by Beth Ciotta
“Because I had always been opposed to your creative pursuits, he anticipated a fight, and you know how your father hates scenes. Also, at the time we weren’t getting along. Being around each other seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day is…difficult.”
“I suspect that would be the case for most couples, Mom.”
“Maybe. Still, living alone for a week gave me a lot of time to think. I decided to make some changes. I wanted to make an effort to understand you better, so I decided to try something creative. That’s when I met the man who showed me the light.”
I fidgeted in my seat, unsure if I was ready for this next part.
“You met him,” she said, lighting up with a smile that cramped my stomach. “Randolph Gish.”
“The dance instructor.”
She nodded. “I signed up for his class thinking I was going to get dance lessons.”
I arched a brow. “And?”
“I got life lessons. I can’t believe how fast and well we hit it off. He’s charming, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “He’s okay.”
She pursed her lips. “You say that because you only have eyes for Archibald.”
“Are you saying you have eyes for Randolph?”
“In a romantic sense? Heavens, no. First of all, I’m married. Second of all, he’s much too young for me. Third, he’s…”
“Gay?”
“You noticed.” She leaned forward, voice low. “He’s in the closet. Said he’s suffered discrimination and that’s why he moves around a lot. Said his classes thrive more if he pretends to be heterosexual.”
A straight man pretending to be a gay man pretending to be straight. If I were less imaginative, that would have given me a brain cramp. “So…what? You’re friends?”
“Good friends.”
Straight girl/gay guy buddies. “Did he talk you into this makeover?”
“He did. And I’m not sorry. I love it and, just as Randolph predicted, George approved.” Her cheeks flushed. “Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“Who? Daddy?” My heart fluttered. “Yes, I saw. I think he’s quite smitten with your sexy new look.”
“Sexy?” She gave a nervous laugh. “It’s been a long time since George looked at me the way Archibald looks at you. I have to confess, I like it.”
I smiled. “You want to reunite with Dad.”
“I do. But not as the old us. I’m working hard on becoming a more tolerant, sociable person, but he needs to make an effort to change, too. A good relationship involves sacrifice and compromise, respect and trust. Meanwhile, I’m investing in our future.”
Warning bells clanged in my head. “Investing?”
She bit her lower lip. “I promised Randolph I wouldn’t tell anyone. The project’s in the preliminary stages. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’m getting in on the ground floor.”
Common buzz words and phrases used in a come-on. I’d heard them, read them. Gish had hooked and reeled Mom in, pitched an irresistible deal. He’d probably cough up a small return—the convincer—then soak her for an additional investment. I wondered if he’d played any other women in his dance class, swearing them all to secrecy. My blood burned, but I played it cool. “So what is it? Stock? Land?”
Her face lit up. “A multiplex entertainment center for seniors in Boca Raton, Florida. It’s going to make a mint. I will easily make back five times what I invested. I’m going to reinvest my earnings into a second home in a nearby housing development. That way your father and I can divide our time between here and Florida. The best of both worlds. Compromise.”
I was clenching my teeth so tight I feared a bout of lockjaw. Chill, Evie, Chill. “How is it that Randolph is privy to this awesome investment opportunity?
Mom leaned forward and whispered, “His partner. You know, his…”
“Lover?”
She nodded. “He’s the head architect. I spoke to him on the phone. Lovely man. He even e-mailed floor plans for me to look at.”
Phony floor plans, no doubt. But how would she know that? And Mom was no fool. According to my reading and conversations with Arch, con artists intent on bigger scores often target professionals. Politicians, doctors, bankers, teachers—the college-educated were as susceptible to scams as the blue-collar workforce. It boiled down to the grifter ascertaining the mark’s weakness, winning their confidence and telling them what they wanted to hear. Something Arch had down pat, a troublesome skill that kept me on my toes.
How can I trust you?
You can’t.
The stairs creaked, signaling Nic’s return. It reminded me of another creak, a hasty retreat. “Last night when I came in, I thought I heard someone leave through the back door. Was it Randolph?”
“He dropped by to discuss the investment,” Mom said, the picture of innocence. “He snuck out because our meeting was confidential.” She hurried to the fridge, retrieving several pounds of hamburger meat and a huge bowl filled with potato salad. “Don’t tell your dad about Boca Raton. It’s a surprise.”
I bagged the chips and buns, mulling over a course of action. “Don’t worry, Mom. Dad won’t hear it from me.” I spotted a box of chocolate cupcakes, a favorite childhood snack, and tossed those in, too.
“And Evelyn?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BY THE TIME WE PARKED in front of the Corner Tavern I was ready to claw out of my skin. Again I wondered if I was on Candid Camera. This day had been too bizarre to be real, and it wasn’t over yet.
In the back of my jam-packed brain my mom’s declaration of love played over and over, but it was hard to enjoy the moment knowing a bastard like Randolph Gish was on the loose in Greenville. I hated that he’d wormed his sleazy way into her life. Hated that he’d made a mockery of my gay friends. I despised him for fleecing Mom and women like her. Trusting. Needy. I wanted him gone and I knew just the man to do it.
