Alligators in the Trees (43 page)

“Relax, you look stunning,” Tobias said, pausing to let Priscilla walk into the club ahead of him. It was true; she did look great in her new finery, but she also looked nervous, as though she half expected someone to come and reclaim the clothes off her back. She was a real-life Cinderella, though she had to be the glummest one in history.

It was hard for Tobias to feel much sympathy for her though, having plunked down a wad and a half on a good starter wardrobe: four dresses, two for day and two for evening, plus accessories. Of course, he couldn’t bring the cost up without making her feel more miserable. She was so on edge as it was, any hint that he was less than pleased with her display of gratitude might send her running off into the night.

They should have stayed in the hotel, like he had originally wanted to. After the thrill of watching her try on clothes and spending money like a Rockefeller, the pursuit of nightlife without the trial of recognition was becoming tedious, to say nothing of anti-climatic.

Once past the initial gatekeepers, Tobias had to allow the floor manager to schmooze him in order to get a private table without reservations. Tobias made nice, though he had to grit his teeth to get through it, and they were rewarded with a booth on the upper level, with good views of the happenings below, and little exposure on their end.

Once seated, Priscilla loosened up some. This was not exactly the scene she had hoped for when she told Tobias she felt like getting out. She was starting to understand that going out for a walk and grabbing a hamburger was not a pleasure so easily accessible to someone of Tobias Jordan’s celebrity.

In order to “get out,” he had to spend a small fortune to properly clothe her, then hire a car and scope out various locations to find the one that seemed most conducive to both entertaining and protecting the big star. At least it looked like they had found a place that might meet those requirements.

“Hungry?” Tobias asked, giving the small leather-bound menu a quick perusal. The food wasn’t the main attraction here, but they covered most the bases.

“I could definitely eat,” Priscilla answered, taking the proffered list from his hand. “What are you going to have?” she asked, more as a conversation starter than a matter of curiosity.

“Probably a burger and onion rings. Or maybe the snails and a butter-leaf salad. I don’t know, caviar sounds pretty tempting, too. What do you think? Anything strike your fancy?”

“I think I’ll go with your first choice,” she said, laying the menu down.

“What do you feel like drinking? How does champagne sound?”

“Uh, fine,” Priscilla said. A beer actually sounded better, but she wasn’t sure they even served such a lowly beverage at this ultra-fine, ultra chic place. She had never heard of Mojo’s, but apparently anybody who counted had.

Though she felt like an imposter parading around in her designer duds, she was grateful not to be wearing her old garb. Everyone in there looked as though they had stepped out of a fashion magazine, right down to their snotty attitudes. She picked up the matches and studied the logo before slipping them into her improbably small leopard-print evening clutch. It provided barely enough room for a comb, lipstick and a couple of fifties. The book of matches made it bulge inelegantly.

“This place isn’t so bad,” Tobias confided, once the manager had taken their orders. “At least it’s fairly anonymous. I like a place I can get lost in,” he shouted over the sudden increase in volume. They both craned their necks in the direction of the commotion, but were unable to see what all the fuss was about.

“Probably some movie star,” Tobias decided, grateful for the arrival of the champagne. Even though it wasn’t a beer, Priscilla had to admit that holding a glass of expensive bubbles did give her a certain charge. She felt more sophisticated and less of a phony once she had sipped her way through the first glass.

“That’s the spirit,” Tobias commended her, refilling both their glasses. “You know, I feel like caviar after all. How does that sound?”
Repugnant
, Priscilla thought, but kept her commentary to herself.

“None for me, but you go for it,” she said, amazed at his capacity for spending money. The only selection listed on the menu was Beluga at $125 an ounce. Tobias flagged down a waiter and ordered two ounces.

The music was loud enough to make conversation a chore, and the sights were interesting enough to keep them both entertained without the compulsion to share their opinions. Occasionally something funny or outrageous would catch their eyes and they communicated their shared views through arched eyebrows or a tap of the foot under the table.

The food came and Priscilla went at her burger like it was her last. Tobias, on the other hand, paid little attention to his escargot and virtually ignored his salad, but he savored the caviar and tried to convert Priscilla to the appreciation of high-priced fish eggs.

All and all, it wasn’t such a bad way to pass the night, she decided as Tobias divvied up the last of the champagne. She was feeling relaxed enough to venture off to the ladies’ room, but Tobias, either out of latent chivalry or fear that she might skip out of him, insisted on escorting her. Had he known what he was walking into, he would have crawled under the table and stayed there until closing time.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” he said, before ducking into the gents. He knew whatever it was that women did in the restroom always took five times longer than their male counterparts.

