A/N: Thanks to everyone that's been kind enough to review! Sorry if I didn't get back to you personally… between researching for this fic and real life I'm kinda short on time. But, making up a whole background for Flack has been immensely fun!
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The piece of tortilla stopped midway in the air, Stella's mouth open, not to eat it, but in surprise.
"You… left?"
Flack finished his own bite and took another sip of wine, buying himself some time to answer the question. How to tell Stella… how to explain it so she wouldn't think less of him? The right wording was crucial if he hoped to ever have a chance at something more than friendship with this Greek goddess who was still waiting to hear what he had to say.
"Flunking French wasn't the sole reason I was loosing the scholarship. My game was down, too. I broke my wrist playing grass hockey without gearing up. The coach wasn't pleased one bit, especially since we weren't supposed to be out of the rink in the first place… but the cheerleading squad was out there and Kramsky had it real bad for their captain and…"
"And good teammates such as yourselves did what you had to do in order to help him, huh?"
Don smiled and nodded. At least she got that part right! Stella smiled as well. Playing grass hockey was relatively tame compared to some stunts she had pulled off back in her days…
"Stupid, but understandable. So what happened then?"
"I got thrown back to third keeper and barely got to play the last half of my sophomore year. Coach was a mean bastard, but that's why he got all those trophies on the wall, I guess. He had new kids coming in for trials. I was good Stell, very good. But my wrist was stiff from the fracture and these kids were three years younger than I was, and I knew I was gonna get shown the door…"
Flack took another bite and a quick side trip to the past. He was still stopping 7 or 8 shots out of 10, which was above average. But Coach Harris didn't want above average, he wanted remarkable, extraordinary. When he sent word he wanted to see him in his office, Flack knew he was going to get "the talk" and his worse fears were confirmed when Coach asked him to close the door behind him. A closed door in Coach Harris office only meant you were getting kicked out of the team. In retrospective, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Coach offered to help him transfer to a community college where he could still play and have some financial help with his tuition and boarding. All he had to do was end up the year with his grade average clean. Flack thanked him and said he would think about it.
"I should have told him I wasn't doing so great in French, but I chickened. I didn't want Coach to be disappointed in me anymore than he already was."
"Did you consider getting a tutor or something?"
Flack seemed to ponder the question as he cleared the dishes away. Grabbing the bottle and the glasses, he motioned Stella to move over to the living room and they sat down on the couch.
"Briefly. But no amount of tutoring was going to stop me from flunking: there's not much you can do when since day one the teacher's got it against you, and Madame Lessard had it real bad against jocks. It was her experience and opinion that us "sport brutes" only took her course to get the credits and had no interest whatsoever in the language. No matter what I did, she never changed her mind. I told her I was going to get a tutor and she accused me of… how did she phrased it? "Pour couchez avec une mademoiselle" or something like that. She never really believed I was in it for the love of it…"
"She actually accused you of trying to bed one of your classmates? How unethical of her!"
Flack looked at her a bit surprised. "I didn't know you speak French…"
Stella looked down, sheepishly. "I don't. But everybody has heard the "voulez-vous couchez avec moi, c'est soir" enough times to know what that means…"
Flack's mind was back in the gutter before she had finished the sentence. Granted, the pronunciation was typically American, but he could teach her how to pronounce it in such way no matter where she went, her intentions would be crystal clear. And he wouldn't mind it one bit if they did that… tutoring… in his bed. He shook his head as if to get rid of the sexual toned ideas and grabbed the remote control of the sound system. He had no idea what was on it, but any distraction was good given the present situation. He relaxed as the first notes of Latin jazz filled the room.
Stella seemed to relax as well. "Sounds good. Jazz?"
"Latin jazz. Tito Puente. Perhaps the best percussionist there's ever been."
They sat in silence listening to the music and sipping their wine. Stella had forgotten all about her resolution of turning down the second glass, and was now agreeing to a third serving.
"The music…" she began, "You got that from living in Spain?"
"Not all. The block where I grew up… we were basically from all parts of the world. My next door neighbors were Cuban… boy, could they dance up a storm! The first girl I dated was Colombian… again, the music, the beat… Back then I had no idea what the song said, but it was pretty catchy and a good alternative to glam and punk rock, which were my other influences, given my Irish relatives. Bono and Billy Idol were gods back then…well, Bono still is, in a way. But you knew we had it bad for salsa when half the block got together to go watch Willie Colon on Times Square…"
Stella was torn between wanting to know more about this music loving Flack and wanting to know more about the mysterious Eugenia Montalvo. She didn't want to come across as nosy or have Don clam up and never bring this subject up ever again. She opted to follow his lead and keep on the topic of music… he'll go back to his mysterious lady love when he was ready for it.
"Wasn't that the big Latino concert that had half Manhattan upside down?" she asked
"And the other half dancing like madmen… yeah... that was it"
"So… you salsa?"