The rain and thunder mirrored my stormy mood as the three of us moved inside under the protection of two umbrellas. “Now, remember, Mom. If the opportunity arises, come clean with Dad about what you told me.”
“Except the investment part. Remember your promise,” she whispered.
I crossed my heart.
Beckett moved toward us. “Let me take those bags.”
Mom held tight to hers. “Is George in the kitchen?”
“No. He’s in the game room with Arch and your son.”
I swallowed, anxious about seeing my brother. Just thinking about dealing with another awkward relationship was exhausting. “Christopher’s here?”
“Showed up a few minutes ago. We paired up for a game of pool. I just came out to use the men’s room and saw you come in.”
“Did he bring Sandy and the kids?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Something about an inappropriate influence.”
“That would be the bar.” Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m going to start supper.”
She took off and I passed my barbecue booty to Nic. “Could you…I need to speak to Beckett.”
“Sure.” She flashed a fake smile at the man, then zipped after Mom.
Beckett watched her go, then addressed me. “If this is about the photographer incident—”
“It’s about another slimeball.”
He must’ve detected the hostility in my voice. He moved in close. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to talk to you in private. Now.”
“Follow me.”
As soon as we were locked away in Dad’s small office, I spewed. Everything Arch and I had learned via our private dance lesson. Everything Mom had revealed about Gish. Now and then Beckett nodded to indicate he was following, otherwise he held silent. I worked hard to keep my voice down to an enraged whisper. “I wanted to drive over there. I concocted a story in my head, a reverse con. I know I could rope him into roping me.”
“To what end?” Beckett said.
&
nbsp; “Verification. Confirmation. Proof that he’s a scum artist. But then I thought, what if I blow it? Not that I think I would, but what if? And what if it trickled over and compromised the senator’s sting? I’ve done enough damage today.”
“I’m glad you practiced restraint, Evie. Emotions have no place in this business.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that this is so personal.”
He perched on the corner of the desk, folded his arms. “Can I ask you a question?”
I nodded as I paced by. “Shoot.”
“Why are you confiding in me right now and not Arch?”
“Because you’re my boss, plus you have the badge and the clout.”
“You lost me, Twinkie.”
I stopped in front of him, fists clenched at my sides. “I want you to run Randolph Gish out of town.”
“Excuse me?”
“Call Woody. Tell him what I told you. He can run a background check on Gish, look into that building project. You said he’s a whiz at acquiring information. I’m betting he’ll dig up something you can use against the rat bastard.”
“You want me to threaten the man.”
“I want him gone.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to use my badge, my government position to—”
“Get creative. That’s what Chameleon calls it when they bend rules, right?” I wrapped my arms around my middle, hugging away the hurt. The stomach cramp signaled I wasn’t totally okay with what I was asking, but I ignored my gut in favor of what I saw as the greater good. “I don’t want to risk Gish mucking up my parents’ reconciliation. I don’t want to waste time roping him into an elaborate sting.” I moved in and placed my hands on his forearms. “I know I’ve been a pain in the butt. I know I misled you regarding Arch and our on-off-on…whatever. It’s just that so much has happened so fast. I just need—I want—this Gish to go away.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll do it?”
“You can kiss your mom’s six thousand goodbye.”
My heart pounded. “That’s all right. I have that part figured out.”
“Should’ve known.”
Humor, admiration and frustration mingled and danced in his pointed gaze. My pounding heart skipped with…what? Gratitude? Hero worship? Affection? I realized suddenly that I had a death grip on his arms and that I was standing close, too close. Unhinged, I backed away and resumed my pacing. “I’ll dip into my savings. My brother can help with the banking aspect. All I need is a sample of Gish’s handwriting. If I root through his trash at the studio or his apartment—”
“I see where you’re headed.” He pushed off the desk and stepped in my path. “I’ll save you the trouble and get him to pen a letter. An explanation and apology for the cancellation of the building project. Sorry. Here’s your money back. Something like that, right?”
“You can do that?”
“Apparently I can work wonders with my badge and clout.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at me, a somber gaze that streaked through my body, causing my skin to prickle with unease. “Let me ask you something. What about the other women Gish might be fleecing in this town? What about their lost funds? Or suppose your mom is his sole mark here. What about when I run him out of town? He’s going to land somewhere and start anew. What about those women?”
Like Arch, Beckett had stayed calm throughout one of my emotional tirades. He’d put a rational spin on my narrow view, citing a bigger picture. My skin flushed as his words sunk in. I hadn’t been thinking of the greater good, I’d been thinking selfishly. About how Randolph Gish’s treachery affected me and my family, not beyond. Home front versus homeland. I wanted to be a Chameleon. Trouble was, I didn’t think like one.
A hundred thoughts and fears swirled in my brain, twisting my vitals into knots. I couldn’t voice them and my diary wasn’t around. The events of the day took their toll and I imploded—or exploded, I’m not sure which. Hard to think straight when you’re sobbing uncontrollably.
“Oh, Christ,” I heard Beckett say under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked while crying into my hands.
Next thing I knew I was in his arms and blubbering against his chest.
