by Joyce Armor
“My bad,” he said, and pulled her to him, planting his mouth on hers and kissing her passionately.
Except…except she wasn’t feeling passion exactly. Or even remotely. What was it? It certainly wasn’t revulsion or anything close to it, but it was…it was…kind of blah. Blah? Not even nice, like the last kiss? How could that possibly be? No, it couldn’t be. This guy used to ring her chimes like the organ at the Mormon Tabernacle. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him back in the day. So what was going on now? Was it Cindy? Maybe that was part of it, but they weren’t married, but what else could it be? It’s only one kiss. One measly kiss. Well, actually it’s the second kiss, maybe the third, but who’s counting? Don’t get crazy over it.
While she tried to decide what her tepid reaction meant, Brian’s hand was snaking its way up her side, homing in on a breast. She willed her mind to turn off any non-happy thoughts and just go with the flow…it was sex after all, at last, let it come…Ha-ha, good one. What the hell was the matter with her? She was going crazy.
And then, unbelievably, there was another knock on the door. She jumped away from Brian like he was on fire.
“Really?” he said.
Ellie took a step toward the door, wishing she wasn’t so elated to answer it. Girl, you’re insane, certifiably insane. It could have been Attila the Hun at the door and she would have been glad to open it. She’d have to explore later what the hell that meant. More proof of her insanity, no doubt.
“Ignore it.”
“I can’t. Not with the theft.” She looked through the peephole and opened the door to Wesley. He looked as tired as she felt.
“Theft?” Brian said behind her.
“There’s a meeting in Roger and Bonnie’s room. 316. Now. It’s important.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.”
She closed the door and turned to Brian.
“I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.” She looked at his gorgeous, slightly frustrated face and could have cried.
“Why?” is all he said.
As she grabbed her black slacks and put them on, she explained about the theft of Volume One. She tried, briefly, to convey how important the comic was to Bonnie and Roger, and by extension, to her and the other employees. Against his will, Brian understood. After all, how many times had he run out on her this week for his job? It only made him more attractive that he was so understanding.
“But you’ll be back.” The hopeful look on his face was priceless.
She shrugged sadly. “Eventually, but I don’t know what time.”
“I’ll wait,” he said, and Ellie, not knowing what to say or do about that, nodded and walked out with her purse. She trusted Brian—didn’t she?—but it was her purse. She barely went to the bathroom without her purse. She welcomed the distance and change of subject. How could somebody want sex so badly, have a guy raring to go, somebody handsome and admirable, and feel relief when it doesn’t work out? You are ready for the loony bin. Prolonged lack of sex will do that to a person.
Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, there was a bigger problem to solve before she had time to figure out what had happened to her Brian lust. On paper, she had told herself a hundred times, he was everything she’d ever wanted. Wasn’t he? Of course he was. God, what if she’d lost all lust? Maybe Gawayne was right. Maybe you really are... She wouldn’t even let the intrusive little voice finish its evil thought.
As she walked down the hall, Ellie wondered if she hadn’t been turned on with Brian because she didn’t want to move back to Las Vegas if things worked out between them. Nah, that couldn’t be it. If she was completely honest with herself, she would probably move to the ends of the earth for the right guy. Could you be any more politically incorrect? Oh, well, no doubt she would get a do-over on the passion thing. She was probably just too tired and it would most likely be fine then. Unless she was coming down with something and that’s why she hadn’t felt the sexual connection. Maybe she had a fatal sex-robbing disease. Okay, now you’re overthinking it a tad, my sex-deprived friend. What else was new?
Chantella opened the door for her at Bonnie’s and Roger’s room. The older couple sat on the bed holding hands—that was so sweet—and Wesley was straddling a desk chair. Ellie felt so bad for Bonnie and Roger. They could have been the poster children for the Make Love, Not War sentiment, they were so kind and accepting. This just wasn’t right.
“Are you guys okay?” she asked the Neffs.
“Sigh. I guess we’re not any poorer than we were yesterday, in theory, anyway.”
