Accounting for Cole (Natural Beauty) (5 page)

“So, you’re good at reading people, huh? That built into the female impersonator skill set?”

He nodded his head in the direction of Gretchen and Beth, who were at that moment having an animated chat with Kellie Pickler and Fantasia Barrino impersonators. Must have been the American Idol contingency. Further, I was pretty sure the wigged brunette standing nearby was supposed to be a Kelly Clarkson knock-off. I giggled and covered my mouth. I don’t giggle. Gretchen giggles and sometimes Beth, but never me.

He must have sensed my discomfort at it, because he grinned. “Uh, I was a journalist for a lot of years until the newspaper industry went to shit. I notice things. Understand people. For example, I’d bet my truck that your friends down there who were snatching flyers from people earlier are probably the sorts to get themselves into a lot of scuffles.”

“That they do. Lucky me for being their keeper.”

He cringed. “Yeah, lucky you.”

“So, you went from being a journalist to
this
? It doesn’t seem like a logical progression.”

He shook his head and his forehead furrowed. “Not quite. My son goes to School of the Arts. I pay his out-of-state tuition, which is astronomical by the way. He might as well have been from Beirut for what they charge. Anyway, I wanted to be able to eat while footing his bills, and it was either this or what I
was
doing. This pays better.”

I perked up and turned to stare at his perfect profile. “You have a son?” I figured that meant…

“Yes, a son and an ex-wife.” He smirked, stood upright, and let the curtain fall back closed. “She left when I started seriously considering going back into theater.”

College-aged son, so he was definitely in the realm of forty. I wondered how he felt about younger women. “So, you’re an actor at heart?”

He nodded before walking to the champagne stand and grabbing one of the beers by the neck. He pointed to another and gave me an expectant stare.

I shook my head. Beer gives me indigestion.

“Did a few productions off-Broadway during my twenties when Bradley was young, but had to give it up.”

“Why?”

Cole laughed. “You ask why. Most women would say
That was smart,
or
It was probably for the best
. I knew I liked you for some reason from the moment I bumped into you. Good judge of character.” He took a long swallow of his beer and dropped the empty bottle into a bag marked
recycling
.

“Well, why? I’m curious now.” I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed next to the pile of clothing he had stripped out of after his performance. I hooked my thumb beneath the waistband of the leather miniskirt and read the label. XL.

“The usual. Pressure from my ex-wife and her family. They said I was hanging around deviants and should concentrate on my career.”

“Ironic.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Anyway, I went into teaching at one of the professional schools in New York, but then I heard about this gig and what it paid, auditioned, and they took me.”

“Way to go, stepping out on faith like that.”

“Honey, sometimes if you don’t take the leap, you do worse than stay stuck.” He met my gaze and took a step closer to me, ending just shy of my toes.

I craned my neck up to meet his gaze, and his expression was now serious. Contemplative. “What’s worse than staying stuck?”

He reached out, tentatively, and pushed my bangs from my eyes. “Going backward. Never go backward, Macy.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Was that your stomach?” Cole was on his knees, untangling his costume parts and stowing them in a steamer trunk. He’d stopped and looked up at me when I walked past him on my way back from the bathroom. He’d given me one of his button-up shirts to wear and permission to soak my ruined blouse in one of his two sinks.

I wondered if the rest of his troupe were wallowing in so much luxury, or if they’d been relegated to the cheap rooms.

My face burned hot, and I covered my belly with my arms as I perched on the edge of his bed. I couldn’t deny it. The rumbling had been loud and unmistakable. “Sorry. I haven’t had a decent meal today. The girls wanted sushi for dinner and one doesn’t really fill up on vegetable rolls.”

“Ah.” He resumed his trunk-stuffing, but now had a knavish grin on his face. “You didn’t have any balls tonight?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but alas, my face burned even hotter. “Funny. No, I felt silly eating them. Beth and Gretchen thought they were a goddamned hoot.”

“Most of our guests do.” He closed the trunk lid and stood, brushing his hands off on the thighs of his shorts with an air of finality. “Let me buy you dinner. The bar downstairs has a full menu.”

