Bad Girls Don't

by Linz, Cathie

  Still trying to collect the scattered molecules of her body after that last explosive orgasm he’d given her, Skye was unable to move.

  “Mommy, were you turning him into a toad? Was he mean to you again?” Toni gave Nathan a glare that was fiercely protective of her mother.

  “No, he wasn’t mean. He was being very, very, very . . . nice.”

  Did Nathan just snort at her in a muffled sort of way? “If he was nice, then why were you squashing him?” Toni asked.

  “We were just fooling around,” Skye said.

  She definitely heard him snort this time.

  Skye ignored him and focused on her daughter. This gave her the energy to get up from the couch and hurry over to Toni, who had her beloved Ta the Tiger clutched in one hand. “What’s the matter, honey? Did you have a bad dream?”

  Toni yawned, then said, “I heard noises.”

  “Must have been the television,” Nathan mumbled.

  Skye rolled her eyes. “We don’t have a television.”

  His disbelieving look clearly said what kind of weirdo doesn’t have a TV, but aloud he just said, “I’d better be going now.”

  “Don’t you want to read me a story from the kitten book you gave me?” Toni asked him.

  Every muscle in Nathan’s face froze.

  Taking pity on him—after all, the man had given her a Big O three-peat—Skye said, “He can’t tonight. Maybe next time.”

  As she watched Nathan walk toward the door, she wondered if there would be a next time. Or if he’d retreat behind that thick wall he’d built around himself.

  Chapter Nine

  “I think Haynes is having trouble with his sixth chakra,” Brock, the jock quarterback, told Skye before the team’s yoga class began. “Isn’t that the one located between the eyes that gives you clear vision of the world around you? The third eye, right?”

  Skye nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Well, his third eye isn’t working.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because the moron can’t catch any pass I throw him,” Brock drawled.

  To which Haynes responded, “Maybe if you threw more accurately, I’d be able to catch your passes.”

  “Have you both been doing your visualizations?” Skye asked.

  “I’ve been visualizing that new bootie-licious babe on the cheerleading squad,” Brock said.

  Skye wasn’t impressed. “Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble with your passes.”

  Brock smirked. “My passes are always successful. Especially with the babes.”

  “Which would be fine if you were trying out for the cheerleading squad,” Coach Spears growled. Where had he come from? The coach had a habit—or talent, depending on your point of view—of appearing out of nowhere. And the guy had eyes and ears in the back of his head. He missed nothing. It was uncanny. “Is that your plan, Brock? To become a cheerleader?”

  Brock hung his head. “No, Coach.”

  “Then stay focused. Our opening game is next Friday. You’re coming,” he said curtly to Skye.

  She didn’t answer. She did not respond well to orders. Coach Spears belatedly remembered that and decided to play the sympathy card. “The kids are counting on you.”

  One wave of his hand, and the team instantly looked at her en masse with sad puppy-dog eyes.

  “Fine.” Skye sighed. “I’ll be there.”

  Now the guys were all high-fiving each other. She even saw a few exchanging dollar bills, as if they’d placed a bet on her answer.

  She clapped her hands to get their attention. “Okay, remember what I said about yoga offering you a complete body workout, balancing the stresses of your football practices and correcting the tightness that might cause pulled hamstrings or knee injuries. So let’s begin with your breathing . . .”

  They knew the routine now. Some had even come up with their own names for a few of the poses.

  “Now move into the Monkey forward bend.”

  “Monkey butt in air,” they all translated.

  “Warrior One,” Skye continued. This series was their favorite. “Holding Warrior poses develops balance and concentration,” Skye said as she did the pose with them. “You can overcome any obstacle. Smoothly moving now into Warrior Two. Spine straight. Exhale and bend your right knee. Good. Good. Breathe deeply.”

  And so she put the team through their paces. Watching them, she could see how they’d improved over the past few weeks. Their confidence had increased, as well as their ability to focus.

