Pursuing Pandora

by Maggie Brown

  Chapter Three

  Pandora attended to her makeup carefully in front of the long dressing room mirror. Though she had arrived a little late, it wasn’t something she could hurry. Not if she wanted to look the perfect part. And now thirty-four, she seemed to have gained a few fine lines that needed to be covered up. She worked methodically, first smearing on a dark foundation to sharpen the angle of her jaw and the cheekbones, then applying a lighter foundation, followed by powder and blush. Her last touch was a rich creamy lipstick, the expensive type that slipped on like satin and set like velvet. It was a bold vibrant scarlet that held a hint of promise, a touch of wantonness. Not a colour many women wore. She would never consider it herself in real life.

  After she studied her face critically for a moment, she pulled off the shower cap confining her hair and fanned out the thick strands with her fingers. The hair spilled to her shoulders, the longest she had ever worn it. She preferred it much shorter, more manageable, less flamboyant, but this woman she had created was all about illusions and fantasies and seduction.

  A rap on the door was followed by a man’s voice. “Ten minutes and you’re on, Pandora.”

  “I’ll be there,” she called back and picked up the pace. She brushed the black waves down the side of her cheeks, then swept the right side as far as the corner of the eye and tucked back the other side against her ear. With another quick glance at her reflection, she rose to put on her dress. She smoothed down the patterned net tights before wriggling into the long black gown. Specially made, it hugged her curves without a crease.

  Satisfied all was in order, she reached for the glass on the counter and took a mouthful of the warm Throat Coat Tea mixed with a pinch of salt. She didn’t swallow immediately, instead gargled for a full minute, letting the liquid slide over her vocal cords. A pre-performance routine she did unfailingly before going onstage. Too many singers suffered from voice problems. Her throat muscles now exercised and protected, she pulled on the black gloves and eased her feet into the high heels.

  Before opening the door, she glanced around the room to see two new bouquets of flowers on the table against the wall. There was no need to look at the attached cards to know who sent them—they had been coming to her dressing room every Saturday for weeks. Tonight, she was tempted to dump the roses in the garbage bin.

  Enough was enough. It was beginning to feel like she was being stalked.

  As usual, the large bunch of red roses was from Lawrence Partridge, a twice divorced wealthy playboy with an abrasive personality and an inflated ego. No matter how many times she told him no, it didn’t seem to register. She would like to tell him where to stick his attentions, but then she would have to contend with Yuri. The owner of the club wouldn’t take it lightly if she pissed off his best customer. So, she continued to be polite but firm as she fended off his advances.

  With more misgivings Pandora reached for the card tucked into the much smaller posy of pansies. She was at a loss to know what to do with this one. Nearly five months ago, she had spent some time having a few drinks with a group of young people celebrating a twenty-first. Usually after her last bracket of songs, it was expected she remained visible in the club for at least half an hour before she left. Yuri insisted it was good for business and she didn’t argue. It was always nice to wind down before she went home.

  She had stayed much longer than usual that night, finding them a fun crowd. Then ended up spending a deal of time late in the night talking to Michael Hamilton, a shy, awkward engineering student. She indulged in a little light-hearted flirting to bring him out of his shell, which proved a huge mistake. He had taken her attentions to heart and began to turn up regularly every Saturday night at the club. It didn’t take her long to twig he had developed a major crush on her. Without being hurtful, she tried to subtly discourage him but to no avail.

  The weekly visits increased to twice a week. When his posies began to arrive, she was at her wits’ end. Knowing she had to do something, she resolved that if he continued with the infatuation much longer, she would have no choice but to be downright rude. But she hesitated going down that path—she wasn’t quite sure how he’d take that sort of rejection. A few things he had said made her suspect he wasn’t very stable emotionally. She didn’t want him to take things to heart and self-harm.

  After a few deep breaths, she exited the dressing room and made her way down the corridor to the back of the stage. As she passed the open door of the main office, Yuri called out from his desk, “Come in for a second, Pandora.”

