After Hours Bundle (29 page)

“That's not the only story like that out there, Jack, and you know it.”

“There are Democrat creeps, too, Marly. You're generalizing and stereotyping.”

“Don't tell me that! What happened to us and to our town was very specific. But if you're going to accuse me of generalizing, sure, let's go there! Republicans endorse big business, and big business encourages behavior like that. Everything's about the bottom line, screw the little people.”

“It's called competition. Businesses have to pay attention to their bottom lines. They'll go belly-up if they don't. A business isn't a charity. Capitalism isn't socialism—though your tax-and-spend Democrats would sure like to change that, wouldn't they?”

Marly shook her sarong and top. “Yeah, God forbid any of us should have a heart and try to feed starving people or try to correct the injustices of society….” She wrapped the sarong around her lower body and shrugged into the top.

Jack sighed. “Society will never be perfect, Marly. It's composed of human beings, not angels. The government cannot fix everything—nor should it be expected to.”

“Interesting philosophy, coming from the mouth of someone who ran on a platform of restoring morality to the state!” She grabbed her ripped panties and bra and shoved them into her tiny tapestry bag. “Please take me home.”

“Marly—”

“Please.”

His jaw tight, a pulse jumping in the side of his neck, Jack hit the button that allowed him to communicate with Mike. He gave the instruction and then got dressed himself in silence.

They went for long minutes without speaking. Finally he said, “So the gist of this little talk is that you're calling me a hypocrite.”

“I didn't say—”

“Yes, you pretty well did say it. So now you can listen to me. I've given up years of my life to public service. I do the best I can. I'm there in the trenches actively doing something. And you know what pisses me off more than anything, Marly? It's people like you, who rant and rave about politics but don't lift a finger to try to do anything.

“You like to sit around and blame the Republicans for being the root of all evil? That's just great. You don't like what we stand for, then get out and work for the other side. But don't you dare treat me with disrespect if you're not even voting on state issues. And how about all those social injustices you want rectified, sweetheart. Why don't you get off that pretty little ass of yours and go raise some funds?”

With flawless timing, Mike brought the limo to a stop just outside her apartment complex. Marly looked daggers at Jack, glared at him as if she'd be glad to dig out his still-beating heart with a pair of shears.

Jack didn't flinch. He stared right back at her. He might still desire her for reasons beyond him, but he wasn't going to take her canned left-wing crap.

For a moment he thought she might actually slap him.

Instead she took a deep breath and slipped on her shoes. “I'd like to say something incredibly rude to you right now,” she said in a low voice. Then she paused. “But I can't, because—damn you—you're right.”

And without waiting for Mike, Marly opened the door of the limo and slipped out.

M
ARLY SLAMMED
her apartment door and threw her tapestry bag onto the couch. She stood in her living room, staring into the filmy curtains that covered her sliding-glass doors, able to see the roofs of the factory buildings in spite of them.

Jack Hammersmith was too damned good looking and way too amazing in bed (or limo seat). She didn't particularly care for the way he'd challenged her. She was used to the comfort of being agreed with by her fellow liberal friends, not criticized for her political apathy.

She really didn't want to think about how lazy she'd been during the last elections; how because it had been pouring rain she'd put off going to the polls until she barely had time to make it…and then taken a client at the last minute so that she
hadn't
made it.

Her dad would have been ashamed of her. Quite frankly, she was ashamed of herself. After all, she'd been lucky enough to be born in a democracy where people were free to choose their leaders. She didn't have to get involved in the particulars of how that democracy operated on the local and state levels, but she
did
have an obligation to vote.

Otherwise, she was really ceding her right to have opinions. She was saying, through her inaction, that it was okay for decisions to be made without her input. She was accepting the rule of someone else without question. Ugh.

Marly had never had any problem looking in the mirror before. She'd always been proud of her decision to help her father, and proud of the fact that she was good at her job and lived a stable lifestyle—since a lot of people she knew didn't.

But now as she turned to walk into her bedroom and caught sight of herself in the big oval mirror over her dresser, she grimaced.

Jack, the jerk, was right. He was right about a lot of things—that she was guilty of stereotyping, that she hadn't really bothered to find out what he was all about before labeling him “Republican: yuck.” And he was right that someone who didn't get involved had no business criticizing those who did.

If she really got down to brass tacks, she'd probably have to admit that she wasn't terribly well informed about most of the issues he dealt with every single day.