  Coach Spears always disappeared during their workout, as if he were afraid Skye might try and press him onto a yoga mat and put him to work. But he always magically reappeared the moment they were done.

  “I’m expecting great things from you.” The coach gave them all a look, not unlike the variety that Sister Mary could come up with. It was a look that got results. “Do not disappoint me. Now hit the showers.”

  The team headed out of the gym like a herd of buffalo. “You’ve done a good job with them,” Coach Spears told Skye.

  “So have you.”

  “I’ve got to tell you, I wasn’t sure about this entire yoga thing.”

  So he’d told her every time she’d shown up.

  “But I’m thinking, this is working,” he admitted. “Of course, I’ll think it works even better if we win that opening game.”

  “That’s up to fate and karma.”

  “Fate and Karma? Are those linebackers on the Cougars team?”

  “No.”

  “My team holds their own fate in their hands. And that better be all they’re holding,” he muttered with a dark look toward the exit leading to the showers. “Gotta go.”

  “Meditation is a way of living,” Angel told Adam in the quietly rich confines of his inner office on the top floor of one of Philadelphia’s premier buildings.

  Adam said nothing, a look of concentration on his face. Angel had the uneasy feeling he was thinking about his business deals.

  “Truth and beauty are infinite things,” she continued brightly. “There is no formula for meditation.”

  “Well, there should be,” Adam said. “Who the hell has the time to sit around trying to figure out truth, justice, and the American way?”

  “I believe that’s Superman’s line. I don’t think he was into meditation.”

  “What do you know about Superman?”

  Angel thought his question sounded rather dismissive. And she was getting another hot flash, which aggravated her. But then, today, just about everything aggravated her. “A friend of mine owns a comic-book store.”

  “That shouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’ve got a lot of friends in unusual professions.”

  “I’m going to ignore that rude comment and continue our lesson.”

  “How long is it going to take for me to perfect this meditation thing?” Adam demanded impatiently.

  “Is that your goal?”

  “One of them.”

  “A goal is in the future. In order to meditate successfully, you need to live in the present. It’s not a matter of effort or control.”

  “I’m all about effort and control.”

  “I had noticed that.” Angel fingered the amethyst crystal around her neck. It was supposed to calm an overstressed mind, but, so far, it wasn’t working. Maybe hot flashes blocked the crystal’s healing force.

  “I talked to Julia last night,” Adam said abruptly.

  “So she told me.”

  “Did you tell her we’re seeing each other?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “I may have alluded to it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Angel unbuttoned the top button on her billowy Indian-cotton shirt. The thing was suffocating her, making her want to suffocate Adam.

  She wasn’t normally a violent person. But she wasn’t normal at the moment.

  What had made her think s
he could manage Adam? That she could turn him into a better man? A meditative man.

  “I must have been delusional,” she said softly.

  “And that’s why you don’t want Julia knowing we’re seeing one another?”

  “You make it sound like we’re a couple or something.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “Is the idea so outlandish?”

  “Totally.”

  “Why?”

  “What’s wrong with you today?”

  “Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

  “A lot.” She reached for her bottle of chilled water and took several gulps before placing the cold bottle against her wrist. Hadn’t she read someplace that doing so would cool you down in the middle of a hot flash?

  “Are you ill?” Adam asked.

  Did he look concerned for her . . . or for himself?

  “Don’t worry. What I have isn’t contagious.”

  “What is it?”

  “Menopause,” she snarled. “You wanna make something of it?”

  He backed up as if she’d just turned into a she-wolf. “No.”

  “Good. Because I’m in no mood for a hassle.”

  “I can see that.”

  She unwrapped the scarf she had around her neck.

  “What are you doing?” He eyed her cautiously, as if afraid she might use it to strangle him.

  “I’m hot. What’s the temperature in here?”

  “I always keep the office at sixty-nine degrees.”

