Man, what a geriatric bunch. “Okay, Dr. Cooper. Let’s go. Nighty night, ladies. Sleep tight.”
• • •
The Lounge was an upscale bar at the Mandalay Bay, contemporary with glass tables and large chocolate brown, leather wingback chairs—the kind that scooped you up and made you want to stay there forever. A pianist played softly, an old classic by Roberta Flack, and Jordan and Claire claimed opposing seats. It wasn’t the Rum Jungle, but it was a place to unwind at least. They each ordered a drink—Jordan a bourbon on ice, Claire a sour apple martini.
“Ooh, a little daring of you, Claire. I like it!”
Jordan had long ago abandoned trying to get Claire to loosen up, but it was still fun teasing her, pushing her a little. She remembered how Claire was with Ann, who was her polar opposite in so many ways. With Ann, Claire had inched out of her shell. They played on a women’s recreational hockey team together, headed up a lesfic book club, hosted dinner parties. Now that Ann was gone, Claire did none of these things as far as Jordan knew. A light had gone out in her.
Claire smiled nervously, making small talk until their drinks arrived. Neither blinked at the price—seventeen dollars for the martini and thirteen for the shot of bourbon. It was Vegas, and the only things cheap were the taco stands on the street and the one-dollar margaritas at the one-stars. Jordan watched Claire take bird-like sips of her drink. Nothing ever rattled her, not even, Jordan imagined, a birthing woman bleeding out on the table. Except for tonight. Tonight Claire looked nervous, scared even, like something indeed was bothering her but Jordan knew she’d have to be careful with her. Claire was sensitive, especially since Ann’s death, and she didn’t like to be pushed too hard or challenged or lectured. They’d all taken turns trying to get her to come out with them, even tried to set her up on a couple of dates. Claire had resisted all the way, had come to resent their efforts. And so Jordan would carefully wait her out, see if there was something she wanted to talk about. Jordan was good at that, letting the other person make their move first, and it was one of her attributes that made her such a successful real estate agent.
It was on their second drink and another round of small talk before Claire approached the heart of the matter. She cleared her throat as though she were about to make an announcement. “You never seem to have an issue with dating younger women. I mean, what’s it like?”
Ah, now it was all making sense. Jordan smiled, but not too presumptuously. Now she knew what was up with Claire. “Well, I don’t really have a comparison since I’ve never dated anyone over thirty. But it’s . . . different.”
“Different how?”
This was no simple girl talk to Claire, not the way she was stiffly leaning forward, her senses keenly on edge. “Well, let’s see. They tend to be very energetic, in and out of bed.”
Claire colored a little, and Jordan smiled to herself. God, it was tempting to push her buttons and really get into the sex talk, but she resisted. Claire looked far too fragile for that. She was like a teenager trying to confess a crush on someone completely unattainable. Who was Jordan to deflate her by making a joke out of it?
She pointedly steered the conversation away from sex. “They can get bored easily though. Hell, I get bored easily, so I guess that’s nothing to do with age. Conversation can be a little superficial sometimes. And things like movies and music are hard to talk about when you’re from different eras. One of my recent dates thought Supertramp was the name of a porn star, can you believe that? And forget talking about your career, or things like mortgages or retirement savings or anything like that. They’re not there yet.”
“It doesn’t sound very appealing, the way you describe it.”
Jordan granted Claire the point. “No, it doesn’t, does it.” Her head was a little foggy from the alcohol, but for the life of her she couldn’t really think at the moment what appealed to her so much about dating young women. It had to be the sex, right? Or maybe it made her feel somehow more youthful, more lively, more attractive. She shook her head. How pathetic.
“You mean the shine is wearing off those brand-new pennies?” Claire’s smile was a little smug but not mean.
