“Have dinner with me, Marly.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a command. And even though she hated being told what to do, even though she wore Rebel blue toenail polish, she nodded her head. “Okay, Jack. I’ll have dinner with you.”
HE WAS GREATLY relieved at her answer. His response to Marly Fine ricocheted off the charts. The way her lips yielded to his, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair and the taste of her skin—in combination, it was enough to make a man lose his mind. There was something exotic and untamed about her that quickened his blood and drove him to possess her. If that was primitive and not politically correct, too bad. He literally ached to have her, to drive into that lithe, sweet body of hers.
But Jack got control over himself and straightened her clothes, even though what he wanted to do was to rip them off her and keep her naked for all time, preferably swimming in a vat of warm baby oil….
Her dark hair framed her face and hung down her back. God, he loved her hair free and flowing over her shoulders. He loved the fact that she didn’t seem to wear any makeup besides a little lip gloss—which, thanks to him, wasn’t there any longer. Her lips swollen and her nipples plainly visible even through two layers of fabric, she looked like a gorgeous Gypsy, one that he’d follow anywhere.
“Which evening are you free?” he asked. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
She tucked the loose tendrils of hair behind her ears and put an index finger to her lips, tracing them as he had done with his tongue. “Yes. Tomorrow is too soon.” She was going to see her parents over the weekend. “I need some time to…How about Tuesday?”
Tuesday he was supposed to be at a charity dinner to raise money for further diabetes research. But without any hesitation Jack said, “Tuesday is perfect. Pick you up at eight?” He’d paid five hundred dollars for the privilege of being bored stiff all night. They had his money already, so should he feel guilty for feeling a stomach virus coming on? Nah.
She nodded. “Um, so…is this a double date?” She gestured at the door behind her. “I mean, will the boys be coming along?”
Jack frowned and shrugged apologetically. “It’s hard for me to dodge security. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure they’re either out in the car or at a table across the restaurant, okay?”
An evil impulse sparkled in her eyes. “Would they like dates? One of them seemed impressed with Shirlie’s…attributes. And we have a very cute single manicurist here, too. Or if one of them swings the other way, I’m sure our stylist Nicky would be happy to—”
His lips twitched. “Maybe next time.” He looked regretfully at his watch. “I’m going to have to go—I have a speech to make to a young Republicans group.”
Marly wrinkled her nose and seemed about to make a caustic comment, but he put his hand out, palm up. “Hey, I know what you’re going to say. But it’s better for kids to be politically active early and learn that they can make a difference. Don’t you think Republicanism is better than utter apathy?”
She looked undecided at that, and Jack laughed. “I’m going to teach you the upside of conservative politics before we’re through, Marly.”
“Yeah? How do you know that I won’t impart the wisdom of liberal thinking to you, instead?”
She looked so fierce and yet so adorably kissable. “Well,” he said with caution, “I foresee a lot of spirited discussions ahead.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
“Better not puff your mouth up like that or I’ll kiss it right off,” Jack told her, moving toward the door. They now both looked presentable enough to finally open it.
“You like the silver in your hair?”
He nodded. “I do. Well, as much as I can like the concept of doing anything to my hair. It’s a pain in the ass and isn’t exactly a manly sport. But thank you—that was a good recommendation.” He hesitated. “So, will you give me your phone number before I leave?”
“I’ll be here, mostly. So just call After Hours.”
Interesting. She was still keeping him at arm’s length, even after that kiss. She didn’t want to give up any more personal information—not that he couldn’t get her number through back channels quite easily if he tried. But he wanted her to give it to him herself.
“All right then,” he said, trying to dismiss the kernel of disappointment. “I’ll call you.”
She nodded and he walked out.
He’d no sooner gotten into the car than Turls was on his case via cell phone. “Hi, Turly.” Her fussy tones made him smile.
“You will recall, I’m sure, sir, that it is Miss Hilliard’s birthday in two weeks.”
Was it? He’d forgotten. “You’re right—it is her birthday in two weeks.”
