by Baird, Ginny
Ventura was surprised Nanette knew the meaning of her name. Most folks just equated it with the song “Ventura Highway.” Ventura forced what she hoped was a pleasant expression. “Not yet, but I’m trying.”
“And we’re going to help her,” Mary said eagerly, shutting the door behind her.
“Hmm, yes. I see what you mean.” Nanette narrowed her eyes. “Might help if we start with the hair.”
Ventura swallowed hard, affronted. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she told them both.
“Nonsense!” Nanette proclaimed with a wave of her hand. “Improving ourselves is always a good idea.” She winked at Mary, sharing some private understanding, then turned her gaze back on Ventura. “Don’t you worry one bit, dear. We’ll do everything in our power to help. It certainly worked with the last girl.”
“Last girl?”
“My roommate before,” Mary explained. “She moved out to get married.”
“That was after we helped her turn her life around.”
“And her wardrobe,” Mary inserted.
Hoo boy, just what have I gotten myself into? Ventura wondered. Her gaze traveled toward the door. There was still time to make her escape. But where would she go? Hotels in the city were expensive, and she barely had enough in savings for a security deposit and her first month’s rent. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could try it for the first month, then bolt if things got creepy.
“Why don’t you take her to the basement, Mary? I’m sure Ventura’s tired and would like to settle in.”
Basement? Ventura stared around the cluttered living room decorated with heavy swags of velvet curtains, old stuffed furniture, and hurricane lamps that looked like they came from another century. Except these were electric. Ventura wondered briefly if there’d be a single lightbulb dangling from a string in the chamber below. Maybe above a solitary chair in the center of the room. The kind used for interrogating people. Or worse, for making over their hair.
“Come on,” Mary urged, hoisting Ventura’s heavy bag to help her. “Let me show you your new digs.”
Ventura followed her down the dark staircase with trepidation. At least the neighborhood seemed nice, and the townhouse looked neat enough from the outside, with its red brick façade and beveled bay windows leading to a turret on top. But down here in the dungeon, there didn’t appear to be a hint of natural light anywhere.
Mary flipped on a light, illuminating the small space. Ventura was relieved to see it wasn’t nearly as horrid as she’d imagined. They’d entered a small efficiency kitchen with a checkerboard floor and a tiny Formica-topped table with chairs. Through a doorway into the main room, she found two neatly arranged twin beds separated from a living area by a large Oriental screen. Ventura spied blinking neon colors and walked toward the back of the room, mesmerized by the pulsating lights. Noting they streamed through a high transom window, she stood up on her tiptoes to peer out of it. Finally, thank goodness. Something that was bound to be an excellent sign. Zen’s Chinese Take-Out: Open Twenty-Four Hours. What more could a girl hope for?
“So?” Mary asked. “What do you think?”
She turned toward Mary with a grin. “I’ll take it.”
An hour later, Ventura was nearly unpacked. Only the treasures in the front flap of her suitcase remained. She debated on whether to take them out, then reasoned Mary would understand. “Do you mind if I put a few things on the refrigerator?”
Mary looked up from where she sat on the bed painting each of her toenails purple and shrugged. “What you got in there?” she asked, indicating Ventura’s bag. “A whole magnet collection?”
“That and a few fortunes.” Ventura dug out a gallon-size plastic bag with a zippered seal. It was stuffed to the brim with little white slips of paper.
Mary set her polish bottle down on the nightstand with a thunk. “How long did it take you to eat all—I mean, collect those?”
“Been saving them for years.”
“Really?” Mary’s dark eyes lit up with interest. “Any special ones?”
“They’re all special,” Ventura told her. And they were. Each and every one had spoken to her in some individual way. Not that she was superstitious or anything.
“I mean, extra special,” Mary prodded.
Even though there was one of particular importance, Ventura didn’t know Mary well enough to share it with her. In fact, in all these years, she’d never shared it with anybody. Just kept it squirreled away in a secret spot in her wallet, so she could glance at it whenever she felt like it.
