The Immaculate Deception (22 page)

“
Please?”

“
No.” I closed the door in his face and locked it. As I shut the blinds, he knocked.

I peeked out.

“
Please, I need help.”

Reluctantly, I opened the door far enough to squeeze through. For me, that is. I wasn’t about to let this man in wrinkled red silk boxer shorts into my house. This time anyhow.

I quickly closed the door behind me and blocked him from entering. I glared into his—his really nice navy blue eyes. I’d never noticed them before. “Well?”

“
Something bizarre happened to me. I feel as though I’m losing my mind.”

Oh great. I got a bleeding nutcase on my deck. And he was practically naked. My eyes scanned the adjoining yards. No other neighbors in sight. I backed up, so the doorknob was bulging into the small of my back. Oh, please let someone be home and peering out his or her window. I wished Mrs. Meddlestein lived next door. I said, “Listen, go home, get some sleep. Take a nice long bath or a shower and change your underwear. You’ll feel better.”

I spun around, slipped back into my house and slammed the door, locking it and adjusting the blinds closed. I heard him plod down the pressure-treated wooden steps. I took a big breath, aware of my pulse reaction. What was this guy doing on my deck? He had his own house. He wanted me to help him? I just barely met him. Maybe if he was fully dressed and rang my doorbell, I would try to be neighborly but this was just too strange. Well, at least he wasn’t missing anymore. False alarm, I guess.

I eyed the grocery bag on the counter. My hands were shaking as I yanked the refrigerator door open and slung the deli packages onto a shelf. I snatched a diet cola. I shoved the can of nuts into the pantry and threw the grocery bag out. I grabbed a fork and a napkin and carried my salad into the living room.

I set the drink on the cheap wood laminate end table and clicked the remote. I flipped and flipped, it was universal commercial time. I hated that. How come all of the stations coordinated their broadcast schedules, so that you couldn’t be entertained with a real show while the other one was on commercial break?

Giving up, I opened my salad and tossed it around with the fork. Oh it tasted yummy. I loved Giant’s salad bar. Popping the top on the aluminum can, I enjoyed a big gulp of sweet bubbly coldness. Of course, I had to think about Dick. Great. A nut on the loose and he was fixated on me. Maybe I should call the cops? What did I do with that lady detective’s card? Right on cue, my phone rang.

I reached over and grabbed the portable handset. The caller ID said
Payne, Perry
. Great. I let it ring. The automated message blared, “Hello, no one is able to come to the phone. Please leave your message after the tone.” I stuffed the beet slice into my mouth. It was divinely sweet.

“
Oh-Donna, Perry here. The real estate agent called me, mad as hell. What do you mean
you won’t sell the house
? You have no right to hold it up from the probate sale. What’s wrong with you? And furthermore, what the hell were you thinking, giving Saint Christopher’s my information for their collection service? Damn you, Oh-Donna. If you think you are saving the house for Chloe, you’d better think again. That was my father’s home, she has no claim to it, the murdering bitch—” He’d talked too long and the machine cut him off. I stomped into the kitchen and erased his message. When would he admit Momma couldn’t have killed Daddy because she lacked opportunity? Unless…maybe Perry thought Daddy died of a broken heart? Because Momma was not nice enough to Daddy? Maybe if I sat Perry down and listened to his point of view, I would understand what he meant. We would never bond, I knew that. But if I could get him to say what he really felt, perhaps I wouldn’t be so angry.

I settled back into the living room. The TV was on a travel channel. They were profiling the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. It looked gorgeous. Every United States President since Eisenhower had slept there. The Rat Pack, Lucille Ball, Elvis Presley, the Beatles and the Bee Gees had performed there. Lots of movies did location shoots in the hotel as well.

Sucking a broccoli minutia from between my teeth with my tongue, I tossed the salad container on the coffee table and drained the rest of my drink. I propped a pillow under my head and stretched out. My eyes hurt. I closed them. An orchestra whispered to me. The strings were beautiful. Violins. And now a harp. I could hear the woodwinds calling. And chimes. Magical chimes. I saw navy blue sparkles as I felt the wind enveloping my tired body. I relaxed, letting the momentum carry me away.