  The bottle against her wrist wasn’t helping the coal furnace burning in her chest. So she splashed a little cold water down her shirtfront. Or that was her intention. The result was closer to a drenching than a splash. Her thin cotton shirt now clung to her breasts. She peeled it away from her skin and glared at Adam as if this were all his fault. “What are you looking at?”

  “I . . . uh . . . perhaps I should wait outside until you . . . er . . . recover.”

  As Angel watched the door close behind him, she wondered how many people had the power to make billionaire Adam Kemp retreat from his own office. Not many, she was willing to bet. Which left her feeling strangely proud of herself.

  Skye stood before the Tivoli Theater, her friends gathered around her. It was the Sunday before Labor Day. “I appreciate you coming here today to help me celebrate my finally getting possession of the theater.” In honor of the big event, Skye had taped a length of ribbon across the Tivoli’s dusty glass entrance doors. She’d also borrowed Toni’s tiara, which she wore perched on top of her head as she addressed the small crowd—Angel, Sue Ellen, Lulu, Algee, and Tyler. And, of course, Toni, who had dressed up for the occasion by teaming her pink tutu with a pair of orange polka-dotted tights and a lime green top.

  “It’s Labor Day weekend, so it’s fitting that we spend it working,” Angel said.

  Skye had asked everyone to wear work clothes, which meant different things to different people. To Tyler and Algee, it meant jeans and T-shirts. To Lulu, it meant wearing her “No Sense in Being Pessimistic. It Wouldn’t Work Anyway” tank top and baggy black pants with metal studs on the pockets. But to Sue Ellen, it meant sculpted red nails with red and white stripes to match her red-and-white-striped bandeau top, red shorts, and red kitten-heeled sandals.

  “Ready, everyone?” Skye said.

  “Wait! I want a picture.” Sue Ellen handed a disposable camera to Skye. “Take my picture. Make sure you get the nails in clearly.” She turned her back to Skye and looked co-quettishly over her shoulder, her chin resting on one hand.

  “What are you doing?” Skye said.

  “I’m posing. You know, the way all the big-name actresses do on the red carpet.”

  “Where’s the red carpet?” Toni demanded. “I like red.”

  “Yes, where is the red carpet?” Sue Ellen asked. “I expected for this momentous occasion—”

  “I’m saving it for the theater’s reopening,” Skye broke in, clicking the camera’s shutter without paying much attention.

  “Are you sure you got my nails?” Sue Ellen sent her a worried look. “I had my hand posed just right on my shoulder. And my eyebrows looked okay too, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Skye muttered, passing the camera back to her. “Now where was I . . . ? Oh, yeah.” Taking the small sewing scissors Angel handed her, she said in a tony English accent, “I declare this theater . . . open for work!” And with a royal wave, she cut the ribbon.

  Everyone jumbled forward, but Skye had to unlock the front door first. “Hold on! Okay.”

  The door open, they all hurried inside. And were stunned into silence.

  “Usually people look at a piece of property before they buy it,” Algee noted. “You looked in here before buying, right?”

  “Sort of. I wasn’t seeing all the work that had to be done. I was seeing possibilities.” Skye sounded a tad defensive.

  “I think you were hallucinating,” Sue Ellen said. “I hear you can do that if you drink too much carrot juice.”

  “An urban myth,” Skye said.

  “So is this place.”

  The lobby had seen better days, to put it mildly. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, and stalactites of dust hung in the corners. A once-white-but-now-grubby drop cloth haphazardly covered the concession stand’s two glass cases. The walls and floor were dark and grungy, and there was an unmistakably musty smell in the air. Dust motes danced in the pale sunlight filtering in through the dirty glass entry doors.

  “Well, it’s mine now,” Skye stated proudly.

  Sue Ellen shook her head in disbelief. “Yes, it is . . . you poor lost soul.”

  “Thank you for your words of encouragement, Sue Ellen. As always, they are such a morale boost.”

  “If you’re looking for a morale boost, get a manicure.” Sue Ellen waved her acrylic nails at her.

  Skye turned to another friend. “What do you think, Algee?”

