Looks are Deceiving

by Michele Hart

  “Hi, Greg,” Penny said with a sunny smile from her couch perch. “Good to see what the mystery man looks like. I’ll need an accurate description of you for the police. You wouldn’t want to confess to any killings before you take my friend out, now would you?”

  Greg snapped his fingers. “Rotten timing, Penny. Went to Confession just this morning, have nothing new to confess. I’ll work up a shameful sin for ya.”

  Penny ripped into a smile. “Elissa could use some shameful sin.”

  “Shut up, Penny.”

  “Count Elissa in for some shameful sin.”

  “Shut up, Penny!” Elissa stressed. “With friends like you, who needs terrorists?”

  Injecting a cackling laugh, Penny went back to the TV and pretended she wasn’t listening.

  “You look incredible,” Greg said to Elissa. “And you shouldn’t.”

  “Never heard a man say that,” Penny belted out.

  Elissa flared her eyes at her friend again.

  “Counterproductive to our plans,” he pointed out.

  “What?” Elissa questioned stupidly. “You said LL Bean. You want me to change clothes?”

  “LL Bean is what everyone else will be wearing,” he clarified. “Your attributes are supposed to be brains, wit, and soul, not flash and fashion.”

  Baffled at his secret strategy, she quipped, “I plan to take the brains, wit, and soul with us.”

  He shook his head. “Wear the same clothes you wore when you met Derek, Allen, and Jerry.”

  “Those clothes await laundry day.”

  “Even better. I want the Amigos to always see you at your worst.”

  She gave a humorless laugh. “My worst? Not my best? You’re kidding, aren’t you? I’ll not wear those same clothes. They smell of sweat and garden work. I could wear clean clothes just as awful, if you insist.”

  “You want that thousand bucks?” he reminded her, though he didn’t need to. Her money problems were forever nagging her in some part of her brain. “You need to be all intelligence and personality, no vogue. The Amigos will watch you. Not much gets over their heads, and they’ll be out to defend their grand. Good to think of them as sharks in our waters. We’ll need to actively outwit them.”

  Fascinated by the challenge, she asked, “Do you want unfashionable dress or downright hideous?”

  “How about bland and decidedly unkempt?”

  “That’s my specialty,” Elissa replied. “I do bland and decidedly unkempt every day of my life.”

  He laughed warmly. “I can’t see that, but you’re welcome to look worse and worse every time they see you.”

  Penny busted into another roll of laughter. “This man is every woman’s dream, Elissa.”

  Elissa gave him an embarrassed smirk. “Actually, I slide downhill and hit rock-bottom rather quickly. A slow progression might not be possible. I’ll just make myself stick out as increasingly maladjusted or possibly a multiple personality. What’s the plan? A sort of reverse-My Fair Lady?”

  “Well, if you say you hit rock bottom fast, it doesn’t seem feasible to plan a slow slip into hobo style.”

  Greg wasted no time in taking over. He took up her hand and tugged her straight into her bedroom, and she felt herself blush again, this time at having a strange man in her boudoir. That hadn’t happened in a while.

  He stood there examining her, his fingers cupping his chin, appearing to apply deep thought.

  “The dress has got to go, too colorful and perky, looks too nice on you. You should wear something less lively, more dark and uninteresting. Go mess up your hair. Try to be less attractive, will you?”

  Elissa giggled at the absurdity of his request. “You really want me to dress down to my lowest denominator to attend a party with your friends?”

  “For tonight, we just want you unentertaining visually. Gonna be a tough one for you.”

  She laughed. He wanted her to go trickless. No make-up, no hair spray, no decent clothes.

  “Dress sloppy. Let’s put your mind on display tonight.”

  Inspired by him, something ticklish inside swayed and warmed her. He must like her mind so far if he wanted her to show it off.

  After her best—or worst—makeover, Elissa stood before her mirror dressed unremarkably, wearing hip-huggers from her Halloween hippy costume, frayed at the bottom from years of being walked upon, and a bland brown shirt she wished she’d thrown away years ago, too big for her slight frame and almost painful to look at. Bleach-stained black high-tops and glasses dating back to before laser surgery finished off the ensemble. The strength of the lenses made her look like she had fish-eyes. She needed to focus above them.