“Didn’t know that, but I can buy my own dinner.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you
can
, but why should you? Come on, either I spend my extra money on industrial-strength foundation garments, or I can buy a pretty lady a sandwich. I’d rather buy the sandwich.”

Sandwich
. I closed my eyes and emitted a little moan before I could help it. Something with bread and cheese and a heap of meat.

He laughed that chesty, thunderous laugh and extended a hand to me. “I know that look. Miss Macy, I do believe you’re being starved. I’m buying you fries, too.”

“No fries!” I said, perhaps too sharply.

He raised a brow. “Got an aversion to fries? Didn’t mean to offend you. Whoa! Why are you going all pale?”

“It’s just…” I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. I thought of safe things like lime sorbet and ginger ale. I imagined I was breathing in the crisp air of the mountains, and when Cole’s hand squeezed my knee, I added cold showers to the list, too.

I opened my eyes to find him kneeling in front of me, concern written all over his face.

I swallowed. “Sorry. Something that happened tonight at the club. Turned me off of them for a while. I might even go on a diet and give ’em up for good.” I made a
blech
face. “Lord knows I need to.” I took the hand he offered and stood.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Just the typical blathering of a woman dissatisfied with the way she looks, but too lazy to actually do anything about it.”

He gave me a slow, assessing look from the top of my Barbra Streisand pageboy, down my soda-splotched torso, past my hips, and down to my conservative flats. He nudged the trashcan out of the way of the door with his foot and pulled me out into the hall. “Miss Macy, you’re a little crazy.”

“Now that’s a new one. Been called a lot of things, but never that. In fact, I’ve been told I’m the most staid, predictable person you’ll ever meet.”

Oh, if they could have seen me then, following a female impersonator I hardly knew around a hotel and letting him buy me food.

He chuckled and stabbed the elevator button. “I re-state my claim. You’re crazy. Maybe more than a little if you really think that’s true, but don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm around my sagging shoulders and gave me a platonic squeeze, chafing my right arm with his hand and narrowly missing my breast.

I froze, and imagined my eyes must have been bulging. There was no way he could have known what he was doing to me. By the end of the night at the rate I was going, I figured I’d probably have to trash my panties.

“I thrive on crazy, or else I wouldn’t lip-synch in a skirt every night or seriously be considering a reality television show offer.”

As soon as we stepped into the elevator and he’d stabbed the lobby button, I turned my face up to his. “Really? Reality television? Like, major channel?”

He shrugged and leaned his butt against the back railing. “I don’t know if it’s considered major, but it’s certainly a big national one.”

“And you don’t want to do it?”

“I like keeping my private life private, not that I have much of one. There’s my son to think about. He probably wouldn’t care, though. He might even think it was
cool
seeing his dad on television, but I’m trying to snatch some normalcy where I can get it. Can’t do that with cameras on my ass twenty hours per day.”

“I imagine not.”

“Still, it’s tempting. Think I should do it?”

“You’re asking me?”

He bobbed his shoulders. “I could use some advice from a self-described staid person. What say you?”

“I think America would love you.”

“But?”

“But you’re right. Privacy is a concern. I value mine immensely.” And I didn’t particularly relish the idea of every woman in America ogling him. I knew I didn’t have a chance, but figured, hey—no one else should, either.

We got our sandwiches at the bar—Cole got half a cow on rye, and I got a BLTA on whole wheat—and made our way out to the pool. We ate in near-darkness, discarded the evidence of our meal in a nearby trashcan, and sat on the edge of the deep end, plunging our feet into the bathtub-warm water.

I’d stuffed my hose into my shoes and felt suddenly very free…and very guilty about my legs’ nakedness. My mother had taught me that only floozies wore skirts without hose. Yes—the same woman who set up play dates for me, Gretchen, and Beth who even then were on the fast-track to Bad Examples.

My mother is a very confusing woman.

