By Icewyche
Disclaimer: I don't own Ronin Warriors, yadda yadda, blah blah blah.
Part Two: AdagioSage made one last check of his desk to be sure he had finished the day's paperwork. Everything was in order, and he quickly shrugged on his coat and headed for the door. He had wound up working later than usual tonight; they still had to work out the details for the costume exhibit that had become Matsuka's pet project ever since the ballet gala six weeks ago. But it was now six o'clock, and Sage was due at the ballet studio in an hour.
Striding quickly down the hall, he almost collided with Matsuka as she was leaving. "I'm sorry, Matsuka," he apologized. "I didn't mean to run you over there."
Matsuka smiled at him. "No harm done. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"I'm meeting a friend in an hour," Sage explained, glancing at his watch. "Oh, by the way, the proposal for the costume exhibit is on your e-mail. It's still a draft, but I can polish it up once you've had a chance to look it over and see if you want any changes."
"Good work." Matsuka eyed her executive assistant speculatively. "This friend you're meeting --- it wouldn't be the same friend you hurry out of here for every Wednesday night, would it?" she added with a sly smile.
Sage laughed. "Busted," he admitted ruefully. "Yeah, it's the same one."
"And would this 'friend' be male or female?" Matsuka pressed.
"Oh, no, you don't," Sage retorted lightly. "I have to have some secrets. Oyasumi nasai, Matsuka-san."
"Good night, Sage." She watched him head down the hall, her eyes narrowed slightly in speculation. There was a new lightness to Sage's step, and he seemed happier than usual these days --- especially on Wednesdays, Matsuka thought. He had taken a sudden new interest in the ballet, although he claimed it was research for the new exhibit. Add to that the fact that he was even more immaculately put together than usual lately … Matsuka's sly smile returned.
"Female," she said, nodding to herself. "Definitely female."
~~~~
"Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. One, two, don't-look-down. Okay, stop," Carey instructed. She brushed a strand of her dark hair away from her face. "Not bad, but you have got to get over this habit of staring at your feet every time I throw a new step at you."
"A new step?" Sage said wryly. "Carey, this is a whole new dance, unless they've started tangoing in Little Havana."
Carey shrugged. "I said I would teach you to dance. I didn't say anything about restricting us to salsa dancing. Besides, where's your sense of adventure?"
"I think it ran out when I agreed to let you teach me."
"Well, we'll just have to see if we can find a reserve source. Again --- slow, slow…"
They practiced for a bit longer, then Carey stopped him again. "What now?" Sage asked dryly.
Carey regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "You keep tensing up. You have to relax and get close to me for the tango to really work, otherwise the whole dance just falls apart."
Sage felt his face redden, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. "No, I'm okay. This is just new, that's all."
"That would be a lot more believable if you weren't turning such an interesting shade of red," Carey replied. "Look, you can't be stiff and formal when you dance. You have to let go, at least a little." A thought struck her, and she stared at Sage with a dawning understanding. "But you're not used to that, are you?"
"What makes you say that?" Sage retorted.
"Because I've known you for six weeks now and you are without a doubt one of the most proper and dignified people I've ever come across. The way you walk, the way you dress, even the way you talk are all very formal and refined. You don't even own a pair of jeans, do you?"
"Actually, I have three," Sage told her, feeling a bit stung. "I just can't wear them to work, and since that's where I am before I come here…."
"Hey, I'm not criticizing you," Carey said gently. "But dance is the second-best form of nonverbal communication there is …and you're saying 'stay away' when you should be saying 'come here'."
"Second-best? What's the first?" Sage asked before he thought about it. Carey slanted a dark eyebrow at him, and Sage blushed. "Oh."
"You have to relax and just go with the dance," Carey went on. "Don't worry about being dignified now. I promise it won't kill you," she teased.
Sage felt his annoyance deflate in the face of those laughing golden eyes. "Actually, it's not just that," he admitted. "I just have a problem with…oh, this is going to sound so incredibly conceited."
"Tell me anyway."
"It's just…" He took a deep breath. "It's just that women have always followed me around and flirted with me, and it bothers me, so I try to keep my distance," Sage finished in an embarrassed rush.
Carey's eyes widened. "You're not gay, are you?" she blurted in dismay.
