at the hem. Entirely absorbed in herself, she swayed her slender torso above the huge skirt in fluid, circling movements. Her bodyguards shooed away any guests who came too close to her, but she seemed not to notice. If she was aware of the presence of other people, she didn’t let on in any way. Countless pairs of eyes were watching her, and hardly any of them showed less than awe and respect.
“Who’s that?” Rosa asked one of the waitresses, who looked at her with as much scorn as if she had been in St. Peter’s, in Rome, inquiring about the identity of the old man at the altar.
“Her name is Danai Thanassis,” said a male voice beside her. A slender young man, a little older than Rosa herself, leaned toward her. His girlfriend couldn’t take her eyes off the graceful dancer. “She’s from Europe. Former Yugoslavia or Greece, I think. Whenever she puts in an appearance, the world stops turning.” He sounded slightly injured, as if his companion had dragged him here just so she could see the dancer make her entrance.
“So what is she? A pop star or something?”
He shook his head. “A millionaire’s rich daughter, they say. Very rich. And very strange.”
The circles made by the woman as she moved around the floor grew larger, forcing bystanders closer and closer to the walls. Some of them tried to retreat into nearby corridors but met a solid rampart of guests pushing forward to see Danai Thanassis and her fascinating dance.
Rosa noticed a man, accompanied by one of the doormen, making his way out of the crowd behind the bar. He looked Italian, or at least of Italian descent. He was talking to the staff, who gathered obsequiously around him. The owner of the club, or at least someone with a say in running it.
As Danai Thanassis went on with her captivating solo performance, Rosa wove her way toward him, moving against the current with such determination that she caught the doorman’s attention.
The music rose to a frenetic roar of bass and heavy beats as Rosa reached the end of the bar, and went up to him, a colossus, with her chin raised. “I want to speak to your boss.”
The corners of the man’s mouth turned down in a pitying smile. Behind him, his boss was still talking to the staff and taking no notice of Rosa.
“I can wait until he’s through with those people,” she said, assuming an innocent expression. “That’s no problem.”
“Why do you want to speak to Mr. Carnevare?”
She was surprised, but not very. Every pile of shit along her way just seemed to be waiting for her to step in it. All a question of habit. Alessandro had warned her about his New York relations—and guess what?
“I’m his cousin,” she said, without batting an eyelash. “From Palermo.” When the colossus wrinkled his brow, she added in pretend desperation, “Sicily? Italy? There’s land on the other side of the ocean, you know.”
The bouncer’s eyes darkened menacingly. She was afraid she’d turned the screw too far. Did he hit women as well as men? She hardly needed to ask.
“Say hi to him from me,” she said, before he could get any stupid ideas, “and tell him I’m here.” She glanced back over her shoulder at “Mr. Carnevare” and saw that he wasn’t bad-looking up close. Not at all bad-looking.
“His cousin?” repeated the doorman, like a robot.
“Second cousin.”
“From Paris?”
“Palermo.” She dismissed the point and gave him a smile. “Oh, let’s just say Europe.”
Once again he looked her up and down suspiciously, probably wondering whether she had already given him a good enough reason to throw her out of the club. But then he turned and went over to his boss.
Rosa used the moment to glance at the dance floor. Danai was now standing motionless in the middle of a gap in the crowd; her bodyguards were keeping it open for her. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted to one side, as if she were a mechanical doll whose clockwork had run down. Suddenly she moved again, seeming to hover gracefully above the lace hem of her skirt as she went toward the nearest passage. Her bodyguards hurried to forge a path through the throng for her. Although they were none too gentle about it, there was surprisingly little muttering or resistance from the bystanders. They were all under the dancer’s spell.
While Danai Thanassis glided closer to the exit, and the crowd slowly shook off the magic of