“But it seems like we are,” Bonnie said. “There’s Red Dog and soda in the fridge. Water, too. And Nehi.”
“No thanks.” Ellie flopped down on the bed next to them.”
“Nice shirt,” Wesley said.
Ellie had forgotten she was wearing the Hot Mama shirt. “Oh. Oops. I forgot to change.”
They would have gotten everyone together earlier, but the detectives had just left, Roger explained. “We’re not sure, but we think they think we’re scamming them.”
“Stinkin’ hippies,” Wesley said.
“We asked you here because we’re sure we didn’t take it and we’re sure you didn’t take it.”
God, she loved these people. Roger and Bonnie and Wesley and Chantella were from two different worlds, hippie town and Goth-rock-leatherland, and Ellie was out there in her own little Dudley Do-Right world. But they all accepted and trusted one another. It was like a microcosm for world peace, like that old Coke commercial. Or at least she used to be in her Dudley Do-Right world. She didn’t know where she was now, kissing an engaged man, having impure thoughts about a half man/half rodent. Now where did that thought come from? This trip is so messing with your mind, isn’t it?
Ellie got up and walked over to the mini-fridge. After a moment to gather her wits, she pulled out a bottle of orange soda. Yes, a comfort drink, reminding her of when she was about nine. On the way back to the bed, a thought occurred to her. “Where’s Spencer? I know you trust him.”
“We couldn’t find him or Tiffy,” Roger said. “But he knows we would have given it to him if he asked.”
Then Bonnie chimed in. “But how well do we know Russell? After all, we only just met him last week.”
“Muskman?” Chantella was surprised.
“It would be a pretty good cover for someone planning to rip off the comic, don’t you think?” Wesley pointed out.
Ellie couldn’t explain the outrage she was feeling. How dare they? She tamped down the disproportionate anger and tried to speak calmly. “I can’t see it. God knows he can be annoying as hell, but I think what you see is what you get with Russell. I’ve met his mom. He’s a regular guy. And I think he makes a pretty good living singing, so I doubt if he needs the money. Plus, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that money means that much to. I just don’t think it’s him.”
“But he does love the Muskman concept,” Chantella noted. “Maybe he just lusted after the comic.” That was mean, she knew. She was just playing devil’s advocate to see how far Ellie would go to defend him.
“It’ll take me awhile to get that image out of my head, but I still don’t think it’s him. He’s a good guy. I can’t explain it, but I know this.”
They all looked at her rather strangely, then Roger spoke. “What about Tiffy? Could she be the mastermind behind this theft?”
There was a long moment of silence, and then they all burst out laughing. Thankfully, it diffused the tension. At last, Roger stood and retrieved a Dove Bar from the freezer. Now everything seemed normal, in its own screwed-up way.
“Wait a minute.” Wesley sat up. “Doesn’t the exhibition hall have security cameras?”
“Yes,” Roger said. “But they pan, so if somebody timed it just right…”
“I suppose the lock would have been easy enough to pick,” Bonnie noted, “or break, for that matter, but there weren’t many opportunities to make the switch. We brought the case up to ou
r room at night.”
And then it hit Ellie. “The fight!”
Roger nodded. “Bingo.”
Chantella leaned forward. “Did you tell the cops that?”
“Sigh. No, once we saw which way the wind was blowing, we didn’t bother.”
“Roger still has that ‘60s cop thing going,” Bonnie laughed.
“It had to be Sludge,” Ellie said, with the same disdain in her voice she had noted when Bonnie and Roger mentioned his name.
“If he took it, or more to the point, had it taken,” Roger said, “he’s still got it here. I can feel it.”
Bonnie stood and put her hands on her waist. Her Wonder Woman pose. “And we’re going to get it back.”
Now the room took on an air of excitement as the Full Court Press staff leaned in, all thoughts of sleep long gone.
“How?” Wesley asked the question that was on everyone’s minds.
“We definitely need a plan,” Roger said.
