Deuce's Dancer (8 page)

He switched to English, with the hope that their conversation would be more private. "Hello, Pilar. I was worried about you. I came as soon as I could get away."

She stepped outside and closed the door halfway. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe." Her eyes flicked to the boys in the street.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The argument had gotten louder, the three bully-boys' posture more threatening. The younger boy had backed up a pace. "Is that your brother?"

She nodded. "Yes, that's Ricky." Her gaze came back to Deuce. "They've been arguing like that for more than an hour. It seems to be getting worse. I'm afraid for Ricky. I think they're from the rival gang."

"Did you call the police?"

"And tell them what? That there's a verbal argument going on among four young men in an iffy part of town? You think they'd come?"

No laws had been broken. What could the cops do? "Probably not." He nodded toward the window. "How are your parents holding up?"

"My father is near exploding. He wants to come out here and chase those boys away. Ricky would have a fit, though, and maybe things would get worse."

Deuce half-turned. "I'll see what I can do."

"No!" Pilar grabbed his arm, nails digging in as she pleaded with him. "Please don't. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. Please, Deuce. Please."

Frustration swept through him. He needed to do something to make that frightened expression on her face go away. The argument on the street was a full-out shouting match by this time. The boys were cursing each other in a rough mix of Spanish and English, their postures stiff and threatening. Ricky, smaller and younger though he was, was giving nearly as good as he got, until one skinny teenager with his pants hanging nearly to his knees threw a punch.

Then all-out mayhem broke loose.

Pilar screamed out her brother's name and raced by Deuce before he could stop her. She ran out to the street and tried to peel the bigger boy off her brother, yelling for them to stop.

 Deuce was right behind her, adrenaline pumping harshly through his veins. All he could think of was that his woman was in danger and he had to get her away.

Pilar was fighting now, scratching and kicking, pummeling the boys attacking her brother. Ricky was down on the pavement, trying to break from the two who were determined to slam his head into the curb.

When the heavier of the teenagers stood up straight and drew back his fist to strike Pilar, Deuce saw red. He drove his fist into the young man's face so hard that the fellow slammed back into the door of the car with a resounding thud, hitting his head. He sank down onto the asphalt, sitting dazed while the fight continued around him.

Deuce pulled Pilar off the back of the kid who was punching Ricky, and pushed her firmly back toward the house.

"Go back inside! Now!"

Pure fury had suffused her face with color and her teeth were bared in a snarl. She ignored Deuce completely. "Get off him!" she shouted at the boy on her brother. Deuce wouldn't let her go back and fight. She turned to him and smacked him in the chest with a fist. "Let me go!"

He pushed her away and grabbed the menacing young man, yanking him off Ricky with one powerful pull. "Stop it!" he shouted.

"Who are you?" the gangster shouted back. His fist came up to hit Deuce and Pilar screeched again and tried to get past Deuce to strike the offensive teenager.

Deuce put out an arm to stop her, still facing the fellow with the cocked fist. "Try it," he taunted the teenager as his hands fisted at his sides. "Go ahead. Y'all come on and fight someone bigger than you. Show what cojones you have, you little punk."

The one teenager who'd been holding back spoke up in Spanish. "Back off, Alex. This guy isn't worth fighting. We can come back. We can bring the others."

Deuce turned to him. "You were doing okay," he said in Spanish, "until you said that you'd be back." He stood protectively over Pilar's brother as the boy moaned on the pavement, holding his bleeding nose. "Get the fuck away from here, and don't come back."

The talker backed up a step, holding his hands out. "Yeah, okay." He grabbed the arm of his friend and the third boy stepped aside, too. "We're leaving."

There was the distinct sound of a gun cocking behind Deuce, and Pilar's father spoke up. "Get away from my son, or you'll die like the dogs you are."

Deuce didn't even look over his shoulder, all his attention focused on the fighters.

All three bully-boys scrambled toward their car. "We're going!" one called out.

