Girl of My Dreams

by Morgan Mandel

  A commotion started at the door. Someone shouted, “You can’t go in there.”

  Jillian turned to look.

  “Don’t argue. You go first,” the person said.

  Jillian had just identified the voice when the security guard stepped into the room followed by Nadia Romanoff in a lemon-colored harem outfit reminiscent of I Dream of Jeannie.

  Like a DVD with Nadia at the remote, the dancers stopped in their tracks. The band froze mid-song.

  Jillian swallowed hard. She had a bad feeling about what was about to happen. She didn’t want to look, but did anyway. Nadia held a gun at the guard’s back. His holster was bare. “Lock that door,” she ordered.

  He reached for the key and turned the lock in the bolt.

  While Nadia’s back was turned, Blake sidled up to Jillian. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. She held on tight.

  She knew what he was thinking. Nadia had come to finish the job she’d started. This time, there’d be no escape. Jillian’s blood ran cold, despite the warmth of Blake’s fingers.

  Troy glanced at them questioningly. She brushed away a feeling of guilt. In an emergency, rules of etiquette didn’t apply. It wasn’t fair to Troy, but she couldn’t change that.

  “Everyone, face down on the floor. If anyone pulls out a cell phone, I’ll shoot you. Now, eat dirt,” Nadia shouted.

  Jillian stifled a hysterical giggle. First statues, now this childhood game. It should be dubbed Nadia Says, instead of Simon Says.

  She bit her lip to keep from saying, Mother may I.

  It wouldn’t do to antagonize a crazy person. She’d better follow Nadia’s instructions.

  About to comply, Jillian felt the cold steel on her back. She hadn’t noticed Nadia moving toward her.

  “Not you,” Nadia said.

  She pointed the gun at Troy and Blake. “Get down or dream girl gets it.”

  They sank onto the floor. The pistol swung back to Jillian. “Up on stage. Time for a show.”

  This was not good. All Jillian could do was stall for time. Doing her best not to step on anyone, Jillian slowly picked her way through the sprawled bodies. She passed Denise, who mouthed, Good luck.

  She didn’t reply. There was no sense in drawing attention to her friend.

  She climbed the side stairs to the stage, then almost tripped over a sprawled band member.

  Nadia stood front and center in the audience. “Get to the middle, over by the mike, and don’t move,” she commanded.

  Jillian did as she was told. From her vantage point, an eerie sea of supine bodies greeted her, as if an epidemic had swept the room. She felt like she’d stepped into a thriller and had assumed the lead role. It was not a pleasant sensation.

  Putting her acrobatic experience to use, Nadia somersaulted onto the stage beside Jillian. “Hey, drummer, unplug that mike and bring me the cord. Two of the guitar strings, too,” Nadia said.

  He clambered up, followed her directions, then stood before her holding out the items.

  “Don’t just stand there. Tie the dream girl’s hands in back of her, now.”

  He rushed to do the crazy one’s bidding.

  “Tighter, drummer boy.”

  Jillian refused to wince as the metal dug into the soft flesh of her wrists.

  “Okay, now the ankles. After that, tie her tummy to the mike stand. Good boy. Now get down on the floor.”

  He backed away before re-assuming a face-down position. Jillian didn’t blame him for attempting to get as far away from Nadia as possible.

  Nadia advanced toward Jillian. As they stared each other down, Jillian hid an inward grimace at the sight of the caked false eyelashes and extravagantly applied eye shadow framing the wild, bloodshot eyes. Bright crimson lipstick made Nadia’s evilly twisted mouth appear even more grotesque. She’d lost whatever beauty she’d had and now looked like a cartoon caricature.

  Jillian felt helpless. The situation didn’t look good. Should she say her last prayers?

  “Bartender, bring me a bottle of vodka,” came the next order.

  The man jumped up, grabbed a bottle and brought it over.

  “Now throw it in dream girl’s face.”

  He hesitated, looking from the gun to Nadia, as if weighing his chances.

  “Now, or you get it, too,” Nadia shouted.

