CardsNeverLie

by Heather Hiestand

  Melanie backed out of the theater. Once again, no one seemed to be checking badges, so she had sidled up to the rear of the open doors in the back and peered in, too curious to resist the keynote speech of a conference named Sin-sational. People were clapping and there was some kind of movie playing on a screen at the front, but she couldn’t see from this vantage point. She had taken a step forward and caught her purple mule in the rug.

  When she flipped her fine, long hair back out of her face, she saw a man pointing at her. She backed away. Rats. She had been hoping to get an idea of the hot trends among this crowd. Maybe even run her love lotions idea by a few people and see if it had been done too many times before. It was just her luck to be caught by some officious jerk again and this guy wasn’t hot, but middle-aged and looked like a low-level accountant.

  She walked back toward the elevators, stepping carefully. These new shoes weren’t very practical. Maybe at twenty-eight she was too old to be fashionable. In these low-rise jeans, she was afraid her butt crack would show when she sat down. But this look was today’s sexy and she wouldn’t get any loving without putting her goods out there in the socially approved way. She reached out to hit the down button on the elevator.

  A hairy arm reached out to grab hers. She flinched back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I left my badge upstairs.” Lying again and this guy wasn’t even cute enough to warrant an excuse. Nor did he wear the puke-colored security guard uniform.

  “Honey?” the man asked. “Honey? Is that really you? It’s me, Harvey.”

  What a jerk! It had sounded sexy when Adonis, aka The Whipmaster, had called her that. She had to admit, as goofy as the actual words were that came out of his mouth, the delivery in that deep, caramel voice of his was out of the stratosphere.

  “I’m sorry,” Melanie said with a frosty smile. “Do I know you?” Maybe he was some guy she had dated in high school who had let himself go so completely as to be unrecognizable. His dark hair hung greasily to his shoulders and his plaid suit didn’t do anything to hide the sloppy bulk inside.

  “I’m Harvey?” the man repeated, turning his name into a question. “Harvey Stein? When I was talent I was Harvey Long. I worked with you, remember?”

  Melanie shook her head. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

  “No really,” the man said urgently. “Think of me ten years and fifty pounds ago.”

  “Ten years ago I was in college. I didn’t work.” Melanie punched the elevator button again, as if it would come faster the more times she pushed it.

  “It was just the one time, I know. You came out of nowhere and vanished.” He looked at her with admiration. “It’s like ten years never passed, Honey. You’re just as beautiful as you were then.”

  Melanie took a step back from the overeager and persistent man. Another man was approaching and she looked to him with relief. Maybe he would distract Harvey and she could get away. If only the elevator would come already!

  The man coming quickly toward them across the wild neon-floral carpet was tall and thin, his body a mere hanger for his gray and black-toned clothing. His thin lips twisted as he spoke. “So we meet again, Honey.”

  Did every porn person on the planet call women “honey” and speak in cliches? “Listen, buster, I’m not your honey.” Open, open, open, she chanted in her head at the elevator door.

  “Don’t you sass, Honey. You owe me two grand.” The second man pointed a long thin finger with a chewed cuticle at her. “Plus interest.”

  Bewildered, she wondered if “Honey” was someone’s name. Who was she? “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  The tall man coughed in the disgusting, hacking way a two-pack-a-day smoker does, his limp, gray hair drifting from its loose ponytail. “Good try, you brat. But don’t think you can escape me so easy. You came back and I’m not gonna lose track of you again until I get my money.”

  Melanie looked around her. Harvey was still gazing at her with cow eyes. No one else loitered nearby, though a line of people started to emerge from the ballroom. She heard a ding and her knees nearly buckled with relief. The elevator. She turned to it with anticipation but the tall man put his leg in front of her. Backing up, she felt a soft, squishy something give behind her. Whipping around, she saw Harvey grinning.

  She tried to remember self-defense training. “Get away,” she shouted. “Help!”

