Tarzan & Janine (13 page)

“Yes, Mamma, anything,” Janine had said, her eyes filled with tears.

“Promise me you’ll follow your dreams,” she’d said. “I want you happy.”

“But how will I know if they are the right ones?”

“Listen to your heart,” she’d said. Her grip loosened and her hand fell to the sheets. “Promise.”

“I promise Mamma. I love you,” Janine had said.

“I love you, too, Janine. I always have,” she said.

Those were the words her mother had spoken at the lowest point of her life. Yes, she’d recovered and had been in remission for nearly five years. In that time,  Janine had lived up to that promise, clinging tightly to her dreams, determined to make them happen. The goal she intended to reach was for herself as well as her mother, and nothing would get in the way.

“Why they make these dressing rooms so small is beyond me. I feel like I’m Houdini trying to wiggle out of a straightjacket in a submerged coffin,” Tanner groused.

Shaking free of the depressing mental images of her mother, sick and weak, Janine could visualize what was going on in the little closet of a dressing room. The sound of a zipper immediately set her heart racing. The only thing between her and a naked Tanner was a door. If she were the bold and brazen type, she might just open that door and let herself in.

A noise behind her brought her back to earth. She realized she was halfway out of her seat, acting on the images racing through her mind.

Glancing around, Janine spied two little old ladies browsing through the biker costumes.

“I don’t know, Louise. Do you think it’s a bit too... racy?”

“Not at all. It’ll spice up the retirement village costume party, if you ask me,” Louise said.

“Still, I don’t want to be responsible for one of the older gentlemen having a heart attack.”

“Oh, Beatrice, they could use a little excitement to juice up their pacemakers.”

Janine smothered a giggle at the interplay between the older women.

“What do I have to pay you to get me out of this deal?” Tanner asked through the door.

“There’s not enough money in the world.”

“This thing is entirely too small.”

Janine smiled, resisting the urge to laugh out loud at the pathetic sound of his voice. “And mine is much bigger? Come on, quit being such a baby. Let me see.”

“All right, but I’m tellin’ you, I’m not wearin’ this in public. Is the coast clear?”

Janine looked around. The two old ladies had worked their way toward the dressing room. By the looks on their faces, they’d heard Tanner’s last comment. Their gazes were zoomed in on the dressing room door as if it were a prize door in a game show.

Crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, Janine thought of the monkey, the bra, and the killer snake. “Coast is clear,” she sang with a smile.

Chapter Eight

“Well, boy, how’s it going?” Joe Peschke strode into Tanner’s office like he owned the place.
Because he does
. Tanner was not in the mood to hear his father tell him how much of a failure he was. His dignity was still recovering from the bruising it had taken in the costume shop.

When he’d stepped out of the dressing room in not much more than his birthday suit, he’d expected to model for Janine... only Janine. He’d seen what he thought was a glint of appreciation light her eyes. After hearing the gasps of surprise from the other two women in the audience, he now realized it was a glint of amusement he’d mistaken for appreciation.

Janine had gulped before saying, in a shaky voice, “My, my, I’d say it’s a perfect fit, wouldn’t you, ladies?”

Any starch in his libido had been thoroughly erased by the seventy-year-old women’s wolf calls. Instead of saying something completely suave and nonchalant, his hands formed a fig leaf over his privates, and he ducked back into the dressing room, slamming the door behind him. So much for manly dignity.

“Come on out here, stud muffin,” one of the blue-hairs yelled. “We won’t bite.”

“We might pinch a little, but with our arthritis, it won’t hurt much,” said the other.

“I’m not comin’ out until they’re gone.” He’d hopped up and down, cramming legs into his jeans, costume and all. No telling what those women were capable of. They’d stared as if he was some juicy side of beef. Who knows, they might have tried to open the door and take a sample taste.

Fully dressed, with his socks stuffed, one in each pocket, and his jeans hanging out of his quickly donned boots, Tanner marched out of the dressing room.

“There’s no way I’m gonna get in front of a camera in this thing.” He passed Janine, heading for the sales counter.

“Why?”

“It’s not decent.” He slapped a hundred dollar bill on the counter, giving the cashier a cool stare. “I’m wearin’ the costume out. Keep the change.”

“It looked like a perfect fit to us, right, ladies?” Janine turned to the older women. Whistled wolf calls from the ladies standing by the door were her answer. “See? You look great.”

“I don’t have a tan in all the right places,” he argued.

“We can get some of that instant tanning lotion.”

Damn Janine for finding a solution to every obstacle.

“I’ll smear it on,” volunteered one of the old ladies.

“I won’t do it,” he insisted.

Janine had stood at the end of the counter with a fist on one hip. “Wimp.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said in the last ten minutes?” Tanner’s father’s voice brought his reverie to a screeching halt.

With a hard shake of his head, Tanner tried to concentrate on the man standing by the window. For the first time in years, Tanner looked at him as something other than the dominating patriarch of the family and business. Why was he so intimidated by the man? Janine’s taunt echoed in his mind. Wimp? Was that the problem? Was he afraid of the man?

His eyes narrowing, Tanner took a closer look, noticing the wrinkles around his father’s eyes. His thick hair was more salt than pepper, and he moved with a little stiffness in his right leg. Damn, his father was starting to look old. Tanner thought back to his father’s last birthday. All the sales staff had decorated his office with black balloons and buzzards because it was his sixtieth. Somehow, the fact had escaped Tanner’s attention that his father was getting older. The man was a rock, incapable of weakness. How could he allow himself to get older? Hell, he was only a few years away from retirement age.

“I must say I’m impressed with the progress you’re makin’.” Joe Peschke stood with his back to Tanner as he gazed out on the lot filled with customers and salesmen. “With Scott runnin’ the sales and you runnin’ the marketing, you have a chance at meeting the three-month challenge I set out for you.”