"Carey!" Sage yelled, his face heating even more.
"Sorry," she murmured sheepishly. "But when you said that you didn't like women…"
"What I said was that I didn't like women hitting on me all the time," Sage explained patiently. "I just have a problem with people getting too close, especially people I don't know."
"You like your personal space," Carey agreed. "That explains the 'look but don't touch' air about you."
"I do not have that."
"Yes, you do. You're just used to it by now." She thought for a moment. "So why didn't you say anything the night of the gala? I know I was intruding…why didn't you tell me to get lost?"
"Well, first, it would have been rude," Sage said with a smile. "And second, I didn't want to. It sounds crazy, but I felt…comfortable around you, and that doesn't happen very often, so I decided to take advantage of it. And that's all I'm going to say about it so you don't get a swelled head," he finished teasingly. Carey made a face at him.
"Just for that, we are going to do this sequence again until you get it right," she warned him, her eyes sparkling. "And that means no pulling away, no hesitating, and no looking down. Comprende? Or I guess I should say, wakaru?"
"You know, if I had any sense I'd walk out of here right now while I still have some dignity left," Sage grumbled. "You're as bad as my grandfather."
"Dance first, complain later," Carey reminded him.
Sage sighed and took up his position again. "Yes, sensei."
~~~~
"Have you noticed that neither one of us seems to date all that much?" Rowen Hashiba mused, toying idly with his napkin. He and Sage were meeting for lunch at a downtown deli. "We're single, we're gainfully employed, we're not bad-looking, and we know how to treat a lady," he went on. "So why can't either of us seem to find the right girl?"
"Well, in your case, they don't usually hang out in physics labs," Sage replied. "Other than that, it might have something to do with our sordid teenage escapades. Say you find Ms. Right and she asks you what you were like in high school. What are you going to say --- that you enjoyed chess, basketball, and saving the world from the forces of an unspeakable evil?"
"Well, it's not like we were juvenile delinquents or anything," Rowen pointed out with dignity. "Kicking demonic butt does not exactly rank with setting mailboxes on fire."
"No, but most women don't believe in mystical armors, immortal warriors, or thousand-year-old demons trying to enslave the world. Tell your dream girl about that and she'll probably think you watch too much anime. Either that or she'll run away really, really fast."
Rowen chuckled. "We'd make a hell of an anime series, wouldn't we --- 'The Adventures of the Ronin Warriors'."
"Misadventures, more like," Sage said wryly. "No, thanks. Real life is weird enough for me."
"Amen to that," Rowen agreed, and they solemnly clinked glasses.
They talked throughout lunch, reminiscing about old times and catching up on new gossip. "You know," Rowen said when they had finished demolishing their sandwiches, "you usually go to those cultural-type events, not to mention the receptions the gallery throws. Isn't there anyone there who's caught your eye?"
"Are we back on this subject?" Sage complained. "Anyway, why are you so concerned about my love life?"
"Or the lack thereof," Rowen replied pointedly. "You can't help but appreciate the irony, Sage --- women have thrown themselves at you since high school, but you still spend your nights alone. You're not joining a monastery, are you?"
"Look who's talking. You're so involved in your research, when was the last time you even looked at a woman? You do still remember what they look like, don't you?"
"Ouch," Rowen winced.
"Anyway," Sage continued, "I'm not in any hurry to get tied down. When the right girl comes along, I'll know."
"Sage!"
Sage and Rowen both looked up as Carey threaded her way through the restaurant to their table. "Carey!" Sage exclaimed delightedly. "Carey Navarro, Rowen Hashiba. Rowen and I go way back," he explained as he made the introductions.
"Nice to meet you," Rowen said, rising to his feet to shake her hand.
"Likewise," Carey replied, smiling.
"Would you join us?" Sage asked.
"I can't stay long," Carey said regretfully, taking a seat beside Sage. "Actually, I was on the way out when I saw you and just thought I'd stop by to say hi. I have to get back to the studio --- I have a rehearsal for Serenade at 2:30."
"You're an actress?" Rowen asked.
"Dancer. Serenade is a ballet by Balanchine, which basically means it's plotless and rather weird, but in ballet anything by Balanchine is considered a classic no matter how goofy it is," Carey explained wryly.
