The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  “I’m not uptight.” But she was uptight. Restless. A malcontent. And actually, she’d been uptight for weeks now and all the reasons why were starting to crystallize in her mind. She’d never really broken up with anyone before. Not that there was really anything to break up with Myron, but that’s what she wanted to do, wasn’t it? The whole scene with him was stale. Overdone. “I wish you wouldn’t call me in the middle of the night.”

  “Okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “That wasn’t cool, I get it. But I really was worried, Rach. It’s not like you go out, and I didn’t know you had some guy in the wings.”

  He said that as if he had a right to know. “So now you do. So don’t call me, all right?”

  “All right, I get it.”

  “There’s one other thing,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  She looked at Myron standing there, looking concerned and thoughtful and not too terribly stoned at the moment. She wanted to tell him to quit eating her food, to quit dropping by unannounced and using her stuff. She wanted to tell him that they were through, that they really weren’t very good friends, were they? And that she didn’t think she wanted to see him anymore. But he looked so vulnerable at the moment, and she considered that part of her feelings about him had to do with a raging case of PMS. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to tell him to get lost. Perhaps she just needed to get out of this skirt and go to bed.

  “What is it, Rachel?” he asked, looking all worried now, as if he thought she had committed murder or something. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll help.”

  That really pissed her off because she believed Myron meant just that. Whatever was ailing her, he’d help if he could. The only problem was, he never could and she didn’t want him to help her. She didn’t want him hanging around. She didn’t even want to talk to him at the moment.

  “Could you . . . maybe call before you drop by?” she asked as a start.

  Myron looked taken aback. But he nodded after a moment. “Sure,” he said, and actually leaned down to pick up his plate. “I’ll just clean up a little and go.” He walked into the kitchen. Rachel could hear him fumbling around in there as she tried to unfasten the hook on her skirt. When he emerged again, she was already on the stairs, waiting for him to leave.

  “One last thing, Rach, and I’ll leave you alone. I need your phone. I programmed a couple of numbers I need.”

  Rachel sighed, stepped off the stairs, and walked to where she’d put her bag, dug around the junk inside and pulled out the phone. She handed it to Myron on her way back to the stairs. “Will you lock the door on your way out?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he muttered, his attention on her phone. Rachel walked up the stairs and into her bedroom. A moment later, she heard the front door shut below her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rachel tracked down Dagne after returning from the gym the next afternoon and told her they had to go shopping. She’d ridden fifteen miles on her stationary bike but was still feeling restless.

  “I thought you were broke,” Dagne said.

  “I am broke. But I have a credit card and I made a hundred bucks last night, and I need something really, really hip to wear because I have a date.”

  Dagne gasped. “Get out! What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when I pick you up,” Rachel said, grinning.

  “Okay, give me a half hour. I could use something new to wear on my date with Glenn.”

  “Glenn? I thought you were trying to get rid of Glenn.”

  “I was. But he invited me to see a play,” Dagne said, as if that explained everything. “I’ll see you in a half hour.”

  An hour later, Rachel and Dagne were in a Hope Street boutique that Dagne said had the hippest clothes in town.

  As they wandered through the racks and the shelves, Rachel told Dagne about the party, about Mike, and then Flynn showing up, and about the blonde, and giving Mike her number after the party was over, then freeing the cat (which Dagne got very excited about, insisting that freeing a “sister” would bring her good karma), and running into Flynn again—literally.

  “Ran into him, nothing. He came back for you,” Dagne said with much assurance. “He’s totally into you.”

  “He didn’t come back for me,” Rachel argued, but as she picked up a dark red velvet jacket and held it up to her body to check it out in the mirror, she wondered if he had.

  “Try this,” Dagne said, handing Rachel a cobalt blue dress that hit right above her knees.

  “This is gorgeous,” Rachel said as she held it up to her body and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “That’s a great color on you,” Dagne said as she wandered away. “Try it on.”

  It was a great color for her, but first—Rachel checked the tag and almost gagged when she saw the price of $450 dangling daintily from the sleeve. She hung it back on the rack.