From our low vantage point, we could see folks at the party walking around, and hear pretty much everything, but they couldn’t identify us since the lights around the pool were turned off. Cole pulled his feet up and sat criss-cross-applesauce at the pool edge.

When I looked over at him, he was wearing a coy grin.

“What?” I stirred my legs in the water.

“I’m surprised you’re not peppering me with questions.”

“Why, because we women can’t control our tongues?”

“No.” He leaned back on his palms and rolled his shoulders. “When most people find out what I do for a living, they want to know all the sordid details. I kind of wish you’d ask so we can get it out of the way.”

“Why?”

“So I can ask
you
some questions.”

“Oh.” I stared at the bubbles formed by the pool pump that clung to my now-still legs. “You can ask me whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be quid pro quo.”

“Really? Okay.” He did that clucking thing with his tongue again, and I feared perhaps giving him carte blanche to ask me personal questions was a bad idea. I wasn’t interesting—a lily that couldn’t be gilded, because I was really more of a dandelion to start with.

“What would you be doing tonight if you weren’t here?” he asked.

“Nothing spectacular. Probably scan the cable channel listings for some reruns I’ve already seen ten times since the first Bush administration and curl up with my favorite pillow.”

“You’re a wild woman, Miss Macy. You live on the edge, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a dull edge and if I were to fall over it, I’d only drop three feet.”

That laugh again. There was a masculine sensuality about it that sent a charge rippling down my spine and settling in a place lower down. I took a deep breath and swished pool water once more.

“You make it sound like there’s something wrong with being a homebody.”

“Naturally, I don’t think so, but your mileage may vary. I bet you’re out nearly every night when you’re not working.”

I looked up, and he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“You really think I begged off from those after-party shenanigans so I could go party
elsewhere
?” he asked.

It was a reasonable question. “So, what do you do?”

“Not what you’re imagining, probably.” He reached over and ran the pad of his thumb across my forehead, moving my hair from my eyes yet again. “That’s better,” he cooed.

I offered him a shaky grin. When he touched me like that, and smiled the way he did, I couldn’t tell if he saw me as some pathetic woman that needed caring for, or if he actually
liked
me. The line shouldn’t have been so blurry, right?

“Nights like tonight, I can usually be found catching up on sleep. When I have a whole day off, and if I have our schedule far enough in advance, sometimes I sign up to run 5K, 10K, and half marathons in whatever city we’re performing in. When I’m in central North Carolina, I spend most nights with my son.”

As he should. “What aren’t you with him tonight?”

“He’s a cellist.” His voice softened, and I could see the pride in his expression. “He’s a damn good cellist, actually. Makes me feel like this gig has been worth it, though I do wish I could see him perform more often. If you could be there, Macy, you’d see it. Hear it. He’s got music in his spirit and there’s no other job in the world that would suit him.”

Funny. I didn’t feel that way about number crunching. I worried at my lip, considering it. Maybe being good at something wasn’t enough.

“Right now he’s prepping for a concert. He didn’t want me to hear the program prematurely.”

“Oh. How old is he?”

“Eighteen. He’s a freshman.”

“So that makes you…” I had to know.

“Older than dirt.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His grin broadened. “How old do you guess I am?”

It was a trap, and I knew it. I hedged. “Old enough to think I’m too immature for you.”

“Oh?” His expression went serious all of a sudden, and I instantly regretted saying it. There was a reason I didn’t flirt. I was bad at it, and I could never get a good read on whether a man was interested. I just wasn’t
out there
the way Beth was. And unlike her, I
cared
if I swung and missed. I looked at the water again.

He nudged my side with his own. “How old’s that?”

“Close to forty. Is that guess offensive?”

“If I were dressed up as Nicole, I’d say so. Cole doesn’t care that you’re close.” He gave my chin a gentle chuck with his thumb, and turned my face to meet his—to
force
me to make eye contact. He continued, “I got married right out of high school and went straight into the Air Force the day after my ex-wife showed me a pregnancy test with two little blue lines on it. I was supposed to start college right away, but duty called.”

“Sensible, I guess.”

“Boring.”