“You’d better be careful. I hear fricassee of parrot is all the rage in the finer culinary establishments this year,” I growled because I felt like growling at someone and Newton was the only one handy.
“Asshole.”
I resisted the urge to wring his neck and baste his carcass over an open fire. Instead I busied myself with his food and water. Feeling guilty for my murderous thoughts, I even changed the papers in the bottom of his cage. Somehow I remembered to clean the coffeepot and fill it for the morning, before I staggered off to bed.
As I slipped between the sheets, I thought how nice it would be to find Teddie waiting.
But he wasn’t.
I’d never felt so alone.
Chapter
EIGHTEEN
After a miserable night’s sleep, I rose with the sun. Six A.M. in the shower. Seven A.M. on the road, the Porsche happy to blow some carbon off the plugs. The little car hummed nicely as it settled in at eighty-five on the long, open stretch of highway between Vegas and Pahrump. Born in the same year, my car and I were equally high-maintenance—one of the traits I both admired and hated. Apparently today was one of the Porsche’s better days even if it wasn’t one of mine.
Although early, the heat of the day radiated from the blacktop. I flipped on the CD player and sang along in Spanish to Luis Miguel’s ballads of love and loss, as the road flashed beneath the car.
I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel. I just wanted to be.
At this hour of the morning, Mona’s looked abandoned, the parking lot empty, the shades drawn. However, I knew the proprietress would be awake—I’d never known Mother to need more than three or four hours of sleep a night. I parked the car, made sure I locked it, then bounded up the steps and through the unlocked door. Mother rarely slept, and Mona’s never closed.
Following the lure of wonderful aromas, I found the kitchen staff busy with breakfast preparations.
Trudi, a whippet-thin lady who’d run the staff for years, noticed me first. “Miss Lucky! Your mother didn’t tell us you were coming.”
“She doesn’t know.” I snagged a piece of bacon from a big platter next to the stove. One bite and I groaned in delight. “Crispy! Just the way I like it.” I held the remaining piece of bacon aloft. “This is why I could never be a vegetarian.”
The staff rewarded me with a few grins.
“We’re just finishing your mother’s tray,” Trudi said. “She was expecting it ten minutes ago, and you know how she is without her coffee.”
“Let me take it. I don’t mind wading into the line of fire.” Grabbing the tray from the counter, I smiled at the white linen tea towel under china and crystal. “Guess we’re still doing the Southern-belle thing.”
Trudi answered with a tired smile. “Would you like a plate?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.” Holding the tray in both hands, I used my butt to push open the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. “Could I get extra bacon—perhaps as hazardous duty pay?”
“Sure. I’ll bring it up in a minute.”
Mother’s suite occupied the attic of the old Victorian. After hiking the four flights of stairs, I paused to catch my breath, then used my foot to knock on the door.
“Come!” Even this early, my mother’s voice had an edge to it.
“Don’t shoot. I come bearing gifts.” Balancing the tray on one knee, I freed one hand, turned the knob and pushed open the door.
Mona sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the room, hundreds of old photographs scattered around her. Wearing shortshorts, a tank top, no bra, and no makeup, she looked so young . . . and sad. Focused on a picture in her hand, she didn’t look up when I entered.
“Hey, Mother. Where would you like your tray?”
“Oh!” Her head turned away from me, she wiped at her eyes with the heel of one hand, then turned toward me, her face in the shadows. “Nobody told me you were coming, dear!”
“Good to see you, too, Mother.” I proffered the tray. “Where do you want this?”
She pointed to a small round table with two chairs in front of one of the dormer windows.
“Don’t be mad at your staff—they couldn’t tell you what they didn’t know.” I poured a cup of coffee from the carafe. “Milk, no sugar, right?”
Mona nodded and stayed where she was on the floor. “Come, sit with me.”
The room took me back—the four-poster bed covered with the same floral Laura Ashley print that also covered the walls—my mother’s own secret garden. A memory of me as a little girl, lounging on Mother’s bed—the two of us chatting like the best of friends—chased through my head. That had been so long ago.
“Be careful. It’s hot.” I handed the mug to Mother and sat, Indian style, on the floor next to her. I motioned to the old black-and-white photos. “What’s all this?”
“I don’t know.” Mother surreptitiously swiped at her eyes again. “I guess I needed a trip down memory lane.”
I finally got a closer look at my mother—her red eyes, dark circles framing them, her ratty ponytail. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
“Remembering old times always makes me sad.” She rooted through the pictures, selecting one and handing it to me. “You were about eight there—my little best friend. Life was so simple then.”
The photo showed me—all long brown legs, pigtails and a big smile—sitting on a pony. “I remember that pony—blind in one eye and mean as hell. The bugger bit me on the ass—left a scar.”
We both smiled at the memory.
“And then this one.” She stared at the dog-eared photo in her hand as she took a tentative sip of her coffee.
I leaned over to get a look. “That’s my favorite. I have it on my credenza.” She handed me the one with Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Mom and me.