  “You’re going to need some major elbow grease.”

  “I agree,” Tyler said from beside him.

  “I could smudge the interior for you,” Angel offered. “Burn some dried sage and juniper to get rid of any negative energy that might be left behind.”

  Tyler looked around, frowning at the brass wall sconce barely clinging to the wall. “Speaking of energy, you’re going to need an electrician to check out the entire system, and a plumber to check out the pipes.”

  “My granddad could help with that,” Lulu said. “The electrical part, I mean. He’s a retired electrician. He should be getting back from his biker rally in South Dakota in a few days. I’ll have him give you a call when he does.”

  “Thanks, Lulu. And thanks, everyone, for agreeing to pitch in and help out today.”

  “I like that little ticket-booth thing there by the entrance,” Lulu said. “Sweet.”

  “Where’s the ice cream?” Toni demanded, pointing at a picture of a Fudgsicle on the wall behind the concession stand.

  “No ice cream,” Skye replied. “They’re all out.”

  Sue Ellen sneezed. “It sure is dusty in here.”

  “Well, the place has been closed up for a number of years,” Skye said.

  “You don’t think it’s haunted, do you?” Sue Ellen’s eyes darted around the shadowy interior. “Like in The Phantom of the Opera? I never saw it, but I heard it had something to do with a haunted theater.”

  “I’d love to have a ghost,” Skye said with enthusiasm.

  Sue Ellen jumped as a florescent tube above the concession stand flickered off in a burst of blue light. “I knew it! This place is haunted.”

  “Maybe someone was murdered here once.” Lulu used her best “spooky” voice, which was good enough to go on a Halloween recording. “Do you know how many murder victims know their attackers?”

  “No, and I don’t want to!” Sue Ellen backed up until she was at the entrance, her hands reaching behind her for the door handle. “I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a wimp,” Lulu said
.

  “Come on. I think the realtor told me the rest of the light switches are in the office.” Skye unlocked the door to a small room with paneling from the seventies, just like in Nick’s Tavern. The photo on the wall was of former President Ronald Reagan. That was it as far as artwork went. A dented black file cabinet stood alongside a scarred oak desk in one corner. The top of the desk showed a number of cigarette burns as well as water stains from cups once placed on its surface.

  A metal folding chair was placed behind the abused desk. Skye sat on the wobbly chair and faced her friends and family. “So, what do you think? Do I look like a business mogul?”

  “Not in that outfit,” Sue Ellen replied.

  “Good. I don’t want to be a mogul.” Skye was wearing her “Got Brains” T-shirt and rattiest low-cut jeans. Not exactly Donald Trump Apprentice attire. “I wouldn’t mind skiing some moguls, but that’s another story.”

  “We should probably start with a list of repairs that need to be made,” Tyler suggested. “You’re going to have to hire professionals for some of the work or you won’t meet the code requirements.”

  “Believe me,” Skye assured him, “after getting zapped with a bolt of electricity a few weeks ago trying to fix our toaster, I have no intention of playing with that stuff. But the cleaning can be done by us. And some of the minor repairs.”

  “Did you see that vintage popcorn machine in the lobby?” Angel asked.

  Skye nodded. “Of course, we’re only going to sell organic popcorn.”

  Angel waved her hands. “And none of that fake butter stuff.”

  “Right,” Skye agreed. “We’ll have brewer’s yeast. Or chili powder and lime zest.”

  Sue Ellen stared at Skye and Angel as if they’d stepped out of a Friday the 13th movie. “Brewer’s yeast? Lime zest? On popcorn? That’s just wrong. Who’s going to buy that?”

  “Anyone with good sense.”

  “We don’t want customers with good sense, we want customers with good taste. Which is why you should use my decorating talents. I hate to brag, but”—Sue Ellen fluffed her hair—“I’ve been told that I have outstanding taste.”

  “Oh, please.” Lulu popped the gum she was chewing. “You like velvet paintings of Elvis.”