“And I’m sure, sir, that you’ve already had the fore-thought to buy her a gift?”
She knew very well that he hadn’t. “Turls,” he lied, “I’ve been racking my brain for days, and I can’t think of what to get her. I’m a guy. We’re not good at this type of thing.”
“Would you like me to find something for you, sir?”
“Yes, that would be fabulous—you know Carol’s taste better than I do. What would I do without you, Turls?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. By the way, you do have Miss Hilliard’s party marked on your calendar? It’s coming up.”
“Right. I’ll be there, along with the other members of my illustrious family. Can you work with Garcia to keep Senior away from the scotch?”
“I’m not sure that we’ll be successful at that, sir.”
“Well, just…try. Thanks. And, Turls? I promise to eat a salad with dinner. Just for you.”
ONE O’CLOCK in the morning was a terrible time to eat pizza, but they were doing it anyway, since the three of them were starved: Marly, Alejandro and Peggy. They sat at the little bleached oak table in the kitchenette of After Hours, hovered over the cardboard box from Benito’s, the Italian restaurant two doors down.
Marly tipped some more red wine into the plastic cup she was using. It was a nice Australian Shiraz that blended beautifully with tomato sauce and garlic.
“Leave us some,” said Peggy. “Or should I just get you a nipple to put over the neck of the bottle?”
Marly laughed weakly.
“We have another bottle in the cabinet over the refrigerator,” said Alejandro. “You have as much as you want. But the price you pay is talking to your friends.” He grinned at her, clearly wanting to know what was going on with Jack Hammersmith.
“Right,” Peggy agreed. “You said you’d share the details with me later. What details?”
“The governor is in passionate pursuit of our Marly, it’s clear,” Alejandro told her.
He turned back to Marly. “You just cut the man’s hair yesterday morning, and he ‘drops by’ this afternoon to see if you can see him again? Also, Shirlie informed anyone within earshot that he left a tip the size of Alaska. So you must have impressed him.”
Marly tipped a healthy amount of Shiraz down her throat. “He kissed me, Alejo,” she blurted, using Alejandro’s nickname. “And now I have to go to dinner with him.”
“What a brute!” Peggy said. “God, what if he forces you to eat fabulous hors d’oeuvres or even use a napkin? The horror!”
“Peg, be serious. I’m flipping out, here. I’m not the kind of girl who goes to dinner with the governor. I won’t even know what fork to use….”
“He told her that she’s The One,” Alejandro said. “She thinks it’s a bad come on to get her into his bed.”
“Well, he picked my photo out of Shore magazine,” Marly clarified to Peg. “Said he knew just by seeing my face. How weird is that?”
“Hmm. Very un-Republican behavior, I have to say.” Peggy looked thoughtful. “Well, do you want to go to bed with him?”
Marly choked on a mouthful of pizza, feeling her cheeks grow hot.
“Aha!” said Alejandro. “She does.”
“So then why don’t you?”<
br />
“Because…because…” Marly floundered.
“Look.” Alejandro set down his slice of pizza and wiped his hands. “With The Hammer, there really is no mystery. You know he likes women. Lots of different women. So if you’re attracted to him, just enjoy things for the moment, knowing that it is not serious and has no potential to be serious.”
“But then he’s lying to me!”
Alejandro raised an eyebrow. “Make no mistake, mi corazón. All men lie—especially to women. We tell you what you want to hear. ‘No, that dress doesn’t make you look fat.’ ‘Of course I like your hair that way.’ ‘Yes, darling, I’ll love you forever.’”
“That’s terrible!”
He shrugged. “It is the way of the world. There’s no malice in it, really. Just take anything a man says to you with a grain of salt, and then enjoy it. We’re bastards, all of us, but we have our uses. Sleep with Jack, know it’s a fling and enjoy it just as a man would.”
Marly swallowed some more wine. “If you weren’t one of my best friends, Alejo, I really wouldn’t like you right now.”
He spread his hands wide and grinned. “But I am so charming and handsome.”
