Cursed-epub (3 page)

“I'll take him with me, Mama, but I won’t dance for him. I can’t. Not anymore. It hurts too much,” Carmella whispered softly as she shifted the heavy weight of the stone to her hip.

“I understand, but remember that the only thing your father loved more than dancing was watching you dance.” Her mother sighed and pulled back. “Carmella, I worry about you alone in that big city. Please don't forget we still have friends there. I'm glad Miguel gave you a job as a teacher at the school to earn enough money for college. He's lucky to have you. You're a wonderful dancer, and I just know you'll be the
Rainha da Bateria
this year.”

Carmella froze the smile on her face. “Yes, Miguel was very kind. I have to go now, Mama. I love you.” It would break her mother's heart if she knew Miguel refused to allow her to teach, only allowing her to do the most menial of tasks.

“I am so proud of you and your father—” She cleared her throat. “Your father would be proud as well. You are my blessing.”

****

Carmella sat at the back of the old dance studio, wrapping thin bandages around her fingers. This provided extra protection from the sewing needle, but made the task of holding the tiny glass beads difficult. Her workspace was shoved into the far corner of an old practice room with warped floors that needed replacing, sharing space with props, musical instruments, and cleaning supplies. Racks of bright and sparkly costumes sectioned off the space, giving her enough room to set up a small workbench with her sewing machines and a couple of chairs.

With quick pulls of the needle and thread, she finished the top of Dianta's outfit. Looking over the rim of her clunky black-framed glasses, she admired her work. A sheer tan fabric with hidden cups, it gave the wearer the illusion of having a bare chest while holding the beadwork in place. Intricate snowflakes, more abstract than actual, glittered over the mesh like ice, covering the breasts enough to hide the nipples but little else. Once she was finished, the snowflakes would follow the curve of the waist, flowing in a glittering line down over one hip to meet the bikini bottom.

“Knock knock,” said a sensual male voice from the doorway. A moment later Tian poked his head through a rack of costumes, his thick, black hair falling across his forehead. He had the body of a dancer with lean muscles and long legs combined with a killer smile. He was one of the samba school's most popular teachers, and he could bring enough heat to the dance floor to make mothers cover their children's eyes.

“Come on in, handsome.” She tied off the bead and bit the string with her teeth. “What brings you to my majestic workspace?”

Tian looked around the tiny section of the room and let out a snort. “I don't know why you put up with this, my
pouco flor
. You know you could move to another city and work at any samba school there. If you won’t leave, at least come live with Adam and I. We worry about you living in the ghetto by yourself and wish you would come stay with us.”

The apartment Tian shared with his husband was barely bigger than hers and packed with a lot more stuff. She appreciated the gesture, but the idea of sharing one bathroom with two men who took longer to get ready than she did soured the idea. “I'm thankful for the offer—”

“But you don't want to impose, my
pouco flor
,” he finished with a small smile.

With a sigh she set down the needle and thread and glared at him. “Stop calling me your little flower. There isn't another city close enough to my mother, and I can't afford a car. She needs me. With my father gone, she has no family left in this country, and she's still recovering from her surgery.”

Tossing a stray bead back into the tray so hard it bounced, she vented some of the frustration and despair that was threatening to eat her alive.

“No other samba school in this area will hire me because they don't want to piss off Miguel and without an education I’m nothing.” She pushed her glasses back on her nose and tried to control her anger. It shamed her that she’d had to sink so low, and she didn’t want to lose his friendship because of her self-disgust. “I'm pretty much stuck.”

“I miss watching you dance. You are so beautiful, like a song come to life.” His gaze softened as she dashed away a tear, and then he gave her an overly bright smile. “The things you can do with those hips…aye! Your mama's belly dancing skills are in that luscious booty of yours.”

Allowing his cheerful banter to wash over her, she snorted and loaded the tip of the needle with beads. With quick pulls of the thread, she resumed her work. “Since you didn't bring me coffee, what reason do you have for interrupting me?” She gave him a wink to take the sting out of her words.