"Carey's a ballerina with National Ballet Theatre," Sage told Rowen.
"Principal dancer," Carey corrected. "Ballerina's the next step up, and I haven't gotten there yet."
"You will," Sage assured her.
"So how did you two meet?" Rowen asked.
"The gallery sponsored NBT's anniversary gala three months ago," Sage said. "Carey danced Don Quixote that night, and we met at the VIP reception afterward. If you ever have the chance to see her dance, Rowen, you really should go for it."
Carey rolled her eyes at him. "His boss's husband couldn't make it that night, so Sage got roped into escort duty," she explained. "I have to admit, though, it was nice to find someone there who actually went to watch the ballet." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, man, I have to get moving. I still have to get changed and warmed up. Rowen, it was nice meeting you. Maybe we can get together sometime and you can tell me all about Sage's dark and sordid past," she added mischievously.
Rowen snorted. "I hope you have a couple of days free."
"Oh, yeah, that's very funny," Sage complained. "Remind me again why I hang out with you?"
"Okay, guys, play nice." Carey rose and laid a hand on Sage's shoulder. "We still on for tomorrow?"
Sage nodded. "Seven P.M., Studio Four. Wouldn't miss it." Carey gave him a dazzling smile and left, heads turning as she made her way out the door with a fluid grace.
"Well…pretty and smart," Rowen mused after Carey had gone. He sipped his drink and watched Sage with the beginnings of mischief sparkling in his midnight-blue eyes. "So…what happens tomorrow at seven in Studio Four?" he asked casually.
Sage blushed slightly. "Dance lessons."
Rowen's eyebrows vanished into his bright blue bangs. "Dance lessons," he repeated mildly.
"She asked me to dance at the gala, and when she found out I couldn't she volunteered to teach me. We started out with salsa and moved on to the tango. I don't know, I guess she enjoys a challenge."
Rowen propped his chin on his fists, a slow, devilish grin beginning to spread across his face. "Let me make sure I've got this right. A ballerina you had just met offered to teach you how to salsa dance."
"Principal dancer," Sage corrected.
"And you said yes."
"Well, yeah, obviously. Is there a point here?"
Rowen's grin widened and he began to laugh. "Oh, man," he chortled. "I never thought I would see the day. This is just too great. How the mighty have fallen."
"Rowen, would you mind making sense for once?"
"You don't get it, do you? Mr. I-Won't-Dance-Don't-Ask-Me suddenly decides to learn the box step just because some pretty Latina Giselle-in-waiting asks him to? Come on, my friend, wake up those old Ronin Warrior smarts." Rowen's eyes danced with amusement as Sage stared at him. "You're falling for her," Rowen proclaimed.
Sage shook his head, his cheekbones reddening. "Rowen, that's dumb. She's just a friend, that's all. Nothing more than that," he insisted.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Sage, you and I have been friends since we were kids, but I know that if I asked you to take dance lessons, you'd be on the floor laughing yourself sick. Face it, man," Rowen continued gently. "You've got it, and you've got it bad."
"Come on, Rowen," Sage protested. "You know, I think you really need to get out of that lab more --- you're starting to make up girlfriends for me. You need a hobby, old buddy."
Rowen chuckled. "Sage, you can tell yourself whatever you want. All I know is that when she walked over here to talk to you, you lit up so much I almost needed sunglasses to ward off the glare." He rose to his feet and reached over to clap Sage on the shoulder. "Enjoy your dance lessons, buddy," he grinned, then sauntered out of the restaurant, whistling softly to himself.