~♥~

I was transported to a wide corridor. Behind the glass wall to my right, I watched good-looking men lifting free weights. I walked. The glass wall to my left revealed billiard tables. I guess that’s what they were. I wondered whether billiard was for playing pool or snooker.

A gaggle of slightly damp bathing-suit-clad folks streamed toward me. The last guy seemed a little familiar. Oh yeah, I knew
him
. Smiling, I said, “Hey you, step right back into my dream.”

“
Sure thing, Cinderella. But first I need to change out of my costume.”

“
Costume?”

“
They won’t let me up in the lobby in my swimming costume.” He stared at me incredulously, like I was supposed to know.

Hmm…must be a British expression. A lewd thought cocked my head to the side. “Would you like me to assist you, Mr. Jones?”

Chapter Ten

U
nfortunately, Mr. Jones zipped into the men’s locker room, leaving me where we’d met. My curiosity found me creeping into the billiard room. Nobody looked like they had noticed me. Story of my life. Four men were gathered round one green felt table. A jovial silence hung until a player stealthily launched his stick onto the bullied white ball. A loud snap instigated a melodiously orchestrated symphony, which concluded in the eight or nine balls descending into opposite pockets. The maestro said, “Shooby dooby doo, baby,” and lit a cigarette.

A tap on my shoulder and a “Hello, love” whisper in my ear sent a pleasurable little shiver down my spine. Without taking my eyes off the felt, I reached back and grabbed him. He maneuvered himself behind me and slid his hands around my waist.

He stroked my hair away from my ear. “So who’s winning?” he asked.

I trembled at the silky touch of his voice. I felt the heat of his body pressed up against me. His feet lined up on the outside of mine and I stifled an urge to rub against him.

“
Love, who’s winning?”

I turned my head to the side and whispered, “Dunno. Only seen one move. Sinatra. Man, is he good.”

“
Wait ’til old Dino cracks the ivory.”

“
You’ve watched these guys play before?”

“
Um-hmm.”

A tobacco vapor impeded clear view. Fresh ashtrays were exchanged by an old bellboy. Sammy Davis Jr. lit one cigarette off a spent one. I liked his jewelry. Mr. Bojangles did know how to pick the gold.

My gaze fell upon Peter Lawford, the actor. I lingered longer than I should have. Of the four men in front of me, this guy was the only one I found attractive. Not that I wasn’t already onboard
Starship Jones
. It was just that he was so good-looking. And that English accent. What was it about Englishmen that so drew me in?

Mr. Jones said, “Wanna go upstairs?”

“
Upstairs where?”

“
Upstairs here.”

“
Where is here?”

“
The Fontainebleau Hotel.”

“
Oh. Yeah, like on the travel channel. Miami, right?”

“
Miami Beach, love.”

He twirled me around and slipped a big strong arm across my shoulders. We pranced down the marble corridor to a staircase. I squeezed the handrail, careful not to trip in my mint green pumps. The hem of my matching dress rustled around my knees as we ascended hand in hand into a lobby. I stopped and spun around. Wow. The crystal chandelier must be ten feet wide. The building had a rounded entrance. We passed a bar to the right, a nightclub beckoned up a few more stairs behind us.

I began to take another slow spin around when the revolving door caught my attention. Momma emerged. I stopped and said, “Great. There she is. Finally.” I started to walk over but my mate dragged me back.

“
She can’t see you.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because you aren’t born.”

“
But I wasn’t born in the other dreams and people could see me. Why can’t my mother?”

“
I won’t let her see you because I don’t want to upset her. Never again.”

“
How would seeing me upset her?”

“
Because she is currently in 1963 and she might recognize you later.”

“
Oh.”