  The man aimed.

  Jillian shut her eyes tight. She gasped as the liquor hit her face. It flew into her nose and dripped down her neck and shoulders.

  “Now for the real fun. Who wants to see the dream girl turn into a nightmare?”

  No one answered.

  “Come on, ladies, tell the truth. Isn’t she just too pretty to exist? Deep down, don’t you just hate her? Well, I’ll take care of that right now. She won’t bother you, or me, or any one else when I get through. Anyone got a match?”

  Not a sound was heard in the club as Nadia’s intent sank into the minds of the audience. Jillian was to become a human torch.

  The reality of her plight hit Jillian. This was really happening. Her life might end at any second. The best case scenario was she’d be burned and scarred. The worst she daren’t think about.

  She stood helpless and shaking. She couldn’t move if she wanted to.

  No one proffered a match. Jillian’s hopes rose.

  Nadia’s next words dashed them. “I was never a Girl Scout, but I came prepared.” She reached into her pants pocket and withdrew a silver object.

  Using her free hand, Nadia flicked open the lighter. In petrified awe, Jillian watched the flame light. Hysterically, she wondered if everyone present would rise, flick their own lighters and sing, Hey, Jude.

  Please don’t let this be happening. Let it stop, she silently prayed.

  As if in answer, she heard a rustle from the floor. Someone was getting up, no, more than one person. She kept her eyes averted so as not to tip Nadia off. Instead she stared at the hypnotic flame.

  “You poor dear. No mirror to look at yourself one last time. Well, you can always watch the reruns,” Nadia said, with a laugh.

  She waved the lighter back and forth, taunting Jillian.

  The bile rose in her stomach, but she wouldn’t flinch. Any minute her looks, if not her life, would vanish. Pride might be all she had left.

  She saw two figures creep up behind Nadia. As they drew closer, Jillian identified Blake and Troy. Jillian bit her lip. As much as she wanted to warn them off, she dare not give away their presence. They were facing grave danger by disobeying Nadia’s orders. If the madwoman suspected anything, she’d turn and fire on them.

  Nadia pulled back her arm, ready to throw the lighter in Jillian’s face. Right then, Blake and Troy both jumped. Would she shoot or burn them?

  As the lighter flew into the air, Blake’s hand deflected it. It landed beside Jillian on the floor. Flames shot up.

  As Troy tackled Nadia by the waist, the gun dropped. Blake jumped onto the stage. The band members dashed toward the exit.

  Stuck to the microphone pole, Jillian felt useless. Blake had no time to undo the bonds. He grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her off the stage, pole and all. Not exactly the way she’d envisioned his arms around her.

  Seconds later, the sprinklers went off. Water blended with the vodka in Jillian’s hair and dribbled down her chin. The fire fizzled and was replaced by vapor.

  When it had all cleared, she found Troy holding onto a kicking and squirming Nadia.

  Blake released his hold. “I’ll be right back. We can’t let her get away.”

  An unwarranted feeling of abandonment swept over Jillian. The fire was out. She wasn’t in any danger. It made sense for Blake to help subdue Nadia, yet she wanted him to stay and hold her.

  Denise ran up. “That was close. Are you all right?”

  “I will be, once I’m untied.”

  As her friend picked at the knots, the police, security guards and firemen rushed in.

  “Everybody out front,” a guard yelled. Two offi
cers rushed to relieve Blake and Troy of their bucking burden. One of them slipped handcuffs onto the screaming Nadia, and said, “You’re going to the station.”

  Blake and Troy joined Jillian and Denise. In the interim, Denise managed to loosen the bonds on Jillian’s feet, and started on the hands.

  “Let me help,” Blake said.

  “No problem.” Denise flashed Jillian a knowing smile and turned to Troy.

  “What you did was mighty brave,” she said.

  While Denise bolstered the billionaire’s ego, Jillian concentrated on Blake. With the first touch of his fingertips, her nerve endings screeched into full alert. It took forever for him to loosen the knots, yet she didn’t want him to stop.

  “There, I think I’ve got it,” he said.

