“Give your head a shake! You’re just making excuses. You’re going to spend the day with one of the most gorgeous men in Vegas. Carpe diem! Seize the moment, Cleo. Come Monday morning, sexy Orion slave girl Cleopatra Jones disappears for good, and C. C. James, teacher extraordinaire, returns and, I hope, packs her bags and moves to Alamo. Get with the program. Today, you’re going to knock him on his ass, and he’ll be begging to take you to bed tonight. Believe me, you need a night with him to survive the rest of your virtuous life.”
Cleo shook her head. “Fine, but if something goes wrong and I lose my job, I’m moving in with you, and I’ll recite ‘I told you’ so for the rest of my days. Hand me the tote bag I bought yesterday.”
Mitch opened the closet and pulled out the kitschy, red beaded souvenir bag. “You’re exaggerating. No one loses a job just for being seen with someone. Here you go.”
Cleo opened the bag and tossed in the sixty SPF sunscreen she’d need to keep from looking like a cooked lobster in the desert sun. She added the new pair of skinny jeans and the yellow, three-quarter-length sleeve, cotton t-shirt she’d bought yesterday, ballet flats, and a lightweight jacket.
She turned to Mitch. “Tell that to the teacher who attended a bridal shower where a stripper was hired. Some stranger posted her picture on the Internet, and she was suspended last year. Okay. Here are my choices. What do I wear for a day of fun, sun, and seduction? Considering I only have four outfits to choose from, this shouldn’t be that difficult.”
Mitch took the towel she’d been using to dry her hair and hung it on the doorknob. She replaced the bath sheet with another of the hotel robes, walked over to the coffee pot, and poured herself a cup. Cleo watched the look of satisfaction on Mitch’s face as she inhaled the rich aroma. Cup in hand, she sat in one of the chairs next to the cart and studied Cleo.
“This isn’t about clothes. You’re really rattled, aren’t you?” Mitch took a sip of the rich, black brew.
“Yes I am, and I’m not sure what’s bothering me most: the fact that I’m considering doing this or the fact that I want to do it so badly. I don’t live on the edge and take chances. It’s as if some alien entity has taken over my mind. I’m not sure I’ll ever be content again in Gordon’s Grove with the humdrum life I had with Dad. Even if I get the transfer to Alamo, life isn’t going to be any more exciting than it is now. Sure, you’ll be closer, but Dad will be farther away, and I’ll probably spend half my off-duty hours on the phone trying to resolve one crisis or another. I’ll never get another chance to experience life like this, and if I don’t do it, I’ll probably regret it, but if I do, will I ever be satisfied with what I have again?”
“In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a hard time making a decision about anything because you’ve never had to make a tough one. When you always play by the rules, that’s what happens. No one’s asking you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of Ba’al—you’re not going to be doing anything wrong. You’re going on a date with a dancer. If he danced on Broadway, it wouldn’t matter. Why make such a big thing about this?”
“You’re right. If he was a Broadway star, it wouldn’t affect things the way it does unless the show itself was questionable. I’ve told you before teachers are held to a higher standard than anyone in any other profession. It’s a double standard, but whether I like it or not, that’s my reality, the reality I willingly chose. Lots of things are legal, but if I’m caught doing them, someone has the power to say I offended the community in some way, set a bad example, and I can be suspended. At worse, my license to teach can be revoked. If I tell a joke and someone finds it offensive, it’s enough for a black mark on my record. Dad’s last words to me before I left were to be sure to avoid being seen doing anything that could upset anyone. Dating a man who takes his clothes off for a living wouldn’t go over well, but Mitch, I want to do it. Now help me figure out what to wear before I lose my nerve.”
“Wear whatever you like; you’ll look good in anything. Clothes don’t usually matter to you. I don’t understand what the problem is. You’re going to be in a helicopter most of the day. Sam’s plans have you flying from one end of the state to the other. Wear something comfortable and practical. As usual, you’re overthinking this. Start with a process of elimination.”
