by Beth Ciotta
“There goes my barbecue,” Mom said out of the blue.
It took a second to realize she was lamenting the weather, not the incident. The sky had turned dark and angry and thunder rumbled in the distance.
“No reason to forfeit the night,” Dad said. “Why don’t you bring the fixings over to the tavern. I’ll close down for a private shindig. We’ll fire up the grill in the kitchen. Drinks on the house.”
“But you’ll lose a night’s business,” Mom said reasonably, skeptically.
“Don’t give a flip, Marilyn.”
Because I was used to their crappy communication skills, I read between the lines and took control before they botched what smacked of a possible truce. “I think it’s an excellent idea.” I elbowed Arch.
“Brilliant,” he said, draping an arm over my shoulders. “Dinnae know aboot the rest of you, but I could use a pint, yeah?”
Nic tucked her sunglasses into her designer purse. “I’ll second that.”
Beckett eyed her, then addressed Mom. “I’ll be happy to help you transport the groceries, Mrs. Parish.”
As Arch’s supposed aide, it made sense that he would offer, but I wanted private words with Mom and this seemed the perfect opportunity. “That’s okay,” I said brightly. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll come with you,” Nic said. “We’ll meet you men at the bar.”
I hadn’t planned on Nic’s company, but I couldn’t exclude her and, besides, I got the feeling she didn’t want to be alone with Beckett. Though I’d initially sensed an attraction on Nic’s part, all they seemed to do was knock heads. Looking at my smart and beautiful friend, I couldn’t imagine why Beckett would prefer me over her. For that matter, what did Arch see in me? He could have any woman. Heck, according to his janitor buddy, Marvin, he routinely enjoyed a smorgasbord of pretty birds. Was I a passing fancy? For that matter, was he a passing fancy? That would explain my awareness of Beckett. Had I mistaken fantasy love for true love? Technically, I suppose, Arch and I were in the giddy, obsessive first stage of falling in love. What if we didn’t weather the second stage? What if this was a simple case of sexual chemistry?
I massaged my throbbing temples.
Without a word, Beckett produced one of those pain-reliever travel packs from his pocket and passed it to me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sure,” he said.
I washed down Tylenol with the water given to me by Nic, cheeks heating under the calm stare of Arch. Uh-oh.
Nic grunted and spun away. “I need to get something out of the car.”
“You okay?” Dad asked.
“Just a tension headache,” I said, letting my parents assume it was because of the boobs-on-film fiasco.
“All the more reason to get dinner started and some food in your stomach. We’ll take my car,” Mom said, smoothing a self-conscious hand over her hair.
It was an invitation for Dad to comment on her new do, but he didn’t. Cripes. “What do you think of Mom’s new hairstyle and color, Dad?” Please say something nice.
“I like it,” he said simply. “Very pretty. Very—” he cleared his throat “—flattering.”
Mom blushed and looked away. “It was time for a change.”
Nic rushed back, obliterating the awkwardness. “I’m ready.”
“Tavern’s a couple blocks up. No need to drive separately.” Dad motioned to his four-door. “Hop in.”
Arch brushed my bangs from my eyes. “Cheers, Sunshine.” But I knew he meant Good luck with your ma. He took off with my Dad.
“Be right there,” said Beckett.
“My car’s across the street, girls,” Mom said, making a dash as she looked toward the boomer clouds. “Hurry.”
I stepped to the curb, glancing over my shoulder to see Nic perform her role as Beckett’s girlfriend. She leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “See you in a while, honey.” But as she walked away, he snagged her hand and pulled her against his body.
Rubbernecking without looking obvious was impossible, so—to hell with it—I gawked straight out.
Beckett kissed Nic on the mouth, then whispered something in her ear before allowing her to catch up to me. My imagination soared. I wondered about that kiss. Sweet? Hot? Not that I was jealous, just curious. And what did he whisper? Did he demand she give him the memory card? He’d paid handsomely for it, after all. Did he blast her for taking it in the first place? Tell her to tell me I’m fired? Once we started across the street, I asked. “What did he say?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.”