  She turned and walked to the door. It was a large room, split into business and pleasure. The front was designed for efficiency, housing his desk, a smaller workstation for his office assistant, filing cabinets, and a wall monitor of the club area. The back was for entertaining, filled with four plush leather chairs, a state-of-the-art TV, and a well-stocked bar. The windows were shielded with blinds.

  She smiled at the other man in the room, her friend and mentor, Kurt, the pianist. When she began singing at the club a year ago, he had taken her under his wing immediately. In his early forties, he was a graceful handsome man, with wavy black hair, charming and charismatic, and a favourite of everyone in the club. Though most nights he walked with her the two blocks home to her apartment, he’d never once crossed the friendship line.

  Yuri waved a hand at the monitor. “The place is packed tonight, Pandora. I’d like you to socialize longer afterward if you’re up to it. Keep ’em happy.”

  She nodded, though hoped it didn’t mean his brother Boris was in the club. While Yuri was likeable enough, Boris was someone to be avoided. He was an arrogant cruel pig of a man. The brothers were in their mid to late thirties, both unmarried. She’d learned that the gender dynamics in this close Russian family were very patriarchal, and women were expected to look and act a certain way. Yuri had always accepted that as a non-Russian, she didn’t have to live by their rules, but then so he should. They both knew her popularity was one of the main reasons the club was always so full. He couldn’t afford to lose her.

  “No problems, boss,” she murmured, and smiled as Kurt gave her a wink.

  “Right-oh. You two had better get along then.”

  When Pandora walked onstage, the room died to a hush before applause broke out. She let it wash over her as Kurt took his place at the piano. He began to caress the keys, giving her a cheery nod before he began to play a short solo piece as an introduction. She scanned the audience to take in its demographics as she waited at the microphone for her cue. It was a good mix of age, and she was pleased to see more women than usual. They always upped the tone of the night.

  Lawrence Partridge was sitting in a booth with a man and a woman around his age. Michael was at the bar with two friends, gazing at her adoringly.

  Pandora ignored them both and began to sing.

  As she crooned out her songs, a table of four women took her eye. A pang of longing swept over her. Just for one night she wished she didn’t have to cater to the men in the room. This job had been too long, become too stressful. She was getting hyper edgy, needing to feel a woman’s arms around her again, and if she wasn’t mistaken the women were gay. Two were definitely anyhow. But she wasn’t her own boss, wasn’t able to mix freely with them. With an inward groan, she went back to her routine, becoming the enchantress, the siren.

  As the night wore on, she felt more and more restless. She needed to vary her act, stop being so one-dimensional. An idea hit in the last bracket. A walk-through finale would be a change. She had two songs left in tonight’s repertoire: Adele’s “Someone Like You” and Selena’s “I Could Fall in Love.” Ideal for the purpose. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kurt lift his eyebrows in surprise when she took the microphone out of its stand. Then he gave her a grin and nod as he caught on and held off playing until she had descended the two steps to the main floor.

  Silence fell as she began to glide through the tables. With her low husky voice, she was power and charm
, the embodiment of the ageless courtesan, the stuff of fantasies. Three guys in suits with ties loosened, looked at her expectantly when she slowed. With a shake of her head and a wink, she moved on. She paused at a table where a young couple held hands and sang a few bars to them. They blushed and wriggled closer together. She stopped to sing to a man who looked well into his sixties, while his wife smiled fondly at his embarrassment.

  The song finished—she began the last. She stopped here and there, though only briefly after a line or two. No one touched her, nor did she expect anyone would. The crowd knew it would have destroyed the intimacy of the moment. As the song neared its end, she reached the booth with the four women and looked down at them. With a slow deliberate motion, she leaned over the one in the black dress who had been frowning at her all night, and breathed the last line into her ear, “I could fall in love with you.”