What he hadn’t counted on was Priscilla’s sudden insecurity upon entering a veritable den of judgmental females. She was in and out of there almost as fast as Tobias, plenty long enough to witness the lively exchange between Tobias and a tall, lanky guy, too good looking to not be famous. She hung back and watched the scene unfold from a safe distance, noting the look of mild surprise and trepidation on Tobias’s face as the young hunk nearly crushed him with a bear hug.

“Tobias!” Winston cried out, smothering Tobias affectionately.

“Winston,” Tobias croaked. The odds were all in favor of him having his pretty, petulant sister in tow. He caught a glimpse of her as she rounded the corner, champagne glass in hand, laughing gaily about something. Her hilarity came to an abrupt halt as she laid eyes on her wayward lover.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Winston said, grabbing his sibling by the wrist as she turned on her heels. “You two need to kiss and make up,” the misguided youth pronounced, bringing them face-to-face to sort out their rift.

“I’m not speaking to him,” Simone spat, eyeing Tobias with sheer contempt.

“Winston, I’m afraid this isn’t a problem that can be mended with a kiss,” Tobias said, wanting to keep their reunion brief.

“You are such a son-of-a-bitch, Tobias!” Simone shrieked, obviously feeling more passionate about their split than he was.

“Calm down, Simone,” Tobias said, not liking the attention they were starting to attract. It was then he noticed Priscilla standing across the hallway, observing their tête-à-tête with an amused look on her face.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, God damn you! I wished I’d never laid eyes on you, you heartless old bastard.”

“Simone, please—we don’t need to be giving everyone a free show,” Tobias said condescendingly. “We all know you’re the queen of dramatic outbursts. No need to constantly prove it.” Even optimistic, stoned-out Winston saw the error in this tactic.

“
Ooh
,” he winced, just as Simone emptied the contents of her glass on Tobias’s face.

“Fuck you, Tobias!” she said, as she stormed into the ladies’ room for a good cry.

“Dude, that was
not
a cool scene,” Winston said grievously. Tobias gave the beautiful airhead one last dismayed glance before retrieving his date.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said under his breath. Priscilla merely smiled and let him propel her through the crowd. She couldn’t help but notice that the lion’s share of attention wasn’t falling on them, but the striking pair they had left behind.

“She got you pretty good,” Priscilla said, as she watched Tobias’s vain attempt to dry his shirt with the chauffeur’s handkerchief. “She could have at least ordered something better than the house swill,” Tobias complained as he took a whiff of himself. Priscilla found the whole incident quite hilarious.

“I’m glad you’re getting such a kick out of my calamity,” he said peevishly.

Priscilla laughed. “It’s hardly a calamity,” she replied. “And from where I was standing, something tells me you had it coming.”

“Oh thanks, thanks for the moral support,” Tobias sputtered indignantly.

“Somehow I don’t think this had anything to do with morals,” she quipped.

“Aren’t we the clever one,” Tobias said, fanning his shirt. “Stop the car,” he told the driver. “Feel like getting some air? I can’t stand the smell of myself any longer.” They got out and Tobias sent the driver to wait for them a few blocks up the road.

“Hope you can walk in those,” he said, looking doubtfully at the sexy but impractical footwear he had purchased only hours ago.

“When my feet give out, you’ll just have to carry me.” Tobias didn’t seem to find this funny. He was having trouble finding the humor in anything at the moment. It didn’t help that Priscilla took his predicament so lightly. If she had been jealous or hurt, he would’ve had grounds for defending himself. Without the need to make justifications, he found he had no defense, and therefore nothing to say for himself.

“See why I don’t really like going out?” he said.

Priscilla didn’t care for the accusatory tone in his voice. “Yes, I can see why. This town must be a virtual minefield of jilted lovers for you.”

Tobias stopped in his tracks. “Is that the kind of sympathy I can expect from you?” he cried out.

Priscilla regarded him curiously. “Yes. And that’s all the sympathy you deserve. If you’ve been generous to me in the hopes of laying claim to blind sympathy and support, then you can have everything back, except what I’ve eaten.” Priscilla’s dander was up now, but she was still firmly in control of her emotions. She was over guilt complexes, she happily discovered. She may owe Tobias something, but it probably wasn’t anything he could use.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m being as silly as the girls I date—present company excepted. This wasn’t what I had in mind for our big night on the town,” he said, a rare hint of humility in his words.

