Moon Over Miami: A Romantic Comedy

by Jane Graves

  Mark was glad Gwen had arrived late this evening. She'd been relegated to the back of the lot next to a very large SUV, which thankfully would help shield them from sight. Little did she know, though, that while she sat inside sipping a glass of wine, her car was becoming a crime statistic.

  When they reached the car, Liz looked left and right for witnesses, then ducked down beside the rear tire. A few seconds later Mark heard the hiss of air escaping.

  "This is crazy," he whispered.

  "Will you lighten up? I'm letting air out of a tire, not committing murder.”

  The hissing seemed to go on for hours, but the only people Mark saw were on the other side of the lot, filtering in and out of the club. Her mission finally accomplished, Liz stood up and gave Mark a big grin. "It's a perfect plan, isn't it? No woman can ignore a man who comes to her rescue. Even Gwen."

  As they hurried back across the parking lot, Mark had to admit Liz's plan had possibilities. Gwen would find her flat tire, become understandably distressed, and then he'd just happen to come along to change it for her, thereby rescuing her, thereby earning her gratitude and goodwill, and--

  "Wait a minute!" Mark grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her to a halt. "This is never going to work. She's going to remember me from last night. She'll blow me off again, flat tire or no flat tire."

  Liz dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Nah. Guys hit on her all the time. She won't remember."

  "I think she will."

  "If you're worried, just take your glasses off. She won't recognize you then."

  "If I can't see, I won't recognize her either."

  Liz held out her hand. "Give them to me."

  "No! I'm not going to--"

  "You're right. She might recognize you. Do you want one strike against you before you even get started?"

  Mark glared at Liz, then yanked his glasses off and put them in her hand. She stepped back five paces and held up two fingers.

  "How many?"

  Mark squinted. "Two."

  "Right."

  "Plus the two beside them makes four."

  Liz folded his glasses and tucked them into her apron pocket. "No problem. Whatever you see, just divide it in half. You're an accountant. You can probably do the math in your head."

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Don't take this wrong. Liz. But you're nuts."

  "Now, I resent that," she said, a smile playing across her lips. "I'm not nuts. Sometimes I just think outside the box."

  No kidding. This woman was so far outside the box that no force in the universe could stuff her back inside.

  "Now, do you remember what I told you to do?" Liz asked.

  "I can handle it."

  "I know you can." She smoothed his jacket lapels, then gave his cheek a friendly pat. He blinked with surprise, then reminded himself that Liz was just one of those overly friendly, touchy-feely types and it didn't mean a thing. Still, he noted how warm her hand felt, and he had the fleeting thought that he wouldn't mind it staying there a little longer.

  "But it might be a good idea to get that uptight look off your face," Liz added.

  Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. Why was this so hard?

  Because he was from the Lucky Seven Trailer Park in Waldon Springs, Tennessee--a place women like Gwen saw only in their worst nightmares. And she was going to know right away, just as she did last night, that he wasn’t the kind of guy for her.

  "How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?" Liz asked.

  Mark blinked. "Is this a joke?"

  "No, I'm from the Society of American Psychologists and I'm taking a poll. Of course it's a joke."

  "Then spare me, will you? I can do without humor right now."

  "Wrong. I think you need all the humor you can get."

  She continued to stare at him until he sighed with resignation. "Okay. I'll bite. How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?"

  "Only one. But it has to really want to change."

  In spite of the fact that the joke barely registered on the comedy meter, Mark couldn't help smiling. If Gwen were as easy to talk to as Liz, his communication problems would be solved.

  "Bad joke," he said.

  "The worst," Liz agreed. She put her hand against his arm, then leaned toward him and dropped her voice. "Rule number one for attracting the opposite sex. Do that more often."

  "Do what more often?"

  "Smile. Just the way you did right there. Women can't resist it."

