Touch Me Not

by Julie Kistler

GILLY STIFLED a yawn.

  “Order. Order, please.” A rather stern-faced man with slicked-down hair and an ugly brown suit pounded his gavel for the umpteenth time that night. “We’re moving on, people. Please stay with us.”

  Oh, well. At least the noise from the gavel was keeping her awake in the stuffy close quarters of the council room. It was a dark masculine room, all heavy wood and massive brass fixtures. She hadn’t seen this much paneling since before Aunt Gert’s knotty pine rec room went up in a fire.

  The council members, all male, sat behind a long, highly polished U-shaped desk, each with a little brass nameplate affixed to his place. No such grandeur had been wasted on the spectators’ area—they were stuck in rows of uncomfortable folding chairs that had seen better days. Gilly was close to the front, in the designated speakers’ section, while the rest of the detachment from Benny’s had been squashed into the back.

  Reporters and cameramen, who looked as bored and restless as anyone else in the crowd, pushed in from the sides. But so far they hadn’t even turned on the cameras.

  Gilly shifted in her chair and smoothed the skirt of her suit, careful not to snag her nylons on the battered chair. She’d barely had time to rush home and change clothes—into the most conservative outfit she owned—before racing back to face the city council. Tony was gone by the time she got home, leaving his bright pop-art mural unfinished, but looking very spiffy. Gilly smiled at the memory. She was going to enjoy having bright blue blobby people and big yellow stars all over her living-room wall.

  The city council, she thought, could’ve used a little of Tony’s magic to spruce up this place.

  They were working through the agenda, one interminable item at a time, as evening wore on into night. The guy with the gavel announced item number fourteen—proposed airport noise restrictions—and Gilly pinched herself to keep her fighting spirit in good order.

  The casino project was item fifteen. Next on the agenda. It wouldn’t do to lose her edge from sheer boredom.

  An old man with a wheezy voice had made his way up to the microphone and was now voicing his objections to the airport ordinance, going into copious detail about why the city councilmen were no-good crooks. The crowd tittered, while one rather large oily-looking man sitting in a comfy armchair next to the council table broke out in hearty guffaws. Gilly had no idea who he was, but she reasoned he must be someone important to rate a special chair. That and the thick gold jewelry were dead giveaways.

  As Mr. Oily’s jowls jiggled with mirth, Gilly began to feel very annoyed. If this was how they treated anyone who spoke out against the council, she figured she was in for a long night.

  Nonsense, she told herself sternly. She sat up straighter. They can make fun of me all night. Who cares? I have right on my side.

  Finally, after the mayor told the speaker his time was up, item fifteen was called. It was as if someone had suddenly switched on the juice in the room. TV cameras whirred on, their lights blazing bright and hot, and every reporter reached for her notebook at the same moment. Even the oily man leaned forward intently.

  Gilly just waited. She knew the deputy mayor, the one who was in charge of the casino project, would speak first. Tonight the thin, nervous, bow-tied deputy would formally present his proposal, and they would all see just how far-reaching the implications were going to be. In other words, the Benedict Academy would read it and weep.

  Only after the deputy had shown off his charts, graphs and beautifully rendered diagrams would those pro and con get a chance to speak. Two pro, two con. Gilly was the second con.

  She concentrated on the big, splashy artist’s rendering of the Lucky Lady riverboat casino, bobbing there next to sketched-in restaurants and nightclubs. They’d planned for a small amusement park, an arcade and a whole block of shiny new luxury condos.

  All very pretty, until you realized there was a parking lot where the Benedict Academy now stood. And a garish shopping mall took up the block where Tony and his mom lived, where Suzette had her apartment.

  Gilly felt her anger rise.

  The deputy mayor went on in a pleasant, rather monotonous tone about the many benefits of the planned development, and Mr. Oily nodded smugly in agreement. But the deputy didn’t mention where the people who lived and worked there now were supposed to go. All he said was that this “eyesore” would be removed. By eyesore, she supposed he was referring to the entire West Riverside neighborhood.