“Maybe it’s the hangover, guilt, or nerves,” Cleo admitted. “I just don’t seem to be able to think straight, and can’t get the idea out of my head that this could be the single, most stupid thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Mitch chuckled. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never seen you drink as much as you did last night, but then neither have I. Who knew champagne cocktails made with Dom could be so yummy. I told you those guys made tons of money. You know, there’s no reason why I can’t come back and visit Charlie once in a while. I’ll get his number before we go. No one’s ever rung my bells like he did last night. How’s your head?”
“Better now. I’ve had a couple of glasses of orange juice, and the coffee is helping. I was afraid I might be nursing a migraine, but no.” She stopped talking as a thought struck her. “God, I’d better lay off on the liquids. They don’t have washrooms in helicopters, do they?”
Mitch laughed, snorted, and laughed again. Tears filled her eyes. “Cleo, you make my day. Here you are, considering violating the strict moral code you’ve adopted, getting ready for what could be the most important day and night of your life, and you’re suddenly worried about the plumbing. Let’s see if we can get you dressed and out of here before you do talk yourself out of this. I’m meeting Charlie on the concourse at nine, so I have more time than you do.”
Mitch pointed to the white eyelet sundress. “That can go back in the closet. It’s too dressy and white isn’t the best color for sightseeing in the desert. Besides with seduction on today’s menu, you don’t want to look too pure and untouchable. So what happened when he brought you upstairs last night?”
Cleo picked up the dress and returned it to the closet.
“Nothing. He carried me up because there was a big wet spot on the rug downstairs. He gave me another of those delectable kisses, and then when I was hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, he closed the door and left. I have no idea what went wrong.”
Mitch reached for the pair of denim capris and a nautical themed boat-necked tee. “Maybe it wasn’t a matter of something going wrong. Perhaps he was being gallant. Charlie didn’t say much, but I gather some rich bitch dumped Sam last year and he had a hard time with it. He’s probably being careful, and as you take being careful to extremes, you should appreciate that.” Distracted, Mitch looked closely at the garments in her hands. “These are cute, but too warm for the desert in July—you did say Sam is taking you to see a ghost town?”
Cleo nodded. “He mentioned a lot of places last night, some kind of private tour. From his note, he said he’s arranged everything, but didn’t say what everything was, other than I’d need warm clothes in the evening. I kinda wish he had. I’ve got enough people in my life telling me what I want to do, and you’re one of them. Oh God! What if it’s more expensive than I expected? I’ve only budgeted $450.”
“A man who orders three bottles of $500 champagne isn’t going to expect you to go Dutch. Relax and enjoy getting spoiled for the day.”
Cleo frowned. “That’s another thing about him that doesn’t sit right with me. You know how I feel about money. The fact that he throws it around like that doesn’t impress me, but I will admit that champagne was far superior to anything else I’ve tasted.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I must be insane. I’ll never pull this off. I’m just no good at it—I’m not even certain I should try. I can send a note and tell him I’m sick.”
“Cleo, think of what you’ll be giving up. The whole point of using aliases is to prevent this weekend from coming back and biting us on the ass, and that’s a damn shame. I really like Charlie, and I don’t care what he does for a living, but if I have to choose between him and you, y
ou win, girl, all the time. Stick to as much of the truth as you can. Don’t tell him you’re a teacher; instead focus on the fact that you’re a proofreader and an amateur photographer. You can go on for hours on that topic and you know it. He’ll probably ask you where you live. We’ve chosen Hidden Valley, an imaginary place in Alberta near your Uncle Luke’s farm, because you know the area as well as you know this state. Describe the town the same way you would Gordon’s Grove. Use your imagination. Maybe you can write a book about your adventures—one of those romance novels you love to read. Vegas Vixen could be a bestseller.”
“Right, but I’d have to write it under a pen name or make sure there wasn’t anything racy in it. That might get me fired, too.”
