I Remember You

by Joyce Armor

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I was absolutely swamped. I was going to call you when I got inside the penthouse.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the suite. “Come on.”

  She dug her heels in. “No! Let’s go down to the coffee shop or café or whatever they have down there.” She tried to pull him back toward the elevator.

  He pulled the other way. “We can order room service. I just want to crash for a while.”

  “Stop!” she nearly shouted.

  And he did. He looked at her like she imagined he might look at a crazy person.

  She smiled weakly. “Brian this is important. Really, really important. You can’t go in there.”

  He looked at the penthouse door and then at her, skeptically. “Why not?” Did she have another man in there? His Ellie? But he hadn’t seen her in a long time. Was she his Ellie? Had she changed that much? It was a gut-wrenching thought.

  She pulled him into the stairwell and this time he didn’t resist, although it was against his better judgment. “I’ll explain everything. Downstairs. I promise. Please.”

  She was true to her word. They were sitting at a table in the far corner of the bar. Once the cocktail waitress had delivered his coffee and her tea, she told him all about Sludge and the plan they had devised to get the comic back from him.

  “You did say I could use the penthouse, and it seemed the perfect place for the sting. And I did try to warn you.”

  “Yes, you did. This is interesting,” he said, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup after he took a sip. “I thought at one point you were about to accuse me of stealing that comic.”

  Her eyes widened and she knew she looked guilty. She was guilty. She took a deep breath. “Honestly?”

  “That would be my first choice.” He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t frowning either. She always could talk to him comfortably.

  She mulled it over for several seconds and fiddled with some sugar packs for a few more moments. Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “Here’s what I thought. I’ve changed in the last five years. I’m not the same naïve person I was when I lived in Las Vegas. I’d like to think I’m more direct, a little wiser and more at ease with who I am than I was back then. I’ve learned there are worse things than not being in a relationship.”

  He started to say something, but she held up her hand.

  “And if I’m not the same person I was, it goes to reason that you’ve changed too. Did I think you could have stolen it? I didn’t think the guy I knew five years ago would, but I couldn’t be sure how much you’ve changed. The new casino’s had you really stressed out, and stressed out people do weird things.”

  “I’d like to think I’m a little less of a perfectionist and a little more practical these days. However I’ve changed, though, I still have integrity.”

  That hit her guilt buttons, but she rallied. She took a sip of her tea and then looked at him pointedly. “Then tell me honestly, for a second there did you think I was meeting another man in the penthouse?”

  He smiled, looking a little guilty himself. “It might have crossed my mind for a moment or two.”

  She smiled, too. “I’ve learned something else, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We can’t go back.”

  He reached over and held her hand, not too loosely and not too tightly. Just perfect, like the guy he was on paper. “No, but maybe we can go forward.”

  * * *

  Fortuitously, hearing the word “briefcase,” Tiffy whipped her hand back inside the sofa just as Sludge turned to look at the black leather case housing his fortune.

  “Why don’t you just give me the code?” Sludge looked defiant. Now that the money was his, he had felt a power shift. And the liquor was making him brave. “This is bullshit. Why do I need to wait?”

  “Layers of security, Bob” Rob said as if he were sharing a state secret. “Layers of security. I don’t do business any other way. Never have, never will, son.”

  “Here you go, Bob.” Toni handed him his drink. “Down the hatch.”

  Just then she coughed and spilled the drink on Sludge’s shirt.

  “Well, will you look at that?” Rob said. “Hold on there, Bob, we’ll get that cleaned off in a jiffy.”

  He grabbed Sludge’s arm and pulled him toward Toni, who tossed him a dish towel. Rob began rubbing it on Sludge’s shirt, which more than creeped him out, but it kept Sludge’s attention as Tiffy’s hand came out of the sofa again and felt around until she found the briefcase. When she found its handle, she slowly pulled it inside the sofa, struggling to get it through.

  “Now that won’t stain that nice shirt—God would surely forgive her for the “nice” lie—Bob,” Toni said, “but you might smell like a distillery for a while.” She laughed, trying to make her breasts bounce up and down as she did. This was an acting gig that took a great deal of sacrifice, she mused.