  Gilly had expected this, but she hadn’t been prepared to feel so attacked, so vulnerable. That yuppie dweeb had just called her home an eyesore. If thine eyesore offend thee, demolish it, she muttered.

  Once the deputy was done, the mayor thanked him heartily. Then the mayor announced the first of the pro speakers. Although they should have been ordinary citizens, Gilly knew better when the jowly Mr. Oily rose from his seat, gave a cocky wave to the assembly and ambled over to the podium.

  The mayor beamed. “It is my pleasure to present Ed Spivak, the developer and owner of Lucky Lady casinos. Ed, what is this? Your sixth or seventh boat?”

  “Ninth,” Ed said with fake humility.

  “Ninth? You don’t say.” The mayor shook his head in amazement “So you can see, ladies and gentlemen, Ed is abundantly qualified to tell us about the super impact this kind of deal can have on a city. Ed?”

  It was all Gilly could do not to leap up and throttle the mayor and his pal Ed. Meanwhile Ed went on at length about the incredible amount of money a casino pumped into an area. He paid a bit of lip service to jobs and opportunity, told a few homey anecdotes about the towns his casinos had saved from poverty and despair, and then shook hands with each and every person at the council table.

  He might as well have pressed bills into their hands as he went, Gilly thought indignantly.

  The second pro spokesperson, a restaurateur who hoped to set up shop next to the river boat, offered more of the same, urging the council to adopt the proposal for the good of the city. By now Gilly’s hands had curled into fists. One more self-serving piece of drivel and she’d be ready to scream!

  Instead, the podium was turned over to a very sweet older woman in a flowered dress. She represented a church from the other side of town that believed gambling was a sin and anyone who voted in favor of a casino would burn in hell.

  Spirited, but hardly convincing. Heck, if there was a casino in West Riverside, the stooges on the council would be first in line to “sin” there.

  Finally Gilly got her chance. Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly to the microphone. “It strikes me,” she began, trying to speak calmly and persuasively, “that I am the only one of the speakers tonight who actually lives in West Riverside.”

  She got nothing but a few frowns from the councillors. She persevered. “I seem to be the only one who realizes the devastating effect your proposal is going to have on the people who live and work in this neighborhood. And that’s what it is—a neighborhood. Not an eyesore. Not something to be leveled so that you can build bright toys for tourists with cash in their pockets. A neighborhood. Of course, if you pass Mr. Spivak’s proposal, there won’t be a neighborhood there at all.”

  She was just getting started. With passion rising in her voice, she whipped out statistics about who exactly would be gambling there, about who exactly would profit. She glared at Mr. Spivak, who in her mind personified organized crime.

  Saving the best for last, she closed with a reference to the Benedict Academy. “If you have your way, my student Tony Fielder will never be an artist. My former student Rosalie Gonzalez would never have made it to the Fashion Institute. Sam Amiro would never have gone to MIT. We owe it to the kids of West Riverside not to let that happen, not to tear down their school and their homes, but to build them up, instead.”

  The gallery burst into spontaneous applause, but the men of the city council looked bored and disinterested.

  “Time’s up,” the man in the brown suit announced, his tone as flat and dull as every other time. />
  “Thank you, Miss—” the mayor peered at his list “—Haversham.”

  “That was the first woman to speak,” Gilly said, steaming. “I’m Gillian Quinn.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, Miss Gwenn.”

  “Quinn.”

  “Uh-huh.” Absently he turned away, already dismissing her. “Are we ready for a vote?”

  There was an audible gasp from the opponents of the casino. “You can’t vote yet,” Gilly protested. “A few comments and no real discussion, and you’re going to vote?”

  “You’re out of order, young lady,” the mayor said peevishly. “You had your say. Now leave it be.”

  Gilly stood her ground as catcalls and boos directed at the mayor came from the back of the room. “I will not leave it be. You people already had your minds made up before I even opened my mouth. The least you can do is explain this bizarre rush to vote. What are you afraid of? That if you give people time to discuss this, they’ll see through your sleazy deal?”

  “If you can’t sit down and be quiet while we vote, you can be forcibly removed, you know.”