After all, half listening to a network morning news program while she aimed a blow-dryer at her head didn't exactly qualify as in-depth research. She resolved to do better and to read a newspaper regularly.

She closed her eyes and could still feel Jack's lips on hers, hear his voice in her ears. She could feel where he'd been elsewhere, too, on—and in—her body.

She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror. She looked normal and average, not like the kind of woman who had wild monkey sex with the governor in a limo.

Marly walked into the bathroom, started the water running in her tub and lit a candle. She poured some bubble bath into the water, shrugged out of her clothes and slipped into warm, scented bliss. This would be the only time she'd have to herself for the next week, because of the salon's extended hours and her growing client list.

Being written up in
Shore
magazine had been fantastic for business, but she was starting to feel a little frazzled. Once word got out that she was styling Jack Hammersmith's hair, she'd be getting even more calls.

Marly told herself not to complain—being in demand was fantastic. A compliment. A vote of confidence. And it brought in more money to pay off her father's medical bills.

If only being in demand weren't quite so tiring.

 

I
N ORDER TO
accommodate the flood of new clients over the next two weeks, Marly began multitasking. She began to cut one client's hair while another was waiting for color to set under the dryer. She finished the color client while an assistant dried and styled the first client's hair. She skipped lunch in favor of Red Bull and protein bars.

She started having to skip dinner, too. A painting she'd begun a month ago sat in a corner of her apartment, just a sketch with a few smears of color. And to top it all off, she hadn't heard from Jack. He was done with her, then. So much for her being The One.

She didn't want to think about the fact that she had been extremely rude about his politics. Maybe he just needed time to cool off.

New vitamin packs mixed into her morning orange juice helped for a while, but she still felt ragged, almost destroyed, by the end of each “day.” Her days ended at midnight and began again at 8:00 a.m. Her career was becoming a brilliant success, but her life had evolved to merely an existence.

It was on one of her manic, multitasking days at the salon that she heard again from Jack.

Shirlie scrambled across the room, her baby-blue miniskirt rucked up, only one earring on, and the cordless phone glued to the bare ear. “Marly!”

“Yes?” Her mouth was full of metal clips and she was working on a new customer's highlights.

“Governor Hammersmith is coming on the line! Here.”

Her first instinct was anger that he'd waited so long to call. Her second was that she didn't have time to talk to him. “Shirl,” Marly said around the clips, “I can't take it right—”

Shirlie made a noise of exasperation and jammed the phone at the side of her head.

“Uh,” Marly said. “Hello?”

“Is this my favorite bleeding heart liberal?” Jack's voice boomed.

“Yeah, but she can't really talk right now.”

“Not even to one of the leaders of the free world?”

Her client jabbed her in the stomach with an index finger. “Are you crazy?” she asked. “The governor? Go talk to him. I can wait.”

Thank you,
Marly mouthed at her. Then she walked with the phone to the kitchenette, while Shirlie went running to the front to answer another line. What did Jack want? Whatever it was, she didn't have any more minutes in the day to accommodate him.

“What's up, Jack?” Though she didn't want to admit it, her heart was galloping around in her chest. “Have you passed a new law that declares open season on Jet Skis?”

He laughed. “I'm working on it. Listen, I need you to fly to Tallahassee to cut my hair.”

“What?”
Oh, right. I'm going to give you a whole day to do that! You've got a nerve, buddy.

“I have a TV interview in a couple of days. So do you think you could make it up here either this evening or tomorrow? I'll send the Gulfstream for you.”

You'll send the Gulfstream. Of course—like it's a yellow cab.
“Jack, I have thirteen different appointments between now and midnight tomorrow night.”

“I don't suppose there's any way to reschedule those? Because there's a
great
little French restaurant I was going to take you to, and I have tickets to a play.”

It did sound wonderful. Marly hesitated. “I'd love to, but I can't reschedule that many people unless it's a total emergency. It's too much revenue lost for the salon—and for me.”

Jack was silent for a moment. “Well, if it's a question of money, I can make it up to you.”

It's not just a question of money,
Marly thought.
It's a question of presumption! You and your play tickets are not more important than thirteen other people, even though you're the governor and you're hot and I'd love to see you again—in spite of the fact that you're a Republican.

“Jack, I can't let you do that and you know it. But thank you for the offer.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Jack. You can't seriously expect me to drop everything just for a whim of yours! Especially after you've left me hanging for two weeks.”

