Liar, Liar, Heart's Desire

by Suzie Quint

  “What are you so bent out of shape over?” Cleo demanded as they passed the roulette tables.

  “I’m not bent out of shape.”

  “Could have fooled me,” she muttered as she pulled her arm from his grasp.

  Had he had a death grip on her arm all the way from the lounge? He must have been dragging her along the entire way. The image of her feet bouncing over the floor like a cartoon character as he charged ahead almost made him feel bad, but he’d be damned if he’d apologize. If anything, she owed him an apology. He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest, and faced her. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

  “All right. I will.” She rubbed her arm where he’d had a hold of her. “You were rude to Martin.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “He shouldn’t have to. He’s doing us a favor. The least you could have done was be civil.”

  “If Marty’s doing us a favor, it’s because he thinks there’s something in it for him. So what did you promise him while I was at the bar?”

  Cleo glared. “I didn’t promise him anything.”

  “So what was with the finger licking?”

  Was that a flash of guilt on her face? Good. He hoped she felt guilty as the devil.

  “It wasn’t licking. It was . . . He was . . . It was just . . .”

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought. We were there to recruit him to help us. Not to let him seduce you into his bed.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, making him think he’d imagined the guilty expression.

  “You sound jealous.” She made it sound like an accusation.

  He wasn’t jealous. No way. “I just don’t want you giving the story away during pillow talk.”

  Her jaw set. “You have a real knack for insults.”

  “I haven’t even gotten started yet, babe.”

  Her eyes flared at him.

  If he hadn’t been so angry, he’d have stepped back because she looked like she was ready to stab her fingers into his chest and draw out his still-beating heart.

  “Do not call me ‘babe,’” she snarled, pointing a menacing finger at him. “I am not one of your nameless bimbos.”

  It was on the edge of his lips to ask if she was one of Martin’s, but his sense of self-preservation kicked in and stopped him.

  “Fine. I won’t call you babe.” He turned sideways and, with a grandiose sweep of his arm, invited her to precede him.

  She lifted her chin, which thrust her nose into the air, and with a self-righteous sniff, she walked past him with a long, indignant stride.

  He fell in behind her.

  Within two steps he was fighting to keep from smiling. She had such a great walk when she was angry. Those long steps gave her backside a swing no man could resist. It was also apparently an effective cure for a fight because he felt his ire melting away. Her walk was like a barometer of how furious she was. He should figure out a scale, one-to-five maybe, to rate it the way they did with tropical storms.

  When she hit five, he could sell tickets to every red-blooded male within a hundred-mile radius and get filthy, stinking rich.

  ~***~

  Five minutes later, Cleo sat rigid in her seat, glaring at the stage, not trusting herself to speak to Alec. She’d never been so insulted in her entire life. So what if her integrity was hanging by a thread and Martin had overstepped his boundaries? She would never bounce from one man’s bed to another’s. She wasn’t her mother.

  “You deserve better than Martin,” Alec said softly.

  She looked at him, but he had his eyes firmly planted front and center even though there was nothing to see but the stage curtain.

  “What?” she asked.

  “He had his chance with you and he let you down.” He continued to look at the stage as though he didn’t want her to notice he was saying something nice. “He doesn’t deserve another one.”

  Was that his version of an apology? If it was, she’d take it. She had to because it made her heart go a little mushy in her chest. “He’s not getting a second chance,” she said, laying her hand on top of his. It was probably stupid to admit it. If he stopped worrying about her personal relationship with Martin, he might have space in his brain to figure out what was really going on.

  He turned his hand palm up and curled his fingers around hers as the lights dimmed and the red velvet curtain started to rise.

  It was a funny thing about showgirl revues, Cleo thought. Except for one show a week for the family-oriented crowd, the dancers were topless, but after the first few minutes, it stopped feeling weird and became normal. Not worth commenting about.