  Her hands were free. They tingled as the blood rushed back. She flexed her fingers to try and get the circulation flowing.

  “They seemed to have fallen asleep,” she said. They were the only part of her she could say that about.

  Blake looked into her eyes. “I’ll help.”

  “Thanks,” she said in almost a whisper.

  He took her hands into his and gently rubbed her wrists. The torture grew more intense as the circulation returned not only to that area, but others as well. She almost moaned from pleasure.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, let’s work on getting the rest of you unattached from that pole.”

  “It’s growing on me. I’m kind of used to it,” Jillian said, with a laugh.

  “Well, all good things must come to an end.”

  She trembled as his hands touched her back while trying to loosen the knots, and almost went into cardiac arrest when his arms encircled her waist to release her from the last vestiges of her bonds.

  Free at last, but with a price. The party was over. This was it. Pain welled inside Jillian at thought of never seeing Blake again. She blinked back sudden tears.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.

  “I think so.” She drank in every detail of his deep blue eyes, coal black hair and firm chin. From now on, she’d have to settle for tabloid pictures, which would never do him justice.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t say goodbye. It was up to Blake.

  He stared at her, brows furrowed, as if deep in thought. There was a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, not lust, but something warm and fuzzy.

  Before she could ponder its meaning, an officer approached.

  “Miss, if I could please have some minutes of your time. We need a statement.”

  Though Blake had not been asked, he accompanied her to the manager’s office. “Please wait outside, sir. We’ll take your statement next,” the officer said.

  Blake glanced at Jillian with concern, but obeyed. When she’d finish relating the chilling details and stepped back into the hallway, she found Denise and Troy in earnest conversation. They broke off when they saw her.

  “Excuse me. I need to go to the ladies’ room and comb my hair,” Denise said, scattering fast.

  This was Jillian’s opportunity. She had to take it. Swallowing hard, she faced Troy. “We need to talk.”

  “You’ve got to be all in. Can’t it wait?”

  “Not any more. It isn’t fair to you. We can’t stay engaged.”

  “Why not?”

  “I like you, but I don’t love you. You deserve more. I didn’t mean to lead you on. From the moment I entered the contest, everything kind of snowballed.”

  He looked at her with regret. “It did for me, too.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great guy. I wish things could’ve been different.”

  “So do I,” he said. Hurt dimmed his eyes.

  Just then, Blake stepped out of the manager’s office and all thoughts of Troy vanished. Dimly she heard Troy whisper, “I get the picture. I should’ve guessed.”

  Denise reappeared. Now they were four again. It would be impossible for Jillian to get Blake to herself.

  “Did you learn anything more?” Jillian asked him.

  “Yes. Apparently Nadia has a history of irrational behavior. Her fingerprints match those of a black-haired trapeze artist, Hannah the Hungarian, from Chezky Circus. She’s already wanted for sawing the trapeze rope of a fellow performer who plunged to her death. The police are happy to haul her in.”

  Denise gaped. “Good grief, she could’ve killed Jillian.”

  “That was the intent,” Blake said, a thunderous look in his eyes.

  Jillian looked from Blake to Troy. “I can’t thank you guys enough.”

  Troy was the first to look away. Blake held his gaze.

  “Now you and Troy can get on with your wedding plans,” he said.

  “There won’t be a wedding.” she answered.

  “Is that so?”

  Her heart leapt at the look in Blake’s eyes. Maybe she still had a chance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  JILLIAN WAS BRUSHING her teeth the next morning when the phone rang. Maybe it was Blake. She rushed to the kitchen to answer it, only to hear a spiel from an ad agency exec who wanted her for a commercial. After referring him to her newly hired agent, she hung up in disappointment.

  More calls followed, typical since the conclusion of the show. With each peal of the phone, her hopes rose, only to be dashed when she learned the caller.

  By Friday evening, gloom set in. Blake didn’t love her. She must have imagined the spark in his eyes when she’d told him the wedding to Troy was off.