Tanner blew out a deep breath. “That’s what I’m aiming for, Dad.”

His father turned to face him, the corners of his mouth turning up in a sad smile. “Your mother would be proud.”

A tug in the region of his heart quieted Tanner’s ever-glib tongue. He didn’t know how to respond to his father’s comment, so he just smiled and shrugged. He noticed his father hadn’t said he was proud of him. But the statement was pretty darned close to the praise he’d always craved.

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “In fact, you’re a lot like her.”

Tanner smiled softly at the image that lingered in his memories of his mother. “Everyone’s always said I take after Mom.”

“Yes, you do.” Joe’s eyes glazed over.

Tanner knew that look. The same look his father got each time he reminisced about his departed wife. Then his eyes cleared and he focused on Tanner.

“But more than that, you have her flighty nature. She loved everyone and everyone loved her. On her, it worked. On you...” Joe shook his head sadly. “On you, the trait’s not necessarily a good thing. In car sales, you’ll be taken advantage of in a heartbeat. It’s a tough business and you have to be on your toes at all times. Think you can handle that, son?”

“Yes, sir,” Tanner answered automatically, his father’s lecture about the business being tough—an old lecture he’d been subjected to since before puberty.

Joe cleared his throat, effectively ending his sermon. “So, what’s next? Lions jumpin’ through flaming hoops, trained dancin’ bears? Beans and I have a bet going. I say lions, he says alligators.”

Tanner glanced out the window and smiled. A huge truck was backing into the lot as they spoke. “It’s a surprise, Dad. A big surprise,” he added.

Joe’s gaze followed Tanner’s. “What are they deliverin’ now? All large deliveries are usually made on Mondays and Tuesdays. Do I need to have a talk with Rudy in shippin’?” Joe was halfway to the door, opening his mouth to shout orders when Tanner stopped him.

“I placed this order, Dad,” he said.

“For a Friday?”

“Yes, Dad.” Taking his father’s elbow, he led him toward the side door where he usually parked. He didn’t want him on the lot when they filmed the next commercial. Nor did he want him to see the latest prop until he was safely home and relaxed. “Trust me, Dad. I know what I’m doin’.”

“If you’d known what you were doin’, I’d have turned over the business to you already,” he blustered.

Tanner’s lips tightened. “Thanks, Dad.” So much for his father being proud of him. The man still didn’t have faith in him as a businessman. Oh well, Rome wasn’t conquered in a day. Tanner had two months to topple his father’s opinion of him, and, if things stayed on track, he’d show him what he was made of. Then maybe his father would say those yearned-for words about pride.

Joe Peschke was driving out of the lot when a two-door hatchback painted in garish tiger stripes passed him on the way in. The little car wove through the maze of parked cars and screeched to a halt at Tanner’s feet.

A slightly hefty woman in the fortyish age-range stepped out of the car. “Tanner,
bonsoir
,” she said in a fake French accent, wiggling her fingers in greeting. She reached into the back of the car and lifted out a suitcase the size of Rhode Island. “Are you ready to get tanned all over?” She carried the suitcase as if it weighed less than a briefcase.

Tanner cringed. “Hi, Bridgett. No, I’m not ready,” he grumbled.

The camera crew for the commercial was already setting up in the lot. This time, Tanner really hoped the city of Austin wouldn’t actually be watching. Especially since he was to make his debut in a loincloth. How Janine talked him into this, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t feeling altogether good about being seen in his altogether. A man had to be absolutely secure about his manhood to parade around like Tarzan, either that or he had to have a balls of steel.

Tanner led Bridgett to his office, pulling closed the window. “You can set up in here. How long will it take?”

“Ten minutes, tops.” She grinned, and with the flick of a latch, she opened the case and pieced together what looked like a gurney. A shaky one at that.

Tanner had never experienced butterflies in his stomach, but he had an entire flock of them churning away at what he suspected would be an ulcer by the end of this shoot.

With the enthusiasm of a man marching toward the guillotine, he entered the men’s room and slipped out of his clothes and into the skimpy loincloth.

Tanner raked a hand through his dark hair, and shrugged, then he threw a t-shirt over his head. After pulling his jeans on over the offensive outfit, he padded barefooted down the hall to his office.

The room was shrouded in smoky darkness, burning incense and candles making it more like a bedroom than an office. No, not a bedroom, more like an altar in a ritual of human sacrifice. Tanner’s feet dragged. He almost turned and bolted, but Bridgett’s voice cut through his fear.

“Just remove your clothes and hop on the bed.”

Struggling for balance, Tanner laughed. “Sounds like an interestin’ invitation.”

“Tarzan,
monami
, I’m more woman than you can handle. Save the come-on for Jane.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

Not a complete stranger to disrobing in front of women, Tanner still felt at a distinct disadvantage in front of Bridgett. Hell, with arms like hers, she could have been a wrestler.

He slipped out of his jeans and pulled off the shirt, tossing them both on the chair behind his desk. Fighting the urge to cover his privates, he perched on the edge of the raised cot. “Are you sure this will hold me?”

“
Oui
, it’s held women bigger than you with no problem. Come,
cheri,
we only have fifteen minutes ‘til you’re due to go on. We’ll need time to apply the makeup and time for it to dry. Here, wear this.” She handed him an eye mask.

“What’s this for?” He glanced at the little black mask and then to the woman. “You’re not going to blindfold me and paint me like a rainbow, are you?”

“I’ll have you know, I take my work seriously. It’s my calling card—the reason people come back—they love my sense of style.”

“Yeah, yeah, just make me look like Johnny Weissmuller, and I’ll recommend you to every Tarzan wannabe I come across.”