Crazy for You (14 page)

“I signed us up! This will be so cool. Just
you wait and see.”

Andrew took three steps backward. “Uh-uh. No.
You’re out of your fruity little head.”

She turned and headed for a makeshift runway,
dragging him behind her. “Ah, c’mon. This will be so much fun! A
piece of cake. All you have to do is walk down this runway. Oh,
look! It’s starting.”

“Oh, sure. Fun.”

“Oh, and we have to hurry. We’re numbers 3
and 4.”

Stopping, she slapped a large number 3 on his
chest and a number 4 on her hip. “Let’s go!”

Andrew struggled with the shot of scotch as
she quickly led him to the stairway at the left of the stage. The
liquor dribbled down his chin and he shoved the glass into
someone’s hands as Tasha hurriedly led him...astray, he was afraid.
He swiped as his mouth and before he knew it, Tasha was pushing him
up the stairs and out into the center of the stage.

And that’s when he stopped. Stone cold
frozen. Right in the center of the stage. Stage fright, he thought
they called it. There was no way he was moving.

A thousand hands and arms were waving and
swaying and grabbing at the two contestants before him as they made
their way down the runway. Grabbing. At their legs. At their togas.
Oh, god. What if—

And they were shouting. Rude, crude things.
Sexual things like, “ooh baby,” and “hubba hubba.”

“Andrew move!”

It was Tasha. Yelling at him. Telling him to
go.

Then all of a sudden she was at his side,
hooking her arm with his and pulling him down that stupid
runway!

“Lighten up, Andrew! Relax! It’s all in good
fun!” she yelled out over the music and the chanting crowd.

Someone touched the calf of his leg. He
jumped. “Oooh...baby! I want you!” some deranged woman called
out.

“No, he’s mine!” another woman cried.

“Kaaaarrummmba!” Another female voice
screamed. “The boy is mine!”

Andrew threw a shocked glance to Tasha and
she tossed back her head and laughed. She was in her element,
sashaying down the runway. He on the other hand, had had enough.
She must have sensed that for she quickly turned and led him back
up the runway and down the steps.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned on
her. “Are you absolutely nuts!”

“Yes, probably.” She grinned.

“That was the most humiliating thing that has
ever happened to me in my entire life!”

Laughing now, Tasha replied, “Oh, goody. And
I’m the responsible party. Let me ask you this, did it feel good
Andrew?” She was still laughing.

Shaking his head, he glared at her. “I don’t
get it. Why do you want to humiliate me? What’s the deal,
Tasha?”

Her face turned more serious then. “I don’t
want to humiliate you, Andrew, I just want to see you loosen up.
Have fun. Relax. That’s all I’m after. Chill out, why don’t
you?”

And then, she turned and walked away.
Again.

Twenty-two

Uninhibited at Eden II, The Club Regale

Karaoke Night

The next afternoon, Andrew returned to his
room after his customary walk around the resort. The note on his
bed this time read: Karaoke Night. Nine o’clock. Bayside Bar. Be
there or be square.

Now, this was where he drew the line.

He’d endured her anger of the nude beach
thing.

He’d suffered through Disco.

He’d survived the toga incident.

But there was no way, no how, any
cotton-pickin’ way she was going to get him to a Karaoke Bar.

No way.

Absolutely, no way.

Impossible.

****

The singing coming from the open air bar was
off-key and made his teeth tingle.

Andrew had no idea what he was doing
here.

In fact, he figured he was just one big
glutton for punishment.

Truth was, however, he couldn’t fathom the
idea of sitting in the hotel room he shared with Samuel tonight
while the rest of Jamaica was out having a good time.

And...while Tasha was out have a good time
with Jamaica. Without him.

He figured, at the very least, this would be
an opportunity to see her. And, he figured, that he was pretty
darned safe. There was no way anyone, anywhere, could force him to
sing Karaoke.

And if they did, they’d be mighty sorry.

He stepped up to the bar and grimaced as a
woman with curly, black hair tried to make her way through an ugly
rendition some Whitney Houston song.

