by Leslie Pike
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Marina Adair. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original St. Helena Vineyard Series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Marina Adair, or their affiliates or licensors.
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Destiny Shines
Leslie Pike
Dedication
For those who love. For all who search.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Playlist
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Leslie Pike
1
Nikos
Sex, drugs and rock n roll, the seductive unholy trinity. Irresistible combination. I could argue done right it’s not unlike a religious experience. Tonight’s a good example. A hit of Molly brought the mystical, the DJ’s mix the sacred, and whoever that blonde was who just blew me in the bathroom, the spiritual. I came calling God, and I’m pretty sure my feet lifted off the ground.
I tuck in and zip up.
“Thanks, darlin’,” I say to the retreating figure in the skintight red jumpsuit.
She turns and blows me a kiss. It looks odd with those overfilled lips. The top one is too fat, and they don’t pucker properly. Not for a kiss. Fortunately, we didn’t get that intimate. She never got north of my pants.
“See you on the floor,” she calls.
Not. She’s a terrible dancer who happens to give good head. In my world, the former is valued more than the latter. That’s only a slight exaggeration and I laugh to myself as the thought passes through my mind.
I bet Las Vegas is one of the few places you find this many people devoted to staying single. Young and horny ships passing in the night. ‘Come aboard’ should be our slogan. Not one person I know is actively looking for a relationship. As far as dancers go, most of us have already found our true love, and she demands attention and exclusivity. My mistress is calling now.
I just wanna get back on the floor. Even after tonight’s show, which temporarily drained the life force from me, my body’s aching to move to the music. Against a woman or solo, doesn’t matter which. But making it from ladies room to dance floor is a trek. I need a Sherpa.
Everywhere I look I see dancers I’ve worked with. I know it’s the drug, but I’m feeling especially happy. It occurs to me I’ve touched so many of the bodies here. Dancing, screwing, partying, we’re a tactile bunch. Hands reach out for mine and I grasp them in what I know will be a short-lived love fest. Everyone’s my best friend until I come down, and because most are high too, I’m theirs.
Club Bounce is our exclusive church, not welcoming to tourists. They’d do better spending their time and money at Caesars or The Venetian. Bouncers at the door make sure that’s understood. Dealers, dancers, showgirls, strippers pass through easily. We’re the cog in the wheel of the town, and this is where we come to unwind and show our moves. Freestyle feeds our souls.
It’s a kind of school too, where we learn technique from each other. A classroom gone wild, with no teacher or rules. My kind of education.
Here faces look as if they’ve seen one day too many of the vices. Vegas deals in greed and gluttony. And definitely lust. But it’s so godamned fun and conspicuously indecent, and that’s the real draw. It’s hard to let go of those things when you’re still young and immortal.
What the dancers are looking for is the best partner, not the hottest girl or guy in the room. Leave them to the dealers whose egos are the most inflated. We want someone who can move well. The configuration isn’t important. Women with women, men with men, woman with man, man with two women, woman with two men. Name it, it happens on the dance floor every night of the week. We all just want to get loose when the beat drops.
Sweat and alcohol and a drop of the scent of sex mingles and hangs in the air. It’s become my favorite perfume. Undeniably erotic smelling on the hot necks and shoulders of the women who wrap themselves so expertly around me.
Vegas is a small town and the group of dancers who’ve landed here smaller still. We’re all hanging on by a thread as we struggle and compete to get the next job. Seven years of auditions, rehearsals, of performing with headliners and resident stars, I’ve seen and done it all. But for me it all has an expiration date. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I don’t want it to end. The thought that I’m getting older scares the hell out of me. So, I look away and keep dancing as the number thirty flashes like a neon sign in my mind.
There’s the raven-haired backup dancer from Fergie’s show. Good, she’s looking at me. With a lift of my chin I let her know my intentions, and she agrees with a nod. She’s as good as I am. Like me, she knows it. I forget her name but it doesn’t matter. She most likely doesn’t know mine. I make for her table before another guy can claim her.
My hand reaches for hers as she’s getting up. The song fades to Rihanna’s “Cockiness” and our dance starts before we’re on the floor. She comes toward me seductively as I move backwards. She’s got legs that go on forever, and the silver metallic dress she wears barely covers her ass. It shimmies over her long lean frame. Short bobbed hair makes her look like a modern day flapper. My blond hair with long dark roots compliment the look. That and my wardrobe. My pants are low and loose which allows me to move freely, the white beater’s all I have on top. Female and male energy. Love the visual we create.
By the expression on her face and the way she’s touching me, I know she’s taken a hit of ecstasy too. Awesome. Oh man, her skin feels so smooth. Let’s dance, baby.
I’m snapped out of a dreamless sleep by the incessant sound of my ringtone and the pounding in my head. The first lines of “Everybody Dance Now” pierces the fog of my hangover. When I downloaded that as my ringtone it sounded like a good idea. I’m second-guessing the decision.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell to the inanimate object.
