Think Before You Speak

by D. A. Bale

  “I’ll have to take my date home. How about around eleven-thirty?”

  “Deal.”

  Whatever Reggie had planned to do in the men’s room was forgotten as he straightened his suit and strolled from the hallway. A peek around the corner saw him seated at a table near the center of the restaurant, away from windows and prying eyes. Second shocker of the night?

  His date was female.

  ***

  After dragging out dinner as long as possible before returning to the hotel, Nick was none too happy with my excuse of not packing enough condoms and needing to buy more. Hey, I had to come up with something believable in order to sneak away to meet Reggie. I doubted if mentioning running into a friend from Dallas who needed to talk would’ve satisfied him either. Still, I made my apologies, told him I didn’t expect to be long, and mentioned he could wait up until my return.

  Probably the wrong choice of words, I realized when a wicked smile leaned into his lips. That was gonna cost me later – but you’d hear no complaints from my end.

  Reggie sat at a cast iron table near the pool gate when I entered the quiet and empty atrium scented with a chlorine bite strong enough to burn nostril hairs. He wore the same strange attire – for him anyway. Same good looks for a man approaching the far side of middle-age. Completely incongruous to what I’d always known about him, but right about in line with what I’d always suspected lay somewhere buried in the past. My brain kept trying to reboot to smooth over the dichotomy of seeing Reggie appearing – for lack of a better word – normal.

  The contents of a glass of wine from the hotel bar swirled before he took a sip then noticed my approach and held a second one out to me as I sat. I gladly took it and swallowed half the contents in one gulp.

  “Was that your boyfriend?” Reggie benignly asked without the usual accent.

  I think I actually growled. “Just a friend.”

  An eyebrow arch filled with doubt passed my way. “Staying in the same room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sleeping in the same bed?”

  I crossed my arms. “Maybe.”

  That earned me a snort before Reggie turned serious. “I’ll bet you have a few questions for me.”

  I nodded. “More than a few.”

  A sheepish frown marred his sculpted face. A guy his age should have a healthy dose of wrinkles already, which made me wonder if he’d resorted to Botox to lie about his age on a dating profile. No matter. From what Rochelle had shared about her experience with the online dating world, it was pretty much a given.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

  “Mad? Nah.” I paused. “Confused? Maybe a bit.”

  “Where should I begin then?”

  I drained the rest of the liquid courage. “How about I start?”

  Reggie stared at me, confusion swirling across the angular planes of his face. “Okay.”

  I took a deep breath before plunging ahead. “I know all about your juvie record.”

  Eyes bugged out in unexpected shock. “Say what?”

  “And your real name,” I continued. “I’ve known for a long time.”

  Fear swept across the table and practically punched me in the gut. For a second I was afraid Reggie would keel over, and I’d be forced to either perform CPR or explain a rather awkward situation to my mother.

  CPR might be easier.

  “D-does your mother know?” Reggie stuttered.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. No worries from that corridor.”

  “Then how…?”

  “I used to date a Texas Ranger. Matter of fact, we’re still…friends.” I almost choked on the last word. Still wasn’t sure what to call Zeke. Former lover? Recent landlord? My nemesis?

  “Go on,” Reggie nudged.

  “Well see, I have this ability to read people. See past the BS,” I explained.

  “I’m well aware of your intelligence, though why you stay in a dead-end bartender position, I’ll never…”

  “Anyway, I’ve suspected since I was a kid that your German accent was fake and that you were playing a role of some kind. But it wasn’t until I mentioned it to my…Ranger Zeke and he decided to look you up, that I found out about Reggie Brown’s past gang association,” I finished blurting for all the world to hear – that is, if there’d been anyone else near the pool at this hour.

  In case you weren’t yet aware, I have this disease. You might know the one – foot-in-mouth. Has nothing to do with cows, unless you too have developed a taste for the funk and flavor of toe jam mixed with shoe leather.

