Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) (3 page)

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Authors: Laura Levine

BOOK: Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery)
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Chapter 4
“J
aine!” Joy was beaming at me when I showed up at her office the next day. “I’ve got the most marvelous news, and you’ll never guess what it is.”
“You’ve decided to go straight and turn yourself in to the Better Business Bureau?”
Okay, I didn’t really say that.
“In order for you to get a better idea of how my service works,” Joy announced, “I’m going to treat you to your very own Date of Joy!”
“How nice,” I murmured.
I only hoped it wasn’t with Barry, aka Mr. Pocket Protector.
“But first you’re going to need a makeover. I can’t possibly have your picture in my date book with that godawful haircut.”
Well! Of all the nerve.
(Fatima at Supercuts, if you’re reading this, my deepest apologies.)
“Cassie!” she shrieked, summoning her purple-haired aide-de-camp. “Drop what you’re doing and give Jaine a complete makeover. Haircut and makeup. The works!”
Cassie gathered some supplies and took me to the ladies’ room across the hall to wash my hair.
“Isn’t this a public health violation?” I asked as Cassie worked up a lather with a lovely citrus-scented shampoo.
“Of course it is,” Cassie blithely replied. “But Joy thinks she can get away with anything. And you know what? Somehow she always does.”
After my shampoo, Cassie led me back to Joy’s photo studio, where she sat me down in a director’s chair and began snipping away at my curly locks.
I must confess I was a tad nervous getting a haircut from a woman with purple hair and a nose ring. But much to my surprise, she did a pretty fantastic job.
When left untamed, my hair bears a striking resemblance to Shirley Temple’s on the Good Ship Lollipop. Very Curls Gone Wild. Usually I spend ages trying to tame them into submission, but Cassie let them sprong to their hearts’ content, shaping them to perfection, giving me the kind of sophisticated do you rarely see at Supercuts.
(Oops. Sorry, Fatima.)
She showed equal skill with her makeup supplies, dabbing on this and brushing on that. When she was through, my eyes looked larger, my skin clearer, and best of all, I had actual cheekbones! Wow, if I lost a few gazillion pounds, I could practically be a stunt double for Sarah Jessica Parker!
“You’re so good at this, Cassie!” I said, unable to tear myself away from my reflection in the mirror.
“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile.
Eventually Cassie managed to wrench me from the mirror and trotted me into Joy’s office for inspection.
“What do you think?” Cassie asked, spinning me around.
“Fabulous!” Joy exclaimed. “Just fabulous!”
“Thanks, Joy. I really appreciate this.”
“It’s nothing,” Joy replied. “I’ll just deduct three hundred dollars from your paycheck.”
She was charging me? For a makeover I didn’t even ask for? What monumental chutzpah!
And speaking of chutzpah, we were about to get another dose when Travis poked his head in the door and announced, “Jaine, there’s someone here to see you.”
At which point Lance Venable, the Chutzpah King himself, came sailing into the room, all duded up in a designer suit, his blond curls moussed to perfection. And if I wasn’t mistaken, it looked like he’d popped in for a quick trip to the tanning salon.
“Jaine, honeybun!” he cried, affecting the most godawful Southern accent. “How mawvelous you look!”
“Cassie just gave me a makeover,” I said.
“A little gift from me to Jaine,” Joy had the gall to say.
Then she turned to Cassie and Travis and dismissed them with an impatient wave.
“Jaine, darlin’,” Lance drawled, still doing his Southern accent. “Ah’m afraid ah’m a wee bit early for owah lunch date.”
Needless to say, we had no lunch date. And I will not bother trying to replicate his idiotic accent beyond this point. It was bad enough having to listen to it in the first place.
“Why, I do declare!” he cried, turning to Joy. “You must be Joy Amoroso, Matchmaker Extraordinaire. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you!”
Joy preened and quickly segued into Queen Mum mode.
“How teddibly kind of you.”
Between the two of them, I felt like I was at the Boris & Natasha Royal Academy of Bad Accents.
“I thought you were pretty in your photos,” Lance was saying, “but you’re even lovelier in person.”
He stood back and looked at her, clasping his hands in admiration. “That hair! Those eyes! Anyone ever tell you, you bear a striking resemblance to Scarlett Johansson?”
My God, if he laid it on any thicker, he’d need a trowel. Could she possibly be buying any of this?