  The showgirls barely even registered as people. They were bejeweled, sequined creatures with flamboyant plumage. On stage, they became mirror images of each other, blending together to become part of a larger, exotic whole.

  Cleo had to focus to spot Liz in the center of the line of girls with their tall, feathered headpieces and high kicks. She nudged Alec and pointed discreetly.

  He leaned forward as if that would help him see better.

  “Maybe we should have brought binoculars,” Cleo said.

  “Now you start having good ideas,” he said.

  “I was kidding.”

  “I’m not. I’d kill for a pair of opera glasses.” He leaned back in his chair, but his eyes stayed on Liz. “She doesn’t look pregnant to me. What do you think?”

  “I think if she looked pregnant, the girls in her line would have already noticed, and we wouldn’t have to start our own rumors. Besides, we don’t know how far along she is. Even if we did, some women don’t show much until the late stages. I went to school with a girl who was six months pregnant, and no one knew even though we were showering together after gym class.”

  His gaze snapped to her, and she could practically see the movie playing in his head. Images that probably germinated from some porn movie about women in prison.

  “For crying out loud, why is everything about sex with you men?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who brought up women showering together.”

  She fought to keep from smiling. “Oh, shut up and watch the show.”

  Which, in spite of her disappointment over Liz’s indeterminate figure, was exactly what Cleo did.

  It was different from the last time she’d seen it. Not all of it. Some of the numbers she remembered were still there; others had disappeared to be replaced by new ones, but all of it reminded her how much she enjoyed the spectacle of a showgirl revue.

  The costumes, the synchronization, the skits, the girls; it all came together in a way that was more than the sum of its parts. Some of her earliest memories of Annaliese were tinged with awe that her mother was a part of this. Now, even though she no longer performed, Annaliese was an even bigger part of it because this was her choreography, her vision of what the show should be.

  It was magical. Just as it had been when Cleo was a child.

  ~***~

  After the show, Cleo and Alec scoped out the blackjack tables, looking for Robbie, so they could pump him about Liz’s ex. They were out of luck. Willa hadn’t called yet to say she was finished for the night, so Alec suggested they play craps while they waited.

  Cleo hadn’t expected to have fun, but Alec had her blow on his dice for luck when it was his turn to roll. When he won, he kissed her soundly, “to celebrate.” And when he lost, he kissed her then, too, because he “needed” the solace. All the gamblers at the table thought they were sweethearts and started cheering each kiss. It was a little embarrassing, but at the same time, Alec’s willingness to indulge in a public display of affection gave her a soft, fuzzy glow.

  It didn’t hurt their popularity that everyone started winning the first time Alec rolled. The crowd grew from a dozen participants to include about twenty voyeurs. When Willa called, they picked up their chips. A number of people objected to their departure; a few even booed. Gamblers were a superstitious lot.

  “How much did you win?” Cleo asked as
they walked away.

  “About six hundred dollars.” He pulled her to a stop, grabbed her hands, and dropped a fistful of chips into them. “There’s your half.”

  “What? Why am I getting a cut? I didn’t have any money on the table.”

  “I’ve never had a hot streak like that.” He held her hands closed over the chips. “You’re my good luck charm.” He leaned in and kissed her, a soft, seductive, lingering kiss.

  With both hands full of chips, she couldn’t do more than let her mouth answer.

  When he broke the kiss, he drew back a couple of inches and gazed into her eyes. “You’re lucky for me and I don’t mean just here in Vegas.”

  It would have been too easy to fall into his dark eyes and accept his words at face value, but she had always been one to ask why? Why was he suddenly making noises like they weren’t just a Vegas fling? The answer came almost as fast. Because of Martin.

  Either he really was afraid Martin would seduce the story out of her or he couldn’t resist the challenge of a more personal competition. Maybe both.

  She pulled back, ostensibly to dump the chips into her purse. Still looking down into its black maw, she said, “You didn’t think that back in Denver.”

