Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  “You’re not going anywhere. This situation is still fixable.” I pull my cell phone out of the pocket of my yellow-and-white chevron striped sundress and power it up.

  Sloane eyes me warily. “What are you doing?”

  “Texting Gav, of course.” I tap on the Contacts icon at the bottom of my phone screen. “I’ll tell him Brody and I had a fight. He’ll cut short his date with Thea and rush home to comfort me, but he’ll find you waiting at his house instead, then you can tell him how you feel about him.”

  “You are turning into such a little text liar!” She snatches the phone out of my hand. “You can’t trick Gav again; your friendship wouldn’t survive it. Besides, if I tell him I love him now, he won’t believe me. He’s already accused me of doing everything I could in the past to screw up his relationships with other women. He’ll think I’m just manipulating him into dumping Thea.”

  “Mmmmmm, you have a point. So, no texting . . .,” I take back my phone and turn it off, “. . . but we have to do something to save Gav from Thea. He’s only with her in the first place because she reminds him of you.”

  “Excuse me?” Sloane gives me a recriminatory look.

  “Uh, what I meant to say is she’s the meaner, bossier, less pretty version of you,” I hasten to clarify.

  “That’s more like it.” She nods approvingly at my description of her nemesis. “So, what am I going to do to win Gav back?”

  “I think you need to make a grand gesture, show Gav how serious you are, that you’re not playing games with him.”

  “Okay, so how do I prove my love? Get his name tattooed on my butt?”

  “That’s your idea of a romantic gesture?”

  “I don’t know! I’m really bad at this.” She grimaces as if she’s in physical pain.

  “Fortunately, you have me, and romance is my specialty.” An idea starts to form in my head – it’s big, it’s bold, it’s creative, and it’s something totally unique to Sloane and Gav’s relationship. “I’ve got it! Look out, Romeo and Juliet, this is going to put your balcony rhapsodizing to shame!”

  She groans. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”

  “Probably, but I think it’s your best shot at getting Gav. Are you in?”

  “Audentes fortuna juvat,” she murmurs her teenage motto.

  “Viva la romance!” I enthuse.

  Chapter 40

  (Sloane)

  As we push our way through the throng of people crowding the convention floor and I’m poked in the side by yet another set of Wolverine claws (This place is lousy with Hugh Jackman wannabes, none of whom fill out a white wife-beater the way he does.), I wonder for the eighty-ninth time why I ever agreed to go along with this harebrained scheme of Willa’s. Seriously. It’s insane and will most likely result in me being publicly humiliated. What happens at PhenomeCon had better stay at PhenomeCon, because if any of this gets out, my image as a smart, no-nonsense business professional will be shot to hell and I don’t need that when I’m about to start a new job at a high profile company.

  Yeah, I decided to take the position as CFO-in-training at Stanfield Hotel Group. It really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I would have been foolish to pass on it for personal reasons. And after having several in-depth conversations about how I will fit into the existing structure at SHG and what’s expected of me with not only J.B., but my aunt, Penelope, and her husband, Teddy, who are both board members, and my exiting predecessor, Charles Friar, I feel confident my services are welcomed and I can be a vital part of ushering in a new era of innovation and profitability for the company. Now, I just need to pull off this stunt here at the con without embarrassing my employer or the paternal side of my family. I should be okay as long as I have this mask on and don’t use my full na–

  “Hey, Charlatan, looking good!” A caped man in a flowing blond wig raises the oversized hammer he’s carrying in tribute to me as I pass by.

  Ignoring Thor’s leer and the suggestive things he’s starting to do with his hammer, I accelerate my pace, catching up to my sister. “I feel ridiculous!” I hiss in her ear.

  “But you look amazing!” she declares. “You’re making all the fanboys drool.”