  Smiling as she heard the sudden hissing intake of breath, Pandora turned away to bow and wave at the crowd. When the applause died down, and she’d returned her mike to the stage, she walked back to the table and decided for once to do what she wanted for a change. “Would you ladies mind if I joined you.”

  “We’d love you to,” answered a devilish good-looking woman with short spiky hair, clearly the spokesman of the group. They shifted around to make room.

  “It’s a relief to get off my feet,” said Pandora with a sigh as she eased herself onto the seat. “Too long on these heels. Now…who are you girls?”

  “This is Linda, Dana, and Winter. And I’m Jessie,” the woman replied, flashing her a practised smile so full of charm and arrogance that Pandora nearly laughed. Jessie clearly had an inflated sense of self-worth and used to getting her own way. She’d probably only rarely had a knock-back from a woman. Pandora knew her type very well. Charismatic but a perpetual player who was afraid of commitment, no different from the aging playboys who frequented the club.

  Pandora eased back in the chair, sizing the women up as they were introduced. Linda was a curvaceous pretty blonde who looked like she knew how to enjoy herself. Just like any average person who frequented a bar—uncomplicated in pursuit of a good time. And sex. If she fancied women, Pandora doubted she would be her type. Too feminine. Nor was she sending out any vibes that she was interested.

  Dana was a tall redhead with an angular androgynous face framed by cropped short hair. She was looking at her self-consciously, as though a little intimidated. She’d probably be more at home in a bar with a pool table than in an upscale club. Both were in their mid-thirties and appeared pleasant women with no agenda other than a night out on the town.

  But it was the woman in the black dress who tweaked her interest. Light-brown glossy hair tied up in a back twist, mature strong features and very foxy. Elegant and aloof Winter. Even the name was interesting. Pandora had no idea why she had been studying her with dislike, but she was intrigued. And all that pent-up hostility was rather sexy. Her libido thought so—it was giving definite twitches.

  She held her gaze quizzically for a moment. Yes, there were still sparks of temper in her eyes and simmering resentment. Underneath though, there appeared to be a hint of interest as well, but maybe that was only wishful thinking on her part. Winter might not even be a lesbian.

  “What would you like to drink?” asked Jessie.

  Pandora turned her attention to her and replied with a smile. “This round is on me.” She signalled to Frankie, their most experienced waitress and who also, she knew, preferred women.

  When she reached the table, Frankie beamed at them. “What’ll you have, ladies?”

  “Hallelujah,” murmured Dana. Pandora smiled to herself as she caught the whispered words. It seemed the waitress was Dana’s type. And Frankie was looking at her with a light in her eye as well.

  After the others placed their orders, Frankie cocked her head at Pandora. “Your usual?”

  She nodded then added to Jessie, “I’m not a big drinker, but I do enjoy a brandy at the end of the night.”

  “I’m a beer drinker or maybe an odd vodka, but occasionally I’ll have a Coke to surprise my liver,” Jessie replied with an engaging grin. “So, what do you do when you’re not at the club, Pandora?”

  She shrugged. “I jog, watch movies, read…you know…what most people do.”

  “Oh, you’re anything but like most people,” murmured Jessie, angling her body until their knees were pressed together. Then she casually draped her arm over the back of the chair.

  Far too close for Pandora. She considered her for a moment before she deliberately eased away. She left the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, instead said mildly, “I’m just here to have a quiet drink and a friendly chat, Jessie.”

  “Sorry. But you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “Just so long as you know where I stand,” Pandora said with a smile to take the sting out of her words. “Tell me now…what do you all do?”

  Jessie slid her arm off the backrest with an embarrassed hum. “I’m a paediatrician. Linda’s a nurse in the children’s ward, Dana’s a construction engineer and Winter…well…she’s a corporate lawyer and a workaholic, hey babe?”

  Winter sent Jessie a good-natured shrug. “Some of us have to keep the wheels of commerce running to pay for your hospitals, my friend.”

  “Touché, Jessie,” chuckled Dana.