  Her voice was soft and breathy, and as he glanced down to where her hand rested against his arm, he felt an unexpected flush of warmth, his senses suddenly on red-alert. He jerked his gaze back up, only to have it waylaid by Liz's body-hugging emerald-green top. Odd or not, she had some obvious physical assets a man would have to be in a coma to miss.

  Finally he managed to tear his gaze away from her blouse and what lay beneath it, but when he met her soft green eyes, he froze all over again. Caught in her gaze, his heart missed a beat or two, and the warm flush he'd felt the moment she'd touched him had magnified, multiplying the heat of the Florida twilight and making him even warmer than before. As she continued to stare at him with a playful, engaging smile, he could see now that despite her strange wardrobe, her wild, untamed hair and her bizarre thought process, she really was attractive.

  Very attractive.

  "Mark? Are you okay?"

  All at once his neurons woke up and sent a distress signal to his brain. What do you think you're doing? Gwen's the one you need to be thinking about. Remember her? The beautiful, sophisticated woman who's the key to that partnership you desperately want?

  "Yeah. I'm fine."

  She patted his arm. "Good. I thought I'd lost you there for a minute."

  He'd been way too long without a woman. That was the problem. But he was at a crisis point in his life right now, and not just any woman would do. He needed someone like Gwen, who was willowy, graceful and model-thin, with a gossamer beauty that oozed elegance. A caviar-and-champagne kind of woman. Liz, on the other hand, was the kind of practical, down-to-earth woman you could share nachos with at a sports bar.

  "Uh oh," Liz said, staring past his shoulder.

  "What?"

  "She's coming out."

  Mark spun around to see a person-shaped blob moving out the door of the club. At least he thought it was the door of the club. Without his glasses, it could have been the gates of heaven for all he knew.

  "Gwen?" he said. "What's she doing leaving so early?"

  "I don't know."

  Mark grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her around the back of the building. He peered back around the corner to see Gwen walking briskly across the parking lot. Now that she was closer, he could see her well enough to admire her confident, long-legged strides and the regal set of her chin--a woman who clearly commanded her surroundings.

  When Gwen saw her car, she stopped and stared for a moment, as if taking in the fact that it was leaning perceptibly to the right. She circled the car and stopped beside the right rear tire, then planted her fists on her hips and glared down at it.

  Liz tapped Mark's arm. "That's your cue. I'm going back inside. Let me know what happens."

  It was now or never.

  Mark took a deep breath and started across the parking lot, zeroing in on the out-of-focus woman by the blurry blue Beemer. He came up behind her, trying to act nonchalant.

  "Excuse me. You seem to be having a problem."

  Gwen spun around, her lips set in a firm line of irritation, her ice-blue eyes brimming with annoyance. Even in a state of total irritation she managed to look stunningly beautiful.

  "Of course something's wrong," she muttered, giving him one of those are you blind? looks. "I have a flat tire."

  Mark leaned over and eyed the pancaked tire as if seeing it for the first time. "Well, look at that. You sure do."

  "It's a brand new tire," she said, exasperation flooding her voice. "There
's no reason for it to go flat." She checked her watch, looking dismayed. "I'm meeting a girlfriend at the theater tonight. I'll never make it now!"

  "I'd be happy to change your tire for you."

  Gwen stared at him blankly. "You what?"

  "I said I'll change your tire."

  It was as if he'd spoken Swahili. "You mean you? You'll change my tire?"

  "Uh...yeah."

  "Personally?"

  Mark felt a glimmer of apprehension. What was it about his offer that she didn't understand?

  Then it struck him. He'd just offered to do what she considered to be manual labor. She'd pegged him as one of those people who did their own laundry and cleaned their own toilets. He was one of those people, but he desperately wanted her not to think that. He wanted to come across as a wealthy, sophisticated professional man who would never consider getting his hands dirty, unless, of course, he had to come to the rescue of a woman in distress.

