One Hot Mess (25 page)

Footsteps tapped harmlessly past the door, and in a moment I had scooted between a folding chair and a stack of cardboard boxes. I pressed my ear to the wall. It was as thin as papier-mâché.

“We do very important work here,” the senator was saying.

“So your philanthropic nature insists that you help,” Rivera said. “Is that what you're trying to tell me?”

The senator sighed heavily. “This injured-son routine is getting a bit weary, is it not, Gerald?”

“You don't really expect me to believe that your
esteemed presence here has nothing to do with Gallup polls?”

“I admit that I have made mistakes,” said the senator. He sounded weary and put upon. “But we cannot all be perfect like—”

“Made mistakes!” Rivera began, then laughed. “Is that why you wanted me to come? So that you could somehow convince me that you are not as perfect as I have always believed you to—”

“I have no wish to have Thea turned against me.”

There was a moment of silent surprise, then: “Thea?”

“Don't bother pretending ignorance.”

“Thea?” Rivera spat out the name like old chaw. “I hauled my ass halfway across town so you could warn me off a girl I've never met?”

“It wasn't—” the senator began, but Rivera stopped him with a mocking laugh.

“Jesus! This is rich. You—”

“Don't you take the name of the Lord in vain if you wish—” The senator's voice had dropped to a hiss. I strained my ears, but there were footfalls in the hall again, distracting me.

I froze, not breathing, but the noise tapped past and away. I pressed my ear more firmly to the wall.

“Tell me, Senator, have you fucked her already or are you still just hoping?”

The tension was palpable, even on my side of the wall. “You were always a foul-mouthed boy who never—”

“And you were always a foul-minded lecher.”

“You ungrateful—” the senator began, then took a long, challenged breath. “Theodore Altove is a very dear friend of mine.”

I could imagine Riveras disdainful stare. He was aces at it. “I'm afraid you've lost your gift for pontification, Senator. Because I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Thea is Teddy's daughter.”

There was a momentary delay then, “No shit.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“This is almost too good to be true. My
father.”
He stressed the word. “The man who was engaged to marry my fiancée. The man who caused her death—”

“I had nothing to do with her death.”

“That same man is trying to keep me away from his …” He paused. “What is she to you exactly Senator?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Really? What is it I can't comprehend? That there's a deep spiritual bond between you? That she has an old soul that only you in your infinite wisdom can understand while you screw—”

“Shut your mouth!” hissed the senator, and suddenly I realized that I had become too absorbed in the familial volleys and had missed someone's arrival in the hall. I turned, breath held, waiting for them to pass by. But the footsteps stopped. I leapt away from the wall, but as I did so, my foot caught the trash can. It bumped against the desk, rattling like kettle drums.

When I glanced up, there was a woman standing in the doorway. She was middle aged, short, and stunned. “Can I help you?” She was looking at me with a mixture of shock and reprimand. Rather like one might look upon finding a cow in the silverware drawer.

I thrashed around wildly in my head, but for the life of me I couldn't come up with a single plausible reason for my current whereabouts. What was I to do but say “Sweet
potatoes,” in a voice that rasped and lisped and sputtered all at once.

Her brows shot up like helium balloons. “I beg your pardon.”

Maybe part of my mind was desperately searching for sanity but the crazies had a good firm hold on my larynx. “I like sweet potatoes,” I said, slurring my words. “And giblets.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, tried again. “Are you looking for the meal line?”

“Meal,” I repeated, dumber than french fries.

“It's down the hall and to your right.”

I nodded and shuffled out.

“And if you need new clothes, we offer those as well.”

I scurried away, face burning, still muttering about yams and chicken innards. When next I glanced back, she had disappeared into her office. I blasted out of there like a rocket ship on speed.

was still embarrassed hours later when I arrived at Best of Vegas. The rambling art deco restaurant was located on Harvard Drive, where the rich and spoiled like to loiter. I had heard mouth-lubricating reviews from the senator and others who dined there regularly but had never had the pleasure myself. Just that week, however, I had received an all-inclusive, one-day-only coupon and, wanting to be beholden to no man, thought it a clever idea to use it or use it.

“Christina.” Archer was waiting in the brightly colored lobby, dressed in a suit and tie. He motioned vaguely to his ensemble. “I never know what to wear.”

“You look fine,” I said.

He smiled. “Well, you look spectacular.”

I did look pretty good. Knowing Laney and Geek Boy were going to join us, I had pulled out the stops. Not that I'd intentionally put in any stops, but the lack of clean laundry had definitely given me pause. Earlier in the afternoon, however, I had remembered my unclaimed dry cleaning. Hence, I had hustled over to Zippy Cleaners. My plum-colored silk blouse was neat as a pin, my black knee-length skirt well pressed and pencil thin. Well, on Laney it would have been pencil thin. On me it was more the width of a… well, of my hips. But I still looked damn good.

We were escorted through stained-glass doors to a semicircular booth near the back, where we were seated.

“You hungry?” Mac asked.

I considered asking him if hippos had big asses but refrained. A little class wouldn't hurt anything, especially when ordering a meal slightly more expensive than my house payment.

“'Cuz I'm starved,” he added, and immediately began perusing the menu. “Would it seem criminal if we ordered without them?”

“Laney's not easily offended,” I told him, “and Solberg… well, I don't care if you offend Solberg.” I'd given Archer a thumbnail summary on the phone of Elaine, her career, and her improbable pet/boyfriend. He'd still shown up. Scanning the appetizers now, he asked me several salient questions regarding my affinity for portobello mushrooms and shrimp scampi. In a minute he had placed an order for both.

