Woke Up Dead

by Tina Wainscott

  She took a seat on the loveseat across from them, and Sam joined her. She could feel his gaze on her but knew if she looked at him, he’d see everything she felt for him right there in her eyes. He’d heard enough.

  Later, his father turned to her and said, “Well, I guess you’re rather happy he did go into private detecting, now that it’s come in handy.”

  Maxine shot a look at Sharee and Abigail, then aimed a smile at his father. “You know what? I just want Sam to be happy about what he does for a living. Yes, it is nice that he can help me, and I can’t think of a better man to do the job.” She flashed Sam a quick smile. “I’m very proud of him, and you should be, too. He’s a great detective.”

  The whole room went silent for a moment. His father finally said, “Really? Well, now, that’s…nice. We are proud of him, of course. Even if he didn’t choose the career most Magee men choose.”

  “Gee, thanks, Dad,” Sam said, leaning his cheek against his hand. He didn’t seem overly bothered by his parents’ attitude. He was probably used to it.

  When the maid announced that dinner was ready, everyone stood. Sam held her hand, though, keeping her in the room after everyone else had left. Unlike Armand’s tugging, all Sam had to do was apply the slightest pressure to keep her there. He leaned closer and spoke in that low, rumbly voice that sent shivers down her spine. “Now I’m sure an alien has abducted Maxine and replaced her with someone else.”

  “Why?” she whispered, feeling a warm rush at his closeness.

  “Because you never, in all the years we were married, ever stuck up for my profession. And you never said you were proud of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I should have. I meant what I said.”

  He looked at her, his eyes studying hers. “I know. That’s why I think someone abducted Maxine.”

  She shook her head, moving close enough to feel the hairs of his moustache brush her lips. “It’s me, Sam. Only better.”

  “Sam, Maxine, are you coming?” Abigail’s voice rang out sweetly.

  Maxine let out a breath, smiling. “Not even breathing hard,” she said so only Sam could hear.

  He laughed, then shook his head and helped her to her feet. “Don’t tempt me.”

  Dinner went better than Maxine would have imagined, meaning that she didn’t have to talk much. Observing worked much better and got her into less trouble. She even got a childhood story, the one about Sam as a ten year old following a suspicious neighbor and finding him with his mistress. Since no one had brought it up, she had to assume Sam hadn’t told them about his plans to close his agency. Maybe he’d changed his mind after all.

  She even got a glimpse or two of the kitchen as the doors swung to and fro. Just the sight of that huge gourmet vision had her fingers tingling to find something interesting to make. Why, she could even whip up something just as good as the braised quail and baby carrots their cook had prepared.

  Later, as they drank coffee or brandy in the living room and talked about the big case Ned was working on, Maxine slipped down the hall to the bathroom. That’s where she found the wall of photos, the Magees through time.

  She pulled her lip between her teeth as she took in Sam’s beguiling smile in a five-year-old portrait. He had a sprinkle of freckles that he’d outgrown. She found herself wishing she’d known him her whole life, wishing she could have shared in every moment. The one thing that did stand out among all the photos was that, well, Sam stood out. Not just because she loved him either. His hair was always a little longer, he looked a little shaggier, and his eyes sparkled more than the rest of the Magees. He was probably thinking something mischievous or naughty. Ned looked like a clone of his father, even in his younger pictures—formal, sedate.

  “Told you I was adopted,” Sam’s low voice said from behind her, sending a chill up her neck.

  “You are not,” Abigail said on her way to the bathroom.

  “But there are times when you’d like to think I am,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Of course not, darling,” she answered before closing the door.

  He shook his head. “It’s really sad when your own mother lies.”

