Good, Bad…Better

by Cindi Myers

  “If you want, I can try to find out what his plans are for his nights off next week.”

  “Will you? Call me and let me know. Maybe I can arrange to meet up with him—on neutral territory. Somewhere he doesn’t expect to see me in the first place.”

  “I can do that. But promise me you won’t be too hard on big bro. I think you’re right when you say he’s not as tough as he looks.”

  “I promise.” She wished she was really as confident as she sounded. As much as she wanted to be tough, was she really? And would her inner bad girl be enough to make a certain bad boy change his ways?

  ZACH ALWAYS TOOK PRIDE in the fact that unlike most people he knew, he was doing exactly what he wanted with his life. No dead-end job or mindless drudgery for him. He made a living with his art. Every day was different, every tattoo he etched unique. The only boss he answered to was himself. He decided what work he did and when. What could be more ideal?

  And then Jen had walked into the shop, and into his life, and brought with her a restlessness he couldn’t shake. In the middle of inking designs on clients’ backs, he’d find himself wondering what the same designs would look like on a canvas, rendered in oil or water-color. He went through two sketchbooks in a matter of days, filling them with everything from still lifes to figure studies. He found himself thinking about techniques and theories he’d learned in high school art classes.

  Two days after he’d left Jen’s apartment, he even found himself hunting in the back room for an old art text he’d stashed there. In the bottom of a filing cabinet, he found folders of drawings he’d done in high school, along with a list of art schools and scholarship information. He flipped through the yellowed pages, impressed in spite of himself. He’d been good even then, sure his portfolio would wow anyone who saw it.

  Another folder contained applications to various schools, most of them never completed. Staring at them now, the old pain and anger hit him like a punch in the gut. The memory of how naive and earnest he’d been overwhelmed him. Back then, he’d thought he could make things happen just because he wanted them to.

  Finding out that wasn’t so had been the hardest lesson he’d ever learned.

  He shoved the papers back in the drawer and continued searching for the book he wanted. He found it at last and hurriedly flipped through it, looking for a painting he hadn’t been able to get off his mind.

  He found it on page three hundred and seventy. Tamara de Lempicka’s Sleeping Woman 1935. A curly-haired blonde lay on her side, head cradled on a pillow. The piece was both sensuous and innocent. Was the woman napping after a tough day, or luxuriating in the languor after sex?

  He carried the book into the front of the shop and lay it open on the counter before him, then dug out a new sketchpad. Using Lempicka’s work as a guide, he drew his own sleeping woman—Jen as she had looked when he’d left her, face serene in repose, hair a wild tangle on the pillow beside her.

  As the drawing came to life beneath his pencil, he thought of the things she’d said to him last night. That he was special. That was the kind of thing people had probably been telling her all her life, but it wasn’t something he was used to hearing.

  More often, people criticized him for being different. Too rough. A rebel. “Not the sort of person we’re looking for.”

  The lead snapped as he bore down on the paper. He tossed the broken pencil in the trash and closed the cover of the sketchbook. He wasn’t the sort of person Jen was looking for, either. Not really. He was just a way to pass the time. To stage her own rebellion. And he was okay with that. As long as he kept those parameters in mind, everything would be okay.

  He would be okay. She’d leave for Chicago, he’d go back to working every day in the shop and going out at night with other people like himself. People who didn’t mind being different from what society—people like Jen and her father—expected. When she had gone, he’d be happy with his work again. Content with his life. That was the most anybody could hope for, anyway.

  “I FEEL RIDICULOUS,” JEN said as she and Shelly sat in a borrowed car, Shelly behind the wheel, and watched Aaron pull out of the drive of his condo. “What if he recognizes us?”

  “He won’t recognize us in this.” Shelly patted the dash of the 1982 Crown Victoria she’d borrowed from her aunt. “He knows I’d never drive such an uncool car.”

  “Then why are you driving it now?” Jen half turned to face her friend. “Why are we doing this, again? Spying on your boyfriend?”