He grabbed an old lawn chair and moved it across from her before taking a seat, turning even that simple move into a dance. “I have some interesting gossip for you. God knows you never leave this depressing little room. Someone has to let you know what's going on in the rest of the world.” He ignored her glare and continued, “Miguel has gone off and hired some big name DJ from Europe to ride on our float in the Carnival parade. I heard it cost him buckets of money, and Dianta is sweating off her makeup at the idea of meeting him.”

Anger tightened her stomach, along with a burst of envy that Miguel could be so careless with what should be, at least partially, her money while she barely scraped by. “When you deal as many drugs as he does, you can buy whatever you want.”

“Lower your voice. The last thing you need is to let Miguel or one of his pets hear you.” Tian stood and looked over the racks to make sure no one was around before returning to his seat.

“I've kept my mouth shut, and I know how things work around here,” she grumped, resisting the urge to double-check that no one was listening. Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “Miguel has more than enough money to pay off the police. Even if I went to them with all the evidence in the world, I would still end up dead.”

“And Miguel would still be free and running around in his cheap imitation designer clothes and terrible taste in cologne,” he finished with a sniff.

“Exactly. So I play the good little girl and keep a low profile—and my job.” She motioned to her bulky clothes and thick glasses. “I survive by staying under the radar, by not attracting attention to myself.”

He was silent for a moment, his usual carefree personality put away. “Is that why you're dressing like a washerwoman? I noticed you’re wearing your hair up all the time now with no makeup. And those clothes.” He made a disgusted face and plucked at the sleeve of her shirt. “My grandmother wouldn't be caught in them. I can't remember the last time you dressed up like you used to. Where did my Carmella who liked being a beautiful woman go?”

Looking down, Carmella rubbed an old black scuff on the floor with the tip of her shoe. “I got tired of the way Miguel's
business partners
look at me. I'm not one of his samba whores, ready to spread my legs to please his guests.” Her stomach clenched and churned at the thought of the sweaty palms of those men pressing against her, leaving a trail of grease on her body.

“Did anyone try to touch you,
pouco flor
?” Tian asked gently.

Carmella shook her head, the ridiculous chunky glasses slipping down her nose. “Not yet, but that tall man with the black cane keeps staring at me. I'll be doing my work and—please don't laugh—I'll feel cold. It's as if the sun has gone behind a cloud and I'm left in the shadows. I know he's in the doorway, watching me, even before I see him.” She glanced at Tian to make sure he wasn't laughing at her. “I don't like it. He feels…wrong.”

“
Deus nos ajude
.” Tian grimaced as he leaned forward. “Carmella, that's Branco. He's a powerful and very dangerous man. They say he's the priest of a dark god and very big in the black magic world. Stay far away from him. Branco is nothing but trouble.”

“I don't mess with the dark gods. Why is he interested in me?” Carmella’s hands shook while she tried to continue to sew the costume.

Tian held her trembling hand in his and gave her a smile that didn't reach his worried eyes. “Relax,
flor
. I’m sure he's just being his usual, creepy self. I thank the gods every day Miguel doesn't have any gay business partners.” Gesturing to himself in an elegant sweep, he said, “Because this body is not for sale…well, unless Adam and I are role-playing.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of heels clicking across the wooden floor. Exchanging a curious glance with Tian, Carmella stood and slid a rack over to the side.

Dianta bounced toward them in all of her silicone and extensions glory. Miguel's girlfriend had come from a rival samba school to the Ramirez School after he’d taken it over. Carmella knew her from the samba dance circuit, and there was no love lost between the two women. Rumor had it Dianta had been caught offering cocaine to some of the samba dancers at her last school to help them stay skinny.

“Here comes the Queen of Fake,” Tian whispered in a snarky voice.

Dianta was a plastic surgeon's masterpiece. From her liposuctioned thighs to her fish-pout lips to her bleach-blonde weave, she was a blow-up doll come to life. Carmella could remember when Dianta had been just a mousy little brunette back when they were teenagers. They went to different dance schools at the time and would often compete against each other.
I usually won those competitions without cheating. Dianta was mad enough to chew nails when I won the Samba Queen crown our senior year,
Carmella thought smugly.

