8. Cassandra
Cassandra
The hostess at Consuela’s tells us there’s a thirty-minute wait . . . until the manager rushes over, greeting us by name. Ever since Sadie and I returned from California, we’ve been on a mission to find the best Mexican restaurants in Las Vegas.
Consuela’s is high on our list, because Sadie can’t get enough of their salsa and chili rellenos, and I am obsessed with their tostada salad. We follow the manager to a two-top table toward the back, while Adam takes a seat at the bar where he can keep us in his line of sight.
“We’ll be back with your chips and salsa,” the manager says after handing us our menus, although we don’t need them. “We’ll make it two bowls this time.”
Sadie mumbles, “Thanks,” as she grins sheepishly.
“He’s got you figured out,” I tease, my eyes wandering the room. Brightly colored, star-shaped paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, while wooden booths and tables sit on the Spanish-style floors, patterned with Saltillo and blue floral porcelain tiles.
Our waitress is over within a minute, taking Sadie’s order for a mint lemonade and mine for iced tea.
Once a food runner places salsa in front of us, Sadie immediately has a chip in her hand.
Her groans of pleasure as the spicy tomato dip hits her tongue make me shake my head.
Her kid is going to come out as red as a chili pepper.
“So,” Sadie says after downing three chips in record time. “What’s new with the show? Have they replaced Marisa yet?”
I finish chewing a chip of my own, nodding. “Zachary had auditions last week, but I haven’t met the new girl yet.”
We thank our waitress as she drops off our drinks and assures us she’ll be right back to take our orders.
“Hopefully she can pick up choreo quickly.” Unwrapping her silverware from a napkin, Sadie swipes at some salsa she spilled on the tabletop. “Did Whitney tell you that he’s thinking of adding a hip-hop piece?”
I choke on my iced tea, my brows nearly hitting my hairline. “Hip-hop? But we’re all ballerinas and jazz dancers. What the hell does he think we’re going to do with hip-hop choreography?”
She shrugs and sips on her lemonade. “I think it sounds fun. I’m going to take a couple of classes when I’m back from maternity leave.”
I twist my straw in my glass as I remember the last time I attempted hip-hop. I was seventeen at a ballet summer intensive. Each day, we were forced to take a different dance style in the afternoon. Needless to say, a bunch of ballerinas trying to pop it and lock it is a sight to behold.
Sadie scoops up more salsa. “I mean, I get it, the show needs to modernize. It’s fun to dance classic Vegas-style numbers, but if we don’t keep things fresh, we’ll lose our audience eventually.” She pops her chip into her mouth.
My mind reels. She’s not wrong. Hell, I’m already bored with the show. It’s just a matter of time before the audience is.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “I’m thinking my stint as a showgirl might have run its course, anyway.”
“What?” Sadie’s jaw drops as her eyes search my expression. “Cassie, you can’t leave before I come back.”
“I know.” My lip catches between my teeth as I try to find the right words. “It’s just . . . Dominic has been asking me to quit for a while, and honestly, this isn’t the career path I hoped to be on.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I snap a chip in half and let the pieces fall on my appetizer plate. “That’s why I haven’t left yet. I don’t know what else to do.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Sadie says, shifting so that she’s leaning close. “Why don’t you go to a few hip-hop classes with Whitney? Maybe a new dance style is what you need. Mix things up a bit, you know?”
“Maybe.” I twirl my straw again.
“Are you ladies ready to order?”
Our waitress saves me from further scrutiny. Sadie orders her chili rellenos with extra sauce and a side of jalapenos, which makes me roll my eyes. One of these days, her cravings are going to catch up with her, and we’ll need to buy an entire pharmacy’s worth of antacids.
Before Sadie has a chance to jump back into the subject of dance, I ask about her birthing classes, and she’s sufficiently distracted. As I half listen to her stories of Lucas and his overbearing preparations, I weigh options in my head.
Sadie may be right. A little challenge may be the answer to redirecting my career.
Sadie and I part ways after lunch, with air kisses and “talk to you soon.”
As soon as I’m back in the Escalade on my way to Il Palazzo, I whip out my phone.
Hey Whit. Sadie said you’re taking hip-hop classes?
No surprise, Whitney texts back almost instantly.
Next one is on Thursday morning at Studio Encore. You in? I’ll text the instructor to put your name on the list.
Yeah. I’m in.
Sweetness. See you there, girly pop!
Well, if I humiliate myself, at least there won’t be an auditorium full of people watching.