My Front Page Scandal (12 page)

He saw the whites of her eyes when she caught sight of him across the room. Her head dropped and after a quick consultation with the other women—she practically shoved them toward Lindsay—she headed toward him with her mouth set.

“I told you not to come.”

“Hello, Brooke.”

The hard expression melted. “Hi.” She reached out to touch his face, but stopped after a nervous glance past the bar toward Lindsay, who now was watching them with her lips curved into a self-possessed smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He touched her hand down low, where no one could see. So she hadn’t told her friends about him. That was…surprising.

“You look beautiful.”

Her hand splayed over the peek of cleavage that showed in the clingy top. She glanced sideways. Lindsay and the other women had disappeared behind the black curtain. The meeting was underway.

The jazzy bartender set one of the caramel-apple martinis on the bar. “Drink up.

Boss lady’s orders.”

Brooke’s sleek ponytail swung over her shoulder as she reached for the martini glass. “I’m sorry, David.” She gulped the drink. Her features knotted spasmodically when the liquor hit. “I have to go now.”

He put his mouth near her ear. “You could skip the meeting and come away with me.” She made a barely discernible yearning sound in her throat, but she shook her head. “Or I’ll wait for you.”

“That’s not a good idea. I don’t know how long the meeting will last, or what I’ll be doing after—” She gave him a stricken look.

He made an impulsive decision not to tell her that he knew about the dare.

Secrets could be kept on both sides. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. If you’re sure you’re okay.”

She nodded with vehemence. “I’ve got my—my friends here.”

“Be careful.”

She sputtered through a mouthful of the martini. “That’s precisely not the point.”

“Brooke…”

“Later.” She planted a quick kiss on him. “I’ve got to do this. I promised.”

With a dread that he couldn’t name, he watched her walk away.

BROOKE TOOK A SECOND Caramel Appletini off a circulating tray. One was usually her limit, but she needed the liquid courage. And she was only choosing a dare tonight. How would she handle actually executing one?

Praying for something mild rather than wild, she inched through the crowd of club members toward the table where the polished wooden Dare Box had been placed in a prominent position. She stared at it with trepidation. Was it too late to back out?

There were rules, she remembered. Lindsay recited them at each meeting, but since this was Brooke’s first evening as a full-fledged Martinis and Bikinis member, she wasn’t completely clear on what she’d agreed to.

She knew that backing out was never done. The group was serious about the membership pledge, especially as it pertained to completing a dare. Not all dares were successful or went as expected, but they must be attempted.

Brooke’s hand was hovering above the box when Lindsay swooped in and whisked it away. “Don’t even think about it, Winfield.”

“What?” Brooke sipped her martini, trying to appear only casually interested.

“I’m innocent.”

Lindsay grinned. “Not after tonight’s dare.”

“Please say you went easy on me. I’m game, but not nearly as adventurous as Katie.”

“Ah, but the scrolls are randomly drawn. You’ll receive the dare that destiny bestows.”

Brooke had reached the bottom of her martini glass. She stared at the caramel candy with dismay. “In that case, I’m probably doomed.”

Lindsay raised a curious eyebrow.

There was no time to explain, although Brooke had decided that she would eventually share her news with Lindsay. Finding out that she wasn’t a true Winfield had given her a more intimate perspective on her half sister’s situation. They were both outsiders now.

The dare ceremony was about to begin. Club members quieted as they gathered around the table. Lindsay raised the Dare Box to a rousing cheer.

Brooke dropped back into the crowd. She’d’ve faded into the woodwork if she could have, but suddenly Joey and Katie were at her sides, linking arms in silent support. They’d gathered the night before to talk over Reba’s revelations with Brooke, offering her every kind of reassurance possible. While she appreciated the attempt, ultimately no one could help her deal with what was an intensely personal upset. Her sisters simply couldn’t comprehend the enormity of Brooke’s hurt and confusion.

Lindsay launched into her recitation of the rules.

“Last chance to back out,” Joey whispered. Even Katie managed to look sympathetic, though she’d never met a challenge she’d refused.

“No.” Recklessness took hold in Brooke. What did it matter? Her life was already in pieces. The old Brooke was gone and she was free to rebuild herself any way she pleased. “I’m going through with the dare.”

