The Designated Drivers' Club (10 page)

“That didn’t really answer my question, but okay. Looks like you both got off to a good start at the same time, business-wise, I mean. Do you like what you do?”

“Sure, it’s interesting. I meet new people all the time.”

“Most of them intoxicated.”

“Not necessarily … and they’re still people. I get to see them at their best or worst, depending on what’s going on. There’s something wildly raw and real about that. No faked pretenses out of politeness like you’d see, say here, when someone has their party face on and wants to make a good impression. You know what they say, we always show our true selves when we’re drunk. Most people have a little baggage and sometimes they dump it on me in the car, most times they just want to get home.”

“You don’t seem like someone who really cares, or wants to hear other people’s baggage.”

She faced him, swiveled her eyes to meet his. “That’s a little harsh. I’m not completely cold-blooded you know.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

His eyes flickered to her mouth and she hitched in a breath. “I might have said that before, but now I’d say your blood definitely runs hot. A little too hot, really.”

“Knock it off, Grant.” She slithered a hand along her hip and tugged on the stretch material of the skirt. It felt as if it had hitched up to the curve of her rear and it was driving her nuts. Of course, a tug on one side instigated a move on the other side and the top of the dress once again dipped lower on her breasts. She grimaced and tossed her hair back.

• • •

Grant watched Jenny’s clumsiness, grinned, and averted his gaze. He raised his glass and sipped, checking the crowd.

Hodge seemed to have a homing device for finding Grant in the room; it was sort of like some married couples, instinctively knowing where the other is, without really searching. Hodge looked to the railing where they stood and raised a hand. When he recognized Jenny, his mouth dropped open then his lips raised in a huge smile. He gestured twice in a come-here manner.

“We’ve been summoned,” Grant spoke into her ear. He slipped a hand behind her back and turned her to the staircase. “Don’t tell him you were in Shilo’s room, he’d get pissed about that.”

The crowd had grown and now rolled up the steps toward them, like the tide rising. A rail-thin Steve Tyler look-alike with long streaked hair and skinny black dress jeans seized the opportunity and launched himself over the throng of people to crowd-surf. Grant watched, rolling his shoulders.

“Damn it! Not again,” he said. Stevie boy clapped his hands and yelled out to the music as hands and fists pushed him up and away. Nickelback’s “Burn It To the Ground” blared through the Bose speakers mounted above them.

“He does this a lot?” she shouted into his hair as the noise grew.

“Yeah, he’s the back-up vocalist for Cloudy Day, one of our bands. He plays a hell of a bass guitar and this is one of his gimmicks. When they’re on stage and the fans are hot, he throws himself into the people and they pass him around. It was a big hit at first, but a nightmare for us. If he gets hurt, we’re out one of the key members of the band.”

“Has he ever been hurt? Not the stubbed toe or sprained ankle hurt. I mean really hurt. The kind that requires a hospital or doctor?” she asked.

“Not yet, busted his head one time though. A girl got pissed about him tipping a drink on her. The chick’s dress was ruined. She pushed his supports right out from under him just to pay him back. He hit the floor head-first. Ended up with a gash right here.” Grant trailed a finger along the top of his ear. “We tried to convince him his gimmick wasn’t too well received and it was time to stop. That didn’t go over well, of course.”

“I don’t see any harm in it, really. He’s just having fun, trying to get people involved.”

“Involved in what, exactly?”

“The fun, I guess. I don’t know.” The uplifted arms in the crowd shoved the man around the room. Some waited with eager anticipation for their turn, others scowled at the inconvenience.

“Help me get him down, will you?” Grant tried to work his way through the carpet of people covering the stairs. “I just need to get down there. Never mind, he’s coming to us.” A black leather zip-up boot had been removed from the man’s foot and passed in another direction, then tossed across the room. His body still bounced up, down, and up again over the group — working its way up the first few steps.

“Grantmewishes!” the crowd surfer called out when he made eye contact with Grant.

Grant scowled.
God, he hated the stupid nicknames this guy made up for people.
“Dude. You need to get down before someone tosses you. We can’t afford to have you in the hospital when you have a show next week.” Grant calmly tried to grab an arm. The people below them apparently heard the interchange and shifted the man’s body vicariously toward the stair rail. “Shit.” Grant lunged for his legs.

