Gathering her supplies, Maxine stowed everything in the corner of the makeshift hair and makeup section. A near empty rack of rental tuxedos stood at one end of the room beside a privacy screen, complete with a full-length mirror.
The Concert Meeting Hall of the Fairmont Royal York had been taken over with almost a thousand women, check books in hand, ready to bid on Toronto’s most eligible bachelors—all in the name of raising money for the Sick Children’s Hospital.
Maxine changed out of her work smock and into the red dress from Carmine’s. She pulled up the side zipper, marveling at how easily it made it to the clasp without letting out all her breath or swearing or pulling so hard she broke a nail. And miraculously enough, her boobs didn’t seem to be falling out or smooshed so close they spread under her arms.
This is what the right fit feels like, she thought unexpectedly joyful.
She stepped into her heels and while the cheers and whistles of the increasingly excited women down the hall echoed through the walls, Maxine carefully made her way in front of the mirror. She’d never tried the strapless dress on until tonight. For some reason she couldn’t bear it if she looked horrible, but this dress that Carmine had picked out for her was too special to leave in the closet.
Maxine stared back at the sexy woman in the mirror. The side slit showed off her leg when she walked. The dress wasn’t only the right fit, the dress looked like it was made for her. How did Ambrosia put it? The right fit feels like you’re wearing nothing.
The right fit is freedom.
She turned on an angle, taking in the back view. Maxine looked over her shoulder at the mirror and her heart cheered. “Thank you, Carmine,” she whispered. Then she let down her hair, styling her waves with her fingers and slipped in the silk orchid—it seemed appropriate to wear with the dress.
As she left the room and made her way to the Concert Meeting Hall, she tried to rally her spirits against the tangible pull of loneliness she’d been feeling since the realtor called yesterday. Someone had put in an offer to buy Carmine’s store at the asking price. For Maxine, the moment was tinged with a sufferable melancholy. She had no idea what the new buyer had in mind, but she’d be foolish not to take the offer. She wanted to go over this morning, to say one last good-bye, but the realtor had already handed over the keys to the new owner. Maxine felt like she was losing Carmine all over again.
The music was thumping, which meant a bachelor was exiting the stage, making his way to his ‘owner’ for the evening. During this pause in the festivities, it was up to the master of ceremonies to entertain the crowd.
Maxine kept to the backstage area where the remaining bachelors were milling about, waiting for their turn. The mystery bachelor, the weatherman from channel five, was well hid, which according to Crosby, meant he was camped out in the posh bathroom, drinking and playing poker star on his phone.
Stuart was standing next to the edge of the curtain, wearing a headpiece that came with a microphone and holding a clipboard. Maxine tapped him on the shoulder.
He looked her up and down and put a hand over his chest. “Sweet Jesus,” he spoke so loud most of the bachelor’s looked their way. “You’re like Jessica Rabbit come to life. Did you paint that dress on?”
“Nope.” She swished her hips from side to side, letting the long slit flow open and closed, revealing her legs. “It’s the right fit.” She peeked around his shoulder. “How’s Crosby doing?” Maxine watched with pride as her carefree baby sister took control when the local comedian she’d booked ended up being a no-show.
“Not bad for someone who has zero experience on stage.”
Crosby made a joke about birth control and the laughter rang through the room.
“Plus, she looks amazing in that black dress,” he added. “Shows off her tattoos nicely. She said you gave it to her.”
“It’s Ralph Lauren,” Maxine smiled. “It was too big when she tried it on, but the seamstress was able to take it in enough to be the right fit. It’s perfect on her.”
Stuart turned, checking out the feast of well-dressed bachelors around them.
Maxine leaned over his shoulder, taking a look at the list of names. “You smell nice,” she said. “What do you have on?”
“A hard on, but I didn’t think you could smell it.”
She rolled her eyes, wondering if Westley might be better off falling in love with someone else.
Then Stuart turned to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Do you know what’s going on with Wes lately? He seems a bit off or something. It’s not the money thing is it? I told him not to worry about rent, he’ll find another job soon.”
