Head Over Heels (4 page)

“Great, my pain is your pleasure,” Miller lamented.

“Honey, all pain is my pleasure.” MeShell smirked. “That’s just the way I get down.”

That was far more than Cyn wanted to know. Ever. Also, thinking of getting down was getting her down. She could have been getting laid with a capital L.

Parker was too yummy. Why oh why did she let her stupid little morals get in the way? Though, to be honest, she had really enjoyed simply talking with him. They’d talked about stupid things, such as their favorite color and foods, and even a few deep things such as their views on religion and politics.

It was the best non-date she’d ever been on. Hell, those two hours were better than some real dates she’d been on. How sad.

Miller interrupted her selfish thoughts with one of his own. “God, I hate him.”

“No, you don’t,” Cyn felt compelled to say. “If you did, we wouldn’t be having this
Waiting to Exhale
moment.”

“I’m exhaling. I’m exhaling all over the damn place. I’m over him.”

“Take a deep breath in and get over yourself. We have more important things to discuss.” MeShell scratched her head, her blonde wig moving with each motion. “Like me, or better yet, like Ms. Cyn over there.”

“Me?” Cyn looked up from the ice cream with spoon in hand. She’d known this moment was coming. “What did I do?”

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“You disappeared.”

Before Cyn could scoop out a spoonful of yummy gooey calories, Miller snatched the ice cream and spoon away. “Yeah, where did you go?”

“To the VIP room.” The look of utter surprise on their faces made her laugh. “You two aren’t the only people I know.”

“Who do you know?” MeShell’s artistically drawn-on eyebrows arched as if in surprise.

“Lots of people.”

“Like?” Miller asked, joining the nosey bandwagon. He sat on the coffee table, his drama apparently forgotten.

“Like one of the owners.” Cyn reached for the ice cream but Miller moved it out of the way.

“We all know DelRay,” MeShell said, noting the obvious. “And if you tell me he gave you a pass to the VIP room, when I had to blow the bastard to get in the club, I’m going to be highly irritated.”

Miller and Cyn both turned to MeShell, who was looking fit to be tied. “You blew him?” Miller asked, his disgust more than evident in his tone.

“Could you please move your high horse, his shit is stinking up the room?” With an annoyed sigh, MeShell removed her wig and dropped it on the table next to Miller who was digging into the ice cream with gusto. “Do you think a fairy godmother was behind our invitations? Did I miss the pumpkin coach outside the club?”

“Our?” Cyn questioned, confused.

“Yes, our.” MeShell ran her hand over her dark bald scalp then stood up and stretched. “I didn’t want to hear Miller here crying because he didn’t get to go.”

“That was nice of you,” Miller said warily. “What do you want?”

“Oh please. I don’t want anything from you.” MeShell looked over at Cyn and grinned. “But you, I do want something from.”

“What?”

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“Information.” MeShell sat back down next to her on the couch and leaned back against the cushions. “Why did DelRay let you get into the VIP room?”

“He didn’t.”

“Then who did?” MeShell was as tenacious as a dog with a bone.

“Parker.” Just saying his name made Cyn smile. She was such a goner.

“Parker who?”

“Could you be more in my business?” Moving quickly, Cyn grabbed the container from Miller. Her joy in her conquest was short lived when she saw it was empty.
Damn
it.

“Yes, I could. Now talk. Don’t make me get ugly.” Miller opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by MeShell, who held her hand up to silence him. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything you know,” MeShell answered just as quickly.

Miller moved MeShell’s hand from in front of his face. “We don’t need to know everything, but something. Let’s start with what he looks like.”

“He looks like your average white guy, except there wasn’t anything average about him.”

“You with a white guy?” Miller’s eyes were open almost as wide as MeShell’s mouth.

“What? I can like a white guy.”

“You can,” he agreed, nodding his head as if he was speaking to someone a bit dimwitted. “But you never have before.”

“So what’s wrong with trying something new,” MeShell interjected, as if her own disbelief hadn’t been evident just moments ago. “If Cyn wants to try the other
other
white meat, I say go for it.”