The cell gets knocked off the nightstand when I try to find it without opening my eyes. I’m forced out of bed. On hands and knees I reach under the bed frame. The phone stops ringing as soon as my fingers find it.
Blackout curtains and blurry eyes prevent me from seeing much else, but the screen lights up with the word MOM. I look at the time. Seven thirteen. Shit is my first thought. The second is who died. She never calls in the morning because the woman knows my schedule and habits. At least some of them. As I get vertical, I press callback. She picks up on the first ring.
“Son.”
“Hey, Mom,” I croak.
“You sound like you swallowed a piece of sandpaper, Nikos. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Well, I’m not getting my eight hours because my mother’s calling me in the middle of the night.”
I pad to the kitchen, scratch my balls and grab a water out of the refrigerator. In my studio apartment it’s a six-step trip. The planet’s spinning. I ache from head to foot, and my throat’s drier than a piece of cracked leather. I take a long drink.
“I called you four times last night,” she says.
“Didn’t check my messages. What’s up?”
“Your father took a fall yesterday. He broke his leg.”
In my entire life this is the first time I’ve ever heard of my dad hurting himself. For being in their sixties, both my parents have been lucky.
“Is he alright? What happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”
“You want me to drive down?” I say hoping I heard wrong. Shit, it’s a ten hour drive from Vegas to St. Helena.
“Whatever you think’s the right thing to do, dear. I know you’ve got a few weeks break. That’s what you told me, right?”
I’ve got a big mouth.
“Yeah. Two weeks.”
“Good! We need your help here. Can we count on you?”
“Sure. Yeah. What about Alexander? Or Nash? Hey, what about Lana?”
I offer my list of possible caretakers. Let Dion or my sister do it. She can take a break from the deli. Gregory’s old enough to take care of Boo. What the hell? There’re three siblings who live not five miles from my parents. The only one I give a pass to is Christos and only because he’s a busy attorney in San Francisco.
My mother goes silent. Oh oh.
“I mean just to spot me. Maybe I can do a few days and they each can do a few,” I say lightly. Am I selling it? It sounds better in my head.
Silence.
“Mom?”
“If you don’t want to do it Nikos, just say so. Your father and I will figure something out.” She says it calmly, but I hear the subtext.
Crap.
“No, no. I’ll be there,” I say unenthusiastically.
“Oh good. I’ll get your room ready. Your father will be so happy to spend some time with you. When shall I say you’re coming?”
I’m still half asleep, but awake enough to know when I’ve been outplayed by my mother.
Ten more miles to the Main Street turnoff. I down another Vicodin trying to rid myself of this annoying headache that won’t go away. Let’s see, that makes three today. I’ve got to keep track. As it is I’m going to run out before I can renew the prescription. Maybe my old high school friend Deke can help me out if he still lives in St. Helena.
My body hurts worse than it did this morning. After nine and a half hours in the car, I feel like I’m the one who’s gonna need help. A good sleep followed by a deep tissue massage would set me right.
This whole thing really messes me up. I planned on using these two weeks to try to line up something after this next job. A six-night headliner show isn’t going to pay the bills for very long. Especially when my new watch is going to show up on my credit card bill shortly.
I need a steadier gig. But those have been harder to find for the last two years. I’ve taken to lying about my age on my resume. Not many are going to even schedule an audition for a twenty-nine-year-old dancer. Unless they know my work, it’s back to open auditions. It's fucked up to be considered old before I’m thirty.
Maybe I’ll be able to squirm my way out of this when Dad and I talk. I mean, I want to help and I will, but I know my parents have the money to hire someone. Have they even considered that? Do I sound like a dick? Yes. I hate it when I can’t lie to myself.
I aim the Honda for the Downtown turnoff and try to come up with the best plan for making lemon drop martinis out of lemons. At least I’ve got the new pool they put in last month. I can get my exercise there and catch some rays. Maybe I can go visit Christos and Kate in the City. It shouldn’t be hard to find some good clubs there. My family can only take so much of me, anyway. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Take care of Dad during the day, lay by the pool and head for San Francisco at night.
Main Street looks remarkably the same as it did seven years ago when I left.
There’s new businesses, but the mojo remains. It’s cool. A good place to visit. The fact I’m adding that would surprise no one. Christmas, weddings, important birthdays, I show up for most of those. But when you’re the only single one, it can get boring. Entertaining Max and Gregory only amuses me for so long. At least I had Christos up until last year. He had to go and get engaged. Now the cheese stands alone. Every family has a free spirit and I’m happy to play the part.
There’s the pet hospital. Pulling the car to the curb, I grab my cell and get out. As I walk to the door, an old woman with what looks like an even older dog is attempting to navigate her way inside. I rush to help her.
“Let me get that for you,” I say opening the door.
The tinkling of a bell announces our arrival.
