by Jane Graves
“Yeah,” Heather said. “I wanted a professional man. You wanted a porn star.”
“Hey! Stamina is a very worthwhile quality in a man. I mean, if it’s over in five minutes, then what’s the point of doing it at all?” Alison looked across the room. “And speaking of men we’d like to marry . . .”
Heather turned to see one of McMillan’s regulars sitting at a table with another man she didn’t recognize. Her heart always skipped a little whenever she saw Tony McCaffrey, but only because there were certain basic reactions a woman couldn’t fight.
“Marriage?” Heather said. “A man like him?”
“You’re right. Forget marriage. I’d settle for a nice, steamy affair.”
Which was about all a man like Tony would be able to deliver, since guys like him were all about playing the field. With those captivating green eyes and dazzling smile, he could have a woman stark naked before she knew what hit her.
“Yeah, he’s gorgeous, all right,” Heather said. “But would you really want a man like him?”
“Please. Would you kick him out of bed?”
“I’d never go to bed with him in the first place.”
Alison rolled her eyes. “You are such a liar.”
“No, I’m not. I like men with brains. Guys like him are so good-looking they’ve never had to rely on anything else.”
“I don’t know about you,” Alison said, “but I’d be having sex with the man, not asking him to derive a new law of physics.”
“Fine. Why don’t you hop over there and see if he’s free tonight?”
“Right,” Alison said. “And the entire time we were talking, he’d be looking over my shoulder at one of the waitress’s butts.”
“Exactly. What’s the future with a guy like him?”
“Forget the future. I’d be perfectly willing to take him one night at a time.” Alison sighed wistfully. “Why is it women like us never get men like him?”
“Because we’re B-cups with three-digit IQs.”
“Seriously. Look what we have to offer. We’re college graduates. We have good jobs with 401(k)s. We’re not in therapy. Maybe we’re not Miss America material, but we don’t scare small children, do we?”
Heather frowned. “Next you’re going to say we have good personalities and childbearing hips.”
“Trouble is, we have boring professions. You’re an accountant, and I’m a loan officer. What man wants to date either one of those?”
“So what should we do? Become flight attendants? Exotic dancers? Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders?”
“I was thinking Hooters girls. Just once I’d like a man to love me for my body instead of my mind.”
And that was exactly what it took to get the attention of a man like Tony: a hot body in low-slung jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed off perky breasts, a belly-button ring, and a lower-back tattoo. A woman whose intelligence was inversely proportional to her bra size.
Tracy swung by and asked if they wanted another martini. Heather just asked for the check.
“Leaving so soon?” Alison asked.
“Soon as I finish this one. I have to get up early in the morning. Regina’s picking me up at seven to go to the airport.”
“So you’re actually going on the bridesmaid trip? You said you’d rather sit through a time-share presentation in Death Valley.”
“Well, it is a free trip, and I’ve never been to Vegas.” Then she sighed. “And my mother really wants me to go. It reminds me of when she wanted me to try out for the high school drill team.”
“So you could be around all the popular girls?”
“I think she’s hoping that if I hang out with Regina and the other bridesmaids, there’ll be men all over the place. That way, at least I’ll have a shot at getting one of their castoffs.”
“Actually,” Alison said, “that’s not a bad plan.”
“Wrong. It’s the sign of a desperate woman. And my mother is more desperate than most. It drives me crazy.”
But if Heather was honest with herself, the reason it drove her crazy was because she was beginning to feel a little desperate. The closer she got to thirty, the more she felt a million years of evolution bearing down on her. No, she didn’t want Og smacking her over the head with his club and dragging her back to his cave to make little Oggies, but she wasn’t immune to the forces of nature. A forward-moving relationship with a man that eventually led to marriage would be nice, but so far it hadn’t happened.
She glanced back at Tony. Yeah, he was hot, all right, but men like him had never been part of her dreams, just as she’d never been part of theirs. She’d always figured that the man she married probably wouldn’t be all that handsome, but he would be reasonably attractive. He might not be wickedly charming, but he’d certainly be a good conversationalist. They’d settle down, have a couple of kids, take summer vacations, and plan for retirement.
Heather had always prided herself on being a realist, and that was reality.
Tony couldn’t believe this. Three days before closing, and suddenly Dave was pulling the rug right out from under him?
“Come on, Dave,” Tony said. “You can’t do this to me. You said you’d loan me the money.”
“It’s my wife. We had a big fight last night, and she told me I couldn’t give you the twenty thousand.”
Tony took a calming breath, trying to keep his panic under control. “Dave. You told me you talked to her. You said she was okay with it.”
“She was. Then she got to talking to her girlfriends. They told her that if I was part owner of a bar, I’d be spending all my time there.”
“That’s crazy! You’re going to be a silent partner. I’ll be running the place.”
“I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s convinced I’ll want to be here all the time. She already thinks I play too much golf.”
“So tell her you’ll play less golf. Tell her you’ll throw your damned golf clubs into the lake. For God’s sake, tell her something. I’m set to close on this place Monday morning!”