She shoved on her sunglasses—weird, given the overcast skies. Stranger still, she blushed. “He said, ‘Well done.’”
MILO HADN’T INTENDED to encourage Nicole and Evie’s reckless behavior. The compliment had slipped out in the aftermath of a disquieting stir. He’d kissed Nicole for appearance’ sake. A chaste kiss, yet he’d felt a brief pulse of lust. Goes to show how lame his sex life had been of late. Sure, she was gorgeous, but that’s where the attraction stopped. She was also cynical and rude. If he experienced a stir kissing someone he didn’t even like, what would happen if he kissed Evie?
Curiosity stoked the attraction, and it would only get worse. One kiss would solve the mystery. If he felt nothing, no chemistry, the infatuation would die a quick death. On the other hand…
Shake it off, Beckett.
He blamed his wayward thoughts on the residual adrenaline coursing through his system after an inspired performance. Two men trained in the confidence game. Two professional actresses. They’d clicked like an experienced team. He couldn’t deny the rush. Couldn’t deny the women’s talent. His ability to think in terms of black and white had been compromised. Lack of sleep didn’t help.
By the time they reached the Corner Tavern and settled in at the bar his mood had turned as frosty as the mug of Bud served up by Mr. Parish. His mind churned as the man shooed everyone out, patrons and employees. Next he called and canceled the band for the night, with pay. Generous, Milo thought. Honest. Like father like daughter.
He waited until the elder man disappeared into the kitchen and turned to Arch. “If you tell me you planned that episode just so you could land a front-page story in order to advance the senator’s sting, I won’t be believe it. Not even you are that good.”
Arch opened a fresh pack of Marlboros. “Let’s cut through the shite, Jazzman.”
“Think you’re capable?”
“Evie and I are involved, yeah?”
“The truth. Huh. Sounds odd coming from you.”
“Sarcasm. Sounds natural coming from you.”
Longtime adversaries before they’d partnered, Milo was used to this verbal sparring. All part of their complicated dance, although it suddenly felt as if they’d lost their rhythm. Probably because someone now stood between them.
Milo drank his beer, cursed the jealousy stabbing his gut. Arch’s admission hadn’t come as a surprise, but it sure as hell worsened his mood.
The Scot lit a cigarette, tossed the match in a boot-shaped ashtray. Unlike the Chameleon Club, the Corner Tavern was themed and dressed for success. Milo could imagine Twinkie on that stage. He could hear her whiskey voice paying homage to Patsy Cline. But he couldn’t imagine her moving back to Greenville, as he knew her Dad hoped. Though she’d retained certain small-town sensibilities, she’d outgrown the low-key lifestyle.
She doesn’t want to go back.
Convenient. Milo didn’t want to leave her behind. She made him smile during this joyless period of his life. She kept him connected to innocence and the pursuit of dreams. She reminded him of the good in people, inspired him to stick to his guns, thumb his nose at the naysayers and make a difference. She wanted to do something important. So did he.
Arch blew smoke in the opposite direction, then caught Milo’s eye. “I need to make something clear, yeah? Regarding Evie’s integrity. She did break off with me in London. She wasn’t lying aboot that. S
he respects your stand on team members screwing around.”
“But you don’t.”
“She’s not an active player.”
“Not the point.”
He shrugged. “Things happen, mate.”
“Yeah. You and Gina. You and Evie.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
“Because Evie is different.”
“You mentioned that before. She’s not like us, you said. I agree. She’s wounded and bitter about certain aspects of her life, but she’s not jaded. She hasn’t developed skin as tough as a rhino’s. She won’t bounce back like Gina when you get bored and cast her aside.”
“It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like?”
“With Gina it was aboot sex. Just sex.”
“And with Evie?”