  “That’s a good one, Bianca,” Rob said, and saw a momentary look of panic in Toni’s eyes.

  “Oh, darlin’, you haven’t called me by my middle name since we stayed in that five-star villa in Rome. That was a week to remember, eh, Mr. Campbell?” She turned to Bob. “It’s always ‘Blanch this’ and ‘Blanch that,’ except when Walter Kent gets in one of his frisky moods, if you know what I mean. Then I’m Bianca,” she said, her voice husky.

  She gave a sultry laugh.

  We should really be on the stage, Rob thought, and it occurred to him that, with his dark and swarthy Italian looks, it was odd that they had picked a name as Scottish as Campbell. Obviously, the not-so-brilliant Sludge hadn’t picked up on that.

  Meanwhile, Rob and Toni tried not to watch or give anything away as a briefcase slowly made its way out of the sofa bed and into the original position. When Tiffy’s hand disappeared back into the sofa, Rob stepped back from wiping Sludge. Tony handed him another drink.

  “That should do it.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to our deal, Bob. We all got what we wanted.”

  Sludge looked back at the briefcase on the sofa and grinned, then downed his drink in one huge gulp. These rich yahoos thought they were so smart. He would have taken 75 grand for the comic. Ha!

  He undervalued the comic just as he undervalued everything in life, including himself.

  * * *

  At the convention center, a prominent sign in the crowded hallway announced THE DESERT UNDERGROUND COMIX EXPO AUCTION at 4 p.m. By 3:30, the auction room was busy with potential buyers and looky-loos perusing the offerings as workers put the final touches to the event. The locale was some type of a screening room that included a small stage with a mike and about 120 blue theater-style seats. Sample comics were on display on easels all around the room, with signs admonishing observers not to touch the merchandise.

  Roger, Bonnie and Spencer stood near a Last Gasp display, looking on nervously. Wesley and Chantella were across the room perusing other displays.

  “It’s 3:50,” Bonnie said somberly. She wore a denim dirndl skirt and white peasant blouse that she was already pitting out.

  Spencer was the calmest of the three. He looked at his watch. Bonnie glanced at it, too.

  “That’s a Rolex. Jesus, Spencer.”

  “France…”

  …”has been very good to me,” Bonnie and Roger intoned.

  “You betcha.”

  “Do you know how many children you could feed with that watch?”

  “I didn’t know it was edible. But I support several charities.”

  Bonnie sighed. “I’m sorry Spence. I’m just getting ready to explode. I’m getting too old for this crap.”

  Roger pulled his own watch out of the pocket of his khaki shorts. “I have 3:49.”

  “Oh, good. We can use that extra minute.” Bonnie looked around for the umpteenth time. “Where the hell are they?”

  Roger followed her gaze. “At least we haven’t heard any sirens.”

  “Or had any gendarmes coming after us.”r />
  Roger tipped his head toward the seats, which were starting to fill up. “We better get our paddles and grab a seat while we can.”

  Just then he caught Wesley’s eye and motioned him and Chantella over. He was thinking about the auction but had another more important thought. He had better slow his heartbeat down before he was in real trouble.

  In The Electra penthouse, Rob and Sludge were seated at the bar as Toni slid fresh drinks to them.

  Rob picked up his glass and studied it. “Are you planning to live a long life, Bob?”

  Sludge grinned. “Oh, yeah.” That grin said he had just hit the jackpot and was planning to enjoy it bigtime.

  Rob gave him a harsh look. “You know, of course, this transaction never took place.”

  Sludge raised his hands in a submissive gesture. “Hey, whatever you say, man.”

  At the sofa, Tiffy’s hand was rearranging the briefcase yet again. Just as Sludge looked like he was about to glance over there, Rob jumped up, raising his glass.

  “To Muskman!”

  “Yeah, sure.” Sludge clinked his glass to Rob’s and guzzled his third double shot.

  Tiffy’s hand disappeared into the sofa a second before Sludge looked over. That’s when they heard a knock on the door.

