by Sharon Dunn
Ginger and Arleta gave Suzanne sympathetic smiles and patted her back.
“Look at the bright side, Suzanne,” Kindra said. “Things have gone so horribly wrong, they couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
Ginger managed a laugh. Leave it to Kindra to notice the pretty colors of the lava flowing from the erupting volcano.
Suzanne pulled a compact out of her purse and flipped it open. Her head jerked back. “Ouch.” She slammed the compact shut. “Why didn’t you guys tell me I look so scary?”
Ginger fished through her purse for a handy wipe. Earl had given her this travel purse last year. It had a secret compartment to hide valuables, but it was special because Earl had given it to her to begin their life of adventure as empty nesters. She unfolded the handy wipe. “You look better than all of us put together.”
“Ha.” Suzanne leaned forward and closed her eyes so Ginger could wipe off the worst of the melting makeup.
Kindra’s attention seemed riveted on the hotel restaurant. “My stomachs growling. That buffet has my name on it.”
“Don’t you ever need to sleep?” Ginger patted the area around Suzanne’s eyes with the cool cloth. Then she pulled out another handy wipe and washed her own face.
“I’m with Kindra.” Arleta touched her flat stomach. “I haven’t had any real food since we left Las Vegas. Those burritos we got at the minimart don’t count.”
“I’m in,” Suzanne said.
“Sorry kids, I pick sleep over food.” Ginger peeked at the handy wipe, which was saturated with red and black.
“We’ll bring you up something from the restaurant.” Arleta squeezed Ginger’s shoulders. “You know, when my David was alive and we would go on digs, sometimes things didn’t go as planned, but we ended up finding even better artifacts than we had hoped for.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.” If nothing else, Ginger was glad the BHN was here with her, so they could all be miserable together.
After good-bye hugs, Ginger found Phoebe’s suitcase carrier untouched but soaking wet in the lobby. Pulling Phoebe in her makeshift cat mover, Ginger walked past a room filled with people at slot machines. She wasn’t even a gambler. Yet she’d come to Nevada and lost everything. She stepped onto the elevator, checked her room number, and pushed five. She still had a bed to sleep in. That was something. The thought of a nap in a room by herself put a spring in her step.
The elevator jolted to a stop, but not on the fifth floor. The doors did not open. Ginger tapped her fingers on the handle of her cat carrier. She pushed five again. Nothing. She drew in a slow, deep breath and then pressed the number over and over until her finger hurt.
Surprise, surprise.
The elevator was broken too, and she was trapped inside.
Ginger picked up the emergency elevator phone. No dial tone.
She took an inventory of the nourishment she had with her: cat food and maybe some old candy. It could be days before someone figured out she was here. Gum with lint on it and a side dish of Life Savers stuck to the bottom of her purse was about as appealing as shopping at a store with no clearance rack.
She turned a half circle, examining the ceiling panels.
The cat meowed a protest.
“They do it in the movies.” Of course, they have stunt doubles.
She yelled once. Who was going to hear her? She slumped down on the floor and sat cross-legged.
She was trying to remember all of Psalm 23 when the elevator jolted and the doors slid open. She scrambled to her feet, and yanking Phoebe’s carrier across the threshold, she bustled out of the elevator. A row of closed doors and an expanse of bright blue carpet greeted her. She had no idea what floor she was on. She wandered down the carpeted corridor. All the rooms were four hundred numbers.
The elevator doors opened behind her. Ginger spoke to the unoccupied space. “You tease. You are not getting me back in there. My cat and I will be taking the stairs.” The doors slid shut.
Ginger padded down the long hallway. The quiet was broken by the sound of an ice machine and footsteps on the stairs. She headed toward the stairs but stopped when she heard a woman’s voice.
“So is that it? Have you resorted to stealing the guests’ jewelry?” The voice was Tiffany’s, the dancer from the front desk.
“No, of course not. Come on, Leesy, you know me.” And that voice would belong to the infamous Dustin Clydell, the man with the smooth, hypnotic tone.
“I have had two more reports. That means I am up to five since the conventions started. Really valuable stuff. You have access to all the rooms. You’re desperate for funds. Who else could be doing it?”