  “Because he’s up to something and I want to know what.”

  “Why don’t you just ask him what’s going on?”

  “I’ve tried that.” She put the Crown Vic in gear and pulled into traffic, three cars behind Aaron’s leased Lexus. “He just makes excuses about working hard and being busy. And like I told you on the phone, tonight he supposedly has a meeting with a client.” She sniffed. “On a Friday night?”

  “Like I said, maybe that’s the only time the client could meet.”

  “Or maybe it’s not a client at all. Maybe it’s another woman.” Shelly’s voice broke, and she blinked rapidly, fighting tears.

  “Oh, no. Aaron wouldn’t do that to you.” Jen put a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. Shelly and Aaron had been together almost five years—long enough for Aaron to grow from a geeky teen to a handsome, young lawyer. Jen would have sworn he adored Shelly, but then, what did she really know about men? She certainly hadn’t done a very good job of figuring Zach out.

  “I don’t want to believe it.” Shelly accelerated onto Interstate 35. “But all the signs are there—he’s canceling dates with me, working late all the time. He’s secretive. The other day, I walked in and he was on the phone. He immediately cut the conversation short and hung up. What else could it be but another woman?”

  Jen sank back in her seat, sick to her stomach. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t things end happily ever after at least some of the time? “I still hope you’re wrong,” she said after a minute.

  “I hope so, too. But I don’t think so.”

  Aaron exited on Rundberg and turned into the parking lot of the Old San Francisco Steak House. “Pretty fancy place for a client dinner,” Shelly said as she followed him off the freeway and cruised past the restaurant. She pulled into a lot down the street and turned around, then drove back to the steak house and found a parking place.

  “What do we do now?” Jen asked as they watched Aaron walk up to the front door of the restaurant. He certainly looked like a man going to work, dressed in a dark blue suit, briefcase in hand.

  “How would you like a steak dinner?” Shelly checked her watch. “We give him ten minutes, then we go inside.”

  Ten minutes later, the two women were arguing with a reluctant maître d’. “You can’t be seated without a reservation,” he said.

  “Surely you could find us one table,” Shelly pleaded. “It’s really important.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, our policy….”

  “But you don’t understand.” With inspiration born of desperation, Jen grabbed hold of Shelly’s arm. “It’s our anniversary.” She faked a starry-eyed gaze at Shelly, who stared back, clearly confused. “This is where we met, and we wanted to celebrate here tonight.”

  The light went on in Shelly’s eyes, and she put her arm around Jen and beamed at the maître d’. “That’s right. This is such a special place for us.”

  The man’s eyes took on a glassy sheen, and he backed away. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Two minutes later, they were following a waitress to a table at the back of the main dining room. As Jen slid into her seat, Shelly reached over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “What was that all about?” Jen whispered when the waitress had gone.

  “That was for your brilliant performance.” Shelly grinned at her over the top of the menu. “How did you know that would work?”

  She shrugged. “What’s one fantasy men really go for?”


  “Waitresses in fishnet stockings and tiny little aprons?” She studied a passing server in the steak house’s trademark approximation of saloon-girl garb.

  Jen laughed. “I was thinking the fantasy of two women together.”

  “Oh.” Shelly’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh.” She glanced toward the maître d’. Sure enough, he was leaning around the corner, watching them. She hid behind her menu. “I guess thinking about the two of us together really tripped his trigger.”

  “Right, although I don’t know what he expected. Anniversary or not, we’re eating dinner, not having an orgy.”

  “At least we’ve given him something to think about when he goes home tonight.”

  Jen made a face. “Stop it. That’s not an image I want in my head.”

  Shelly lowered her menu again and studied the room. “Do you see Aaron?”

  Jen scanned the cavernous restaurant until her eyes came to rest on familiar shoulders in a blue suit. Her stomach clenched as her gaze traveled to the table’s other occupant. A stunning blonde wearing a very tight black dress sat across from Aaron. She swallowed. “I found him. He’s with his, uh, client.”