Jordan shrugged. She didn’t want to confess anything to Claire. Didn’t want to talk about how she’d unknowingly slept with the daughter of her first lover. It was a bit icky, kind of incestuous really, and she’d never have bedded Krissy if she’d known who she was. She’d come full circle with mother and daughter, and it sobered and scared her. Had her life really come to that? Was she so indiscriminate about who she slept with? And what was she so scared of that kept her continuing this juvenile behavior? Old age? Losing her looks? The answers eluded her, but she somehow wanted to start over, change things up for herself. It was time. “I don’t know. I guess everybody’s gotta grow up sometime, right?”
Claire studied her drink thoughtfully before raising her eyes. “Maybe not all young women are the way you describe.”
“No, probably not. Just the Pop Tarts I happen to choose. Amanda, on the other hand . . .”
Claire jerked to attention, her eyes widening visibly as though someone had just given her a pinch. Bull’s eye! She started to mumble something incoherent before quickly raising her drink to her lips.
Jordan continued as if she hadn’t noticed Claire’s discomfort. “Amanda doesn’t seem to be anything like the women I’ve dated. She seems really bright and classy and extremely mature. And good-looking, my God! She’s grown into a remarkable beauty, don’t you think?”
By the time Claire set her drink down, her composure had returned. “Yes, she does seem like a very fine young woman.”
Fine? It was time to call Claire out, push her a little. Come on little lamb, it will be okay, Jordan wanted to say, because it was going to be okay. She smiled with what she hoped was understanding. “You’re interested in her, aren’t you?”
“W-what?” Claire stammered, totally predictable in her denial, but Jordan knew it was only a knee-jerk reaction. She’d noticed how Claire’s appreciative eyes followed Amanda, how she seemed so much more relaxed in Amanda’s company, how she practically hung on the younger woman’s words, smiled constantly at her. No, drooled, more like. Amanda Malden was the sun and Claire Cooper the helpless planet orbiting it. Christ, I wonder if Shannon knows? Surely Shannon wouldn’t be happy about this little development. Oh, well. It was not Jordan’s problem for once, and besides, it was damned good for Claire to show interest in someone.
“All I can say Claire is hallelujah! It’s about time you started considering someone that way and I couldn’t be happier for you!”
All color drained from Claire’s face as she sank down in her chair. She looked like the guilty family dog that had just stolen the evening’s dinner and downed it in one giant gulp. “Oh, God, Jordan. I’m not—I mean, I’m just—shit, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“No you’re not. Take a deep breath, Claire. You’re okay. You’re just being human. You’re acting like you just slept with an underage showgirl.”
“For God’s sake!” Claire practically wailed. “I haven’t slept with anyone and I’m not going to. She’s Shannon’s niece. And she’s young enough to be my daughter. Oh my God.” She scrubbed at her temples as though she could rub the salacious thoughts from her mind. “I think I’ve lost my fucking mind!”
Jordan couldn’t remember a time when Claire had used the F-bomb. Jesus, she really is suffering over this. “So what that she’s younger and she’s Shannon’s niece. Big freaking deal. Greater obstacles than that have been overcome in the name of love.”
“I’m sure Amanda would be appalled if she knew. I’m appalled!”
“She would be flattered, I’m sure. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.” Claire finished her drink in one decisive swallow and set the glass down like a judge slamming down a gavel. “I can’t believe any of this is happening. This is nuts. I’m sure by t
omorrow I’ll regret every single thing about this conversation.”
“It’s okay, Claire, I promise. And I promise this isn’t the end of the world. Let me order you another drink so you can decompress a little.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll decompress in my room. I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself.”
Jordan reached over and put her hand on Claire’s arm. It was about as affectionate as she ever got with Claire. “I’m your friend, Claire. And I’m not going to tell a soul about this. But if you need to talk, I’m here okay? And try to chill out a little.”
Claire’s smile was fleeting. “Thank you, Jordan. But I’m still embarrassed. I’m not even in a position to, you know . . .”
“No, you’re in the perfect position to have a little fun. Just be yourself and let . . . I don’t know. Just let yourself be for once, you know? Wherever that might take you.”
