Head Over Wheels (Spicy Young Romance)

by January Valentine

  PRIMPING FOR A FIRST DATE

  As I meandered down 58th Street, facing the morning breeze, I hadn't planned on tackling the monumental future, the risky journey only fate held in its indecisive grasp. Instead, I focused on the deeply buried roots of the past, the point where everything had come together, but now threatened to explode. The pretty girl from Poughkeepsie, outgoing but somewhat aloof, the one who'd hugged a smiling mom goodbye, kissed a proud dad with glistening eyes, promising to always be sensible, careful, always a step ahead ... and above ... seemed to be scraping her way around every twist and turn in the road that was not as smooth as anticipated.

  The old Jewelia Delarosa was a droplet of cells bubbling in a Petri dish, and I was the scientist, dissecting, analyzing, taking notes, and I began thumbing through yesterday's pages. My sepia existence had developed into a blooming dahlia, so full, a delectable shade of cherry pink, and there didn't seem time to do anything but breathe the fragrance of promise. A rush of exhaust from the midtown bus caught in my throat just as I approached the entrance to school.

  With only two classes to complete, and a job that was nowhere near demanding, my head still spun, and fitting my life into each twenty-four hour day seemed impossible. Still, time dragged. I could barely wait for my first real date with Indigo.

  Monday muddled by uneventfully, with Tuesday rating a two on the Richter Scale, but by Wednesday a cataclysmic event was about to erupt ... inside my stomach, my head. Every nerve in my body coiled into one long circuit of dangerously high voltage. After the intimacy we'd shared on the phone, vivid scenarios that had exposed our inner emotions, how would Indigo and I act? How could we act? Like lovers? Be casual? Mortified!

  It was a catch twenty-two. How could I face a guy I barely knew after what I'd said to him? How could I have said such personal things to someone I barely knew?

  "Oh my God, maybe I'll cancel," I mumbled to my four bedroom walls.

  Then my voice rose with panic. "Emma!"

  Within seconds my bedroom door flew open and she burst in, eyes bulging, a granola bar in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. "What's wrong?" When she saw the condition of my bed, she gasped. "What the ...? Shit, Jewel. You freaked the hell out of me. I thought someone crawled in through your window and was in the process of murdering you."

  "What am I gonna wear Friday night? I can't find anything in this mess."

  Emma burst out laughing, set her tea down, and munched on her bar. "This is what turned you psycho?" Her eyes drifted from me, to a dress I'd launched that was making a parachute landing on the floor. "If you don't get a hold of yourself, girl, you'll be a puddle of jello by Friday night. Nothing to wear?" Granola bar braced in her ruby red lips, she rifled through the pile of bold and pastel colored outfits I'd pulled from my closet.

  "I see what you mean." She frowned.

  "What?"

  "Why you're panicking."

  I jumped to my feet, let a sparkly gold top slip from my fingers, tossed my head and faced her. "Huh?"

  "First of all, calm down. You look like a wild woman."

  I checked my reflection in the mirror. My hair was bushy and tangled, my cheeks flushed. I brushed dust bunnies from my arms. "So I was crawling around in the bottom of my closet, looking for shoes to go with this stuff."

  "You've got an assortment here ranging from nanny to hooker. Can't you borrow something from the store?"

  My lips pursed with annoyance. "Ah ah."

  "For just one night?" Her refined brows arched.

  "That's so against the rules. I'd lose my job if they found out." Considering the idea, I sucked in my bottom lip.

  After stuffing the last of the gooey granola into her mouth with the back of her hand, springing into control mode, she crooked a finger. "Follow me."

  "You look like a lopsided chipmunk." I giggled, nudging her arm.

  I flopped onto the soft armchair in Emma's room, watching her open and close drawers, slide hangers across the bar of her organized closet. Her hands didn't stop moving until she found the perfect dress. When she turned around, my delight escaped with a breath.

  "Holy shit, Em. It's totally gorgeous! How come I've never seen this on you? Why have you been hiding the sexiest dress I've ever laid eyes on?" I hopped off the chair, grabbed a long spandex sleeve, and let the slinky fabric slide across my palm.