Deuce took hold of Ricky and helped the boy stand up as the three bullies got in their car and drove away.

Pilar's father continued to point the gun at the car until it was out of sight. As he lowered the weapon, he turned his angry gaze on his son. "Get in the house. Now."

Ricky didn't say anything, shrugging Deuce's hand off his shoulder to stomp toward the door.

Juan Peréz stuck his hand out toward Deuce. "Thank you."

"De nada," Deuce said, shaking the man's hand as he nodded toward the retreating Ricky. "I can look at his nose," he offered.

Pilar put a hand on her father's arm. "Let him, Papa. Ricky might be hurt."

Peréz nodded and they all went up the walkway. Before they could reach the front door, however, Deuce laid his hand on Pilar's shoulder and spoke softly to her. "I'm gonna tan your ass, woman. You earned yourself a serious hidin'."

Aside from biting her lower lip and looking sheepish, she didn't say anything, preceding him into the house.

* * *

Ricky's nose wasn't broken, thankfully, but it did take Deuce a few minutes to staunch the bleeding. Both of the boy's eyes were blackened as well, and one of his teeth was loose. Pilar and her mother prepared ice compresses for him, fussing over the young man, despite Ricky's stubborn resistance. Pilar scolded Ricky sharply, berating him for his continued involvement with the gangs. The whole idea that her father had had to deal with the situation with a gun—an illegal gun, no doubt—was horrifying. She wracked her brain trying to think of a solution.

While she and her mother were hovering over her brother, Pilar couldn't help but notice Deuce having a private word with her father. Juan had a deep frown on his face and he shot glares at Pilar as Deuce talked. Each man made a few gestures that Pilar couldn't interpret, but at the end of their conversation, Juan put his hand on the bigger man's shoulder and gave him a friendly pat. His face still wore stern lines, but the lines around his eyes were less harshly drawn.

She was drying her hands on a dishtowel when Deuce approached her.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

He sounded severe, but under the circumstances, there in her parents' house, Pilar didn't think he could make much of a scene. She knew he was mad at her for getting into the fight, but it was over now and she hadn't been hurt. She nodded acknowledgement to him.

"Show me where your parents' bedroom is."

"My parents'…?"

"You deserve a spankin' and you're gonna get one right now."

The blood rushed out of her face. "Here? You can't!"

He nodded back toward her father, who was sitting in his recliner watching them. "Oh yes, I can."

Pilar looked at her father. His expression was implacable. She wanted to scream and run away. "Deuce, you can't do this. You'll embarrass me in front of my whole family. I'll be humiliated."

"You should have thought of that when you put yourself in danger."

She finger-combed her hair away from her face, disturbed by this new turn of the day. "I didn't mean to."

"But you did." He gestured toward the hallway. "Is it down there?"

She nodded miserably. "Yeah, but-"

Deuce grabbed her wrist and pulled her along behind him as he strode down the short hall. "Which one?"

Pilar tried to pull away, digging in her heels. "Deuce! Come on! This is my parents' house!"

"Ah, here it is." He dragged her into the master bedroom and shut the door. The room was clean and neat, as all the rooms in her parents' house. An iron bedstead stood prominently in the small room, a cheap white chenille bedspread lovingly spread upon it.

"Get your pants down," he told her as he looked around the room, hunting for something.

Her hands went to the button of her work slacks before she realized what she was doing. She undid the fastening and then stopped herself. She didn't have to do this. If she made a big enough noise, her father would come to stop it. Probably. There was obviously some agreement between the men. She bit her lower lip in consternation. If Deuce didn't spank her, if she halted it now, would her papa get angrier at her? Would he stop talking to her? He'd done it in the past when she'd made mischief in high school. They'd gone nearly four months using her mother as a go-between as they each stubbornly held to their anger. Finally, Pilar's mother had begged Pilar to relent, and faced with her mama's misery, what could she do? She apologized to her papa and things had cleared up.