  “Turned on a bunch of nerds. Great. I’ll check that off my bucket list. UGH I can’t breathe in this thing! I think you laced it too tight.” I start tugging on my blue leather bustier top, which is a Willa creation. Actually, she’s responsible for all of my look: the wild, blown-out hair; the dramatic eye makeup and red lips; the fancy, blue, rhinestone-studded mask with its glittery silver design; and the black palm half-gloves, which are kind of cool and make me feel like I could go out and pinch a priceless gem or valuable coin collection without having to worry about leaving behind fingerprints. She did buy, rather than make, the black leather skinny pants and pointy-toed ankle boots I’m wearing. I was afraid to ask where she got them, probably some store that caters to the S&M crowd. I never noticed before, but these outfits comic book/graphic novel heroines squeeze themselves into really are quite fetish-y. I’m seeing lots of form-fitting rubber and leather, stiletto heels, and boobage on display on this convention floor.

  “I still say you need to unzip the bustier a little bit and expose more of that cleavage we worked so hard to create the illusion of.”

  I stop and turn back toward Tommy, which brings our whole group to a halt. “Because I don’t already look like a big enough slut?” This bustier is pushing my boobs up so high they feel like they’re going to spill out of the leather any second, and I’m wearing two, count ‘em two, pairs of Miss Oops Chicken Cutlets, which are these silicone breast enhancers Tommy just happened to have on hand. Even with all that help, I still don’t look anywhere near as chesty as my bodaciously-breasted graphic novel counterpart.

  “Brody, what do you think?” I solicit the opinion of my sister’s boyfriend who’s been totally silent on the subject of my vampy costume since picking the three of us up at Willa’s place an hour ago.

  He gives me a quick once-over before advising, “Keep it zipped. Gotta leave something to the imagination, and you’ve already got the bare midriff and sexy corset thing going on. More cleavage would be overkill and it might incite a nerd riot, which I don’t think I could protect you from since I left my Valyrian steel sword at home.” He smirks, and I smirk back, liking him even more now that I know he watches Game of Thrones.

  “It’s agreed then. Sloane looks perfect as is. Sorry, Tommy.” Willa offers him an apologetic smile. “Ooooo!” She points at a sign off to the right. “The security checkpoint for the green rooms – that’s where we’re supposed to meet Callie.”

  Callie’s the name of Gav’s publicist, something I just learned two days ago when Willa contacted her to set this crazy plan in motion. I follow my sister over to a cordoned off area being guarded by a bunch of large men, wearing dark suits and earpieces, who appear to be taking their job very seriously. We stop a few feet short of them and try to act casual.

  “Callie said she’d be here with our backstage passes at three fifteen.” Willa lifts Brody’s arm to check the time on his watch and frowns. “Three eighteen . . . she must have gotten held up at the panel.”

  “It’s a sign this is a bad idea. We should go.” Before anyone can argue the point, I spin around, intent on escaping while my dignity’s still intact, but I’m blocked by Tommy who moves to stand in front of me. My right eyebrow shoots up. “Really, cue ball? You think you can take me? These spiked heels weren’t just made for walking.”

  “Look who got all the mean when that egg split in half.”

  “Be nice,” Willa instructs her roommate as she places a hand on his chest and gently pushes him away from me. “Sloane gets a little snippy when she’s nervous.”

  “She must be nervous all the time then,” he snarks.

  “You’re the one who should be nervous.” I raise my hands in the air threateningly as if I’m going to strangle him. Come to think of it, attacking another Phenome
Con attendee would be a good way to get myself thrown out of here . . .

  “Hi, hi.” A breathless, frazzled-looking Callie picks that tense moment to rush up to us. “Sorry to keep you waiting. This place is a zoo, which makes it difficult to get from Point A to Point B quickly. I need roller skates!”

  “No worries,” Willa assures her. “We just appreciate you helping us out with this.”

  “I’m happy to. It’s going to be such a fun surprise for Gavin, and the fans will love it!”

  Gav will definitely be surprised, but I don’t know how fun he’s going to think this ambush is. Why the hell did I let my sister talk me into this? All the sugar in those cupcakes must have made me more open to suggestion than usual. Also, I was desperate and couldn’t think of any other way to woo Gav back. That’s still true, so I guess I have to go through with this. SIGH

  “Your costume is fantastic!” enthuses Callie. “Best Charlatan I’ve seen all day.”