  On the drive home, Maxine tried to ignore Sam’s curious glances and focused on her thoughts. A sadness flowed through her at the observation that Sam’s parents didn’t seem to wholly accept Sam. In fact, Maxine-the-first seemed more accepted than he did. Sure, they loved him. But Sam had forged his own path from the beginning, and the pride in that thought overrode the sadness. Sam looked more at ease than Ned did. Ned seemed to weigh each word he said to his father, using the ones he knew would impress him. Sam didn’t bother with that stuff. Besides, a fancy law firm definitely wasn’t his style. They wouldn’t have hired Jennie, but Sam had.

  When she looked over at him, he was concentrating on getting through traffic. She hadn’t really known him, not the way she thought she did. The more she knew about him, the more she loved him.

  “Sam, you seem a lot more relaxed than your brother.”

  “I have a lot less pressure on me. Not only does he have to live up to Dad, he has to live up to Sharee and all her bills.” He shook his head. “I grew up with that ‘you gotta be this and that’ pressure. I looked around and saw the men who fit that mold, and you know what? They weren’t happy. Sure, they had the fancy homes and fancy cars, but the more they had, the more they wanted. Believe me, it was easy to train myself not to want more than I had. And why am I telling you this? You were one of the people in my life hounding me to become something I didn’t want to be.”

  He looked at her, but she saw no malice in his expression.

  “I was a different person then.” If only he knew how true that statement was.

  “Then this flower box hits you over the head, and you have a sudden epiphany about wanting something different in life? Wanting to be part of my life, especially?”

  “Exactly.”

  He faced ahead again. “You’ll get over it.”

  She let out a muffled sigh. With Sam, it was one step forward, two steps back.

  CHAPTER 10

  MAXINE WATCHED Sam head to the shower when they got back to his place. Want some company? No, that won’t do. Can I join you? No. Need me to scrub your back? Oh geez, this is awful. She let the door click shut without uttering a word. She bet that if she looked up her sign in an astrology book, it would say something like: Not a seductive sign, Aries should keep their mouths closed and wait for the man to make the first move.

  She needed help, and she had an idea of where to get it. As soon as she heard the water running, she snatched up the phone and perched on the couch, watching the door as if her life depended on it. She dialed the number.

  “Gabby!” she said in a rushed whisper. “It’s me.” Then, because with her different voice, that didn’t mean anything, she added, “Maxine. Jennie.”

  “What are you doing? Why are you whispering?”

  “Listen, I don’t have much time. I need your advice, and fast.”

  “My advice?”

  “Yes. I know this is asking for a lot, but I need advice on how to make love to a man in ten minutes or less. I mean, the advice needs to be less than ten minutes, not the lovemaking.”

  Gabby laughed. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. And it’s not that I’m planning on doing anything, well, real soon, but I want to be prepared.”

  “Things are going well, then?”

  Maxine grimaced. “Well would not be the word I’d use. I tried seducing him, but I’m just no good at it. I mean, I got a kiss out of him, but that was it. It was awful. Not the kiss, but me.” She let out a sigh. “The kiss was wonderful. The problem is, I’m supposed to be this experienced woman, and well, I’m not. That was painfully obvious during the kiss. So, tell me everything you know.”

  It was good to hear Gabby laugh, even if it was at Maxine’s expense. “In less than eight minutes. Well, keep in mind that it’s been a couple of years.”

  Maxin
e frowned. “This isn’t a touchy subject, is it? I mean, I don’t want to dredge up any painful thoughts or memories.”

  “Everything I can’t do anymore is a painful thought, Jennie. Actually, I still can make love to a man and feel it. Not doing so has been my choice. Okay, what I remember. First, if it feels good, make a sound. Like a moan or something. Don’t fake it, but if it really feels nice, you’ll find yourself wanting to express it. Guys love that, so don’t hold back.”

  “Okay. What do they like?” She ran her fingers back through her hair. “God, I sound so naive. What am I talking about—I am naive. I should have been reading books or something. Okay, go on.”

  “Relax, Jennie.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “No, I mean, they like for you to relax. It’s all right to be nervous, but you sound wigged out. Men like for you to touch them anywhere, but especially those, well, you know. Those areas. Jennie, you do know what they look like, don’t you?”