“You would.”

“I am in the room.” She was going to send them to separate corners soon. “And it’s not a big deal. All we did was talk.”

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“For two hours—”

“In the VIP room—” MeShell cut in.

“Alone,” Miller finished, his voice as disbelieving as MeShell’s.

“Yes.” Was it so hard to believe?

“Damn.” Miller looked anything but pleased. “What a waste of a good hair day.”

“It wasn’t wasted. I looked hot, thank you very much. Hot enough to hang out in the VIP room while you were fighting on the dance floor as if you were in some cheesy eighties break dancing movie.”

“She has you there,” MeShell said.

“Moving on, what did you guys talk about?”

MeShell snorted, as she sat up. “More important, are you going to see him again?”

To appease them both, Cyn decided to answer each question. The first answer was easy. It was the second she was unsure about. “We talked about everything.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds and smiled at the memory, before opening them once more.

“He’s so funny. Not just the things he says, but the way he says them. He has this little crinkle thing that happens in the corner of his eyes when he’s thinking.”

“Nothing a little botox can’t cure.” MeShell waved her hand as if dismissing Cyn’s comment. “So you like him.”

That was a no brainer. “Yes. I think I do.”

“Then you’re going to see him again?” MeShell asked.

“Maybe.”

Cyn’s answer obviously wasn’t good enough for MeShell. “Did you give him your number?”

“And have him call when the gruesome twosome are around? I don’t think so.”

“Email?” MeShell persisted.

“No. There wasn’t time. Someone had me on redial.”

“No time? You were up there for two hours,” Miller said. “All that talking and you couldn’t rattle off an address.”

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“Apparently not.” When he put it that way, it seemed a bit silly. But there was a saving grace. “He did give me his business card.”

“He did.” MeShell smiled. “Hand it over. You know you can tell a lot about a man by his business card.”

“Really?” Cyn picked her purse off the floor and opened it. After shuffling through her bag for a few seconds, she pulled out his card and handed it over to MeShell. “So, what does this say about him?”

MeShell took the card, glanced down and screamed.

“What?” Cyn jumped up, startled to hell and back. What in the world was up with her?

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” MeShell stood as well, waving the card about. “Do you know…of course you don’t. Oh my God!”

“What the hell is going on?” Miller demanded. Snatching the card from her hand, he read the name, and then he too screamed, “Oh my God!”

“What the hell.” Cyn was confused as all get out. Then a thought raced through her mind. “Do you guys know him or something? Is he married? Or gay?”

“He’s not gay, girl.” Miller raced over to his bookstand and grabbed the periodical lying on top. He made his way quickly over to Cyn and thrust the cover of the magazine in her face. Annoyed, Cyn pulled the weekly gossip rag from Miller’s hand and held it a bit away from her so she could see whatever it was he was trying to show her. To her utter surprise, Parker was staring back at her from the cover.

“Oh my God!” she echoed, slumping back down on the couch. Parker wasn’t gay. He was famous.

“Is it him?” MeShell demanded. “Is this the same guy you were with?”

In the photo, Parker’s hair was shorter and his eyes didn’t have the same glow to them as they did earlier this evening, but there was no denying who he was. “One and the same.”

“Parker Maguire and my best friend. Oh my.” Miller seemed as dazed as she felt.

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“It’s him, but I still don’t know who he is. Should I?” This only proved it. She needed to get out more.

“Yes,” MeShell and Miller parroted.

“Is he an actor or something?”

“No, honey, he’s the Prince.” MeShell retorted, as if she should’ve known what that meant.

“He’s a prince?” Now she was even more confused.

“No, girl. That’s what they call him. The Prince. He’s Hollywood royalty. His dad is a director, his mother was on one of those nighttime soaps, and he’s a movie producer.”

MeShell placed her hand over her chest and took a deep breath. She was more frazzled than Cyn. “Did you really have no idea?”

“Not a clue.” Cyn felt like the world’s biggest idiot. “I mean, I knew he wasn’t eating Top Ramen for dinner every night, but I had no idea he was Richie Rich.”

