He smiled. “You weren’t klutzy the other day.”
“You’re being kind.”
“No, I’m not.”
Brooke and Gerald were hanging on each other, laughing, as they moved toward the dance floor. Even though Tasha had never wanted to be like her cousin, she did envy her cousin’s easy grace and beauty. And the happiness that radiated from her face.
Tasha glanced to the side, and saw Rick standing at the edge of the crowd. He was the only person who wasn’t watching Brooke and Gerald. He was watching Tasha, and she felt a little jolt of excitement.
She made herself turn back to Howie. “You said they told stories about Rick.”
“Rick?” Howie sounded confused.
“The usher who cut in.”
“Oh, him.” Howie sighed. “The Marlboro Man.”
“I guess,” Tasha said, although she never would have thought of him that way. “Is that what they called him?”
“No. I do.” Howie shrugged. “After he cut in. You two seemed like you knew each other.”
“We met coming in late. We sort of bonded on our inability to make the family happy.” It was her turn for a rueful smile.
“Well,” Howie said. “Your family should be happy with you.”
Tasha looked at him in surprise. “Thank you, Howie.”
He shrugged, then glanced at Rick.
Brooke gathered up her train, and then to Tasha’s surprise, detached it from the dress. She handed the long band of satiny material to one of the bridesmaids, who looked as stunned as Tasha felt. Tasha was suddenly glad she was by the bar, otherwise she probably would have been the fabric recipient.
Then Brooke stood on the dance floor, her skirt hiked up, and she peered at her shoes. For a moment, Tasha thought she’d take them off. Then Brooke giggled and shrugged. Gerald gestured and Tasha could almost hear him: What does it matter if you have your shoes off?
And Brooke gestured in return. Tasha could imagine that too: It’ll ruin the line of the dress. In fact, that’s exactly how Brooke’s lips moved. Style before comfort.
“I guess he got some girl in trouble,” Howie said.
“Hmm?” Tasha turned. She wasn’t sure she heard him. She’d been concentrating on her cousin.
“Your usher friend. I guess he left Portland fifteen years ago in some kind of disgrace. He got some girl in trouble.”
“Pregnant?”
“I didn’t get the whole story. I do know she wanted to get married and he didn’t. He ran off to Chicago. They said he’s never held a real job and that he’s not very reliable.” Howie gave her a sad little smile. “I don’t usually gossip, you know.”
“I asked,” she said. “Gossip can be an important way to find out things, and what you told me dovetails with what Brooke said.”
“What did she say?” Howie asked, a little too eagerly.
“That Rick is a loser and a womanizer.” Tasha sighed. She didn’t want Rick to be a loser.
In fact, she wasn’t sure he was. He seemed so solid to her. Solid and sad. Her perceptions usually weren’t that far off. But then, she was usually judging thieves and rapists, not men she met at the Yacht Club.
“Well, he’s got the looks of a womanizer,” Howie said.
“What?”
Howie shook his head slightly. “A guy like me couldn’t be a womanizer. I’m not good-looking. Women would laugh at me for even trying. But guys with looks like that, they can get away with anything.”
“Do you want to be a womanizer, Howie?” Tasha asked.
He let out a small laugh. “No. Why?”
“You sounded a little wistful.”
“I am.” Then he grinned. “On that note, you wanna dance?”
“In the spirit of fairness, I should say no.” She slipped her hand around his elbow. “But since I’m already wearing a pink tent and floppy hat, I may as well follow tradition all the way to the bitter end. But I have to warn you. I’m wearing spike heels. If I step on your feet, you may never walk again.”
“You step on my feet,” Howie said, “and I’m handing you over to the Marlboro Man.”
Tasha laughed, but she was tempted to step on his feet. More tempted than she wanted to admit.
EIGHT
“YOU’VE BEEN KEEPING to yourself, Ricky.” Rick’s sister Jane, the mother of the groom, sat down across from him. She was a tall, slender woman, twenty years older than he was, with a cap of silver hair that made her look rich. Her shiny mother-of-the-groom dress only accented the look of wealth.
Since Gerald’s Internet startup made so much money, he remained conscientious about sending money home to his mother. Rick had to commend him for that. Jane had raised Gerald alone. And with all the sacrifices she had made for him over the years, it was nice of Gerald to allow her to take an early retirement.
“I didn’t want to get in the way.” The glass Rick held in his left hand was warm. He’d been nursing that single beer all afternoon. He didn’t want to lose control of himself. He had to be on his best behavior here, and when he got home.
He had to be prepared for anything at home.
Then he shook off the thought. He promised himself he wouldn’t think of the Creep today. He would try to be the perfect wedding guest.
He had never done that, at least around his family. He used to party hard at wedding receptions, but that stopped when he moved to Chicago. Partying hard was something he never did any more.
Jane looked at him sideways. Her face had the look of their mother’s now, the soft aging skin, the beautiful gray eyes. He wondered what their parents would have thought of this wedding—it probably cost more than their first house—and then sighed against the stab of pain.