Jenny grabbed a sleeve and dug in with her fingernails. “I have him.” She reached with the other arm for something besides fabric to hold onto. The fabric ripped and Stevie-boy’s head, arms, and torso tipped over the rail. Luckily, Grant had wrapped his arms around the man’s legs. He anchored against the inside of the rail and strained to hold him upside down.

“Whoa! Did you see that? Grantmewishes, your girl there just ripped my shirt off.”

Grant’s patience wore thin.
No shit. Don’t you care that you’re hanging upside down fifteen feet in the air?

Helpless to do anything but hold the bony legs, Grant braced himself against the rail. Jenny threw the torn shirt over her shoulder. She leaned over the rail and grasped at him. She glanced back seeking guidance.

“Yank him up by the belt, or get his arms, would you?” he asked.

Now shirtless and hanging in the air above a crowded room, the man apparently recognized the danger. He struggled for Jenny’s hands, peering solidly into the opening of a not-so-form-fitting neckline that Jenny was completely fed up with.

Stevie-boy’s eyes widened. “Hey, I see your — ”

“Give me your hand, idiot.” Jenny interrupted.

She couldn’t very well fix the stupid dress when she was trying to keep the man out of the hospital, could she? No, Grant chuckled. Let him have the freebie. For a very brief moment, he felt a twinge of envy. He’d appreciate it later when he realized it kept him from a mass of broken bones.

Stevie-boy scraped his fingers across her hand wildly a couple of times, before she was able to get a good grip. With one hand in hers, she scooped her other hand under his belt and heaved backward. The skinny little fart came over the rail, tumbling on top of her and knocking the three of them down four stairs before they settled in a pile halfway down. His sweat-covered, smelly, hairless chest smashed into Jenny’s face. Grant’s palm had wedged between them and planted firmly in the bodice of her dress.
Go figure.
He flexed his fingers to try to wiggle them out from between them. She’ll never believe
that
was an accident.

She sat up to see whom the hand belonged to, adjusting the bodice to its appropriate place. Grant jerked away, his face completely hot, and held both hands up in a convenient shit-eating grin.

“Oops,” was all he had to say.

“Yeah, right. For a guy with an attitude, you sure have a lot of conveniently
accidental
moves.”

“Seriously. I didn’t intend that to happen. Jenny, this is Daniel Ray.” Grant motioned to the bare-chested bandie.

She acknowledged the man as she pulled down on the skirt and moved backward to the safety of the stair rail.

“Thanks for the save there, girlie.” Daniel smiled. “Never thought they’d launch me over like that. Nice dress. Nice eyes. Nice you, too.” He gave her the once over. “How do you know Grant?”

“I don’t really. We just keep running into each other.”

“So, you’re not in the biz?”

“Nope. I’m just a chauffeur,” Jenny answered.

“Cool. Maybe you could run into me sometime then? Not as a chauffeur or in a car of course.”

Jenny eyed him suspiciously.

“Not likely,” Grant said. “She’s already involved. Right, Jen?”

“Uh, well I thought I was when I showed up. Not so sure now. You know David Keith?”

“Guitarist for Blind Optimism. I think he’s been talking to Hodge about signing up with these guys.” Daniel gestured toward Grant. “Yeah, I saw him down in the den a couple of hours ago with Quonna Lynnaid. She was — ”

Grant elbowed Daniel. “Who cares? Jen, let’s go get a drink, then I want to show you something.” Grant slid an arm around her and pulled her with him down the stairs. “I’d recommend you be careful around some of these guys. Daniel’s pretty harmless but not exactly smart. We have a hell of a time keeping him in one piece.”

“Really? How so?”

“Thrill seeker. Which, if you ask me, isn’t all that bad compared to some of the things these other people do for recreation. Daniel likes to rock climb, hang glide, sky dive, bungee jump, and just about anything else that will get the adrenaline pumping. He’s working on a pilot’s license right now and that scares the hell out of me.”

“What’s wrong with being a pilot? I think that’d be great for an entertainer. Make it easier to get them to their next performance.”