  The sucked-in breath released and devolved into a crestfallen stare. Welling tears almost stopped me for a second. “But I’ve never told anyone,” I soldiered on. “Well, except for Zeke, but he wouldn’t say anything either. I swear.”

  Reggie sucked in staccato breaths like an asthmatic about to pass out from lack of oxygen. “I thought I’d put all of that behind me when I left Texas for New York. Changed my name. My persona. It took years to get that accent down just right.”

  “No doubt,” I said, patting his hand and willing him to take a deep breath before I went hunting down a paper bag. Not sure how I’d locate one in today’s recyclable world.

  “When I came back, I’d left Reggie Brown behind in the City and returned as Reginald von Braun, designer extraordinaire.” Arms spread wide in exaggerated animation before drooping down the sides of the chair with a sigh. “No one will allow juvenile delinquent Reggie Brown into their home to transform it.”

  “You don’t know that,” I offered in a weak attempt to make him feel better.

  “Oh, yes I do,” Reggie returned. “You were lucky to grow up in that world. You’ve no idea how catty those people can be to an outsider.”

  That’s where Reggie was wrong. Sometimes being a part of that world, where wealth and power were mere façades to hide the rotting carcass hidden beneath the surface, brought only heartache and misery. I knew firsthand the catty antics of that crowd – and the freedom of breaking away from it. But every choice had a price, and the reaper had come to collect on Reggie’s.

  Sorry for the horror movie reference.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I ventured.

  “No, I’m not really gay,” Reggie whispered.

  Whoa! Now look who has a strong BS meter. “Really?”

  “It was all part of the persona I built while in New York. The gay community there is vibrant and full of talented people in the world of design, and I saw it as a way to make a splash and rub shoulders with some of the best. But when you’re only pretending…” He rubbed a manicured hand across his cheek, which called into question how much pretending was going on. “I’ve felt awful and disgusted with myself for years because I used those friendships to further my own career.”

  “And you’ve only pretended for thirty years?”

  With mocha skin it’s hard to distinguish a blush, but the pause made me want to kick myself for asking a question that was clearly none of my business. Damn my disease-ridden mouth.

  As my mother always says, when in doubt, redirect. “So was that woman you had dinner with tonight your girlfriend?”

  He shrugged. “We met online a few weeks ago and have talked on the phone since. With minimal clients in the San Antonio area, I thought a bit of distance offered a safer option to meet people. Far enough away from my usual circle while still close enough to make any potential relationship work.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Dressed like this, who would notice, much less recognize me?” Reggie asked. “What are the chances I’d run into you?”

  “One in a million?” I quipped.

  Reggie cradled his head in his hands with a groan. “So now what do I do? Work is booming. I’ve got an interested buyer for the business. I’m all set to retire on top, and now this.”

  “Go on as before,” I said, trying to avoid the idea of life without my flamboyant friend. “I’ll always keep your secret, Reggie.”
>
  “What about your Ranger friend?”

  “I can talk to him if you’d like.”

  He waved the offer away with a sharp flick of his wrist like the Reggie I knew and loved. “No need. If a Texas Ranger can’t be trusted, we’re all in trouble.”

  “Here, here.” I raised my glass and licked the remaining drops. “I really need to get back to my room. When are you heading home?”

  “Tuesday morning. The job awaits,” he said in his usual dramatic fashion before wilting like a flower on the vine. “I really thought I’d left it all behind…until recently.”

  “You mean besides tonight?”

  “Well…yes.” A tear snaked down his cheek and left a splotch on his lovely suit.

  I reached across the table and grasped his baby soft hand. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Aw, Victoria. If only you were the one I had to worry about, this would all blow over like the latest political scandal.”

  “You’re scaring me, Reggie. Who else knows?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. But whoever it is I…I’m being blackmailed.”