  “We’re on TV,” Gilly reminded him with a certain grim satisfaction as the reporters all began to scribble frantically. “Do you really want to forcibly remove me in front of the cameras? Do you really want to show the world what a bunch of bullies you are?”

  “No vote! No vote!” her supporters began shouting in unison.

  Their faces looking rather ashen, the mayor and his deputy put their heads together, joined after a moment by a sweaty Ed Spivak. Finally, as the noise level reached new heights, the mayor reluctantly announced, “It might be possible to table the proposal until our next meeting. I don’t want to do that, because I really feel we’ve had plenty of discussion on this and the sooner we get going the better. But since you’re so fired up about this, well, we want you to know we appreciate your concerns.”

  Gilly refrained from comment. Appreciate our con cerns, my eye. More like appreciate your own public image.

  “That’ll give you time to get some community support,” the mayor continued. “Because frankly, and I think I speak for the entire council when I say this, we haven’t heard from one community leader who’s against this, just a few individual malcontents.”

  Community leader? Doublespeak for people with clout. Teachers and parents—all the real people in the world—didn’t count, just “community leaders.” If Gilly hadn’t already been furious, that would have put her over the top.

  “Meeting is adjourned,” the mayor declared.

  Reporters began to converge on Gilly. She answered their questions as well as she could, trying to think “telegenic.” Lord knew, they could use all the TV publicity they could get.

  Finally the reporters had enough sound bites for the late news and they let Gilly go. She moved off to commiserate in a corner with Suzette and a small group from the Academy.

  “Way to go, Gilly,” the kindergarten teacher offered. “You didn’t let them bully you.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s all fine and dandy, but what do we do now?” Gilly frowned. “They’re just delaying us, hoping we’ll go away. And then they’ll vote next time and this whole sleazy thing will slide right in. We need a few big-bucks types like that Spivak guy on our side.”

  “Don’t count on it” Suzette sighed heavily. “Who do we know like that?”

  “Someone with clout,” Gilly said, thinking aloud. “Someone with a high public profile, money, influence…Someone who could take on the mayor and that creepy casino man.” Her gaze narrowed. “I know someone who fits that bill.”

  “Who?” Suzette demanded.

  “A bona fide hero who just happens to be a Benny’s alum.” She allowed herself a small smile. “Luke Blackthorn, that’s who.”

  The home-ec teacher, a cute young thing, squealed, “You know Lucas Blackthorn? That gorgeous guy from the cave, right?”

  “St. Benny’s, class of ‘84.” Gilly’s smile grew wider. “Listen, everyone, I’ll see you later. There’s somewhere I have to go.”

  “Wait! Where does he live? Can I come along?” demanded the home-ec teacher, but Gilly just waved as she struggled into her coat and hit the road.

  Time to beard the lion in his den. Again.

  Chapter Three

  This time the door opened before her hand even hit the knocker. And this time Luke himself answered.

  Surprised, Gilly just stood there and stared at him for a minute. How did he manage to look so delicious, so tempting, so darn cool and collected, just by standing in a dark doorway?

  “Unusually quiet for you,” he said sardonically. “Isn’t this a little late for a visit?” But he stood back and let her enter. In fact, he gave her a wide berth.

  She figured the distance was because he was afraid she’d hug him again. Not likely after his reaction the last time. “Maybe I came to see your cactus bloom. Midnight, right?”

  “Then I guess you’re early.”

  “Okay, you got me,” she admitted, stuffing her gloves into her pockets, pulling off her hat and stamping snow off her boots all in one flurry of activity. “I didn’t come to see the cactus. I came because I need a favor.”

  “Is it the kind of favor where I come out to dinner with you for my own good?” he asked warily.

  “No,” she retorted. “I don’t always sing the same tune, you know.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  She gave him a stinging glare, the kind she gave her sixth graders when they misbehaved. “Can we talk somewhere besides the front hall? And not that black hole of a garden, either.”

  He seemed to consider a moment. “Is the kitchen suitable, Your Highness?”