“Your father took it. Those were happy days.” She stared at the picture, transported back to another time.
“What?” I asked when I found my voice. “My father took it? You never told me.”
Mother looked up, her eyes coming back into focus. “Oh!” She waved dismissively. “It’s not important.”
“Maybe not to you. You never told me you even knew who my father was.”
“Honey, that’s insulting.” Mona had made it her life’s work to dodge my questions—she’d become quite adept.
“But a hazard of your former profession.”
Mona didn’t say anything, as if she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Instead, she stared at the photo, lost in the past. Her face had a look I’d never seen before.
“You loved him, didn’t you?”
She nodded and her eyes filled—not only with tears, but also with sadness—and pain. “Very much.”
“So what happened?”
“Life got in the way,” she said with a sigh. “If I have one regret, and I don’t have many—living in the past is useless—I regret letting him go—not fighting harder.”
I didn’t have to imagine how painful that had been—I saw it, etched in Mother’s every feature. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. What family would want their son to bring home a young woman with nothing more than raw beauty and an irrepressible spirit, who lived on the streets and sold herself to survive? With no education and no family, she must’ve been the barest hint of the vibrant, adult personality she would become. The two of them hadn’t had a chance.
Reaching out, I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”
“We were young. We thought we could change the world.” She looked up at me, her eyes shone with intensity. A single tear streaked down each cheek. “If love finds you, hang on tight, child. Your father and I thought we’d get another chance. We were wrong.”
I leaned back on my hands and looked at her. “That’s what you’ve done all these years? You’ve waited?”
She shrugged and wiped at her eyes. “The memories with him were always better than reality with somebody else.”
“Wow.” Didn’t Mother just tell me living in the past was useless? I thought about asking her who he was, this man who had stolen her heart, then abandoned the mother of his child, but she’d wallowed in grief long enough. She wouldn’t tell me anyway. Despite all my questions through the years, she had steadfastly refused to answer.
When I was younger, I thought my father’s identity would provide a critical key to my own. Now, I realized he didn’t matter at all. As Mother said, living in the past is useless. Strangely though, I found comfort in the fact that I was born out of love and wasn’t the product of poor protection.
I forced a smile. “So, what prompted this little blast from the past?”
Mona took a deep breath, composing herself. She sat up straight and surveyed the room. “I’ve been thinking about redecorating. Laura Ashley is so seventies, don’t you think?”
I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue from the box and handed it to her. “Awful lot of memories in this room,” I said. “Maybe it’s time you cleaned house—banished the ghosts, so to speak.”
“That’s what I was trying to do when I came across that damned box of old pictures.” Mona wiped her eyes.
We both jumped at the soft knock on the door.
Trudi poked her head in. “I brought two plates—I figured you would start talking and forget about the food.”
“You were right.” I jumped to my feet and relieved her of the heavy tray. “Thanks.”
“There’s a fresh pot of coffee there, too.” She picked up the old tray and disappeared out the door.
“Come on, Mother. A little food should put a smile on your face—it always does with me.”
“You always were a big eater.” Mona brought her now cold coffee, warmed it from the new carafe, and joined me.
Mother and daughter, we sat by the window at the little table with the Laura Ashley skirt and the matching upholstered chairs, as we had done so many times before. I remembered when my feet didn’t even touch the floor. The same Tiffany lamp cast its feeble light, which was all but lost in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Nothing had changed, but everything was different.
Mother took a few halfhearted bites of egg, then abandoned her fork and settled back in her chair, her coffee mug cradled in both hands. “I like your hair. It becomes you.”
High praise from Mona. “Thanks.”
Mother eyed me over the lip of her mug. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Oh?” Mother said as if she didn’t know what was coming next.
“Who did you think came to visit Lyda Sue here in the Babylon’s helicopter?”
“The minute I hung up the phone, I knew I’d made a mistake calling you. You never could do as you were told.”
“Like mother, like daughter.” I picked up another piece of bacon—my third—and started in on it. “You’re avoiding my question, Mother.”
“I was worried it was that nice Mr. Dane. He seemed smitten with you and I didn’t want you to screw it up.” Mother gave me a bland look.
She was bullshitting me. I had known she would, so it came as no surprise. So, if I had known the odds were stacked against me getting the straight skinny from my mother, why did I come? What was I looking for? Even I wasn’t sure of the answer.
“What makes you think I would screw up a relationship with Dane?”
“Honey, I’ve watched you for years. Just when it looks like a man is interested, you do something to push him away. I’ve never understood why.” Mother took another sip of coffee.
“It’s not like I’ve had a lot of people in my life who stuck with me, Mother. I learned early on I was the only one I could count on.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes then disappeared. Adopting a familiar air of feigned indifference, she said, “Perhaps you’re right. But, as to Mr. Dane, I got the feeling he was a good guy. Poking your nose into his business was sure to irritate him.”
