Page 28 of It Takes Three To Tango

Florencio drops his eyes as she turns her attention to me.

“What about you? Who cares enough about you?”

I stutter under her scrutiny. “My agent?” Though, after our last few conversations, I’m not sure about that.

“Pfft, someone who makes money from you. Who else?”

“My family, I guess.” That sounds lame, even to my ears.

“That tells me everything. Where is your passion, your drive? It is passion and love that make us care enough.”

I wither under her gaze. She turns to Constantin.

“Only Constantin had the right idea, yet that, too, is an illusion. Valery was the lucky one. He had you who cared enough about him. Sadly, you don’t care enough about yourself.”

“What do you mean?” His face darkens.

“You’ve been working every day for the last ten years, living someone else’s dream. Was it worth it? Was it worth giving up your own dream for someone else’s?”

Constantin looks hurt, almost like he’d been punched. “How can you say that?”

“Oh, it’s noble. You get full marks for being noble, but that in itself is tragic. By living someone else’s dream, you’re forgetting to live your own. It’s a waste.”

He looks like he’s about to say something.

“Don’t look so angry. You only feel that way because you know it’s true. You’re just afraid to do anything about it. You’ve forgotten what living is.”

We all sit in stunned silence. I was not expecting that outburst, and of course, it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”

“Why are you apologising?”

I don’t really know. Probably for causing her reaction, which has affected the others. Of course I don’t say all that. My natural shyness springs forward to take over, and I stumble over my words.

“I . . . I’m sorry?—”

“Do you apologise just for existing?” she says, her voice softer than it had been during her tirade.

I close my mouth, lost for words. She has a point, a very big one.

I need to say something to defend myself. Though for a moment I can’t think how. I begin to speak but she starts again.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry,’ then I’m seriously going to reconsider allowing you to stay here anymore.”

What? My stomach plummets. Does she really mean it? I think everyone could hear my jaw hit the floor. But when I look at her again, she’s smiling. She said it precisely to stop me from apologising, which I absolutely was going to do. I don’t even notice it. It’s like a verbal tic. Relief washes through me that I’m not going to be thrown out . . . Well, not today, anyway.

I take a deep breath and try to manifest some inner Estrella. “You haven’t answered my question? Has anyone written your biography?”

She nods an acknowledgement that feels like approval and answers.

“No, they haven’t. At least, not that I’m aware of or have authorised.”

I knew this. Or, well, from my research, I was pretty certain that one hadn’t been published so far. But I don’t know whether there was a project that had been started, or if rights had already been given.

“Can I write one please?”

“Why?” Her answer is simple, but for some reason, I don’t think she means it as a simple question.

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