He was terrible with titles, yet he
recognized the tune, somewhat, as one he’d liked in the past.

This woman, however, was butchering the
thing.

“Scotch, sir?”

Andrew glanced to the bartender. The man
showed a toothy grin. Smiling back in recognition, Andrew
nodded.

“Straight up.”

“And keep them coming?”

“Damned straight.”

The bartender slid the drink close to the
edge of the bar. Andrew grasped the glass in his hand, routinely
threw back the scotch, and sighed long and easy at the welcome,
warm thud in his stomach.

He was becoming way too accustomed to his
scotch.

Scanning the room, he looked for any sign of
Tasha and could find none. There wasn’t a huge crowd, this bar
being a smaller one away from the hotel and closer to the beach.
Surely he was at the right place, wasn’t he?

He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the
name of this bar, mon?” he asked the toothy black man.

“Bayside, sir.”

“Then this is the one.”

“Yessir.”

“Looking for the tall brunette?”

Andrew faced him fully. “Perhaps, have you
seen her?”

“Oh, yes, mon. Earlier.” He pushed another
shot glass toward Andrew. “Best to drink up. Never know what a
woman has in her head.”

Andrew chuckled and downed the drink. “You
got that right, Mister.”

He looked back at the stage in time to see
the black-haired woman leave the stage and the crowd snicker and
boo her all the way.

“Terrible what people will do for attention,”
he muttered.

“Yessir.” Another scotch was pushed his
way.

“Can’t believe anyone would get up there and
make an idiot out of themselves like that. Floors me.”

“See it all the time, mon.”

“Insane.”

“Agreed.”

Andrew kicked back his third scotch.

“Might want to slow down a bit on those,
sir.”

Andrew waved the guy off. “Ah, hell! I can
handle my scotch, my good man. None of those tutti-frutti drinks
for this guy. Besides,” he passed the glass back to the bartender,
“I’m not driving. But can one get arrested for drunk walking?”

Andrew chuckled at his own humor and the man
behind the bar chuckled with him. “No, sir. One cannot.”

“Another, my good man.”

“Coming right up.”

And within the next few minutes, he downed
his fourth scotch. By that time, the woman on the stage announcing
the Karaoke contestants looked a mite fuzzy but sounded a mite too
much like someone he knew. Probably someone from back in Seattle,
he thought. Probably someone—

“And for our next contestant,” her voice
boomed out over the bar, “we have a very special treat. All the way
from Seattle, let’s give a big round of applause to Mr. Andrew
Jacob Powell III!”

He squinted and looked again at the woman
behind the mike. It was...wasn’t it?

And then he noticed that every face in the
house was turned his way.

“It’s your turn, sir.”

Glancing back to the bartender, he asked,
“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so, mon. Afraid, so.”

“I think I’m drunk.”

“I think it will make you sing a whole lot
better.”

Andrew squinted at the man and agreed. “I
think you’re right. Lemme at ‘em.”

The last thing he remembered was belting out
Hey Jude
and then
The Lion Sleeps Tonight
followed by
a sappy rendition of
You’ve Got a Friend
. He was trying to
sing
Desparado
when Tasha finally dragged him off the stage
and pointed him back toward his hotel room.

He couldn’t remember if it was her or Samuel
who had tucked him into bed. All he could remember was that he was
mighty glad to be there.

Twenty-three

Confessional Nude Volleyball

Sometime in the night, Tasha decided that
perhaps the best thing she could do for herself, and for Mr. Andrew
Jacob Powell III, was to ignore him. To pretend he didn’t exist.
Not to acknowledge his presence, aggravate him, or make her
presence or her views known to him at all.

To do nothing.

Nada.

Nil.

Zilch.

She was her own woman now. And as her own
woman, she would see fit to do whatever she damned well pleased the
remainder of her vacation without the likes of one conservative,
Republican businessman putting in his two-cents worth.

And, she rather liked the independence of it
all.

For the first time all week, she was actually
glad she wasn’t going to have to be concerned with Andrew any
longer.