  “So much for privacy,” Toni said. She leaned against the door but didn’t answer it. “Who is it?”

  In the hallway, Russell’s words were decidedly slurred. “Hey, Walter, baby, I got a joke for you. You can’t pass go and can’t collect $200. Muskman knows who lurks.”

  Rob stood. “What the hell?”

  Sludge, recognizing Russell’s voice, looked panicky.

  Russell blathered on. “What’re you gonna do with allllll that money?”

  Rob went to the door. Sludge jumped up.

  “No! Don’t open the door. It could be trouble.”

  Rob hesitated. “You could be right. Bianca, call security.”

  Unbelievable, Tiffy’s hand was adjusting the briefcase yet again as Sludge started to turn around.

  “Maybe we should just see who this is first,” Toni said, reaching her hand toward the doorknob.

  Sludge turned back immediately. “No!”

  “I think we’re done here,” Rob announced, more for Tiffy’s benefit than anyone else’s.

  In the hallway, Russell wandered away as he crooned mournfully, his voice fading away.

  Who's sorry now?

  Whoa Whoa, tragedy…

  In the penthouse, Rob picked up the comic lovingly and set it on the breakfast bar. “You’d better get out of here, Bob. We don’t want security asking us any questions now, do we?”

  Toni snatched the empty glass out of Sludge’s hand before he started to lick the bottom.

  “Yeah, I’m outta here,” Sludge said. He walked over to the sofa, picked up the briefcase, clutching it to his chest, and headed for the door.

  “Take the stairs down a couple of flights and then catch the elevator,” Rob said. “I’ll email you the code right now.”

  “You got a real deal here,” Sludge said and Rob nodded. He sure did, you moron.

  After Sludge left, Rob put the chain on the door and followed Toni to the sofa.

  “We’ve gotta hurry!”

  Together, they pulled the sofa bed out to expose a sweaty, bedraggled Tiffy in a surprisingly unwrinkled yellow jersey dress and the briefcase with the money. Her hair was wet and matted down and she still looked good. Unbelievable, thought Toni.

  “Wow, I feel like I know what it’s like to be on the inside of the refrigerator when the door closes. Except it wasn’t cold.”

  Toni helped her out of the sofa. She stumbled and Rob caught her.

  “Great job,” he said and she smiled brightly.

  Toni grabbed her purse, nodded toward the luggage and the trash bag with the money and said, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  “Russell’s waiting for us in the café downstairs,” Tiffy said.

  “Let’s book it,” Rob said and they hustled out of the room.

  Toni loved it when a plan came together. This little adventure had to be one of the highlights of her life. She couldn’t ever remember Rob looking happier either. Even Tiffy was beaming.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, back in her hotel room, Ellie paced back and forth, brushing lint off her black slacks. Then she sat on a bed and rolled her feet, listening to her ankles crack. Naturally, she was very worried about the plot to divest Sludge of the “Muskman” comic. She was more worried, however, over Muskman himself. Where was he? What in the world had happened? She didn’t know Spencer that well, but it was so unlike Roger and Bonnie to be so judgmental, so unforgiving. And so unlike the Russell she had come to know to flip out so easily. Did somebody put something in the water here or what?

  And what was taking Toni and Rob so long? Could Tiffy really pull off the switch? Ellie definitely thought Tiffy was brighter than she seemed and pondered over why she had created the personality that fooled most people. As Shakespeare said, all the world’s a stage. Ellie couldn’t blame her; everyone did that to an extent, she supposed. After all, she was the happy, easy-going girl next door who wanted to rip Russell’s clothes off and do him in the lobby.

  What? She meant Brian, didn’t she? Yes, Russell had his appeal, but he was off-limits. She had to be realistic. Surely it was Brian she lusted after. Not that she couldn’t lust after two men at a time if she didn’t do anything about it. She could lust over 12 men, for that matter. Where had that dumb thought come from? You’re losing it, girl. Yep, too long without sex. Once again, she tended to agree with that voice in her head. What was up with that? And where the hell were they? Should she call the penthouse? Or Toni’s cell? No, what if Sludge looked at Toni’s phone and saw it was Ellie calling?