“Yeah,” Ventura teased. “There’s one about meeting a tall, dark stranger.”
Mary’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding! They still print that?”
“No. That one is vintage. At least ten years old. But I’ve got it.” She dug it out of her bag as evidence and handed it over.
Mary laughed and shook her head. “You’re funny, Ventura. You should come with me tomorrow. Meet some Washingtonians.”
“Where are you going?”
“Some big arts fundraiser. Scored tickets from my friend Petra at the gallery.”
“I’m not sure. It sounds…” Ventura looked down at her dowdy clothes. “Fancy.”
“Tons of people will be there,” Mary tempted. “Reporters and such. Maybe you can make connections?”
That sounded good in abstract. Concretely, Ventura wasn’t sure she could pull it off. Attending some big DC soiree with tons of society types, on only her second day here?
Mary studied Ventura’s clunky sandals. “Bring any better shoes?”
Ventura sat on the bed with a sigh. “They’re all more or less like this.”
Mary’s face brightened sweetly. “No worries. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Chapter Two
Ventura and Mary approached the awning overhanging the gold-framed front doors to the glitzy hotel. Arriving limousines were greeted by valets opening doors and escorting elegantly clad patrons into the night. Ventura clomped forward, self-consciously adjusting her too-tight halter. The dress might have been Lycra, but the tiny size eight was stretched to the max over Ventura’s ample size-twelve figure.
“Stop gripping on to me, will ya?” Mary chided Ventura as she clung to Mary’s elbow, teetering unsteadily on spiky heels.
“You should have let me wear flats.”
Mary shot her an indignant pout. “I know that was a joke.” While they were a different size in dresses, luckily for her, Mary had said, they both shared the same size shoes. “Come on,” she said, leading Ventura along. “You look gorgeous.”
Ventura tucked her cleavage beneath her glittery thigh-high gown. It was all gold and sparkly, making Ventura feel more like a bulbous Christmas ornament than a glam girl.
A bellman pulled back the door, and the women walked inside. Mary waved her tickets in the air with a smile and they headed for the ballroom door. “This is going to be fab. You’ll see.”
“Sure,” Ventura said. “Just don’t go too far. I might topple over.”
Mary swatted Ventura’s hand with the tickets. “Get a hold of yourself, and put on your party face. This is your big chance. An opportunity to mingle! Actually,” she said, prying Ventura’s fingers off her arm, “it’s my chance too.” Then, to Ventura’s horror, she started to scurry away. “Catch you in a while. Ta!”
Ventura drew a breath, attempting to steady herself. The room in front of her was abuzz with clinking champagne flutes and society chatter. Men in tuxedos walked by, chatting amiably while elegantly coiffed women followed. A waiflike blonde threw her head back in exaggerated laughter, attempting to flatter a gorgeous, dark-eyed man. There were so many conversations milling about, it was impossible to pick up more than snippets of them beneath the clickity-clack of empty drink glasses being set down on trays as waiters carted fresh libations forth.
Suddenly, from across the room, she caught a man’s gaze on her. He was to-die-for handsome with wavy dark hair and a toned, trim body pack
aged perfectly beneath his pressed white shirt and bow tie. Ventura judged him to be in his early thirties, and—she couldn’t believe it—he was smiling at her. Ventura blinked hard, and the heavy mascara Mary had pasted on her lashes caused them to stick. She gasped and pried them apart just in time to see the heartthrob approaching.
“Can I help you find something?” He spoke with no hint of an accent, but his eyes were all dark and dreamy like he’d come from some exotic land. “You look a little lost.”
She was lost all right. Hook, line, and sinker sunk in his hypnotically sexy gaze. “Huh?”
He angled his champagne flute in her direction. “Are you meeting someone?”
“No,” she spouted quickly. “Just looking!” Oh great, Ventura. “Browsing!” Worse. “Um…” She bit into her bottom lip, feeling her cheeks blaze. “I’m new in town.”