  “I should hope so since I am her. Or she’s me, depending on how you look at it.” I get a blank-eyed stare back from Callie. Guess I’m confusing her with my twist on the old causality dilemma – Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

  “Anyway . . . here are your all-access passes.” She hands one to each of us. “You can wear them around your necks.”

  “Just hold on to yours,” Willa whispers. “You don’t want to mess up your hair.”

  Considering all the curling and teasing that was done to my hair and how much Lock It 48-Hour Hold spray was squirted on it, I’m pretty confident this ‘do couldn’t be adversely affected by anything, including hurricane force winds.

  “Shall we?” Callie sweeps a hand toward the entrance to the green room area.

  My final chance to bolt. I’ve got an emergency twenty stuffed in my bustier, so I could take a cab home and be back on my couch, eating leftover pizza, in thirty minutes. Damn, why’d I have to think about the Carnivore’s Delight from Spinelli’s that’s sitting in my fridge? I ordered it last night, because I was feeling nostalgic about the last time I shared that pizza with Gav, but when the pie arrived, it bummed me out so much I lost my appetite. All right, that settles it. I can’t go the rest of my life being unable to eat pizza because it reminds me of Gav. I’ve got to set things right with him, even if that means making a complete fool out of myself.

  Our passes get us through the blockade of security guards and into the main green room, which is kind of a disappointment – nothing glamorous about it at all, just a bunch of schlubby-looking individuals milling around some laminate tables and armless chairs, with water bottles in hand. I can’t even tell the difference between the “talent” (That’s what Callie keeps calling the actors, writers, artists, etc. who are guests at the convention.) and all the behind-the-scenes people. She leads us out the doors on the other side of the green room, and we find ourselves in the concrete bowels of the Moscone Center. Again, not glamorous. We walk, and we walk, then we walk some more, passing at least a dozen different gray doors on the left. Finally, we get to one labeled “Gateway Ballroom.”

  “This is it!” Callie announces perkily.

  Willa looks over at me, smiles, and grabs my hand, ostensibly for moral support, but I think her bigger concern is that I might try to make a run for it. I squeeze her hand, letting her know I’m resigned to my fate. Not that I’m certain this will end badly. By my calculations (using a modified version of the probability of independent events equation), there’s about a forty percent chance things will go my way. That percentage would have been higher if my brain hadn’t kept spitting out potential outcomes that could be considered negative – everything ranging from Gav storming off stage to Thea appearing out of nowhere to serve me with papers in an Alienation of Affection lawsuit.

  We’re ushered into the backstage area in the ballroom, where there’s lots of production equipment and paraphernalia, including some weird bleacher-like stairs, a table with a pair of coffee urns and stacks of Styrofoam cups, and a monitor where we can watch what’s happening out on stage. “Oh, there’s Gav!” Willa gets excited when she sees his face onscreen and drags me over to the monitor.

  He’s leaning forward in the director’s chair he’s seated in, speaking into a cordless microphone. I guess he’s answering a question from the moderator, but I can’t really concentrate on his words because I’m too busy drinking in the sight of him. God, he looks good! Tanner than the last time I saw him (I bet he’s been outside, running more, since he finished the latest volume of New Frisco.), hair a little blonder from the sun and even more sexily tousled than usual, facial scruff (Ha! Thea hates his stubble and has probably been bugging him to shave it off. I love that he hasn’t kowtowed to her.), and he’s wearing one of his trademark snug-fitting Henleys (color-block style with pale blue on the torso and navy on the sleeves/trim). The shirt looks great with his faded Levi’s. Unfortunately, the audience is missing out on seeing Gav at his best angle in those jeans, which is from the back. Not that any of those fanboys would appreciate the view of his posterior, but there might be a few ladies out there . . . wait, do graphic novelists have groupies? Is some purple-haired, multi-pierced skank going to ask Gav to autograph her breasts later? Why is that heavily tattooed woman in the floral dress and combat boots who’s sitting in the chair next to Gav’s eying him like he’s a lollipop she wants to lick? She’d better not be getting any ideas about– Suddenly, my train of thought, also known as the Jealous Express, is derailed because fingers are being snapped in my face.

