Fiancé at Her Fingertips (13 page)

“Gram, he’s like a bad penny, an itch you can’t scratch!”

“Oh, I see,” Gee Gee said.

“Oh, Gee Gee, you can’t know what it’s like. You can’t know.”

“Well, of course I can, dear,” her grandmother said. “Of course I can.”

Debra paused. “You can?”

“You don’t live almost eighty years without acquiring that sort of knowledge, Debra. And you’re right. He shouldn’t be playing tennis with Thomas.”

Debra’s mouth flew open. “He shouldn’t?”

“Of course not. It’s certain to aggravate his condition.”

“His condition?”

Her grandmother’s voice dropped to a discreet whisper. “Hemorrhoids, dear.”

“Hemorrhoids?”

“Yes, dear. By the way, slow dancing is probably not a problem, but I don’t recommend any fancy footwork out here on the dance floor tonight, Logan, dear.” She patted his arm. “Irritation, you know.”

She danced off with cousin Barry, and Debra turned to Logan. “Hemorrhoids? Who was talking about hemorrhoids?”

“Don’t look at me. She’s your grandmother.”

Debra felt the beginnings of a throbbing in her temple. Sometimes trying to decode and decipher what her mother and grandmother were talking about was too much.

“Your grandmother said she would like to see us slow dance, Debra,” Logan suggested. “What do you say we make an old lady happy?”

Debra sighed, all of a sudden too exhausted to argue. She let herself be drawn into his arms.

“Good girl,” Logan said, and put his arms around her waist.

“In case you haven’t noticed, they aren’t playing any music yet,” Debra pointed out.

“Funny,” Logan said, tightening his grasp. “I hear it. Beautiful music.”

Debra swallowed.

“Relax, dear,” Logan instructed. “You’re as tense as a law school grad taking the bar exam. Just relax and listen to that soft, beguiling music.”

“Soft is right. It’s so soft I can’t hear it,” she said.

“Shhhh. Listen,” he urged.

Debra took a deep breath. Being in Logan Alexander’s arms like this was foolhardy. Risky. Dangerous.

“Do you hear it?” Logan was nuzzling her hair.

Debra let her eyes close and, for a moment, swore she could actually detect the soft, soothing strains of a harp. Then the wedding music started up again.

Debra’s eyes popped open when the singer began crooning about being too good to be true. She drew back and frowned at Logan. The look on his face made her breathing labored, and with each little puff of air her heart began to beat a little faster. The blue eyes across from hers were oh, so dark, yet they revealed a depth of emotion so great that Debra was mesmerized by their sheer intensity. She couldn’t bring herself to look away. She thought it entirely possible that one could drown in those dark blue pools.

Her arms went around his neck. Her body treacherously welcomed his. And in that moment there was only Logan. No question of how he got there. No evaluation of her emotional health or mental state. No hand-wringing or hysteria. There was only Logan. Nothing beyond Logan.

And they danced.

The seductive spell that ensnared Debra dissipated as the last notes of the song played. A deep sadness descended on her. She wanted to cry her eyes out, to bawl like a baby.
It’s
the booze
, she told herself.
Only the booze
.

“Who are you, Logan Alexander?” she heard herself say. “Who are you really?”

“You know who I am, Debra,” Logan said, and brought his mouth to hers, covering her quivering lips with a kiss of such gentleness and emotion, tears gathered in Debra’s eyes. “I’m the man of your dreams, sweetheart.” He kissed her again.

The words to a song from the fifties being sung by the wedding singer made their way past Debra’s passion-tweaked senses. She blinked.

“Dream lover? Dream lover!” Debra shoved Logan away. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, or who you put up to playing those ridiculous songs at impossible moments, but it’s not going to work. You’re not selling any wooden nickels here, Lawyer Logan. I haven’t figured out yet what you’re up to, but I will. I will. So don’t be thinking that because you’re tempting as buttered popcorn at the movie show, and could charm the pan ties off a nun, that I’ll be making the mistake of letting you play touchy-feely with me again. I’m putting up with this ridiculous charade for my father’s sake and nothing more. Let’s get that straight right now. Read my lips: You are not, nor have you ever been, my dream lover!”

Debra stomped toward the powder room, tears stinging her eyes. She stared at her face in the restroom mirror as guilt gnawed at her insides. She supposed that if she were to look at Logan Alexander with an unjaundiced eye, she’d have to concede he had never treated her with anything but great care, good humor, and the utmost respect. Lawyer Logan really knew how to make a girl feel special. Cherished, even. She sighed. This much was true: Logan treated her as she’d always dreamed of being treated by that special man in her life.

