About Azul: Bailame
by Lee Benoit
54 pages / 13000 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-062-6
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A principal dancer with a Havana company, Lola misses his big chance to
defect from post-Soviet Cuba because of an injury. Left behind by his
faithless lover, Lola finds his health and attitude improving as he develops
a friendship with his mysterious doctor, Adán.
Adán has a secret, though, one he's guarded from everyone since he returned
from medical training in Mexico. If Adán's secret identity doesn't destroy
their relationship, the vicissitudes of Lola's job might. When Lola gets the
chance to dance again, will he choose Adán, or his career?
Sample
"Your life isn't over, Señor Montez." The company had
called a very distinguished doctor to see to Lola's shoulder and that
august professional made no bones about his irritation over making a
house call.
Lola averted his eyes so he wouldn't be tempted to smirk. In this
post-Soviet Special Period, with shortages everywhere and the balance of
power shifting, it was really something if the company's director could
still command the presence of a highly placed man of medicine. If Lola's
dancing career was over, the least they could do was usher it out with
full honors.
"You hear him, do you not, Lola?" That was the heavily accented voice of
Maestro Illyevich, far too close for comfort and wafting expensive vodka
across Lola's face, bringing his queasiness to the fore, though it had
been present since his fall. Where did the man get vodka, anyway, when
everyone else subsisted on rough bread and cheap rum? "You will be well
in a couple of months. This is good news, no?"
Lola tried to smile as Maestro kept talking. So he'd miss the overseas
engagements. There would be others, yes?
"Yes, Maestro. There will be others." If any of the company returned
from Europe. No one knew who was planning to stay behind. Everyone
feared exposure, and in the Cuban dancing world, spies were thick on the
ground. Hell, the eyes of the Revolution were everywhere, and
circumspection was a way of life well into its third generation, now.
Lola didn't have to think twice before shuttering his expression or
freezing his tongue.
Maestro and the doctor postured at each other for a while, the doctor
insisting that Lola receive follow-up care at one of the state
polyclinics, and Maestro demanding the doctor's personal attendance.
Julio leaned against the door jamb of Maestro's office where the
examination took place, his expression unreadable. Lola didn't look
forward to their conversation later.
***
The conversation, when it came, was pretty one-sided. Lola couldn't
explain it, but by the time he and Julio returned to the flat they
shared with two other dancers he was oppressed by the need to apologize,
as if the ruin of their plans was his fault. Maybe he couldn't explain
it, but he knew how to fix it, so no sooner were they through the door
than he dropped to his bruised knees and awkwardly opened Julio's fly
with his good hand. The makeshift brace the doctor had fitted cramped
Lola's style a little, but dancing through pain was something dancers in
the Bolshoi style learned to tolerate. Sucking head through pain was
nothing.
As usual, and as if nothing were amiss, Julio didn't refuse to ram his
cock down Lola's throat. While he gripped Lola's hair and thrust, he
talked. Blood rushed in Lola's ears with each unbelievable utterance.
Julio was going through with their plan. He would stay in Barcelona,
with friends, would disappear, wouldn't come back to Havana. Maybe,
someday, Lola could find a way to join him.
"Julio," Lola gasped when Julio pulled out and zipped up. He wrapped his
hands around his lover's powerful thighs, trying to pull himself up with
his good arm so they could discuss this face to face. But Julio refused
to meet his eyes, refused to help him up. Lola was still on his knees in
the entry hall when Julio stalked off to pack. Lola told himself the
burn in his throat was from the vigorous fucking and not the acid tears
he swallowed.