  “What?” I ask irritably, turning to my sister.

  “You’ve been in a trance ever since you laid eyes on Gav. Have you heard anything I’ve said in the last few minutes? Did you notice that Tommy abandoned us to chase after some guy he swore was the lead actor from Arrow, or that Brody left to get us some coffee?”

  “Uh . . .” None of that sounds even remotely familiar. “No, must have missed all that.”

  She chuckles. “You’ve got it so bad!”

  “That’s the unicorn calling the rhino ‘horny.’” I jerk a thumb over at the object of her frequent moony-eyed stares, who’s still at the craft services table, having been waylaid by a bespectacled, pimply-faced teenager. I bet the kid’s asking Brody who his favorite Avenger is – the only acceptable answer being Iron Man, of course.

  Willa glances over at her boyfriend and a blissful smile spreads across her face. “Isn’t he amazing? I heart him so much. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

  “Speaking of getting lucky, you two hit the sheets yet?” I don’t know what they’ve been waiting for. Do they need to get their dogs’ blessing first? Do Mars and Venus need to be in perfect alignment?

  “That’s between Brody and me,” she responds primly, but the reddening of her cheeks betrays her.

  “Too hot to talk about in a public forum. Gotcha.” I wink at her. “You can give me the details later. Good to know that great sex can happen within the confines of a committed relationship.”

  “Did you think it couldn’t? Love makes everything better.”

  “Not for me so far.” I cast a look over at Gav on the monitor and heave a forlorn sigh. “I’ve never been more miserable.”

  She puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to work out. Have you forgotten about the Tobin Twin Effect? When good things happen to me, they happen to you, too.”

  “You didn’t screw things up with Brody the way I did with Gav. I don’t think the TTE can compensate for that.”

  “Sure it can. And if you don’t have faith in the Tobin Twin Effect, have faith in Gav. That man has loved you for twenty-five years, Sloane. Twenty-five! Do you think he got over those feelings in just two weeks?”

  “Don’t discount the Thea Factor,” I say, with a frown. “I might loathe her, but I’d never underestimate her powers of coercion. She’s a lawyer; it’s her job to talk people into things. She’s probably brainwashed Gav into thinking she’s his one and only.”

  “No way,
” my sister asserts. “Gav’s heart belongs to you and no one else.

  Nothing can change that. Do you know what the first thing out of his mouth was when I told him the news about J.B. Stanfield being our father?”

  I shrug.

  “He said, ‘How’s Sloane doing with all this? Is she okay?’ His thoughts were all focused on you and how you felt. He was so concerned, and I could see that he was dying to run to you and give you whatever support you needed.”

  “You read a lot into a couple of innocuous, little questions, didn’t you?”

  She gives me an exasperated eye roll, which is usually my move.

  “Okay.” I decide to let her have this one. “So maybe that does prove Gav still cares and all hope isn’t lost for–”

  Callie interrupts to inform me, “The panel’s taking questions from the audience now. You’ll be up when the girl I’ve planted out there gets her turn at the mic. Let’s move you into position.”

  Willa gives me an encouraging nod and a double thumbs up. Clearly, she’s very excited about seeing this plan of hers come to fruition. If it goes south, I don’t know which of us is going to be more disappointed. Yeah, I do. It’ll be me since I’ll have to live the rest of my life without my best friend and the only man I’ve ever loved (funny how they turned out to be one and the same). Okay, so failure really isn’t an option here. I’ve got to get my Charlatan on and take back what’s mine. Actually, Charlatan’s more into taking things that aren’t hers, but her m.o. is still applicable. Go after what you want, using your wits, charm, and the element of surprise, and don’t let anything stand in your way.

  Callie escorts us to the wings at the side of the stage. We’re back behind the row of director’s chairs where the moderator and talent are seated, so Gav shouldn’t be able to see me. But on the off-chance he happens to glance back, Callie and Willa stand in front of me to block Gav’s view. Brody saunters up, with the coffees he went to get ages ago, and hands me a cup. Yes! This is exactly what I need. Caffeine always has a bolstering effect on me. That’s why I like to drink coffee before important mee–