  Pandora watched the exchange with a small pang. They were good friends and she envied them. When the drinks arrived, she sipped her brandy, enjoying the light-hearted banter and the low recorded background music. She covertly studied Winter as they talked. Her voice was as polished as her designer dress. She didn’t say much, but when she did it was worth listening to. A no-frills type of person.

  As they swopped stories, Pandora realized she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for a long time. The women were a breath of fresh air. But when Jessie was in the middle of a complicated joke, she noticed Winter’s eyes suddenly widen as they focused on something behind her. Curious, she swivelled her head to look.

  Shit!

  Michael was heading for their table. He was the last person she wanted to see at the moment. She watched alarmed as he stumbled toward them. Normally only a moderate drinker, something must have set him off tonight. She winced—he looked very tipsy and very aggro. This could be a nasty scene.

  When he reached their table, he gripped the edge to steady himself then spat out, “What the hell are you doing here, Winter?”

  Taken by surprise, Pandora turned to look at Winter. Judging by her glare, she wasn’t too pleased with the greeting. “I imagine the same as you. I’m having a night out,” she said coldly.

  “Mum sent you, didn’t she?” he asked truculently.

  “Be careful, Michael. I’m not going to answer that. I don’t expect you to talk about your mother in a bar when you’re half-drunk.”

  “What I do has nothing to do with you.”

  Winter’s eyes ran over him like a scanner and she curled her lip. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Go back to the bar and I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Fuck you, Winter. Don’t order me around.”

  “Then act like a man.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, before Jessie said soothingly, “You’re Aunt Gussie’s son, aren’t you? Winter took me out to your property one Easter when we were at uni.”

  He glanced at her distractedly. “I remember. We thought you were great fun, Jessie.” Then for the first time he directly faced Pandora. His voice rose with emotion. “Sorry about that. I guess I was out of line. Will you have a drink with us? I’m with a couple of mates.”

  Conscious the women were waiting for her answer, Pandora shook her head. “Some other time perhaps.” Then turned to Jessie before he could say anything more. “Now what about giving us the punch line of that joke.”

  Jessie launched back into the story immediately. At the rebuff, Michael stood for a moment swaying from one foot to the other before he shuffled off. The uneasiness hovering ov
er the group melted away when he vanished back to the bar. Pandora cast a look across at Winter. Her eyes were downcast, locked on her drink. Pandora felt a sharp jab of anger. And hurt. Winter wasn’t here for a night out—she had come to check on her cousin. That explained the antagonism.

  Obviously, the family thought Pandora was unsuitable for their precious boy.

  Chapter Four

  Winter clutched her glass tightly, wishing she could sink under the carpet.

  What a clusterfuck.

  When she eventually had the courage to raise her head, she found Pandora studying her. Her expression was neutral but her eyes were cold. Winter flinched. It was her own damn fault for letting Gussie talk her into this ridiculous charade. Not that she thought the singer was a suitable partner for Michael. She wasn’t. But it wasn’t any reflection on Pandora. She was all class. He was far too immature to be with a woman like her, and from what she had seen of the Silver Fox, it wasn’t a place he should be frequenting.

  On the surface it was sophisticated and upmarket, but to her there was something not quite right about it. She’d seen enough of wealth and power to get the vibes that it had a not-so-nice underbelly. But then again, she thought, maybe she was worrying too much. Perhaps all clubs were the same. Having been out of circulation for years, she had lost touch with this sort of night life. She and Christine had never visited places like this, and with her crazy work schedule, clubbing wasn’t on her agenda now. But whether she was being overprotective or not, Michael should be socializing somewhere more suitable, somewhere with a crowd his own age. Too long in a place like this spelt trouble with a capital T.

  She snapped out of her thoughts when Jessie called out, “Have another drink, Winter?”

  “I should be going home.”

  “Come on. Don’t be such a party pooper. There’s nothing to go home to except your cat.”

  “Oh, all right. I guess it’s about time I had a night out. I’ll have another scotch and dry, but make it a half.”