  Chapter Six

  There’s something about the Alamo that brings the fight out of any native Texan. Morning, noon, or night, standing on the flagstones of the complex made you just want to call out that venerated, barnstorming battle cry – Remember the Alamo!

  Maybe it was just me. Or perhaps more that I wanted to string someone up for going after dear Reggie, wherever that man was tonight.

  Nah. It might be something a little more visceral – like jealousy.

  Monday night I stood waiting inside the edge of a flashing photography perimeter set up around the Church, the most familiar and recognizable of the buildings in the Alamo complex. The massive photo lights were bright enough to sunburn the average person on this warm night, with flashes in such rapid succession as to induce seizures. I got nauseous if I watched too long – or maybe that was the alcohol.

  After the latest dizzying session ended, colorful gel lights splashed over the limestone walls in a kaleidoscope of color as worker bees changed up the set for the next shoot segment. Gawkers and passersby were in short supply this late in the evening, but that didn’t stop the few strolling by from getting a birds-eye view of plenty of skin.

  I’d always assumed modeling was about the clothes. My mistake.

  When Nick came tromping from the make-up tent in boots and wearing nothing but a white speedo and Stetson with a couple of six-shooters holstered low on his hips, I got to wondering exactly what he was supposed to be modeling. After a skimpily attired female with a black hat nuzzled up to him wearing the feminine version of the boots Nick sported, I realized the footwear were the fashionable items up for bid in the next make-out – er, photography session.

  The little green-eyed monster of jealousy clawed onto my back when the photographer had her mount Nick like a stallion. The glass of wine I held emptied right quick, and before shards embedded permanently in my palm, I had to search out the services table for another one.

  Now I understood how models stayed so skinny. No food, but water and wine flowed in abundance. The offerings seemed appropriate, considering the church location.

  Irritation heated my collar when another girl handed the female model a lasso and riding crop. I thought for sure I’d send up unintended smoke signals any second. Instead I convinced the beverage attendant to hand over a bottle of whatever was handy. Champagne. Not my first choice in preparations from the vine, but it worked in a pinch.

  This was fashion modeling? Seemed more like one step shy of Porn Stars ‘R Us – and in front of an historic church, no less. Not sure if the Daughters of the Republic of Texas would consider this display an offensive desecration of the historic site, or if they’d be lining up to get their pictures taken with Nick.

  Okay, I seemed to be channeling Mom and the pious purveyors tonight. Not a pleasant comparison. Hmm. How much had I drank?

  Time to get a grip. This was Nick’s job, and I had to deal with it instead of acting like a jealous female. A ball and chain. Like a…girlfriend?

  Oh, hey-to-the-nay. I needed a distraction right quick.

  “No, I’m here to see Victoria Bohanan.”

  Ask and you shall receive. Reggie’s pleasant tenor broke through the darkening haze, and I hustled my heated haunches over to the guarded check-in set up around the shootout. “It’s okay, guys. He’s with me.”

  The two security guards gave me the onceover before one checked a clipboard. “Vicki, right? Says here you’re a guest too.”

  “That’s right.” I hiccupped. “Of Nick’s.” I pointed to the area of flashing lights where the female model had lassoed a stallion and was pawing at his pecs. And I’d thought those were all mine.

  “Guests can’t have guests, ma’am.”

  “Just as well. Care for a walk, Reggie?” I asked, handing over the bottle to the clipboard-less guard. “I could use a little fresh air.”

  Arm draped through Reggie’s, we strolled across the cobbled square toward the gardens. “You’re late,” I admonished. “If you’d waited any longer to arrive, you would’ve had to scrape a female off the limestone walls of that church.”

  Reggie chuckled, the bastard. “Can I assume you mean that model over there and not you?”

  “Hey, I’m not drunk.” The sudden stumble betrayed my words.

  “Hmm?”

  “It’s these damn cobblestones,” I complained. “They were not made for walkin’ in heels.”

  “Of course not.”

