Full Service Blonde

by Megan Edwards

What they also meant was that Daniel was the sort of guy who could pull in a reasonable paycheck and maintain the family baby in the style to which she was accustomed. I could live with that. It kept them from asking too many questions about other aspects of our relationship, like the ones we were going to be enjoying between the Golden Nugget’s sheets. I had friends in college who could talk openly with their families about sex, but there’s pretty much a blanket taboo against it in mine.

  I was beginning to wonder how Daniel was going to handle introductions when he and the babe moved past the security checkpoint. But I needn’t have worried, because as soon as he saw me, Daniel stopped talking midsentence, broke into a huge smile, and sprinted toward me. He gathered me into his arms, and lifted me off my feet. Right there in the airport, we kissed again and again and again.

  “Oh, God, I missed you,” he said, crushing me close. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  Before I could say a word, he kissed me again—long, deep, and hard. Then again. And again. Finally, he pulled back a little, and I tried to speak.

  “I love y—”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “Oh—nothing. Cut myself shaving. Daniel—”

  “Yeah?” he said, kissing me again.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Fortunately, the only luggage Daniel had brought was on his back, and we didn’t have to waste any time at the luggage carousels.

  “Okay,” I said after Daniel’s backpack was stowed in the back of the Max and we had finished hugging and kissing each other some more in the parking garage. “We can cruise the Strip, or we can take the freeway. The Strip will take an hour. The freeway will take half.”

  “Where are we going?” Daniel asked.

  “Hotel,” I said.

  “Freeway,” Daniel said.

  :: :: ::

  I had thought we would have dinner at Michael and Sierra’s—I know that’s what Sierra had planned—but that’s not what happened. My cell phone rang at five o’clock. By the time I had unwillingly extricated myself from a complicated embrace, crossed the room, and rummaged through my backpack, the ringing had stopped. Michael had left a voice message.

  “What was that?” Daniel asked as I slid back into bed and snuggled up next to him.

  “Change of plans,” I said. “I have no idea why, but we’re having dinner on the Strip instead of at my brother’s house. At Mondrian. It’s a 400-star restaurant at the Bellagio. You know, the kind where the chef owns his own jet.”

  I kissed him, and fifteen minutes went by before we took the time to breathe again.

  “It’s weird,” I said. “Sierra made pastitsio for tonight.”

  “Maybe she’s saving it for tomorrow.”

  “Nope. She has a crown roast for Christmas Eve. Something’s definitely up.”

  Daniel rolled over on top of me, pinned my arms down and kissed me.

  “How’s your shoulder doing?” he asked. “Better?”

  “All of me’s better, now that you’re here,” I said.

  Daniel kissed the bruises on my arm.

  “You won’t need a stepladder as long as I’m around,” he said.

  So, okay, I lied to him about my injuries. I just couldn’t bring myself to ruin our reunion by telling him about all my problems. I’d tell him when the time was right. I’d tell him when I could make him understand the whole picture.

  “Whatever’s going on with your family, we can handle it,” Daniel said.

  “What makes you so confident?”

  “I’m great with other people’s parents,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.

  “And sisters-in-law?”

  “I like Sierra,” Daniel said. “She’s feisty.”

  “She’s about to become a mother,” I said, and I told him about my soon-to-be-nephew.

  “Really, Copper, it’ll be okay. We can’t let a little family drama mess up what little time we have together.”

  My family’s theatrics seemed a lot more like a major Broadway production, and that was nothing compared to the other drama going on in my life. But Daniel managed to take my mind off it all with a kiss I felt all the way to my toes.

  “So how do we dress for dinner on the Strip?” he asked during a lull in the action. “I’ve been living in cargo shorts for months, but I did bring some long pants.”

  “Oh!” I said. “That reminds me!” Slithering out from under Daniel and crossing the room to the closet, I pulled the strapless minidress Heather had given me from my garment bag.

  “What do you think?” I said, slipping into the dress and holding it around me.

  “Damn!” Daniel said, a huge grin spreading across his face. “You really have gone native!”

  But I didn’t wear the dress to dinner. Despite Daniel’s best efforts to talk me into it, I chickened out and put on my demure little black dress. I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was to shock my family.

  We took a taxi to the Bellagio, though I could have driven the Max. I figured that if the evening got intense, I wouldn’t want to restrict my alcohol intake. Daniel didn’t feel like driving, either.

  “I have all sorts of fantasies involving the backseat of a Vegas cab,” he said.

  “They have cameras now, you know,” I said.

  “Ooh. Better yet.”

  We arrived at the Bellagio about half an hour early, which gave us time to gawk at the glass-flower ceiling in the lobby, check out the oversize Christmas tree and four trillion poinsettias in the conservatory, and gasp at the price of beluga at the piano ’n’ caviar bar.

  We were still early, and the slim blonde at the desk suggested that we wait in the bar. Daniel ordered a beer, but when the bartender asked me what I wanted, I couldn’t resist ordering a dirty martini. I’ve always found those girlie, fruity martini drinks easy to resist, but the flavor of expensive vodka and olives is something else entirely. Dirty martinis are my tragic weakness.

