The clerk turned around. It was George.
“That album’s been out of print for a while,” her said, grinning. “But I managed to locate one in storage.” He held out the old record.
“Let me see it.” She took the album, flipped it over, and scanned the playlist. The song she need was there. “Okay, how much?”
George shrugged. “Well, Callie, in these sorts of situations–”
“I don’t carry ghost money, George,” she said.
“Consider it a gift,” he said.
“Right.” She turned to go.
“Wait,” he called after her.
She looked back.
“You’ll need this,” he said, setting a turntable on the counter.
“Thanks.” She hefted it under her arm and hesitated a moment before saying, “You were a good husband, George, a good man. I still love you, you know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” he said. “Now go on and get home while there’s still time.”
She hurried out the door, and to her luck, she found a cab had just dropped a couple off at the corner. She shouted for it and trotted over, slipping in the back seat. She took a careful look at the driver. It was no one, dead or alive, she knew. She gave him the address and sat back for the trip.
***
In the hallway, Callie set the turntable and LP on the floor as she dug in her purse for her keys. She opened the front door to find all the interior lights on and boxes piled around, some overflowing with clothes.
Arizona stopped her packing. “Where have you been?” she asked.
“What are you doing?” Callie asked. “Is Sophia sleeping through all this?”
“She’s with Meredith and Derek, having a sleepover with Zola,” Arizona answered. Then added, “When you didn’t come home after your shift, I thought it was better to have her out of the house. I didn’t want her to see me packing.”
Callie looked at the boxes, Arizona’s things, and noticed a scarf she’d given her for a birthday present, a T-shirt from an amusement park they’d visited as a family.
“I need to ask you something,” Callie said.
“What?” Arizona asked. She’d been crying, it was clear, but she seemed tired, defeated somehow.
“Hang on a minute.” Callie gathered the turntable and record from the hallway. Inside, she searched for a surface to set up and finally decided on the kitchen counter. She plugged in the unit, placed the record, and bent to position the needle at the correct groove.
Arizona watched over her shoulder and frowned. “Um, Callie, I think you need–”
But Callie shushed her, and pulled her toward the living room area, finding a clear space among the boxes. She pulled Arizona to her and placed her hands.
The guitar music had already begun.
“What are you–” Arizona tried to pull back.
“Shhh. Just dance,” Callie said, and she began to translate the lyrics of the song, “I love the street where we met, I love the things you say to me, I love my life.”
Arizona stumbled. “You know I can’t dance with my leg.”
“You dance perfectly,” Callie said. She continued to try and lead Arizona, but she stood rigid in her arms and refused to move her feet.
When the song came to an end, Arizona frowned and pulled away. “That was crappy of you. You know how I feel about dancing.”
Callie reached for her. “Wait,” she said.
She had no idea what the next song on the album might be, but she’d try to get Arizona to dance once more. To her surprise the same song repeated. When she glanced over at the turntable, she saw Vargas leaning against the kitchen counter. With her, stood George and Mark.
“Can you see them?” she asked Arizona, and tipped her head toward the kitchen.
Arizona turned to look, shrugged, and turned back to Callie. “See who?”
“That’s what I thought,” Callie said, disappointed. She pulled Arizona to her once again, ignoring the way she tried to pull away. “Just feel the music,” she said.
“What are you talking about? You don’t have–”Arizona began.
“Just listen,” Callie interrupted and began to translate the lyrics. “You are my life, my feelings, you are my moon, you are my sunshine, you are my night of love.”
Arizona wrinkled her nose. “Really? Sappy much?”
“Okay, it sounds better in Spanish,” Callie said. But her chest fell and she disengaged. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. She said all I needed to do was dance. To dance and tell you I adore you.”
“Who said that?” Arizona asked.
“Chavela Vargas,” Callie said.
Arizona shook her head. “I have no idea who or what you’re talking about. And you’ve been drinking, haven’t you? I smell it on you.”
Callie groaned and looked to her friends for help.
George gave her the thumbs up. “Keep it simple,” he said.
Mark shoved him. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “Take her to bed. Make her scream your name.”
Vargas scowled at him. “Pendejo.” Then she flicked her hand toward Callie. “Dance. You must dance.”
“I’m trying,” Callie said, “But it’s not working.”
Arizona’s eyes grew wide. “Okay then, you should probably go to bed and sleep this off.” She limped toward the pile of clothes she’d gathered on the sofa and began to fold them and put them in boxes.
Callie spread her hands and shrugged at Vargas. The record began its third rotation of the same song.
“Dance,” Vargas said again.
Callie sighed, came close to Arizona, and said, “Señorita, favor de bailar conmigo.” She held her hand out and added, “Please, Arizona, please dance with me.”
Perhaps it was the elegance of the words or maybe the sincerity of Callie’s plea or the strange enchantment of the night. No matter, Arizona looked Callie up and down, gave a tentative smile, and slipped into her embrace. Callie began to lead her, and, even though Arizona stumbled a few times with the burden of her prosthetic leg, it wasn’t long before she found her way with Callie’s arms to guide her.
Then, once they were moving as one, their cadence synchronized, Arizona’s eyes grew wide again and she looked over at the turntable. “I hear music now. How is it doing that? You don’t have any speakers hooked up. I tried to tell you.”
“Magic,” Callie said, gazing into her eyes.
“But–”
“Shhh,” Callie shushed her again. “I love the way you sigh, the way you walk,” she translated the lyrics. “I adore you. I adore my life.”
Arizona smiled, the first full smile she’d had in a long time. “That’s sweet,” she said. Then added, “And when did you put that rose behind your ear?”
Callie grinned, then chuckled.
The song came to an end, but began another rotation.
“Is that the only song on the album?” Arizona asked.
“The only one that matters for now,” Callie said. “Dance again?”
“Are we going to talk things through or just dance?” Arizona asked.
“We’ll keep it simple,” Callie said. She winked at George. “And just dance.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” Callie said.
The music swelled, filling the small apartment with its melody, the strumming of the guitar, the depths of the voice, which sang.
“I think they’ll make it,” George said, wiping tears and blowing his nose.
“Pull it together, O’Malley,” Mark said, shaking his head.
“Come,” Vargas said. “We have done what we can.”
Mark put his arm around her. “So tell me, Chavela, you and Frida, how long–”
She pushed his arm away. “Cabron,” she cursed.
But then she laughed as she twirled her sombrero and produced cigars for them each, lighting them with the flame which flickered from her thumb.
“Ah, mi amigos, come with me and let me instruct you in the ways of a woman’s heart,” she said.
They dissolved and in a shower of light like three dandelions caught in the wind while Callie and Arizona danced until dawn and smoke rings in the shape of a woman’s silhouette floated about their heads.
The End
Read more by BenMac. You can read more Grey’s Anatomy fanfiction or other lesbian fanfic at LesFan.com.