“Kick him, Peggy—you’re closer.”
“Ow!”
“Take that for womankind everywhere.”
He rubbed his ankle and glared at them. “Fine—next time I will not give you any insight into the male soul. You can just wonder and be mystified.”
Peggy snorted. “There’s no mystery to the male soul. It all boils down to four simple drives for you guys—sex, power, money and food.”
“Not true!” Alejandro protested. “What about the Dalai Lama?”
“What about him?” Peg replied. “I’ll bet he still enjoys food and power, at least. Besides, Jack Hammersmith is no Dalai Lama. So, Marly, I agree with Alejandro even though he is a lowly man and therefore a second-class citizen. Go forth and sleep with Governor Jack. Enjoy it. Take notes for the tell-all book you’ll write later to embarrass his children. Just have fun.”
Marly shoved another piece of pizza into her mouth and tried to absorb all of this practical advice. But the pie now tasted like cardboard to her. “You people are very warped,” she said. “I would never write a tell-all, and I cannot sleep with a Republican!”
Peggy laughed. “Honey, if I can sleep with a football player, then you can sleep with a Republican. What is it that bothers you so much about his politics?”
“Well, for starters I come from a long line of dedicated Democrats. My dad would have a stroke if I dated someone from the Dark Side. And then there’s the fact that the Republican party has always been the party of entitlement—do you know what I mean?”
“Kind of, but not really,” said Peg.
“I mean that Republicans are the fat cats, the millionaires and the big-business types, and the bottom line is king to them, no matter how the little guy gets screwed. Our family has seen it in action—I told you about what happened. Because of that alone, I’ll never vote Republican as long as I live.”
“Fine,” said Alejandro. “But you don’t have to vote in this case.” He grinned. “You just have to have fun.”
“Yeah, I guess. Except that he has these security guys following him everywhere. What if they stand sentry at the bedposts?”
“Eeeuuuww.” Peg grimaced. “That does have a creep factor of nine point seven. You’ll just have to get rid of them somehow.”
“Well,” Marly admitted, “I doubt they’re right in the room, but they’re definitely just outside. I don’t know how Jack can live like that, knowing that his every move is watched, his every word overheard. That’s another thing—if I go out to dinner with this guy, am I going to be on the front page of the Miami Herald the next morning?”
“I like that idea,” Alejandro said. “Make sure to wear a sandwich board for your date, with our hours of operation and marketing tagline in big letters.”
Marly stared at them hopelessly. “You two are not helping. You’re not helping at all.”
Chapter 6
MARLY’S VISIT HOME was somewhat depressing, as usual. Her parents lived in a small three-bedroom stucco house in Fort Meyers. Little had changed since her last visit except that Dad had installed a plastic dolphin mailbox out front.
Marly got out of her second-hand Mitsubishi and braced herself to see her mother. Instead of thinking about their difficult relationship, she focused on the rip in the yellow-striped awning over her parents’ bedroom window. They needed to repair that before next year’s hurricane season tore the entire fixture off and blew it up into Georgia.
They needed hurricane shutters, too, since the weather had gotten so crazy lately, but those cost thousands of dollars.
Marly got her small overnight bag out of the car and hoped that her mother’s vicious cat, Fuzzy, had taken up sleeping somewhere other than in the guest room. The last time she’d stayed here, Fuzzy had refused to cede the guest bed to her, and when she’d accidentally rolled over on him in the middle of the night, he’d bitten her.
She had a theory that Ma had trained the cat to attack her, using electrical shocks and the scent on her old baby blanket. There was nothing like feeling cherished in your childhood home.
She went up the cracked walkway, shuddered at the tacky wreath on the door, studded with little plastic flamingos and alligators, and rang the bell. A few moments went by before she heard heavy footsteps inside the foyer and her father opened the door, a huge smile on his face. “Hi, honey! It’s so good to see you.” He wrapped her in a bear hug.
