The room erupts in loud cheers and claps.
Even the motorcycle club guys stop their loud chatter and turn to stare at the stage. Apparently the crowd knows who the announcer with the questionable taste in clothes is talking about.
I pivot to my brother, who is leaning forward wide-eyed. “Who is the Black Angel, Murphy?”
“The reason I picked this place.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
Soft tones fill the bar as the band finally tunes in.
Without granting me a glance, Murphy hushes me with a movement of his hand. “Be quiet and watch.”
The bartender, whom I didn’t see approach, taps the counter beside me. “The Black Angel is the best salsa dancer you’ve ever seen. Just wait. You’ll become a regular here.” He points at his chest. “I know what I’m talking about.”
While his outburst doesn’t convince me, this, together with my brother’s tense attention, makes me curious. My eyes dart to the stage, and I search for this famous Black Angel.
As far as I can see, there’s nobody there. Then a spotlight switches on, and I realize my mistake.
A woman is standing beside a column in the middle of the stage, entirely motionless. Her long black tresses reach to her hips. She is wearing a red skirt that accentuates her curves but flows freely around her ankles. A simple black top covers her upper body, creating a blinding contrast with the white color of the walls under the strong beam of light.
All eyes are on her. The room, loud with tipsy babble and whoops only a minute ago, is completely silent now. If there were even a single mosquito at the entrance, I’m pretty sure I could hear it.
Thumps of the conga start.
Bum - bum - bum.
A slow cadence at first, the beats of the song start to pick up speed.
I stare at the dancer, but she doesn’t stir.
Well, so far I’m not very impressed.
All of a sudden, there is a slight quiver on her bosom. Then her chest begins to lift up and down in perfect harmony with the song. I can’t say that she is dancing. She’s barely even moving, but somehow, it’s like the music is entering her pores and filling her ribcage. It’s an almost imperceptible movement, but it’s enough to give me a foretaste of what’s coming.
I lean forward.
The flute’s melody becomes louder, and her entire body comes to life. First she tilts her neck, raising her chin to level with the audience. Then she opens her eyes.
At this point, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her slender figure, even if I wanted to. And I definitely don’t want to.
Her fingers began to oscillate in the air, creating tantalizing patterns that paralyze me. She starts to sway her hips to the music and then twirl in heavenly synchrony with the song. Her hair is flying behind her like the mane of a savage horse. Not that she has anything in common with that animal, except the sheer pulsation of life she emanates….no…she propels around herself.
The bartender spoke the truth. Anybody who sees this woman dance once will never forget her. Not because of the symmetry of her features. No, she isn’t a conventional beauty. But there is a subtle femininity steaming off her. It washes over me and anyone watching her.
I feel the temperature in the room rising as she keeps moving.
I think I hear Murphy gasp beside me, but I’m not entirely sure, as my own breathing is slightly hitched.
The Black Angel.
Murphy grabs my arm. “Isn’t she something? What do you think, Nathan? Want to try your luck with her?”
The bartender, who is now a self-invited third party in our conversation, intervenes. “Eva is a lost cause. Take it from me.”
Eva. So that’s her name.
I watch her make one last whirl before she comes to a standstill. She takes a bow just when the music comes to a stop.
She lifts her head, and our eyes meet. She has dark irises, almost the color of charcoal. She withdraws her glance again and disappears behind the curtains.
After she’s gone, the spell on the entire audience breaks, and the previous noisiness of the bar resumes.
Murphy looks at the bartender and raises his voice. “Hey, man. What did you say before? About the Black Angel. That she doesn’t date?”
The bartender shrugs. “She doesn’t. Hasn’t for a long time now. She is a tough cookie even for a guy with money, take it from me.”
Murphy nods approvingly, as if the man’s words are in line with his hopes. “Yes, yes. But perhaps someone…with a great talent at convincing people…might just get her to change her mind, right?”
The bartender opens his arms. “No idea. Maybe, maybe not.” His eyes flick to the group of bikers. Some of them are raising their empty glasses toward him. “Excuse me,” he says and leaves us alone.
Murphy blinks back at me. “I think this girl is perfect.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, my voice shriller than usual. I can’t believe my luck. Murphy wants me to go after this gorgeous woman? “And to think that I was preparing to dazzle someone who looks like Cruella de Vil.”
But somehow it makes sense. Murphy spoke about making amends after the bet. If we pick Eva, I can certainly help her financially and compensate for any trouble I might cause. That would be considerably harder to do if Murphy chose some girl from our wealthy circles.
Murphy tilts his head. “Huh. I wouldn’t do that to you, brother. But you recall that you’re to keep your own emotions out of this, right? Only Eva is supposed to fall under your spell. Not the other way around.”
“Yes, I know. And I wasn’t thinking of that, at all. I just find this challenge much nicer if my target is someone I actually find attractive.” I wink at my brother.
Murphy smiles, but his eyes remain serious, as if to
