Girl of My Dreams (9 page)

On the way back, the taxi was forced to crawl by a gapers’ block around a fender-bender. The road cleared, and the taxi zipped along.

A few miles from her destination, Jillian glanced at her watch. An hour to get to Hair and Makeup, two hours before the show’s start. Plenty of time. After all, what else could happen?

A bang like a gunshot and a wobble of the taxi’s wheels answered Jillian’s hypothetical question. She should not have tempted fate.

The driver let out an impressive string of foreign epithets as he struggled to maintain control over the piece of steel that had become a barreling monster, intent on destroying everything in its path. Jillian watched wide-eyed as the cab careened down the street, missing a bicyclist and two pedestrians by inches. Next it headed for a bus, but only grazed its side. Jillian’s mouth gaped open. This was real, not a movie chase where vehicles followed a script. She could die in this cab on the way back to the hotel before anyone even saw the act she’d thought up. What a frightening thought.

Another swerve, a crash, a jolt from behind, a sickening crunch. Jillian had no time to brace herself. She was lifted off her seat, thrown forward and plopped back down. Her grocery bag jumped from her lap, tore loudly and fell onto the floor, scattering its contents in every direction as the cab came to a screeching halt.

For a moment, all was silent. Jillian pushed the hair away from her eyes and glanced around. The taxi driver’s hands shook as he grabbed a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his sweating brow. “That was close. Are you all right, miss?”

She did a quick check. “I seem to be all in one piece.”

It was true. She felt no pain. It seemed appropriate in this gambling city to thank her lucky stars she and the cabby had survived without apparent injury.

The huge, yelling man in back of them also seemed to have avoided bodily damage, except perhaps to his blood pressure. Red-faced, the mammoth stalked to the cab. “You’re responsible for this accident. Don’t try to get out of it,” he yelled.

The cab driver shrugged his shoulders and opened the door, resigned to face the irate man. Jillian feared this could get ugly. Also, it could gobble up valuable time, a commodity Jillian did not have. She must get back to the hotel or she’d be in deep trouble.

She glanced at the meter, then rummaged in her purse. After extracting six ten-dollar bills, she placed them on the dashboard beneath the pair of felt dice.

Bending down, she gathered up her purchases, put them back as best she could in the ripped sack and reached for her purse. With a last glance backward to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, she opened the door and pushed it hard to get out.

“Are you blind? Can’t you see what happened?” the cab driver shouted, pointing to his flat tire. The giant didn’t get the hint, but looked as if he’d bite the tiny man’s head off and eat it for dinner. A crowd formed around the shouting drivers and took sides, shouting epithets at one or the other of them. She had to make her escape while she could.

When the police arrived, her valuable time would be wasted, even though it was obvious how the accident had happened. No one was really at fault. Jillian would not need to serve as a witness.

Since she was so near her destination, she’d hoof it. She slung her handbag over her shoulder. No one seemed to notice as, clutching the groceries with both hands to keep them from falling from the ripped bag, she scurried away.

With few minutes to spare, Jillian dashed into the Lucky Sevens’ backstage area. She’d made it. She could calm down now. Everything was under control.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into Hair and Makeup. The cool spray felt relaxing, as she bent backward over the sink to get shampooed. After a quick blow dry and some hair fiddling by the stylist, Jillian was off to Wardrobe.

Selena pointed to a curtained cubicle. “Your costume’s inside. There’s no time to spare.”

Jillian stepped into the fitting room. She slipped on the white frilly blouse with its capped sleeves, looked in the mirror and did a double-take. The demure frilly front and capped sleeves had looked far different on the hanger than on her. The cut was so low her bra stuck out in weird spots. She’d have to do without it. As she removed the bra, thoughts of a repeat performance of the volleyball disaster made her grimace.

She pulled on the light blue jumper next. Its almost non-existent skirt barely covered her butt, and the whole thing was so tight she could hardly breathe. On a hook next to the hangers sat a matching blue cap. When she placed it over her head, it perched insecurely, with no pins to keep it in place, reminding her of the precariousness of her entire getup. How could she possibly move around in this? 

Jillian gritted her teeth and set her mind to the task. She’d concentrate on her act, and be very careful.

“Five minutes to go,” the wardrobe mistress said.

At the last minute, Jillian grabbed the starched white apron she’d requested. At least wardrobe had gotten that right.

“Ready in there?” Selena asked.

“Okay,” Jillian said, tying the apron, and slipping on the high heels, which fortunately were in her width. Well, that made two things right.

Her stomach did a flip-flop as she stepped out of the cubicle.

Was her idea too farfetched? Could she carry it off? What would Blake think of it?    

STRIDING BACKSTAGE, BLAKE scanned the set. The contestants were all in place, except for Jillian. Where was she? She’d promised to be back on time. He’d had enough of unreliable women today, starting with the first one in his life, Barbara Branton, whom he’d spied alongside her current leading man, Kevin Princeton, on the cover of
Peepers
magazine. Why the hell didn’t Darryl put his foot down? It bugged Blake to think about it, so he wouldn’t.

The click of heels made him turn his head. Relief turned to heat as he took in Jillian’s outfit.

What the hell was she wearing, or more accurately, not wearing? Again, she looked ready to fall out of her top. His pants tightened, his throat dried. Damn, he didn’t need this.

He ignored his body’s response and glared into Jillian’s cat-like eyes. “Don’t cut it so close.”        “I had traffic issues.”

“What did you expect? This is Vegas, not some hick town.”

She shot him a dagger look. Okay, he’d sounded curt, but damn it, he had enough going on without worrying about contestants showing up on time. Well, at least she’d made it.

“Get to your mark,” he said.