“Oh, thank you. My hands aren’t as strong as they used to be.” She smiles and holds up an arthritic hand.
Behind the wrinkles and one cloudy eye I see the ghost of the younger woman. Her voice is kinda sexy sounding. If I closed my eyes and heard her speak, I’d think she was decades younger. Bet she was good looking back in the day. I give her a big smile as she walks inside. She looks in my eyes and grins.
“You don’t know anything about getting older yet. You’ve got a long way to go.”
“Somedays I don’t feel very young,” I laugh.
A hand waves me off. “Don’t live it before it happens.”
She turns to the vet tech at the desk. “Elvis is here for his shots.”
“Hi. I’m here to see my brother. Whenever he can fit me in.”
I get a nod and take a seat while the tech heads for the back rooms, leaving Elvis, the old woman and I alone. I give the dog a pet. The woman’s staring at me, not concerned in the least that I’m watching her as she does. Her eyes take in my entire body, head to toe. Then she breaks the silence.
“You a dancer?”
The question surprises me. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
She takes a seat next to me and waits a few beats before she responds. “The way you move, how you cross your ankles, the body type. I thought it was a possibility as soon as I saw you.”
“Were you married to a dancer?”
One corner of her mouth lifts as she leans in.
“I was the dancer. A showgirl in Vegas,” she whispers.
I know everyone grows old, but somehow this is shocking. My head starts to pound again.
“Really? That’s where I work. Who’d you dance for?”
Elvis takes a hard seat and sprawls out as if he’s heard the story before.
“Who didn’t I? Sammy Davis, Dean Martin, Mitzi Gaynor, you name it. I spent three years at The Stardust and four at the Desert Inn. Late fifties early sixties. It was the Rat Pack days.”
I’m impressed. “I bet you have some good stories.”
She starts laughing. “Honey, you wouldn’t believe it. You’d think I was exaggerating.”
The receptionist returns. “Mrs. Grant, let me take you back.”
She stands and gives me one last knowing look. “Remember, most never have the fun we’ve had.”
On her face is her history and in her eyes I see my future. I want it to be enough, but right now it’s just freaking me out. Seven years. That’s what she said.
Nash holds the door open as she passes. “I’ll be in in a minute, Mrs. Grant. Hi, Elvis.”
“Thank you, Dr. Santini,” she says.
He pets the dog a hello then comes to where I sit.
“Hey.”
“Hi. So you got drafted, huh?” he says.
I get up and we exchange a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah. What’s that about?” I say.
His face looks slightly pissed, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “What do you mean?”
“I’m all the way in Vegas. Couldn’t they have hired someone?”
“Listen, Nikos…”
Every time someone in my family starts a sentence like that, I’m gonna hear a lecture.
“…Mom needs you to help lift him into the wheelchair and get to the bathroom. Whatever. Neither one of them want a stranger doing that. They need you. Just do it,” he says.
“Oh, that sounds exciting.”
“Sorry it’s not stimulating enough for you. Quit being the Little Asshole.”
He shoots me a dirty look, along with my given nickname from childhood, and I’d bet there’s an expletive about to follow.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m
gonna do it,” I say.
He pats me on the back. But it’s with a little too much effort. “Good decision. I’ll see you tonight after I close.
Driving up to the house always gives me a jolt of happy. Even today when I want to be anywhere but here. The setting sun casts a soft golden light on the house that holds so many memories. The gravel crackles under my tires as I pass the lemon trees lining the entrance to the driveway. Honking my arrival, I turn off the engine, pop the trunk and get out of the car. Within seconds my mother’s at the door.
“Hello, darling!” she says coming down the steps.
I grab the carry-on and my duffle from the trunk.
“Sophia! What’s shaking?”
Her mouth tightens, lips pressed together. “Would you please stop calling me that, Nikos? How many times do I have to ask?”
I love how much it pisses her off. She’s the only one who doesn’t think it’s funny. Well, my father doesn’t much like it either. But it gets laughs from my brothers and sister. Max and Gregory think it’s hysterical, but when they tried it themselves my father went ape shit and they never did it again.
I walk to her and offer a kiss, which she pretends to take reluctantly with a turned cheek. Then she punches me on my arm.
“Ow!” I say. She got me right in my sore bicep.
“Good. I hope I hurt you,” she says leading the way into the house. I’m sure I saw a little smile as she passed.
2
Jenny
Peter’s an extremely good-looking man, and he knows it. Although I forgive him his vanities. There’s a certain irresistibly about him and I’m not alone in my assessment. I watch as he addresses his congregation. But it’s not his face I’m concentrating on. He has no idea his zipper’s down. I’d bet the teenage girls seated in the first three pews do, by the giggling I see from here. It’s hard not to start laughing because every time he takes a step a sliver of his tighty whitees peek out. Youth Service is already the most popular one on Sundays. After today it’s going to be standing room only.