  He thought quickly. "I'd call my people to come over and take care of this," he said, not bothering to identify precisely who his "people" were since he didn't have any, "but since you're short on time, why don't I roll up my sleeves and try to get it done a little faster?"

  "You actually know how to change a tire?"

  "Uh...I watched my mechanic once," Mark told her. "I think I remember how to do it."

  Or maybe it was those teenage summers he spent working at Fred's Chevron in Waldon Springs for minimum wage so he could save money for college. Maybe that's what had imparted him with such broad-based knowledge. One or the other.

  "How long will it take?" Gwen asked.

  "Ten or fifteen minutes."

  "Oh?" She checked her watch. "Well, then. I might be able to make that curtain after all. By all means, go ahead."

  Mark let out the breath he'd been holding. So far, so good. "If you'll give me the keys to your trunk, I'll get the spare."

  "Yes. Of course."

  He took her keys, his mind spinning. He knew what Liz had told him to say next, but now as he played the words over in his mind, they sounded desperately dumb and hopelessly contrived. Still, silence wasn't going to get him anywhere, and he certainly couldn't think of anything else to say. He had no choice but to open his mouth and hope for the best.

  "I know this flat tire is rather unlucky for you," he told her. "But it's very lucky for me."

  Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

  Mark's chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. She's not going to buy this...she's not going to buy this...

  "Yes. If you hadn't had a flat tire, I might never have had the opportunity to meet such a beautiful woman."

  Gwen blinked with surprise. Mark struggled to maintain the friendly, easy-going smile Liz had counseled him on. Patience, she'd told him. Say the line, then shut up. Keep looking at her, though, as if she's the only woman on earth. If you can do that, whatever she says next won't be a brush-off.

  The silence between them seemed to stretch out for an eternity. For an instant he imagined strangling a certain redhead for her goofy advice. Then the most wonderful thing happened.

  Gwen smiled.

  "Well," she said, actually looking a little flustered. "I guess I'm lucky too. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

  Mark felt as if the elephant that had been sitting on his chest had headed off to the watering hole. It's working. Liz's advice is actually working.

  "If you hadn't come along, I'd have had to call the auto club," Gwen said, "and I'm afraid I've never felt comfortable around auto mechanics." She put a palm against her chest and crinkled her forehead oh-so slightly, as if the memory made her feel faint. "Their manner, their dress, their personal hygiene--they always leave a bit to be desired."

  Mark made a mental note. Buy extra-strength deodorant, shave twice a day, and never, ever have his name embroidered on the pocket of his shirt.

  He took off his suit coat and held it out to Gwen. "Would you mind holding this while I change the tire?"

  "Certainly."

  Gwen took it and draped it over her arm. At the same time Mark caught the faint scent of a warm, exotic, expensive perfume. He would have expected nothing less.

  He rolled up his sleeves, then turned to open the trunk. So far, Liz's advice had been right on the money, so he decided he'd stick to it like glue. She'd told him that under no circumstances should he ask Gwen out tonight, because it would look as if he expected something in return for helping her. Then tomorrow night at the club he could strike up a conversation, and she'd remember him as that nice guy who came to her rescue. Then maybe after a date or two, he'd feel comfortable asking her to the firm's dinner dance.

  Gwen checked her watch, a look of consternation passing over her face. "Oh my--I really do need to make that eight-fifteen curtain..."

  "No problem. I'll have you on the road before you know it."

  She smiled at him again, and in that moment he decided he'd push her car all the way to the theater if that's what it took to get her there on time. She was everything he needed in a woman, and sooner or later she was going to be his.

  * * *

  Liz didn't realize how much her mind had wandered from her job until she put a cherry in a martini and an olive in a daiquiri. She caught the mistake as soon as she saw her customers' perplexed expressions. She swept the drinks away with a sincere apology and made new ones, checking her watch every thirty seconds or so. What was going on with Mark and Gwen? She thought of going to the window to watch, but the tables by the windows along that side were occupied.