He stroked a calming hand up and down my back. “Easy, Twinkie. We’ll work this out.”
We. I sensed the same connection I’d felt the day we’d arrived in Greenville. I felt the support of a new and special friend. I felt safe. The tears increased with a sickening realization. Though I loved Arch, I didn’t trust him.
I trusted Milo Beckett.
Unlike Arch, he generally shot straight from the hip. He wasn’t willing to put me in the field right off, but he offered hope should I prove myself capable.
A good relationship involves sacrifice and compromise, respect and trust, I could hear Mom say.
But then a smooth voice with a thick accent intruded. I didnae want Beckett to be your champion. It had to be me, yeah?
It was too much.
I pushed out of Beckett’s arms, sleeved away tears. “I can’t…whatever this—” I indicated “us” with a nervous flick of my hand “—is…I can’t. My heart…Not smart, I know. But…”
“Can’t choose who we love.” Compassion swam in his eyes. “I understand.”
I grabbed a tissue from a box on my dad’s desk, blew my nose, hoping my brains didn’t leak out in the process. I felt all kinds of weird. “I’m sorry.”
“No apology needed.”
“So am I, you know, fired?”
He frowned. “For what?”
“Complicating things.” I shoved my hair off my heated cheeks. “I’ve heard you don’t like complications.”
His mouth curved into a soft smile. “Not generally.”
“Normally I’m a simple person, I mean, easygoing, I mean–”
“I know what you mean.”
“It’s been a rough year and then I met Arch and you and now this thing with my mom. I’m a little off balance.”
He walked me to the door. “Understandable.”
“I don’t tend to cause waves. I’m not a troublemaker. I’m a team player. You don’t have to worry about my personal life interfering with my professional life because I’m—”
“You’re not fired.”
I blew my nose one more time, then pocketed the wadded tissue. Relief flooded through my system, making me weak in the knees. He was willing to ignore whatever simmered between us and accept what sizzled between Arch and me. I think. One thing for certain—I still had a place with Chameleon.
“You okay now, Twinkie?”
I nodded and forced a watery smile as he opened the door. “This would be a lot easier if you weren’t so darned nice.”
“Oh, I can be a real bastard at times.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Just ask Arch.”
I closed my eyes briefly, thinking, Oh, no. But then I opened them and, oh, yes, there he stood, alongside a wide-eyed Nic.
She cleared her throat. “We’ve been looking for you. Your mom…she wanted…help.”
“In the kitchen,” Arch added, his mood unreadable as he studied my puffy, tear-streaked, no doubt crimson face. He glanced at Beckett and my stomach churned. He’d admitted to being jealous of the man. Now I’d unwittingly given him reason. Not that I’d done anything wrong. Although I guess confiding in a man other than the one I’m sleeping with might be construed as disloyal. Any way you cut it, this was an awkward moment.
He glanced back down at me. “You okay, Sunshine?”
My heart pumped at the concern in his eyes. “I had a minimeltdown.” Might as well come clean with the obvious. “This thing with Mom…” I trailed off, looking to Nic for help.
“Speaking of,” she said, “she’s waiting. We should go, stop by the ladies’ room first and freshen up.” She tugged me away.
“Be right there,” Arch said, calm as you please.
Uh-oh. I glanced over my shoulder, saw them both watching aft
er me.
I felt a little guilty leaving Beckett behind in the wake of a storm. But they’d known each other a long time. Surely they’d weathered worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“WHAT’S GOING ON, EVIE?”
“Nothing. Things. Life. It’s just…complicated at the moment.” I was really beginning to detest that word.
“Well, there’s a big frickin’ news bulletin.” Nic leaned back against the sparkling tile of the ladies’ bathroom while I splashed my face with cool water. “You’re neck-deep in lies and playing with fire. This isn’t like you.”
I patted my face dry with a coarse paper towel, suppressing a frustrated scream. “I told you—I’ve changed.”
“No, you haven’t. Not deep down. That’s the problem. You’re still sweet, kind and honest to your core. Duvall and Beckett are dangerous. They deal in deception. A con artist and a burned-out cop, for chrissake. Their worlds are far and away from yours, and you should stay far and away from them. This has disaster written all over it.”
I resisted the childish urge to cover my ears. Instead I pulled a compact from my tote and powdered my face. “I know what I’m doing.”
“So do I. You’re running away.”
“From what?”
“Your life.” She pushed off the wall and stood behind me while I freshened my lipstick. “You were crushed when Michael divorced you. You wallowed for more than a year. Yet you claim that you don’t give a shit that he got Sasha pregnant, eloped, then honeymooned in your dream city? I don’t believe it. You feel something, Evie. Hurt, resentment, anger. You just don’t want to feel it.”
I caught her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. “Do you have any mascara?”
She worked her jaw, rooted around in her sleek black purse. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I focused on working magic to disguise my meltdown. Meanwhile I imagined myself in a pretty pink bubble, a bubble that deflected Nic’s well-meant but irritating words.
“On top of the Michael/Sasha issue, you’re struggling with age insecurities and a flagging career in entertainment, which I understand, but there are ways other than performing in casinos to capitalize on your talent.”