Whitehorse (16 page)

"I've had it hanging up on my bedroom wall for the last three months—"

"I loved you in that
ER
episode. Oh, geez, you know, the one where you were shot during that demonstration—"

"Is it true you're dating
Cher
?"

"Doofus. He's with a date."

"Oops. Sorry. Hey, aren't
you…"

"Doofus. That's Dolores Rainwater. God, don't you know anything? She does the morning news, on Channel
10."

"Sorry. I don't watch the news."

"Mr. Whitehorse, would you
please
sign this menu? You will? Oh my God. I'm going to faint. Oh my God,
I'm
going to frame this and hang it over my bed so it's the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning."

"God, you're even more gorgeous in person than you are on your poster. And you're
sooo
tall. Oh my God, Sarah, isn't he tall?"

"I made my boyfriend buy those jeans you wear in that commercial where you're walking down
Fifth Avenue
and traffic is crashing all around you and the women are hanging out of the office windows and whistling? Duh. Not even. He looks like a dork in them compared to you."

"Someone told me at school they'd read in
People
magazine that you've been offered a cola commercial, that they're going to use that same jeans commercial, only at the very end you're going to pop the tab off the cola and drink it—"

"And all the drooling women rush to their soda machines to buy that drink—"

"Shhh. Randy is staring at us."

"Give them table eight on the veranda near the band. Oh my God, Judy, your waitress, is going to die when she sees you. Thank you so much for the autograph, Mr. Whitehorse. Oh my God, I can't believe I actually met him! Oh my God."

Sarah turned on her high heels and flounced away, menus tucked under her arm, blond ponytail swinging side to side like windshield-wiper blades.

Dolores looked up at Johnny, her mouth curved in something just short of sarcasm. "I'm surprised they didn't have an orgasm right there."

Johnny grinned. "You're just jealous because they didn't know who the hell you are."

"Need I remind you that the valet thinks I should be in
Playboy?"

"I'll give Hugh a call for you if you'd like."

"That's right. He tried to get you to do a layout with Miss October, didn't he?"

"No that was the publisher of
Playgirl.
Wanted me to
be
Mr.
October."

"And you turned his offer down. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. What you could have done with two million dollars."

"You know what they say, sweetheart. It's better to leave 'em guessing. Fantasy is usually more satisfying than reality."

"You're joking, right? One could hardly say that about you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

By the time they had crossed the main dining room, every patron, plus those at the adjacent bar, had noted Johnny's presence. Women squirmed in their chairs for a better look. Men rolled their eyes and glared at their wives and girlfriends, obviously annoyed at their blatant appreciation for another man.

The band's rendition of John Denver's "Sunshine on my Shoulders" reverberated from the half-dozen speakers suspended in the clusters of trees scattered over the restaurant's well-manicured and landscaped grounds. A lone middle-aged couple, holding one another tightly, slid across the dance floor, oblivious to the tables of people watching them, too wrapped up in one another to care.

Sarah scanned the crowd and the few empty tables Randy always kept set aside for his special friends who dropped by on the spur of the moment. "You can sit near the band, but that's pretty loud. There's a more secluded table just back of that wall. You can still see the band from there but you're sorta hid from gawkers, ya know?" She smiled and batted her eyelashes at Johnny.

Dolores checked out the crowd. She would choose the most conspicuous table in the place, Johnny surmised. She always did. She liked attention. She liked being seen with him. It was damn good promotion. The more her photo showed up in the gossip rags, the better chance she had of landing a job with a more prestigious network affiliate. And he knew for a fact that her contract was up for renegotiation soon, which was the major reason she was so eager to sniff out dirt on Senator Foster. Breaking the story would get her worldwide recognition.

"Well, well, look who's here," she said.

Johnny followed her gaze, to a table where a waitress was pouring champagne and a pudgy man with a receding hairline was reaching for his date's hand and—

Dolores took off through the crowd, heading straight for Leah's table. Sarah fell in behind her. Johnny wondered if he could get away with murder in front of so many witnesses.

"My God, if it's not Leah Foster," Dolores said, sweeping around the table to grab Leah in a hug. "How long has it been, Leah? Twelve, thirteen years? You remember me, don't you? Dolores Rainwater?"

The smile froze on Leah's face as Johnny walked up. The flush that had accentuated her blue eyes moments before drained down her neck. But for a spot of hot color glowing just above her cleavage, she suddenly looked white as paper.

"Dolores," Leah repeated, forcing herself to focus on Dolores and not on Johnny.
So, you're
that
Dolores,
her tight smile said—
the one who uses Estee Lauder lipstick and condoms ribbed for your enjoyment.
"Sure, I remember you. I watch you every morning."