~~~~
It was going to be one of those days, Sage decided unhappily a week later. The day had begun rainy and blustery. His alarm clock had not gone off and he had just barely made it to work on time. The proofs for the new catalog had come back so blurry he couldn't tell if he was looking at Degas or Dali. Negotiations were stalling on a proposed exhibit of antique Japanese kimonos --- the would-be donor was dithering about having his precious treasures leave his sight, even if it was into the hands of trained preservationists, Sage mused in annoyance. Matsuka had come down with food poisoning from lunch and had had to leave early, forcing Sage to reschedule several of her meetings with people who did not like rescheduling. And on top of everything else, his grandfather had called him demanding to know when Sage was going to give up his job at the gallery and accept his "responsibility and duty" to help run the family dojo. Sage had patiently explained that, no, he had not forgotten his duty as a member of the legendary Date family but he was not quite ready to devote himself to the dojo full-time. Then his grandfather had suggested that perhaps it was time Sage found a wife --- arranged marriages were still quite common and often worked out satisfactorily. Sage needed a good Japanese wife, and he himself knew of a few girls who were suitable, the old man said sternly. Sage had to fight to keep from screaming into the phone at him. He managed to keep his voice calm as he told his grandfather that he was not ready to settle down yet, but when he was he would be certain to ask the older man's advice. It took all of his self-control to set the receiver gently back in its cradle rather than slamming it down so hard that it broke. By the time five-thirty rolled around, a headache pounded at Sage's temples and he wanted nothing more than to lock himself in a dark, quiet room for a few hours. Then he remembered --- it was Wednesday. Carey would be waiting for him at the dance studio.
Sage groaned to himself. The last thing he felt like doing right now was dancing. He thought about calling her and asking for a raincheck, but then decided to at least make an effort to get through the lesson. After all, he reasoned, it was only one night a week and she was making a special effort for him. The least he could do was show up.
Even the dance school seemed gloomy that evening. The students' normally bubbly chatter seemed muted and he caught sullen expressions on more than one young face. At least it's not just me, Sage mused.
Carey was alone in Studio Four, this time dressed in a black leotard, sheer tights, and a long red wrap skirt. Spanish guitar music sounded from the CD player and Carey eyed her reflection critically as she danced to the slow, romantic music. From the doorway, Sage admired the purposeful grace of her movements, the elegant sweep of her arms, the way her sable-brown hair hung loose to her shoulders and swung with each motion of her head. She walks in beauty, he thought, and was immediately surprised at himself. Where did that come from?
Carey spotted him in the mirror and stopped her dance, turning to face him with a warm, welcoming smile. "Hey, you made it," she greeted him cheerfully.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" Sage asked.
"Well, I wouldn't blame you if you hadn't, what with the weather being so nasty," Carey replied as she turned off the CD player. She looked closely at him, her eyebrows knitting in a slight frown. "Are you okay? You look kind of frazzled there."
Sage shrugged with a lightness he did not feel. "Just one of those days," he explained as he draped his coat over the barre. "So --- what unspeakable tortures do you have planned for us tonight?" he asked with a forced cheerfulness.
Carey continued to study him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Carey, I'm fine. Really."
"You're not 'fine'," Carey told him quietly. "Sage, I can tell just by looking at you that you've got a lot on your mind, and I'd bet that none of it is good. You're too distracted to dance right now." She sat down on the bench along one mirrored wall, patting the seat beside her in invitation. "Sage, talk to me."
Sage stared at her for a moment, then before he realized what was happening he found himself sitting beside her as a heavy sigh escaped him. "It's just been a bad day all around," he confessed. "The weather's lousy, work was crazier than usual, my boss has food poisoning --- don't ever order from that little sushi place near the park --- and to top it all off I got a call from my grandfather today." He paused. "I shouldn't burden you with my problems," he said apologetically."
Carey shrugged and nudged him gently. "I'm a ballet dancer. I have very strong masochistic tendencies. Go on and burden me."
"My family owns a martial-arts dojo outside of Sendai. We specialize in kendo --- traditional Japanese swordfighting. It's been in our family for generations, and we're known for turning out champions; I'm one of them. My grandfather as well as both of my parents teach there. In fact, Grandfather taught me and my older sister."
"This grandfather of yours --- the family patriarch, I assume? Don't look so surprised. The traditional Japanese family is not all that different from the traditional Hispanic family."
Sage shot her a grateful smile. "No, I guess not. Grandfather is the head of the household, and his word is law --- and God help you if you cross him."
"Says the voice of experience."
"And how." Sage sighed deeply. "Grandfather is a very strict, very harsh, very traditional man. He was educated according to the code of Bushido --- the warrior's code of honor --- and because I'm the only son he decided it was his duty to bring me up the same way. Trouble is, it didn't always stick. Grandfather blames my American blood, and it doesn't help matters that my dad is from L.A. --- not exactly a hotbed of social conformity." He leaned his head back against the wall and stared into space. "Funny thing is, my dad has settled into the family with no problem. Took to the whole traditional Japanese way of life thing like a duck to water. I'm the rebellious one, and I was raised on 'duty' and 'honor' and all that."