  Nervous laughter shot out of Maxine’s mouth. “Of course. I’ve been around. I’ve seen plenty…Okay, I’ve seen a picture. Once.”

  She heard Gabby exhale. “You’re almost hopeless, I hope you know that. Okay, you can’t be timid, because that will give you away. At least try to act like you’ve touched one before. A nice firm hold, like holding a pot handle, works best.”

  “Oh, that sounds romantic.”

  “It’s to give you a point of reference. You were…are a cook; I figured you could relate to that.”

  Maxine kept one ear perked for the sound of the shower. Still going. If she kept up these furtive conversations, she was bound to get caught. “Okay, I got that. When we kissed, I felt so many things. Some of them I’m embarrassed to describe. Suffice it to say it was in areas I’ve never felt anything before. Is that normal?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Gabby took a deep breath. “You’re really making me wistful here. Let’s see. Don’t be too shy to meet his eyes. Trust him with every part of your body. Don’t hold back. And don’t be afraid to tell him what feels good and what doesn’t. Ask him what he likes, too. Everybody’s different.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Maxine was busily jotting everything down in a cryptic handwriting, because she knew she’d never remember it all.

  “Jennie, are you actually writing this down?”

  “Uh, yeah. You know me; I can’t remember more than three items without writing them down. Go on.”

  “I just hope he doesn’t find your notes. He’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “He already does. He’s still keeping me around, though reluctantly. What else? What about initiating this whole business?”

  “Well, I, ahem, didn’t have to worry about initiating most of the time. Music is good. Something slow and sexy.”

  “Saxophone music,” Maxine said with a nod. “He positively gets off on that.”

  “That’ll be a good start. Wear something provocative that shows cleavage.”

  “I actually have cleavage now.”

  “I’m going to share the secret of being sexy with you, Jennie. Love your body.”

  “Isn’t that a little vain?”

  She laughed. “I don’t mean worship it. I just mean, be happy with what you have. Most women are always down on their bodies: too much here, not enough there. Look at yourself, with your eyes and your hands, and be happy with what you have. Models learn this early on. We concentrate on our good points, and don’t think about our bad points. When you see those runway models, you know they’re not thinking about that little wrinkle or that extra flesh. They’re comfortable with themselves. I used to be that way, too.”

  “But you’re still beautiful, Gabby.” Maxine meant that. “You still have it.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. Being paralyzed…being in a chair takes all that away.”

  “Take your own advice.” The hum of the shower stopped. “Damn, I have to go. Thanks so much. I’ll let you know how your advice worked.”

  “Don’t give me too many details. I might miss it too much.”

  “You don’t have to miss it at all. I know someone who’d be happy to refresh your memory, I bet.”

  “You’re bad.”

  “I hope so. I’m trying, anyway. Gotta go. Wait. There’s something I have to know. Sam has a picture of me…Jennie, one you took when I was baking brownies.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, what with all the excitement. He came by about a week after the accident. He wanted to know if I had any pictures of you. He only wanted one, and that was my favorite. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  Maxine sucked in a breath, glancing at the photo. “Of course not. Okay, I have to go. Bye.”

  “Who was that?” Sam’s voice asked as he stepped out of the bathroom followed by a bank of steam. He towel-dried his hair as he spoke, distracting her completely as the muscles in his bare chest and arms pulsed with each movement. His white sweat pants hung low on his hips, giving her an inch or so more flesh to gander at than she’d seen before.

  “It was, uh…” The lie came so easily, she was almost ashamed. Almost, but not quite. This was going to work out just fine. “Actually, it was Gabby. Jennie’s roommate.” Sam’s expression darkened, and she went on. “She was calling to see how you were doing. And you want to know something funny? I know her. From a long time ago, before the maniac attacked her.” That part definitely wasn’t true.

  Sam stopped mid-rub. “Someone attacked her?”

