Sandwiched

by Jennifer Archer

Oh, help. I’m dizzy. “I don’t want to get you disbarred.”

  “I promise that’s not going to happen. And even if it did, I’m dead sure kissing you would be worth giving up the practice of law.” He leans closer.

  I start to go for it, then waver and scoot nearer to my door. Even if I weren’t his client, kissing Nate would be wrong. I’m not ready to get involved. Not with him or anyone.

  I offer my hand. “How about a handshake, instead? Just in case a kiss would be breaking some lawyer oath you took and don’t remember.”

  Nate leans back, shrugs. “Sure,” he says, “whatever you want.” The smile in his eyes tells me he’s well aware that it wouldn’t take much coaxing to change my mind.

  He reaches for my hand, but instead of taking it, his fingertips brush mine. So soft, that touch, yet it makes the muscles in my stomach tighten. He slides his fingers up my palm and when our thumbs lock, he clasps my hand gently, strokes the pad of his thumb over the top of mine. And all the time he does this, he stares into my eyes, looking very sure of himself. Which he should be, since I’m melting; if I don’t get out of this car in the next few seconds nothing will remain of me but a puddle on the floorboard. No doubt about it.

  I grab the door handle, pull it, climb out of the car. “Good night, Nate.” My knees almost buckle as I bend down to look in at him.

  “I’ll see you at Friday’s appointment. Five o’clock. Don’t miss this one.”

  That again. “What’s with you and imaginary Friday afternoon appointments? We don’t need to meet. You said yourself the suit’s in waiting mode.”

  He holds my gaze so long I don’t feel the chill in the air anymore. “Listen to your attorney, ma’am. He’ll keep you out of trouble.”

  “Or get me into it.”

  “That depends on your definition of trouble.”

  “I’m looking at it.”

  “I hear some things in life are worth it.” His cheek twitches. “Trouble, that is.”

  CHAPTER 20

  To: Erin@friendmail.com

  From: Noah@friendmail.com

  Date: 01/20 Saturday

  Subject: hi

  Erin,

  thanks for letting me come over the other night. have you decided if you’ll play with us? i know you love Cateye. whatever happens between you and me, you’re still part of the band. just show up by eleven. we’ll be there. i promise not to push you about anything else. love, noah

  Suz and I get to The Beat at ten forty-five. We take a quick walk around the club, squeezing through the crowd, saying hello to people we recognize. Noah’s e-mail isn’t the only reason I decided to come tonight. Ever since I saw those pictures in Newsflash I’ve been freaked out about being followed. And not only by reporters, by Nana and Mr. Winston. I’m sure that picture of them was taken at The Beat. I can’t believe I didn’t have a clue. If anyone’s following me tonight, I plan to catch them in action.

  Suz tugs my arm and leans close to my ear so I can hear her over the noise. “Come on. I’m dying of thirst and you need to get on stage. Besides, no one’s watching you.”

  “Not yet. Or maybe they’re just hiding. Obviously they’re good at it.”

  “You are so paranoid.”

  “And you wouldn’t be? You saw the pictures. I’m completely humiliated! In more ways than one.”

  Her face squinches up. “I think it’s funny.”

  “You only think it’s funny because you aren’t the one getting teased.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, but keeps on laughing. “I promise while you’re playing I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Noah, Tonto and Reese are tuning up when I get on stage. “Hey, girlie!” Tonto nods at me and smiles. “Glad you could make it.

  “Relieved, too,” Reese adds. “The crowd complains when you don’t play with us.”

  Noah stays quiet, but his expression tells me exactly how happy he is that I’m here. His eyes say I’m the only person in the place who matters, the only person in the world. Which makes it really hard for me to stay cool toward him. Not that I’m mad or anything; I’m not. I just want to stop caring about him, so it won’t hurt so much when he leaves for good.

  The entire time we play, I search the crowd, but it’s hard to see faces since we’re in the spotlight, and they’re in the dark. The dance floor is a sea of swaying bodies, heads bobbing like buoys.