  “So he comes back for you, takes you to his apartment, and then what?” Dagne asked.

  Rachel gave her a wink. “He cleaned up the cat scratches,” she said, showing Dagne the back of her hands. “And then he kissed me.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . it was fabulous.”

  “So did you guys . . . ?”

  Rachel’s smile faded. “No.” She was still disappointed about that.

  “No? It’s that British thing, I’m telling you!” Dagne said with a disgusted shake of her head.

  “Oh no. He was more than ready. Nothing happened because Myron called me on my cell and completely destroyed the moment.”

  Dagne’s eyes rounded. Then narrowed. “What is with that guy?”

  “He’s an idiot,” Rachel said, trying on a hat.

  “Never mind him. When you go out this week, you’ll get lucky,” she said, nudging Rachel.

  Rachel looked at the cobalt blue dress again. “I really like this guy, Dagne. He is so hot, and he’s funny, and he’s nice, and he’s got this fabulous accent . . . but I don’t think it’s really a good idea,” Rachel said. “He’s only here temporarily—”

  “Right, which is all the more reason to go and have a good time,” Dagne interjected. “No strings attached.” She picked up a sheer gold blouse and held it up to her.

  “All the more reason not to get involved at all,” Rachel corrected her. “I could really fall for this guy, so what’s the point? I’m not into casual sex.”

  “Okay. What if he’s here for three months? That’s not so temporary. You could be missing a really great life experience. You know how I feel about life experiences—”

  “Yes, yes,” Rachel said, cutting her off before she launched into her theory that life experiences carried over into your next life and gave you firmer footing in whatever you turned out to be. It was a sort of mystical theory that Rachel didn’t fully understand, but she was not foolish enough to admit that because Dagne would want to make her understand.

  “But look at it the other way. What if he’s here for three months?” Rachel asked. “I can’t even pay the utility bill. The last thing I need is to get involved with someone and burden them with all that. Besides, I have to finish my dissertation.”

  Either Dagne had something in her eye, or she was rolling her eyes at that one. “So you’re going to deny yourself life because you’re a little short on cash and you’re in school? Who knows where this might lead? And if doesn’t lead anywhere, then at least you get laid. When is the last time you had sex, anyway?”

  “I think he’s involved with someone.”

  “So?”

  “So?” Rachel echoed.

  “And now you’re going to be his conscience?”

  Rachel turned away, looked at sweaters and jackets, refusing to debate the issue further. But Dagne was not finished. She shoved in front of Rachel, holding the blue dress. “This is the one you want. With those killer boots you have, you will be drop-dead.”

  Rachel looked longingly at the dress again, shaking her head. “I can’t afford it,” sh
e said, but took it from Dagne and went behind a curtain to try it on.

  “Yes, you can. You have a credit card!” Dagne’s disembodied voice reminded her.

  “My maxed credit card,” Rachel muttered. She emerged a few moments later. “And I don’t have any jewelry to wear with it,” she added as she flung open the curtain and stalked to the mirror to have a look. Oh God, she looked . . . hot. Not fat. Not big-boned. Sort of curvy and . . . hot.

  “You don’t have jewelry, but I do. I got something off eBay that’s perfect for this. You’ll love it,” Dagne said, standing behind Rachel.

  “I can’t afford it,” Rachel said again as she turned every which way, checking it out. Damn, even her butt looked good.

  “Charge it. And don’t worry about the money. I’m working that out.”

  Rachel laughed at Dagne’s reflection in the mirror. “What do you mean? Are you casting a spell for a money tree?”

  “Maybe,” she grinned. “You’ll see later.”

  Rachel laughed and looked at her reflection one last time. She looked good. Really good. And it was sort of amazing, seeing as how she hadn’t lost any weight, but her body did seem different—sort of rearranged.

  “Wow,” a salesclerk said, her reflection appearing over the opposite shoulder from Dagne. “That looks great on you. Not many women can really carry that off.”