"Well, there's your problem," Carey said wisely. "You shove 'duty' and 'honor' down a kid's throat for too long and he or she eventually chokes. So what did your granddad have to say that got you so upset?"
Sage slanted an amused glance at her. "Do you know that in all my twenty-three years, I've never dared to address him as 'Granddad'?"
"Maybe you should start."
"No, thank you. I'm not too partial to having my head bitten off. Anyway, he called me today at work. Wanted to know when I was going to quit the gallery to come back home and help run the dojo…to fulfill my duty as his grandson and de facto heir. I told him that I knew what my duty was and I'd be happy to fulfill it, but not right now. Then he told me I needed to get married and threatened to arrange it for me. Carey, it took every shred of self-control I've ever had not to hang up on him so hard his ears would ring for a week. Instead I told him I wasn't ready and to mind his own business --- but very respectfully, of course," Sage finished with a grimace.
"He's not senile or anything, is he?"
"Don't I wish. No, he's in his eighties, but most people think he's twenty years younger. He'll probably live to be two hundred."
Carey pondered all this for a moment. "No wonder you're in such a lousy mood," she said finally. "If it were me I'd be screaming and throwing things."
Sage smiled sheepishly at her. "I thought about it," he admitted.
"Okay, so let's break it down. Your family is one of the top names in kendo. They run a martial-arts studio --- sorry, dojo --- and have for generations, and they expect you to take the same route. And they don't seem to know how to take 'no' for an answer. Sage, for crying out loud, if you don't want to do that, why don't you tell them so?"
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Sage conceded. "I enjoy kendo, I always have. And I've always known and accepted that one day I would run the dojo --- I just wanted to see what else I could do in life. The rest of my family has actually been pretty supportive of my decision to live here and work at the gallery. Only Grandfather disagrees. He thinks I'm wasting my time and he wants me to follow the path he's trained me for since I was born."
"And what do you want?" Carey asked gently. "Sage, I see this all the time with my fellow dancers. So many of them danced because their parents wanted them to, and now it's become a chore to them. Or else they stop dancing because their family said so, and they lose something they love. Either way they wind up miserable because they've had to shelve their own dreams to satisfy someone else. Even my partner Toshi --- he's been called the 'Japanese Baryshnikov', and his parents still want him to hang up his tights and become a CPA. Thank God he didn't listen." She took his hand between both of hers. "I know you want to please your family, to make them proud of you. Who doesn't? But this is your life we're talking about here, not theirs. You've agreed to run the dojo like they want you to, but before you settle down into your cozy little prearranged destiny you want to see what else is out there, and you have that right. If you give that up, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if?', and it's going to destroy you. You'll hate yourself for doing it, you'll hate your family for making you do it, and before you know it you'll be a cold, hard, duty-bound man just like your grandfather…and I couldn't bear to see that happen to you," she finished quietly, turning her eyes away.
Sage was surprised by the intensity of her words; something about his situation had upset her, and he wondered what it was. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, as much to comfort himself as her. They sat in silence for several moments, lost in their own thoughts, then Sage rose to his feet and, taking her hands, drew her up with him. "Come on," he said with a gentle smile. "I came here to dance, so let's dance."
Carey tilted her head and eyed him thoughtfully. "You sure?"
"Well, let's not try anything too fancy," Sage replied with a slightly embarrassed shrug. "Just something nice and slow and easy so neither one of us will get hurt."
Carey chuckled softly and walked over to the CD player. A moment later, a soft, romantic ballad filled the room. "Your basic two-step," she said. "Crowded-nightclub stuff. Sound okay?"
"Sounds perfect," Sage agreed. He took her in his arms and they moved slowly together, not so much a dance as an embrace set to music. The rest of the world faded away, leaving nothing but the two of them, and it suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world to hold her close and rest his cheek against her soft hair. The tension drained from him as his eyes closed and his breathing deepened. She leaned against him and he caught the scent of her perfume, sensuous and exotic. Sage turned his head slightly, letting his lips brush her temple. Carey looked up at him with those luminous amber eyes, and then her lips were warm and soft against his and nothing else mattered. Some rational part of his brain that was still functioning told him that he shouldn't be doing this, but a delicious wave of heat flooded through him and he told his mind to shut up.