  Oh, this was unbearable. She jumped up, went to the door and cautiously opened it, looking up and down the hallway for the zillionth time. Please, please, please, don’t let anything have gone wrong. It was bad enough that the Neffs were moving to France and she’d be losing her job. She really didn’t want to end up in jail with all her friends. Or without them, for that matter. And she didn’t want Spencer to lose his money. And she didn’t want Russell to be falsely accused or upset or angry. Or hurt. This whole scenario was going to make her nuts. Holly Happy? Ha! Any moment now she was going to become Holly Unhinged.

  Chapter 17

  In the little auditorium, the auction was in full swing, the deep base voice of the auctioneer, his sleeves rolled up and sweat running down his face, resonating throughout the room.

  “Lot 22 includes Z-Men #6 and the rare Shack Attack numbers one through nine. The bidding will start at fifteen hundred. I’ve got fifteen, fifteen, fifteen, sixteen?”

  A woman raised her paddle and a helper called out, “Yep!”

  Wesley, Chantella, Bonnie, Roger and Spencer sat in the second to last row, all looking pretty glum. Well, except for Spencer, who Bonnie noticed seemed to be taking the loss of the comic and possibly his money in stride. How the hell rich was he?

  “Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen,” the auctioneer continued.

  “Yep!” came the response.

  “Eighteen…I’ve got seventeen, seventeen, eighteen anybody, eighteen, seventeen-fifty, seventeen-fifty, seventeen going once, seventeen, seventeen, SOLD to number…107.”

  Just then Sludge kind of staggered in. Was he drunk? Stoned? He sat across the aisle from the Full Court Press crew looking immensely pleased with himself. Yeah, he definitely looked at least a little drunk. Bonnie was the only one who looked over, and she felt her stomach lurch. It was appearing more and more like it had all gone wrong.

  They sweated through the bidding on five more lots. The bidders seemed to be a little conservative but not alarmingly so. And then it was their turn. Oh, no. There was almost a collective slump of shoulders from the Full Court Press group. This couldn’t be happening. Sludge was positively gloating. They were in big trouble, only ma
de worse because of the glee Sludge was rubbing in their faces. He had finally gotten his revenge. And it was sweet.

  “Lot 28 consists of one very special item,” the auctioneer announced. He turned back to pick it up, but the item seemed to be missing. The Full Court Press group looked about to cry en masse. Sludge positively beamed. The jig was up.

  Roger felt bad, but not like it was the end of the world. He felt worse about losing Spencer’s money, if that’s what happened, than about losing the comic. Would they have to cancel or postpone their move to France? Postpone maybe, but not cancel. He and Bonnie had never needed a lot of money to be happy, and they could move and live on a budget. Yes, here was that flood that always seemed to come, but they would start bailing and be okay. They would sell the house, which had long since been paid off, and it was California, after all, with real estate prices totally escalated beyond all reason. They’d be fine. And it’s not like they couldn’t work in France if they needed to.

  Bonnie felt bad, but only because she couldn’t stand for Roger to be unhappy or disappointed, and she didn’t want Spencer to take a financial hit. They would find a way to get past this. Roger would have the surgery next week, recover and then they’d sell the house and move. It would be okay. A little bit soul-sucking but okay. And truthfully, she didn’t care how much or how little money they had as long as she had Roger.

  Spencer, oddly enough, was thinking about Tiffy. There was more to her than he’d originally thought, and, truth be told, he was tired of Cozette, who had always been moody and was getting kind of clingy. She was a pistol, but Tiffy would eat Cozette alive, he thought, smiling.

  Wesley and Chantella were thinking a little bit about the comic but mostly about the little person growing inside Chantella. He hadn’t thought they could get any closer than they had been, but the pregnancy, still not officially confirmed but for certain in their minds, seemed to bring about such a melding of spirits, Wesley was in awe. He was fairly certain she felt the same, if her adoring looks were any indication.