Apparently yes.
Because the next thing I knew, she was reaching for her treasured Godiva box and saying, “Care for a chocolate?”
“I really shouldn’t,” he said with a wink, “but when it comes to Godiva, I simply can’t resist.”
He plucked one from the box and took a dainty bite.
“Jaine’s told me such wonderful things about your fabulous service,” he said, “I’ve decided to give it a try.”
“Have a seat,” Joy said, gesturing to one of her rump-sprung chairs, “and tell me all about yourself.”
“To start,” Lance said, with a ridiculous little bow, “my name is Lance Vanderbilt Venable.”
Vanderbilt??
Since when?
Joy perked up, interested. “Vanderbilt? Any relation to Cornelius?”
“A wee bit, on Mumsie’s side.”
Oh, puhleese.
By now Joy was ready to dandle him on her knee and hand-feed him chocolates straight from the box.
“So where have you been all my life, Mr. Venable?” she crooned.
I tactfully refrained from pointing out that for half of it, he wasn’t even born.
Lance sat back in his chair and let the lies flow like lava.
“I grew up on our estate in Virginia, dabbled a little at the Sorbonne, came home to work on one of our oil wells, and then thought it would be a kick to move out to Los Angeles.”
Wait
, I felt like saying.
You left out your stint as advisor to the Pope.
“Right now I’m head shoe buyer at Neiman Marcus,” he said, giving himself a hefty promotion. “I’ve always wanted to work in fashion, and I’m having the time of my life. It turns out I just adore women and their shoes.
“Love yours, by the way,” he added. “Louboutins, aren’t they?”
She nodded.
“You have amazing taste.”
“I do, don’t I?” she preened.
By now they’d totally forgotten about me, and I stood there about as important a player in this scene as the statue of Cupid in the corner.
“And just why,” Joy asked, “would a young man of your obvious appeal need my services?”
“Oh, it’s easy for me to meet men,” Lance said. “But all too often I’ve discovered”—here he paused for a dramatic batting of the eyes—“all they’re interested in is my name and my money. I want to meet a quality man who’ll love me for myself.”
With Herculean effort, he managed to work up a runt of a teardrop, which he wiped away with a dramatic flourish.
Joy reached across the desk and took his hands in hers, no doubt getting chocolate all over them.
“You poor darling,” she clucked. “Fortunately I happen to have a small but very exclusive gay clientele, and I think I know just the man for you! Donny Johnson! Wonderful fellow. I’m not supposed to say anything, but just between you and me”—they still had no I idea I was standing there—“rumor has it Donny’s family are the Johnsons of Johnson & Johnson.”
I believed that one about as much as I believed Lance was a Vanderbilt.
“Sounds divine!” Lance gushed. “Doesn’t it, Jaine?”
At last, someone remembered I was alive.
“Yep, just divine.”
I smiled serenely, waiting to see how he was going to cough up the necessary cash to cross the finish line.
Joy now released his hand and segued into Business Mode.
“Membership fees start at fifty thousand dollars,” Joy blithely lied. “But because I’m so very fond of you, Lance, I’ll make it twenty-five. How would you care to pay? Cash? Check? Credit card? Stock options?”
“Oh.” Lance pursed his lips in a tiny moue of concern. “I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of money available right now. All my assets are tied up in a pesky trust fund.”
Joy’s smile was rapidly fading.
“But I should be getting it at the end of next month,” he assured her.
“Why don’t we wait until then,” Joy said, sliding the cover back on her Godiva box, “before we get started?”
Aha! I knew she wouldn’t buy it!
But I’d underestimated Lance. Just when I thought the game was over, he struck back.
“Oh, foo. I was so looking forward to getting started. I guess I’ll just have to sign up with Carson Hendrick over at the Billionaire Boys Club. He’s been positively hounding me to join.”
“Carson Hendrick?” Joy scoffed. “That hack?”
I could see Lance had got her where he wanted her. Joy was torn. On the one hand, she could sign him up now and risk getting stiffed, or she could let him go and risk seeing a competitor get all his dough.
And that’s when Lance went in for the kill.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Until my inheritance comes through, I’ll get you all the designer shoes you want with my Neiman Marcus thirty percent employee discount.”
“Thirty percent, huh?”
“It can go up as high as eighty percent during special sales events.”