Dolores caught Johnny's arm and dragged him up beside her. "You and Johnny have already gotten reacquainted, I understand."

"Our paths have crossed, yes." Leah reached for her glass of champagne and smiled at her date. The man stared at Johnny and Dolores with his mouth open, obviously star-struck and speechless. "Sam, these are old friends of mine. We grew up together, sort of."

Sam sprang out of his chair, dropping his napkin to the floor and knocking the table so hard the glasses tottered precariously. "Yes, ma'am, Ms. Rainwater. Mr. Whitehorse. I know who y'all are. Geez Louise,
I'm
pleased to meet you both. Real honored. Leah never told me y'all were acquainted."

Leah sipped her drink, still smiling, still refusing to look at Johnny. Her color was returning little by little, creeping up her shoulders, her throat, and fingering across her rigid jaw.

"Y'all here for dinner?" Sam asked.

"Why, yes we are," Dolores replied.

"Well, you're welcome to join us if you want. Course, I can understand if you'd rather be alone—"

"Why, Sam. What a wonderful idea. Wouldn't that be fun, Johnny?" Dolores flashed him her most brilliant smile. "We can kick back a few margaritas for old time's sake."

"Sure," he replied, aware he sounded sullen and pissed. Not sure he felt sullen and pissed because Dolores was making an ass of herself and embarrassing him, not to mention Leah, or because the moron who was Leah's date had been holding Leah's hand those moments before Dolores insinuated herself into their privacy.

He pulled out Dolores's chair for her, whispering in her ear as she sat down, "Cute. Very cute, sweetheart. We're going to discuss this later. Aren't we?"

Smiling, Dolores whispered back, "I'm counting on it."

Johnny took the chair next to Leah. His knee brushed hers under the table. Without so much as a glance at him, Leah shifted in her chair, moving her legs out of his way.

"Ummm, champagne," Dolores said. "Are we celebrating something?"

Sam motioned to the waitress, who stared at Johnny in a sort of daze. "Hon, could you bring us two more glasses? Yoo-hoo. Ma'am?" He chuckled and nodded toward Johnny. "I reckon she's a fan."

The waitress blinked and focused on Sam.

"Two more champagne glasses if you will, darlin'."

"Sure." She nodded and moved like a robot toward the kitchen.

Dolores laughed. "God, you can't take Johnny anywhere that he doesn't cause a scene. You get used to it after a while. The women simply love him."

"I have to admit, I got two daughters back in Austin who think you're God's gift to women," Sam declared, shaking his head. "They ain't ever gonna believe this."

"I'll bet Johnny would be more than happy to give you a couple of autographs to send them."

"That would be super." He searched his coat pocket and found a pen, but no paper, so he grabbed a couple of napkins. "Just sign one to Debbie, and one to Lynda. That's Debbie with an
ie
and Lynda with a
y.
Hell, my ex is going to be green with envy. She met Willie Nelson once. Ran into him on the street in downtown
Austin
. She's got his autograph framed and hung over the mantel in the living room. Just something else she got in the divorce."

Johnny scrawled his name on the paper napkins as Leah continued to sip her champagne and Sam fidgeted like a nervous kid in his chair. Finished, Johnny shoved the napkins at Sam and said, "So what were you celebrating … Sam?"

"Celebrating? Oh. Ah. Well." His face flushed and he glanced at Leah. "Our third date."

"How sweet," Dolores offered. "I can see you're a real charmer, Sam."

Sam reached for his glass, tipping it toward Leah before drinking it down in one long quaff.

As the waitress returned with two glasses, the band struck up "Heard It through the Grapevine." The scraping of chairs was followed by a half-dozen couples heading for the dance floor.

The waitress took Dolores's order for a pitcher of
margaritas
for the table, then their food order, so flustered by Johnny's presence that she was forced to start over twice before getting it right.

Dolores and Sam chatted through the
margaritas
and fajitas while Leah and Johnny stared into their drinks and did their best to listen to the music that was fast becoming diluted by the growing din of conversation and the clattering of dishes.

Johnny did not have an appetite after all. Obviously Leah didn't either. She poked at her food and nibbled on greasy tortilla chips, pretending to be immersed in Dolores's and Sam's conversation, which focused entirely on Dolores's career. At one point, Johnny found his foot nestled against Leah's. He waited for her to move it; she didn't, and for a moment her eyes became distant, her expression dreamy. Was she thinking about yesteryears, when they would meet on the sly at Mojo's Truck Stop way out on Highway 70, halfway to
Roswell
, sit in the back booth with their legs pressed together and plan how she would sneak out of her room that night and meet him behind the stables? Or were the champagne and
margaritas
simply catching up with her? She'd never been one who could handle her liquor. It made her sleepy, and romantic.