“You’ve got to stop meddling, Mother.” That was like telling a zebra to stop being black-and-white, but I had to say it anyway—just in case, one of these days, she’d surprise me.
“If I don’t meddle, you’ll end up by yourself, Lucky. No lover. No child. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“You’re alone. You seem to be doing fine.” Other than sagging under the weight of a torch she’d carried for far too long, for some empty suit who had abandoned her when she’d needed him most.
“I have you,” Mona said, her voice a whisper. “That’s the only thing that gets me from one day to the next.”
“Oh,” I said, fighting for the right words. The truth of it was, I had no idea whether Mother meant what she said or whether she was working another angle—which was more like her. This whole morning had been weird—I felt like I’d entered a parallel universe the minute I’d set foot into my mother’s room.
If I was so important to her, then why did she let me go—so young, so inexperienced, with no one to guide me? That’s a question I’d wanted answered for a long time, but I didn’t ask. Not now, maybe not ever. There was no really good answer, so what was the point? Though, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, even still.
“How’s Theodore?” Jumping from one uncomfortable topic to another was Mother’s best thing.
“He’s good. Real good.” Avoiding her eyes, I dove into my eggs.
“Have you figured out yet he’s in love with you?”
That stopped me, my fork halfway to my mouth. Carefully, I set the utensil back down on my plate. “So everybody could see it but me?”
“When you’re in the eye of the tornado, the world looks blurry—especially when you’re working hard to avoid clear vision.” Mona eyed me for a moment. “What are you going to do about him?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” I grumbled.
“You do know, at least ninety-five percent of the men who wear women’s clothing have issues with their sexuality, don’t you?”
Ah, Mona was back. I regained my footing. “Thank you, Mother. Might I ask where you got that little tidbit? Prostitution Today? Cross-dressers Weekly?” I forked in that abandoned bite of egg. “I can assure you, Teddie has no issues in that regard—he’s an actor playing a role.”
“You don’t need to get mad,” Mother said with a grin.
“Besides, we can wear the same clothes, so with Teddie I not only get a lover, but I get a fabulous new wardrobe.”
“Ah, sarcasm, your defense of last resort. Hit a nerve, did I?”
The woman would be the death of me—or I’d end up in prison after having strangled her in a fit of frustration.
I sighed and looked out the window. Heat shimmered from everything, diffusing the light. The trees, what few there were, bowed in supplication to the assault of the sun.
Kindred spirits, me and those trees. Like them, I was beaten down and tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of running. Tired of being alone.
“You hit a nerve.” I shrugged as I looked at my mother. “The truth is, I have no idea what to do about Teddie.”
“Honey,” she said as she reached over, putting her hand on mine. “I think you do.”
PARKING the car with the sunlight beating on the driver’s side violated a cardinal rule of summer desert living. I knew it, and I’d done it anyway. The door handle was so hot I couldn’t even touch it much less hold on to it long enough to actually open the door. Shirttails came in handy in situations like this—luckily mine just reached. Popping the handle, I opened the door, then walked around and opened the other door to let what tepid little breeze there was blow through.
Stepping back into the shade while my car cooled, I opened my phone and hit the speed dial.
Teddie answered before I even heard it ring. “Where are you? I went down to your place—the bird had been fed, but no you. I tried your cell, you didn’t answer, and there’s nobody at your office yet.”
Relief flooded through me—he wasn’t mad—at least he didn’t sound mad. “I got up early—didn’t sleep well. I’ve been to see Mother and am just starting back.”
“You didn’t sleep well?”
“No.” I listened to him breathing on the other end of the line while I debated what to say next. What the heck—now was as good a time as any to fall on my sword. “It didn’t seem right to go to sleep without at least talking to you. Last night, I called, but I kept getting your voice mail.”
“My battery died—you know how I am about plugging the damned thing in. I didn’t realize you had called until this morning. I’m sorry.”
“I was worried.”
“I was running errands and came in late. Forrest said you looked tired, so I didn’t bother you,” Teddie added. “I’m sorry I worried you. What exactly was it you were worried about?”
Worried you were with another woman. Worried you were mad at me. Worried I’d screwed everything up. Worried I’d lost you before I even knew what I had. All were true, but I couldn’t find the courage to tell him. Instead, I said, “Are we okay?”
“Sure, what make’s you ask that?” Teddie sounded guarded.
“I thought I’d see you at the trade show last night. Subway said you’d been there.”
Silence stretched over the line. I could hear myself breathing. Time slowed to a crawl.
Finally Teddie broke the silence. “I was there. I saw you with that Dane guy. You guys were laughing—it looked like you were having fun. He didn’t look like the Dark Side.”
“I was looking for you.” My heart leapt into my throat. So this was it—Teddie and I were over before we really began?
“I know. Stupid of me really, but it just hit me right between the eyes.”
“What?” I could barely get the word out.
“The reality of your world. You see handsome men all day long—and are probably hit on more than I care to think about.”
Wanna Get Lucky? Page 27