  Hardly able to believe she’d agreed to this, she removed her makeup, brushed the style from her hair and put it into a tight braid behind her, and wet it to make it dry flat and uninteresting. She looked unnoteworthy, too conspicuously so, and definitely unfeminine, the very opposite of how she wished to look.

  Elissa emerged from the bedroom to where Greg, Penny, and Smoochy sat patiently, watching the world news.

  “That’s more like it,” Greg announced when he spotted her, his grin obnoxious.

  They all gave Elissa a thorough examination as she fidgeted in place. Smoochy gave a baffled yap.

  Penny just stared aghast until she finally said, “Elissa, if I had to go into public looking like that, I’d insist upon more money. Those glasses are birth-control devices.”

  “Sh!” he demanded of Penny.

  “You look perfect. You look beautiful,” he lied sweetly to Elissa, and he displayed a devilish smile with his big pecan eyes all melty to back him up. She felt sure she faded into the background of the room, used to wearing more color.

  Shuffling her life-saving purse stuff into an ugly bag meant to be worn as a backpack, she slung it over one shoulder. Then she tugged a sloppy hat over her French-braided red tresses, making them less remarkable. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mister DeMille.”

  Penny boosted the volume of the TV, and the news announcer spoke of the genocidal wars in Africa, showing video of refugees in squalid conditions. The sight of it caused Elissa’s stomach to sink.

  “I don’t know how you watch this stuff and keep a positive attitude,” Penny muttered. “Where do these monsters get the money to run these atrocities? Aren’t these supposedly poor countries rich with jewels?”

  “Yeah. The evil governments trade diamonds on the black market for weapons,” Elissa explained. It had been a recent subject in her international law class.

  “Can’t something be done about it?” her neighbor asked. “Seems like they could do something.”

  “The industry is creating an ID system for every diamond, but still, criminals will always find a way to beat the system. There’ll always be a black market.”

  “Sounds like a buzz-kill for a fun night. Are you ready to go?” Greg asked, then snatched up Elissa’s hand, giving her little opportunity to protest.

  She noticed that. And kind of liked it. Usually, her life was so predictable. Study, class, sleep, repeat. The mystery of what came next with Greg gave her a girlish tickle.

  * * * *

  Elissa watched the tangerine sunset sink below the Bay as they drove through Old Tampa along Bayshore Boulevard

  . Clouds streaked the sky to her right with strawberry, orange, and berry smears like rainbow sherbet. The breeze of the car ride felt warm on an oncoming Florida summer night.

  Historic Southern houses loomed along the walkway to her left, some of them Colonials dating back a century and a half. She especially loved the stone houses draped in old vines, the Spanish-castle fortresses, and the Victorian old-money homes wrapped by hand-carved verandas.

  Greg drove a 1978 vintage gold Trans Am Firebird in pristine condition, a museum piece so well cared for, it looked loved.

  “What made you choose a classic car?” she asked, now collecting facts of him in her head.

  “This car has history,” he explained, prid
e in his voice. “My father bought this car, built in the year I was born, their firstborn, and gifted it to Mom to commemorate a wedding anniversary. Dad babied the car, kept her in mint condition. Mom gave her to me after my father passed away. She’s my most cherished possession. I like things with history.”

  Elissa took in every detail of the car’s interior, the perfect dash, the original dials, original everything. The awesome aroma of leather filled the car, infusing her nose with the unique smell that almost had a taste to it. “It’s a she, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He stroked the dash as if rewarding a cherished pet with affection, and Elissa really couldn’t blame him. She loved things with history too, and it was a gorgeous car, made even more beautiful that it had been gifted with love. “Your father had fine taste in cars.”

  “My father had fine taste in women, too. My mother came from a long line of fabulous cooks, all blessed by the Italian god of pleasure with cooking talent and a generations-old family restaurant. Dad had been hired to manage the family business, made it thrive, and he married the beautiful daughter of the owner. Smart man with a good eye. My mother is a saint.”