He chuckled good-naturedly and extended his hand. “Welcome to our fair city. I’m Richard.”
She settled her palm in his grip, and a billion warm tingles raced down her spine. “Ventura,” she answered weakly. Ventura pulled herself up short, realizing she sounded like some love-struck schoolgirl. She was grateful none of her professors had looked like that. She wouldn’t have been able to get an ounce of work done. Apart from a little creative writing. Yeah, she could spin herself a tale or two involving herself and this unbearably hot man. The only trouble was, given the exciting details of Ventura’s past, the story would be rated PG. Ventura sighed as he released her hand with a worried gaze.
“Are you all right?” he queried kindly. “You look like you should sit down.”
Ventura imagined him sweeping her into his strong arms and carrying her across the crowded ballroom—then inwardly slapped her silly face. “I’m fine,” she said hastily. “Just catching my breath after the long walk here.”
“Where from?”
“Capitol Hill.”
He glanced down at her spiky high heels, then once more met her eyes. “I’m impressed.”
Just then, Ventura spied Mary approaching with a pert brunette with springy curls. Of all the people she wanted to see now, her beautiful apartment mate was at the bottom of the list. And the girl with her was just as pretty. Mary whispered something to her friend, then caught Ventura’s eye, beaming brightly. She carried an extra flute of champagne, which she raised in a silent toast as she drew near.
“There you are, you devilish man!”
Ventura turned in surprise to see a trim redhead had sidled up next to Richard and linked her arm through his. Was it Ventura’s imagination or did he seem to stiffen at her approach? “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
He patted her arm and answered mildly, “We’re supposed to talk with the guests. That’s what this event’s all about.” Ventura wasn’t sure what Richard’s role was in things, but she figured him to be one of the gala’s organizers. From what Mary had told her, a wealthy Washington benefactor had established a fund to raise college scholarship money for students studying the arts. Money from tickets purchased to attend this event would go toward that cause. A number of local organizations had purchased them in bulk as a sign of good will. Petra had been lucky enough to get three of them as gifts from her employer without paying a cent.
“I’m Petra,” the bouncy brunette said, cozying up to the group.
Mary handed her extra champagne flute to Ventura, then addressed the others. “And I’m Mary.”
Richard politely bowed his head in greeting, acknowledging them both. “Richard.”
The redhead sighed and rolled her eyes. “Monica,” she said, giving Richard’s arm a small tug.
Richard glanced at Monica, then said apologetically, “I’m afraid duty calls.”
“Of course,” Ventura said.
“It’s been very nice meeting you.” He pleasantly surveyed their faces, then settled his gaze on Ventura. “I hope we have the pleasure again.”
Ventura’s heart skipped a beat as she felt her temperature spike. Was Richard really focusing all his attention on her?
“Me too.” She tried to say it boldly, but her words came out as a whisper.
Then he turned and walked away, with Monica scolding him soundly over something Ventura couldn’t quite overhear and which Richard seemed to ignore.
“Richard Blake,” Mary said once he was out of earshot. “In the flesh.”
Petra rapidly fanned her face with her hand. “I’d like to see that.”
“Of course you would,” Mary told her. “You and every other woman in Washington.” She turned to Ventura. “How did you do it?”
“What?”
“Get him to come over and talk to you?” Petra filled in.
“I just stood here,” Ventura offered, still amazed by the turn of events herself. She normally wasn’t much of a man magnet and had never attracted anyone quite as dishy as Richard. Of course, maybe she hadn’t attracted him at all. As one of the hosts, it was his role to work the room. “I’m sure he was just being gracious.”
Mary studied her proudly. “Must be the hair.”
Ventura self-consciously fingered her flat-ironed locks, which made her whole head feel as if it were wearing a weighty wig.
“I like it!” Petra proclaimed. “Maybe you can do mine sometime?”
“You’ve done good, Ventura,” Mary told her. “Schmoozing with the District’s most eligible bachelor.”