“Maybe you should ask him.” Maxine stared hard at Stuart, hoping to pass the message telepathically.
Stuart winked at the next bachelor and then put his attention back on Maxine. “He was at your place most of this week. I finally had to say, ‘Dude, get home and help me drink downtown tonight.’” Then he added, “Downtown is no fun unless Westley is there. His dance moves make me forget every sad thing.”
For the last few days, it was Westley who had been helping Maxine find information about Antony. Through the sports channel and Twitter, Westley deduced Antony would make a full recovery. The radio talk shows in Toronto were buzzing madly about the illegal hit. Bachlahov had been given a four-game suspension. Maxine was certain if she ever saw the Russian on the street she’d try and kill him.
When she finally watched the hit, it had twisted her stomach violently. She could only watch it once—it was nothing close to the hit in Philadelphia. She’d called Antony, but had to leave a message on his voice mail each time. And she kept calling until his inbox was full.
Even last night she considered buying a plane ticket, but her sisters put an end to that plan.
“Get Mom and Aunt Margo to drive down to Tampa. They can pretend to be nurses and sneak into his room with a message from you,” Crosby suggested.
Rose was more practical. “You left a telephone message. You wrote a letter. A registered letter, I might add that was signed for. If he wants you, he’ll answer back. If not, time to move on.”
Time to move on.
Sometimes, Maxine hated her sister’s clear advice. She’d received email notification that the letter had reached the address and was signed for by A. Laurent.
“Maybe you need another rebound?” Crosby had suggested.
Maxine rolled her eyes and instead told her to pick out a nail color for them both. It was a bright ruby shade and when Maxine looked at the name, her heart filled and then slowly deflated.
Ace of Hearts
And now here she was, hanging out in her stunning dress with her ruby red fingernails, while Stuart charmed the line-up of single men.
Stuart put a hand on his earpiece then whispered to the next bachelor, “You’re next.” They waited for Crosby’s cue and then Stuart gave him a good luck pat and sent him out on stage. Immediately the women began cat calling as Crosby read his bio.
Maxine made a face at Stuart. “Is there security?”
“For what? These cougars have been drinking whiskey sours for three hours straight and most of them probably had Botox as a meal replacement for the last ten days. If I was straight, I’d be funneling Gatorade in the corner as prep.”
“A yes or no would suffice,” Maxine said, dryly.
“Then yes, there is security—Westley.”
“Crosby said she had it covered! How can she make him do security? He knows nothing about security.”
A group of women hollered sexy nicknames for the bachelor on stage and the room busted into laughter.
Stuart looked up. “Speak of the devil.”
Westley stopped in his tracks. “Wow, Max,” he said. “You should be on the red carpet of an awards show.” He was wearing a pair of jeans and an oxford shirt.
“Have you had to arrest anyone?” Stuart asked. “Or maybe frisk one of the ladies?”
“No,” he said. “I’m only wat
ching the ticket table. Seriously, who cares if someone tries to sneak in?” He angled his chin around, studying the bachelors gathered in their tuxedos.
Stuart gave Westley a careful look. He held up the clipboard. “Why isn’t your name on here?” he asked Westley.
“We’re raising money, not begging for it.”
Stuart snorted. “You’d have those ladies begging for it.”
Maxine watched a red blotch creep up Westley’s neck. She cleared her throat and put a hand on his shoulder. “Um…Stuart’s just saying what a great catch you’d be.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Wes? I bet there’s a few tux’s left. I’m sure one of them would fit you.”
Westley rubbed the back of his neck and carefully raised his gaze to Stuart. “You want to see me in a tux?” he asked.
“Sure. Just make sure to undo the top button,” Stuart advised. “They’ll pay more.”
“The top button of my shirt?”
“No, your pants.” Stuart passed his headset over to Maxine. “Here, take over. I have to go to the bathroom.”
Westley gave Maxine a tortured look when Stuart was safely out of sight.
“I take it you haven’t said anything yet?” she asked.