Was this another situation like that? Could she do that to her family, now, when things were so tumultuous anyway?

Deuce made a small noise and turned back to look at her, a leather-soled house slipper in his hand. "Your pants are still on."

Pilar couldn't deny that she'd foolishly rushed into a fistfight. If one of those boys had decided to hit her, she'd likely have been seriously injured. It had been rash. Maybe she did deserve a spanking. Maybe that would smooth out some of the rough spots in this whole miserable day.

Chewing on her lower lip, she took down her pants until they met her knees.

"Panties, too."

"If my father walks in-"

"He won't."

"But, Deuce-"

"Do it, Pilar."

She agonized over it for several seconds, finally bowing to the growing irritation in Deuce's eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was make it worse.

He sat on the bed, and the creak from his weight was loud in the room. Patting his lap, he nodded to her.

Pilar knew what she was supposed to do. She eyed the leather slipper. That leather sole was firm; it would feel pretty awful used against her behind. But she waddled over to Deuce and positioned herself over his lap.

"Are you sure we have to do this, Deuce?"

"I'm sure." His hand moved down her back until she was firmly pressed down at the waist. She was about to try again to coax him out of it as the first slap landed with a resounding crack against her butt. The leather slipper hurt like the dickens!

"Ow!"

"I'll give you 'ow'," Deuce grumbled. Several more smacks hit her fanny, stinging like hornets.

"I'm sorry!" Tears were forming in her eyes. The entire emotional roller-coaster of the last twenty-four hours crashed upon her and she started sobbing. Only ten strokes in and she was already blubbering. But she couldn't help it. Her heart was breaking, she was worried about her family, and everything seemed so bleak.

More spanks rained down on her heated behind, the pain growing quickly. Deuce applied the slipper down her thighs, concentrating at the juncture where her thighs met her bottom for a full minute while she bawled her eyes out and pleaded for mercy.

"You will never,
ever
endanger yourself like that again, Pilar. I'll paddle your ass for a month of Sundays if you do."

"I'm s-s-sorry!"

"You're not sorry enough yet." The blows were fast, hard, incredibly painful. "You had me scared for you, woman. I have never been so scared for another person in my life!"

Pilar's heart sang a single happy note, but was quickly shouted down by her burning butt. "I didn't mean to scare you, D-d-deuce."

"I don't care what you meant. It was damn foolish."

She squirmed and kicked, unable to stop herself. Instinct told her to get away from the pain. Pilar put a hand back to cover her fanny, and got a sharp crack on her fingers before Deuce jerked her hand to the small of her back and held it there as he held her down.

"Stop that!"

"Y-yes, sir."

More spanks covered her thighs and the underside of her rear, and she wailed, nose running, throat-roughening sobs tearing through her.

She hardly realized the torture had stopped until a few seconds passed. Her boo-hoos got swallowed up in his chest as he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against his warm body. The slipper lay on the floor within her sight and she hated that damn shoe with all her might. It didn't burst into flames with her glare, though. Her butt had the dubious honor of being the only thing on fire in the room.

"It's over now, sugar," Deuce murmured in her ear as he held her tight. "But don't be forgettin' this in the future. I'm not hankerin' to skin your ass like this again, but I will if I have to."

His words were strangely reassuring, and Pilar wondered how she was going to manage without his firm hand to hold. Her tears started up again and she cried until she lay exhausted against him, too tired to do more than sniffle and hiccough in his arms.

Chapter 8

Pilar came slowly to consciousness, drifting lazily on a sea of warm contentment. She cracked an eye open and found that she was lying on her parents' chenille bedspread with a colorfully crocheted afghan thrown over her. The scent of Deuce's cologne drifted faintly from her blouse. She rolled onto her back and a burning pain crept over her butt. Pilar quickly rolled back over onto her side.