  The world righted itself when I stopped leaning so heavily on Reggie’s arm. Okay, maybe I was a little tipsy, but I wasn’t yet slurring my words which meant I was on this side of full-blown inebriation. I’m a good ol’ Texas gal – a woman who could hold her own in a catfight and hold her liquor.

  “So why are you so late?” I asked. “Afraid I’d outed you?”

  “I outed myself, if you recall.”

  I puckered up and gave him my best raspberry, which ended up a little more slobbery and wet than I’d intended – and tasted of too much champagne. “Apples and oranges.”

  “I must admit,” Reggie began hesitantly. “I was feeling rather paranoid after our brief conversation last night.”

  I patted his arm. “How many times does a girl have to promise not to tell a soul?”

  The dark stare penetrated mine as if he attempted to read my fuzzy mind. Realization swept over me like a hail of bullets and cannon fire, which wiped the jealousy-induced smoke from my brain.

  “Wait a minute.” I stopped walking and faced him. “You don’t think I’m the one blackmailing you, do you?”

  “The thought did cross my mind throughout the long and labored night of tossing and turning,” he admitted. Then he released a gut-wrenching sigh. “But the more I thought about it, the less I could see you participating in such a twisted game.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Besides, you’re more the type to storm into my shop and blurt out your findings in front of staff and customer alike.”

  A knowing grin stretched across his face and made me want to smack him. But I had to acknowledge the truth of his statement with a shrug. Tact and discretion were things my mother had tried to teach me – and failed. Don’t blame the teacher for the student’s lack of focus. Or caring.

  “I can vouch for Zeke too,” I offered in reassurance as we took up our stroll again along the lighted path.

  “Like I said last night, if we can’t trust a Texas Ranger, then we’re all in trouble,” Reggie said.

  “A canoe without a paddle.”

  “Like a ship minus a rudder.”

  “Or a sailboat without a breeze.”

  “A uh…,” Reggie faltered as he tried to finish our running game of witticisms. “A kayak without a river of rapids?”

  “Eh,” I buzzed. “Good one, but time’s up.”

  I had Reggie to thank for being quick on the draw when it ca
me to corny quips. As a little girl, we’d played the game as a way to keep me occupied while he oversaw renovations and redecorating projects around my parents’ mansion. Back then it took a little while to think of a corresponding response, which gave him time to direct furniture placement or respond to a staff question concerning paint or fabric. The game was his way of making a too curious and chatty child feel like she was a part of the action, at least until said child grew up and got a little too good for his comfort – no matter how the alcohol-induced fog clouded her mind.

  “The student has become the master,” Reggie announced with a chuck to my chin. “I pass the baton.”

  I chuckled before sobering with a hiccup and suppressing a burp. Another reason I don’t care for champagne – too many bubbles make for potential embarrassment. Belching in public may work in certain European settings, but Americans tend to frown on the unladylike practice. It’s one area in which my mom and I tend to agree.

  “So this blackmail,” I started. “The letter arrived a few weeks ago?”

  “Letters,” Reggie clarified, drawing out the ‘s’.

  “Can I see them?”

  “They’re not something I care to keep on my person. There’s the possibility I’ll lose them or forget to remove them from pockets before having Han take my laundry to the cleaners.”

  “Smart.” It definitely wouldn’t help the situation if Reggie’s assistant got wind of scandal. The rest of the staff would hear about it within five minutes. Han was a likeable guy, but he could sure talk the hooves off a horse when he got going. “When we return to Dallas though, I’ll want to look at them.”

  Reggie hung his head with a long, drawn-out and exaggerated sigh this time. Divas.

  “Hey,” I said, “you’ve asked for my help. This is me helping.”

  “Just remember not to breathe a word of this in a text, email, or voicemail message.”

  “Paranoid are we?”

  “Don’t I have reason to be?”

  “You got me there,” I admitted. “So the focus of the letters is primarily on revealing your past?”

  Reggie nodded.