Joey and Katie exchanged a worried look. “But…”

“My life’s in upheaval anyway. It’s the perfect time for me to try a new experience.” Either the Bikinitinis were kicking in, or the option that had lingered at the back of Brooke’s mind had grown stronger.

With David, she’d dare anything. All she needed was a task that involved only him and her.

Lindsay finished the Martinis and Bikinis rules, which included the pledge that once chosen, the members agreed to complete their dare, come what may. “From an attack of embarrass-itis to nuclear war,” she said, then asked for a show of hands.

For once, Brooke didn’t hesitate. Her hand was up in the air before her sisters could react. Lindsay gave her a regal nod. The approval warmed something in Brooke that had gone cold the moment Reba had admitted that John Winfield wasn’t her biological father.

Lindsay quieted the chatter. “As your duly elected president, I declare that this month’s dares shall be undertaken by Svetlana Teraskova and Brooke Winfield.” A lusty cheer went up. Several of the members shouted encouragement to Brooke. Katie gave her a that’s-my-big-brave-sis smile.

“As a dare veteran, Svetlana will go first.” Lindsay opened the lid of the box and held it high.

Svetlana reached in and selected a parchment scroll. She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, teaching and studying at Harvard via a prestigious fellowship.

That such a bold and brainy woman was part of the group had comforted Brooke.

She’d feared that the M and B club would be made up of a lot of Katies—younger women who lived to party.

Svetlana untied the red ribbon and opened her scroll. “Ride the Green Line wearing nothing under your coat. Flash a total stranger.” She tossed the scroll up in the air. “That’s a snap. I did it last week.”

Laughter, catcalls and hand slaps greeted Svetlana as she sashayed back to her place. Lindsay called for quiet. “Brooke Winfield.”

Brooke stepped forward. Her heart was going like the snare drummer in a St.

Patrick’s Day parade.

There was an unusual amount of encouragement in Lindsay’s steady gaze. “Select your dare.”

Thanking her lucky stars that she’d avoided Svetlana’s pick, Brooke put her hand into the box and removed a scroll. She turned to face the membership, her fingers fumbling with the ribbon around the parchment.

Silently, she read the dare. Her body went numb. There was no way. No way on God’s green earth that she’d ever do this dare.

“Go on, read it,” Sherry called.

Brooke opened her mouth, certain she’d have no voice. “Perform…”

She stopped and stared daggers at Katie and Joey, who were goggling at her as if they had no part in this. But she knew they were behind the dare. Somehow, they’d planned it. And she was going to kill them.

“Read it, read it, read it,” the women chanted.

Brooke cleared her throat. “Perform a public striptease.”

The dare was met by enthusiastic applause that escalated when Brooke crumpled the scroll in her fist. There were shouts of “Go get ‘em,” and “You can do it!”

As the members broke rank and started milling about in search of another round of drinks, Brooke turned a distraught face to Lindsay. “Please let me pick another dare. I can’t do this one.”

“No second chances,” Lindsay said. “You got the dare that was meant for you.”

Brooke’s suspicion deepened. “Joey and Katie put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“No one has input on the dares but me.”

“I thought first dares were meant to be tame,” Brooke said with a bit of a wail.

Lindsay shrugged. “Luck of the draw.”

Brooke’s sisters approached. She shook an accusing finger at Katie. “You got me into this.”

Katie merely smiled. “It was Lindsay who sent the original invitations.”

Brooke turned back to rail some more at Lindsay, but the club president had slipped away into the crowd. Thanks a lot.

She glared at Joey instead, who raised her hands. “Don’t look at me, either. I’m not to blame.”

“Whatever.” Brooke fumed. To be fair, she’d gotten herself into this fix. Now to get herself out. Her thoughts scrambled for loopholes, but there were few options. To stay in the club, she had to—she must—complete the dare.

Perform a public striptease.

Total nightmare.

Do it right here, she thought. Right now. But she hesitated. Even though an impromptu striptease in front of the female membership might fulfill the letter of the dare, she’d feel as if she’d cheated, and they’d know it, too.

