” Hannah said, cursing herself for overreacting. “Oh, okay, thank you.”
She sat back against the leather seat as Naasir drove back to the palace, chuckling at how worked up she’d just gotten. A stalker, a murderer, a human trafficker. She really needed to stop watching so much television.
Hannah closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She felt good now that she was singing again. It had only been a week, but a week was a long time to go for her. Singing was her therapy. It was her medicine. It was the cure to everything that ailed her. She was glad she’d gotten to sing tonight and was looking forward to the next few weeks of performing. Even if she had to use the back door.
ELEVEN
Over the next few weeks, Sadiq and Hannah visited several other clubs around the capital of El-Shakanish, the city of Shimab and the outlying regions. Each time she performed, Hannah would enter through a back door and Sadiq would enter through the front. There were a few occasions when he stayed for the whole show, but most of the time he would be called away halfway through, for some business emergency or another. Finally, after four weeks of touring around the country, Hannah decided to confront Sadiq about his mysterious disappearances.
She broached the subject one evening, as they were in the back of the limousine, on the way to another one of her performances. “Sadiq,” she said, glancing at him, stunned again at how amazing he looked in his tuxedo.
“Yes, Hannah,” he said.