Without a word, she turned and stalked away. He stopped to watch. There was something about the back of those long, shapely legs that was way too distracting for his peace of mind.

Forget her. There were plenty of others. She was only a sexy babe in a costume. He should be used to it. Yeah, tell that to a certain member of his body that stood at attention too often in her presence. Damn, he had a show to run.

He parted the curtains to get a better look at the crowd. There was not a seat left at the Lucky Sevens Winners’ Club. The buzz of expectation set his blood pulsing. The patrons were excited. They would not be disappointed. He’d give them a show to remember.

He stepped into the makeshift control room and punched the go-ahead signal from his pager. Instantly, the lights dimmed. The rich tones of the announcer’s voice filled the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, turn your attention to the spotlighted stage in front of you. That’s where our five indisputable beauties will soon display their talents.”

The theme song played. The curtains parted. A yellow spotlight roved to the billionaire, clothed in a golden tunic, seated on a crimson velvet throne at the side of the stage.

The acts began. In an erotic version of the Charleston, a long-legged redhead dressed in Roaring Twenties spangles jiggled and shimmied across the stage.

The second contestant performed somersaults, ending up in a daring split position. A girl like that could murder a man. Picturing himself landing in that last position, Blake winced. Damn, that would hurt.

Stage hands next rolled out an ebony grand piano for the following contestant, who played a moving rendition of Debussy’s
Claire de Lune
. Its haunting melody floated through the air.

Out of nowhere, a vast loneliness filled Blake, along with a deep longing for something he couldn’t identify. No doubt about it. That contestant had enough talent to play with his emotions, which wasn’t easy.

Next, the whine of a country song emanating from Maxine of the Dolly Parton boobs grated on Blake’s ears. At the pitiful sound, an irresistible urge hit him to rush the stage and douse her with a pail of water. That would cause some uproar, with the lady’s credentials being so impressive. Blake narrowed his eyes, estimating whether her goods were authentic or surgically enhanced. He suspected the latter.

Jillian was next. Blake’s interest quickened. For the sake of spontaneity, the contestants had offered the briefest of sketches of their acts and were basically on their own. He had no control over what they chose to do. The concept could be dangerous where Jillian was concerned. He told himself to remain calm and have a little trust. Jillian knew the lay of the land. She’d come through for him.

After flashing a go-ahead signal, he looked at the monitor and took in the simple set of a vinyl card table. A stripper song played as Jillian entered on the right, carrying a tattered brown grocery bag.

The audience gasped. This was no ordinary cook, but a fantasy wife who’d stepped from the pages of a gentlemen’s magazine.

Her presence again struck him below the belt. Her ruffled top took a nose dive, barely covering her perfect assets. The mini skirt of the jumper she barely wore molded tightly to her rounded tush. Her perfectly proportioned gams stretched long, lean and bare.

The only sound was the click of pointy stiletto heels as Jillian swayed across the stage.

Blake’s throat parched. He couldn’t swallow. Mesmerized, he watched Jillian step up to the table and carefully place the paper bag on top. She leaned over to reach inside. In the process, her breasts, barely constrained by the flimsy top, begged to be released.

Blake held his breath. Would they break free as they’d done on the volleyball set? If so, this time he was too far away to rush in and save her. Besides, his pants were too tight.

The bag rustled, claiming his attention. What was inside? He pictured handcuffs and other sexual paraphernalia. That’s what he, and probably the other men in the audience, would like her to take out and put to use. Instead, Jillian retrieved an innocuous looking steel mixing bowl, followed by a rubber spoon, a bottle, along with a few food cans. She poured the ingredients into the bowl, then began to stir. In the process, her breasts moved up, down and sideways, matching the tempo of her movements with the stripper music, which grew louder and more insistent.

The sight was torture, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Stupefied, he watched and listened as Jillian proceeded to beat the contents of the bowl faster and faster. With each stroke, Blake’s already tight pants grew tighter, almost to the bursting point. He shifted his position. Right when he thought he’d explode, she stopped.

He let out a sigh of relief, as did the other males in the audience. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one affected.

Blake glanced in the direction of the billionaire. Troy appeared to be in the throes of a powerful force. His eyes were narrowed to slits. The veins in his neck seemed ready to pop. He looked feral, like a lion cornering its prey. An alarm sounded in Blake’s mind. Did Jillian have a clue what she was toying with?

Seemingly oblivious to her effect on Troy and the other males in the vicinity, Jillian picked up the bowl and approached the crimson throne. She carefully dipped the spoon, withdrew a portion of the mixture and offered a sample to the billionaire.“Would you like something to eat?” she asked, with a wide-eyed, innocent expression.

The audience tittered.

Troy jumped off the throne. “I sure would, but it’s not that.” 

He reached for Jillian. The spoon flew up into the air, its contents splattering across the stage. The hat flew off her head, as Jillian lost her balance and fell onto Troy.

Whistles and cheers rang out as the billionaire buried his face in Jillian’s breasts. She squirmed to break free.

That must not happen on his watch.  Blake dashed from the audience and onto the stage. “This is not a porn show. Stop that right now,” he hissed, as he pulled them apart.

Believing it was part of the act, the audience cheered and booed, getting into the spirit of the act.

With a bellow, Troy swung at Blake. The noise from the audience grew deafening. Would the onlookers clamber onto the stage? He couldn’t let that happen. He must restore order.

Blake sidestepped the billionaire and turned to Jillian. “Give me your microphone,” he said.

She fumbled with the clip.

“Do you want me to help you get it off?”

“No, I can do it.” She tugged harder.

It finally released. Blake grabbed the microphone and turned to the audience.

“Our last contestant’s time has expired. The final judgment will take place in a few minutes. Until then, everyone sit tight,” he said.