“A public striptease,” Brooke said, seething at the audacity.

“We’ll help you,” Joey said coaxingly.

Katie nodded. Her eyes lit with excitement at the prospect of stage-managing her big sister’s dare. “I’ll find a venue. There’s this club I know that has amateur night every Friday.”

“A venue?” Brooke clapped a hand to the side of her head. “My God. I’m going to need a venue. How public is public, anyway? Does Lindsay keep a set of rules pertaining to each dare?”

“I think the details are flexible,” Katie said. “But you have to honor the intent of the dare.”

“Perform a public striptease,” Brooke repeated, distantly aware that she’d become a babbling idiot. With one incisive slash, the dare had cut to the quick of all her inhibitions about nudity and the abhorrence of making a scandal of herself. “Public. Striptease.” She groaned. “How will I ever live that down?”

“Whole hog,” she said to the mirror. One of David’s phrases.

Tube of hair gel in hand, Katie bent to peer past Brooke’s shoulder at her reflection. She’d been adding an extra row of spikes to the porcupine hairstyle.

“What did you say?”

Brooke touched a finger to her blood-red mouth. Between the thick makeup and crazy hair, no one should recognize her, but she intended to add a mask for insurance. “I said, can you believe I’m doing this?”

“I believe that you’ll try.” Katie shook a can of washout hair color and squirted neon pink dye on the ends of Brooke’s hair. “Are you sure you don’t want a drink? Alcohol will loosen you up.” She grinned. “As the veteran of innumerable drunken escapades, I should know.”

“Hmmph. After this is over, I’d like to hear about why you’re familiar with this club.”

“It’s no biggie. For a while, the trendy thing was for girls to hang out in strip clubs. A few of my fiends were regulars, but I thought it was kind of lame.”

Brooke pursed her lips. “Did you ever get up on stage?”

Katie’s head snapped back. After a moment of stunned silence, she hooted with laughter. “I can’t believe it. You’re minutes from getting out there yourself, but you still manage to disapprove of me. Sheesh.”

The bass thump of the music and the nervous chatter of the other dancers filled the silence between the sisters. Brooke clutched the hem of her studded leather vest, replaying her words in her head and hearing how they might have sounded from Katie’s viewpoint. “I didn’t intend to criticize,” she said. “I was mother henning you again. Sorry, Katie-did. I can’t seem to help it.”

“I know. You’re my big sister.” Katie gave her a quick hug.

I am. I still am. Brooke was glad of that. “Hey, watch it. My hair might take your eye out.”

“Whoop!” Katie sang. “There you go again.” They smiled at each other in the mirror while she fussed with the makeup, shaking another sprinkle of body glitter over Brooke’s breasts, already partially exposed in a brief leather bikini top.

“Five minutes,” shouted the manager. “Five minutes to stage, ladies. Time for all visitors to clear out.”

Moans and a quavery “Ohmygawd” went up among the amateur dancers. Each of them would have five minutes onstage to perform to a tune of their own selection. How far they stripped was up to the individual. Brooke intended to attempt bikini bottoms and pasties, even though the rainbow-striped pasties one of the regulars had loaned her looked absurd, like beanie caps for her nipples. If only they’d had propellers, she could have whirled herself right out of the club.

Katie patted Brooke’s shoulders. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine. Two seconds from screaming, ‘Get me outta here!’, but otherwise fine.”

“Remember your Martinis and Bikinis pledge.” Katie put her cheek near Brooke’s.

“Dare.”

“Dare,” Brooke mouthed as her sister and the other helpers departed.

OUT FRONT, DAVID SAT at the back of the room with Rick. Each of them had hunkered low and pulled a ball cap low over their eyes, but for different reasons. Rick was worried Emily would get wind of his non-cultural, nocturnal activities and dump his ass for good.

David watched for photographers and reporters. So far, the only person who’d recognized him was Lindsay Beckham. After the first glance, she’d avoided looking in his direction. Either she was a very cool customer, or she was dealing with a smidgen of guilt for clueing him in to Brooke’s shocking plan to fulfill her Martinis and Bikinis club dare.

“Amateur night,” Rick read off a poster on the wall. “Gotta tell ya, pal, I go pro all the way.”