“Sorry, man. I can’t help you.”
Tony sat back, reeling with disbelief. “Dave? How long have we been friends?”
Dave looked away. “A couple of years.”
“Six years. Six. Ever since we worked at Charlie’s together. And this is what you do to me?”
“You’re a friend, Tony. She’s my wife. I have to live with her. And trust me, sometimes that ain’t easy.” He checked his watch and sighed. “I have to get home. If I’m late for dinner, I’ll catch hell.”
As Dave started to get out of the booth, Tony grabbed his arm. “Come on, Dave. I’m begging you. Do something. You know how much I want to buy this place.”
When Dave looked at him sadly, Tony knew he was sunk. “Sorry, buddy. I really am. But I just can’t help you.”
Dave walked away, leaving Tony alone with his beer, his frustration, and a dream that was falling apart at the seams. If he didn’t show up with the entire down payment at the closing on Monday morning, the deal was dead.
Think. Think! How can you come up with twenty thousand dollars by Monday?
He sat there a long time, trying to formulate a plan, but nothing came to him. He was completely tapped out himself, and he had no other friends he could borrow that kind of money from, particularly on such short notice. No friends, and certainly no family members.
He didn’t own a house, so a home equity loan was out.
He glanced over at the pool tables. He knew he could bet on a few games and come out a winner, but betting on pool in a neighborhood bar wouldn’t net him twenty grand until the beginning of the next millennium, much less by Monday.
He dropped his head to his hands, letting out a sigh of disappointment. By the time this place came up for sale again, he’d probably be collecting Social Security.
Then slowly he raised his head again as a thought occurred to him. There was a way he could conceivably put twenty thousand dollars in his pocket bef
ore Monday. Betting on pool might be out, but there were other kinds of gambling. . . .
No. He was crazy even to consider it.
But as the minutes passed and his desperation grew, even a crazy plan seemed better than no plan. It was a long shot—such a ridiculous long shot that no reasonable man would even consider doing it—but it was his only shot at keeping this opportunity from passing him by.
He took out his cell phone, dialed American Airlines, and booked a flight to Las Vegas, praying that Lady Luck would follow him all the way there.
The bridesmaid entourage arrived in Las Vegas around noon on Friday. They took a cab to the hotel, and by the time everyone paired up for rooms, Heather of course was the odd woman out. But that was okay. She didn’t mind a room by herself if the alternative was to be stuck with a woman who chattered incessantly, complained about her nonexistent cellulite, and hogged the bathroom.
After checking in, Heather spent the afternoon at the pool with the other women, who looked sleek and svelte in their designer swimsuits. Heather finished the novel she’d bought at the airport before the flight, all the while listening to One through Five flirt with every man in the vicinity. Regina did the same, only her flirting was accompanied by a giggle and a flash of her three-carat diamond. Sorry, guys. I know you want me, but I’m taken.
That evening they went to dinner, and then the other women sashayed across the casino floor, gambling just enough to allow them to sidle up next to any handsome high rollers who might be looking for a good time.
Thanks to a statistics class she’d had in college, taught by a Vegas-addicted professor, Heather knew quite a bit about gambling. How to play the games. What the odds were. Which games were more favorable to the bettor even though they were all stacked in favor of the house. She’d even tried gambling once on a day trip with Alison to a Shreveport casino, and she’d actually won a hundred dollars playing craps. But since it was all about luck, she knew when to quit. At the end of the day, she’d reached the conclusion that gambling was at best expensive entertainment and at worst a horrible addiction, which meant she had no desire to do it again.
The bridesmaids’ other recreation of the evening—picking up strange men—held no appeal for Heather, either. So instead of trailing after them, she strolled up and down the Strip to do a little people-watching, ducked into a few shops, and then took in a comedy show.
Later, as she was going back up to her room, she found a ten-dollar chip on the floor outside her room, which she stuck in her purse to take home as a souvenir. There. She’d gotten lucky in Vegas. Only it wasn’t the kind of “getting lucky” her mother had hoped for.
On Saturday morning, they all slept in, then had lunch at a café in the hotel. Heather learned that Five hadn’t returned to her room until after three o’clock, and One hadn’t made it back until dawn. Both of them described their sexual escapades in graphic detail, and the longer they talked, the more Heather realized how white-bread her sex life had been up to now.
Heather passed on the spa excursion with the other women, then met them for dinner that night. One and Five were still talking about their exploits from the night before, and as Heather sipped an after-dinner martini, she found herself wondering if there might be a decent pay-per-view movie she could watch in her room that night.
“Heather,” Regina said. “You don’t seem to be having a good time.”
Heather looked up, a little startled. “I’m having a wonderful time.”
“You haven’t said ten words all weekend.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“I know what your problem is.”
“My problem?”
Regina fanned the bridesmaids with call-to-arms expression. “Girls, we need to find Heather a man.”
Heather almost choked on her martini. “What did you say?”