That fleeting moment of self-worth quickly vanished under the ever-present cloud of her depression. Not that the crown mattered much now. It sat on a shelf with all her other trophies, collecting dust at her mother's house. She was still a seamstress while Dianta was the pampered and spoiled Drum Queen.

“Carmella, where is my costume? I need it.” Dianta walked past Carmella in an overpowering cloud of floral perfume as if she wasn't there and began tossing around pieces of fabric. Her navy blue shorts rode up high enough to be mistaken for panties, and a button-down shirt strained over the amount of silicone in her chest.

“It's not done yet. I—”

Miguel's voice boomed from the hallway. “I think Dianta is in here, working hard on her Carnival costume.”

Carmella's jaw dropped as she watched an elegant woman in a stylish purple suit lead a camera crew into the studio. Dianta clenched a random handful of beads and held the top Carmella had just been working on. She even sat in Carmella's chair, poised with the needle in her hand as if she were in mid-stroke.

“Ah, here she is!” Miguel gave the woman next to him a large, false smile. A young man of average height and build, he had an unnatural fondness for multiple gold chains and tight silk pants. His black hair was heavily gelled into spikes, and his teeth were unnaturally white. A pair of gold snakeskin loafers completed the look that Carmella thought of as “early ’80s pimp”.

“Miguel!” Dianta wiggled out of the chair, an expression of mock surprise stopping at her Botoxed forehead. Her button-down shirt ended below her breasts, and she had somehow made her already giant chest look even bigger. “I didn't know you were here.” She batted her long fake lashes and simpered. “Who are these people?”

The woman in the suit smiled at Dianta. “My name is Emma Vinsenz. I'm a reporter with the
Latin Heartbeat,
and we're here from the States doing a story on the
Rainha da Baterias
of this year's Carnival.” The woman gave Carmella and Tian a questioning look before turning back to Dianta. “It's very exciting news that DJ Kal is going to be on your float this year. We were wondering if you had some time to talk to us.”

“Oh, I don't know if I'm ready enough for the camera. I was just trying to finish some details on my costume. I made it myself.” Dianta ducked her head and gave a shy smile that made Carmella want to puke.

Carmella and Tian stood off to the side, staring at Dianta as if she had puppies crawling out of her ears. Miguel noticed them and jerked his head toward the door. The menacing glare he gave them was enough to get Tian moving, even as the rage built inside Carmella almost to the boiling point.

Carmella was about to open her mouth, but Tian hauled her out the door before she could speak. The film crew turned to watch them go, and Miguel distracted them with a joke in his booming voice.

As soon as they were out of sight, Tian clasped his hand over her mouth and continued to drag her toward the back door. She struggled against him and tried to ignore the shocked stares of a group of young students waiting for their class to start. Once outside in the back courtyard, he let go of her and dodged a wild punch she threw at his head.

“That…that…that…” Carmella stuttered out in a series of shouts. She was so angry she was trembling. “How dare she! Who does she think she is!”

Tian leaned against a tree, out of range of her fists. “She knows she's the girlfriend of the owner of the school. She knows she can get away with murder, and she knows you won't speak up for fear of losing your job.”

“I should go back in there and tell them I made that costume! I designed it, I picked out the theme, I sewed all ten fucking thousand beads on it by hand, and I have the sore fingers to prove it!” Carmella finished, thrusting her bandaged hand into the warm and muggy afternoon air.

“That may be,
pouco flor
, but do you really want to lose your job here because of one bitch? Miguel will tire of her soon and move onto some new coke whore.” Tian pulled her in close for a hug, resting his head on top of her dark hair. “There are many people here who worked for your father and helped him build this samba school that still love you. We’re just hoping you will outlive Miguel and take over when he gets shot by some drug lord.”

“Don't hold your breath. That man is a cockroach.” Carmella sniffed against his shirt.

“A cockroach he may be, but we can always hope he annoys someone with a big enough shoe to stomp him.”

“You say the sweetest things, Tian.” Anger still burned through her, but the darkness of her depression smothered it beneath a wave of doubt. Tian was right; there was nothing she could do to change her situation. She was a nobody, and the camera crew would just laugh at her if she spoke up.