Putting two and two together, Pilar figured that Deuce had tucked her into the bed when she'd fallen asleep against him. She drew the collar of her blouse closer to her nose and breathed his scent in. For a moment, she imagined exactly what it would be like to be snuggled in a soft, warm bed with him right now, away from all her troubles, with his big body fitted to hers.

Tears started in her eyes, and she forced them back. She was not going to cry anymore. She was going to be strong and brave. She was going to do the right thing and tell him the whole truth about her past.

She loved him. She owed him honesty.

Pilar rose from the bed and tried to straighten out her mussed clothes and hair. It was likely hopeless. Her eyes were swollen and the lids were purplish. She looked absolutely awful. Fortunately, there was only her family to face. A glance at the bedside clock showed her it was nearly ten o'clock. She'd been asleep for hours.

Mama and Papa were watching a Spanish-language news show on TV when Pilar came out of their room. Her mother, attuned to her children, turned toward her immediately.

"Pilar, you slept like the dead. Your doctor left hours ago."

"He's not
my
doctor, Mama."

Luz Peréz tut-tutted. "Of course he is. It's plain to see." She rose from her chair. "I'll fix you something to eat."

Pilar waved her away. "No, Mama. You don't have to do that."

Luz was having none of it. "I know I don't. I want to. Come with me into the kitchen."

The kitchen was slightly cluttered with family favorites: a few little glass figurines on the window ledge, cheerful canisters, pictures of the Peréz family stuck with magnets to the refrigerator door beside carefully cutout coupons. The scent of fresh tortillas permeated the room, and Pilar experienced a warm feeling of homecoming as she sat in a wooden chair near the wall.

"Ouch," she whispered.

"He didn't hold back, hm?" Luz was moving around the kitchen, and had her back to Pilar.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You lie to your own mama? What has gotten into you, Pilar?"

"I'm sorry." She sighed. "No, he didn't hold back."

"Good. You got what you deserved. If you have a sore rump for a few days, maybe you'll remember not to behave so crazy in the future."

"Mama," Pilar complained.

Luz put cheese on the tortillas and set them on the griddle. "Don't mama me. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"It hurt. It still hurts."

Luz turned to Pilar and gave her an exasperated look. "You know what I mean!"

"Yes, I know, and no, he didn't hurt me. I'll be okay."

Luz nodded and went back to cutting green onions. "He's a fine man. I like him. Your papa likes him, too."

What could Pilar say to that? She would have liked advice from her mama, but it involved bringing up that tawdry period of her life, a period her mother didn't want to deal with. She remained silent.

"And he's a doctor. He'll care for you."

"Mama, I don't need someone to care for me. I'm okay on my own."

"Nonsense. Everyone needs someone to care for them. I care for your father. He cares for me. We both care for you and Ricky…and Manuel and Jorge, safe in heaven."

"That's love, Mama. Deuce doesn't love me. It's not the same."

Luz put silverware on the kitchen table in front of Pilar. "My daughter is a fool."

"Mama!"

"He loves you, but you're too wrapped up in your fear to see it."

Pilar's temper flared. "My fear? What do you mean?"

"Your past scares you, Pilar. You did scandalous things as a young woman. Things you are ashamed of. Now you think you have to hide away forever."

Pilar could hardly believe that her mother was bringing up that subject. She realized that she was uncomfortable talking with Luz about it, now, so many years after they'd buried it. "You don't understand."

A freshly toasted quesadilla on a blue-rimmed plate slid onto the table. "I am your mama. Of course I understand." She pushed the plate toward Pilar. "Eat. You'll feel better."

Pilar looked into her mother's lined face. There had been great beauty there once, but life had worn away some of it like rain on sandstone. "Why are you bringing this up now? You haven't wanted to talk about it ever before."

"Because now is the right time to talk about it, niña."

Pilar ate for a minute while her mother sat across the table from her, staring pensively into a cup of coffee. "I'm sorry, mama. I know I embarrassed you."

