Don't Make Me Choose Between You and My Shoes (13 page)

“Happy.”

“I really do think it's kind of sad, though.”

“What?”

“Because the opportunity for the fabulous Patsy Cline to be heard again will be silenced.”

“The world has lived a long time without Patsy. I guess we'll just have to be satisfied with her voice captured on tapes and CDs.”

Debbie Sue dragged out their notes, and Edwina allowed herself to be dragged through the presentation again. It made no difference what the notes said, she figured. When they got onstage, she would do it her way anyway.

When Debbie Sue declared that they had rehearsed enough, she put the notes neatly back into their folder and said, “Let's eat.”

Edwina sighed, unable to stop thinking about the karaoke show downstairs. “You bet. Toss me that menu, will you? I feel the need for New York cheesecake with strawberries.”

Debbie Sue grinned. “Now you're talking.”

Soon room service delivered a cart of food. Two bacon cheeseburgers with fries and two cheesecake slices big enough to warrant a snapshot.

“I'll have to diet for a month when I get back home,” Debbie Sue said between bites.

“Maybe not. Think about all the walking we've been doing.” Edwina chomped into the thick burger.

“I don't have to think about it. I've got the blisters to prove it.”

“Me, too.” Edwina lifted a foot to boast and almost fell over backward.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. “We don't have to go over the speech again, right?” Edwina said.

“I think we'll be all right now,” Debbie Sue said. “I feel better about it. The question-and-answer part still makes me
nervous, but we'll just have to get through it as best we can.”

“You and I worry about different things,” Edwina said as she spooned into the slice of sumptuous creamy cheesecake.

“You're worried about something? Good Lord, Ed. I don't know that I've ever heard you admit that. What in the world could be bothering you that you'd admit to?”

“Well, people have their choice of the speakers they want to hear. What if no one comes to hear us?”

Debbie Sue sat upright. “Holy shit, Ed. Why would you say something like that? That has never even crossed my mind.”

“Good, because it's probably nothing to worry about. There'll be some people there. And Celina will be there. We only need one, right?”

“One? My God, I bet you're right. Why
would
anyone come to hear us? This is New York City, and we're two bumpkins from small-town Texas.”

“Now, now, don't go to worrying. It'll be fine. One hundred and one or one, we're ready.”

“Right,” Debbie Sue said, but Edwina could tell she had started a new worry in Debbie Sue, who had more than a little streak of OC personality. “Now I'm gonna worry about it all night.”

“I feel like a heel for upsetting you, but hell, you never leave a stone unturned. I assumed you'd given some thought to the idea that people might not want to hear what we've got to say.”

They sat in silence for a few beats. Edwina could almost see gears grinding behind her partner's eyes.

“Well, fuck it,” Debbie Sue said finally. “I'm gonna soak
in a hot tub and call Buddy. When I start feeling this insecure, I need Buddy. I'm bailing on you for a while, Ed.”

“Hon, you go right ahead and do what will make you feel better.” Edwina picked up the TV remote and plopped into a chair. She watched very little TV at home, didn't have the patience for flipping from one channel to another. “You go on and get your bath. I'll just sit here and watch TV.”

Soon she heard water running in the bathroom. Soon after that, she heard the murmur of Debbie Sue's voice. She couldn't stop the mischievous grin that curved her lips. That girl would be a good hour or more talking to Buddy. Those two were so tight they weren't comfortable unless one knew what the other was doing and thinking.

T
rying to appear cool and detached while looking around, Celina sat on the upholstered bench that encircled the fountain and crossed her legs. As usual, there was an assembly at the fountain, talking, glancing at watches, placing calls on cell phones. Matt was nowhere to be seen.

By the time fifteen anxious minutes had passed, Celina's heart had sunk to somewhere around her knees. “Five more minutes,” she said under her breath.

Then a young bellhop approached her carrying a nosegay of yellow rosebuds. “Miz Phillips? Miz Celina Phillips?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, I'm Celina Phillips.”

Extending the little cluster of flowers, he said, “Detective
McDermott asked that I deliver these and escort you to the car waiting outside.”

“Now?…Oh, of course he meant now. You must forgive me, I'm just, well my goodness, I—”

“If you'll take the flowers, ma'am, I'll make sure you get safely to the car.”

Rising slowly, she took the bouquet, then hooked her arm through the bellhop's and let him escort her outside. There in the porte-cochere sat a black limousine, the lights of Times Square dancing off it as if it were a black diamond. The driver, standing at the side of the car, nodded to her.

As she approached, he opened the door. “Ma'am, let me assist you.”

Stunned, Celina took the help he offered and ducked into the car.

Matt reached for her hand and brought her all the way into the limousine onto a soft gray leather seat. He was wearing jeans and a starched white shirt, the collar framing his chiseled chin. The sleeves, rolled to just below the elbows, revealed muscular forearms shadowed with dark hair. “Good evening, pretty lady.”

“Oh,” she said. “I—I've never been inside a limousine before.” She looked around. The windows were blacked out, but the interior was bathed in low golden light. A parade of dollar signs marched through her mind.

