Grey’s Anatomy Fanfiction: A Date with Chavela

Callie’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, you sound like Mark.”

Vargas scowled. “Insult me, and I will take my guitar and wisdom elsewhere.”

“Sorry,” Callie said.

Vargas waved her hand. “You are forgiven this time.”

They sat for a long while in silence. Vargas smoked and Callie ruminated on her life, beginning from her childhood up to the moment. She’d never been good at relationships, she realized, but then who was?

She turned to Vargas and asked, “Did you ever have a successful long-term relationship with a woman?”

Vargas raised an eyebrow. “First, let me be clear, nothing in life or death is long-term. The only certainty we have is uncertainty. If you cannot embrace that concept, you will never find joy in life.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “Oh please, not the same old drivel about living in the moment.”

“And second,” Vargas continued, ignoring Callie’s statement, “every relationship with every woman I have ever loved was successful. None were failures.”

“And yet you died alone,” Callie said. She flinched when she saw the look on Vargas’s face. “Sorry,” she added.

Vargas clicked her tongue. “You have much to learn, mi hija, so much to learn.”

Callie began to cry, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve. “Maybe I’m not cut out for women after all. I mean the sex is great, better than with men, but at least men are easy to figure out.” She shook her head. “Women are too much work.”

“But the rewards,” Vargas said.

Callie glared at her, noticing her secretive smile. “Rewards?” she asked. “You mean like having my life turned on end, my heart wrenched from my chest? Those rewards?” She stood up and waved her hand dismissively. “You’re no more help than George or Mark.”

She headed out of the alleyway, but as before, she went around the corner of the building only to find herself back in the same spot. A table had appeared with a candelabrum as a centerpiece, ablaze with a dozen candles. Vargas had removed her sombrero and poncho and stood at attention with one hand behind her back and a single rose held out in the other.

“You misunderstand love’s purpose,” Vargas said. “It is not about a perfect life growing old with another, but a life lived with passion, no matter how brief. Heartbreak you will have, yes. There will be pain and suffering as well and nights surrounded by loneliness. But do not die with regrets, bonita, do not miss the chance, when you are given it, to love a woman”–she winked–”or more if time allows.”

Callie scoffed. “Yeah, well, Arizona’s obviously been using her time just fine.”

“Bring her into the dance,” Vargas said. “A dance of which only you can lead. It may not last more than a song, but while you dance with her in your arms, you will live a lifetime.”

“But she doesn’t dance,” Callie said. “Not anymore. Not since her leg.”

“Every woman dances, every woman wishes to be embraced, the rhythm to move her, the arms of another to guide her.” She stepped toward Callie, lifted her hair away, and placed the rose behind her ear. “The dance,” she said, and she took the lead position and brought Callie close.

“What are you–” Callie began to protest, but Vargas’s firm grip, her dark gaze, and fluid movements kept her spellbound.

The music from a single guitar surrounded them, but Callie couldn’t see the source.

Vargas began to sing as she led Callie in the dance. “Eres mi luna, eres mi sol,” she sang. “Eres mi noche de amor.”

Callie blushed. “Please tell me Frida’s ghost isn’t going to show up and kick my ass.”

Vargas shrugged. “She would try, but as you know, she also lost a leg.”

Callie’s eyes grew wide. “I’d forgotten about that.”

The dance and music continued to the end as Vargas sang out the last of the lyrics.

“Yo te adoro,” she sang, “vida mia.” She brought Callie to a standstill and bowed her head, then backed away as the candles on the table began to wink out one by one. “Every woman wants to be adored, mi hija. Remember that. If even for one night, for one day, or, if you are blessed, for eternity.”

“Wait,” Callie called. “Is that all? Just tell her I adore her? That’s your advice?”

Vargas smiled, snapped her fingers, and a sombrero appeared in her hand. She placed it on her head while she brought her guitar from behind. She bowed to Callie and began to be absorbed by the darkness.

“But I do adore her,” Callie called out again. “I’ve given her all sorts of things–flowers, cards, candy, clothes, jewelry…even a daughter. I married her for God’s sake. What else is there?”

By now Vargas was hidden in shadows, only the brim of her sombrero and the tips of her black boots visible.

“Not things,” she said. “The dance.”

“But…”

Vargas leaned her face forward into the light. “Even mi amor, mi Frida, managed a dance for me.” With that she winked and receded into the darkness and disappeared.

Callie rubbed her eyes and looked around. The bench was gone and so was the table with the candles. Only a dim streetlight beamed down on her and the puddles of rain at her feet.

“I have to adore her with a dance?” she asked the empty alley.

There was no response.

She wiped her face with her hands, shook her head, and started off at a quick pace toward the end of the alley. This time she emerged onto a busy street, glaring with neon signs and thick with cars and people walking the sidewalks.

She felt for change in her purse and looked around for a payphone while thinking she’d probably not find one in this day and age. But oddly enough when a homeless man tapped her shoulder, she turned to see him huddled against an old payphone box.

“Spare some change?” he asked. He was heavily bearded.

“Sure, here,” Callie said, handing over a cluster of change she’d just retrieved from her purse.

“You better keep these two for your call,” he said, dropping two quarters in her still-upturned hand.

“What? I–” She narrowed her eyes. “Mark?”

Mark pulled his trick beard away from his face. “Wall of Sound Records is just on the other side of Twelfth Street.”

“But are they open?” Callie asked, wondering how he knew what she’d planned.

“Tonight they are,” he said. He let his fake beard snap back in place. “Don’t forget you’ll need a turntable. You got rid of yours at that garage sale, remember? I told you to keep, but you wouldn’t listen.” He waved and strolled down the street and merged with the other pedestrians.

“That’s right,” Callie said. “I did get rid of it. What was I thinking?”

She lifted the receiver on the payphone, dropped in the quarters, and punched the numbers. She knew them by heart, one of the few phone numbers she’d ever bothered to memorize.

But the line went to voice mail.

“I don’t know if you’re asleep,” Callie said into the phone. “I don’t even know if you’re still there. I assume you are because I left Sophia with you. Maybe you’re just not picking up because you don’t recognize this number. Maybe you know it’s me and you don’t want to talk to me. Whatever, I don’t care. I only want you to know…” She stopped and held her head. “Just wait for me, Arizona. I’ll be home in a while. I need to pick something up first. And if you’re asleep, well too bad. I’m waking you up.”

Instead of flagging down a cab, she hoofed it toward the vintage record store. She doubted Mark was right about it being open at this hour, but she figured, given the night she was having, anything was possible. Sure enough, she saw the lights on inside and went through the main doors right up to the counter.

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