  Shelly let out a squeak as she followed Jen’s gaze to the offending couple. As they watched, the blonde leaned over and put her hand on Aaron’s.

  As if he knew someone was watching, he smoothly withdrew his hand. Then a waitress arrived with their salads, blocking the girls’ view.

  “I knew it!” Shelly faced forward again and wadded her napkin into a ball. “After all the years we’ve been together.”

  “Ladies, would you like a cocktail to begin the evening?” A waitress paused at their table.

  “Give me a vodka martini,” Shelly said. “Extra vodka.”

  Jen leaned forward and grabbed Shelly’s hand. “Maybe we should leave now.”

  Shelly shook her head. “No. I came here to have a nice steak dinner and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  The waitress returned with their drinks and they ordered dinner. “So how are things going with you and Zach?” Shelly asked with false lightness when they were alone again.

  Jen rearranged her silverware on the white linen tablecloth. “He apparently still sees me as this naive girl who needs protecting from myself. He thinks we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

  “Well you certainly aren’t as naive as you were when you first met him. But if he doesn’t want to see you, what can you do?”

  “I’m pretty sure he does want to see me. He just doesn’t think it would be a good idea. But I’m determined to change his mind.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Jen shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’ll think of something.” If she kept telling herself that, a brilliant idea might pop into her head. Right now, she’d settle for any idea at all as to how to get Zach’s attention—and keep it.

  When their salads arrived, Jen ventured a look at Aaron’s table again. He and the blonde were eating and talking. The woman was laughing, her sultry gaze fixed on him. But Aaron didn’t look like he was having that much fun.

  “What are they doing?” Shelly stabbed at her salad.

  “Talking.” Jen frowned. “Aaron doesn’t look very comfortable, actually. He’s kind of…stiff.”

  “Probably his guilty conscience bothering him.” She took a hefty swallow of her drink. “Maybe after another martini or two I’ll work up the nerve to go over there and say hi. Wouldn’t that surprise him?”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Jen set aside her half-eaten salad. “You’d better wait until you’re alone to have it out with him. Then you won’t have to hold back anything.”

  “Who said I’d hold back here?” Shelly looked around them at the crowded restaurant. “I might as well let all these people know what a louse he is.”

  A piano fanfare announced the beginning of the entertainment the steak house was famous for. Jen turned toward the bar at the front of the room to watch a woman in a red corset and black fishnet hose arrange herself on the red velvet swing that hung above the bar. As the diners applauded and the piano player struck up a lively tune, she began to swing. Higher and higher she flew, until—clang!—she struck a cowbell hanging from the ceiling with her toe. She continued to swing, hitting the bell, flipping back and forth on her red velvet perch, twisting the rope, then spinning around.

  “What a way to make a living, huh?” Shelly turned her attention to the steak the waitress set in front of her.

  “I don’t know. It looks like fun.” Jen cut into her own steak. She checked Aaron’s table again. The blonde was rising, excusing herself.

  “Don’t look now, but that woman is going to walk right past us,” she whispered.

  Shelly froze in the act of cutting her steak and glanced to the side. A moment later, the blonde passed them. She was tall and elegant, the black dress clinging to generous curves. Up close, she was obviously much older. In her forties, Jen guessed. “She’s almost old enough to be his mother,” Shelly gasped.

  “Maybe she’s an aunt or something. In town for a visit.” Jen didn’t know why, but she wasn’t ready to give up on Aaron yet. Maybe because she wanted things to work out for her friend. Or maybe knowing the relationship she had with Zach was temporary was making her more of a romantic these days.

  “If she’s his aunt, why didn’t he invite me to have dinner with them?” Shelly sliced into her steak. “Beside, when does an aunt dress like that?”

  Jen checked out the woman again when she returned to her table. She had to admit she’d never had an aunt who looked that sexy. But then, she came from a conservative family.