“He could kick Richie Rich’s ass, girl.”

Unlike MeShell, Miller focused on what mattered the most. “Are you going to call him?”

Now that was the million dollar question. “I have no idea.”

Parker was not a happy camper. Standing at his office window, he scowled at the Hollywood sign in the far distance, and pondered, not for the first time, why Cyn had yet to contact him. The question plagued him like no other.

They’d had a good time. Or so he thought. Parker could only speak for himself, but the short time he’d spent with her Saturday left him hungry for more. And not just in a sexual way. Sure there was that, but Parker wanted to get to know Cyn better. He wanted to see her smile again, to hear her laugh. Hell, right now he’d be happy just to find out her last name. Parker didn’t think he was asking for much.

The way she’d rushed off Saturday left a lot of questions unanswered in his mind. He could kick himself for letting Cyn leave without getting her phone number. The worst 30

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part was the not knowing. And man was there a lot he didn’t know. From her last name to her phone number to the down low on the man she left him to be with. Who was this Miller and how important was he to Cyn?

Damn it all to hell!
Parker ran his hand through his hair in frustration. If he had to take San Francisco apart with his bare hands, he would find Cyn. No matter how long it took.

“I take it from your frown your new venture in Frisco isn’t going as well as you hoped.”

Parker glanced toward the open doorway of his office at his friend and partner, Solomon Carnell, and frowned at the intruding brunet. He was already in a bad mood and the last thing he needed was to be poked at by his well-meaning friend. Solomon had been against the club investment from the beginning, now he was just waiting for the opportune moment to supply the requisite “I told you so”.

“When did you get back?” Parker asked, ignoring his friend’s question for the moment.

“This morning.” Solomon strolled into the room, and headed straight for the mini fridge in the corner. After extracting a beer, he sat in the black leather chair across from Parker’s own and kicked his feet up on the polished marble desk. Even though Solomon had an office of his own just a few doors down, he spent most of his time in Parker’s. It was easier for him to annoy Parker that way. “But you digress. This meeting isn’t about me in all my splendor, but about you, and the shitty little look on your face. Did DelRay screw you over?”

Knowing Solomon as he did, Parker was well aware the persistent man wouldn’t leave until he dragged every last detail from him. Solomon was annoying like that.

“No.” Solomon’s grin dimmed a bit.
It served him right
. “The opening went off without a hitch. The club was packed all weekend long. I’m sure I’ll see a nice return for my investment.”

“Wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Parker smirked. “I can see you’re overjoyed for me.”

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“I think the guy is a loser.”

“Yes, I know, but you don’t have to worry. I still like you best,” Parker mocked.

Solomon snorted. “As if I care. I’m just looking out for my boy and his bank account.”

“I know, and trust me, I appreciate it.” And he did. Theirs was an equal partnership.

Where Parker brought in the Hollywood connections and the movie know-how, Solomon was the brains behind their ventures. He made sure the I’s were dotted, the T’s were crossed and everyone was paid on time. “But everything went smoothly.”

“Then what’s with the frown?”

“I have some stuff on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Like stuff,” Parker repeated. They were men, for Christ’s sake, they didn’t talk about their feelings. “Let it go.”

Saying that to Solomon was akin to waving a scab in front of the fingers of a seven year old. It just encouraged the man to pick. “Then this has to be about a woman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If it was about anything else you would have already spilled the beans. For some annoying reason you have an outdated moral code when it comes to chicks.”

“Horrible isn’t it?” Parker dryly said.

“Yes, it is.” Solomon agreed, missing the sarcasm all together. “Come on, I tell you about the girls I screw.”

“Much to my delight.”

“Exactly. Besides this—” Parker’s ringing cell phone halted Solomon’s inquisition.

Parker answered it without glancing at the number, happy for the interruption. “Speak.”

There was a brief pause followed by a rapid, “Arf, Arf.”

“Hello?”

“Ahh, much better.” Cyn’s amused voice filled the line. “I was afraid you were going to have me roll over and play dead next.”