Matt was sitting opposite her, the corners of his mouth tipped up in a big smile. She picked up the scent of masculine cologne.

He lifted a champagne bottle from a silver bucket of ice
and poured a flute full of the golden liquid. He leaned forward and extended the glass to her.

She felt a flush crawl up her neck “Oh, my goodness. This must be costing a fortune, Matt.”

He poured a glass for himself, then touched his glass to hers. “I don't do it every day. I don't have a car of my own, so this seemed better than a cab. Besides that, I thought I might be competing with a dozen guys, and I wanted to make a lasting impression.”

“Gosh, I don't think I even know a dozen guys.”

His eyes leveled on hers. “Really?”

As she looked into those dark eyes, she was sure she saw admiration there. She didn't know if her body would hold her happiness. She smiled as heat came to her cheeks. “No, I don't.”

“Then I'd say that's their loss and my gain.”

She shrugged, hoping she was reading his meaning clearly. “I'm sorry. I'm new at this. I don't know what to say.”

“You've told me what I need to know.” His gaze dropped to her glass. She hadn't yet taken a sip. “You don't like champagne?”

“I—I haven't had it often. I'm not much of a drinker. But I think I like it.” She tasted a small sip, relishing the effervescence on her tongue.

“I don't drink a lot, either.”

“You don't have a car?” She had both read and heard that many New York City residents didn't own a car.

“Don't need one. I live in the city. Everything I need is within walking distance. In fact, my place isn't far from here.”

“Oh,” she said again. “I can't imagine not having a car. Everywhere I go at home is too far to walk. My VW is old and beat-up, but it's taken me where I need to go for a long time.”

She brought the glass to her lips for another tiny sip. From out of nowhere came the thought of the silky black underwear underneath her clothing and the reason she had bought it. She felt a new wave of nervousness. “How long before we reach the ballgame?”

“As long as you like.”

She drew in a great breath, bolstering her courage. “Perfect.” Leaning forward she placed her lips on his.

“Wow,” he said huskily when they parted. “Is it the flowers, the limo or the champagne?”

“It's everything,” she said softly. “It's the city, this car, these flowers and the champagne. But mostly it's you.”

He reached to his right and pushed a button.

“Yes, sir,” the driver said.

“Could you please take the
long
way to the Garden?”

“Certainly, sir. Would an hour be satisfactory?”

“An hour would be great.”

He released the button, the window glided up and the next thing she knew, she was on his lap and lost in his kiss. The night had become a bottomless pool of possibilities, and Celina Phillips of Dime Box, Texas, was dipping her toe into the warm water. “Do we have to go to the ball game?” she asked.

“No,” he said softly.

“Will—will you lose money on the tickets?”

“No,” he said again, and his eyes locked on hers. “What do you want to do instead?”

“You could, ah…uh, show me your apartment? I've never seen a New York apartment.”

A few beats passed. He continued to look into her eyes. “That can be arranged.”

 

Matt's apartment was small and cozy and very masculine. Full of sports stuff. And it was very clean. Celina was impressed.

They had brought the bottle of champagne with them from the limo and almost all of it was still left. He set the bottle on the counter in the tiny kitchen. “Do you want some more?”

“Okay,” she answered.

He pulled two goblets from the cabinet and gave her a sheepish grin. “I don't own champagne glasses. The ones in the limo belong to the limo company.”

She laughed. “Guess what? I don't own any, either. And what's more, I probably never will.”

He brought a glass of the golden liquid to her, removed her purse from her hand and replaced it with the glass. “How about some music? What kind of music do you like?”

She smiled up at him. “I'm a country girl.”

“I don't think I have any country music.”

“No George Strait? No Brooks and Dunn?”

His lips tipped up into a smile and he shook his head. “Country music. That's something you'll have to teach me.”

She smiled back, feeling as if a smile had been permanently
affixed on her face. “Then play what you have, Detective.”

He moved over to a CD player and put on something soft and sexy, with a lot of saxophone and piano. “Do you like to dance?”

“Believe it or not, I do. My grandmother taught me how. She and I have been dancing together since I was a little kid.”

“Oh, yeah. She was a dancer, right?”

He drew her into a dance position and she looked up into his eyes. Few men were taller than she, but
he
was. Their bodies seemed to fit and she couldn't think of anything that felt as good as his arm around her waist. Still, she felt giddy and nervous. Nothing had been said, but they both knew why she had invited herself to his apartment instead of going to the basketball game.

He placed his cheek against hers and began to slowly move her around the floor. He smelled delicious, but she couldn't identify his cologne. She knew next to nothing about men's fragrances. “Who taught you to dance?” she asked him.

“Guess.”

“Your sisters?”

“Yep.”

They laughed together and she tried to remember if she had ever enjoyed herself more in a man's company.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to the game?” he asked.

She leaned back and leveled a serious look into his eyes. “I'm sure, Matt.”

“God, Celina,” he said softly and placed his lips on hers.

Their kisses became urgent in no time, and strange emo
tions were streaking through her mind and body. “I've never been a big fan of basketball,” she murmured between kisses.