“Leesy …” His voice filled with sensual, persuasive warmth.
Ginger stared at the ceiling. Phoebe did the same thing.
“Leesy …,” he repeated.
Here we go again. Ginger resisted rolling her eyes.
“Don’t you touch me. I am tired of your manipulations and your promises.” Tiffany spoke in mocking tones, “Oh, we’re going to get back together, Tiffany. Just help me get the hotel shaped up.” After a pause, she pleaded, “How long are you going to string me along? How long?”
“I am not stringing you along. I told you. I am about to come into a big windfall that will fix everything.”
“Is this it? Is this your big windfall? Five reports, Dustin, five.”
Ginger pressed herself against the wall. Tiffany seemed to be gaining some strength where Dustin’s manipulations were concerned.
“First you sell invention booths off to the highest bidder and now this!”
Is that how it worked around here? Ginger squashed swelling anger with three deep breaths. Dustin had destroyed Earl’s chances at being a famous inventor so he could make a little more money.
“I’m telling you. I am not stealing the jewelry.”
Yeah, but he didn’t deny selling off the booths.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I’ve put up with a lot for you, but I’m not interested in being married to a thief.” More stomping up stairs. Abrupt stop. “By the way, the ice machine on the fifth floor is broken. Somebody has been using a ton of it. That’s why I came down here. Do you suppose you could get one thing in this hotel to work right?”
“Leesy, come on. Please, honey.”
Ginger slipped into the vending machine room. Tiffany’s footsteps faded. Ginger counted up to eleven Mississippi before she saw Dustin’s back as he made his way down the hall.
She stepped out. “Mr. Clydell, you sold off my husband’s dream to the highest bidder.”
He whirled around to face her.
A guest emerged from her room. The woman walked slowly past, listening to their conversation. Dustin smiled at the older woman, and she lowered her head coyly. Did this guy ever give it a rest?
“Is that what you did?” Her voice sounded weak, like a vapor. She needed to recover her gumption if she was going to help Earl.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.” He threw his hands up. “I just talk to so many people.”
She’d seen a flash of recognition in his eyes. This was just one more way he wiggled out of a confrontation. With one decision he had swept away all their plans, put their home, their future, their savings in jeopardy. And he didn’t even remember her? A twinge of rage pinched a nerve behind her right ear. “You gave my husband’s booth away to someone else. Apparently because they were willing to pay more money.” She managed to keep her voice level.
The woman disappeared into the vending machine room. Ginger listened to coins tinkling against metal and waited for Dustin’s response.
Dustin aimed his laser-beam gaze on her. Charismatic Ken doll was back. He could turn it on or off with the flip of some internal switch. Was he even aware of it? “I don’t know what you have heard, but I didn’t sell off your booth. My ex-wife has issues.” He leaned closer and whispered. “She’s paranoid.”
Only hours into her stay at his hotel, and she had already concluded problems were alway
s someone else’s fault in Dustin’s world. “You stole my husbands dream.” She couldn’t help herself. Despite her best effort, her voice slipped into a higher octave; anger colored every syllable. She took a step toward him. “We worked so hard and risked so much to get here.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “And you took it from us in an instant.”
Dustin stepped back and held up his hands. “Mrs. Salinski, I understand you are upset.” He touched his hand to his chest. “But please don’t threaten me.”
The woman from the vending machine room sashayed past, holding a bucket of ice and three Almond Joys. If she moved any slower, she’d be going backward.
“I didn’t threaten you.”
“You touched me.” His eyebrow cocked up slightly.
Vending Machine Woman hesitated at her door and then disappeared inside.
Tears warmed Ginger’s eyes. “I am too upset to deal with this right now. But you just wait, mister.” She planted her feet. “And this is a threat. Once I have had a nap, I am going to see to it that my husband gets his booth back one way or another.”
Dustin held up his hands again and then turned his back. He ambled toward the elevator and pushed a button.
Once he was inside and the doors zinged shut, Ginger said, “I hope it gets stuck.”
Phoebe meowed.
“I know. It’s wrong to want bad things to happen to your enemies.” She tilted her head toward the ceiling. “Forgive me, Lord.” She grabbed the carrier and trudged toward the stairs. “It’s just that I have had enough of Dustin Clydell. Just about enough.”