“Every woman in the world wants to date him,” Petra added.
Ventura’s gaze followed Richard across the room as he and his girlfriend made the rounds. “Monica seems pretty well settled in.”
“Her?” Mary asked with a laugh. “She’s just his escort.”
“What do you mean?”
“The latest in a long line of girls,” Petra explained. “He never attends these society things alone.”
“And is never seen with a woman outside of them,” Mary added.
Ventura took a sip of her champagne, its bubbles tickling her tongue. “But why?”
“Might have to do with the kids,” Mary said confidentially.
Petra nodded. “Or the ex.”
“She was terrible.” Mary lowered her voice. “Walked out on him and two babies.”
Petra whispered behind her hand, “They’re rumored to be brats.”
“They dress well,” Mary argued defensively.
Petra shook her head. “Fashion’s not everything.”
Mary’s eyes flashed in horror. “Bite your tongue!”
Later that night, Ventura found herself in bed but totally unable to sleep. What was that thumping coming from upstairs? “What’s going on up there?” she asked as flashing neon colors pulsed through the window.
“That’s Nanette practicing her Lambada,” Mary answered.
“Lam… What?”
“It’s some kind of crazy dance she does. She’d got a ton of them and will try to teach you if you’re not careful.”
“I’ll take your advice and steer clear.”
“That’s another thing.” Mary sat up suddenly under the covers and turned her dark profile to face her. “You need to be careful to always say you have plans.”
“Plans?”
“Nanette’s the world’s worst matchmaker. And I mean worst in the worst possible way. If you even hint you’re so much as free for an afternoon, she’ll set you up. And, um… Let me put it this way. Her setups aren’t optimal.”
Ventura giggled, unable to imagine the sorts of offerings someone like Nanette might pick out. “I’ll take your advice on that too.”
“Good.” Mary settled back down and rolled toward the wall, wrapping her blanket around her.
Ventura hadn’t had a roommate since college, at least not in the same room. She’d shared an apartment with another girl in graduate school, but they’d each had their own space, and Trisha had been so quiet, Ventura had barely ever known she was there. Mary was all the opposite: loud and blustery and all up in Ventura’s face. Telling her how to dress and
wear her hair, and warning her off Nanette’s nutty notions. Ventura had never been close to her big sister, Hope, and had gone through most of her life without having a best friend. She wondered if Mary would become that, even as different from each other as they were.
“Mary,” she said quietly before the other girl could drift off to sleep. “Thanks for bringing me here. For letting me know about this apartment.”
“I did it for selfish reasons,” Mary answered groggily.
“That may be, but you didn’t have to take me to the party.”
“Shut up and go to sleep.”
“Okay.”
A few seconds later, she heard Mary’s voice. “I’m glad you had fun. You looked like a million bucks.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Do you think I’ll ever see him again?”
“Who?”
“Richard.”
“Of course you will. Just pick up a paper. He’s in it all the time.”
She hurled her pillow at Mary with a laugh. “I meant, in person!”
Mary rolled over and clutched it. “My, my. Two days in town and look who’s already got a crush.”
“I do not,” Ventura said, feeling her cheeks warm.
“That’s okay. I’ll keep your little secret.” Mary tossed the pillow back at her. “Let’s get some shut-eye. I’ve got work in the morning, and tomorrow you’re cold-calling.”
“Right.” Ventura snatched back her pillow and pulled it over her head as floorboards moaned above. What an exhausting couple of days she’d had. Once she finally nodded off, she’d no doubt sleep like the dead.
Chapter Three
Richard’s personal assistant, Jason, burst through his home office door. As managing editor of his own magazine, Richard had been able to work out a flexible schedule where he telecommuted part of the time from his stylish townhouse in Old Town Alexandria. This helped a great deal when it came to raising the twins. None of the nannies he’d hired to date had been able to function without the highest level of oversight. Jason’s face was pink from the neck up as he clutched his tablet to his teal polo shirt. “I’ve got to talk to you about Helena.”