Man? Man in her life? She gave herself a snap-out-of-it-sister slap on the cheek.
Wake up, Investigator Daniels
, she told herself. No matter how tempting, no matter how enticing, no matter how addictive and intoxicating he was—the man wasn’t real! He couldn’t be real! Couldn’t be the man of her dreams. Not ever. As sure as she’d wake the next morning with a killer hangover, dog drool on her pillow and dust bunnies beneath her bed, she also knew that there was a fatal flaw with her Fiancé at Her Fingertips—and she’d be courting disaster to forget that even for a moment.

“Debra, dear, why aren’t you dancing?”

“I have a headache, Gee Gee,” Debra answered, swirling the ice cubes and orange liquid around in what had to be her third fuzzy navel. But who was counting?

Her grandmother reached over and grabbed her glass and drained it in several successive swallows.

“Gram!” Debra protested.

“Orange juice fights cancer, my dear.”

“What about the schnapps?”

“That fights boredom.” Her grandmother’s gaze swept the dance floor. “Your Logan is a good dancer.”

Debra followed the direction of her grandmother’s eyes. Logan was dancing with Belinda. They were laughing. An unfamiliar sensation lodged itself in the proximity of Debra’s chest. Heartburn, she told herself.

“Honey, you should be out there dancing with Logan,” her grandmother persisted. “Why, in my heyday, I’d have given my eyeteeth to have a fellow like that look at me the way he looks at you. Eyeteeth, hell! I’d have given every tooth in my head. Of course, if I’d had no teeth, he wouldn’t be looking at me in the first place, would he—except maybe out of pity or curiosity, or perhaps revulsion.”

“Is there a point to this, Gram?”

“The point is that once I met your grandfather, Michelangelo’s David could have come to life to woo me and I would
have sent him packing. Oh, I’d have taken a good long look before I sent him packing, but I’d still have sent him packing. It’s like that, my dear. You just know.”

Debra watched Logan move across the dance floor. “But how? How do you know, Gram? In this goofy, mixed-up world where nobody is who they seen, how do you know when it’s last-for-a-lifetime love?”

Her grandmother reached out and touched her hand. “Why, you feel it, of course. Here.” Her grandmother motioned to her heart. “And here and here and here.” She touched her eyes and ears and mouth. “Oh, yes, and here and down there, of course.”

Debra gasped when Gram motioned to her breasts and then pointed downward. “Gram!”

“Oh, Debra, stop being such a prude. All I’m saying is that your whole body seems to recognize that special someone; all those little cells and molecules and atoms or what ever they’re called seem to sit up and start humming and throb-bin’. Of course, in your case, some crucial parts of your anatomy might be a tad rusty from lack of use. But never you fear; with the right fellow, all your components will kick in and your system will be up and running in no time.”

“You make me sound like a clogged drain or backed-up stool,” Debra complained.

Her grandmother patted her hand again. “I do have…some tips and literature of a, shall we say, erotic nature I’ve picked up over the years that you might find helpful,” she said. “Those romance novels, you know,” she added with a wink. “Some are quite…graphic.”

Debra’s mouth dropped open. Her wrinkled, shrunken, seventy-eight-year-old grandmother was volunteering to instruct her on lovemaking techniques? Sensuality 101? How to achieve satisfaction without trying? The ten-step program to sexual fulfillment? Debra shook her head. What was next? White rabbits? Levitation?

Debra rose from the table. “Excuse me, Gram, but I think I need another drink.”

Her grandmother smiled. “That’s a start, my dear. Lower those stuffy old inhibitions!”

Debra headed for the bar, ignoring the fact that her swaying had nothing whatsoever to do with dancing. Out of nowhere, a hand reached out and hauled her into the middle of a long line of dancers performing some perverted version of the bunny hop. Debra turned to glare at the person who had shanghaied her into this ridiculous display.

“Logan Alexander, I do not want to bunny hop,” she said, vowing to ignore the touch of Logan’s fingers on her waist that sent unnerving impulses to some of the very areas Gram had enumerated in her earlier demonstration. “I hate the bunny hop.”

“No one hates the bunny hop,” Logan responded.

To her annoyance, Debra found herself hip-hopping at the appropriate moments.

“See,” Logan said. “It’s involuntary. You gotta hop.”

