“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Kayanne said, addressing the pain behind that statement. “It just happened. Besides, weren’t you the one who encouraged me to explore all Dave’s good traits and give him a chance?”
“I didn’t intend for you to give him a tonsillectomy,” Rose shrieked. “I can’t believe that I actually thought you were my friend.”
“I am,” Kayanne said, wishing there was some way to prove it.
Seeing how the old lady was in no mood for a reasonable analysis of the situation, Kayanne counted herself lucky to escape the wide swing of her purple cane. What she really needed was an alternate plan to divert Rose’s attention from the crisis at hand.
“What d’ya say we work on finding you a more…” Kayanne trailed off, wanting to find just the right word. “Age-appropriate suitor.”
Rose brushed off the suggestion. “I have a better idea,” she huffed. “Instead of trying to line me up with somebody from the mortuary, why don’t you just stay the hell away from me!”
Getting Rose settled in her room after that was about as easy as directing an angry wasp into its nest. Kayanne fretted throughout the remainder of her shift, racking her brains for somebody worthy of Rose’s interest. Until she could locate the lucky fellow, however, she vowed to do exactly what Rose had asked of her and keep her distance.
Rose might not be speaking to her, but Kayanne’s mother was more than happy to fill that void. She hadn’t been able to stop talking since hearing that her daughter had a bona fide date with the most eligible bachelor in town—a man who wasn’t going to arrive at the front door with a motorcycle helmet and matching attitude tucked in the crook of his arm. Whenever Kayanne had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise, she warned her mother not to get her hopes up about anything long-term developing with Dave.
Asking Dave to be her date had been a calculated risk on her part. Kayanne’s standard approach to dating was to use men before they could use her. It was a strategy borne out of a painful string of doomed relationships intended to satisfy the libido without engaging the heart. Even now she could think of any number of men who would be glad for an excuse to help her live up to—or down—the community’s expectations. There was something particularly gratifying about the thought of showing up at the reunion with the most desirable single man in town on her arm. Something comforting about having Dave at her side as she navigated the dangerous waters of her past.
Kayanne knew this event was sure to be a test of her recent sobriety. She assumed at least one kind soul would feel the need to take pity on Dave by helping him rectify the mistake he’d made in agreeing to be her date. Old rumors were sure to be embellished and exaggerated. Old wounds were likely to be ripped open anew. And liquor was sure to flow.
Kayanne knew that Dave was bound to hear negative things about her sooner or later, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about that. According to the precepts of AA, all she could do was to sweep her side of the walk and hope the people to whom she owed amends did the same.
It was just too bad that wasn’t as easy to put into practice as it sounded in the safety of anonymity and unconditional friendship.
The day of the class reunion arrived in blistering heat, but by evening the temperature in the mountain town dropped to a cool fifty degrees. Kayanne considered the weather a precursor of the reception she could expect to receive from her old classmates. Extreme swings of climate. There was a lot of old baggage waiting for her behind those high-school doors, and the closer it came for the time for Dave to pick her up, the more she regretted her decision to go at all.
As far back as junior high school, Kayanne remembered being embarrassed by her circumstances. Sheridan, Wyoming, might be considered the boonies by cosmopolitan standards, but there was plenty of old wealth piled behind lodgepole archways of immense ranches and the doors of merchants whose families had made their fortunes generations ago. More recently, technology allowed CEOs and independently wealthy entrepreneurs from all over the country to move into the idyllic, isolated settings where businesses could be run long-distance via an Internet connection. Kayanne found it amusing to witness the clash of old and new money in ostentatious contests where polo competed with rodeo on summer weekends as the town’s favored pastime.
As a girl, she hadn’t had enough familiarity with prosperity to understand that all communities had snobbish elements. She simply had never felt good enough in a system that had pandered to children living with both biological parents and enough money not to have to shop at the Salvation Army for clothes. And just as she had all those years ago growing up under the shadow of the Big Horn Mountains and a pervasive sense of deprivation, Kayanne felt ashamed of being ashamed all over again.