  He snorted. “Back in Denver, I thought you were going to be a pain in the ass. And when Nigel decided I was the one who had to bring you up to speed, I knew you were going to be a pain in my ass. I thought management was making too big a fuss over you. I was wrong.” He tipped her chin up, so she had to look him in the eye. “You’re good at what you do, and we work well together.”

  She was surprised. And a little confused. Alec’s words felt like a major concession. Would he have said it if he wasn’t feeling threatened by Martin? she wondered as she followed him into the cantina where they were meeting Willa.

  The cantina was a casual restaurant where the food was ordered at the counter and brought to the table when it was ready. Even though it was nearly midnight, the place was busy. There were no clocks, of course, because this was Vegas, and this deep in the bowels of the casino, there were no windows, either, to reveal the night outside.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to ask?” Alec asked as they sat down at a table.

  “It’s touchy, I know. I’m going to ask about what Jada said about those pills. Exactly what Jada said. I mean, I think there’s something going on here Willa hasn’t told us, but if I’m wrong and she doesn’t know . . . I don’t want to arouse her suspicions.”

  “I may have a way to soften her up.”

  “How will you do that?”

  Alec just smiled and told her, “Wait and see,” no matter how much she cajoled him.

  Five minutes later, Willa walked in. She waved as she crossed the room.

  “Oh, it feels good to get off my feet.” She fell into the waiting chair. “It was a crazy, hectic night. I swear, Cleo, you called during the only slow minute I had all night. I was lucky I had the breath to talk.”

  Willa would always have breath to talk if she thought there was an ounce of gossip in it.

  She tucked her purse under her chair then looked at Alec. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “I thought as long as we’re here, he should see the show,” Cleo said.

  “Was it your first time?” Willa asked Alec. “Did you like it?”

  He grinned. “I liked it a lot. It’s real eye candy.”

  “Are you hungry?” Cleo asked. “Let’s get some food. My treat.”

  When they were reseated after ordering, Willa asked, “What did you think, Cleo? Is the show as good as it used to be?”

  “Very impressive. The costumes were great. My favorite part, though, is the Can-Can. I’m glad that never changes.”

  “Oh, we have to keep that. It pays homage to the Parisian shows.” She turned toward Alec. “That’s the original inspiration for the showgirls, you know. There used to be showgirls at every major casino on the Strip. Some of the casinos have a few showgirl numbers, but mostly now, it’s just us and Bally’s.”

  “It wouldn’t be Vegas without the showgirls,” Alec said.

  “That’s exactly what Sebastian said when the Tropicana closed their show. Forty-nine years they had The Follies Bergere, and they shut it down.” Willa shook her head. “They should have at least held out for the fifty-year anniversary.”

  “Those are some costumes the women wear,” Alec said. “How many times do they change?”

  “Fourteen times per show. And some of them are heavy. The ones for the Egyptian number? Those weigh seventy pounds. Sometimes I miss dancing, but then I look at that costume and think where I’m at isn’t so bad, you know?”

  A waitress showed up with their food: fish and chips for Cleo and Willa and a cheeseburger and fries for Alec.

  “I imagine the girls have to really watch their weight,” he said as he added catsup to his burger.

  “Yes, but between the shows, rehearsals, and the gym, it’s not usually a problem, you know.”

  “What about Liz?” Alec asked.

  “Well, she’s had some weight fluctuations lately. She dropped several pounds a month or so ago. Stress, I suppose, what with the divorce and all, but she’s put it back on.” She leaned over the table toward Cleo. “And a few besides. Just between us, she should add another round of crunches at the gym because she’s getting a little poochie in the stomach, you know?”

  Cleo and Alec exchanged a meaningful look.

  “I don’t think crunches are going to help,” Alec said dryly. “At least not until spring.”

  Cleo dunked a fish portion in tarter and tried to hide her smile, realizing where he was taking the conversation. Sometimes he was absolutely inspired. And he was about to make Willa’s night. Maybe even her year.