  "I was saving it for a very special occasion – and right now – you need it more than I do." She shoved the dress at me.

  "Oh my God, Emma. No, I couldn't. You should wear this when you go out with Bill. He'd freak."

  "It would swim on me since I lost weight, and since I don't plan on gaining fifteen pounds back, it's yours. Knock his eyeballs out, girlfriend. Believe me, Bill's already freaking." She raised a brow and rocked her head in validation.

  "If you're sure, well, who am I to argue with a shrink. You're so amazing, Em." I threw my arms around her neck, then pulled the hanger from her hand. Standing before the full length mirror that hung on the back of her door, I held the dress up against me. "Oh ... my ... God. Wait till Indigo sees me in this." Our phone call whirled through my mind, firing off second thoughts about the black bandage dress trimmed with sparkling white jewels that would cling to every curve of my body.

  "Try it on." Emma rubbed her hands together. "It's more your style than mine, anyway."

  After slipping into the dress I twirled, inspecting every visible inch of me in the mirror. "What do you think, Em?"

  "I think it's perfect!"

  "This neckline is awfully low. I mean, I'm kinda popping out, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, maybe ... but the beading might be somewhat of a distraction, you know?"

  I scrunched the side of my mouth and shot her a dubious squint. "You really think?"

  "No." She giggled. "But the dress was made for you. Take it and scram. I've got reports to write about people with real problems." She propelled me toward the door. "We should all have yours ..."

  "You're a lifesaver," I breathed over a shoulder.

  I sampled, then re-sampled every bottle of perfume on my tray, even though Indigo had commented favorably on the Strawberries and Champagne. I rummaged through two giant jewelry chests, snapping, modeling, unsnapping and carefully placing things back into their black velvet compartments. Finally satisfied I was on the right track, I tackled the mess I'd created. It took nearly an hour to clear off my bed, and the floor around it.

  Almost ready to dive under the covers and try to relax, I remembered I still had to tangle with my shoe racks. Within moments I spotted them. Heaving a sigh, I grinned with satisfaction.

  "I have the perfect shoes," I screamed across the hall, my voice slamming through Em's closed bedroom door. "Black suede stilettos."

  "If they're the ones with the studs, then yes, perfect," she yelled back.

  CATASTROPHY AT AMA

  I left Mr. Eidelhorn's office so elated, I worried I might emboss my face with permanent laugh lines, and forced the muscles to relax. After my crash and fail last semester, my professor had boosted my adrenaline with more than his breath: I'd earned an A in Forensic Science and I felt high for the rest of the morning. So high, that after leaving class I stopped in at the DCAS Testing Center, then headed for work.

  My growling stomach reminded me I'd skipped breakfast and it was almost noon. I dropped into Kelly's for a blueberry cream cheese bagel and latte, with no hope whatsoever of running into Indigo, who was no doubt cracking the books, or working his adorable tush off, seeking a cure for any and all illnesses that could ever harm a child. If he had his way, there'd be no such thing as physical pain.

  I rolled into AMA by one, and after changing clothes, wandered through the wide aisles. I took an alternate route, snaking through women's on my way to juniors, stopping long enough to socialize with other staff members. I was careful not to drape myself over counters, or hang out for too long in any one place, or I'd be called into a supervisor's office for a lecture. Electric eyes roamed all ove
r the place, and I wasn't about to be reprimanded for committing unspeakable acts. Although in my case, I was a pretend shopper, so I could dally more than others.

  AMA was strict with its employees. We had to be punctual. Always be ... or at least look busy ... and most of all, roll out the red carpet to insure the unparalleled satisfaction of our clients.

  We had clientele, not customers, and regardless of whatever situation might arise, staff was there to please, never to argue. A sales associate had gotten the boot after arguing with a customer. She'd offered larger trousers to a woman who insisted she'd selected the correct size, even though the smaller crotch had given birth to a fair-sized camel toe. When she told her the seams would burst the first time she tried to sit down, the woman went ballistic and complained to a manager.

  I'd dressed down for the past two days, and my high called for a short leather-like skirt, matching vest and snow white bandeau, and of course, thigh-high black boots. And everything fit like a second skin.