Claire rose and gave the seated Jordan a quick hug. “I’ll try, Jordan, but no promises.”
After she was gone, Jordan moved to the bar and ordered a beer. She wanted to sit and absorb this new information about Claire. She was thrilled for her friend, but apprehensive too. As much as she teased and goaded Claire about her hermit lifestyle, she worried about her. It was surprising and satisfying to see her testing the waters like this, or at least actually thinking about dating someone, but Jordan seriously doubted Claire had the balls to act on her little crush. It would be a huge leap of faith for her, so out of character, and Jordan couldn’t picture anything coming of it.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts, she failed to immediately notice the dark-skinned woman with short black hair slide into the stool next to her.
“Is it something you’d recommend?” asked a deep voice that still managed to sound very feminine.
It took Jordan a moment to surface from the haze of alcohol and the bizarre discussion with Claire. She turned to the stranger. “What, sitting here drinking alone?”
The woman’s laughter was another octave richer and deeper, and it washed over Jordan in a luxurious wave. “Actually, I was talking about whatever brand of beer you’re drinking.” Clear, dark eyes appraised Jordan.
She laughed and shook her head. “The beer, yes. Drinking alone, not particularly.”
“Good, then you don’t mind if I join you?” The dark eyes softened and posed a silent question.
Yes, Jordan thought, I’m interested. And why not? The woman was beautiful and elegant, long limbed and graceful in the way she moved her hands on the bar, smoothing down a napkin and signaling the bartender for a glass of beer. Her only makeup was the bright red lipstick on her full lips, the shade matching perfectly her nail polish. She was probably Jordan’s age, maybe even a little older, and she wore her years with grace and without apology. The effect was stunning.
“I would love for you to join me,” Jordan answered with a smile. She almost laughed at herself when her eyes remained on the dark stranger instead of feasting on the young woman behind the bar whose blond hair was naturally bleached by the desert sun. No, she hadn’t been bullshitting Dani or Claire. She really did want to turn over a new leaf; she just wasn’t quite sure where to begin. Maybe this was the place to begin.
“I’m Dez, by the way.”
“Jordan.” So first names only was how it was going to be—a nameless pickup. Mild disappointment tugged at Jordan. It was clear Dez had no intention of becoming friends, and at one time, instant lovers would have suited Jordan just fine. But now she desired something more than a one-night stand. Figures.
“Good to meet you, Jordan.” They shook hands softly, then the long fingers closed around the sweating glass of beer. “You were right about the beer; it’s good.”
Jordan tilted her glass in salute. The beer was good, but she didn’t feel like drinking much more. She suddenly wished she wasn’t so far on her way to being inebriated. Dez was sober and Jordan wanted to be as well. “Is that a southern accent I detect?”
Dez tilted her long neck and inclined her head closer to Jordan. Her subtle perfume was pleasant. “I’m originally from Georgia, but I’m surprised you picked up an accent. I figured years of living in New York City and California had decimated it by now.” Her laughter was long and low, and it occurred to Jordan that there were centuries of the South in that voice—a cadence to the way Dez talked that reminded her of lazy summers beneath giant century-old oak trees.
“I’ve never lived on the East Coast, but I’ve always fantasized about New York City. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere, as they say.”
Dez lightly shrugged a shoulder, the sheer of her pale lemon blouse revealing slender white bra straps beneath. Jordan wondered how the white straps would look against Dez’s bare, dark back.
“That’s true, but you can kill yourself trying to make it there, and not many succeed. Don’t get me wrong, I love New York City, but six years of living there was enough for one lifetime. It’s a city that can eat you alive until you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You’re pretty small in a place like that, no matter how successful you think you are.” There was a note of regret in her voice.
“Then maybe it’s better to go there after you’ve already made it,” Jordan suggested.
Dez’s smile was wistful. “Maybe it’s just better to visit a place like that and not live there.”
“Do you miss the South?”