The kiss ended and Carey drew back slightly to look at him. Sage was suddenly, painfully aware that he had overstepped their friendship. "Carey --- " he began, but Carey gently put her fingers to his lips to silence him.
"Hush," she whispered, and the word was a caress. This time she initiated the kiss, and it was even sweeter than the first. He clung to her as sensations he had never felt before washed over him and in the midst of it all one thought blazed with a clarity unlike any other. This is right. This was meant to be. He couldn't have said how he knew it, but he knew.
Finally, though, the basic need for oxygen won out and they reluctantly separated. They gazed shyly at each other for a moment until Sage cleared his throat. "Um --- Carey, I, uh --- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he stammered awkwardly.
Carey regarded him with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "Why not?" she asked.
Sage gaped at her. "What?"
"Look, you kissed me, I kissed you back, we both liked it, so why is there a problem? Remember, I'm a sixth-degree black belt; I could have stopped you if I felt like it. Has it occurred to you that maybe I wanted you to kiss me?"
He knew he looked like an idiot standing there with his mouth open, but Sage was too flabbergasted to care. "You --- you did? Why?"
Carey blushed painfully and bit her lip for a moment, then apparently decided to tackle the question head-on. "Because… well…because you make my hormones slam-dance and my head go all tingly and I've wanted to kiss you for the past three months," she told him in a rush, a look of defiance in her lovely eyes.
Sage blinked. "Really?" he blurted, and immediately mentally kicked himself. Oh, that was suave, he thought in disgust. Could you possibly have sounded any more pathetic?
Carey didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, really," she muttered. "Of course, I've just blown any respect you may have had for me all to hell, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time." She turned away from him and sullenly crossed her arms over her chest.
Sage stared at her, a huge, idiotic grin spreading over his face as he began to chuckle. Carey swung around to glare at him. "And just what is so damned amusing?" she demanded icily.
"You. Me. Us." Sage began to laugh harder. "Oh, God, Rowen was right. I'm never going to hear the end of this." Carey looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and Sage finally managed to bring his hilarity under control. "Last week, at the deli, when you met Rowen --- after you left, he wormed the story about our dance lessons out of me," he explained. "Rowen thought it was hilarious that someone as rhythm-impaired as I am would agree to learn to dance just because you had volunteered to teach me. He told me I was falling for you --- and damn his rotten hyperintelligent self, he was right."
Now it was Carey's turn to stare openmouthed. "He --- he was?" she asked in a tiny voice.
Sage grinned at her, feeling lighthearted and giddy and ready to take on the entire world. "He was and I am and he's going to make my life hell because of it and I don't care," he told her happily. Carey laughed and threw herself into his arms, and he held her as if he'd never let go.
Sage nuzzled Carey's hair. "This is crazy," he said after a moment.
"Mm-hmm."
"Totally and completely insane."
"Yep." She looked up at him, golden eyes twinkling mischievously. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Sage laughed. "Absolutely," he agreed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TerminologyOyasumi nasai: Japanese for "good night".
Wakaru: Japanese for "understand".
Sensei: Japanese for "teacher" or "master".
Balanchine: George Balanchine (1904-1983), founder of the New York City Ballet and considered to be one of the driving forces behind the growth of American ballet. His ballets are often set to unusual music --- Stravinsky concertos, Gershwin tunes, and patriotic songs among others --- and the story lines are sometimes quite murky. Serenade, one of his first American works to receive major notice, is set to a Tchaikovsky work, Serenade for Strings in C Major.
Giselle: The tragic heroine of the 19th-century ballet by the same name. Betrayed by her noble lover, the peasant girl Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart. She becomes one of the Wilis, vengeful spirits of wronged maidens who die before their wedding day and return from the grave to dance men to death. Considered to be one of the three most challenging roles for a ballerina --- the other two are Aurora (Sleeping Beauty) and the dual role of Odette/Odile (Swan Lake).
Little Havana: A borough in Miami largely occupied by Cuban immigrants.