Everything considered, the trailer where she’d grown up had been tidy and well kept. Her mother had more than met her obligation of putting a roof over her daughter’s head and food on the table. Still, cruel comments about “trailer-park trash” stung to this day.
That Kayanne had been invited to the most exclusive parties in the world as an adult was somehow eclipsed by the fact that she’d been excluded from certain birthday parties as a child because she couldn’t afford a nice enough present to warrant the price of admission. And as hard as Kayanne was working on overcoming the stubborn pride that proved to be an obstacle to her sobriety, she couldn’t help but take some satisfaction in the fact that she would be wearing a designer original gown tonight.
Understated in its simplicity, the black Versace halter-top dress she’d chosen for the occasion hugged her figure and emphasized her curves. Slits on either side allowed a tantalizing hint of those often-photographed shapely legs, and a seethrough wrap bedecked with tiny seed pearls provided a false impression of modesty. A triad of diamonds representing the past, present and future glittered from a gold chain resting between her breasts.
Kayanne may have looked like packaged dynamite, but on the inside she felt every bit as awkward and unworthy as she had in high school. She didn’t need a shrink to tell her that the obscenely expensive dress was her way of masking old insecurities. She only wished there was as easy a way to camouflage her home. There was little to be done to spruce up the trailer beyond buying a bouquet of fresh flowers to make the front room look less drab. And less like a shrine to cheap, sentimental knickknacks.
It infuriated Kayanne that her mother hadn’t used the money that she’d sent when she was commanding top dollar in her field to do what she’d asked her to do: buy a beautiful home in an affluent neighborhood and fill it with all the lovely things her mother deserved.
“I’ve lived in this trailer for almost thirty years, and I intend to die here,” was all Suzanne Aldarmann had had to say on the matter.
There was no arguing with such logic. When Kayanne had followed up with questions about living expenses, her mother had politely thanked her for providing enough to take care of the outrageous medical expenses. That had to be worth something, Kayanne supposed. Still, she wished her mother had stashed enough away to carry her ever-irresponsible daughter through the hard times she was presently going through. She suspected some slick preacher had preyed on Suzanne’s conscience and bamboozled her out of most of the money Kayanne had sent her.
Grateful to count this humble abode a sanctuary while she struggled to get back on her feet, Kayanne tamped down any shame she might feel about Dave having to pick her up here. She told herself that she didn’t have to impress anybody at this point in her life.
Why then, Kayanne wondered, was she so nervous hearing the knock at the front door?
“Wow!”
Although she knew that anything she wore tonight had to be an improvement over the standard uniform Dave was accustomed to seeing her in, Kayanne couldn’t have scripted a more flattering reaction to her appearance. He stood on the stoop with appreciation glittering in his dark eyes. Seeing herself reflected in that admiring masculine gaze, she could almost believe herself to be Cinderella for the night.
&
nbsp; Yet she didn’t have any magic slippers to prevent Prince Charming from hearing some nasty comment about the wayward, raggedy wild child of her youth….
Suddenly sorry she’d ever asked him to accompany her tonight, Kayanne wondered how hard it would be to convince Dave to stop at the nearest bar and blow off all that nonsense she’d spouted earlier about making amends.
Before she had a chance to ask, her mother came up behind her and asked Dave in. Giving Kayanne a thumbs-up sign behind his back, Suzanne took his jacket and hung it up in the hallway closet.
“You’re quite an improvement over the boys Kay usually brings home,” she told him after proper introductions were made.
Kayanne winced.
“He’s not a boy, Mom.”
Dave didn’t seem to mind. Smiling as he was directed to a well-worn chair with crocheted doilies on the arms and headrest, he appeared blissfully unaware of being led to an execution by firing squad—a barrage of questions instead of actual bullets.
Thrown by the use of her given name, Dave asked for clarification by repeating it. “Kay?”