“Why do you think you’d get in the way?” Jane asked.
Rick smiled bitterly. “You see that blonde over there?”
Jane looked at the dance floor. Tasha was struggling to follow Howie’s smooth steps. “The maid of honor?”
Rick nodded. “I danced with her last night, did you notice?”
“Hard to miss you when you’re attracted to someone, Richard.”
He looked at Jane again. She was smiling fondly at him.
“Well, her cousin made it very clear that she’s not to get near me during the wedding. I’m still dangerous, I guess.”
“I have a hunch that Tasha Morgan can handle dangerous.” Jane didn’t sound surprised.
“Well, her family doesn’t think so.”
“Her family’s old money—or what passes for old money in this town. They don’t like anything.”
“Her cousin didn’t get that information out of the air.” He took a sip of the beer. It was warm and flat. He tried not to wince.
“You did leave rather spectacularly, honey,” Jane said. “It’s not something people are likely to forget.”
He sighed and watched Tasha. She really couldn’t dance. It was surprising how well Howie handled her, considering. “Then why was I asked to participate in Gerald’s wedding?”
Jane didn’t answer. Rick turned to her. A slight frown creased her forehead. He recognized the look.
“You told Gerald I had to be part of it, didn’t you?”
“Now, Ricky—”
“He never liked me. And the way I treated Teri only made it worse. He’s doing this for you, isn’t he?”
“You’re family,” Jane said. “And you’ve come home. We should acknowledge you. We should treat you better.”
Rick wished the beer wasn’t flat. He’d have to get up and grab another one. “I don’t like being an obligation.”
“You’re not,” Jane said. “Not to me.”
He pushed the glass away. “You know, you’re the only person who talked to me when I came home for Mom and Dad’s funeral.”
“It was a tough time for everyone.”
He remembered landing in Portland, the way the clouds hung thick over the Columbia, the plane bouncing on the runway. No one met him at the airport. No one told him
where the family was getting together before the funeral. He showed up at the funeral home and heard soft whispers following him everywhere. And no one met his gaze.
No one seemed to remember that the two boxes lying in front of the small chapel held his parents too. Parents who were too vibrant to be dead.
At least they had died together, just like they would have wanted. The obituary said they were found side by side in the remains of the Cessna, holding hands. They must have known the plane was going down, and they sought comfort in each other, even to the end.
The memory made his heart twist. Ten years had gone by, and the sharpness of the loss had never really dimmed.
“You should invite me to your home sometime,” Jane said. “I don’t like being strangers with my baby brother.”
His parents had a picture of Jane holding Gerald in one arm and Rick in the other, as if they were twins. The photograph had stood on the top of their piano, with all the other family photographs. That, and his parents’ fortieth anniversary photo were the only things he took from the house.
“The strangeness went both ways, Jane,” he said softly.
She nodded. “I’m sorry for that.”
He looked at her. She had a dear familiar face, and not just because it now resembled their mother’s. Jane’s eyes had never changed. They’d always looked at him with love, even when she had been angry at him.
“Would you like to see my house?” he asked.
She smiled. It made her look radiant. “I would love to.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then she broke the gaze.
“So,” she said, “can you cook? Or should I bring dinner when I come on Friday?”
He hadn’t planned on dinner. In fact, he’d just thought he’d have her over at some undefined future date, not Friday. He had forgotten how his sister used to roll over him like this, how she always got him to do something he hadn’t planned on doing by giving him no choice.
He supposed he could say no. But he really didn’t want to.
“I can cook,” he said.
“Good.” She held out her left hand. “Now dance with me. I hate being a wallflower at my own son’s wedding.”
NINE
THE DANCING HAD gone on for two hours before Brooke and Gerald snuck out. Tasha restrained herself and did not step on Howie’s feet, but a half hour in, she did take off her own shoes, the line of the dress be damned.
Since she didn’t have to worry about the sweaty-pawy part, the dancing was actually fun. She caught glimpses of Rick, who danced with several women—many of them older—and once he winked at her.
She couldn’t help herself. She winked back.
The moment that Brooke and Gerald disappeared, Tasha decided she needed something to drink. She left the dance floor, and headed toward the punch table.
One of the members of the catering staff, a young woman wearing a white chef’s outfit, tried to be as invisible as possible as Tasha approached. So Tasha smiled at her. The woman smiled back, then picked up the crystal ladle and began scooping punch into a crystal cup.
Crystal. It was a sign of her family’s extravagance that the punch had to be served in fragile little cups that half the children in the room had probably already destroyed. It would have been much better to use a crystal serving bowl and paper cups, like most people did.
But her family never did things the way most people did.
Rick came up beside her, just like she knew he would. “Have they spiked the punch yet?”
“Haven’t tasted it,” Tasha said, then she took a tentative sip. It was good, made with some sort of fresh fruit and ginger ale to give it fizz.
“Well?” Rick asked.
“Could use a little more vodka,” she said to the woman behind the table, who looked completely appalled.
Rick smiled. “I was hoping for a dance.”