  Willa frowned. “What do you mean? What does the time of year have to do with anything?”

  “Alec is referring to a rumor he heard.” Okay, so it was a rumor he’d heard from her. A rumor they were about to launch with a jet-fueled booster rocket. She took a bite of fish, knowing even a moment’s delay was going to have Willa salivating. Oh damn! That fish was hot, hot, hot! She made a strangling noise as she reached for her glass of ice water.

  She should have spit it out. Instead, she swallowed a piece, and what wasn’t burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth was searing a path down her esophagus. The water helped, and she was able to swallow the rest, but she’d sure as hell lost all her dignity as well as several seconds where she should have been breathing.

  Willa slapped her on the back as though she were a choking victim. “Are you okay?”

  Cleo flapped a hand at her, signaling she was, as she coughed and tried to catch her breath.

  “Here.” Alec thrust a napkin into her hand.

  She wiped at her watery eyes, trying not to smear her makeup.

  Willa leaned even further across the table with an intensity that made her look like a junkie eager to score and asked Alec, “What rumor did you hear?”

  He shot a look at Cleo as though to reassure himself she was okay. He must have decided she was because he turned back to Willa. “Obviously, we don’t know if it’s true or not, but I heard Liz might be pregnant.”

  Willa’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my.” Then, if it was possible, her eyes opened even wider, and she said, “Oh! My!” in a tone ripe with understanding.

  The fire in Cleo’s mouth and throat was well quenched, but she took another sip of water and waited to see what else Willa might say.

  “Well.” Willa collapsed back into her chair. “Isn’t that inconvenient?”

  Alec chuckled. “So you know about Sebastian.”

  “You mean his vasectomy? Oh yes. Anyone who was around when he and Loretta split up knew about that.”

  “There’s some speculation that Liz doesn’t know,” Alec said.

  “She might not. Geez, she would have been still in school back then, you know?”

  “We’d have been sophomores, I
think,” Cleo said. “Maybe juniors. Too wrapped up in our world to pay much attention.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have told her?” Alec asked.

  “Knowledge is power,” Willa said as though that explained everything.

  “Yes, but she was his wife. It was sort of relevant.”

  “Well, he didn’t tell Loretta, and he was married to her when he did it.”

  Cleo had to give her that point.

  “Any idea who the father is?” Willa asked hopefully.

  “We were hoping you’d have a guess,” Cleo said. The rumor would circulate faster if people were guessing, and she was all for that. The more velocity it had, the sooner the cops might hear it and start looking at Liz again. “There’s something else I want to ask you.”

  Willa looked at her, but Cleo could see in her eyes she was still thinking about the rumor they’d just planted.

  “Jada said you told her she should use Annaliese’s muscle relaxers to slip Sebastian a Mickey.”

  “What? No. I never told her to do that. Why would I?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think I’d remember a conversation like that.” She paused. “Obviously, this supposedly happened before Sebastian died.”

  Cleo nodded. “Why would she say it if it wasn’t true?”

  “Oh, well, maybe someone else told her. She gets confused sometimes. She doesn’t always remember things the way they happen.” Then she gasped. “You don’t suppose Liz’s ex is the father, do you?”

  Cleo shot a glance at Alec. His brow was creased as if he wasn’t sure what to believe, which reflected her feelings exactly. She couldn’t deny that Jada confused things. Not when she’d called Cleo in Denver, saying Annaliese had been arrested. Most people had fluid memories. Jada’s was probably more fluid than most’s.

  Hm. The fluidity of memories could make an interesting article for The Word. Maybe she should suggest it to Alec.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Stay on point. Which was . . . oh yes. Liz’s ex-husband.

  “You’ve mentioned her ex before,” Alec said. “What do you know about him?”

  “He was . . .” Willa’s brow furrowed. “You know I still can’t remember his name?”