Ginger heard a gasp behind her. She whirled around. Vending Machine Woman drew her fingers up to her mouth.
Ginger stepped toward her, ready to explain why she was so angry with Dustin.
The woman’s eyes widened with fear. She slammed the door shut. The lock clicked in the bolt.
Ginger stepped out onto the fifth floor. She turned the old-fashioned skeleton key in the lock and opened the door of room 517. One wall of the room was a window that looked out on the convention floor. Afraid she would see the booth that was supposed to be Earl’s, she couldn’t bring herself to even glance out the window. She drew the curtains.
She parked the Phoebe holder by the bed and tossed her travel purse on the nightstand.
The room was nice, done in bright colors. The only signs of the toy theme were the teddy bear lamps and the Raggedy Ann doll shower curtain. Nice, but ordinary. At a hundred bucks a pop, she’d expected a gold-plated hot tub and her own massage therapist.
She got food out for Phoebe, then poured water into a cup and set it beside the food dish. Phoebe meowed a thank you.
Ginger pulled her laptop out of the back of her suitcase and set it on a table. The computer fired right up. Thank goodness for waterproof fabric. She and the girls had started a blog called Livin’ Large on the Cheap. They hadn’t gotten any advertisers to help finance the trip, but they had quite a few readers. No surprise there. Bargain hunters wouldn’t pay for something they could get for free.
Ginger collapsed on the bed. Maybe later she would update the blog. She touched her ringlet curls. They had completely lost their spring. Earl said the hairstyle made her look like she was auditioning for a movie of the week, Shirley Temple: The Later Years. When the curls weren’t deflated like this, she thought they suited her. She had managed to dye them back to the shade of ginger brown that, if memory served, she was pretty sure was her actual hair color.
Ginger massaged her sore, sunburned feet, the result of spending half a day standing on the Vegas tarmac in a hundred-plus degree heat waiting for the lost display booth materials to show up. From now on, she would remember to SPF her tootsies. She probably looked worse than an accountant on April 16. After a long flight and driving fifty miles without benefit of makeup retouches and getting an unwanted shower from the hotel’s sprinkler system, a glance in the mirror might cause a coronary. The handy wipe cleaning she’d done in the lobby might have helped a little, but it still seemed risky.
She turned onto her side. Phoebe crunched her food. Ginger pulled her legs up closer to her chest. Her mind drifted, and her eyelids grew heavy; she thanked God for the blessing of a comfortable bed. The crunching grew softer, more distant.
In her dreams, she was a squirrel gathering her acorns into a pile. Over and over, she built up a good supply of food and a nice nest. Then bears and other squirrels invaded her tree, took everything, and messed up her straw bed.
Women’s whispering voices and the padding of feet on carpet stirred her awake. She opened one eye. Phoebe purred on her head. Heavy, heavy, her eyelids, her head, her arms, they were all lead. Phoebe moved off the bed.
And Ginger was swinging back and forth, back and forth, like in a hammock. Someone hit the light switch. In the dark room, she rolled over and fell into a deep sleep right after a tender hand rubbed her back and a female voice told her to rest.
Kindra sat down on a bench by the outlet shops. Suzanne and Arleta had gone up to their one and only hotel room to give Ginger her meal and see if she wanted to join them. The maps of the Little Italy and the Wind-Up showed that the underground outlets for both hotels were connected by one continuous tunnel.
That meant that she had a moment to catch her breath. She and the other bargain hunters had eaten a slow meal and then spent hours exploring the streets and above ground shops so Ginger could get some sleep. They had gotten Ginger some food once they thought she would have had enough sleep. It had to be close to nine by now. Kindra had pushed past the need for sleep and had entered the giddy stage of exhaustion. She couldn’t conk out if she tried. She was too wound up. No biggie. Staying awake all night was standard operating procedure during finals week.
She crossed her arms, closed her eyes, and thought about what kind of blog entry she would do for Livin’ Large on the Cheap when it was her turn. Something about outlet shopping adventures or …
She opened her eyes. Across the corridor by the candy shop, a bear paced, holding his bear head in front of him. The magnetic pull of attraction caused the sensation of a thousand warm pinpricks all over her skin. She’d recognize that cute teddy bear anywhere.