“Yes!” Four said. “I love matchmaking.”
“Me, too,” Five said. “This hotel is full of single men. We’ll have you hooked up in no time.”
Heather was flabbergasted. Were these women out of their minds? “No. Really. I think I’m just going up to my room to watch a movie or something.”
“Oh, come on, Heather!” Regina said. “Do you have to be such a stick-in-the-mud? Let us help you find a man.”
“No, thanks,” Heather said. “One-night stands aren’t my thing.”
“You know what they say,” Two said, wiggling her eyebrows. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
Heather doubted that. The STD she was likely to acquire would probably follow her all the way back to Texas.
“Come on,” Three said. “Don’t you want to hook up?”
“Thanks for the offer,” Heather said, “but I think I’ll just go back to my room.” She downed the rest of her martini, then rose from her chair, wobbling a little as the alcohol rushed to her head.
“You know, Heather,” Regina said, “it’s pretty clear why you can’t find a man.” Heather froze. “It’s because you don’t even try.”
Well, hell. What was Heather supposed to say to that? If she said she did try, she looked like a pitiful woman who couldn’t get a man’s attention. But if she agreed that she didn’t try, she looked like a pitiful woman who’d given up on getting a man’s attention.
“I told you I’d rather just go back to my room,” Heather said.
“Well, if that’s the way you want it,” Regina said. “Don’t say we didn’t try to help.”
Rationally, Heather knew Regina acted the way she did because she dealt with her own insecurities by putting other people down. Irrationally, Heather wished she could wrap her hands around her cousin’s neck and squeeze until her eyeballs popped out.
“And I appreciate that,” Heather said, with sweetness edging into sarcasm, “but like I told you, I’m calling it a night.”
As she turned and left the restaurant, she could feel Regina’s smirk following her all the way out the door.
Actually, Regina was wrong. Heather did try to meet men. She did everything the women’s magazines said single women were supposed to do. Get out in the community. Do volunteer work. Take up a hobby. Join a church group. Meet men at work. Hang out in the produce section of the grocery store. She’d done it all, with no results. Now, not only was she stuck being in Regina’s wedding, but she probably wouldn’t even have a date to bring to it.
Heather turned the corner into the elevator lobby, where a man stood with his back to her. The UP button had already been pushed, but he reached over impatiently and jabbed it again. She came up beside him.
“The elevators are really slow here, aren’t they?” she said.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I could walk the stairs faster than this.”
“I’m on the twenty-second floor,” she said with a smile. “I think I’ll wait.”
As she spoke, she turned to look up at him, and for a moment she thought she must be seeing things.
Tony McCaffrey?
She turned away quickly. No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t possibly be standing next to her in this elevator lobby a thousand miles from home. Identical twin, maybe?
She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. Nope. It was Tony. Even an identical twin couldn’t be that identical. He was dressed the way she’d always seen him— casual and comfortable, this time in a faded blue polo shirt, well-worn jeans, and Nikes.
Her heart rate picked up a little, as it always did whenever she saw him. But what woman’s wouldn’t? Some men were so handsome that any woman between puberty and the grave would stop to stare, and Tony McCaffrey was one of them.
Then all at once, Heather realized something wasn’t right. Instead of the electric smile he wore most of the time, his mouth was turned down in a frown, and his face was tight and drawn. He stabbed the UP button again, then turned and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh, a beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.
“Bad night?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. They we
re heavy with gloom. “They don’t get much worse.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I needed to win tonight. I really, really needed to win.”
Uh-oh. She’d seen him hustle plenty of games of pool, but she’d never taken him for a gambling addict.
“Loan shark?” she asked.
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
He took a sip of his beer, still looking morose, and for a moment Heather thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“Have you ever had something you wanted really badly?” he finally said. “So badly you’d do anything to get it?”
Heather shrugged. “Well, yeah. I guess.”
“No. I mean, something that was really important to you.”
“Like what?”
He let out a breath of resignation. “I was going to buy a bar.”
“A bar? What kind of bar?”
“A little place called McMillan’s. It’s a neighborhood bar in Plano, Texas.”
Heather blinked in surprise. He was going to buy McMillan’s?
Then she remembered hearing that the bar was going up for sale. Tony spent a lot of time at McMillan’s—drinking, playing pool, and hitting on women—but she’d never imagined him actually owning the place.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” Heather asked.
“Uh . . . should I?”
“I’m from Plano. My friend and I go to McMillan’s sometimes. I’ve seen you there.”
When he stared at her blankly, it confirmed exactly what Heather had always thought. The moment she walked through the door of a bar, she slipped right into a cloak of invisibility.
“Yeah,” he said finally, “I think I remember seeing you there,” even though she knew he didn’t.
“So what happened?” she asked. “Did the deal fall through?”
“A friend was going to loan me the last twenty thousand I needed. He backed out. If I don’t have the money to close the deal by Monday morning, it’s dead in the water. I came to Vegas thinking maybe . . .” He exhaled. “Oh, hell. It was a stupid idea.”