He didn’t answer and Milo’s gut kicked. This was bad all around. Knowing Arch—as well as one could—he couldn’t imagine him committing to a long-term relationship. “Are you prepared to marry this woman? That’s what she’ll expect if you keep heading down this path. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s in love with you.”
“I noticed.”
Milo waited. Part of him reveled when Arch didn’t profess the same. Part of him cursed the detached bastard. “This complicates matters.”
“Because you’ve got eyes for Evie yourself, yeah?”
There was that. But he was also thinking about the overall dynamics of the team. And Evie. Instead of denying or confirming Arch’s allegation, he said, “I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’ve put your all into Chameleon, I’ll give you that, but you’re hardly reformed. Over the years you’ve gone renegade more than once. Jetted off to bumfuck wherever to engage in activities known only to you.”
“I’m entitled to a personal life, yeah?”
“Not when it entails criminal activity. I put my neck on the block for you, Arch. Played loose with the law to keep your crooked ass out of prison.”
“So you’re fond of reminding me.”
“Point is, you’ve got another life, a secret life. I’ve maintained a less-I-know-the-better attitude because I needed your expertise to obliterate the worst of your kind. Evie’s interest in you is genuine. If you continue to deceive her, then you’re nothing but a stupid, selfish prick.”
“Dinnae sugarcoat it,” Arch said, gaze level as he sucked on that Marlboro.
“If you truly care for Evie, you’ll come clean with her. No secrets. Otherwise any lasting relationship—if you’re capable of such a thing—is doomed.”
“You speak, of course, from experience.”
A prick and an asshole. Milo didn’t need to be reminded of his own failed marriage. The disconnection and disillusion. The secrets and betrayals. He’d like to think he’d learned from the fucked-up experience. God forbid he share that wisdom with a friend. Not that Arch was a friend in a traditional sense. But there was—and had always been—a mutual admiration and warped camaraderie between them.
“Lecture over?” Arch asked.
“Go to hell.”
“Probably.” The Scot crushed out the cigarette while seemingly weighing his words. “Evie has her heart set on being an active member of Chameleon, you know?”
Milo nodded. “I think she’s got potential.”
“Aye. She’s a natural. But I dinnae want to subject her to our world. Not on a regular basis. She’s sensitive and good and…”
“Not like the people we tangle with on a routine basis.” He knew what Arch was trying to say because he felt the same way. As though they were tainting something pure. Still, she deserved an honest shot at a job she badly wanted. He checked to make sure they were still alone. Even so, he lowered his voice further. “If she proves she’s a capable shill, I’m not going back on my word, Arch. I’m not going to manipulate her.”
“I sense an unspoken like you.”
“You claim you flew in to keep me from ruining my career. I think you’re here because you didn’t want me to act as Evie’s savior. What if I busted the man scamming her mom? What if Evie’s gratitude grew into something more intimate? What if we seriously bonded? What if you turned out to be nothing more than a dangerous thrill?”
Arch betrayed nothing in words or expression, but Milo knew he’d hit the mark. He barreled on, wanting to make the amoral man think, feel. “Even though you and I have worked together for almost three years, you still operate as though we’re competitors. You second-guess me, you counter me, you constantly take the lead. I think your need to be top dog is at work here. I’m less sure of your motive. Do you honestly want Evie? Or is it that you don’t want me to have her?”
“Are you saying you’re going to make a play?”
Milo heard Mr. Parish coming their way. He polished off his beer, mentally ticking off all the reasons Twinkie would be better off with him than Arch. “If she makes the first move.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“WHERE’S NICOLE?”
“She ran up to the bathroom to freshen up.” I wrung my hands as Mom located three paper bags and set them on the counter. I glanced down at my pink shirt, frowning at a few specks of Kitt’s dried blood. “I also asked her to search my bedroom for a fresh shirt. Must be something in there that still fits. And I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to raid Christopher’s room for a clean shirt for Arch. His is stained.”
“Why don’t you run up and help her look?”
“She’ll do okay. Besides, I wanted a few minutes alone with you.” On the ride home I’d decided to be as truthful as possible with Mom in hopes that she’d do the same.
“Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. I was young once, Evelyn, and stargazing was around before you were born.”
Okay, I’m not sure I wanted to know my mom used to make out in the backseat with boys. Then again, it did make her human…and truthful. “Actually,” I said, stopping her as she reached for the fridge handle, “I was hoping to talk about you and Dad.”
She tensed and I saw a glimpse of the repressive woman I’d grown up with. “It’s private,” she said in her no-nonsense teacher voice.
“Yes, I know. I respect that, but…” Start the party. Be the first one on the dance floor. “I love you, Mom.” When she didn’t respond, I boogied on. “I want you to be happy. I know whatever’s going on between you and Dad is private, but we’re family, and if you can’t confide in me…” I clasped her hand. “I know I made a mess of my own marriage. I know you don’t think—”
“Hold on, Evelyn. You don’t know what I think.”
My back went up. “You told me if I had paid more attention to my husband and less to my career—”
“I was angry. Not at you but at Michael and the situation. I don’t express myself well.” She sighed. “It’s something I’m trying to change. Please—” she squeezed my hand, nodded toward the kitchen chairs “—sit down.”
My heart pounded anticipating news that the world was coming to an end because, hello, Mom and I were talking. About stuff that matters. I sat, stiff-backed and poised on the edge of the seat.
She eased into a chair, placed her hands on the table and fixed her gaze on the napkin holder. She was quiet for so long I wondered if this was a new bizarre silent treatment, but then she lifted her chin and looked me in the eyes. “You didn’t fail your marriage, Michael did.”
My shoulders sagged with relief. My friends had uttered similar words, but I’d still felt guilty. Until now. Mom’s support worked like an elixir.
“I was distraught at the thought of you being alone in your early forties, angry because the profession you’d chosen was turning its back on you at such a young age.”
“Forty-anything isn’t young in the entertainment industry, Mom.”
“That’s my point, Evelyn. Please listen. This isn’t easy for me.”
I suppressed a smile. We
were talking, and nothing, not even a small reversion to her former snippy self, could dampen my elation.
“Everything in your life went down the commode at the same time.”
“Yes, I know,” I said with ironic humor. “I was there.”
She quirked a fleeting smile. “If you’d gone to college, if you had a diploma to fall back on, you could’ve gone into teaching dramatics or music, even at this late date. You would’ve had stability. No mother wants to see their child flail, living paycheck to paycheck or, worse, sinking into deep debt. When I brought up getting a respectable, reliable nine-to-five, you balked. I blamed you for being foolhardy and stubborn, just as I did all those years ago when you joined a band instead of enrolling in a university. That was wrong of me. I see that now. You are who you are because of the choices you make. You are a beautiful person, Evelyn.”
The lump in my throat was easily the size of an orange. Vision blurry, I clasped my hands in my lap.
“Don’t cry, dear. Otherwise I won’t be able to continue.”
I nodded and squeezed back tears.
“I don’t think like you do, Evelyn. I’m logical, grounded. I never understood your artistic spirit. When your life fell apart, I didn’t know how to help. I was convinced, given our history, that you wouldn’t be open to any of my suggestions, so rather than risk rejection, I barely tried. Instead I focused on my own life, my own marriage, thinking nothing would make me happier than spending my golden years living in Florida with your father.
“As you know, we did not see eye to eye on that score. I wanted to relocate, instead he bought the tavern. I kicked George out because I was hurt. He preferred work and his cronies to me.”
“That’s not true, Mom.”
“It’s a little true. I’ve realized since then that I am opinionated and rigid. But I don’t want to get into that. The point is, I soon learned that he intended to refurbish the tavern so that you would have a place to earn a living doing what you love to do. I thought it was thoughtful and generous and I resented not being a part of that. It made me feel selfish and small.”
I massaged a dull throbbing at my temples. So much to take in. “I don’t understand why he didn’t tell you up front. About his reasons for buying the tavern, I mean.”