  She saw the gladiator-guy whose foot she had stepped on earlier lumbering toward her, ahead of a crowd of about fifty. “Can you help me please?” she shouted.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” he said, starry-eyed as he came up to her. “I had no idea it was you today. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Ms. Luscious.”

  “I’m really sorry I stepped on your foot,” Melanie said, grateful that he seemed willing to help her, though the name he called her meant nothing. A number of conference-goers had reached the elevators and stepped in, ignoring their little drama despite the excitement she had caused in these three men.

  “No problem,” he grinned. “Can I shake your hand? Maybe some of that Honey magic will rub off on me. I’m trying to break into the business.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not Honey. These people are mistaken.” She tried to move into the elevator before it closed but her arm was grabbed again and she was jerked back against the tall man. The elevator door shut.

  “Don’t get involved, buster,” he said to the gladiator-guy, spittle spraying from his mouth. “This bitch owes me money.”

  “That doesn’t mean you get to put your hands on her,” the gladiator-guy protested. Melanie wished he seemed more menacing, but he had that “aw shucks”, just-off-the-bus feel to him. She hit the elevator button again with her free arm.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

  Gladiator-guy shook his head.

  “Drew Huntley,” he said, with impressive hauteur for someone who looked like the Uriah Heep of the porn business.

  Gladiator-guy drew back. Damn, Melanie thought. Now what? This disgusting creep was someone important? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that even Harvey had stepped back when Huntley announced his fearsome name, though surely he had known the identity of the man before. It was as if a super villain had removed the mask covering his evil, scarred face.

  “I’m not Honey,” she repeated, trying to rip her arm out of Huntley’s tight hold. She had a flash of insight and forced air into her fear-constricted lungs. “Is anyone from LeatherWorks here?” she yelled. “Does anyone know Tim from LeatherWorks?”

  “What’s going on?”

  The deep voice sent a shiver through Melanie. Her shiver should have been from fear of this crazy situation becoming even worse, or from the air-conditioned cold creating goose pimples on her bare arms, but it was that voice. She had never been so thrilled to see an X-rated Mother Goose in her life.

  Adonis stepped from the crowd. He grinned. “So they caught up to you?”

  Melanie stared at him. He couldn’t be with them, could he? How could someone so delicious be evil? “Where’s Tim?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I need him to tell this Huntley person who I am.”

  “You’re Brisa’s cousin,” Adonis said in an amused, superior tone and crossed his arms over his infuriatingly solid chest. She wondered if he could feel his own nipples through his shirt.

  Stop it, Melanie. You have more important things to focus on. “That’s right!” She glared at Huntley. “He knows me. Let me go.” She tried to jerk her arm away.

  “I didn’t say you weren’t Honey Luscious,” Adonis said with a smirk.

  Honey Luscious? What kind of name was that? Melanie gave herself a mental slap on the forehead. A porn name, what else? What was the joke? Something about the name of your favorite superhero and your first pet? If she had it correct, her name should be Electra Puddles, not Honey Luscious. Melanie didn’t know if she should laugh or cry.

  “Stop kidding around,” she said. “I don’t know these people. It isn’
t funny. This jerk says I owe him money.” Huntley tightened his painful grip on her arm.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course not,” Melanie retorted. “I don’t owe anyone a damn thing.”

  “You have a short, convenient memory,” Huntley sneered.

  Harvey piped up. “You were never very good with your money, Honey. Maybe you just forgot you owed him. I remember you made enough money for a Porsche doing featured dance spots in only two months, but you never even had money for dinner.”

  “What was this money for?” Adonis asked, pointing in an authoritative way at Huntley.

  “None of your business,” Huntley snapped.

  “It is my business,” Adonis said calmly. “The lady brought me into this affair.”

  Harvey giggled. “She’s no lady.”

  Melanie relaxed a little when she saw the dark stare Adonis trained on Harvey. This Whipmaster exuded power and for once it wasn’t trained on her. The little man took a step back, his hands palm out. Adonis was in control.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “She broke her contract,” Huntley responded.