Xabier Knight’s knitted brow was evident even across the corridor. His paws curled into fists. He shook his head at some internal dialogue. The store behind him advertised discounted European chocolate with a special on Belgian chocolate. When he looked up at Kindra, his features smoothed out. He stepped across the corridor to the bench where she sat.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she said back. Oh great. The vocabulary champions were in the house. Kindra scrambled for something clever to say so she could quit nodding like a bobble head.
“What are you doing?” He leaned a little closer toward her.
She swung her legs back and forth but stopped because it probably made her look like she was eight years old. Not the impression she was going for. “I’m waiting for some friends. We’re going outlet shopping.”
“‘Least it’s cool down in the basement, huh?”
“No AC is a little hard to take.” She really wanted the conversation to get to a deeper place.
He set his bear head on the bench. “You get to see me when I’m not sweaty. I just put the suit on.”
“You look good either way.”
Xabier hung his head and kicked at an imaginary object on the concrete. How cute and endearing. He did everything but say, “Ah shucks, Miss Hall, I ain’t nothing to look at.” Xabier was definitely something to look at. She pointed to the bear head. “You getting ready for your performance?”
“Yes.” The scowl returned to his face. “This is not my idea of a real acting job.”
“You seemed kind of upset a minute ago.”
“I don’t want to dump all my problems on you. It’s just … well, have you ever made a plan, had a scenario in your head of how you thought something was going to turn out, then it turns out to be the exact opposite?”
K
indra crossed her legs, hoping to create a look of sophistication. “This whole trip has been like that. Earl, that’s my friend Ginger’s husband, had a vision for what the outcome of this convention would be. He had everything planned. I’m starting to think that maybe God doesn’t want us to make plans.”
“God, huh?”
Kindra reached over and touched the bear head’s soft fur. Xabier tugged on the ear. He hadn’t had a strong reaction either way to the God reference she had dropped. “Are you angry? ’Cause a moment ago over by the candy shop, I noticed.
“I am angry.” He shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I’m—I’m disappointed in someone. I don’t know why I let myself get hopeful that things would be different. Why did I hope?”
“You’re human, aren’t you?” She moved her finger toward the bear’s ear. His hand brushed over hers. His touch sent a little spark through her.
Xabier touched his furry bear chest. “Yeah, I’m human.”
They both laughed. She liked the way he could get past a bad mood so quickly.
He picked up his bear head and walked backward so he could stare at Kindra. “I’m glad I saw you.” He stopped, glanced at the floor, then the ceiling. He bent his head but never made full eye contact. “Listen, ah … the Little Italy Hotel has a nice rooftop garden.” He swayed from side to side. “Maybe you could meet me up there, say around eleven?”
Kindra bounced twice on the bench. “I’d like that.”
“Cool, cool.” He nodded. “There’s a bench with a trellis over it.”
“I’ll find it.”
Xabier waved a paw at her. She waved until he disappeared around a curve in the corridor. She gripped the bench and swung her legs back and forth. Yep, that Xabier made her stomach smolder. But there was more to love than just physical attraction. She needed to be practical here. After all, she was a future physicist. Now she knew what she would write in her blog entry:
Some things are worth paying full price for. When choosing a boyfriend, don’t go to the clearance rack of relationships. I think it’s possible to think so little of yourself that you keep downgrading what you think you need. It starts by saying, “I don’t need someone who is sold out for God, just a guy who goes to church.” Next thing you know, you start to think the guy who lives with his mother and bids for baseball cards on eBay all day is a pretty good catch. I don’t come from the healthiest family in the world. My folks didn’t talk to each other for three years once. Not the best example of a good marriage. I just know some things should not be bought on sale. Go for the top of the line where men are concerned. Pity is not a good thing to base a relationship on either. I always feel real sorry for that mustard-colored down jacket that is left on the clearance rack. But I don’t look good in mustard. Some guys are mustard-colored down jackets. Leave them on the clearance rack and hold out for a designer man.