“No.” His voice sounded on the verge of tears. He let out a sigh. “Let’s not talk about it, okay? Tonight isn’t about my pathetic love life. Let’s keep this going, Crosby is counting on us.”
With desperate determination, Westley and Maxine managed to get the next batch of bachelors on stage without messing up, but the bids were going so quickly it was almost time for the weatherman to make his grand entrance. When the last bachelor—a hardware store owner who loves to cook—took the stage, Maxine turned to Westley. “Quick, go find the weatherman!”
Rose came upon them, out of breath, her camera in one hand and a notepad in the other. “We’ve got an emergency,” she said, red faced. Her hair was coming out of its usual ponytail. “Stu found the weatherman passed out in the bathroom.”
“Call 911!” Maxine was beginning to feel like a jinx.
“Not completely passed out, he’s so drunk he can’t stand. Stu has security in there now, they’ll handle it. But that’s not the real emergency,” Rose said. “Crosby needs a mystery bachelor for the finale.”
“Where are we going to find…?” Maxine began and then she and Rose slowly turned to Westley.
“No way.” He put up his hands to protest.
“Come on, Wes,” Rose said, pulling him toward the changing room. “It’s harmless.”
“Do it for Crosby,” Maxine added. “Besides, everyone will get to see how handsome and irresistible you are in a tux.”
He silently surrendered then. Both girls had him changed into a tuxedo and were pushing him on stage with such efficient ease that even Crosby didn’t notice the delay. She looked confused as Rose ran out Westley’s hurriedly written bio.
With a playful flip of her straightened hair, Crosby started to read Rose’s notes. “We’ve saved the best for last, ladies! Please meet, Westley Nicholls. Hardworking, honest, loyal, and a contributor to the local food bank…”
The audience was so quiet, crickets should have been chirping.
Maxine glared at Rose. “Contributor to the local food bank!” she hissed. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
“It’s a redeeming quality.”
“These women don’t want that.” Maxine cringed, watching Westley stand in the middle of the spotlight like a deer ready to get smacked by a truck.
“…excellent with jigsaw puzzles and never lets his car get lower than a quarter of a tank of gas.”
Crosby started to laugh.
“We have to save him.” Maxine groaned.
Without warning, Stuart raced past, stumbling toward the podium. “Listen, up you wonderful sexy vixens out there,” he said, taking the microphone from Crosby. “Before you stands your greatest dream come true.”
He held out a hand toward Westley. “Named after the impossibly charming Westley from The Princess Bride, he will do your bidding.” Stuart paused and winked at the closest table. “As you wish.”
An excited murmur went through the crowd.
“This man can shop all day and then take you home and make you Chicken Alfredo from scratch while downloading YouTube kitten videos for you to watch. And after he does the dishes, he’ll take you out dancing.”
There was a whistle followed by an “Amen.”
Stuart stood beside Westley and slapped him on the back. “He will dance fast, slow, break, hip-hop and then when you can’t feel your feet anymore, he will pull you close and make love to you with his eyes while you do the tango.”
Someone screamed. “One hundred dollars!”
“That’s insulting,” Stuart said. “But a good start. Did I mention Westley goes to the gym? You could do your laundry in his abs for Christ’s sake.”
“Let’s see his chest!” someone called out from the back.
Stuart shrugged at Westley. “You heard the lady.”
A few tables at the front had started to chant, “West-ley! West-ley!”
Stuart motioned to the sound mixer, and the song He’s So Shy by the Pointer Sisters began to blare.
Rose began to laugh. “He’s going to kill us when this is over.”
“Oh God. This was a mistake.” Maxine watched helplessly as Westley’s face got redder.
Stuart moved around Westley like he was showing off a new car. He continued, “Cuddler? Check! Athlete? Check! Dapper dresser? Double Check!”
The bidding was now up to five hundred, but Westley could barely crack a smile.