He smelled the same as he always had: of Listerine and Coppertone and Dial soap. “Hi, Dad.” She hugged him back, pulling away only when she saw her mother behind him in the hallway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Hi, Ma.” She kissed her mother’s tanned, leathery cheek. “I like the new rinse you’re using. That silver-blond shade is pretty.”
Her mother didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Hello, Marlena. Did you have a nice trip over?” God. Only two sentences in her stiff tones and Marly felt immediately unwelcome. How did Ma do it?
Her answer was flip. “Bug count, ninety-three. Roadkill count, four. Gators seen, two.”
Dad guffawed.
Ma said, “That’s disgusting, Marlena. Why don’t you go and wash your hands. I’ve been keeping the roast warm, but I expected you an hour ago.”
“Ma, I told you I’d get here between five and six, not at five…” But her mother had already disappeared into the kitchen.
Marly looked at her father, who shrugged. “Here, let me take your bag.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got it.” She headed toward the guest room and stopped dead as Fuzzy raised his head and glared at her from the center of the bed.
“Yeah, well, it’s fab to see you, too, you overgrown rodent.” She deliberately dropped her bag next to him on the mattress, making him bounce. He hissed, obviously excited to see her. If it weren’t for Dad, she’d never visit.
Marly made claws with her fingers and hissed right back at Fuzzy. He got into a crouch and growl-yowled from deep in his throat.
“In case you haven’t figured this out, I’m a lot bigger,” she told him. “I also travel with shears and an electric shaver, so I’d watch out if I were you. I could make you look really stupid, and none of the other cats would respect you anymore. They’d laugh at you and call you names.”
Fuzzy lashed his tail and glowered at her.
“I could shave you butt-bald, leaving little poodle tufts at your feet and a Mohawk on your fat little head. How would you like that, tough guy?”
He hissed again.
She put her hands on her hips. “Let’s just get one thing straight. While I am here, that is my bed. Not yours. Mine.”
She turned and left the room to go wash her hands. Unbelievable that her mother still directed her to do that, as if she’d remained five years old and had just come in off the jungle gym. Marly sighed.
&nb
sp; There were new towels in the bathroom, coordinated to match the ancient avocado-hued tub. They had small palm trees machine-stitched on them and white fringe.
In the ceramic dish by the sink Marly found little soaps in the shapes of oranges and pineapples. And a green alligator candle with a party hat. Gee, if I didn’t already know I was in Florida, do you think I could guess?
“Marlena?” Her mother popped her head in. “Use the liquid soap under the sink, and one of the old towels in the cabinet. The ones out on the bar are only for show.”
Of course they are.
They sat down for dinner approximately thirty seconds after she left the bathroom. Hexagonal vinyl place mats protected the heavy oak table, and her mother had sewn plastic zippered covers for the seat cushions on the chairs.
The same Precious Moments salt and pepper shakers sat in the center of the table, along with a white angel candle whose gold wings were dissipated with cracks. The angel’s halo was partially smoky and melted from the time Marly had lighted her one Christmas. She’d never heard the end of it. The angel was a show candle, not to be used.
Dad stood over the roast, attempting to carve it with a buzzing electric knife from circa 1972. His hands weren’t too steady anymore, and the meat looked as if it had been in the oven for about a week longer than necessary. In fact, Marly was pretty sure it had petrified.
“Dad, would you like me to do that?” she asked.
“He’s fine,” snapped her mother. “He’s been carving the roast for thirty years now, Marlena. Why don’t you pass the peas?”
Gladly. Her mother’s peas came straight out of a can, after which she boiled them again and then shook dried onion and bacon bits over them, compounding the sin by adding half a shakerful of salt.
Marly had never met anyone who could punish food like Ma. No wonder she’d been such a skinny kid—she’d hated the taste of most things she encountered at the dinner table. She hadn’t discovered decent cooking until she’d moved to Miami, and then a whole new world had opened up.
“Damn,” said Dad, wheezing a little. “I think I’m hitting a bone, here.”
Midnight Madness Page 5