by Tawna Fenske
Drew laughed and broke the kiss. “Men are more driven by lust, huh?”
“Smugness is not becoming on you.”
“This is where I make the joke about how if I were on you, I’d be coming.”
“Pervert.”
“Absolutely.”
Any retort she might have made was cut off by her own gasp of pleasure as he moved his hand under her skirt and one finger traced the dampness between her legs.
“No panties?” he murmured against her throat.
“I couldn’t find the ones that matched the bra.”
“So you went without. Very sensible. Practical.”
“Fuck me.”
He laughed and began to kiss her throat. “I was getting to that.”
She tilted her head back to give him better access, moaning as his tongue grazed the sensitive spot right above her collarbone. She stared up through the sunroof, amazed at how many stars were out. She’d never seen the moon so big, so round, so glowing, so—
“Moonbeam,” Violet said suddenly, sitting up straight.
Drew froze with his mouth against her throat. He stopped kissing, but didn’t pull back.
“Fond as I am of your mother, it’s not a big turn-on to hear you say her name when I’m two minutes from sliding inside you,” he murmured.
“Two minutes?” Violet said wistfully, sitting back farther. “No. Dammit, no. I’m so sorry, Drew, but I promised Moonbeam I’d meet her at the hospital. I totally forgot.”
Drew gave her an incredulous look. His eyes were wild and unfocused, and his hand was still beneath her skirt. “Visiting hours ended ages ago,” he said slowly. “Moonbeam is almost certainly asleep, hanging upside down from the ceiling in a cocoon of her own wings.”
Violet shook her head and wriggled away, trying to pry herself off his lap. “No, really… it’s a long story, but I have to meet her before midnight. I promised.”
“Are you nuts?” Drew asked as Violet sat back in the passenger seat and tried to straighten her skirt. “Never mind, don’t answer that. The hospital staff will never let you in at his hour.”
“Moonbeam requested a special exemption on religious grounds. I’m sorry, Drew, I have to go.”
Drew continued to stare at her with a dumbstruck expression. “In the last twenty minutes you’ve accused me of stalking you, invited me out for chocolate cake, bitched at me for mocking psychics, and then begged me to fuck you in my front seat.”
Violet felt her cheeks heat up. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
“God, no. Believe me, I’m grateful. I’m just feeling a little dizzy from the roller coaster. Do you have a fetish for Toyotas?”
“What?”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that you forced me to grope you here in the front seat the day after we met, and now here we are again—”
“Never mind,” Violet said, reaching for the door handle. “You’re right, this is a dumb idea. I have to go.”
“I didn’t say it was a dumb idea—”
“No, it is. You’re the total opposite of what I’m looking for, and God knows I’m not a bimbo, and I know that’s the sort of woman you’re looking for.”
“Are you always such a romantic, or is it just the full moon?”
“Good night, Drew. Thanks again for coming up here and checking on me.”
“Sure,” he said, looking at her like he expected her to leap onto the hood of the car and start baying at the sky.
Violet opened the door and got out, pushing it shut with more force than it required. She was determined not to look back as she ran across the grass toward her car. This was crazy, totally stupid, and she had to get out of here fast.
Lust makes you stupid, Violet.
Drew was not what she was looking for. And he was the last thing she needed. Jesus, a bar owner who employed strippers and knew she was a fake psychic. Pretty much the opposite of normal.
Not only that, he’d been feuding with her mother for the better part of a decade. Moonbeam had said Drew wanted her space to expand his bar. How far would he go to get it?
Violet shook her head as she fumbled for her car keys. What the hell had she been thinking?
When she got the car door open, she lost her resolve and finally stole a quick glance over her shoulder at Drew.
He was sitting in the driver’s seat, lightly smacking his forehead against the steering wheel.
***
By the time Violet reached the hospital, it was ten minutes before midnight.
She had to check in at the nursing station where Moonbeam had already secured permission for their scheduled evening visit. After getting the go-ahead from the nurse, Violet made her way down the hall as silently as possible in stiletto boots.
She reached the threshold of Moonbeam’s room and noticed the door was ajar. Should she knock or just walk in? Maybe Moonbeam was sleeping.
“Violet?” her mother called from inside the room. “I know it’s you, I sense your presence, dear. Come in.”
Violet rolled her eyes and stepped through the door, biting back the urge to ask her mother who else would be dropping by for a visit at midnight on a Wednesday.
She looked at Moonbeam, taking in the paleness of her face and the thin bones in her cheeks. Had her mother lost weight, or was it just the dim light?
“Hello, Mom,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice low. “How are you feeling?”
“Very well, honey. I love the full moon, don’t you?”
“You look tired. We could do this another time if you want.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. It’s the full moon. We have to do it tonight.”
“But—”
Moonbeam waved her hand, signaling the end of that conversation. “It’s just this lousy hospital light.”
“How soon until they transfer you to the rehab place?”
“Maybe as early as tomorrow. Let’s get on with this now. Did you bring everything?”