  Maxine’s voice lowered. “Yeah. Her boyfriend at the time, and the guy who photographed her the most. She wanted out of the relationship when he got too possessive. He ambushed her at her apartment. She ran out onto the balcony on the seventh floor and he pushed her off.” She shivered at the visual, and at the haunted look on Gabby’s face whenever she talked about it. “He only got a year in prison. Now he’s in New York photographing models again. She’s very bitter.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t blame her.”

  It seemed weird to mix Jennie’s life and Maxine’s, but this would allow her to visit Gabby without arousing suspicions.

  “Did you know her roommate, Jennie?”

  Maxine shivered. This was getting too close. “No.” The last thing she wanted to do was start talking about her former self, but she broached one subject that bugged her. “Gabby said you came by and asked for that photograph of Jennie.”

  Sam looked over at the frame. “Yeah. When she…died, I realized all I had of her was my memories. I wanted something more tangible. She was a good friend.”

  Maxine swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d taken a picture of Sam at one of their Christmas parties and had cherished it.

  Sam went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine, walking around the couch and setting them down on the table. He dropped down on the cushions and flipped on the television. “All right, since I spent the morning watching those cooking shows of yours, it’s your turn to watch some manly television.”

  She walked warily around, though the thought of sitting next to him watching anything sounded appealing. Until he turned on wrestling. She sat down not far from him, feeling the humidity emanating from his damp skin. He glanced over in time to catch her wrinkling her nose.

  “Look, even Romeo likes wrestling.” He pointed to the dog who did appear to be sitting there in front of the television watching the antics.

  “I’m going to cook dinner for you from those cooking shows. What are you going to do, wrestle with me?” Her face flushed when she realized how nice that sounded.

  He merely lifted an eyebrow at her, then turned to the show where grunting behemoths were lunging at each other.

  “That’s Cyclone Charlie in the pink tights,” Sam was saying. “Mac the Pounder is in blue.”

  “How nice.”

  “These two have had a rivalry since nineteen ninety-nine.”

  “How nice.”

  “I’m rooting for Mac,” Sam said with a nod, placing his bare feet on the coffee table.
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br />   She wondered if he was trying to turn her off by exposing her to sweating, grunting, very large men. He took a sip of his wine, and leaned back comfortably against the back of the couch.

  She couldn’t help grinning. “If you aren’t the study in contrasts.”

  “Hmm?” he said, hardly taking his eyes off the screen.

  “A P.I. sitting here watching wrestling and drinking wine.”

  “Mm-hm.” When Mac pinned Charlie, Sam leaned forward, moving back and forth along with the men in the ring.

  “You know they’re faking it, don’t you?” she asked finally.

  His mouth dropped open and he gave her a look that reeked of shock. “No.”

  She honestly didn’t know if he was kidding or not. “Sure. Everybody knows that.”

  “Oh, no. Why didn’t anyone tell me? This is worse than finding out Santa Claus and the Easter bunny don’t exist.” He buried his face in his hands murmuring, “Oh no, oh no.” What he was really doing was muffling his laughter.

  She nudged him, and he leaned away with her push, then rocked back against her arm, his face still down. “You’ve ruined it for me. It’ll never be the same.”

  She found herself laughing despite the fact that he was having fun on her. “Oh, all right.” She rather liked having his head pressing against her arm like that.

  He lifted his face into hers, a cocky grin in place. The scent of soap and clean male made it hard to concentrate on his words.

  “See, here’s the thing about watching these kind of shows. It makes you feel smart when you watch those bozos running around in their underwear pretending to annihilate one another. Isn’t America great, that you can do that and get paid for it?” He shook his head, sitting upright again. She was tempted to pull him back, but clasped her fingers together instead.

  “America is great, indeed,” she muttered. Sam was too busy moving with the action to pay much attention. She concentrated on feeling the warmth of his arm whenever he leaned toward her.