Mitch shook her head, disgust on her face. ”You write it, and I’ll publish it under my name. Like it or not, having these two find us isn’t an option. Can you imagine the look on your dad’s face if Sam showed up at your door? I don’t think male exotic entertainer is the career choice he has in mind for a potential husband of yours, no matter how much money the man makes, and if dating one can get you suspended, being married to one would cost you the job for sure.”
Cleo looked up from the two remaining choices on the bed and turned to Mitch. She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “You make Dad sound like a righteous prig. I’ll agree the idea of a son-in-law who’s an exotic dancer would shock the life out of him, and the money wouldn’t help. He believes the love of money is the root of all evil, and I learned that was true with Dave. He chose money over me. Dad loves me. He wants me to find the same kind of love he and Mom found. He wants me to be happy, but right now, he’s hurt and confused, and that’s stopping him from seeing things as they are.”
Mitch sipped her coffee. “I don’t doubt your dad loves you, but he’s not being fair to you, and I suspect you realize that. He’s living in the past, a past that still includes your mother. Until he can let go of that and move on, you’re both going to be miserable.”
“I know.” Her voice was filled with sadness. Trying to do what was best for Dad and for herself was ripping her apart. “When I attended that seminar on enabling last month, I saw much of what I thought I was doing to help him was perpetuating the cycle, but fixing it isn’t that easy. I took the first step when I applied for the transfer, but I need to follow through on it, and I honestly don’t know if I can. It all stems from the fact neither one of us got to say goodbye to Mom. We left home for work in the morning and she was alive and well; by lunchtime, she was dead. If she’d been sick, we might have come to accept it more, but she was gone, just like that, and there’s still an emptiness inside I can’t fill. I can only imagine Dad’s pain. She was his everything. I go by the cemetery and sit and talk to her, but he can’t bring himself to do that. It’s as if he expects her to stop this nonsense and come home.”
Cleo read the sympathy in Mitch’s eyes.
“I never talked about my dad when I was a kid because it hurt too much. It was better saying I didn’t remember him, but the truth was I did. My old man ran off with a bimbo from a cocktail lounge when I was four, just before we moved to Gordon’s Grove.” Mitch stared into space looking at something only she could see. “Mom waited for him to come home for months. I went to bed each night praying he’d be there when I woke up, but he wasn’t. I blamed myself. Maybe if I’d been a better daughter, he wouldn’t have left. After a few years, that self-blame turned to anger. When he died ten years later, it came as a huge shock he hadn’t remarried. The money he left made life easier for Mom and me, but even after all these years, I’m still angry with him for leaving me, leaving us, like that. You and your dad must be angry with your mom, too.”
Cleo smiled sadly and nodded. “When it happened I was furious. I blamed her. She had no right to die and leave me like that. All of a sudden, I was chief cook and bottle washer without a life of my own. It took me months to get over it, but anger is a healthy part of grieving. Dad’s still in denial. I’ve made it too easy for him. I’ve made the meals, cleaned the house, done the laundry … the list goes on. To make things worse, there hasn’t been any closure. Whoever the hit-and-run driver was has never been caught, and the case is sitting there waiting for answers—answers that may never come. There are thousands of similar unsolved cases around the country.”
Mitch refilled her coffee mug and offered more to Cleo. “Your dad needs grief counseling. I’m sorry I’ve been such a pain about it. I’ve been through it; I should be more compassionate. Call me when you go all wishy-washy on the transfer papers, and I’ll remind you of what you said today. Now, it’s seven thirty and you still aren’t dressed. If we’re going to turn you into a femme fatale for the day, we need to get our butts in gear.”
Mitch came to stand beside her. Cleo scrutinized the two remaining outfits on the bed. The khaki walking shorts and tan sleeveless blouse she’d brought with her from Gordon’s Grove were clean and comfortable, but she’d look like a church mouse besides Sam. That left the impulse purchase she’d made when she’d gone shopping yesterday.
The floral jumpsuit was made of parachute silk. The outfit was brightly colored, far brighter than anything she normally wore. It had loose, wide-leg pants and a fitted strapless top that left her shoulders bare. The waist was cinched by a three-inch wide white leather belt. She’d purchased a pair of white thong sandals to match the belt and a small white shoulder bag. She could put her hair up and wear her white hoop earrings and matching necklace.