  At the makeup counter, I let Brittany give me a ten-minute do-over which enhanced my original application of plum shadow, sooty mascara, and cranberry lip gloss.

  "Thanks, gal," I smacked my lips and grinned, "do you make house calls? Cause I've got this hot date ... tomorrow night," I chirped, repeatedly twisting my fingers until they were red.

  "Look like you do right now and you'll knock his eyeballs out of their sockets." Brittany snapped lids closed, stowing away jars and tubes.

  I took one more look in the makeup mirror. "I better get moving."

  "They can't complain about you getting a makeover. After all, they want you to look like the clients, two of whom are on their way over as we speak."

  "Laters, sweetie." I blew her a kiss and was on my way.

  Pausing before a full length mirror, I checked myself. One minor touch and I'd be ready to rock. I swaggered into the hair salon. "Hey Deb. Quiet today, huh?"

  "Thursdays usually aren't. Come back tomorrow and you won't find an empty chair, hopefully. With all these new salons popping up all over the place ... one never knows." Debra, the head stylist, twisted the seat on its pedestal. "Hop on. Might as well take advantage of my free time, babe."

  I dropped into the chair, balancing my boots on the footrest . She swung me around, pumped up the height and reached for the scissors; all accomplished in a series of swift, smooth movements.

  "Whoa, cowgirl. Drop the shears." I pulled my hair into a protective bun at the top of my head. "No cutting."

  "May I tease?" Playful sarcasm from the meticulous middle-aged blonde who looked twenty-five.

  "Sure, but no rat nests. And above all, no breakage. No frizz. I'm going for the smooth look these days. You know, casual, not like my hot date tomorrow night."

  She yanked my hands away, releasing my tresses to flow over the back of the chair. I wondered why I was facing the wall.

  "Try this." She handed me a pump bottle. "Smoothing mist. Makes split ends undetectable. So where are you going on your hot date?"

  "Not sure yet. Waiting to hear."

  "Mystery date, huh? The best kind. I remember my first date with Ray. Now I'm married with two kids." She sighed but her smile was bright.

  "Do you miss being single?"

  "Sometimes. But the hassle. Is it really worth it?"

  "I don't know, Deb, but I'm far from ready to settle down. Especially with kids."

  "Yup. You've got to be ready, that's for damn sure. Raising a family is a lot of work. Make sure the future daddy is into it too."

  "Into it?"

  "That he wants ... and likes children. Marriage and parenting is a two way street, sugar. Ray and I share everything."

  "Now you sound like my mother." I wrinkled my nose.

  "Could I be? How old are you, Jewelia?"

  "Twenty-two in the fall."

  "So what's he like?"

  I took a deep breath. "What's he like ... let me think."

  "If you have to think, forget it, hun."

  "I know he loves kids. He may be specializing in pediatric research. He'll be starting his residency soon." I rolled my eyes, "To answer your question, he's out of this world."

  Debra's eyes widened. "How hot is that," she drawled. "And fruitful. Grab on and don't let go."

  The way Debra spoke creeped me out. Marriage, kids, grabbing and holding on. I hadn't been thinking that far in advance, or even in that direction. And since I wasn't needy, like Vanessa appeared to be, the guy would have to do the grabbing and holding. Grabbing ... holding ... Indigo. If anymore adrenaline surged through my body, someone would have to call for an ambulance, or at least sedate me.

  Debra must have sensed my internal struggle. She patted my shoulder and held up a hand mirror so I could see the back of my hair. "You'll make it, sugar. Life's not easy, but somehow it all works out in the end. And you, my dear, look gorgeous! Your highlights are holding up. Sweet wine is your color."

  "Thank my hairdresser." She grinned.

  "You're welcome." She began cleaning up her station.

  I sucked in a breath. "I look like I'm wearing a wig! You teased the hell out of my hair!"

  "Nope." She tossed a plastic bottle into my lap. "Just lift and spray and you've got ten times more volume. Try it tomorrow night."

  Before strolling away I studied myself in the mirrored wall. "Between this outfit and my five-foot-high hairdo, I look like I just climbed out of a dungeon." I giggled. "Get me a whip and I'll be all set."

