Brand New Me (13 page)

Deirdre nodded. “I didn’t order anything, though.”

The delivery man shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. We got a delivery here. All paid up.” He handed her a clipboard with an order sheet. “You sign here after we take it upstairs for you.” He turned toward the truck where his assistant had already opened the back and pushed down a ramp.

“Take what?” Deirdre frowned down at the page, trying to make sense of it.

“The mattress.” The two delivery men began easing a large innerspring mattress down the ramp toward the street.

Deirdre stared. “But I didn’t order any mattress.”

“Somebody did. And paid for it too. Check the address—it’s supposed to be delivered here.”

“But…” Deirdre stammered.

“Take it upstairs. I’ll show you where.”

Docia’s voice made Deirdre jump. She glanced down at the paper again, then trailed after the two delivery men as they wrestled the mattress up the stairs to the apartment.

Docia led the parade through the front door. Inside, she tossed Deirdre’s sleeping bag and air mattress into the hall, then pointed the men into her bedroom. “Where do you want the head, Dee?”

Deirdre gestured mutely toward the end of the room opposite the windows, and the delivery men pushed the mattress against the wall. One of them pulled a pen out of his pocket. “You need to sign for this down here.” He pointed toward the corner of the page.

“But I didn’t order it,” she said again, trying to keep her voice from rising in frustration.

“Look, lady, it’s all paid for. The delivery address is this place. I’d say you’ve got yourself a mattress. Just sign it, okay? We got other places to go.”

Sighing, she scribbled her signature in the corner, then took her copy of the sheet from the delivery men as they headed back out the door.

Docia peered over her shoulder. “So who sent you a very nice present?”

“I don’t know. I don’t suppose it was you?”

She shook her head. “If I’d known you were sleeping in a freakin’ sleeping bag, it might have been, but I didn’t get a chance. I’ll find you some sheets for this thing, though. Looks like it’s king-size. Who else knew about your furniture? Or lack thereof.”

Deirdre sighed. “Nobody. I haven’t had anyone in here.” She stopped suddenly, remembering just who had been inside her apartment in the last week. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, suddenly wishing Docia would go back to work.

“C’mon, Dee, give. Who’s been in here?”

Deirdre licked her lips.
Oh well.
“Tom walks me home every night. I’ve told him he doesn’t need to, but he says I shouldn’t be walking around Konigsburg by myself that late.”

“He’s got that right.” Docia’s lips spread in a slow grin. “Oh my. Are you telling me Tom Ames has seen your bedroom?”

“He just came in the apartment the first time to make sure…” Deirdre paused.
To make sure of what? That no mad rapists were hiding under your sleeping bag?

“Yes, well.” Docia was still grinning. “You be sure and thank him when you see him. That’s a very nice mattress.”

Deirdre’s jaw tightened. “Oh I will. I most definitely will.”

Tom knew he was in trouble the minute Deirdre walked into the Faro. Not that she looked angry. In fact, she looked amazing—but he’d come to expect that from her after a week. She had another of Ferguson’s T-shirts, this one black and white, advertising Rustler’s Roost, a particularly disreputable biker bar outside the city limits. Realistically, he shouldn’t have been happy to see her wearing a shirt that advertised somebody else’s bar, but the idea of Deirdre’s bosom advertising a biker bar was too weirdly funny to mess with. Plus the black set off her milky skin and dark hair, giving her more of that Audrey Hepburn vibe. Only now she looked a little more like a young Elizabeth Taylor.

When the lunch traffic had thinned down a little, she stalked up to the bar, dropping her tray in front of him. “Did you buy me a mattress?”

Tom blinked. He hadn’t really expected her to make the connection so quickly. Wouldn’t it have been more logical to assume that her cousin or her other rich relatives had sprung for a mattress? He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar. “You needed one.”

“I would have bought one eventually. I can’t accept a mattress from you, for heaven’s sake.” Her cheeks turned a lush, pale rose.

“Why not?”

“Because…” she sputtered, then stared down at the bar, her lips a thin line. “You know why I can’t.”