  “Really?” Rachel squeaked.

  “Oh yeah,” the girl said, nodding emphatically. “You really need curves for this. You make that dress.”

  Impossibly pleased, Rachel beamed at herself. But then she sobered. “This is stupid,” she said, dejected. “I don’t even know if I’m going to have another temp job from one day to the next and the last thing I need to do is spend this much money on something like this.” She stepped behind the curtain to change.

  “Will you just trust me?” Dagne yelled through the curtain, and the moment Rachel emerged, she grabbed the dress from her hand, plus the gold blouse and winter-white skirt she’d picked for herself, and held them out to the salesclerk. “We’ll take them!”

  A brand-new charge and no way to pay it later, Rachel and Dagne drove to an obscure side street and a little shop called Makin’ Magick! to buy oils and candles for Dagne’s witchcraft.

  They also had some amulets marked down 50 percent, and Dagne, never one to pass up a bargain, picked one up. They returned to Rachel’s, because Dagne had bought the necessary items to put a sex spell on Flynn and would not be deterred. They went outside to commune with Mother Nature while they cast it.

  “I’m freezing my ass off,” Rachel hissed as she stood on the other side of her detached garage from the last spell casting, hugging herself, checking every few seconds to see if Mr. Valicielo was going to call the cops.

  “This is perfect,” Dagne said. “Stop whining.” She had Mexican vanilla, honey, and ground almonds, which she had mixed inside. She held up the bowl to Rachel. “Spit in it three times.”

  “I will not spit into that bowl!”

  “Spit!” Dagne said, waving the thing beneath her nose. “The sooner you spit, the sooner we can go inside.” Rachel spit. Dagne grinned maniacally. “Now you have to stir it with your finger, counterclockwise. Just three times. No more, no less.”

  With a grimace, Rachel pulled her hands from her mittens and stirred, three times exactly, no more, no less.

  Dagne gave a little laugh and went down on her knees, lit the fat candle she’d brought for atmosphere, and handed Rachel an apple and a knife. “Cut it in half, then carve a triangle.”

  In an effort to get out of the cold, Rachel did as she was told, shaking her head.

  Dagne gestured for her to give the apple halves back when she was done and carefully set them aside. “Okay, lift your sweater,” she said, picking up the bowl and holding it up to Rachel. “Then dip three fingers into the mixture and make a triangle on your belly, point up. Make sure the point is up!”

  “Are you nuts?” Rachel demanded. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”

  “If you don’t hurry up, Mr. Valicielo is going to come out here,” Dagne warned her.

  Rachel lifted her sweater, dipped in three fingers, and made a triangle. Point up.

  “Now, dip more,” Dagne instructed in hushed tones, “and repeat it. But this time, look at the moon and repeat this while you trace the triangle over and over: Scents of the goddess I put in me, to bring my special night irresistibility.”

  Rachel frowned.

  “Say it until you feel it,” Dagne warned her.

  Honestly. Okay, well, the night air was frigid on her belly, so Rachel dipped her fingers into the mixture, looked at the moon, and began to chant, “Scents of the goddess I put in me, to bring my special night irresistibility.”

  This, she repeated, over and over until her vision began to blur and she thought she was getting frostbite—but then suddenly, Rachel felt a shot of warmth down her spine, from her neck to her tailbone, and lowered her head, blinking. “I felt it!” she whispered. “At least I think I did!” She paused, rubbed her shoulder, wondered if maybe it wasn’t from leaning her head back like that for too long.

  Whatever it was, Dagne was on her feet, the two apple halves in her hand. “That’s it, that’s it!” she exclaimed and grabbed Rachel’s hand, jerked her to run behind her.

  Into the house they ran, to one of Rachel’s big potted ferns. “Bury it,” Dagne said so excited she could hardly transfer the apple to Rachel.

  “Bury it?” Rachel exclaimed, looking at the big pot.

  “Don’t wait! Bury it, bury it!”