  Things had to be going well. How could they not? Gwen might be snooty and condescending, but could she really give the cold shoulder to a guy who was kind enough to change a flat tire for her?

  Just about the time Liz decided to grab a broom from the supply closet because surely the sidewalk out front needed sweeping, Mark came back into the club. As he wove through the tables, her heart pounded with anticipation. She searched his face for some indication of what might have happened between him and Gwen, but as he approached the bar, he gave her nothing but a deadpan stare. Her stomach did a nervous flip-flop. He'd be smiling, wouldn't he, if everything had worked out okay?

  "Mark? What happened?"

  "I need my glasses back."

  "Oh! Of course." She patted her apron pockets, then pulled them out and handed them to him. He put them on, then turned and walked away from the bar. Where was he going?

  "Mark! Wait!"

  He kept walking. Liz ducked beneath the bar and took off after him. She caught up with him as he reached the front door.

  "Hey! Wait a minute! You have to tell me what happened! Did my plan work?"

  "I don't want to talk about it."

  Something had gone dreadfully wrong. But what?

  "Did you say what I told you to say?"

  "Liz--"

  "Please tell me."

  Mark took a deep, silent breath, then let it out slowly. "Yes. I did."

  "And?"

  "It worked just fine."

  "You're saying it was fine, but obviously--" Liz stopped short. "Oh, God--don't tell me she's married!"

  "No, Liz. She's not married."

  "Boyfriend?"

  "I don't think so. She was on her way to the theater with a girlfriend."

  "She's a lesbian?"

  Mark gave her an admonishing look. "I said a girlfriend, not her girlfriend."

  "You didn't try to ask her out, did you?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "Well, it's pretty clear something went wrong. Was it something I told you to do?"

  "Liz. It's okay. Your advice was perfect. Everything you suggested worked just as you said it would."

  Liz was completely befuddled. "Then what?"

  "It doesn't matter now. I need to get home."

  She inched closer to him and dropped her voice. "Mark, if I did anything to hurt you--anything--I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry." She was surprised at how deeply she felt that, and how des
perately she wanted him to believe it.

  "It wasn't your fault," he said softly. "And it wasn't Gwen's. It was nobody's fault but mine. Thanks for trying."

  With that, he turned and left the bar.

  3

  Hours later, Mark sat on the balcony of his second-floor condo, beer number two in hand, staring out across the city lights of Coral Gables. Even though it was approaching midnight, the heat seemed to ooze up from the pavement below, enveloping him in heavy, sauna-like air. It was cool inside, but right now he preferred the heat. It suited the way he felt right then.

  He slapped at a mosquito making a lazy figure eight around his head, then took another swig of beer, feeling it burn all the way down his throat. Ever since he'd left Simon's, a sick feeling had twisted around in his stomach--a sense of utter and complete defeat. Just when he'd mustered up a little bit of hope, everything had fallen apart.

  About the time beer number three started to sound pretty good, he heard a car door slam in the parking lot below his balcony. He peered over the iron railing.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again, praying he'd had one beer too many and he was seeing things. Redheaded things. A specific redheaded thing that looked way too much like Liz, trotting along the sidewalk in front of his building.

  He rose quickly from his chair and went back through the sliding glass door into his living room, which was illuminated only by a single lamp turned on low. He heard the distinctive clicking of high-heeled shoes hitting the stairs outside his door, and when the knock came, he groaned. He did not need this.

  He waited.

  Another knock.

  Then...silence? He felt a rush of hope. If he just ignored her, would she go away?

  "Mark! I know you're in there!"

  Go away? What had he been thinking? This woman had more tenacity than peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  "Come on, Mark! I saw you on your balcony!"

  He flipped the deadbolt and yanked open the door. "Will you keep it down? It's almost midnight!"

  "Sorry. My shift wasn't over until 11:00. I couldn't get here any sooner."

  "I don't understand why you're here at all!"

  "Aren't you going to invite me in?"