“Kayanne is her stage name,” her mother explained. “Of course, she can go by that in the big city where it’s considered chic to change your name—and I suppose your principles as well—but back home, she’ll always be my little girl, plain old Kay Anne Aldarmann.”
Shuddering to hear her worst fears so blithely articulated, Kayanne pointed that out. “You make me sound like a stripper, Mom.”
Blushing, Mrs. Aldarmann protested so vehemently that Dave took pity on her. “Not old—and definitely not plain,” he interjected. “In fact, you look gorgeous tonight, Kayanne.”
Relieved that he wasn’t going to torment her with the name she’d deliberately abandoned, she rewarded him with a grateful smile. Her mother was right. Dave Evans wasn’t at all like the men she usually dated.
He was far too nice.
Maybe Kayanne had simply been around vain male models competing with her for the limelight so long that she’d forgotten what it was like to be with someone who treated her as though she were something special. Unbidden, an image of her father flashed into her mind. It was a grainy mental picture of a big man with callused hands teaching his daughter to dance by letting her stand on the top of his worn work boots as he moved his feet in time to a country song on the radio.
“Someday my little princess will grow up to be the belle of the ball. I just hope I live long enough to see it,” he’d told her over Hank Williams’s lonesome lyrics.
Kayanne struggled against the lump in her throat that threatened to suffocate her.
Hoping to staunch the painful flow of memories with a quick exit, she announced, “We’d better get going.”
Realizing that was typical of the way she handled her emotions, she wondered if her grown-up losses might not seem so unmanageable if she’d ever learned to truly mourn as a child instead of avoiding her feelings. Would she have ever learned to love herself if she’d been able to forgive her father for abandoning her?
As tempting as these insights were, Kayanne refused to think about that now. She grabbed her purse—a black beaded number just big enough to hold a tube of lipstick and tiny bottle of French perfume—and prepared to leave. Her ever obstinate mother, however, insisted on a modicum of polite conversation before being abandoned for the evening. She was nowhere near done grilling her prospective son-in-law on his background and future plans.
In the middle of her inquiries, Dave spied the Aldarmann Wall of Fame. Over her daughter’s objections, Suzanne proceeded to point out what everyone else in town already knew.
“You mean you didn’t know that Kay’s famous?” she asked incredulously.
Dave gave her a funny, hurt look. “No,” he replied. “That’s a little something your daughter neglected to mention.”
Kayanne tugged at his sleeve but couldn’t budge him. With an eye to Sherlock Holmes, he examined the myriad prints lining the wall that chronicled her life from kindergarten to her first photo in a mail-order catalogue to the latest cover shot of a well-respected fashion magazine. His brown eyes widened in sudden recognition.
“I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed. “No wonder you look so familiar.”
Having opened Pandora’s box, Mrs. Aldarmann was finally content to let the two of them go on their way.
“Have fun tonight,” she called from the front porch. “And don’t worry about getting home at a reasonable hour on such a special night.”
Kayanne rolled her eyes in the darkness as Dave escorted her to his vehicle. She was touched by his gentlemanly insistence on opening the door for her. With a thank you and a smile, she folded her long legs into his sporty Crossfire and settled into the butter-soft leather interior. Dave slid into the driver’s seat and smoothly shifted into first gear.
“I had you figured for an SUV kind of guy,” she told him.
“Left it home in the garage. I thought this suited you better.”
A lot of things about him suited Kayanne better than she might have ever imagined. Nice car. Nice home. Nice guy. Dave Evans was definitely a change.
The expensive ring on his right hand was another indication that he was doing all right with his writing. Kayanne doubted he could afford his current standard of living on a teacher’s wages alone. In the glare of a stoplight, she considered the possibility that he was just another joker up to his eyeballs in hock. In the city, she’d learned firsthand how thin the layer of glitz separating the rich from the homeless could be. Somehow Dave seemed more solid than the flashy wannabes who so often shadowed the rich and famous using any member of that elite group to advance their own status.