They all thought about it for 10, 15, 20 minutes, tossing out different ideas, some more ridiculous than others, taking periodic breaks to the bathroom or kitchenette area. Chantella paced, while Bonnie drummed her fingers on the end table. Ellie nibbled on her lower lip. Wesley suggested confronting Sludge, Bonnie wondered if they could find a way to search his room. They also discussed and rejected a plan to send him a threatening letter. Ellie had been unusually quiet for several minutes when she gasped. They all looked at her. She smiled.
“I think I know how we can do it.”
They discussed her rather inventive, not to mention devious, idea, tossing out different variations, for more than an hour before exhaustion took over. When Ellie returned to her room sometime after 3 a.m., she was caught somewhere between crushing disappointment and immense relief when she saw her bed was empty. No Brian. Against her will, she felt it was a kind of reprieve. She had just taken off her shoes and her slacks and was standing there in the oversize t-shirt with the giant tongue hanging down when she heard the toilet flush. No reprieve after all. You wanted sex. Here it is. Go for it. She started to smile nervously—It’s the least you can do, my unfrigid friend—as the bathroom door opened, but she let out a little involuntary yell when Russell—or was it Cowboy Russ?—rather than Brian emerged.
“I was hoping more for ‘take me, cowboy,’ but a yelp will do.”
“What are you doing here? Where’s Brian?”
“The two-timer? He took off. He said he’ll call you.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “What did you do?”
He looked back at her innocently. “He was already bailing when I got here, I swear. That’s how I got in. And then I got tired. And then I had to pee.”
She was sidling toward her slacks, intending to put them back on, but of course he noticed and put his hand on her arm.
“Please, don’t change anything on my account. You are looking good. So good.”
He slowly eyed her up and down and her toes curled.
She batted his hand away. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh.” He plopped himself down on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. “I was looking for Tiffy.”
“Here?”
“Not exactly, I was passing by and the door opened. She wasn’t here.”
Ellie was about to say something but hesitated.
“What?”
“Uh, she and Spencer seem to have formed a…um…bond.”
“Oh.”
She waited for some anger or angst or outrage or hurt or something. There was nothing. She looked at him, studying his face. He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re taking it well,” Ellie observed dryly.
“Tiffy’s a free spirit.”
“So I heard. I hope you all had your shots.” She hesitated. “Okay, that was nasty.”
He sat up, smiling, and she shifted nervously. He looked her in the eye. “You missed me, didn’t you?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked right back at him. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
Now he wore a smug smile.
“Sort of like when you inhale a bug, and no matter how much you hack and hack, you just can’t get it out of your lungs.”
He laughed. He actually laughed. So much for her powers of insulting. He was like flypaper. She couldn’t get rid of him. Suddenly she felt utterly worn out, as much as she enjoyed jousting with Russell. And you do enjoy it, don’t you? She pulled out the desk chair and sat. “We’re all meeting at 6 a.m. for breakfast to talk about the theft.”
That got his attention. “Of what?”
“Volume One, Number One.”
He jumped up. “What? You’re kidding!”
“How could you not know that? You are so out of the loop.”
“I keep telling you, nobody tells me anything.”
Ellie yawned. She desperately needed to get a couple hours of sleep. She crossed to the bed and sat. It was warm where he had been sitting and felt so inviting. She leaned back on a pillow. “The police will probably want to talk to you.”
He looked shocked momentarily. “Me? Why?” And then he shook his head. “Oh, I’m a suspect? Really? Sure, why not?”
“We all are, Russell,” she yawned. “And we don’t know you very well, do we? I mean, we just met.” Even as tired as she was, she couldn’t help agitating him. She couldn’t have been more positive that he didn’t steal the comic. He didn’t know that, however.