“This is crazy,” Debra said. Hop…hop…hop…“I can’t believe you got me into this.” Hop…hop…hop…“I haven’t done the bunny hop since, well, forever.” Hop…hop…hop…“I have never done the bunny hop.” Hop…hop…hop…

“You have now, and may I say that from my vantage point you do it very well.”

Hop…hop…hop…

“You’re insane.”

“I’m good for you, Debra. Admit it. I get you to expand your horizons, examine the possibilities—”

“Drive me to drink.” Hop…hop…hop…

“Isn’t this fun?” Belinda’s head appeared around Logan. “I love the bunny hop!”

“You would,” Debra muttered. Hop…hop…hop…

“Logan and I were discussing your string of old beaus, Debra. He sure got a chuckle about your date with the Buban twins and the dwarf.”

“Michael wasn’t a dwarf. He was short. Besides, he was supposed to be Suzi’s date.” Hop…hop…hop…

“Logan says that’s all ancient history, that once you’ve found the one, everybody else pales in comparison. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Sappy and delusional is more like it.” Hop…hop…hop…

“I bet you can’t wait to meet Warren and Ione tomorrow. I know Uncle Stu and Aunt Alva are so excited.”

“Warren and Ione?”

“Logan’s parents, silly.”

Hop…hop—

Stop!

Debra’s bunny-hopping debut came to an abrupt halt. Logan barreled into the back of her and Belinda bounced off him, setting off a chain reaction that tumbled the bunny hoppers like a row of multicolored, drunken dominoes.

“What are you talking about now, Belinda?” Debra demanded, trying to catch her breath. “What is she talking about, Lawyer Logan?”

“Why, Logan’s parents are in town for the weekend, and your folks have invited them over for a cookout. Didn’t you know?”

Debra crossed her arms. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

Logan squeezed her waist. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“I hate surprises.”

“You’ll learn to love them.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I already have plans for tomorrow. My dog needs a bath.”

“McGruff? He hates baths.”

An uneasy feeling came over Debra again, one akin to the feeling she used to get right before she forced yourself to look in the basement after she’d finished watching a horror flick. “How do you know my dog hates baths?”

“You’re right,” Logan said, and Debra thought for a second that he would make a startling revelation. “You’re right. McGruff could pass as a horse,” he continued. “And we gave him one a month back. Of course, we were the ones who
ended up getting soaked, but you didn’t hear me complaining. You won the wet-T-shirt contest hands down!”

Belinda giggled.

Debra’s breath was coming in short, brief puffs of air. “Oh? And what did I win, exactly?” she found herself asking, for lack of an appropriate response to such absurd fiction.

“Why, you won me, of course.” Logan grinned.

“I see. The booby prize,” she said.

“Are you teasing me, Debra Josephine?” Logan’s fingers caressed her waist. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Teasing me?”

“Of course not. I’d never tease a lunatic lawyer with a sideline job in retail.”

“Would you kiss one?”

The question came out of nowhere. Debra tried hard to think of one good reason not to kiss him, especially in front of Belinda, but all she could come up with were ones supporting the affirmative. He
was
supposedly her boyfriend, at least for tonight. She
would
kiss her boyfriend at a time like this, wouldn’t she? And she didn’t want her father to suspect anything was wrong. Well, not yet. Not until he was well on his way to good heart health. Okay, so the pertinent question was, did she want to kiss him?

Well, did she?

“Hell, yes!” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Logan’s lips found hers in a crushing, all-consuming kiss that made the customary one that cousin Barry and his new bride exchanged look like a gloved handshake. Debra’s knees began to buckle and her legs became unsteady, like balancing on the tiny straws from her fuzzy navel. She gave herself over to the delicious feelings that Logan’s kiss instilled. She poured every need, every desire, every lonely day and even lonelier night into that kiss.

Loud, noisy applause accompanied by whistles and catcalls drew Debra’s attention from the extraordinary set of
lips that was wreaking havoc with her senses and sensibilities. She pulled away, mortified to find the applause was directed at her and Logan and their very public, very intense display of affection.

“Encore, encore!” someone called out.

“Can we expect an announcement?” another guest hollered.

“Better stand back, folks. As hot as they are, the sprinkler system could start up any second!”

Debra put a hand to her warm cheeks and hung her head.

“Hey, sweetheart. Has anyone ever told you how good you look in red?” Logan placed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “That blush you’re wearing is sexy as hell.”

She shook her head. “I am so embarrassed. What is it about you that turns my brain to mush and sends my better judgment skedaddling for the netherworld?”

