Wanna Get Lucky? (15 page)

Ballantine visibly paled.

“I don’t think you’d like being a boy toy for some lifer in the state pen.” I turned on my heel, shouldered past Dane, then retrieved the gun from the floor where I had left it.

At the doorway, I slapped the gun in the chest of its owner. “Why do you carry this thing if you’re afraid to use it?”

The guard grabbed the gun with both his hands and stared at me as if I had two heads.

“Men,” I muttered as I stalked off down the hall.

MY
phone rang as the elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the lobby. I glanced at the caller’s number. I flipped the phone open, pressed it to one ear and stuck a finger in the other. “Mother, aren’t you in Carson City? I’m really busy.”

“Too busy for your mother?” Her tone was colder than ice.

I took the finger out of my ear. That single phrase told me there wasn’t going to be much about this phone call I wanted to hear. “Mother, contrary to what you may think, the earth does not stop rotating when you call. This is a bad time.” Why I let her punch my buttons, I don’t know.

“Sweetheart, with that attitude, you’re going to grow old by yourself.”

“That’s not looking like a bad option right now.”

“If you run off that nice Mr. Dane . . .” Clearly the concepts of bad timing and nonreceptive audience were lost on my mother.

“Mother, if you called to talk about my love life, this is not a good time.”

“What love life?”

I sighed and counted to ten. As I counted, I watched the people milling around the lobby. Did any of them have a mother like Mona? If they did, maybe we could form a support group. The first session could deal with stifling thoughts of matricide. “Mother, is this really why you called me?”

“Of course not.”

I waited, but she said nothing. She was waiting for an apology, and the only way to get her off the phone without hanging up on her was to give her one. I guess I had been a bit harsh. “Sorry, Mother. What can I do for you?”

“I only have your best interests at heart.”

“I know.”

“Why do we take our frustrations out on each other?”

An interesting observation from my mother.

“Because it’s safe.”

“That must be it.” Mother paused for a minute. I could almost hear her thinking. “Lucky, sweetheart, the reason I called is to tell you that the man Lyda Sue met at my place is no worry of yours. He had nothing to do with her falling out of the helicopter.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Sarcasm crept into my voice, but I didn’t care. “How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“I’m sure that will be compelling testimony in a court of law, Mother.” I knew what was coming next. I could read my mother like my dog-eared copy of
Atlas Shrugged
. “You’re not going to tell me who she met, are you?”

“Honey, it’s not important. He’s not involved.”

“You’re withholding evidence.”

“You’re not the police, and, if it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t tell them either.”

“Mother, you can be mean and really, really irritating, but you’ve never been stupid.”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it, but you’ll have to trust me on this one, dear.”

“So why did you call if you weren’t going to tell me anyway.”

“I want you to be careful, that’s all.”

“That’s not all, Mother, we both know it.”

Sorry I’d apologized to her and more than a little pissed, I snapped my phone shut. I’m supposed to trust her? What about her trusting me? And she was willing to stonewall the police for this mysterious guy. Why? Who could she care about that much?

In a blinding flash of unusual introspection, I realized one very sad and unsettling thing—while I could read my mother like a book, I didn’t really know her at all.

My Nextel vibrated. “What?” I practically shouted into the device.

“I heard you shot somebody.” Miss Patterson had the annoying habit of making an announcement sound like a question.

“Some
thing
, not some
body
, although the day is still young.”

“Before you pull the trigger, think of me. I’m just getting you trained. It would be such a pain to break in a new head of customer relations.” I heard the smile in her voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m in the lobby ready to greet the Trend-makers.”

“Got it. I didn’t have anything else beyond wondering whether I needed to find you a good defense lawyer.”

“An oxymoron, if not an impossibility,” I said as I shut the phone, proud of myself for resisting the temptation to toss the thing into the trash and bolt out the front door screaming. Instead I rehooked the device at my waist, arranged my features in what I hoped was a pleasant expression, and girded myself for my next task.

Truth be told, the Trendmakers made me nervous.