Momma strolled across the expansive marble to the bar area. She sashayed down a couple of steps and sat at a small candle-lit table. A four-piece band obtained requests from the crowd. They were playing a rock-’n’-roll song, Dion’s “Runaround Sue”. It sounded pretty good. I whispered to my mate, “Can we sit and listen to the music for a while?”

“
Sure thing, love.” He escorted me past Momma, to a table in the rear, near the window wall that overlooked a tropical grotto.

I said, “Wow, is that where you came in from?”

“
Yes. The pool is fantastic. I’ll take you down to the ocean later, if you’d like.”

“
The ocean? Not again. Another row row row your boat?”

“
I was thinking a little more along the lines of picking up in the sand where the cop cut us off.”

“
What, I’m not good enough to take to your room?”

“
No, Donna, don’t think that. It’s just I thought you enjoyed our little dangerous liaison?”

Pouting but turned on, I didn’t have a response. Bobby Vee’s “The Night Has A Thousand Eyes” started my shoulders wiggling. “Let’s dance?”

He rose and seized my hand. We joined three other couples on the dance floor. Back came that euphoric feeling. He was such a superb dancer. We danced four songs until they started a cover of Neil Sedaka’s “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do”. My feet felt pinchy, so I asked him for a drink. He headed for the bar, I headed over Momma’s way. She and

Mr. Sinatra were engaged in a tense conversation. All I could pick up was “Make Believe Island…one more time.”

“
Here you go, love. Do you like martinis?”

“
Huh? Oh never had one.” I accepted it and gobbled the olive. I tasted a swig. I pursed my lips and forced a swallow.

“
What would you like me to get you, love?”

“
How about some ginger ale?”

“
Sure. Come on.”

I strode with him to the bar and made the exchange. We reposed on the stools and sipped. He had a martini. I sipped my sweet bubbly through one of those tiny little white and red cocktail straws. Momma walked off, through the revolving door, into the night as the house band began the riff for The Four Seasons’ “Big Girls Don’t Cry”.

Mr. Jones hopped off his stool. “Come on. Stop milking it.”

“
What?”

He winked at me. “Well, don’t you want me to get a room?”

“
No.”

“
Oh that’s my girl. Come on, there’s a great breeze down by the ocean tonight. We can look up and try to find Venus.”

“
I’m really not in the mood.”

No wonder I wasn’t in the mood. The band was now playing the “Donna” song.

~♥~

I opened my eyes to an infomercial. I switched the television off and stumbled up to bed. A little dizzy, I slid under the covers. I could always brush my teeth in the morning. I immediately heard one of Momma’s favorite Bee Gees songs, “Wish You Were Here”. Something was not quite right. Instead of being pulled in by the instruments, I heard a cappella singing. No music. Something about waking up in another person’s dream. The white swirls pulled me in.

I was dropped on my rear end. I wasn’t pleased with the hard concrete sidewalk. I stood and dusted myself off. I recognized the place. Arlington, Virginia. It was dusk on Newton Street. Judging by the cars and the couple strolling arm in arm, all dressed up from shoes to hats, I must be back in the forties again. As the couple passed by me, I said, “Hello,” but they only glared and continued past me.

Well, how rude. Where was my dream man? He was usually always around the corner. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Jones? Where are you hiding?” I called out.

No answer.

I followed the sound of faint voices down an alleyway. And there he was. My soul mate across history. My smile was short-lived. He wasn’t alone. My dream man had a tight grip on Officer Dick Fiddler’s biceps. Dick was handcuffed behind his back. He was wearing his usual uniform—red boxers. They were peering into a greenhouse. Mr. Jones slammed Dick’s face against the glass. “Look, have a good look at what your father cultivated. Belladonna, castor beans, corn cockle and oleander.”

Hmm…what was so interesting about—poison plants? Why would Dick’s father grow poison plants? Well, one way to find out. I marched toward them, kicking up some dried leaves.

Mr. Jones noticed me. I smiled and waved. He shooed me away. “No, not now, love. Go back. I’ll come for you later.”