Flack snorted. "I wish! I don't think I'd ever claim that what I do is salsa. I'm too tall to do it properly. I know the basic steps, but when it comes to turns, that's the end of the line for me. And forget about the acrobatics you see on those dance contests… that's not the salsa I know!"
"Shoot. I was already considering signing you up for the "Dancing with the Stars" charity event next month…"
Flack grabbed a small cushion form the sofa and threw it at her. "Mock me again, Bonasera, and you can kiss goodbye our dancing date…"
There was a 30 second silence. "Damn, did I just blurt that out?" "God, did he actually mean that?"
In lieu of a bell, they were saved by the random shift clicking in. A different kind of beat, more Latino, filled the room and covered up the silence. "Speaking of the devil…" Flack thought.
"That, Bonasera, is Willie Colon himself, playing one of his best songs…"
Stella listened to the music, feeling the beat get underneath her skin, making her feel like moving and dancing "No wonder people go crazy over this" she thought. She tried making out the lyrics: Gitana, gitana, gitana, gitana, tu pelo, tu pelo, tu cara, tu cara.
"What is he saying?" she asked, giving up.
"Gypsy, gypsy, your hair, your hair, your face, your face. Basically, he's in love with a gypsy girl with curly hair who's not in love with him…"
Flack was having a hard time keeping still. Willie Colon had that effect on him. And he knew exactly just how ridiculous he looked tapping his feet to the music whilst sitting down… one of the very few times he was fully aware of his height and the length of his arms and legs and how… "gawky" it made him look. When it got too unbearable, he stood up and held his hand to Stella.
"Come on, girl. If I'm ever going to show your face around my old hunting grounds I have to make sure you know what to do…"
"Why, thank you…"
"For asking you out?"
"For implying I was a total klutz. Need I remind you, Detective Flack that one of my foster mothers had a ballet academy and I learned a trick or two?"
"Well, excuse me; I didn't realize I was talking with Celia Cruz…"
"Celia who?"
"Celia Cruz, queen of salsa. You gotta lot to learn if you're ever going to have game, Bonasera…"
They had bantered as Flack moved the couch out of the way to make room for their dancing. Now he was holding her right hand on his left, and his right hand was on her waist. Not knowing what to do with her own left hand, she placed it on his shoulder, as it seemed the most logical place to do so.
"This is your basic two-step Stella. Slow-slow, fast-fast. Back, then forward, four sets and then your basic twirl in between my arms. Got that?"
"Think so: slow-slow, fast-fast, back, forward, twirl. Go ahead… I'll follow your lead…"
It took them a couple of tries to get it right. Don wasn't used to leading someone who didn't know how to salsa, and Stella wasn't used to be lead in a rhythm she was unfamiliar with. They danced mostly in silence, save the parts that he hummed and translated: "Sé que no nunca fuiste mía, ni lo has sido, ni lo eres… I know you were never mine, nor have you been, nor will you ever be…"
They were finally getting the hang out of dancing together. Stella understood why being tall would present a problem whilst dancing with a shorter partner, as one of the steps had him twirling around her, under her arms. Stella figured she was some 6 or 7 inches shorter than Flack, but since she was wearing heels and he was barefoot at the time, the difference was nearly cut in half.
"Y tengo celos del viento por que acaricia tu piel, de la luna a que miras, del sol porque te calienta… And I'm jealous of the wind that caresses your skin, of the moon when you look at it, of the sun cause it warms you up…"
Stella had no idea salsa lyrics could be so passionate. She was under the impression that they were joyful songs, party songs… but not melancholic love songs such as the one they were dancing to right now.
"Sin mirarte yo te miro, sin sentirte yo te siento; sin hablarte yo te hablo; sin quererte yo te quiero… I look at you without looking at you, I feel you without feeling you, I talk to you without speaking to you, I love you…"
Don got stuck on the last line. He didn't know how to translate it properly, but he realized that after the L-word had slipped out. Fortunately for him, Stella wasn't looking at his face right then or else he'd be in deep trouble. He didn't understand what was going on with him. He was man enough to admit he'd had a crush on Stella Bonasera almost since the day he'd met her. Cop psychology told him that it was mainly because she reminded him so much of Eugenia. Time had told him that perhaps it had been so in the beginning, but that now it was all Stella driving him crazy. Common sense told him that she'll probably turn him down as gently as possible, using the "I love you as a brother" speech. His body, however, was telling him that this felt too damn right to be a mistake or a simple crush.
Stella did notice the change in his demeanor, but kept on dancing as if nothing had changed. Her heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the word "love" but she tried to rationalize it. It had been 18 months since her ordeal with Frankie. Thus it had been 18 months since she had had any sort of relationship with a man, outside her male friends form the lab, and as great as it felt hugging Mac or Adam of Sheldon, the feeling was somewhat lacking. She had tried going to a bar by herself once or twice, but had left as soon as someone seemed to notice her. She just couldn't do it… memories of Frankie's attack were still too fresh and she didn't know if she'd be able to trust another man again. And yet… she felt so safe in Don's arms. He was a man who'd never video tape them without her knowledge, or go stalker on her.