She felt kind of bad last night after she’d
tucked him into bed. The man had resorted to drinking the past
three nights because of her and she didn’t know if she wanted that
on her conscious for the rest of her life.

And, she had been purposely humiliating him.
Well...not purposely, those things sort of just happened. How did
she know that a drunk Andrew was difficult to peel off the stage
after he’d had a few?

No one could have predicted that.

So, she figured that it was for the best if
she just kept her distance for a while. Do her own thing. And let
him do his own thing.

As she walked down the trail toward the
volleyball courts, she contemplated her newly found freedom.

“I mean, really, Tasha,” she told herself.
“You came down here to get over the funk you were in about Mark,
and then, like an idiot you attach yourself to this man who has
definite problems in the
free spirit
category. Geez. You
couldn’t have picked a more unlikely candidate to get to know on
this trip had you advertised for a suit in the personals.”

She kept walking, following the trail into a
foresty area, complete with palms and foliage and huge tropical
flowers and every once in a while a hammock built for two. In fact,
every once in a while, she sort of had to turn her head away from
those hammocks, particularly the ones occupied with sleeping
occupants beneath a blanket.

Now, why couldn’t I have hooked up with some
nice free spirit who would want to cuddle under a blanket out in
the woods? she thought. Instead, she had attached herself—no, had
permanently joined herself at the hip—with one Andrew Powell.

Thing was, she sort of liked being joined at
the hip with Andrew. And the thought of being joined—

My God! There she goes again. Was she
actually thinking of making love with him?

“I’ve got a problem.”

“You’re not the only one, buddy.”

Abruptly, Tasha halted and looked up. Andrew
was standing directly in front of her. “Oh! Andrew, it’s you!”

He tossed her a puzzled look. “Who did you
think it was?”

“I—I didn’t know. I was thinking. I was sort
of lost in thought. I was thinking about... Well, I suppose you
wouldn’t want to know what I was thinking about.”

“Try me.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Whatsamatter, you chicken?”

Why did Tasha suddenly feel like the tables
had been turned on her? “Chicken? Me? Surely you jest, sir.”

“What were you thinking?”

She studied him for a second, then decided to
go for it.

“Sex,” she blurted out. “I was thinking of
sex.”

“Ah.”

The both stood there, awkwardly glancing
about and shuffling their feet, each of them obviously trying to
figure out what the next move was.

Tasha cleared her throat. Okay, she told
herself. Get a grip. “You said you had a problem?”

“Ah. Yes. I have a bit of a dilemma.”

“Oh?”

“Ahem. Yes.”

“And...are you going to tell me about this
dilemma?”

Again, Andrew glanced about, shoved his hands
deep into the pockets of his shorts, clearing his throat, and
shifting from one foot to another.

“I lost my room.”

“Excuse me? How does one lose a room?”

“Samantha has arrived.”

Tasha arched a brow. “Samantha?”

He nodded. “Samuel’s sister. She’s visiting
from Minneapolis. Guess she divides her time between both places.
At any rate, she arrived this morning and I got the boot.”

Tasha slowly dropped her chin in a nod. “Ah.
And now you’re stuck. No place to stay.”

“Precisely.”

“And you were thinking?”

“I was thinking, that perhaps, if you would
consider, um, sharing that roll-away...I mean, er, not sharing the
roll-away, but sharing the room. I mean, of course, you can have
the king and I can have the roll-away and we would have to work out
things like sharing the bathroom and such, but, we only have a
couple more days, and the bus strike isn’t over yet because I
checked at the desk, and I thought that perhaps—”

Tasha put up a hand. “Stop. Take a breath.
That is the longest sentence I think I’ve ever heard in my entire
life.”

“So, what do you think?”

She eyed him and he squirmed. Why did she
like watching him squirm? She didn’t know.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because of sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, sex. The thing two people do
when—”

This time Andrew put up his hand. “I know
what sex is. Believe me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I know what sex is.”

“Ah.”

Sighing, Tasha crossed her hands over her
chest and shifted one hip out to the side. She waited for several
minutes, watching him, then said, “I suppose you could sleep in the
roll-away.”