Violet sighed and reached over to move the tambourine off the guest chair. She sat down beside her mother’s bed and patted her purse. “I have it all right here.”
“Even the snails?”
“They’ve been sitting in my car in a cooler since lunchtime.”
Moonbeam smiled with obvious delight. “You think of everything, dear.”
“That’s me. A model of efficiency with mollusks and gastropods.”
“You brought the string, too?”
“Red, just like you asked for. Are you sure this is really—”
“Violet, honey, as a skilled clairvoyant, you should know the importance of timing when it comes to placing curses. The full moon only happens once a month.”
“But Mom—”
“No buts, dear. I need you on this.”
Violet shut her mouth and ignored the pang of guilt radiating up from her gut. Her mother was counting on her. Not just for this, but to protect her business. Violet had already put things at risk when she’d drunkenly told Drew she didn’t believe in psychics, and clearly he didn’t intend to let her forget it.
She at least owed Moonbeam this much. She sighed. “Before we start, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, dear.”
“It’s about the music next door. From Drew’s place?”
“Music?”
“There’s this thing I’ve noticed,” Violet began, feeling a little silly just saying it out loud. “The songs he plays sometimes correspond to what’s going to happen, or to the client I’m meeting with, or…”
She stopped, noticing the look of genuine bewilderment on Moonbeam’s face. “That’s not ringing any bells?” she asked her mother faintly.
Moonbeam shook her head. “I really don’t notice the music from next door. Of course, things are different for every psychic, and it could be that something in your aura is causing him to select music that corresponds to—”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything. Dumb idea.”
S
he patted Violet’s hand. “No ideas are dumb, Violet.”
“Right.” She glanced out the window at the full moon. “Shall we get started with this curse? I’m supposed to meet with Frank when he gets back from Chicago the day after tomorrow.”
Moonbeam smiled and leaned back against her pillows. “Okay, take the photo of Frank that you downloaded off the Professional Squash Association website.”
“Got it,” Violet said, and pulled the printout from her bag.
“Move into the center of the room.”
Violet stood up and trudged to a spot near the foot of the bed. “Fine. Now what?”
“Sit down cross-legged on the floor, facing the window. Isn’t it wonderful they gave me a room with a window?”
“I’m sure this is exactly what they had in mind when they did it.”
Moonbeam ignored her and reached over to the bedside drawer. “Now before we start, you’ll need to get out the snails and this vial of urine I got from my catheter bag…”
Violet stared at her mother. Moonbeam smiled and held out the vial.
Violet closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“No dumb ideas, Mom. Right.”
***
The next day, Drew was working on the weekly liquor order while Jamie coached Jerry on his dance routine.
Drew was trying very hard not to look.
“Like this, Jerry,” Jamie said with obvious patience. “You have to really thrust your pelvis during the chorus.”
“But it’s a long chorus.”
“Do you want to make lots of tips?”
“Well, sure.”
“Then trust me on this. And don’t forget to smile.”
Drew shook his head and hit a few buttons on his calculator. He may not have had any interest in watching, but he was pleased to hear Jerry doing well, and even more pleased Jamie was part of it.
Earlier that morning, the three of them had driven out to I-5 to check out the new billboard for the bar. They’d parked on the shoulder with the hazard lights on, staring up at the full-color wonder that Drew had paid a hefty sum for.
It was worth it.
The billboard featured an enormous photo of Jamie in a cowboy costume with his shirt unbuttoned. He was smiling for the camera, and for every Portland commuter traveling this stretch of freeway. The bar’s logo was prominently displayed over Jamie’s crotch.
“Wow, that’s really me,” Jamie had said, staring up with awe.
“It’s really you,” Drew said. “Well, you with some Photoshop touch-ups.”
“It’s amazing,” Jerry whispered, his tone reverent. “Someday, maybe I’ll get to be on a billboard.”
“It’s good to have goals,” Drew agreed.
“Fuckin’ A,” Jerry said.
“I still can’t believe it,” Jamie murmured, shaking his head. “I’m famous.”
“You certainly are,” Drew said, patting him on the shoulder before putting the car back in gear and pulling out onto the freeway. “I’ve already had calls from six bachelorette groups wanting to book private parties next month. This is the best marketing campaign we’ve come up with in years. Expensive as hell, but I think it’s going to pay off.”
Jamie beamed with pride as Drew drove the three of them back to the bar. He hadn’t stopped beaming all morning as he’d coached Jerry through the newest routine. It was only ten a.m., still hours before the bar opened for the day, but Jamie was taking his training job very seriously.
Drew wished he had a million Jamies.
“Don’t spread your legs like that,” Jamie called to Jerry. “That’s for female entertainers.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. No one wants to see that. You can shake your butt, though. Girls like that.”
“They do?”
“Trust me.”
Drew shook his head and flipped a page on his order. He needed the distraction this morning. Lord knows he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. The full moon had made it seem like daylight in his bedroom. He probably could have pulled the shades, but for some ridiculous reason, he wanted to look at the stars.