Again, a pause ensued, as if he were just realizing he'd been inconsiderate. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you hanging. I've been busy and I lost track of time. Well, if you can't come here, I'll just have to come in to After Hours, then. Can you clear a spot for me?”

“Give me a second to look at the book, okay?”

“Yup,” he said.

She ran to the reception desk and grabbed the book from Shirlie, scanning furiously for any open time.

She said, “Come at four tomorrow. I think I can reschedule someone. Okay?”

“I don't suppose you can squeeze in dinner afterward?”

“No. I'm sorry. Give me a little more notice next time.”

“All right. Your schedule's as packed as mine.” Jack paused. “Hey…about our last date. I'm sorry if I was a little blunt.”

Two apologies. She was impressed. “It's okay. I deserved it. I'd been making snarky comments about the Dark Side all night.”

She heard choked laughter on his end of the line. “Excuse me? Did you just say
the Dark Side?
”

“Yes. But I can't get into an argument with you right now, no matter how tempting it is, because I have to go before my client's hair turns purple. See you tomorrow, Jack.” And she pressed the off button.

Wow. I just hung up on the governor. Does that make me bad-ass or what?
Marly walked calmly back to her client.

“Thank you for your patience,” she said.

“Ohmigod!” the woman squealed. “So are you cutting Jack Hammersmith's hair?”

Marly nodded.

“I can't wait to tell my friends that I share the governor's hairdresser! I am so excited!”

Marly smiled.

“So is he a good tipper?”

She nodded. “He left me a tip the size of Alaska the first time I cut his hair.”

“Well, sorry, hon.” The woman winked at her. “I can only afford Rhode Island.”

 

T
HE APPEARANCE
of Jack Hammersmith at After Hours the next day caused quite a stir, not least because the Fabulous Four was there and already on their third glass of wine—which the salon had
not
offered them. Denise, the only brunette of the bunch, had a habit of getting up and fetching the bottle “because I don't want to bother you gals.”

Marly, Nicky and the shampoo girls knew very well that this was a transparent ploy to help themselves to more free wine, but they didn't say anything as long as the designated driver for the day didn't look too plowed.

After Hours was a fun, preparty hot spot, but it wouldn't be for long if they got sued for causing someone's drunk driving accident. So far they'd only had to steal the Fab Four's keys once. Pretending total ignorance of where they could be, Alejandro had called the ladies a cab and avoided both an ugly scene and responsibility for turning them loose on Miami's freeways.

Today, three of the Fab Four were lined up at the manicure stations while one of them was having her eyebrows and lip waxed.

It was Rebecca who screeched as she saw the governor. “Ohmigod! It's Jack Hammersmith!”

“Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” the others chorused.

Denise, behind the curtain that separated the waxing area, screamed, “Where?” She popped her head around the drape.

“There—
ooooh,
honey. Not a good look for you,” Rebecca whispered, shaking her head.

“What? Oh.” Denise had a large waxing strip on the right side of her upper lip. She looked a bit bizarre, but she checked out Jack thoroughly before disappearing again.

Rebecca was even bolder. She snatched up her manicurist's ticket pad and had taken three steps toward Jack when Jimmy and Rocket cut her off and blocked her. “Step away from the governor, ma'am.”

“But I only wanted—I was just trying to get his autograph.”

“Easy there, Rebecca,” Marly said. “Frick and Frack tend to get antsy when people rush the governor. Especially when they're armed with a ticket pad and a pen. Didn't you ever see
Grosse Point Blank
? You can kill someone with a pen.”

Jack snorted with laughter as Jimmy and Rocket gave her a death stare. He cruised right over, dipped her as if he were Fred Astaire, and kissed her senseless in front of God and everyone. “I've missed you,” he said into her ear.

“You can't
do
that!” said Marly, struggling upright and pushing him away.

“What? This?” And Jack planted another one on her. “Why not?”

The entire salon was staring at them, and by now Frick and Frack were probably running remote ballistics tests on the tube of lipstick in her pocket. “Jack!”

“I can't help it,” he told her. “You're just so beautiful.”

It was such an easy line for him to deliver, and maybe she was getting sappy over him, but her heart turned over. Still, it was embarrassing to be kissed in front of all her clients and coworkers, and the gossip was going to spread within hours, if not minutes.