Blind date... Not so blind!

Chapter 6

Blind date... not so blind!

Hazel

9:45... still sleepy, I try to see the numbers on my phone's digital clock on the bedside table. It's not early, but I'm in no hurry. Well-deserved rest.

For months, I've been working hard to do the work that my mother and I would be doing together. I accepted every invitation to perform in bars, hotels, and private events without a second thought. Some days, I jumped from one event to another, rushing to change clothes, redo my makeup, and get around.

In some bars, I had managed to secure a fixed contract with a group of dancers, and we could take breaks and take turns. But in some private events, for which I called only one or two trusted colleagues, we became more tired.

I rub my eyes and see a message from my sister. The day before, I had sent a message asking if Mom was stable after some procedures she would undergo that day. Most people undergoing cancer treatment suffer from adverse reactions. Chemotherapy and radiotherapy are delicate treatments. At first, Mom felt nauseous, but she had been doing better lately.

I read the message: “Stable!”

The exclamation and the smiley face emoji reveal my sister Hailey's happiness. I sigh, feeling great relief, as the news is a reason to celebrate.

I always remember what a therapist told us when we learned of our mother's diagnosis. “Celebrate each day and each victory.”

So, we learned to make shorter plans, to live one day at a time, and to celebrate every moment together. But I also can't forget Mom's words about the trip and everything we had already arranged in Dubai: “Live one day at a time, but never stop dreaming!” I will get better; I am strong, and so are you. Go there, show your talent and worth, and prepare the ground for me, as we will all be there soon. Together!" Of course, we were all scared, but she hid her fears and always showed excitement, motivating us to move forward.

My thoughts are already racing before I even get out of bed. Many memories, a lot of information, and many decisions. And from today on, everything could be different. I stretch lazily, enjoying the softness of the new sheet.

"Now I can call you mine! My sheet, my fluffy pillow, my bed, my apartment!” I jump out of bed, excited, already humming a song, and start moving as I head to the bathroom.

I think I was born to dance! There's nothing better! Well... come to think of it, sex is just as good. But due to a lack of time and good options, I'm going through a dry spell. I shrug. It's not important right now, although that guy, Jonathan, messed with my hormones. What a man!

“My bathroom!” I say loudly, raising my hands up in celebration as I look around, feeling a unique happiness. I wash my face, brush my teeth and hair gently, and tie it up. I put on my top and leggings. I need to work out.

While the sound of “Rio” by Duran Duran echoes through the apartment, I have a small glass of smoothie. A light breakfast. Proper nutrition and taking care of the body is necessary for anyone who wants a long life, in any sport or in life in general. And dance is no exception. The best dancers follow a healthy routine strictly, and my mother and I have discipline and good habits.

It saddens me to see many dancers and colleagues abusing alcohol, junk food, and other things I'd rather not think about. It's the kind of example that tarnishes the reputation of our profession. Sad. We won't be young forever.

When I was younger, I also made some common mistakes. In the rush between dancing, studying, dating, and going out with friends, we all make minor slips because our bodies are young and strong. But I wanted to be a true professional in dance, and I know that time takes its toll. Belly dancing requires not only technique and dedication, but also a beautiful body sculpted by dance. It's a profession with an expiration date. And I didn't want to become just another young teacher. I've always loved the glamour of dancing at events, on stages. The way we enchant and excite those who watch us, seeing people happy and excited is an incredible feeling. Only a very cold or strange person can remain still in front of a beautiful performance.

The exercise and the sweat dripping down my face bring a special satisfaction. My mind clears, and I usually put my thoughts in order. I look through the large glass door of the balcony, lost in thought.

“Why are you thinking so much about that guy, Hazel?” I ask myself, realizing that Jonathan's image had come to my mind many times while I was exercising. And it wasn't about his proposal. But I wondered if it was intentional that he ignored me on stage while everyone else got carried away by the music and dance. Even with lustful eyes, at least most people move to the lively music. Not him.

Well, I should just make a phone call, set up a meeting, and resolve this formally. He certainly isn't the kind of man to go back on his word. Or the kind of man to rely on agreements based on mere oaths and words. Did he spend the night coming up with some crazy contract for me to sign? Just like that movie I mentioned in the conversation with him?

”No... - I make a face and shake my head negatively - he wouldn't be that cliché. Maybe he's a bit obvious. He must present me with a contract full of “ifs” and many “noes.”

“You can't do this,” nor "that." There I go talking to myself again, and I have fun imagining how he would speak and start to imitate his deep voice - “You can't ask personal questions, you can't wear this outfit, you can't step into my beautiful car with dirty shoes, you can't...”

My phone rings and interrupts my musings. It's Carmen, the dancer I met at Jonathan's party. I don't feel like answering at that moment; I imagine she wants to chat, but it would be impolite, and sooner or later, she'd call again. To my surprise, she is brief. She says there's an event at a hotel, and they're calling for dancers to perform, and she invites me. I promptly accept.

“That's great!” she sounds excited - “I'll send you the address, time, and payment details in a message, so you don't have to write it down. See you there tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

I'm happy. She seems reliable and smart, and she's polite. Her attitude gives me an idea. I'd feel uncomfortable talking to Jonathan on the phone, especially after my impulsive behavior in the parking lot. I admit I'm spontaneous, but with him, I'll have to act differently. If it's a work contract, then I'll act formally.

I mentally plan a message to send to him, setting the location and time to meet and close the work deal. He's a dominator; keep that in mind, Hazel. I think to myself as I carefully choose my words to send the message. And that's why I won't let him decide everything alone and hand him all the control he seems to enjoy so much.

In the end, I leave open the possibility for him to decide another location and time according to his availability, of course, but I am emphatic about the type of meeting place and the date.

I want it to be today.

As soon as I send the message, anxiety starts to make my heart pound. I'm making a decision that will turn my life around 180 degrees. And my family's life as well. I keep my attention back on the lively music that's still playing on my vast and varied playlist, let myself get carried away, and start preparing a quick and light lunch.

My long and wavy hair requires a bit more care, so I like to take a shower early and always be prepared for any evening event. But before the shower, I send a message to my sister and set up a quick Zoom meeting with her. I need to talk to her. Besides finding out more news about her and Mom, I asked her to do some research on Jonathan Turner on the internet. I don't give many details; I just say he's a “guy” I met. Being English and without the internet limitations we have here in the UAE, it would be easier for her to do a more thorough search.

Well, if he had already done a background check on my life, I wouldn't go to a meeting of this level without any knowledge of what I'm getting into! Hailey is brief. She speaks softly because of Mom, and I can hardly hear her properly, but she says that Turner Enterprises is a construction company based in London and that Philip Turner was its founder. Now, Jonathan Turner, the founder's son, manages and oversees the entire company structure.

“What's up with this guy, Hazy?” she asks. An obvious question since curiosity is inherent to human beings, and she's my sister.

“He's someone I met, sis.”

"You met this Jonathan Turner? How lucky! Beginner's luck in Dubai! The girls there must kill for a date with a guy like him!”

“It's not exactly a date, Hay. We'll talk later, but just out of curiosity, what's the estimated net worth of the company?”

"Well, I wrote down something around 30 billion dollars.”

Wow! How is that possible?! Not even working my whole life as a dancer and the rest of eternity, I would dream of such an amount! It doesn't change anything, of course, but it makes me wonder why he doesn't want a woman. It makes me think about many things in life...