“All the way? I sympathize with Emily more every day.”

“Aww…” Rick tossed pretzels into his yap. “You know I’d never cheat on her,” he said between crunches.

“Women have a funny definition of cheating,” David replied, having to shout as the music fired up again. A first-time dancer had just been announced. He sat taller, craning to see over the crowd. A girl in spangled hot pants and tattoos appeared onstage, washed by a red spotlight.

Not Brooke.

He slumped. “To them, just being in a strip club might count.”

Rick stared at the awkward dancer as she spun herself around the pole and came to a thudding stop. “Ya think?”

“You know, you don’t have to stay on my account.”

“That’s okay.” Rick lifted himself out of the chair as a bikini top went flying.

The crowd roared. “I don’t mind in the least.”

The man had begged to come along, after David had admitted to his intentions for the evening. Dumb move on his part. He didn’t relish Rick seeing Brooke onstage any more than he wanted a room full of strangers to get a gander at her.

Why he felt that way was the puzzle. He and Brooke had no commitment. Therefore, he had no reason to feel possessive. But he did.

David had tried to get backstage to talk her out of the dare. A bouncer the size of a Patriots’ lineman had cheerfully boosted him away from the door. The most he hoped for now was that Brooke would freeze when she stepped onstage. He couldn’t believe she’d actually strip, even with the presence of other club members.

Unless the other Brooke took over. The one who’d clung to him on the back of his motorcycle, gone wild with him in his hotel bed, and met him at the door of her home, ready to tear his clothes off.

“Really,” David said to Rick as the dancer finished with a flourish of twirls, flashing naked boobs and a thong-clad butt with every spin. She scooped up her shorts and scurried to the curtained exit. “I don’t want you getting in trouble with Em.”

“Forget it.” Rick sat again. “You know what marriage counseling is? Two broads bitching at me for being a guy. Even worse—I’m paying for it.”

“And now…” the announcer said as the music cued, “Miss Lolita Leather dancing to ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’”

The bottom of David’s stomach dropped faster than a roller coaster. The other, wilder Brooke liked leather, and she liked Nirvana. She’d told him about sneaking out to a concert when she was sixteen.

He stood. A dark-haired woman posed with her back to the crowd, swinging her slim hips in a tight leather miniskirt. She was shaped like Brooke. For a couple of seconds, he stopped breathing, but when the dancer turned and shyly exhibited her silicone jugs bobbling back and forth in a pink leather halter top, he sat and let out a gigantic exhale. Not Brooke.

“Oh, Lolita,” Rick crooned. “Gimme some of that.”

I’m going to have a heart attack, David thought, right here on the floor of Passionfruit.

It would make one hell of a headline.

“I THINK SHE’LL DO IT,” Joey said at a table near the stage, where she sat with her sisters watching as Lolita Leather slithered across the floor of the raised stage. Her supersized boobs made her look like an anaconda that had swallowed two beach balls.

“Want to bet?” Katie sipped a daiquiri that had come with a wedge of pineapple and a paper umbrella. Passionfruit was a female-friendly kind of place, clean and smoke-free with a streamlined decor that didn’t feel sleazy at all. Aside from the stripper pole. And the card on the table detailing the prices of lap dances versus private time in the Paradise Lounge, which came in fifteen-minute increments. Not unlike the customers.

“You’re on. Stakes?”

“Liam’s taking me to Barbados in December. You have to dog sit Duke while we’re gone.”

“That’s no trouble,” Joey said. “I love puppies.”

Katie’s eyes narrowed. “Duke’s in a chewing phase. So far, the damage is one Kate Spade purse, three shoes and the corner of Liam’s briefcase.” She considered. “If Brooke doesn’t back out, I’ll buy you that pair of Louboutins you’ve had your eye on.” “Sounds good.” Joey folded her arms beneath her breasts, watching the dancer with a skeptical expression that said even she could do better. She glanced over her shoulder. “What about you, Lindsay? Do you want in?”

“In what?” Lindsay had been distracted ever since they’d walked in the door of Passionfruit. Katie had whispered to Joey that maybe she’d once danced there and was afraid of being recognized, but Joey doubted that Lindsay was afraid of something so insignificant.