  “I’ve never heard about that,” Harvey said. “She didn’t have a contract for another movie. I remember us talking about it. Remember, Honey?”

  Melanie tried to mimic Adonis’s death stare on Harvey, but Huntley was full of answers, despite a further hunching of his shoulders as Adonis took the lead in the conversation. She tried to move a little closer to him, but Huntley held tight.

  “It was a personal contract,” said Huntley.

  Harvey opened his mouth, but Adonis broke in. “Can you prove it?”

  Melanie had been trying to pull her arm out of Huntley’s grip as the conversation went on. When Adonis asked his question, Huntley’s grip softened just enough for her to pull her arm away. She took half a step toward Adonis and rubbed at her arm. There would be bruises. She scrutinized Huntley like an abuse victim who needed to anticipate every move of her torturer.

  He finally answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’m sure I have the contract in my files somewhere.”

  “If she really owes you money, you can go after her in small claims court. You prove it, she’ll pay it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Adonis motioned at Melanie with his head. “Look at her clothes. Every time I see her, she has another expensive new outfit on. She can afford to pay you.” He paused, his black stare unchanging. “If you can prove it.”

  “I don’t know how to reach her,” Huntley whined.

  LeatherWorks must hold a place of power in the industry, Melanie thought. Or perhaps it was Adonis’ personal charisma. Whatever was going on, it was working. Adonis was clearly Alpha Dog now.

  “I do,” Adonis said. He pulled out a calfskin wallet stamped with the LeatherWorks logo and extracted a card. “Contact me if you can prove your claim,” he instructed Huntley. Then he grabbed Melanie by her unhurt arm and marched her past the elevators toward a green neon exit sign.

  Melanie had every intention of going with him, but she wished Adonis didn’t have to pull her along by the arm like she was a slave girl he had just purchased. Admittedly, under other circumstances, that kind of fantasy might be just the experiment she needed to kick-start her wild lifestyle.

  She tried to look up at his face, but he moved too quickly, his handsome features set into stone. He didn’t release her until they were behind the fire door and on a grungy stair landing that smelled like food trays left to sit overnight.

  Melanie rubbed her aching arms as he let go, warm now in the humid air of the stairway. She stared at Adonis through the dim light of the stairway and tried to remember how to flirt. How could she be wet at a moment like this? But she knew how. He smelled good, tart like cranberries, sweet like cinnamon, musky like sex. She swallowed. Like sex. What was the etiquette in a situation like this? How did you thank your rescuer? And why would you want to if he were a sexually harassing pig? Clearly, even pigs had their uses. And this one was good for two things. Rescues and close, intimate contact.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said, her throat still dry but her voice returning to its usual range. She tried to drop it into a low, sultry movie star voice.

  In the dim light she could see the angry expression on his face. “What kind of game are you playing?” he demanded.

  He didn’t sound like he was in the mood to play. She tried to smile but wasn’t sure he could even see her expression in the light. She gave up and defended herself. “There isn’t any game,” she protested. “I don’t owe that creepy Huntley anything.”

  “He certainly seems to think you do.”

  “That’s his problem,” Melanie exploded. She wasn’t responsible for the behavior of crazy people. She wasn’t responsible for anyone’s actions but her own. At least that’s what the therapist she had seen during her divorce had told her.

  Adonis shoved his hands into his tailored black slacks and rocked back on the heels of his Florsheims. His mood seemed to lighten as she tensed back up. Adonis. The Whipmaster. She realized that she didn’t know his real name.

  “What’s your name?”

  He chuckled. “So a scene like that back there is what it takes to get you to pay attention to me?”

  Melanie folded her arms and felt her shirt sticking to her breasts in the swampy heat. She felt silly. Her emotions toward him were screwed up, hopelessly conflicted. Why weren’t nice guys the hot ones? “Don’t be a jerk. It’s a simple question.”

  He lost his smile. “It’s Rob,” he said quickly. “Rob Black.”

  “Black like Huntley’s heart,” Melanie murmured.