  Life goes on. She may as well pamper herself. She dropped a portion of her favorite bath oil into the tub and filled it with warm water. Luxuriating in the heavenly scent of Romantica, she took a long, leisurely soak. Afterward, she slipped into her comfy worn chenille robe and padded into the kitchen.

  She had the entire evening free, with only herself to please. No need to pay attention to her hair, makeup or clothes for a change.

  Before she got too comfortable, she called Carlo’s and ordered her usual Friday pizza, telling Franco, the clerk, to take his time. She’d eat some popcorn first while watching the DVD. She knew just what she wanted to watch.

  With feet tucked under her on the couch and a box of tissues close at hand, she pushed the remote. As the introductory credits rolled, she braced herself for what was to follow. She’d heard all about Helpless, starring Barbara Branton, in which the heroin braved a multitude of calamities, beginning with a crippling accident.

  The movie seemed to live up to the reviews. Barbara Branton proved an excellent actress. She carried the role so seamlessly Jillian lost herself in the character and suffered when each calamity occurred. He woman’s husband left her, saying he couldn’t live with a cripple. What more could go wrong?

  Jillian’s eyes were puffy and swollen. She’d used up half the tissues. Would she have enough left for the rest of the movie?

  She gave up eating the popcorn. How could she munch away in the midst of such catastrophe?

  Miraculously, the clouds lifted and life grew better for the hapless heroine. Jillian breathed a sigh of relief when the physical therapist who’d been treating the heroine professed love his undying love and promised to stop by her house that evening. Barbara, with a heart-wrenching, hopeful look on her face, clumsily managed to get into a sapphire gown. She then sat in her wheelchair waiting for her love to appear.

  He rang the doorbell. In her eagerness to get to the door, the heroine leaned too far and fell out of her chair. She lay helpless on the floor as the ringing pealed on and on. Would he suspect anything? Would he give up and leave?

  Jillian sat on the edge of the couch, watching poor Barbara painstakingly crawl across the floor. Would she get there on time?

  The bell rang again. It was awfully loud for a movie and sounded a lot like Jillian’s.

  Wait a minute. It was hers. How long had it been ringing?

  Oh, dear. She’d been so
wrapped up in the movie she’d forgotten about the pizza.

  Jillian pressed pause on the remote, untangled herself from the couch, bumped her shin on the edge of the coffee table, and managed to make it to the intercom.

  “Who’s there?”

  A muffled voice answered, “Pizza delivery.”

  “Come on up.”

  Knowing the poor guy had to make it up three flights of stairs to get to her apartment, in the meantime she had a few minutes to make herself presentable. She groaned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her kinky hair stuck out like the bride of Frankenstein’s. She grabbed a brush to smooth out the tangles, but it got stuck. She yanked it out and settled for a quick splash of water instead.

  She threw more water in the direction of her bloodshot, puffy eyes. She shot a last look at herself in the mirror and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her eyes looked bloodshot, her robe frayed and scruffy, reminding her of a bag lady on a binge.

  The poor delivery guy would get an eyeful. What a shame. She really liked pizzas from Carlo’s, but would be too embarrassed to order from there again.

  All too soon she heard the knock.

  She creaked opened the door. First she saw the pizza box, then the hands holding it. It took a moment for her to realize something wasn’t as expected. She looked up to verify what her mind had trouble registering.

  “You’re not the...”

  “That’s right.” Blake stepped in and shut the door behind him.

  “You tricked me. I look horrible,” she said, ready to crawl under the couch.

  He shot her a look of concern. “Are you all right?”

  Relatively speaking, she was, but she looked a fright, and hated for him to see her like this. She didn’t know whether to be upset or glad he wasn’t the delivery man.

  Jillian took a deep breath to still her frantically beating heart. “I’ll survive, but I’m not so sure about Edith.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Your mother, who is also the star of the tearjerker I’m watching.”

  As if to emphasize her plight, Edith’s heartrending cries carried over from the television.

  Blake lifted his eyebrows, then grinned. “That’s Barbara all right. She makes grown men cry. Well, at least your distress is nothing serious.”