“I suppose I could wear my new outfit, but is it too flashy?”
Mitch grinned. “As far as I’m concerned it’s the only thing you have that’s right for the occasion. It’s new, stylish, and perfect for your figure, but you’ll need this.”
Mitch went to the closet and returned with the wide-brimmed white straw hat she’d bought yesterday. “You have to have a hat in the desert, sweetie, and your cute little ball cap will ruin the outfit. Plus this’ll protect your shoulders, too. I’ll put sunscreen on you now, but you’ll need to reapply.”
Mitch helped her put things away. “By the way, if you want to skip the convention tonight, you can. Charlie’s offered to help me with the books.”
Cleo immediately felt guilty.
“Mitch, I don’t have to go. I can cancel and stay with you as we’d planned. This was supposed to be a girls’ weekend away.”
“Don’t you dare! I have plans of my own now that include a gorgeous blond. You wouldn’t want to spoil them, would you?” Mitch looked so offended, Cleo laughed.
“Far be it for me to come between two like-minded sci-fi aficionados. I don’t know what Sam has in mind really, but I’d decided on a new costume for tonight—one I liked—a cute little Seven of Nine number and killer boots. There must be one for rent in the costume shop in the lobby. I can make arrangements to pick it up before we leave. Let me get dressed, and you can French braid my hair. I won’t bother with cosmetics—maybe just mascara and lip gloss.”
“Good idea. There’s nothing worse than watching people’s faces melt in the heat.”
• • •
Sam glanced at his watch. It was 8:22 A.M. He raised his eyes and focused once more on the entrance to the restaurant. What if she decided not to come? What if all the alcohol he’d plied her with last night had made her sick? There was nothing worse than your first major champagne hangover. What if it had all been an act and she stood him up? It had been a long time since that had happened—not since tenth grade to be exact. That thought stopped him cold. In many ways, he was being as single-minded as the horny teenaged boy he’d been. Yes, he wanted to bed her, but was he really only looking for another in a long line of one-night stands? He didn’t know the answer to that anymore. He’d never been this nervous waiting for a woman in his life.
Last night, he’d been convinced of her sincerity, but he’d also had far more to drink than he usually did. This morning, in the cold light of day, he was doubting himself, and everything that had happened. She was al
most too good to be true, and nine out of ten times, if he felt that way, he was right. Look at Lena. She’d seemed perfect for him. He’d been suckered in there nicely. Besides, the idea of soul mates was romantic propaganda publishers used to sell books and online dating sites used to attract lonely clients. Bottom line, once he had sex with her, this craving for her would go away.
He looked at his watch again: 8:28 A.M. He reached for the cup of coffee the waiter had just refilled when he’d brought a fresh pot. Maybe he hadn’t been specific enough about where to meet. He should have met her at the room.
He’d spoken to Charlie a few minutes ago before coming down to the restaurant. His friend and the Klingon author—he’d never think of her any other way—were getting along well. They had a lot in common, and both got off on the sci-fi stuff. It was nice to see Charlie open up to someone. He spent too much of his time on his own. And I don’t? He was thrilled to know they didn’t have to be back for the convention. He’d get to spend more time with Cleo. Mitch might be the life of the party, but he preferred Cleo’s more subdued personality. He had enough high-energy people to deal with in the boardroom and on the job sites.
He reached for his cell phone and was on the verge of calling the front desk and asking to be put through to her room when he saw her walk into the restaurant. She hesitated at the entrance. He could see she was nervous by the way she turned to look back at the hallway, and then pivoted toward the restaurant once more, her lower lip caught between her teeth, a gesture that had almost driven him wild last night. He swallowed with difficulty. She looked like she’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She was absolutely magnificent, just as he remembered her from the first night he’d seen her in the lounge. His weren’t the only eyes that turned her way. The waiter approached her and asked her a question. She shook her head, and not a hair moved.
Just for the Weekend Page 8