I watched them as they arrived to check in at the special desk set up for them in the far corner of the lobby. Short ones, fat ones, tall ones, skinny ones, the Trendmakers came in all shapes and sizes. It was like watching middle-class America trooping to Home Depot for a gallon of paint. But they weren’t coming to Home Depot. And they weren’t coming for paint.

They were in Vegas for a weekend of casual sex with one another’s spouses.

And they didn’t care if the whole world knew. Well, some of them didn’t care.

As I watched them, I wondered who was sizing up whom, and for what. Who had already slept with whom? Were they back for more of the same, or did they want fresh meat this time around? Images chased through my mind. How could they stand there talking to each other as if they were bridge players attending their annual convention?

A few moments of that line of thinking was all I could stand. I needed a drink. After greeting the Trendmakers, I was heading to Delilah’s for some personal time with a bottle of Wild Turkey.

I plastered on a smile and started toward the registration table. A tap on my shoulder stopped me.

“Ms. O’Toole?”

I recognized the voice that came from behind me. I turned. “Jeep. How are you?”

The Most Reverend Peterson J. Peabody loomed in front of me blocking the light, but his smile shed a light of its own. “Fine, doing much better, thank you. I’d like you to meet the missus.” He pulled forward a small lady with a cropped hairdo and big eyes. Her smile was almost as wide as her husband’s. Thankfully for the Mrs. Most Reverend, that was the only thing about her as wide as her husband.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

She grabbed my hand in both of hers and looked at me with those big eyes. “Thank you so much for taking such good care of my husband last night.”

Last night? Had it really only been last night? I felt like I’d aged ten years since then. “That’s what we’re here for.” My voice sounded stiff even to me. As I stood there, my hand held tightly in hers, I couldn’t help wondering whose husband she had picked to start her weekend with. Did she like them older, or younger? Fat or buff? One at a time, or two?

I really needed to get a grip.

“Would you care to join us tonight?” Mrs. Peabody asked. “A group of us are going to Carne for drinks and dinner.”

I extracted my hand. “Thank you, you’re most kind, but I’m afraid I can’t get away.” I made a sweeping motion with my arm. “As you can see, things are a bit crazy here today.”

“I can see that.” Her smile lit her eyes. “But, if you change your mind, we’d love to have you.”

I shivered. Coming from her, that innocent phrase took on a whole new meaning.

FORTY-FIVE
minutes of meeting and greeting the swingers, directing them to the corner of the bar where libations would be served, and I was more than ready to drown myself in that bottle of Wild Turkey. I sidled onto the last remaining stool at Delilah’s.

“The usual, Ms. O’Toole?”

I looked into the smiling eyes of Sean Finnegan, one of our head bartenders. “Make it a double, and if you put more than one very small cube of ice in there, I’ll come across this bar and strangle you myself.”

“Good day, huh?” Sean and I went way back. He liked to tell people, women in particular, that he was Black Irish. I guess they found that sexy or something, I don’t know. What I did know was Sean’s name wasn’t Finnegan, it was Pollack, and he was from New Jersey, not the Emerald Isle.

We all had our little secrets.

“Terrific,” I growled. For some reason, I had a burr under my saddle, and I couldn’t figure out exactly why.

Cupping my hands around the double old-fashioned glass Sean
set in front of me, I swirled the amber liquid and the one lonely ice cube around in the glass. Normally, I could blow through a day like today and not be fazed, but for some reason I felt out of kilter, not myself. Surrounded by people, I felt strangely alone, disconnected.

“I’ve heard of people trying to divine the future from the leaves at the bottom of a tea cup,” Teddie said as he appeared out of nowhere. “But never from a glass—a very large glass, I might add, of Wild Turkey.”

He sounded way too chipper for me to deal with right now. “Go away.”

He leaned in and shouted down the bar. “Hey, would you guys mind moving down so I can sit next to my lady here?”

I felt all eyes turn my way. Terrific. Now I was the center of attention—just what I wanted.

After much grumbling and scrambling about, everyone moved down one seat, leaving an empty stool to my left. Teddie straddled it.