After a short segue of relatively painless conversation,
the appetizers arrived. One was flaming, one simply resting on its lovely laurels, but I fear we might not have given them their due respect, because ten minutes later they were no more. Amidst scattered talk of family and polo shirts, the platters had somehow become empty. Donald winced.

“Please tell me I didn't eat all of that,” he said.

I refrained from belching. I'm a classy mushroom's worst nightmare. “I think I had a little.”

“Are you sure? 'Cuz I eat too much when I'm nervous.” He unbuttoned his jacket and fidgeted a little. “I'm nervous a lot.”

I had to admit I was starting to kind of like this guy. Just then Laney arrived. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans that had had some hard knocks and a multicolored belted tunic. Nothing special. I waited for my date to pass out at the sight of her in all her unvarnished glory, but he managed to remain vertical. Another point for Rich Boy.

Soon we were all settled in.

“So …” Solberg grinned at me. “This your new squeeze, Chrissy?”

“Donald Archer,” I said, not taking my best raptor gaze off Solberg, “this is J. D. Solberg.” They reached across the table to shake hands. “He likes to call himself the Geek God.”

To Solberg's credit, he looked a little chagrined as he glanced at Elaine. I was hoping he was embarrassed by his own ridiculous past, but, truth to tell, he wasn't nearly the ass he had once been. Laney's been known to reform cannibals and ax murderers, too.

“And this is Elaine Butterfield,” I added.

Archer nodded. “Royalty,” he said.

She shook his hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

He settled back in the booth, smoothing his tie away from the detritus of our hors d'oeuvres. “Where are you from?”

“The Amazon,” she said, and smiled.

He glanced at me and back. “You're an Amazon queen?”

Her smile broadened just a little.

“And here I didn't even know those Amazon ladies were real.”

The three of us blinked at him in startled unison.

“Oh, shit.” He looked stunned enough to flee. “I just said something stupid, and we haven't even gotten our entrees yet.”

By the time the meal was finished, I'd laughed more than I had since my brother Pete mistook my science project for pudding. Both Laney and Solberg had stuck to mineral water, but Archer and I each had a single drink. Maybe they made the evening go by a little more smoothly, but I had a sneaking suspicion it would have been all right without it. Donald was intelligent enough, down to earth, and ridiculously comfortable to be with.

“Seriously,” I said. Elaine had gone to the restroom. Solberg was probably pacing like a rabid dog in front of the bathroom door, afraid she'd shimmied out the window and hightailed it back to her filming location in Idaho or wherever geek gods with hair implants were in scarce supply. We remained by the table, which was covered with a full dozen emptied platters. “You really didn't recognize Elaine Butterfield?”

He glanced at me through thick lashes. “I don't watch much television. You said she was royalty or something. I…” He shrugged.

“I meant she's an actress—and gorgeous.”

“Is she?”

I canted my head at him. “If we don't keep armed guards close at hand, men tend to throw themselves at her feet.”

“Why?”

I blinked. “Because she's
gorgeous.”

“Is she?”

Ahh, so there was the problem: He was nuts.

“I'm sorry” he said, fiddling with a half-empty glass. “It's just that I… I don't…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I can't tell.”

“You can't tell…” I waited for him to fill in the blank.

“I can't tell if women are attractive or not. I don't know why. I think there might be something fundamentally wrong with me.”

I opened my mouth to remind him that he had dubbed me “spectacular,” but he spoke before I embarrassed myself.

“You make me laugh,” he said. “I like to laugh. And when I'm around you my heart feels kind of… soggy.”

I reached for the tab, just delivered by a slick-haired server dressed in black. I was eager to see how much I wasn't paying. “Soggy?” I said.

“I'm no better with words than with clothes,” he said, and, smoothing his tie again, took the bill from me.

“I have a coupon,” I said, but just then he removed a wad of bills from his wallet and shoved them into the folder. Not counting, not looking at the charges. Nothing. I wasn't positive, but I was pretty sure I saw a half dozen hundreds in there.

The server bowed reverently and strode off, possibly to retire.

I rose to my feet. I think I may have also reached wistfully after him as if to draw back the cash. “I think… Did you just give him a million-dollar tip?” I asked.

Donald rose beside me. “I'm not very good with math, either. Listen, Christina…” He shuffled from foot to foot. “I think I really like you.”

Okay, so he was overweight and not terribly self-confident, but he was kind of sweet and apparently ungodly rich. I glanced around.

“Christina?” he said.

“Usually at this point someone tries to kill me,” I said.

He grinned a little. “See any likely suspects?”

“Not—” I began, but suddenly Rivera appeared in my peripheral vision. I think I actually did a double take. I mean, what were the chances? I'd seen him just a few hours before, but now, unlike earlier, he was dressed in dark dress pants and a smooth, body-hugging jersey that highlighted the shift of every sensuous muscle. His midnight hair was combed back, and his eyes were as intense as a hunting falcon's. It wasn't until he leaned toward his companion that I realized he was with anyone at all.

“Thea,” I breathed, barely able to force out the name.

“What's that?” Archer asked.

They looked like an L.A. version of Ken and Barbie. Him dark. Her fair. Both so beautiful it made my insides hurt. I turned to Archer, breath held.

“You like me?” I asked, voice barely audible to my own ringing ears.

He didn't bolt for the hills, but he did step back half a stride. “I think so. But—”

“You find me attractive?”

“Like I said, I can't—” he began.

“Is there someone you'd give your kidneys to make jealous?”

One thing about Archer: He wasn't stupid. He didn't look away didn't so much as glance to the side. “Does he have a good view of us?”

“If he were any closer we'd be standing on him.”

“How do you feel about French kissing?”

“Right about now—” I began, but he was already pulling me into a full-body hug and locking his lips to mine like a starving man at an all-night banquet.