  “I love a man who loves his mom.”

  The Firebird turned into an upscale neighborhood of bank-president houses painted in Florida pastels. The sun dusked over Tampa Bay as they drove through blocks of houses she’d never seen, most of the mansions intricately lit to show off their beauty in the evening.

  In a playful mood, she asked, “How were we last night? The quick sex?”

  “We both felt the Earth move.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll assume the bags didn’t break.”

  “I bought Toughy lawn bags.”

  “Good call. We’ll never know what horrors your friend has saved you from experiencing.”

  Greg laughed. “Yeah, the bastard.”

  The Firebird pulled into a long, curvy driveway protected by high hedges until they came out to face a big bank-president house, and Elissa was stunned into a mild horror.

  Greg parked the Firebird between a Mercedes and a Ferrari in a circular driveway with twenty other European cars lining an impeccably manicured yard. Lexus, Porsche, Jaguar. Every car worth six digits lined the circular driveway, not a junker in the lot. Elissa’s stomach took an awful dive.

  The entryway of the house was three stories tall and painted in muted shades of peach. Double-flight wings stretched out from the main section for what seemed like acres. There was no telling how many rooms the mansion held, probably a room for everything any pastime one could dream up, and ten extra bedrooms after that. It was a conservative palace, resembling more an auditorium than a family home. If the owners ever sold the place, they should consider a bid from a small orphanage.

  This wasn’t Elissa’s world. And Greg expected her to walk in there, a Florida-style Taj Mahal, looking her worst when first impressions were everything?

  Greg was full of surprises, Elissa groaned to herself.

  By the time he opened her car door and offered his hand, she shook her head in abject denial. “I can’t go walking through the crowd who hangs out at this house, dressed like a homeless person.”

  “Sure you can,” he coached, flashing his charming smile. “It’s just a graduation party for a high school kid.” It was obvious the wealthy crowd held no intimidation for him.

  Elissa shook her head hard enough to shake a bug from her ear, not at all comfortable.

  “What was I thinking, that we’d walk into some normal home, I’d look socially inept, and nothing big would be ruined? But this is a big affair, Greg. Look how many cars are parked. Look at the cars parked. I don’t want you to be seen by these people with a woman looking like this!”

  “It’s only a graduation party for Allen’s kid sister. Think of the money.”

  Elissa clamped her eyes shut and suppressed an urge to weep. She’d need some acting skills and social finesse if she were ever sent undercover on the job. Only as sacrifice for her future career, she passed her hand into his and prepared to play a role all night, come what may. Greg’s warm hand made her stronger.

  In sooner time than she wished, they approached the peach-shaded and columned grand entry where a handful of people mingled at the double doors, chatting up the weather and the sunset now deep into the horizon. A few gave Elissa odd looks for her appearance, and she felt sure it was a harbinger of things to come.

  A willowy blonde in her fifties dressed in an airy and colorful sun dress and sun hat caught them at the entryway, put a halt on their forward movement by placing a hand on Greg’s arm. A saucy smile rose on the woman’s face, a drink in one bejeweled hand, a thin European cigarette pinched between her fingers around the glass.

  She reached over and pulled him down to place a kiss on his cheek, and Greg returned the greeting with a familial kiss to her cheek.

  “Welcome back to the real world, Gregory,” she babbled, hints of an Italian accent and alcohol sneaking into her voice. “I’m glad to see you at a social gathering again. You’ve missed too many, working too long, my darling. Derek has told everyone how tedious you’ve become.”

  “Thank you for the welcome, Aunt Catalina. Derek’s just overdue for his weekly knuckle sandwich. I’m taking a few nights’ break from work. The Cook-off and the stock vote will tell me where to go from here. Don’t forget to hold back your proxy until after the Cook-off.”

  Aunt Catalina waved her cigarette and glass into the air. “I’ll not forget, my dear. Go kiss Mary Beth for her graduation, darling. She did very well. She’s heading for Dartmouth, I hear.”

  Dartmouth. Elissa tried to keep her eyeballs in her head.

  “I’ll be sure to congratulate her,” Greg replied, a pleasant smile engaged. “Aunt Catalina, this is Elissa, my new girlfriend.”