Stuart continued praising him, “Sure he’s handsome and sexy, but ladies, inside this chiseled chest beats the heart of a true romantic.” He turned to Westley and his expression softened. “You’re such a goddamn catch. Why are you even available? Is the world blind?”
The microphone was between them. Maxine could hear Westley’s breathing over the song. “No,” Westley said to Stuart. “It’s because of this.” Then he took Stuart’s face in his hands and kissed him.
For a few seconds the only sound was the Pointer Sisters singing in harmony then the ballroom exploded into cheers. They stepped apart for a moment, then Stuart dropped the microphone and put his hand on the back of Westley’s neck and pulled him close, starting the kiss again. They kept kissing on stage and the bidding exploded.
Maxine felt tears well up in her eyes. Rose’s mouth was hanging open, then she said, “That…makes so much sense, actually.”
The women in the audience were on their feet by this time. When Crosby slammed down the gavel, Westley had raised over a thousand dollars. A whole table of women had pooled their money, insisting Stuart join them as well.
“Love is everywhere!” Crosby grinned. “Way to go, Wes.”
“Is that going to be your headline for the article?” Maxine said to Rose, half-serious.
Rose was glancing over Maxine’s shoulder. Her eyes were as round as fish bowls. “Huh? Yup. No problem.” Then she gripped Maxine’s elbow and practically dragged her across the stage to where Crosby was standing. Rose said, “There’s still time for another mystery bachelor, right? Awesome. Maxine can introduce him. I need you back stage to sign a big check.”
“We can’t put the weatherman on…can we?” Maxine asked.
“Just read this,” Rose said, thrusting a small note at Maxine. Then she and Crosby exited the stage.
Maxine looked out into the audience, temporarily stunned by the spotlight. She tried to squint into the crowd to see Westley and Stuart. There was feedback from the microphone. She cleared her throat and started to read the next bachelor’s bio.
“And now for the real finale,” Maxine said. “Our next mystery bachelor is famous in the Toronto area and is best known for proposing to his girlfriend on stage.” She frowned. This weatherman is totally screwed up.
There were whistles from the
crowd and a roar of cheers started from the back. “A million dollars,” someone called out.
Maxine laughed then looked to her left where the bachelor was halfway across the stage. He was holding a bouquet of roses and walking toward her.
“Mon Dieu,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Antony’s heart smashed against his ribs as he watched Maxine from backstage. He couldn’t believe he was this close to her. Mon Dieu, that dress.
When he’d landed in Toronto that morning, he called the spa to see if she was working. Luckily, the receptionist remembered him. She said Maxine was helping Crosby with the bachelor auction down at the Fairmont Royal York. Just before he hung up, she teasingly asked, “Are you going to surprise her by being in the auction?”
The ambitious suggestion inspired him. After a trip downtown to finalize the realtor’s transaction, he went to Henry Roman’s to buy a tuxedo. While they made the alterations, he ran out and bought the biggest bouquet of roses.
By the time Antony glided through the opulent hotel lobby, his anticipation had reached near ecstatic panic. Without a ticket, he had to persuade the person manning the door that he’d forgotten his and was already running late for the auction, so could she please let him pass?
She blushed and asked for an autograph, and then he managed to convince her to let him backstage. He was a last-minute addition, he’d told her, but very secret. She assured him she would keep him hidden and took him down the hallway behind the Concert Hall.
While they waited, the crowd grew more rambunctious. Whoever was on stage had managed to raise over a thousand dollars. “Impressive,” Antony said to the woman.
“I bet you’ll get more,” she said. Then she asked him if the master of ceremonies had his bio typed out. He shook his head, not planning that far ahead.
She told him not to worry and quickly wrote a few lines. He smiled then asked if she wouldn’t mind adding to the last sentence, best known for proposing to his girlfriend on stage. At this, the woman’s eyes grew twice their size.
He put a finger to his lips. “Secret, remember?”
She nodded vigorously, her eyes now misty as she led Antony to the backstage area. Up ahead, two redheads stood with their backs to him. His pulse sputtered when he realized one was Maxine.
The Right Fit Page 24