He shrugged. “The store won’t take it back now. Technically it’s used. It would be against the health code, so you’d just be wasting my money.” Actually, of course, he wasn’t sure about that, but it didn’t matter. He was slowly beginning to enjoy himself. Even sputtering, Deirdre was better looking than any woman he’d ever met.

“I’ll pay you back then,” she snapped. “Take it out of my salary.”

“Deirdre…”

“I mean it, Tom!” She huffed out a breath that fluffed the tendrils on her forehead. Her indigo eyes were flashing. “I insist.”

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll take out five bucks a week. How’s that?”

“How long will it take to pay off?”

At that rate, probably around a year and a half. But Tom saw no reason to tell her that. “Six months.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You only paid a hundred and twenty dollars?”

He shrugged again. “It’s a discount furniture store.” Which, of course, didn’t exactly answer her question and avoided an outright lie.

She gave him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t know exactly how to stop him. “Thank you,” she said between gritted teeth.

“You’re welcome. Stick around after your shift this afternoon and we can go through the furniture in the storeroom.”

For a moment, he thought she’d say no, but finally she shrugged. “All right. But that’s the extent of it, okay? No more helping me.”

“I won’t send you any more furniture without talking about it first, but I’m not promising not to help you if you need it.”

Deirdre gave him another annoyed look, but then turned, grabbing her tray, and headed toward the kitchen to pick up her orders.

Tom managed not to grin after her, but it was a near thing. Across the room, Chico watched him with narrowed eyes. Okay, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but it was still fun. And he could afford a new mattress now and then.

The beer garden was full by seven thirty that evening. Deirdre didn’t know if that was the effect of the band or the nice weather or the phase of the moon. All she knew for sure was that she was a very busy barmaid all of a sudden.

She was almost late getting there because Tom had insisted on sending her a table and chairs from the storeroom that Leon and Chico had carried up to the apartment for her. She had to admit that it made her dining room less barren, but giving Chico a tour of the place and them finding beers for both of them had definitely slowed her down.

Most people in the garden ordered beer and nachos, with the occasional chips and salsa or popcorn, along with the occasional margarita. Unlike the people in the inner room, the beer garden customers were mostly couples or mixed groups. College kids up from Austin or College Station, hikers from the state park, biking baby boomers up for a weekend ride in the Hill Country. For once, she didn’t feel under observation all the time.

Tom poured drinks at a small built-in bar at the side, while Chico lounged at the street entrance, checking IDs on everyone who came in. The band was okay—not the kind of music she usually listened to, but fun. Couples whirled around the small dance floor periodically, laughing as the warm breezes blew through the live oaks.

Deirdre tried to remember if she’d ever gone to an outdoor show before. Actually, she hadn’t been to that many indoor shows either. Men like Craig Dempsey didn’t go to music shows that much. They went for the owner’s boxes at sports arenas instead. She watched one of the couples slide across the floor, eyes locked on each other, and bit her lip. She’d had dancing lessons when she’d been at school, but since it was a girls’ school, they’d had to practice with each other. She was better at leading than following. And then at the school dances, most of the boys had had other things in mind besides dancing. She wished now she’d tried a little harder. The couples looked like they were having fun.

Tom placed two margaritas on her tray with a snap, bringing her back to the job at hand. He cocked an eyebrow. “Everything okay out there?”

“Great.” Deirdre smiled in his general direction and hoisted the tray to her shoulder. Dancing could wait. Right now she needed to make some tips. After all, she’d be down by five dollars on her salary this week. She pressed her lips together to avoid a grin. It might not have been quite proper for Tom Ames to give her a mattress, but she wasn’t all that upset that he had. He was just fun to spar with.

As the evening went on, the crush intensified. Some people pulled out chairs from inside to listen to the music. Sylvia served the crowd nearest the door, as well as part of her normal station, and complained to Tom about it in a low voice. Marilyn, the weekend barmaid, took care of the rest of the inner room. Deirdre trotted between the outside tables, picking up glasses and taking orders and trying to stay out of the way of the dancers as they spread around the open space. The band had shifted to a lot of fast stuff, including the occasional two-step, that had at least half the crowd on its feet.