“He won’t settle for that. More than likely we’ll see his name in the paper someday because he tried to do some stupid trick in the damn thing and crashed it.”

• • •

At the bottom of the stairs, Grant retrieved a key from his pocket. He opened a door, and then slipped through and pulled Jenny by the hand. The room was pitch black. He pressed a switch and blue lights came on around the perimeter of the room. A floor to ceiling fish tank with clear blue water was set into the wall. The tank rounded the corner of the room and came back toward them, two full walls of large and small aquatic creatures of all shapes and sizes. It was a screening room with leather plush chairs lined up facing another wall where, opposite the aquarium, there was a white screen for viewing films. A tap at the door caught her attention.

Grant opened the door a slit and reached out. He turned holding two wine glasses and leaned to close out the noise on the other side. He strode to her and handed her one of the glasses. Sinking into one of the leather chairs, he pointed at some of the fish and named their species.

“It’s beautiful. Why does he keep the place locked up?”

“This was Lauren’s favorite room. She loved to have parties and then show their latest find on the screen. Made a big deal of it. After they divorced, he did one party in here but some idiot threw a bunch of trash at the tank. He was so pissed he made it off limits to visitors.”

“You like this room, don’t you? Not that I can blame you; it’s gorgeous. Who wouldn’t?”

“It’s soothing. I could sit and watch the fish for hours. Kind of puts me in a trance.”

“Thanks for showing me.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better get going.” She yanked up on the dress again before starting for the door.

God, he was in love with that dress.

“Jen, David took the car. You’re probably going to need a ride.”

“My car? He took my car?”

“Yeah, you left it with the valet, didn’t you?”

“That doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t even drive. Or at least he doesn’t like to. He normally has someone else take him everywhere.”

“Like who?”

“One of his band guys. Or me. Especially if he drinks, which he hasn’t done in over a year.”

“Well, he’s driving now. Has your car. And, you probably don’t want to know this, but he
was
drinking. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“No, thanks. I can get a cab.” She slid her thumb along her iPhone and dialed. When it rang, she looked up at Grant.

He had watched her turn her back to him and fumble under her dress for the phone she’d slipped into the elastic of a garter that lined her upper thigh. Rather crude, but wow, it totally kicked him in the ass. What more can he say about the frickin’ dress?

Grant narrowed his eyes and turned toward the fish tank. Get a grip, asshole. She’s grouchy as hell. Completely complicated. Yeah, but look at her. She’s completely gorgeous too.

He stood and pulled the phone from her fingers. “Jen, I’ll take you. You don’t need a cab. It’s the least I can do after you drove me all over the city a while back.” He smiled.

“Guess I figured out what that bump in your dress was that I felt earlier when you kissed me. What else are you storing down there?”

“Nothing. Where else was I going to put it? This dress has no pockets and I didn’t bring a bag.”

“Did you bring a coat?”

“Yeah, a short jacket that goes with the dress. Someone took it at the door.”

He made a call, the jacket was delivered to them, and they exited out a side door to the fish room, walked down a short hallway, then turned to a concrete drive where his little red car was parked. Grant focused on the phone with hopes that he’d see it returned to its hiding spot. No such luck.

Grant opened the little red convertible’s roof and eased the car out of the drive, careful to avoid the crowd that spilled into the yard of Hodge’s home. Millions of stars twinkled above them. The air was crisp and Jenny leaned her head back into the seat to feel the wind on her face.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“I’ve turned up the heat and seat warmers so it ought to be pretty toasty even with it open.”

“Thanks. Just curious — why do you drive something like this? It looks too small for someone your size. Aren’t you cramped?”

His knees rested just under the steering wheel. “There’s more room than you think. I guess I drive it out of spite and lack of choice. I dated a girl for a long time, in fact was engaged to her for a while. I bought her this car as a gift when we moved in together. She loved it. Women love convertibles, I guess.”

“You bought your girlfriend a car? Wow. That’s a pretty serious gesture. I think I’d settle for flowers or maybe a new coffeepot, even a gift certificate to Starbucks. You buy a car.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t intended to but she was a little demanding. She dumped me for someone more interesting. One of our actors. Then she had a fleet of vehicles. I kept the car when she left just to piss her off. Not that she really cared. She was a woman with a plan.”