“We didn’t need to do anything fancy. We could have slunk off to some anonymous hole and had a burger and a couple of drinks, or gone to a movie, or just walked around for a while. And all those things you bought me were totally unnecessary. I don’t even want to know what you spent. I just needed something clean to go out in public in.”

Having Priscilla point out the folly in the only thing he felt good about doing that day made him feel even more morose.

“You know, maybe it isn’t as hard to blend in with the crowd in places where no one’s expecting to see someone famous. If you stayed away from all the chichi joints and affected a low-profile, you might slip everyone’s attention.”

“What did you have in mind?” Tobias asked.

“I don’t know, just a non-descript sort of place, like an Irish pub or something low-brow.”

“Like that place?” An establishment fitting her description came into view as they crossed the street. “O’Malley’s Irish Pub? Sounds pedestrian enough. Want to check out your theory?”

Priscilla, feeling put on the spot, equivocated. “It was just an idea,” she said, backpedaling.

“No, it was a good idea. C’mon, let’s have a pint,” he said.

The first test of anonymity came at the entrance, where a cluster of working-class partiers was loitering. The pair of them generated plenty of curious looks, but not because anyone recognized Tobias.

“You might be on to something,” he said as he scouted out the room. There was one vacant seat at the middle of the bar, on which he installed Priscilla while he sought the attention of one of the bartenders.

“What’ll you have?” a burly barkeep in a tight white polo shirt asked. Tobias ordered two Harp’s lager on tap.

“So far, so good,” he whispered into Priscilla’s ear. Already, she could sense a change in his disposition. As he relaxed so did she. The bartender set the laughably large beers down and made change for Tobias’s fifty.

“Cheers,” Priscilla offered, lifting her beer with both hands. They touched glasses, awkwardly, and set about the laborious task of draining them.

“Bottoms up,” Tobias said with a comical wink. A laughing fit in the making was interrupted by a shrill voice uncomfortably close. Priscilla froze, pint glass midair.

“Sammy!” the voice called out again, this time more plaintively.

“Oh no,” Priscilla said under her breath, turning toward Tobias in hopes that Rochelle would give up. No such luck.

“Sammy—
I thought that was you,” the buxom blond said, wedging a shoulder between Priscilla and Tobias. Priscilla could tell at first glance Rochelle was already liquored to the gills.

“Rochelle,” Priscilla acknowledged with feigned surprise, as she swiveled around on the barstool in an effort to shield Tobias from Rochelle’s low-rent charm.

“I didn’t know you came here,” Rochelle said, teetering on unsteady legs. “Who’s your friend? Hi, I’m Rochelle,” she said to Tobias, hand extended daintily in his direction. “I’m a friend of Sammy’s. Hey, I know who you are!” Tobias shot Priscilla an anxious look, which she deflected nervously. “You’re Tammy Lynn Castro’s cousin Ralph,” Rochelle said, pointing a finger at him knowingly.

“Sorry, wrong guy,” Tobias said, turning his attention back to his beer.

“Are you sure? You’re a dead ringer for him,” Rochelle insisted.

“He’s definitely not the guy you’re thinking of,” Priscilla informed her. Rochelle seemed to take offense to the fact that not only was Tobias not Ralph Castro, he wasn’t very friendly either.

“Who is he, then?” she asked.

“Just a…a friend.”

“He’s kinda cute,” Rochelle admitted grudgingly. Without warning, the synapses in Rochelle’s intoxicated brain finally caught up with reality. “Hey, I’m really mad at you, Sammy,” she said, her body language switching from sloppy drunk to pugilistic nemesis. Priscilla sensed trouble immediately.

“Hey, why don’t we go outside,” she suggested, trying to talk Rochelle down.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Rochelle replied, shaking Priscilla’s hand from her arm. “You’re a double-crossing bitch, that’s what you are,” Rochelle fired. Priscilla sunk back onto her barstool, expecting the worst. “And I think maybe your
friend
should know what a lousy back-stabbing traitor you are.”

“This is about Matthew, isn’t it?” Priscilla guessed.

“Yes, it is. How could you, Sammy? I loved that guy. I told you I did. And he felt the same way about me until you came along. I confided in you and what do you do—you run off and sleep with him the moment I turned my back.”