The song ended just then.
"Not so shabby, Bonasera. There might be hope for you…"
"Oh, really? Just watch it, Flack; I'll be dancing in circles around you before you know it…"
The next song began playing and it had a faster beat than the previous one. Flack smiled as he recognized the first notes of "Suavemente", a salsa-merengue mix by New Yorker Elvis Crespo. He pulled Stella closer to him, and muttered: "I think that's the idea, Stella…"
If she had any doubt as to what type of dancer Flack was, by mid song they were all cleared. What he lacked in technique he made up with enthusiasm, and he seemed to enjoy this type of dancing… a lot. Stella was reminded of "Dirty Dancing", as he was virtually leading her by the hips… with his hips. His hands seemingly everywhere, a barely-there touch that left her so very aware of his presence. All in all, a very erotic experience, one that was driving her cautiousness to slow extinction. And the lyrics were doing nothing for her sanity, either. Her almost non-existent knowledge of Spanish was enough to let her know that the singer was virtually begging his girl to kiss him… real slow. Not that she'd mind obliging every time Flack mumbled "Suavemente… besame" in time to the lyrics.
Flack knew he was pushing the envelope dancing with Stella like this. But he couldn't help it. His body was in auto-pilot, easily stepping into a dance routine that was meant to leave both dancers hot for more… or for each other. He was actually having a good time, and by the way Stella was laughing and getting into it, so was she. So she thought she could dance, huh? He snaked his arm behind her and dipped her backwards in a circular motion, bringing her up barely an inch from his face. His hands stole to her hips and her back, sliding slowly, covering every inch of her body possible, never allowing their bodies to be separated more than a couple of inches. He remembered Raymundo, his Cuban neighbor, telling him that if he wanted to know beforehand just how good making love to a woman was going to be, that he should first dance with her like this. Years later, Flack had to concede that Ray knew what he was talking about. And the way Stella was dancing with him…
It was getting to them both, and they both silently swore no more salsa for them, at least not that night. The song ended and they both remained standing close together, panting, trying to catch their breaths, trying to find a way to put an end to this without really wanting to do so. The whir of the CD shifting was very audible, and to Stella's surprise, the next song that began was completely different. It was a slow, romantic tune, nothing like they had previously heard or danced, and she found herself wrapped in Don's arms, swaying softly to it.
Whatever intentions Flack had of ending their dancing were thrown out the window as soon as he heard the song. "You trying to tell me something, Geña?" he thought to himself. He hadn't danced to this particular song in over 10 years, the last time he'd done so had been with Eugenia Montalvo… it seemed like a lifetime had gone by since then. Holding Stella closer to his body, he allowed the memories and the feelings from the past to meld into his present.
"It's nice" Stella murmured, the silence making her nervous.
"It's a bolero. Basically a love song. Most of them were originally poems which were later played to music. This is one of my favorites, actually…"
"What does it say?" Stella asked… although she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer… not if she wanted to go home that night as if it had been like any other night.
"Usted es la culpable de todas mis angustias y todos mis quebrantos. Usted llenó mi vida de dulces inquietudes y amargos desengaños… You're responsible for all my anguish and all my pain. You've filled my life with sweet uneasiness and bitter disenchantment…"
They kept on swaying, slower each passing moment, until they were barely moving. Stella was resting her head against his shoulder, completely surrounded by his arms and wondered if this is how love was meant to feel. Not lust or passion. Real love.
"No juegue con mis penas, ni con mis sentimientos que es lo único que tengo. Usted es mi esperanza, mi única esperanza, comprenda de una vez. Usted me desespera, me mata, me enloquece, y hasta la vida diera por vencer el miedo de besarla a Usted… Don't play with my sorrow or my feelings, cause that's all I've got. You're my hope, my only hope, please understand. You render me hopeless, you're killing me, you drive me crazy… and I'm willing to give up life itself if I could loose this fear of kissing you…"
The music stopped and so did they. Flack lifted his hand to her face, and gently ran his thumb over her lips…
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A/N: Please bear in mind that if you kill me now, or that if you murder the muse you'll NEVER know what happens next…
A/N2: Maybe you are curious as to what, exactly, were they listening/dancing to in this chapter. Maybe actually hearing it would put you more "in the mood". Or maybe you're really enjoying this "educational fic". Whatever the reason, may I recommend checking out these vids over at YouTube? I'm not getting a cent out of making these recommendations, just trying to get you all in the mood for some Fiesta lovin'…
Tito Puente - – Wilie Colon - – Elvis Crespo - "Usted" -