I felt the reassuring warmth of his shoulder next to mine. Grudgingly, I had to admit, cheery mood and all, it felt good to be with Teddie. It always did. Especially, like today, when he was just Ted and not wearing a dress and my high heels. “I think I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

“Moi?” He feigned innocence. “What did I do?”

I tried not to smile at his big blue eyes and exaggerated expression. When he was just Ted Kowalski he was damned attractive. He still wore his torn Harvard sweatshirt and a pair of faded jeans that were just tight enough to spark interest but still leave a lot to the imagination. A hint of Old Spice aftershave wafted around him. I liked that—so old school.

“Nothing, really.” His crack about losing my smile had stung. As they say, the truth hurts.

“I have your best interest at heart.” So he knew. He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me a bit closer.

“You’re the second person who told me that today,” I said, enjoying the feel of his arm holding me.

“Who was the first?”

“Mother. Right after she stuck a knife in my back.”

“Your mother is a piece of work.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I pushed the drink away. I didn’t want it anymore. “But you know the weirdest thing?” I leaned against Teddie. Solid, and male, he felt safe—and not a bit like Cher. “She’s my mother and I don’t even know her, not really. You know what I mean?”

“People build walls. Vegas can do that to you.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Do I do that?”

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Honey, you learned at the foot of the master. Mona is the most isolating person I know.”

“But I have a ton of friends.”

“You have a few friends and you keep us all at a safe distance.”

“That sounds so sad.” I didn’t want to be the gal Teddie described. “I must not be a very good friend, then.”

“Well it wouldn’t hurt if you took a couple of rows of bricks out of that wall.”

“I have no idea how. You help me, okay?”

“Your wish is my command.”

We both said nothing, letting the noise of the bar close in around us. Tired of resisting, I let my head rest on his shoulder. I didn’t want to think about building walls, tearing them down, keeping people out, or letting them in, but those thoughts buzzed around the edge of my consciousness.

“So how many years do you have to go without sex before they declare you a virgin again?” I mused aloud.

“What?” Teddie dropped his arm and leaned away to get a better look at me.

I darn near fell off my stool.

“Well.” I pushed myself back upright and refused to look him in the eye. “I read somewhere that if a person hadn’t had sex in ten years, then that person could be declared some sort of a de facto virgin again.”

He looked at me aghast. “Why would anyone want that?” He made becoming a virgin again sound as appealing as contracting the Ebola virus.

“I’m serious. I was just wondering about the ten-year thing.” I thought back to the last time I’d had sex. I wasn’t close to the ten-year mark. Well, not perilously close anyway. I’d worked hard enough to lose my virginity the first time, I didn’t think I needed to push through that barrier again.

Teddie said nothing for a moment, and thankfully he didn’t laugh—or ask me how long it had been. Finally, he took my hand in his and looked me in the eye. “If you want to have sex, all you have to do is ask.”

I snatched my hand away. “Why is casual sex a guy’s answer to every problem?”

He reared back. With one hand he tapped himself on the chest. “Me? Men? You brought it up!”

“So to speak.”

We stared at each other. Then we both burst out laughing. Tears rolled down our faces, and we both were gasping for air before we could stop. In between fits of laughter, Teddie took a big slurp from my abandoned drink. I thought for a second, then did the same.

We both sat there trying to breathe and fighting the giggles that threatened to erupt again. Finally, I could take a deep breath and trust myself not to dissolve into hysterics.

Teddie had quieted beside me when he turned on his stool so he was facing me. He pulled my knees around so we were staggered knee-to-knee, face-to-face.

I started to say something, but the look on his face stopped me. The laughter had disappeared, replaced by something else.

Holding my hands in one of his, he reached up with the other, running his fingers over my cheek. Slowly he traced my jaw. I gasped as he brushed his thumb lightly over my lips.

Then he kissed me.

His lips felt soft, yet insistent, exciting. A long forgotten feeling
stirred inside me. I wanted to resist, then I didn’t want to. Thoughts and emotions tumbled.