Russell began pacing, clearly agitated, then walked to the window and looked out at the traffic. Where were all those people going at 3 a.m.? “If you did know me better, you’d realize that I probably understand better than any of you what that comic means to Roger and Bonnie. It’s not the money…it’s a time warp back to the pre-terrorism, pre-Congressional gridlock, Fake News days when people still thought they could change the world, when people believed in one another and love really mattered…”
He stopped and thought about what he’d said. He felt proud, like he might just have said something utterly profound. He looked at Ellie to get her reaction to this profundity and saw that she had nodded off. He looked up at the ceiling, shook his head and chuckled, then studied her for a long time, maybe a minute or two. He loved the way she let him have it when she felt the need, but with her tongue silent and her face relaxed, he was thinking of her tongue in an entirely different light, probably influenced by that giant tongue on her chest. She was beautiful lying there, with her honey hair framing her face, her freckles spread like little stars across her nose, her t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, one soft, creamy, creamy inviting shoulder.
Oh, yes, she was dangerous. Very dangerous. This trip was proving to be amazingly sexually frustrating, a character-building experience, no doubt. Although he and Tiffy were sharing a bed, they had yet to hook up carnally. It was probably just a matter of time, though. Ellie, however, was the kind of woman who could make a man do something incredibly stupid. And he was done with doing incredibly stupid things. He carefully pulled the covers out from under her and covered her, noticing her shapely thighs as the t-shirt rode up. Despite the fact that those thighs were practically calling his name, he resisted the urge to touch them. He couldn’t stop himself, though, from leaning down and softly kissing her shoulder, of all things, before turning away and letting himself out.
Chapter 14
A few scant hours later, Ellie rushed into the nearly deserted, dimly lit hotel coffee shop, where Roger, Bonnie, Spencer, Tiffy, Chantella and Wesley sat nurturing coffee and soft drinks. Everyone looked exhausted. She could certainly identify, but at least she had replaced the hanging-tongue t-shirt with a pair of black shorts and pink Full Court Press t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Roger patted a seat next to him and she sunk into it gratefully. “We’ve talked more about your plan. We really think it could work.”
“Sludge is just greedy enough, I’m sure,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. My inner alarm clock doesn’t usually fail me.”
“I or
dered pancakes for you,” Bonnie said. “And coffee.”
Ellie thanked her.
“Where’s Russell?” Wesley asked. He and Chantella seemed even cuddlier than usual, but maybe that was because they were so tired. Or because you needed a reminder that no one is cuddling you.
Ellie bit her tongue to keep from swearing. Instead, she suggested they call Russell’s cell phone, but Bonnie said she’d already tried, numerous times.
Ellie looked at Tiffy. “Wasn’t he with you?”
Tiffy, who was playing with the napkin holder, looked up. “Oh, I didn’t make it back to my room last night.”
No explanation. No guilt. Sheesh. These young people today.
What’s the plan?” Tiffy asked.
“We’ll need a turkey baster, a pair of needle-nose pliers and a contortionist,” Spencer intoned somberly.
“Really? I’m pretty limber.”
Ellie smiled. “He’s kidding, Tiffy.” Well, maybe not about the contortionist.
Tiffy swatted Spencer playfully as the waitress distributed their meals, which ranged from pancakes to omelets to bacon, eggs and fruit. Several of them had ordered orange juice, and Wesley and Chantella ordered milk. One part of Ellie’s brain would never stop being surprised that the out-there couple enjoyed mundane things, including milk. She thought they should be drinking mimosas or rare, imported beer or something else exotic. If she had heard Spencer’s line about the weird supplies and the contortionist, the middle-aged waitress gave no indication. Just like every other time it had happened, it was probably nothing out of the ordinary for Las Vegas, Ellie surmised, amusing herself. Cheap thrills.
Bonnie waited for the waitress to leave, then addressed the group. “You’re right, Ellie. Sludge is greedy.” She turned to Tiffy. “As Ellie suggested, we’re going to make him think there’s a private buyer interested in the comic.”
“Oooh, good idea,” Tiffy said.
Roger poured way too much sugar into his coffee, and without even thinking, Bonnie’s hand shot out and stilled his hand from pouring any more. Without reacting, he said, “If he’s got it, the only thing bigger than his desire to screw us is his avarice.”