  “It must have been pretty bad back then.” Rob paused for long enough to make Melanie think with trepidation that Rob was remembering stories or facts about Huntley’s behavior. “You must be smart to have gotten away. I’ve heard Huntley is pretty widely connected, but you hid for ten years. What made you come back?”

  Melanie sighed. “You don’t understand. I’m not here for the Sin-sational conference. There’s another one going on in the hotel—a bath and beauty product conference.”

  “That’s not what you told me this afternoon. You said you left your badge upstairs.”

  “I know.” Melanie looked at her shoes. “I do apologize for lying. It’s not like me. I was flustered.”

  “You weren’t the only one. You make me a little crazy and I’m not sure I like it.” Rob rocked back on his heels again and then toward her. He seemed calm now, his face had relaxed and his pupils were huge in the dim light. Or maybe he was aroused.

  The thought made her nervous. “If it’s any consolation, today’s been crazy for me too. But thanks. I owe you one.” She turned to go, sure that leaving was the best solution. For now. She needed to speak to Brisa before she pushed this any further. Before she gave herself to the craziness she desired?

  Rob put out his arm to her. “Don’t go, Honey.”

  “My name isn’t Honey, it’s Melanie. Melanie Vanderpool.”

  He sighed. “Does Brisa know about your past?”

  “Of course she does. We’ve lived within two miles of each other for our entire lives except briefly when I first got married. But I’m divorced now.” She said this, as if she cared that he knew she was available, then realized what he meant by his question.

  “I’m not in porn.” She held up a hand. “I was never in porn, okay? Just get that idea out of your head right now.”

  “I wouldn’t want your mistakes to put her at any risk. She’s got a kid.”

  Melanie lifted her arms and dropped them in frustration. “Like I don’t know that? I’m telling you Huntley has me confused with someone else.”

  “There’s a way to prove it.”

  His comment disturbed her. “Oh yeah?”

  Rob nodded and said with satisfaction, “Oh yeah. I noticed during the clips of Techno Dreams that Honey Luscious had a heart-shaped mole on her right hip.”r />
  “People get moles removed all the time,” Melanie scoffed. “Having one or not isn’t going to prove anything.”

  “There would be a scar left,” Rob said with confidence. “My grandfather had skin cancer and removing the cancerous moles left scars.”

  “I’m not showing you anything.”

  “Why not? You’re wearing low-riders. Show me the evidence. You shouldn’t have to unbutton any more than two buttons.” He grabbed for her.

  It wasn’t much different from what Huntley had done, but Melanie knew somehow that Rob was being playful. She stepped back and he missed grabbing her by an inch.

  “Go to hell, Whipmaster,” Melanie retorted. “I’m not undoing any buttons for you.”

  “I hate it when people call me that,” Rob muttered.

  “Why? Upset that people know you have a sort of career in porn?” Melanie teased. “Unlike me, of course,” she proclaimed.

  “I’ll be happy to prove to you and any other brat that I’m not the Whipmaster,” he said.

  “How?” Melanie asked, surprised. “Brisa showed me an advertisement with your picture.”

  “I didn’t pose for those ads.”

  “Your words prove nothing,” she teased.

  “Neither do yours.” He wasn’t teasing.

  They stared at each other. Melanie felt the hot, pheromone-drenched tension between them tug at her. Either she stopped this or they would be ripping each other’s clothes off within seconds. If only it wasn’t a bad idea right now. But she had to go. She was so sweat-drenched she could almost smell her own lusty heat.

  “So bottom line here,” Melanie temporized. “You’re willing to get naked to prove a point but I’m not.”

  “Sad,” Rob said, his husky voice lightening. “But two grand doesn’t depend on my getting naked.”

  “Or on me getting naked either,” she said firmly. “You really think Huntley has records from ten years ago?”

  “I doubt Huntley has records from ten weeks ago. He can’t afford to. I doubt much of his business is legit.”

  “Great.” Melanie thought about that. Maybe her Devil-man wasn’t her soul mate after all, but her enemy. “I guess I don’t want to know.”