  “You really are in a mood, aren’t you?” He didn’t answer, so after a moment she said with exaggerated politeness, “The kitchen would be fine, thank you. Maybe Aunt Abby left us a cookie or two, hmm?”

  “Sure, maybe.” He led the way to the back of the house, his footfalls absolutely silent against the plush carpet.

  How did he do that? The rest of the house was so quiet Gilly could hear her left heel squeaking slightly with every step. She could even hear her own breathing, coming a little unevenly after such a long walk in cold air. But Luke moved noiselessly.

  The kitchen was warmer and cozier than the rest of the house, even though Luke left the lights off when they entered. But the big brick fireplace was lit, and its flames gave the room a lovely glow.

  “This is nice,” Gilly murmured, rubbing her hands near the fire. “She doesn’t actually still cook in this thing, does she? Aunt Abby, pioneer spirit?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t quite see her and Fitz hanging out popping popcorn over a roaring fire, can you?”

  “Uh, no.” She grinned, imagining her uptight aunt with a big hat and a black dress stirring some fearsome brew in a pot in the brick fireplace. “But you know, she’d look right at home tossing eye of newt into a big nasty cauldron.”

  “Abby? With a witches’ brew?”

  When Luke laughed, too, Gilly realized it had been a very long time since she’d heard his silky, slightly wicked laugh. She loved his laugh. She had forgotten how much. But here, in the hazy warm kitchen with Luke so close at hand, the sound of his laughter seemed to hit her in a different place. In the old days, she would’ve been delighted to hear him enjoying himself. Now the soft chuckle seemed to curl lazily inside her, sending sparks and tickles to all the wrong places.

  Desire. For Luke. Oh, dear.

  Gilly abruptly abandoned the fireplace and sat down at the kitchen table, folding her hands and staring at them, careful not to look at him while this…heat ran through her veins.

  Lusting after Luke, even innocently, was a very bad idea. She knew that. Not only was he unattainable— and had always been unattainable—but he was her friend. Consciously bringing sex—even a little bit of sexual energy—into their relationship would send him running away faster than a jackrabbit. He’d spent most of his teen years el
uding women on the make. Good heavens, she’d even helped him make his getaway on more than one occasion! But who would help him escape from her?

  “Feeling guilty for calling Abigail a witch?” he joked, pulling out the chair across from her.

  “Yeah, right.” She gave him a guarded smile.

  He folded his hands, too, mimicking her businesslike pose. “And why exactly did you call this meeting, Ms. Quinn?”

  “Funny you should ask.” She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes with a great deal of hope. “I came here straight from a city-council meeting, Luke. I spoke out in opposition to the mayor’s proposed plans to build a casino—”

  “Whoa. Hold on a second.” He pushed his chair back slightly, giving her an intent gaze. “The mayor wants a casino in West Riverside? Last time I looked, gambling was illegal in this state.”

  “Yeah, except for the racetracks, the lottery, offtrack betting…Oh, and riverboat casinos.” She couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice. “Don’t ask me why it doesn’t count if the thing is a foot offshore, but there you have it. And our fair city got one of the state’s coveted permits, so they’re bound and determined to bring in this cash cow.”

  “Not exactly good news, but hardly a disaster.” Luke stood and put his hands in his pockets. With the fire behind him, his hair had a soft bronze glow. Gilly found herself staring, until she had to tear her eyes away. She swore at herself under her breath. This was too important to screw up because she couldn’t keep her eyes off Luke and his hair!

  “Gilly, I didn’t know you had that kind of vocabulary,” he said with a touch of mischief. “And why exactly are you having trouble keeping your, ahem, blasted mind on blasted business?”

  She flushed. How had he heard that? Avoiding his question, she changed the subject back to the casino. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a disaster if they weren’t planning to knock down half of West Riverside—excuse me, all of West Riverside—to make room for it.”

  “So?”

  “So—that’s my neighborhood! That’s where St. Benny’s is.”

  “Gilly—” Luke began to pace impatiently in front of the fireplace “—West Riverside is a dump. If they can clean it up, so much the better.”