  "You look like you stepped off the cover of Vogue. Absolutely stunning." Her tongue clicked in agreement.

  "Thanks, Deb." My Brittany enhanced lashes fluttered while I held up a hand, signaling my departure.

  A few trips up and down the escalator and I found myself in housewares, checking the time on the ship's wheel wall clock. Damn ... not even three. If the day didn't start moving, I'd start kicking in the face of every timepiece I passed. Damn, this was annoying.

  During a visit to fine jewelry, I did my daily drool over my dream necklace.

  "Maybe if you work for another fifty years, you'll be able to afford it," key in hand, Rebecca, the sales associate behind the counter, winked. "Want to try it on?"

  I shook my head. "I'd only crave it more."

  "Working around this stuff every day you get desensitized. This crap doesn't matter. Love does."

  "Having both would be nice." I shot her a toothy grin.

  Her hands worked efficiently and the next thing I knew, her arms were extended. She held the necklace out like a peace offering. The gold poured over the edges of her palms, glittering, gleaming, calling out: Take me, I'm yours.

  "This is beyond gorgeous, Rebecca. I'm warning you, if I put this on you might not get it back."

  "So I call security." She smirked.

  "Yeah, right. And I'll call a cab to rush me to the airport. I carry my passport with me at all times." I patted my rear.

  I held the necklace up in front of me, checking my reflection in the oval mirror that rested on the clear glass case.

  "Clip it on," Rebecca urged. "See how it looks. Maybe you won't like it. That happens a lot, you know? You drool over something for ages, then when you finally get your hands on it you realize you don't want it anymore."

  "I highly doubt that." After caressing the 18K dazzler, I worked the clasp, heard the snap, then carefully positioned the seventy-five percent pure gold rope around the base of my neck. It was a perfect fit.

  "It's breathtaking, and looks kick ass dangling over my cleavage, but doesn't go with this outfit at all. Such a shame ..." I couldn't take my eyes off the mirror, mesmerized at how the twisted links glistened beneath the powerful overhead lighting.

  "You've got to love these fluorescents. Awesome trick. Everything in here sparkles brighter than sunshine. Look at those fabulous diamonds glittering in the case, like they're ready to jump out at me." I shook my head. "This department is a jewelry freak's wonderland. Hands down ... Although, this chunk of gold would probably bl
ind outside in sunlight."

  "I hate this lighting. It makes my hair brassy and my skin ruddy," Rebecca complained, running a hand across one of her high-set cheekbones.

  I huffed out a laugh.

  "I'm serious. You're lucky to be a winter. Your olive complexion doesn't change. Neither do your highlights."

  "I should dress this way every day. My head's about to swell with compliments." I shifted my gaze from the glittering gems to find Rebecca peering into the distance. "What's with you? You didn't hear a word I said ... did you?"

  Then I felt the doom, almost exactly the same as in my dream. I sensed curious eyes digging a hole in my back, heating my skin through my clothing. My stomach dipped. I stopped talking and spun, and there she was, Vanessa Whitehall in all her glory, standing not more than five feet away. She was accompanied by another woman who could have passed for her older sister.

  When I returned her startled stare, Vanessa's deep-set eyes protruded. After what felt like a minute-long gawking contest, her petal pink lips fell into an odd shape, landing somewhere between a smirk and pasted on smile. She unabashedly nudged her companion, sliding her eyes off mine long enough to whisper something into the older woman's ear. They shared a look of scorn.

  "Can I do something for you?" I steadied my voice. This was my job for Pete's sake. I wasn't about to rumble in the aisles, although I felt like tearing Vanessa's head off. A struggle erupted between my loyalty to AMA, my rapidly bruising ego, and then there was Indigo. My mind became cluttered with questions and apprehension.

  "What the hell's going on?" Rebecca said, her lips barely moving as she managed a cordial expression. "Why do they look like they want to shoot arrows through your uterus? Do you know them?"

  "One of them ... dear God. This I don't need." I was certain my eyes displayed the discomfort of the moment.

  As the two approached, Vanessa's voice flowed like a high tide, gobbling up the space between us. "Wow. You never know who you'll run into. Even in a nice place like this." With narrowing eyes, her head twisted in the direction of her companion.