That did it. She was hooked.
“Welcome, darling Lance,” she said, throwing out her arms, “to Dates of Joy! Normally I’d have Travis take your picture for our date book, but I know Donny’s going to love you. Leave your contact information with Cassie at the front desk, and I’ll have him call you.”
“Super!” Lance said, leaping up. “Can’t wait to meet him. In the meanwhile, is it all right if I steal Jaine away for lunch? I promised I’d take her for a bite at the Jonathan Club.”
“Of course, hon. Anything you say. Ta ta, darlings.”
She dismissed us with her Queen Mum wave, and Lance herded me out the door, but not before swiping another chocolate from Joy’s Godiva box.
“You don’t mind, do you, darlin’?” he cooed.
No doubt about it. It looked like Joy had at last met her match in the Monumental Chutzpah Department.
Chapter 5
T
he Jonathan Club happens to be one of the most exclusive joints in L.A., where the one percent meet to steer clear of the rest of us 99ers.
Needless to say, Lance did not take me there for lunch.
Instead he opted for the slightly less prestigious Der Wienerschnitzel, where we dined al fresco on chili cheese dogs and fries, taking in the scenic view of the gas station across the alley.
Of course, Lance would spend at least 347 hours at his gym burning off Der Wienerschnitzel’s industrial-strength calories. I, on the other hand, have a “live and let live” policy where calories are concerned, and planned to let them settle merrily alongside the others nestled on my thighs.
“Why, I do declayah!” Lance said, after tucking into his chow. “This wiener is divine!”
“Enough with the accent, Lance. Any minute now you’ll be calling for your mammy and putting on your gown for the barbecue at Twelve Oaks.”
“I’ve always pictured myself a modern day Ashley Wilkes,” Lance drawled, a faraway look in his eyes. “Brooding, sensitive, and secretly in love with Big Sam.”
“Do you actually plan to keep talking like this on your date with Donny Johnson?”
“Sho ’nuff.”
“And by the way, I sincerely doubt Donny’s an heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune. Joy’s almost as big a faker as you are. You’ll be lucky if he can afford to pick up the check at Der Wienerschnitzel.”
“Oh, don’t be such a buzz kill,” Lance pouted. “It’s possible Donny might be filthy rich and insanely handsome.”
“Dream on,” I said, inhaling the last of my chili cheese dog.
Boy, that sure went down fast, didn’t it?
“So what’s with the makeover?” Lance eyed my new haircut. “You look great.”
“Thanks. You’re not the only one going on a Date of Joy. Joy’s fixing me up with somebody, too.”
Lance’s eyes lit up.
“That’s wonderful, Jaine! I bet this time you’re going to meet your prince charming!”
Then his brow furrowed with concern.
“But whatever you do, promise me you won’t wear elastic waist pants on your date.”
For some reason, Lance is convinced I’ve got no fashion sense. He says moths come to my closet to commit suicide. Which is perfectly absurd, as anyone who’s ever seen my vintage collection of
CUCKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS
T-shirts will be the first to tell you.
“Did you hear me, Jaine?” Lance was waving a fry in my face. “No elastic waist pants.”
“But I like elastic waist pants. They’re so comfortable.”
“So are granny nightgowns. But you wouldn’t wear one on a date, would you ...? Well? Would you?”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking. With the right elastic waist pants, it might not look so bad.”
“No more fries.” He slapped my hand away from his plate. (I’d long since finished my own and had started filching his.) “Unless you promise. No elastic waists.”
“Oh, all right,” I sighed. “No elastic waists.”
Having overturned the lone obstacle to my finding true love, Lance resumed waxing euphoric.
“Oh, Jaine! I have good vibes about all this. Something tells me we’re going to meet the men of our dreams!”
As you’ve no doubt already figured out, Lance’s imagination tends to run on overdrive—especially when it comes to romance.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” he was saying, Disney stars practically twinkling in his eyes, “if we both wound up falling madly in love and had a double wedding?”
“Lance,” I gently reminded him, “we haven’t even met the guys yet. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself planning our weddings?”
“You’re right, sweetie. Of course. First we’ve got to plan our bachelor and bachelorette parties! I’m thinking Vegas!”
I didn’t even try to talk sense into him. Instead I did the only thing possible under the circumstances:
Finish his fries.

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