  At midnight, we take a break. Suz has soft drinks waiting for us at her table. While she flirts with Tonto, I gulp my Coke, then take off to pee. A long line stretches from the door of the women’s restroom. At the head of it, I spot someone who doesn’t fit in with this crowd.

  “Do you mind?” I’m half angry, half nervous as I weave my way through the line. “Sorry. I’m in the band. I have to hurry.” A few people grumble, but most seem to understand as I push toward the bathroom.

  Once inside, I glance beneath each of the four stalls, pausing on black polyester slacks scrunched around ankles above a pair of flat shoes. Black leather lace-up Naturalizers. Cushiony soles. Shoes made for comfort, not fashion. Easy on the bunions.

  Facing the stall, I lean against the sink across from it, my arms crossed. A girl comes out of stall number three and glares at me since I’m blocking the only unoccupied sink. She starts to say something, but I press my finger to my lips and point at the shoes.

  The girl’s forehead wrinkles and she gives me a have-you-gone-insane? look. But I guess she wants to see what happens, because she stands beside me, her eyes on stall four. Humming starts behind it. A church hymn. I cover my mouth and smile. Sure, I’m pissed, but I can’t be too mad.

  The feet shuffle. The polyester pants unscrunch. The toilet flushes. After a couple of seconds, the stall door opens and Nana steps out. Her magnified eyes pop wider when she sees me. “Oh, Erin. Hello, Sugar.” Her eyelids flutter like moth wings and she fidgets with her blouse, fanning it away from her chest. “It’s hot in here. I’ve never heard the band sound better. You and the boys are really rocking.”

  The girl beside me snickers as Nana nods at the sink. “Excuse me. I’d better wash up.”

  I don’t move. “What are you doing here, Nana?”

  “Why, dancing, Sugar. What else?”

  As if. “We don’t play the kind of music people your age dance to.”

  She looks all offended. “Says who? Since when, Erin Dupree, did you become an expert on people my age?”

  “Nana.”

  “I’ll have you know, Oliver and I come here often and we have the time of our lives. And I can’t speak for my own dancing, but that old man puts some of those young dudes out there to shame.”

  Laughter erupts. All at once I realize the restroom is packed with people. Heads poke through the open door. Everyone watches Nana and me.

  I grab my grandmother’s hand. “Come on.”

  “But I didn’t wash up.” She glances back at the sink. “Neither did you.”

  I pull her through the giggling crowd. Oliver stands outside the door, sweating like a rock star. A really old balding one. “Well, hello there, Miss Erin.” He chuckles. “I was starting to worry about your grandma she’d been gone so long.”

  “How are you, Mr. Winston?”

  “Exhausted.” He lifts a foot. “My dogs are howling. How about a slow tune in the next set?”

  “Sure,” I say. He’s so funny, it’s hard to stay annoyed.

  “Cateye’s in top form tonight. The crowd’s hopping like cold water on a hot griddle.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Winston.” I nod toward my table. “Come meet the band.”

  As we work our way through the crowd, I’m totally shocked to hear kids call out to my grandmother and Oliver like they’re old friends.

  “Hey, Belle. Ollie,” a guy wearing a ball cap yells.

  Nana waves. “Trey! You shaved your beard. You look so handsome.”

  A girl rubs the guy’s cheek. “The kissing’s better, too.”

  Oliver chuckles. “Now, didn’t I tell you she’d
think so, Trey?”

  I’m not believing this. I turn to Nana. “Who are they?”

  “Our friends Trey and Megan.”

  “Where’d you meet them?”

  “Why, here, Sugar.”

  When we reach the table, everyone stops talking and looks up. Suz says, “Oh.” Noah’s mouth drops open. I make introductions. “You guys keep Mr. Winston company while Nana and I go outside to the car to talk.”

  The guys pull out my empty chair for him, and Suz tosses me her keys. Oliver launches into a story as Nana and I head for the exit.

  At the door, a two-hundred-fifty-pound tattooed bouncer in leather, stops us. “How ya doin, Belle?”

  “Fine, Bongo,” Nana gushes. “And you?”

  He rubs his temples. “My ears are ringing again. I got another headache.”