"I was unhappy, yes. But you did what you thought you had to do, Pilar. I know that. You are not a prostitute."

"No. I didn't do that. I would never do that."

Luz patted her hand. "Eat. I know you're a good girl at heart."

"Thank you, mama."

"This doctor, he knows that too."

Pilar snorted. "He doesn't know about my past. I haven't told him. I don't want to watch him shrink away from me."

"Your shame is preventing you from seeing what really is, Pilar. You should tell him. He will accept you. He loves you."

"I think you're wrong, Mama. But I do plan to tell him. Tomorrow."

Luz stared at Pilar for a few long moments, and Pilar dropped her gaze to her plate. Her food was eaten, but she was uncomfortable under her mother's scrutiny.

"Do you love him?"

"You can tell he loves me, but you can't tell if I love him?"

Pilar's mother looked surprised and hurt.

"I'm sorry, mama. I didn't mean to be disrespectful." She was messing this up. Her mother was being kind and supportive, and Pilar was being nothing but bitter in response.

"Yes, I can tell how you feel about him Pilar. I just want to hear it from your own lips."

She'd never said it aloud. There was almost a superstitious feeling of risk involved with saying the words. But that was silly. They were words. And Deuce wasn't here to hear them. "Yes, Mama, I love him."

"There," the older woman said with a kind smile. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Pilar smiled timidly. "Yes."

They both laughed at the confession, tension relieved.

"You can stay here overnight, Pilar. You can sleep on the couch."

"No, Mama. I have to go to work in the morning, and my clothes and things are at my apartment. I can't stay." She picked up her plate and took it to the sink to wash it and put it away. As she did, she and her mother chatted about Ricky, both worried about him, but unable to figure out a way to keep him safe. It was getting late, though, and Pilar was tired. They said their goodnights and Pilar drove home.

The next morning, she called Deuce before work. He sounded chipper when he picked up the phone, and Pilar was glad she'd gotten a decent night's sleep. She needed all her energy, faced with the prospect of killing his upbeat mood.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, yourself," she started. "I want to see you after work, would that be okay?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Pilar had given the particulars some serious consideration. "Come over to my apartment?"

"Enchiladas again? My mouth is watering."

She laughed, though it sounded hollow. "I haven't gotten that far in the plan. Seven o'clock?"

"Okay. I'll be there."

"Deuce, I…" It would be wrong to tell him how she felt about him. It would heap more misery and humiliation on an already painful situation. But, oh how she wanted to tell him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Me, too! Bye, sugar!"

The day went by so quickly, Pilar hardly had time to think about things. Her bottom had stopped smarting, so there was little to remind her of the unpleasantness of the day before. In quiet moments, however, twinges of sadness poked her like cactus spines, but something would happen at work and she'd have to move on.

Once at home, she put together a little wine and cheese and changed into a pretty, but not too sexy, dress. She checked her hair and makeup, and though her eyes still appeared tired, she didn't think she looked bedraggled.

He arrived precisely on time, and the first thing she saw when she opened the door was a large mixed bouquet of flowers.

"Oh! I invited a doctor to dinner but apparently I got a florist instead."

He joked right back, handing over the flowers and coming into the apartment. "That's me, your friendly neighborhood florist, here to tease your rosebuds."

She blushed, accepting his kiss demurely. His expression turned a little puzzled at her hesitation, but Deuce smiled and caressed her cheek affectionately.

Pilar stepped away and tried to smile. "Sit down while I put these away. There are appetizers on the coffee table. Red wine okay?"

He sat. "Fine, yes. Do you need help opening it?"

"No, I did it before you came. I'm getting better at it," she called from the kitchen.

Deuce looked up at her as she returned with their wine. If he thought it odd that she'd choose a chair across from him rather than sitting next to him on the couch, he didn't say anything.

It was pleasant here with him, but her discomfort over what she had to say spoiled it for her. If her mother was right and he loved her, maybe—just maybe--he might accept her the way she was. Of course, that wouldn't solve the problem of how her past would affect his career. That was a tough nut to crack.