“Me, neither,” he replied, trailing his mouth down her neck to the opening in her blouse. “But I am
your
fan.”

“Matt, I should tell you…”

“Hmm?”

“I know coming here was my idea, but I'm not a…a terribly sophisticated woman.”

“I know.”

“I've—I've never been so forward, but I've never felt this way about anyone. I know you may not believe me, but—”

“You don't have to be sophisticated. Just be honest.” He began to slowly unbutton her blouse.

“Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, watching his nimble fingers loosen her buttons.

He pulled her close and kissed her again. His hand slid down and cupped her breast and his palm sent heat through the black silk of her new bra. A warm sensation she had never experienced began in her lower belly. She couldn't think what to do about it, so she pressed her body against his, wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders and threw herself into returning his kiss. His starched shirt rasped against her bare skin through the open front of her blouse. A low hum came from his throat and she felt herself being danced backward. She opened her eyes to a dimly lit room. His bedroom. A swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach.

“I know you're nervous,” he said softly as he peeled back the front of her blouse. “Just tell me if you want to stop.”

 

Edwina glanced at the clock and saw it was only minutes from eight o'clock. She could hear the muffled sounds of Debbie Sue still talking and laughing. Not only could she not find an argument against going downstairs, she couldn't see even a hint of divine intervention. Hell, she could go down, perform and be back before Debbie Sue missed her. She raised her eyes toward heaven.
Patsy, bless your heart. I hear ya, hon. I'll do my best to make us both proud
.

She grabbed her fancy jeans and changed into a cute gold glitzy halter top she wore on special occasions. Stopping at the mirror she gave her makeup and hair a quick touch-up, then picked up the bright green piece of paper and jotted a note on the bottom:
DS, if I'm not back when you get off the phone, come get me. Karaoke calls!—Ed.

She was in a hurry, but not so much that she didn't have time to grab two miniature bottles of Jose Cuervo Gold from the courtesy fridge. She knew for a fact that even Miss Patsy Cline wet her whistle before she performed. She emptied one miniature bottle into a drinking glass and belted it. A pleasant warmth seeped through her. Grinning, she emptied the second bottle into the glass and sipped half of it, then belted the other half. She had no doubt she would sound exactly like her idol.

Waiting for the elevator, she hummed to herself and practiced her dance step. Those designer shoes she wanted were as good as on her feet.

In a matter of minutes she was standing in the bar. The show had already started. A small group of people—maybe twenty—were present and seated at the tables arranged in a
horseshoe around the stage. She recognized Frank Rogenstein. She smiled politely at his nod, then looked away. She didn't want to make small talk. She was more interested in focusing on the stage and assessing the competition. A trio of drunken men in suits was onstage slaughtering Sinatra's “New York, New York.” The one on the end attempting the high kicks wasn't winning any points, either.

Edwina walked over to the DJ standing just out of the spotlight. “How does this work?” she yelled, to be heard above the din.

“Hey, now, you look like a winner,” he yelled back. “It's easy. I give you a book of songs. Choose the one you want to sing and it's showtime.”

“The cash prize. How do you determine who wins?”

“I let the crowd choose. The singer that gets the loudest applause gets the loot.” He reached for a photo-album-sized book. “Do you want to sing?”

“Sure.” She took the songbook. “I'll just have a seat and make my selection.”

She found a seat near the stage lights, leafed through the pages and was dismayed that among the hundreds of songs she saw not one Patsy Cline tune. No “Crazy,” no “Sweet Dreams.”
Damn
. She felt her chances of winning dwindling, but then she spotted a sure thing. Lee Greenwood's “God Bless the U.S.A.”

Her eyes almost welled with tears thinking about the lyrics and all of the times she had heard it. She couldn't hear or sing it without thinking about her own personal hero and war veteran, Vic. When he had been an active-duty SEAL,
he had bled real blood for the U.S.A. Now he was retired, but he still bled red, white and blue, and this song always had an emotional impact on him.

This was the one. And she would sing it with all her heart.

She would sing it so loud that Vic would hear it clear down in Texas. God bless the U.S.A. and those Jimmy Choo shoes.

 

“Ed,” Debbie Sue called from the bathroom, “if you still want to go downstairs and sing, I'll go with you.”

Talking to Buddy had been energizing. He had a way of making sense of the senseless and easing her fears. Even if they weren't married, and thank God they were, he would be her number-one best friend.

“Did you hear me?” She stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in a thick towel.

She opened the door and said again, “Ed? You asleep?”

Nothing. Not even sound from the TV.

Walking on into the room, she looked around in confusion.
Maybe she went to the ice machine
, she thought as she started back into the bathroom, but she stopped short at the sight of a bright green note on the bed pillow.

She quickly read it. Glancing at the clock, she made note of the time, 8:45. “Dammit, Ed,” she mumbled.

She dressed hurriedly, then stopped at the vanity to put on some makeup, but when she saw the two empty shot-size bottles of tequila, she changed her mind. In all the years she had been friends with Edwina, she had learned two impor
tant things: Don't do anything to mess up her hair, and never let her out of sight when she's drinking straight tequila.