  The woman put her hand on Aaron’s back as she passed. Jen could have sworn he flinched. If this was his lover, he was certainly acting strangely.

  When the woman was seated again and their dinner dishes were cleared, Aaron pulled out his briefcase. “Shelly!” Jen hissed. “Look what he’s doing now.”

  Shelly shook her head. “I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

  “It’s not what you think. Look!”

  Shelly sighed and turned to glance back over her shoulder. Jen smiled as they watched Aaron spread papers on the table between himself and the woman. The blonde was frowning, while Aaron pointed to various points on the papers. He handed the woman a pen and she hesitated a moment before signing at the bottom of several pages. Aaron collected all the papers and returned them to the briefcase, then stood and offered his hand.

  The blonde protested, rising from her chair. She gestured to the table, seeming to indicate he should stay for dessert, but he shook his head, took her hand and shook it, then turned to leave.

  Shelly dived under the table. Jen swept a fork to the floor, then followed Shelly underneath. She eyed her friend beneath the shelter of the tablecloth. “That didn’t look like a romantic meeting to me.”

  Shelly nodded. “It did look like business, didn’t it.”

  “My guess is the blonde insisted they meet here so that she could come on to him, but he didn’t take the bait.”

  “But if he’s not seeing another woman, what is going on? He’s still breaking dates and acting strange.”

  “You’re going to have to confront him and make him tell you.” Jen reached out and squeezed Shelly’s hand. “I know Aaron loves you. The two of you can work things out.”

  “Can I help you ladies with something?” The tablecloth lifted and the maître d’ peered at them.

  “I was just, uh, helping my friend look for her fork.” Jen sat up quickly, knowing her face was probably as red as the swing above the bar.

  The maître d’ smiled. “If you’re sure everything is all right….?”

  Shelly smoothed her hair. “We’d like our check now, please.”

  Jen didn’t dare look at her friend for fear she’d burst into a fit of giggles. As it was, she almost lost it on their way out of the restaurant. As they passed the maître d’s podium, Shelly s
lipped her arm around Jen’s waist. “I can’t wait to get home,” she said loudly.

  Once out the door, Jen raced ahead of her across the parking lot and collapsed against the car door. “I can’t believe we did that,” she said.

  Shelly tossed her the keys. “You drive. After two martinis, I don’t think I should try to navigate this barge.”

  “So what are you going to do about Aaron?” Jen asked when they were buckled in the car.

  Shelly sighed. “I guess I’ll try to talk to him.” She glanced at Jen. “What are you going to do about Zach?”

  “Talking hasn’t worked so far. I think I’ll have to take action.”

  “What kind of action?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Something drastic. Something to prove I really am a bad girl at heart.”

  11

  THE NEXT TUESDAY NIGHT, JEN TURNED into the parking lot for the Black Cat Lounge, looking for Zach’s bike. Theresa had told her he would be here this evening, playing pool. She scanned the group of motorcycles near the front door. She didn’t think Zach’s was there, but could she be sure? It wasn’t as if she was an expert on Harleys. She coasted past the bikes, then spotted a lone motorcycle at the back of the lot. Her heart pounded as she recognized Zach’s ride.

  She eased the car into an empty space and switched off the engine. Her hands were sweating and she felt light-headed. She flipped down the visor and checked her makeup in the mirror. She’d tried for a dramatic, sexy look—lots of eyeliner and mascara, sultry shadow and glossy, red lips. That, coupled with the blue satin top she’d purchased with Theresa, a black denim miniskirt and do-me black spike heels, added up to an outfit that was guaranteed to stop almost any man in his tracks.

  Of course, she wasn’t gunning for just any man. She wanted to slay Zach with her devastating sex appeal and dangerous aura. She frowned at her image in the mirror. Who was she kidding? Even dressed to thrill, she still looked about as dangerous as a kitten.

  She opened the car door and stepped out onto the gravel parking lot. A kitten with claws, she hoped. If she couldn’t scare Zach, she’d at least make him sit up and take notice.