  Nana plants fists on her hips. “You didn’t buy those ear-plugs like I told you to, now did you?”

  Bongo looks all sheepish. “No, ma’am.”

  “You’d better, young man. There’s no such thing as an eardrum transplant, and working around all this loud music night in, night out, is bound to ruin your hearing if you don’t do something.”

  He opens the door for us and grins. “You’re right, Belle. I’ll buy some tomorrow. I promise.”

  As we walk outside, I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Once inside Suzanna’s car, I turn on the ignition and crank up the heater.

  “Now, I know you’re not happy with me, Erin, but—”

  “How long have you been following me?”

  “Since the second night I watched you climb out your bedroom window.”

  My stomach does a somersault. No wonder everyone here knows her. My grandmother’s a regular. I feel defensive, but ashamed, too. I know she must’ve been worried about me. And tired of following me around to make sure I’m okay.

  “This is not a safe place for girls your age to come to alone. Especially if no one knows where you are.”

  “Nana…things have changed since you were seventeen.”

  “Yes, they have. The world’s even more dangerous now. I couldn’t just sit back and hope for the best while you stayed out until the wee hours. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “I know that.” My throat aches, like a pebble’s stuck in it. “You didn’t tell Mom?”

  “No.” Folding her hands in her lap, Nana lifts her chin. “That’s probably a mistake on my part. But I don’t want to be the one to tell her, Erin. I want you to.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I know your mother seems unreasonable at times.”

  I huff a laugh.

  Nana surprises me by laughing, too. “Her mind’s as closed and locked tight as a safe at the bank, isn’t it? Especially when it comes to allowing you to grow up.” She stops laughing and gets all serious. “Your mother went through some things when she was hardly older than you. She wants to spare you the same hurts she suffered.”

  “Was it a guy?”

  “That’s not for me to tell. Go to her. Ask her your questions. Tell her how you feel. I’m sure the two of you can find some middle ground. Just try not to lose your temper while you’re doing it.”

  “Tell her that.”

  “I have, and I will again.” Nana heaves a sigh. “I understand your need for more freedom, it’s just your method of getting it I don’t like. I hate that you haven’t spoken to your mother since those photographs hit the news. That’s not good for either of you. You need each other. I know things haven’t been easy for you since the divorce, but they haven’t been easy for her, either.”

  Outside my window, cars speed past on the street, like it’s early instead of after midnight. Where are they going? Are the people inside them as confused as me? Are their lives as big a mess? “I’ll talk to Mom,” I say. “I promise. Just give me some time. It won’t be easy.”

  “Until you do,” Nana points a finger at me, her voice teasing but firm, “I’ll have my eye on you, young lady.”

  I laugh. “You just don’t want to give up the dancing and the music. You like it. I can tell. Just don’t break a hip or something.”

  “Don’t worry about that. My hips are well-padded.” Nana smiles. “You, your mother and I are more alike than you might think.”

  “I’ve never heard you lose your temper like we do.”

  “When I was your age…well that’s a story for another time.” With a nod at the building she says, “Better get back inside. Your fans are waiting, and I’ve got my second wind.”

  As we start toward the entrance to The Beat, I feel lighter than I have in weeks, like I’m walking on air without the big burden of my lie weighing me down. But then I think of the promise I just made, and the air turns to quicksand. Nana expects me to do the impossible.

  Talk to Mom.

  CHAPTER 21

  From The Desk of

  Belle Lamont

  Dear Harry,

  I’ve been under the weather today with a stuffy nose. Well deserved, I suppose, for staying out so late and in such cool weather.

  Harry, I’ll just speak my mind and be done with it.

  Oliver Winston asked me to marry him. I haven’t given him an answer yet. But I won’t lie to you; I want to say “yes.”

  What’s wrong with me? How can I feel like I do? Happy with another man? Excited about a new life? A life without you in it? I think of our years together, how full and rich they were, and I tell myself that should be enough. That I’m selfish to want more when we had so much.

  I’m ashamed to admit that, when I’m with Oliver, for a time I can almost forget the pain of losing you. I feel alive again. Is that wrong? Am I betraying you by loving him?