  “Want a double?” Daniel asked. “You’re not driving.”

  Unfortunately, I said yes.

  Well, maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate. I didn’t get drunk. And it was probably good that I was a little anesthetized when my beloved family members began to darken the doorway.

  My mother showed up first. She was alone, and at first I didn’t recognize her. The light was dim, but that was only part of the reason. Her hair was different. It was blonder and fluffier. In addition, she had on a black, V-necked top I’d never seen before. It wasn’t super racy, but it was definitely clingier and lower cut than anything I’d ever seen her in. This was a lady who usually wore big bulky sweaters, the kind knitted from fat yarn on needles the size of rolling pins.

  I looked at her again, and there was no doubt about it. She’d lost weight. She had never been hugely heavy, but now she qualified as almost slim. I hadn’t noticed yesterday because she was wearing a big Christmas sweater and roomy slacks. Tonight she was wearing snug black capris and high-heeled sandals.

  “Hi, Mom!” I said as soon as my vocal chords would obey.

  “Darling!” she said. “And Daniel! Merry Christmas!”

  She did the hugs and kisses thing, and I noticed that her perfume was different, too. “Makeover” was the word that kept popping into my head. I didn’t think she’d gone under the knife, but she’d definitely had a noninvasive remodel.

  Daniel asked her what she wanted to drink.

  “Campari, thanks,” she said. “Oh, and soda.” She turned to me while Daniel relayed her wishes to the bartender.

  “Darling,” she said, reaching her hand out to touch my jaw. “What happened here?”

  “Oh,” I said, “Just a stupid little cut. I ran into something in the dark.”

  She peered at my face again in the dim light, but my answer seemed to satisfy her.

  “Danie
l’s wonderful, Copper,” she said. “We’re all so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, wishing I’d had enough vodka to add, “And I’m so thrilled about you and Patrick.” But instead I said, “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Oh, they’ll be here any minute, I’m sure,” she said, looking at her watch. “What do you think of my hair? I went to the salon here at the Bellagio this afternoon.”

  “It’s great, Mom,” I said. “What does Dad think?”

  She didn’t answer, and I was still wondering how she had managed to arrive on her own when Michael appeared. He was wearing a white turtleneck sweater under a sport coat, which looked kind of clerical if you already knew he was a priest, but ordinary if you didn’t.

  “Where’s Sierra?” I said. “And Dad?”

  “Sierra’s here,” he said. “She just stopped at the restroom.”

  That didn’t answer my question about my dad, but he showed up before Sierra did. He looked pretty sharp in a camel hair jacket and white shirt, and it was the first time I’d ever seen him in designer jeans. They were even the kind with a few tiny artful rips and artificially faded spots.

  We were just about to follow the slim blonde hostess to our table when Sierra joined us. If I had been startled by my mother’s enhanced appearance and my father’s updated wardrobe, I was nothing less than stunned by Sierra’s ensemble.

  She was wearing a dress, and the last time I had seen her in a dress was on her wedding day. This, however, was no virginal billowing of white tulle. It was fire engine red. Strapless, it ended midthigh, and the fabric was something that looked stretchy, slick, and wet. The dress was enough to cause instant eye fixation, but I did manage to notice the fishnet hose and high-heeled gold sandals. She’d also fluffed her hair up into a sex kitten ‘do. I used to wonder how Sierra had made it as an exotic dancer, but now I realized I had things backward. The real question was how she’d managed to hide her headlights under a bushel well enough to masquerade as a preacher’s wife.

  As we walked to our table, my parents seemed as stunned as I was by Sierra’s entrance. They kept sneaking glances at her and looking shocked. What was going on? I wondered. Hadn’t they seen her at home? Then I looked at Daniel. He was smiling a little too happily. I poked him in the ribs.

  “I told you to wear that dress,” he whispered.

  Damn! He was right! I’d missed my chance to make a splash, and I’d never have another one. If I wore that dress tomorrow, it would only look like I was trying to catch up.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention,” I snapped back.

  “Right,” Daniel said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We all sat down, everybody sticking with their partners. That was fine with me because I’ve always enjoyed the exciting secret games you can play under a tablecloth. The hostess handed my dad an electronic tablet and told him it was the wine list.

  “Just touch each selection with the stylus for more information,” she said in a well-rehearsed soliloquy. “We have over three thousand fine bottles to choose from, and our wine steward will be with you in a moment to answer any questions you may have.”

  And probably run a credit check, I thought to myself. This was the kind of place with plenty of four-digit prices on the wine list.

  As we sat there in the silence following her departure, I looked around the table. “Why are you all dressed like fashionistas?” I wanted to shout. “And how come you didn’t arrive together?” Suddenly, I was jealous of David Nussbaum. In his family, it would probably be fine to blurt out whatever question was on your mind. But in the Black household, rule number one is: Never ask the obvious question, especially if you’re dying to know the answer.

  The silence continued until I said, “How did you manage to get reservations here at the last minute?” I looked at Michael when I said it, but I realized I had no idea who was responsible. Mom? Dad? Sierra?

  “Julia Saxon got them for us,” Michael said. “One more reason I’m glad she’s on my team.”