“We’re betting on whether or not Brooke will do her dare. You have to put up stakes.”

Lindsay hooked her hair behind her ears. “A week’s tab at Chassy, versus…” She couldn’t seem to think of anything she wanted. “Free legal advice or graphic arts.”

Joey nodded. “Sounds good.”

Katie held up a finger. “But what side are you on? I say Brooke will give it a try, but she’ll chicken out at the last second. Remember, I was backstage. I saw the panic in her eyes.”

Joey would not be swayed. “Underneath all that uptight Winfield primness, there’s a part of Brooke that’s got to be dying to break out. I think she’ll do it. Maybe not well, and she’ll probably only strip to her bikini, but she’ll do it.”

They turned to Lindsay for her decision.

Their new sister was adamant. “There’s no doubt,” she stated flatly. “Brooke’s getting naked.”

“OUR NEXT DANCER will perform to ‘Bad Reputation,’” the club deejay said with his mouth practically kissing the microphone. Brooke lowered her leather cat’s-eye mask and waited for her cue, shivering in the wings. She’d have prayed, but bringing God into this didn’t seem right. By all that the Martinis and Bikinis club holds holy, please don’t let me be the first to weasel out of her dare.

“Passionfruit presents Miss Rock Me All Night Long!”

The music began. Brooke didn’t move. One of the other dancers pushed her in the small of the back. She still didn’t move. She was frozen.

Until she heard, rising above the applause, Katie’s high-pitched squeal.

“Woohoo! Dance it, sister!”

Brooke closed her eyes and stepped onto the stage. Inside, she felt like shuffling with her chin down around her knees, but the stiletto boots wouldn’t let her. They demanded a strut.

So she swallowed her butterflies and strutted.

She stopped at the center of the stage. What next? She and Katie had worked out a routine at Chassy after the M and B meeting, half-drunk and falling all over themselves with giggles while Lindsay looked on in amusement. But now she couldn’t remember a single step.

The audience had grown quiet. Their air of expectancy felt mean to Brooke, as if they’d been hoping for an amateur-night disaster. I refuse to be it.

The spotlights were blinding. She couldn’t see much of the audience beyond the first row of tables. Joey gave her a thumbs up. Katie wiggled in her chair, simulating the dance moves they’d planned. Lindsay watched, tapping a fingernail against her chin in time to the beat.

That’s right. Listen to the music. Swing your hips. A smattering of sarcastic applause greeted Brooke’s first tentative movement.

Someone jeered. “Is that all you got?”

Go on. Do it. Dare.

Putting more conviction into her moves, Brooke let the anthem about a rebellious woman fill her head, crowding out all the doubts. Dance, she told her boots, and they took over.

She dropped the studded leather belt, but kept the slim silver chain wound twice around her hips. She tore off the leather vest and whipped the garment overhead before tossing it away. The audience shouted approval. Her confidence surged.

Riding high on the cheers, she rashly unzipped the denim miniskirt and let it slide off her shimmying hips.

Brooke faltered. Suddenly, she was clad in only the boots, a bikini brief and the fringed leather bikini top. And still the men were calling for her to show them her…well, that was not word she normally used.

Her eyes widened behind the mask, blinking the sweat out of her lashes. She looked at her sisters’ table. They were smiling, applauding. Even they wanted her to continue?

She turned and sashayed back down the ramp. Her hands went to the front clasp of her top. Maybe she could do it. This was certainly her only chance to be as bad as she’d always wanted to be, because she was never taking another dare and she was never, ever, not in a million years, stripping again.

The rousing music cut through her hesitation. Her bad reputation? Hmmph. I don’t give a damn. Not me.

Then what was she doing in the mask?

Hedging her bets, that’s what. Cheating the dare.

Marveling at her recklessness, she ripped away the mask. Discarding the bikini seemed minor by comparison.

She spun around to face the crowd, opening the top with one quick, violent yank.

Even though the air was steamy, it felt cool on her uplifted face and near-naked breasts.

A huge cheer went up. Men were standing, applauding. Some beckoned to her, waving dollar bills.