“Hmm. That’s like asking a fish if it misses the water.” Her accent seemed a little thicker now that they were talking about the south. “You’re not from the South are you?”
“The Midwest.” Jordan didn’t feel like going into any more detail than that. They were playing a little cat-and-mouse game, giving each other enough information about themselves to be friendly, but nothing more. The rules were plain.
“Well, close enough then. So you’re visiting Las Vegas?”
“Yes and no. I do a little work here sometimes as well.”
“Me too.” Dez’s smile was an acknowledgment that the line of questioning would go no further. “Are you staying at the Mandalay?”
“The MGM. You?”
Dez nodded before finishing off her beer, and Jordan hoped she was about to get an invitation for a private nightcap. They seemed to be moving in that direction, Dez giving off subtle signals that she was gay and alone in the city.
“Well, Jordan, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get going. It’s getting a little late.” She was standing, throwing a bill on the bar.
“Um . . . okay.” Jordan felt like a fool, even more now that her voice had suddenly deserted her. Had she read it all wrong?
Dez at least had manners enough to look a little sorry. “It’s been nice talking to you. Really. But I don’t . . . you know . . .”
Jordan’s impulse was to nod and say something equally polite and stumble back to her own hotel, but she didn’t want to let Dez off the hook so easily. She wanted her to spell it out. They were not kids, nor was this decades ago where you had to talk in some sort of heterosexually-accepted code. “Actually, I don’t know.”
Dez’s eyes were frank, but not harsh. She really did seem to regret ending the evening. “I don’t pick women up in bars. Anymore.”
“But if you did, you’d ask me up to your room?”
Dez answered with a smile and walked away.
Well, well, Jordan thought with more amusement than injured pride as she watched her leave. This is a first.
Chapter Nine
Shannon
Shannon didn’t much enjoy shopping, or at least not as much as her closet at home might suggest. The clothes and shoes with their expensive material, handmade craftsmanship and overblown price tags were nice—she couldn’t deny they weren’t—but they were more about Dani than her. Dani loved her in designer clothes, loved spending money on her, loved her looking like a million bucks. And since it made Dani feel good, it made Shannon feel good to please her. Why shouldn’t she do something as simple as dress in nice clothes i
f it made her partner happy? Dani worked hard, and the extravagance was Dani’s reward.
It was this she told herself to alleviate the pang of guilt as she, Claire and Amanda entered the Neiman Marcus store at the north end of the Strip. They had the place practically to themselves, probably because it was Monday morning and the weekenders were on their way home or still hung over and in bed.
“May I help you?” a sales clerk asked, introducing herself as Mary and explaining that she would be their personal shopping assistant. She was eager in the way of someone who wanted to keep busy to make her work day go faster.
“I’m really just looking for shoes,” Shannon replied, watching the woman visibly deflate. She didn’t want someone shadowing her, so she nodded in the direction of her niece, who was making her way to the lingerie and bra section. Shannon had slipped Amanda a C-note on the way and convinced her to buy herself something nice—something she might not otherwise splurge on. Amanda protested, and Shannon countered that she’d never given her a welcome-back-to-Chicago gift last fall. In reality, she wanted an excuse to treat Amanda, who spent all her money on her classes and books and rarely indulged in anything else.
The assistant went scurrying after Amanda, and Shannon giggled a little.
“That was a bit mean,” Claire chuckled.
“I know, but Amanda will forgive me.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure. Would you want someone helping you buy a bra or undies?”
Shannon considered for a moment. “If she was cute, sure.”
“God, you sound like Jordan.”
“Oh, please. Shoot me if I ever do.”
The two laughed guiltily and made their way to the shoe department. Claire wasn’t much of a shopper and nodded her approval at everything Shannon pointed out.
“You could at least pretend you’re interested in my bridal shoes, you know.” Shannon was only kidding, knowing the exercise was akin to going to the dentist for Claire.
Claire laughed gamely. “Just like you tried to pretend you were interested in the book club Ann and I used to organize?”
The Wedding Party Page 6