  Just then, the wine steward showed up. Right behind him was a stylish young sidekick carrying an ice bucket already holding a champagne bottle.

  “A friend thought you might like to start with a bit of Cristal,” the steward said in one of those generic European accents that might be French, might be Italian, and might have been learned in wine steward school. He handed Michael an envelope, popped the cork, and filled six flutes.

  “À votre santé,” he said before he vanished.

  Michael opened the envelope and slid out a card. “Oh, how nice!” he said, and he read the message aloud. “I understand you have something to celebrate—I hope this helps! Merry Christmas to the Black family. Julia.”

  “That is so lovely!” Mom said. “Merry Christmas to all!”

  We all drank and pretended to smile, but nobody said anything more, even though I was positive Julia meant us to celebrate Michael and Sierra’s new baby, not Christmas. Damn. It was going to be a long, weird evening, so I practically emptied my glass on that first swallow.

  “So how’s life in Costa Rica?” Dad asked suddenly. Black family rule number two: When the going gets tough, change the subject.

  “Damp,” Daniel said. “Green.”

  “Tell us all about it,” Mom urged, leaning forward on her elbows. “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

  But just then the waiter showed up and recited the evening’s epic poem about what the chef was concocting in the kitchen. After we had all decided which free-ranging creature and prepubescent vegetable we preferred, I excused myself to find the restroom. I didn’t really need to go. I just wanted a break.

  I had almost reached the door when Michael stopped me.

  “They moved out,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The parents. They’re staying here now.”

  “You mean here—at the Bellagio? Why?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  Michael was upset. He never says “hell” otherwise.

  “No idea?”

  “Nope. But Sierra’s taking it personally, and I can’t say I blame her. She knocked herself out getting the house ready for them, and now it’s not good enough.”

  Unless it’s the new grandson who isn’t making the grade, I thought. If this was a comment about baby Nicholas, it was despicable.

  “It’s a horrible thing to do,” I said, still not quite believing it. “Except—”

  I paused. I still wasn’t sure I should tell Michael about Mom’s email correspondence.

  “Except what?” Michael glanced back in the direction of the table. “Tell me. I’ve got to get back and keep the peace. If something sets Sierra off—”

  “It’s just that Mom—well, she’s got some things going on.”

  “Now there’s news,” Michael said.

  “No, new ones,” I said. “I think—I think she’s having an affair.”

  Michael laughed. “You’re joking,” he said. “Right?”

  I shook my head, and his smile faded.

  “Well, I wish you were,” he said, “because that’s exactly what I’m beginning to think about Ted.”

  “Really?” I said. “Why?”

  But just then my father appeared. Michael sighed and rolled his eyes at me as the two of them disappeared into the men’s room.

  “We took a boat over to Cocos Island,” Daniel was saying to my mother when I got back to the table. “There are still a lot of people who think there’s a fabulous treasure hidden there, but we were just doing plant inventory. The only treasure I found was a perfect conch shell, unless you count all the iguanas and hermit crabs.”

  “It really does sound intriguing,” Mom said. “I’ve always wanted to visit Central America, but Ted always talks me into Europe.”

  That was news to me. I�
��d always thought my father traveled only to please my mother, and she always chose Paris or London. I looked at Dad as he picked up his napkin and sat back down. His mind was at least a light year away. What the hell was going on with them? I wondered. Half listening to Daniel’s description of the iguanas and parrots that shared his beachside cottage and half wondering what secrets my parents weren’t telling, I polished off another glass of champagne.

  About the time the waiter was trying to talk us into an architecturally significant dessert, I heard a familiar voice talking to the blonde at the check-in desk.

  “The Black family,” it said. “They had an eight o’clock reservation.”

  It was Julia Saxon, all smiles in a sparkly green cocktail dress that made me wish once again that I had worn my bronze satin number. A man in a tux was with her, but he hung back. I tried to get a good look at him, but all I could see was curly gray-brown hair ringing a bald spot, a hawk’s beak of a nose sticking out from under black-rimmed glasses, and a cell phone earpiece the size of a TV remote stuck to the side of his face.

  “Michael!” Julia practically gushed. “I’m so glad everything worked out!”

  Michael introduced her around, and we all thanked her for the surprise champagne.

  “Congratulations to all of you,” she gushed again. “I’m so happy for you, Sierra, and I can’t wait to meet little Nicky.”

  Sierra was trying to respond when Julia abruptly turned again to Michael.

  “Can you meet tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly all business. “I’ve got a few things we need to go over.”

  Michael was caught off guard.

  “Uh, sure,” he said.

  “My office. Eleven o’clock.” Then she turned to me.

  “Copper,” she said, too fiercely to be friendly. “Have you found the tape recorder I loaned to Victoria? Or any cassettes? Richard McKimber doesn’t have them.”

  I gaped at her.

  “Copper, they could be very important to her case against American Beauty.”

  “I haven’t seen anything like that so far, but I’ll keep looking,” I said, “I still have quite a bit of material to go through.”

  Julia stared at me, and I couldn’t squelch the feeling that she thought I was lying. “Do it tonight,” she said at last. “Call me tomorrow. Have you got my cell number?”