"Deuce…"

"Yeah, sugar?" He leaned back against the couch, one arm thrown over its back.

"I want to tell you what I was going to tell you the other night--the night you had to go back to the hospital."

His expression became more serious. "The night you ran away, you mean."

She nearly flinched at the memory of how badly she'd behaved. "Yes." Pilar took a deep breath. The speech had been there for her as she drove home from work, but it was gone now. Instead, she hesitated so long that he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Pilar?"

She cleared her throat. "Right. Well, it's about my past."

"Okay."

"As I told you before, I couldn't take out student loans to go to college. So I had to earn my way."

"Lots of people work through college. I worked on the ranch during the summers and at a veterinary clinic during the school year."

"My job was less… Deuce, I did something I don't think you'll approve of. My family doesn't approve. No one approves. Even
I
don't approve, and I know why it had to be the way it was."

His lips tightened, but he kept his gaze on her. "I'm listenin'."

"I was an exotic dancer…at a strip club."

"I know."

Pilar found her mouth agape. "You know? You know I was a dancer?"

He nodded. "Sure. I've known it for a while now. Your name sounded familiar, so I looked it up on the 'net. You were linked to a minor scandal with LeRidell Owanto a few years ago. I read the sports pages every day, sugar."

"But Deuce, I took my clothes off for strange men. I danced lewdly to turn them on! I had money thrown up on stage at me when I was so naked they couldn't even stuff it into a g-string!"

"A pretty woman like you must have made a lot of money."

"Deuce! Aren't you mad at me? Don't you think I'm a slut? LeRidell went running as though I was a vampire."

He leaned forward, pinning her with his eyes, his forearms resting on his knees. "Are you a slut?"

"N-no."

He sat back again. "Pilar…" After a pause, he went on. "Pilar, everyone has a past. I have Stacy in my past. You have exotic dancing in your past. We all make mistakes, and sometimes we do tough things that we regret later. But that doesn't change who we fundamentally are. You're a good person. Whether you're naked as a dancer, or naked on a beach in Jamaica, or naked just for me, the real Pilar isn't what's on the outside. She's what's on the inside." He paused for a moment. "She's the Pilar I love."

The room spun around her for a second and her voice came out in a squeak. "You love me?"

He nodded. "Sure do."

"I don't think I can deal with this."

Deuce gave a short bark of laughter. "This is where you tell me you love me, too. You're not supposed to look like you ate a persimmon."

Her heart was beating a thousand miles per hour. Deuce loved her. He was still sitting there, calmly sipping his wine, not running for the hills with his reputation still intact.

"But what about your career? Don't you think having an exotic dancer as a girlfriend will reflect badly on you?"

"
Former
exotic dancer. I think it's kinda sexy, actually. Maybe I can get a pole for my bedroom."

How could he be joking when she was going crazy inside? "Deuce. You know what I mean. What about your professional life? Won't my past make you look bad?"

He addressed her concerns succinctly. "No."

"Just no? What do you mean 'no'?"

"No usually means no, Pilar."

Pilar stared at him. This isn't how she thought it would go at all. Her body shook with reaction, and she fought to deal with her disbelief. "You really mean that?"

"Yes, I do. And if anyone, I mean anyone, tries to make you out to be a slut, they'll have me to answer to. I don't take kindly to havin' my girl disrespected."

A thrumming warmth spread through the center of her. "Deuce, I…Deuce, I love you, too."

"Then why are you sitting all the way over there?" He patted his lap and put his wine down.

Pilar made a little noise of excitement, and bustled over to throw her arms around him and snuggle into his lap. She peppered his chin with kisses, saying, "I love you," again and again.

He laughed at the tickling and stroked her hair.

"I ought to spank you for holding back again," he murmured into the shell of her ear.

"I'm sorry. I was scared that you would hate me."