The truth was Kayanne wasn’t sure how to act around a man—a gentleman—who wasn’t out to use her. Yet one more thing destined to throw her off balance tonight.
Dave’s sense of guilt compounded with every passing mile. The second Kayanne had met him at the door wearing that amazing dress, his writer’s sense of objectivity had been shot all to hell. He’d agreed to accompany her not out of any saintly desire to do the right thing by her, but as a means of forwarding his novel. Of course, that wasn’t to say that he didn’t appreciate being seen with such a stunning woman in public.
And being alone with her later.
Just the thought of it made him grow hard. Glad that it was dark, Dave hoped he had enough time to get his hormones under control before reaching their destination.
Spice had an equally unsettling effect on him. Having supplanted the main character in his book, Kayanne’s alter ego refused to come out to play when beckoned by his muse. Lately she’d been particularly obtuse, lounging around the pool naked, casually dropping the names of other lovers in an attempt to make him jealous. That the ploy was working had Dave questioning his own mental health.
He suspected that the only way he was going to find out who had murdered Jasmine was to explore the boundaries of Kayanne’s real life. Her invitation to this class reunion couldn’t have provided him with a more direct avenue to her past than had she offered herself up for voluntary hypnosis.
What Dave hadn’t counted on was having any tender feelings toward her beyond the overwhelming sense of lust that she always evoked in him. It was far easier fantasizing about Kayanne as some kind of untouchable temptress or an incorrigible bad girl before meeting the straitlaced mother who apparently wanted nothing more than to see her daughter happy. He was touched by the fact that although she was clearly conflicted about her daughter’s fame, Mrs. Aldarmann was also proud of Kayanne’s accomplishments.
Who wouldn’t be? Especially considering the humble upbringing.
Having seen Kayanne’s face splashed all over the media for the past few years, Dave felt like a complete idiot not to have recognized her. He’d been intrigued by this mysterious woman’s circumstances before, but now his curiosity spiked as high as his testosterone level—far beyond any measure of pure literary interest. The fact that “plain old Kay Anne Aldarmann”
had grown up in such modest circumstances only made her that much more fascinating as a character. Dave suspected that whether she wanted to admit it or not, Kayanne had left a part of her heart in this rugged western town that she would have to reclaim before moving on with her life.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked.
Although on one level, Dave considered himself a cad, mining this woman’s life for his own creative needs, on another, he dismissed such qualms as being integral to the writing process. His job was to record his observations of real life before filtering them through a screen of fiction.
“I did,” she insisted. “If you want to know why I didn’t tell you about my modeling background, rest assured that it wasn’t because I was afraid of intimidating you.”
Dave wondered how she managed to turn this back on him and avoid any explanation in the process. He was on the verge of asking her why she was working at the Evening Star Manor, when she reached over and covered his hand on the gearshift.
“There’s still plenty of time to change your mind about going to this thing.”
Dave heard a note of hope in her voice and felt a tremble run through her. As silky as her voice, her touch almost sent him driving into the ditch. It was embarrassing. He hadn’t felt so befuddled on a first date since he’d been a teenager. It wasn’t just Kayanne’s raw beauty that affected him so deeply, either.
“Are you kidding?” he replied. “What man doesn’t dream of taking a supermodel to a high-school reunion? The only thing that could be better would be if it were my reunion.”
As nerdy as he’d considered himself in high school, Dave liked to think of his old chums drooling as he sauntered into his alma mater with Kayanne on his arm. It struck him as odd that they had more in common than he’d ever imagined. Kayanne’s upbringing in a trailer park might be far different from his privileged childhood in an upscale neighborhood, but the fact that she was still struggling against her mother’s expectations had an all too familiar ring to it. He could no more imagine this wild creature cooped up in such an uninspired home than he could envision himself donning the heavy mantle of a family business that left him feeling tepid.
A Splendid Obsession Page 6