  I do love him, Harry. I’m finally happy again. It’s been so long.

  At Christmas, I asked that you give me your blessing to move on, that, somehow, you let me know you accept my decisions, whatever they might be. I’ve watched and waited, and you’ve yet to give me a sign. Please don’t make me wait forever. Time is passing, and I’m not a young woman. Until then, please know I’ll love you forever.

  As always, your yellow rose,

  Belle

  CHAPTER 22

  Cecilia Dupree

  Day Planner

  Tuesday, 01/23

  1.

  8:30—Ask Willa today’s schedule—forgot to write down.

  2.

  Resume training Max.

  3.

  Ask Erin out for Tex-Mex tonight, just the two of us.

  Mrs. Stein is sweeping her front porch when I go out to get the morning paper. “CiCi!” she calls. “I’m so glad to see you.” She props the broom against the house, scoops up Pom Pom, then starts across the yard in her slippers and long flowery caftan robe.

  Oh boy. I grab the paper and force a smile. One good thing about starting my day with Mrs. Stein, the hours ahead can only improve. “How are you?”

  “Fine, hon.” She purses her poofy lips. Strange. I’m sure she’s always been thin-lipped. No, make that lipless.

  Mrs. Stein must notice me staring because she purses her mouth and turns her head left, then right. “Well, what do you think? I had them done last week. I’ve always wanted Cupid’s bow lips.”

  Poor Mrs. Stein. Her lips look more like Cupid’s buttocks than Cupid’s bow. “Wow,” I say. “They’re incredible.”

  Pom Pom licks the topic of conversation, making me shudder and Mrs. Stein squeal. She ruffles the puff of curly hair atop the poodle’s head and says in a high-pitched tone, “Pom Pom likes them, too!”

  After a moment, her expression shifts to one of concern. She places a hand on my wrist. “How are you holding up?”

  “I—”

  “I don’t blame you for hiding out.” Her brows aren’t penciled on yet, so I can’t be sure, but I think one hikes.

  “Well, actually—”

  “How in the world did you get yourself in such a situation?” She scans the block, as if the
neighbors might hear my dirty little secret. “The things the media’s saying…how humiliated you must be. I can’t imagine.”

  “Mrs.—”

  “I don’t understand it. Neither does Henry Bocock. You remember Henry. The patient I sent you? Strapping bear of a man? Rugged? Nice jewelry?”

  She means You-Can-Call-Me-Hank, but since it’s against the rules for me to acknowledge seeing someone, even though she referred him, I only blink and smile.

  Leaning closer, Mrs. Stein gives me a woman-to-woman grin. “I do so love a man with a little hair on his chest, don’t you?”

  A little? The man was Teen Wolf grown up.

  “Well, just so you’ll know, Henry said that after only one meeting, he’s certain you’re too much of a lady to be involved in something so sordid, and I agree.”

  “I appreciate your support, Mrs. Stein. Mr. Bocock’s, too. I hope you’ll tell him.”

  “You can do that yourself. He plans to make another appointment.”

  Lovely.

  “So, CiCi.” Her eyes blink sympathy as artificial as her nipped and tucked face. “I’m here for you, hon. Tell me what started all this nonsense.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m not busy. Come on over for coffee. I have a fresh pot on.”

  “Another time, maybe.” I glance at my watch. “I have to get to the office. But thanks.” I make my escape.

  Willa’s on the phone when I arrive. Since I never book anything prior to nine, I know I’m not late for an appointment, but I’ve been so scattered lately, and I hate not knowing what’s ahead in my day. I grab a diet shake from the kitchen fridge, then head for my office, mouthing for Willa to join me when she finishes on the phone.

  After a couple of minutes, she comes in. “Good morning, boss.” She eyes my breakfast. “What? No coffee and Southern Comfort?”

  “Not yet. Check in with me again in a couple of hours. Do I have a nine o’clock?”

  “Not anymore. The toe sucker just cancelled.” When I scowl, she says, “You know, girl. The foot-fetish guy?”

  I laugh. “Darn. He always keeps me posted on the best shoe sales. Why’d he cancel?”