Suddenly the lead guitarist played a slow descending scale. The keyboardist did a riff on his accordion. The singer grasped the microphone. “Okay,” he yelled, “everybody grab somebody you want to rub crotches with. Time for some ‘
Volver
’.”

Deirdre stopped, clutching her tray to her chest. In her opinion, “
Volver, Volver
” was the sexiest song in the world, even if she couldn’t understand more than half the words. One of her roommates had translated it for her in high school. All she could really remember was the chorus: “To return, to return, to return to your arms again.” She turned toward the stage as the band began to play the slow, pounding beat.

The singer leaned forward, crooning, “
Este amor apasionado…
” He sounded a lot more like Jon Dee Graham than Vicente Fernandez, but Deirdre didn’t care. Neither did the crowd. They roared their approval, then began moving to the slow beat. She turned to watch. The dancers moved unhurriedly across the floor, laughing and dipping to the beat. A couple of them were dancing so close Deirdre was half afraid they might set the place on fire. She began to sway along with the music, half-closing her eyes and humming along.

Someone pulled on her tray, and she looked over her shoulder to see Tom, smiling at her. He set her tray on the bar counter, then placed his hand at her waist, nudging her gently out onto the dance floor.

Deirdre’s stomach immediately clenched itself into a knot
. Dance? Here?
Now? In front of everybody?
Tom grasped her other hand in his, the arm around her waist pulling her closer. His thigh brushed against hers and she rested her hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscle of his biceps beneath her fingertips.

“
Y volver, volver, volver…
” the singer growled.

Tom turned them in a slow curve, his feet moving hers. Deirdre swayed against him as the drumbeat sounded behind them. Suddenly, she was resting her cheek against his, feeling the slight prickle of his beard against her skin. They turned again, and she drew back a little, wishing that her heart weren’t thumping quite so loudly. She only hoped Tom didn’t hear it above the sound of the music.

“
Y volver, volver, volver…”
The whole band was singing now, along with at least half of the audience.

Tom maneuvered her expertly around a swaying couple, his hand moving down slightly to the side of her hip. She could feel the warmth of his palm against her skin where her T-shirt had pulled up.

Every inch of her body was suddenly sweltering, infected by the heat of his hand. Deirdre felt a clenching deep in her body that had nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with how close his body was to hers as they made one more turn across the dance floor.

She closed her eyes.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
This really wasn’t supposed to happen. At least not like this. Not with him. Not right now.

“…volver, volver, volver,”
the singer finished, and Tom dipped her low over his arm, leaning down over her so that their bodies were almost horizontal and touching again. The accordion and the guitars played the final chords through a chorus of yells from the crowd.

He brought her upright again slowly in the midst of the noise and applause. She felt her face growing warm. What should she say? What could she say after something like that? She felt like she’d just engaged in some kind of sex act in front of a large crowd of beer drinkers. And she wasn’t even embarrassed—just sort of stunned.

Tom’s teeth flashed white against his sun-warmed skin. “Thanks for the dance. Now go sell some beer.” He tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and she turned, numbly, to pick up her tray again.

At a nearby table, a woman raised her hand and gave her a tiny wave. Deirdre squinted.
Oh lord. Of course. The one night I didn’t want anyone I know to be here.
She walked over toward the table, picking up some empty glasses on the way to give her time to catch her breath. “Hi, Janie, how are you?”

“Great, Dee. This is terrific. I’ve never been to the beer garden at the Faro before. Actually, I’ve never been here before at all.”

Janie Toleffson grinned up at her. Her soft lilac tank top set off the olive tone of her skin, and her dark eyes sparkled. She had the kind of haircut that probably only needed a quick brush to put it back in line. Deirdre thought wistfully how nice it would be to have hair that didn’t have to be hauled off her neck every morning. Maybe when she got some money ahead she’d actually get her hair cut.

She wondered if Tom Ames liked short hair.

“Dee?” Janie was frowning slightly, and Deirdre realized she’d missed something.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear.”