  Aunt Catalina blinked in surprise, stared at Elissa for a moment as if having trouble processing the girlfriend-part of his introduction. She felt sure she was being measured, and really, who could blame the woman, considering how Elissa presented herself. Aunt Catalina probably mourned her very good-looking nephew’s choice in women.

  “Hello, Elissa. Nice to meet you,” she said pleasantly, attempting to give no disapproval away. “Do mingle with the crowd and enjoy yourselves. So many faces, I’m sure Gregory will bore you with a hundred stories.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Elissa replied politely from under the microscope, wishing to crawl under an unnoticed rock.

  A bit obviously alcohol-enhanced, Aunt Catalina gawked at Elissa, blinked a few times, taking in her attire, then turned back to Greg. She opened her mouth, most likely to comment on her nephew’s date, but then she clamped her mouth shut, smiled, and moved on.

  “Ciao, darling,” she tossed over her shoulder, probably the better reaction at the moment than speaking her mind.

  “Ciao, Aunt Catalina,” Greg sweetly tossed out, as his aunt waved in her getaway to her next conversation.

  Elissa released a breath, recognizing a close call. She looked up to see amusement on Greg’s face, as though he secretly enjoyed her discomfort. She should’ve stomped his foot.

  “You’re getting a reputation for being a bore. How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking around and waving at someone in the thick of people just inside the entrance hall. “I’ll need to do something to shake that up.”

  Elissa smirked. “Slumming it with me should do that for you.”

  They shared wicked smiles, and moved further in the hall.

  A cavernous lobby opened before her furnished with couches, chairs, tables for comfortable conversation, a bar against one wall serving drinks to a steady clientele, tables of food and catering silver lining the long wall across the room. Elissa spotted two of the Three Amigos at the bar and broke into a low shudder, anxious to see the bet over and done with.

  Derek, Greg’s brother, the darkly featured and handsome young man who’d propositioned her in the grocery store, sat at one end of the bar, chattin
g with a very pretty young co-ed dressed like she lived in The Gap. Elissa could spot the familial resemblance in Derek’s eyes, his features a bit sharper than his older brother’s. Though he spoke with a stunning blonde, his eyes still cruised the room like a shark on a dinner swim, not at all atypical for a young and handsome man with everything going for him. Elissa would’ve been surprised to see anything else.

  Beside Derek, the blond young man who’d snickered at her in the store stood chatting with Sissy. Who else could it be but the spirit of sarcasm’s Earthly incarnation? Closer than she’d been to him before, Elissa noticed Allen was quite handsome with classic intelligent features, a square jaw, straight nose, high cheek bones, wide forehead. A sun-bleached blond, he could’ve been a model if he could close his sarcastic mouth. He’d need to find a deaf photographer.

  Allen’s light-colored eyes were fixed on Sissy dressed in a pretty spaghetti-strapped summer dress colored in lively swirls of periwinkle blue, lilac, and dusty rose, her long and lustrous brown hair no longer pinned to her head as it had been when she’d worked, but flowing unrestrained down her shoulders. Sissy was quite beautiful out of her formal restaurant uniform, her features softened by her mane.

  Elissa was grateful to see a familiar face.

  Sissy did a double-take on sight of her and looked aghast. Elissa tried not to shrink away in shame of her appearance. It bothered her much more than she’d thought it would, to be so atrociously presented in such a socially demanding scene.

  Arriving before them, Greg slipped his arm around Elissa and brought her close to him and right up into plain sight when she attempted to hide behind him and avoid their direct gaze. Allen and Derek glared down at her. They appeared mildly miffed at the evidence their bet hadn’t gone their way.

  Greg was carrying the bag lady around and in public.

  “Gentlemen,” Greg began, in a voice too joyous of the small win, “You remember Elissa. This is my kid brother, Derek, and his symbiotic twin Allen.”

  Wishing to be polite in case they weren’t, she stepped forward to offer her hand in greeting, and her foot caught in the hanging fray of her worn jeans. Forward momentum sent her tumbling into the arms of the blond one.