A contract in Dubai

Chapter 1

The Mysterious Man

Hazel

I always drive at a speed of seventy miles per hour, but tonight is different. Aziz's henchmen want to catch me at any cost. I weave through cars on the crowded streets. I don't know how I haven't run over anyone yet, but now,  my life comes first. I can't remember how I got myself into this damn debt, but I'll get out of it. I'll find a way to do so but right now, I need to escape alive.

Luckily I am excellent behind the wheels, otherwise I would have killed myself. The police haven't been called yet because the ones chasing me don't want to involve them. I look in the rearview mirror, feeling the sweat dripping down my forehead. How frustrating! How frustrating Aziz is! He promised to protect me! He promised he wouldn't charge what I owe so soon! Damn it, my nail almost broke while shifting gears, but Aziz's Volvo chasing me is so fast compared to my cheap car that I am sure I have no chance. I'll have to dance for free at the club for a year to pay off this debt. But, deep down, I know Aziz just wants to scare me.

I keep on trying to get away from him, and suddenly, a red light is right in front of me. I hear the tires screeching on Dubai's perfect asphalt. I manage to stop, while Aziz pulls up his great Volvo next to my car and rolls down the window.

"Blondie, you can stop so we can talk, or it'll be the hard way."

I lower the window.

"I'll pay you, Aziz, I swear!"

"Samira, stop this car!"

As I was about to accelerate again, Aziz's driver, a friend of the sheik, blocks my car. I'm forced to stop. Unbelievable! He jumps out of the car, the few hairs on the top of his bald head flying in the wind blowing from the bay, and stands next to my window, while people on the cars behind us start to complain.

"Blondie, I gave you six months to pay me back the money. I thought you would buy your apartment with it. Where are my three hundred thousand dollars?"

I smile with a mischievous look. The honking behind us intensifies.

"Aziz, I just need more time, two more months,  please..."

"I've got my eye on you, sweet doll!"

All that trouble just to say that? Couldn't he have called?! Damn it! I need to pay this debt! As soon as I arrived in Dubai with promises of belly dance gigs in millionaire hotels, my mother got sick. I'm a belly dance teacher, and she was too, but she had setbacks in coming with me, and when she finally could, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I start my car again, still nervous.

 Sometimes I play some Arabic music in the car, usually to memorize the sounds and repeat them later with my body. But not tonight. Aziz has bothered me enough to make me not want to hear anything else. My mind is filled with worry and stress. And the worst part is that I still have to dance for a bunch of pervert men who offer money for a night with dancers, even though they know it's forbidden to do so.

Helen, my mother, needed extensive cancer treatment back in England, and when I visited her, I noticed that she didn't have money for anything. Neither her nor my sister. My decision was immediate: accept the job in Dubai. Our family has a passion for arabic dance. Our mother taught us, and we improved our skills in courses. Life was not difficult in England, my homeland, but I always wanted to visit Dubai, Turkey, Egypt, and all the countries where the world's history is still alive. I'm a woman who doesn't care about men. I do not search for a relationship; I just want to visit historical sites and earn money with my art.

When I met Aziz during a performance for the Sheik, we became friends immediately. I do not think I am very clever for having asked an Arab for a loan to buy an apartment. Or am I? I know I can work hard, but the problem is that with my mother's illness, I had to send more money to England than I had imagined. The treatment was much more expensive since she couldn't work, and neither could my sister, who had to take care of our mother. I miss them so much.

Dubai brings in a lot of money, but if you don't know how to manage it, you can lose it all very quickly. After the performances, it's easy to fall into certain traps with wrong people. In the six months I've been here, I've seen many beautiful girls lose everything to drugs and even their sanity. Addiction is a bitch! That's why I always tried to stay away from parties and suspicious invitations. But putting these setbacks aside, the city is amazing!

But there is no use to stay there brooding over my hatred and indignation, I must prepare myself to work. As soon as I arrive at the apartment, I turn up the music. My favorite Arab band starts playing, and it's inevitable for me to move to the beat. I dance to the sound of  "shik shak shok," a song that has been recorded by Haifa Wehbe. Every night, I practice a little more before the daily performances.

Dubai is a city that never sleeps. From my building, I can see the Burj-Al-Arab, one of the tallest and most beautiful buildings in the city. I like to have a cup of wine at night while looking at the lights that shine from the top of the building towards the sky. Obviously, I would lose track of time staring at Dubai. When I look at the clock and it shows 6 PM, and I still need to put on makeup to match my outfit for the night, I feel a bit tired tonight. But come on, Hazel! You can do everything you want; you're strong, just like your mother says!

I start with my lilac and sparkling makeup for my eyes, smudging it with the brush and finishing with black eyeliner for the night. My ruffled lilac skirt matches the stone-encrusted top. I'm ready and looking fabulous for another performance. I know everyone stops to watch me. I'm the most sought-after dancer for corporate events, celebrations, and restaurants. And that's simply because I'm the best. I don't have any modesty about that. I train more than other girls. But all I need is to focus on how to pay off the apartment debt and continue to send money to my mother. I would do anything for my mother, so she can get better. And that's why I accepted to work daily and I´m exhausted. I hide the dark circles around my eyes so it doesn't show the lack of sleep and throw a shirt over my top since it's not allowed to walk around the streets in belly dance tops. The Sheikh likes to attract tourists, but not to the point of having them harassing belly dancers.

I get into my car and drive fast again. Today's performance involves other dancers, If they could eat a liver for breakfast to have a chance with someone important, they would. But I don't care about any of that. Self respect is what makes to attract attention to my dance and gain more admirers.

I arrive at the party location just in time. It's a corporate inauguration, one of those that always happen in Dubai, a city that attracts newly established and old businesses alike. The place is full of suit-clad men who smell like money and notable friends with turbans on their heads. I rush to the bathroom to check if my makeup is still okay after the desert wind I caught in the car. I let my blonde hair down, reaching  the middle of my back.

"It's her, Samira!" someone says.

I look in the direction of the voice. Although I understand some Arabic, not enough to get by completely on my own, I recognize when someone speaks English with an accent. I reciprocated the dancer with a wide smile. We enthusiastically make a high-five. Soon, we were dancing for a bunch of old men, and only a few younger men appreciated the dance. However, a man catches my attention. He smokes a cigarette while holding a glass of whiskey and talks on the phone, but when he looks at us, it's with disdain. I dare to say that he's the owner of the company. I don't know why. Something inside me tells me that he's the one who hired the entire show, even though he hates it, for the inauguration of his company. There's a cake, black with golden sugar bows on a table, all kinds of snacks, and a pleasant but creatively poor decoration. Something tells me he didn't want to spend much on that.

When I step on stage for my performance, everything changes. The excitement returns because I love what I do. The exhaustion is over, defeated by my love for dancing every night. I sway my hips to the sound of "Ah Ya albi." I notice him answering the phone and talking as if nothing else was happening there. He's too handsome, with a perfectly trimmed beard, and he wears an immaculately black suit. Our eyes meet, and he stops. For a few seconds that stare feel endless, he watches me without that predatory look. He looks me up and down, lingers on my swaying hips, and then looks at my face. I feel a warmth rising! Although there's no sensual look or the usual cannibalistic smile that men often give, he sparks interest in me. Unfortunately, it's the kind of interest that ends when the party is over, and I need to go back to my apartment, to the routine of counting coins to send to my mother.

Curiously, that night, something unexpected happens. When I leave the dressing room after Carmen asks for my number, there he is, with a cold look, leaning against a table, as if waiting for someone.