Damn Violet and her woo-woo astrology crap and her soft sweater, and her softer lips, so warm and inviting—
Drew shook his head again and scowled at the paper. Dumb idea, Watson, he told himself. You heard her last night. You’re not her type. God knows she’s not your type. After everything you went through with Catherine—
“Hey, boss?”
Drew looked up to see Jamie walking toward him, toweling off his broad shoulders as Jerry continued to gyrate on the corner stage to a cheesy George Michael song.
“What’s up, Jamie?”
“I have my reading now.”
“What are you reading?”
“No, I’m not reading… I mean I can read, but I’m kind of slow at it.”
“Oh, your psychic reading.” Drew nodded. “Right. That’s today?”
Of course it was today. Drew had developed a knack for knowing everything he could about Violet’s routine. He knew when she took lunch, what time she fed the mice, how she sometimes talked to herself when she thought no one could hear her.
Great, he was becoming a stalker.
“Right,” Jamie said. “So I was thinking I could take a break and go over there now.”
“Sure, Jamie. No problem. You’ve already put in plenty of overtime this week, so you can take as long as you need.”
“Thanks, boss. You’re the best. Anything you’d like me to tell Miss Violet for you?”
Drew thought about it. There were plenty of things he’d like to say to Violet, but Jamie wasn’t the messenger he’d choose to send.
“No message. But remember what we were saying about pants?”
“Pants?”
“Put some on. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Right, boss. Thanks.”
***
Violet was feeding a french fry to one of the mice when Jamie came striding in, looking beautifully obtuse and characteristically cheerful.
“Hello, Miss Violet,” he said, gripping her hand jovially. “I hope I’m not late?”
“Hey, Jamie. You’re right on time. Have a seat right over there.”
“Thanks!”
Violet smiled at him as she closed the mouse cage and took a seat in the opposite chair. “I’ve never seen you wearing pants before. You look very nice.”
“The boss told me that would be a good idea. I wasn’t sure about a shirt, so I left that off.”
“No problem. We’re not too strict about the dress code around here.”
Jamie smiled a little sadly. “I wish more restaurants were like that.”
Violet clasped her hands together and cleared her throat. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water or tea or anything?”
“No thanks. I’m just excited to get started.”
“Right. So, Jamie… is there anything in particular you’d like to ask about?”
“Are your breasts really real? Because one of the guys said something backstage the other night and I had to punch him because it was disrespectful, but—”
“I meant about you,” Violet clarified, shifting a little in her seat. “Do you have any questions you want to ask… um, for psychic purposes?”
Jamie looked confused. Violet sighed.
“Yes, my breasts are real,” she offered. “So is there anything in your life you want me to tell you about?”
Jamie beamed. “Well, I’m just wondering what my future holds.”
“Oh. Right. Okay, well, let me close my eyes and concentrate on reading your energy.”
“Do I need to close my eyes, too?”
“Sure. That helps.”
“Right. Okay. You’ll tell me when I can open them again?”
“Absolutely. All right, Jamie, before we begin, I just have a couple quick questions for you. Does Drew choose your music for your dance routines?”
“Sure, most of the time. Sometimes I pic
k, but he always has such good ideas and he knows so much about music.”
“That he does,” Violet agreed, feeling a little guilty. “Has he chosen anything new for you lately?”
“Oh, sure, lots of stuff. I have this cool new routine I do to that theme song from Top Gun.”
“You mean the one by Kenny Loggins? ‘Danger Zone’?”
“That’s it. I get to use these flashlight things like the guys at the airport use to guide the planes in, you know? And a pilot uniform, but that comes off pretty fast.”
“Right. Any other songs?”
“Well, there’s this Aerosmith one we’ve been working on lately—‘Dream On’? We do this really cool thing with the black light and I wear this white costume with sequins on it and I have this thing I do on the pole where I go around and around and around and—”
“That sounds really cool. I’d like to see that sometime.”
“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Watson would invite you.”
Violet felt a warm heat creep up her neck at the mention of Drew, but she tried to concentrate. This was Jamie’s reading, after all, and she owed it to him to focus.
You’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, you’re a fraud, chanted Violet’s inner voice.
Violet cleared her throat. “So Jamie, I sense that you have some very big goals in life.”
“Uh-huh,” Jamie replied in a reverent tone.
“You have a lot of dreams, but something’s always holding you back from achieving those. Um, fear?”
“I’m not chicken.”
“No, of course not. Definitely not. But sometimes dreams come with certain risks. Danger, if you will.”
“Yeah,” Jamie agreed. “Danger.”
“But risks can be good. If it means achieving your goals, that is.”
Violet gritted her teeth, not sure what the hell she was driving at. Maybe she should have asked for more songs. Or maybe this was a ridiculous theory, this stupid thing with the music. Just a few silly coincidences.
There are no coincidences in the life of a psychic, Violet.
Shut up, Mom.
“So anyway, Jamie, I get the sense that you have big dreams that you need to pursue in life, and that achieving those dreams won’t necessarily be an easy thing.”