Tasha finished her cup of punch, giving herself time to consider. She had promised that she wouldn’t draw the attention from Brooke (although she wondered if she had come perilously close when she fought with her mother), but Brooke was gone now and half the younger guests were already so drunk that they wouldn’t know what was going on.
Tasha’s mother was still in the room somewhere, but she wouldn’t tattle to Brooke. She’d simply get angry at Tasha. Or angrier, as the case may be.
Tasha set the cup down, turned and smiled at Rick. “I dance like a truck.”
“I know. I’ve been watching.” Rick took her arm. “But I also know from personal experience that you can handle a slow dance.”
She listened. The music had slowed down. The band was playing something soft and dreamy, with a bluesy feel.
“Afraid to go out there on something faster?” she asked.
“I’ll leave that to Howie. He seems to be doing quite well.”
“He’s nice,” Tasha said.
“Should I be worried?” Rick asked, and her heart rose at the question. It suggested the same kind of interest she felt.
“No. Howie and I discovered that friendship of the platonic kind is more to our liking.”
“Oh, you tested out friendship of the non-platonic kind?” He was still bantering but his tone had changed.
“If you’ll recall yesterday’s episode, friendship of the non-platonic kind was being forced on us by all and sundry.”
“Except me.”
“Well, you were the guy gumming up the works.”
“So to speak.”
They had reached the dance floor. He took her in his arms and she sighed, feeling as if she had come home. Dancing with Howie had been fun. The conversation had been nice. But with Rick, she felt no need for conversation. She liked putting her head on his shoulder and feeling his strong arms around her.
She was never this comfortable with anyone she’d just met. She had no idea why she felt this way with Rick.
His face brushed her hair. “You’ve got to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“You say that to all the girls,” Tasha murmured.
“No, I don’t.”
She raised her head. He was watching her, his blue eyes intent. He was very serious.
“What do you say we change into real people clothes and find a nice quiet place for dinner?”
Something in his eyes caught her—that sadness again. She’d seen it when he talked with his sister, too, and a wariness. She’d like to explore all of that.
She’d like to explore him.
“Dinner would be great,” she said.
But neither of them left the dance floor. They kept their arms around each other and swayed to the music, their bodies moving as if they’d danced together a hundred times before.
Finally, the music stopped. Tasha felt as if she were waking from a dream. Rick took her hand and they walked off the floor hand-in-hand. She stopped to pick up her shoes. At that moment, her gaze met Howie’s. She had to tell him that she wasn’t riding back with him.
To her surprise, he smiled and waved at her, telling her without saying a word that he understood and approved. Behind him, she could see her mother, frowning. Tasha would pay for this later, but she suddenly found that she didn’t care. She was an adult, and entitled to make her own choices.
“You look serious,” Rick said.
“I was just thinking about the way these things make me get lost in my own past,” she said.
“Me, too.” He put a hand possessively behind her back. “Want to put on those shoes?”
“My feet have suffered enough,” she said.
He laughed. They walked outside. The sun was still high, reflecting whitely off the bridges. It was only late afternoon.
Tasha felt surprised. She would have thought it was midnight.
She felt as if she had been in prison for a long time and was only now being set free.
“My clothes and car are at the church,” she said.
“I’m sure it’s locked by now.”
She smiled at him
. “You’re really not familiar with my family, are you? If Reverend Brown locked the church while we still had possessions there, he’d suffer the wrath of one of the founding families.”
“My,” Rick said, “Gerald really did marry into royalty.”
“More than you know,” Tasha said. “Brooke was on the Rose Court.”
“She wasn’t Rose Queen?”
Portland’s annual city celebration, the Rose Festival, had high school girls compete for the honor of Rose Queen every year. Those who didn’t make queen became part of the entourage. It was, in some circles (Tasha’s family circles), a Very Big Deal.
“Quite the scandal,” Tasha said, only half jokingly.
“Were you on the Rose Court?”
“Are you kidding? Me?”
“That’s not an answer.”
She felt another blush building. “I headed the Rose Court for our high school. Brooke was in my entourage. That was the scandal.”
“So both students and teachers liked you better.”
“My grades were better,” Tasha said as if that explained everything.
“The Rose Court isn’t all about grades.”
She looked at him. “You’re a native Portlander?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Your knowledge of things Portland. Either that or you study the paper too much in the spring.”
“Rose Queen was extremely important at my high school,” he said.
“Where’d you go to school?” she asked.
“Lincoln. And you?”
She felt sheepish. “Marshall.”
“Ah,” he said. “The kids with the money for a good sports program.”
“Privilege has its uses,” she said, “as you can tell from my position as the head of a major Fortune 500 company.”
His hand fell away from her back, and she suddenly realized he had no idea what she did. For all he knew, she could be telling the truth.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “I don’t even know what companies are Fortune 500 companies, let alone how to head one.”
He stopped suddenly, staring at the parking lot. He looked a bit forlorn. She wondered if he’d heard her, or if he was still worried that she was someone he didn’t want to be with.
The Perfect Man Page 5