  Rachel dug into the soil until she’d made a hole, then quickly put the apple inside and covered it. She and Dagne stood there for a moment, staring at the pot.

  “That’s it. My work here is done,” Dagne said and put her hands on her hips.

  “Thank God,” Rachel said and turned, headed to the kitchen to wash her belly and her hands, but she noticed her message light was blinking. “Hey, it worked!” She laughed and punched the button on her way by.

  “Ah . . . hi, Rachel. This is Mike. You know, from last night?” He paused, chuckled a little. “Listen, I tried to call your cell, but some guy answered . . .”

  “Ohmigod, it did work,” a wide-eyed Dagne whispered reverently.

  “You weren’t doing the old wrong number routine, were you?” Mike said as Rachel ran to her bag and dug through it with her clean hand best she could. No cell. Goddammit, Myron!

  “So if this is really your crib, will you give me a call? I was hoping we could get together sometime over Thanksgiving if you’re around.” He rattled off his phone number, made some joke about giving her the right number, and said he’d be in later.

  The message clicked off. Rachel glared at Dagne. “Myron took my phone again, that asshole!”

  “So? Are you going to call Mike?” Dagne asked excitedly, blowing right past Myron.

  “No! I’m going out with Flynn, remember?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Rachel! Go out with both of them! Be in charge of your life! Don’t let opportunities pass you up and don’t let men dictate who you will see. You decide which one suits you.”

  She was so adamant that Rachel almost expected Dagne to pull out some Women of the World Unite! banner and march down the street. Nevertheless, Rachel thought about it. It seemed weird, especially for her, who wasn’t exactly experienced in dating at all. Much less two guys. At once.

  Dagne must have read her thoughts because she followed her into the kitchen and made her case while Rachel cleaned up. “Look at it this way. What if you go out with Flynn and discover it is true what they say about English guys—that they can’t fuck to save their lives? Then what? Mike could be the best lay in town, and you’ve missed it. There’s no law that says you can’t see more than one guy at once, you know? The smart, chic women see as many guys as they can.”

  Dagne was right. Not that this was about getting laid, really, although that would be very nice. Bu
t she really had no reason to hold back. For the first time in her life, a couple of guys were interested in Miss Fortune. Why not take advantage of it? It sure wasn’t like she had anything to lose, was it? Hell, she deserved it. She had spent her entire life being the chubby, doll-faced little sister of the two most beautiful women in Houston, and watched them go on date after date while she sat home and read romance novels. For once in her life, she had guys after her, and by God, she wasn’t going to pass it up. Rachel picked up the phone, punched in the number Mike had left, felt her heart beating like a drum in her chest as it rang once, then twice, then three—

  “Yo,” he said when he picked up the phone.

  “Ah . . . Mike?”

  “Rachel?” he said and sounded genuinely glad to hear from her. “Hey, you called.”

  Rachel looked at Dagne, gave her a thumbs-up. Dagne grinned, waved her hands in a way that said Rachel was to talk.

  “So listen, what do you say we get together over the Thanksgiving holiday? I mean, are you going to be around?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I’d like that.”

  “Great.” He sounded relieved. “I’m really glad we met, Rachel. I never expected to meet someone like you at those catered things. So, why don’t we plan on hooking up the Friday after Thanksgiving? I’ve got a gig down at the shore to work for a couple of weeks, and then see the folks on Thanksgiving Day. But I’m coming back that Friday. Think you’ll be free?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Fantastic. There’s a club I go to you might like—great food, great music.”

  It sounded wonderful. Mike sounded wonderful. “That sounds wonderful,” she said, beaming.

  “All right. I’ll give you a call late in the week and we’ll firm it up.”

  Now she was positively levitating. “Thanks, Mike. I’m looking forward to it.” She hung up, looked up at Dagne. “I have to go shopping again!” she said with a squeal of laughter.

  Flynn woke to the sound of a trumpeting phone on Sunday and groped his way out of bed, found the phone, then noticed he had an erection the size of a skyscraper. That would be due to one very erotic dream of a girl named Rachel, thank you.