“Don’t you know? There’s no more potent aphrodisiac than someone who adores you.”

Debra looked up at him. “Adores?” she squeaked.

“Adores,” he reaffirmed, and kissed her again.

Debra found herself back in Logan’s arms, stricken by the god-awful realization that, for good or for bad, for now here was where she wanted to be. She sighed and put her head on his shoulder, content, just for this brief moment, to abstain from guilt, anxiety, or hysterics and savor this fleeting time with her fantasy fella, regardless of how it had come to pass. After all, she was dancing with the best-looking guy at the wedding. He smelled fantastic, had no visible weird tics, and emitted no strange noises or body odors. He didn’t stutter or stammer and actually appeared to prefer talking about something other than himself. God’s truth, he was the first man to make Debra feel truly special. Loved. For this teensy sliver of time, she would ignore the fact that she’d bought him with her Visa Platinum card.

She groaned. God, she was drunk as a skunk!

Against her ear, Logan voiced the words to the old pop
tune about Cupid and his bow. His lips sent spasms of sensation throughout Debra’s body. Hell’s bells, the man could even sing!

As Debra turned in Logan’s arms, the stage came into view. A stout, balding man sat at the sound system controls. Debra’s breath hitched in her throat. That man…No, no. It couldn’t be. But it looked like…

Debra blinked. Twice. Yes! Yes! It was! It was him! It was the man who’d sold her Lawyer Logan in the first place! The dumpy novelty store clerk, she was sure of it.

She pulled out of Logan’s arms. After weeks of self-doubt, chronic anxiety, and intense indigestion, she could finally prove to the world that what she’d been saying all along was true: Lawyer Logan was a fraud, a prepackaged, mass-marketed, drop-dead gorgeous fraud!

A wave of dizziness hit her and she slid sideways. Logan caught her before she kissed the floor.

“Debra, are you all right?”

She shook her head, her light-headedness increasing by the second. “I don’t believe it! It’s him!” she whispered.

“Who?” Logan questioned.

“Him! Over there with the band. I have to talk to him. Now!”

“Debra, I don’t think this is the time. You’re obviously feeling the effects of those four fuzzy navels.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

“Three. Gram drank one.”

Logan chuckled. “Like grandmother, like granddaughter, huh? Three is still three too many for a nondrinker—and after beers,” he said. “Have you eaten anything?”

Debra gripped his arm. “How can you think of food at a time like this?” she shouted. “I don’t need food. I need to talk to that man!” She pointed toward the stage. The object of her interest was gone. He’d disappeared. She stared at his empty chair.

“He was right there a second ago. Where did he go? I’ve
got to find him. Speak to him. Wring the truth out of the geezer.”

Logan grabbed her arm. “Who are you talking about, Debra? Who do you need to talk to?”

“The old man, of course. The one who sold me the blind horse!”

“Blind horse? What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

Debra’s frantic gaze searched the stage for the store clerk, but he was gone. Vanished.

“I saw him, I tell you. He was right there, and he was gonna back up my story. I know he was. He was gonna vouch for me. He’s got to be around here somewhere.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ve got to find him.”

Logan spun her around. “Who is he, Debra? Another old beau?”

The dizziness she’d been holding at bay returned with a vengeance. Debra clapped a hand to her mouth. “Get out of my way!” she said with a noisy swallow. “I’m gonna hurl!” She gave Lawyer Logan a hard shove and headed for the john.

Twenty minutes later, disheveled, weak, and rumpled, Debra emerged to find Lawyer Logan waiting for her, her jacket and purse in hand. Her head felt as if someone were beating tom-toms behind her eyeballs. Her throat was raw. She felt weak as a day-old kitten.

Logan assisted with her coat and handed her bag to her.

“Thanks,” Debra said. “I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” Logan answered. “I was concerned. You ready to go?”

“Go?”

“Home. I assumed you wouldn’t feel like hanging around here. I’ve made all the necessary good-byes, good lucks, and best wishes for both of us. I’ll drive you home so your folks can stay awhile longer.”

Too tired and sick to argue, Debra nodded and let herself be led to the blue Suburban. She crawled in and flopped over on her side with a long groan.

“Here,” Logan said, and stuffed his suit coat beneath her
head. “I promise I’ll take it nice and easy. No hairpin turns or belly-button hills.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Debra mumbled.

“By the way, if you feel at any time like ‘Ralph’”—he winked— “is about to make another appearance, tell me and I’ll stop the car. Here we go.”