Lucky In Love

by Deborah Coonts

  “Perfectly staged for the consumption of the masses.”

  “You know, lucky, you’re becoming a bit of a cynic.”

  “Weren’t you the one who called this a farce?” I watched the contestants as they fidgeted on their stools. They looked... falsely animated, except for Walker, who simply glowered.

  “I was hoping you would disagree.” Ella once again trotted out a serious observation in her inside voice—I was beginning to see a pattern. “If you ask me, they are all . . .”

  “Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

  “Ah, there you are. I knew I could count on you.” She squeezed my hand with her tiny one. “You’re a hummingbird.”

  “What?” I stifled a laugh. “A hummingbird is the smallest bird on the planet. I’m an amazon.”

  “Perhaps, but if you have hummingbird magic, then you have a talent for finding the good in people. And you never look back wishing for what was. Instead, you make the most of what is, spreading joy.” She gave me a kind smile, one I’d never seen on her before. “If that describes anyone, it’s you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I truly was blindsided. I never knew Ella to be particularly insightful, although she was a trained therapist.

  “It comes with a warning, though.” Her expression turned serious. “You have an abundance of energy and a spirit that cannot be confined—you must fly free.”

  “Is that figurative or literal?”

  “Perhaps both.”

  With nothing more to say, we turned our attention back to the stage. This was the weirdest day—nothing was as I thought it was, or as it appeared to be. Unexpected people lifted my spirits. And the ones I normally counted on... not so much.

  Trey again addressed the audience. “Remember, we are down to three couples. Melina and John are in the lead, Walker and Buffy and Vera and Guy are trailing, separated by only a point. Guy and Vera, as the couple in third place, will lead off tonight.”

  “Guy, you go first. If Vera were an animal, which would she be?” Trey Gold stuck the mike to Guy’s face.

  “A peahen. You know, the girl peacock.” He looked smug—still like Malibu Ken in his Hawaiian shirt and khakis, with his tan and his hair gelled to spikes—but smug nonetheless. “She’s not much to look at. Know what I mean?” He gave an exaggerated wink to the crowd. “She can’t hold a candle to the guy.”

  The crowd went nuts as Vera leaned back, eyeing Guy with cool disdain. Tonight Vera had ditched the Brooks Brothers attire in favor of a soft, feminine skirt and a light pink silk top. With her hair falling loose and free she looked almost pretty—except for the pinched look on her face and the venom in her eyes. “Perhaps her plumage isn’t as fine, but a peahen sticks by her mate. Pretty on the inside instead of the outside. That’s more than I can say for you,” Vera said.

  The crowd hooted and jeered, egging them on.

  “Those two have lost their magic,” Teddie whispered.

  “You have no idea.” Despite his questioning look, I refused to give him more.

  “Okay, Vera, your turn.” Before Vera launched in, Trey turned to the crowd. “This is going to be good. Nothing like a woman scorned.” Then he turned back to Vera. “Okay, if Guy was an animal . . .”

  “What makes you think he’s not?” Vera’s coy manner seemed out of character, but the crowd bought it, cheering at her innuendo.

  Trey laughed along. “Good one. So, what’ll it be?”

  “Well.” Vera milked it, working the crowd. “At first I thought maybe a unicorn.”

  “What?” Guy hissed, his face flushing red. “You’re telling them I haven’t got a . . .”

  Vera turned to him and asked sweetly, “A what?”

  “You know.” Guy lowered his voice further. “A... thing.”

  “I said unicorn, Guy,” Vera said, patting him on the knee, “not eunuch.”

  The crowd erupted. Gales of laughter washed over the stage. Guy looked like a man ready to hit someone, but he didn’t know what for. Trey let them laugh. Conflict was good for the show—or so I’d been told.

  “I don’t know what she sees in him,” Teddie whispered. “Do you?”

  “A pretty package?”

  “Yeah, but you still gotta talk in the morning.”

  “Perhaps talking is overrated?” I teased, just to see what he’d say.

  Before Teddie could respond, Trey once again established order. “Vera, be serious. A Las Vegas wedding extravaganza is on the line here.”

  Vera heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If you insist. I would say that Guy is a lion.”

  That made Guy sit up a bit straighter, pulling his shoulders back. He even sucked in his stomach and flexed his biceps a bit, but maybe I imagined that part.

  “Yes, a lion,” Vera continued. “The male of the pride who sits around admiring himself while the females do all the work.”

  Again, gales of laughter. Guy sulked as the truth finally hit home. He was going to be the butt of the joke on national tv and there was nothing he could do about it. Of course, the tv audience voted and they might think Vera was being a bitch, but I don’t think she gave a rat’s ass.

  I crossed my arms and settled in for the show. Not that I liked bitchiness—I always thought there was a nicer way to get your point across—but I did appreciate a woman who stood up for herself.

  Trey turned to the camera. “Audience, it’s time to vote.” He rattled off the number to call. Apparently the couples were supposed to be rated on a compatibility index of one to ten, with one being the least compatible. And, curiously enough, there was some flexibility built in to the show. If someone didn’t like any of the couples, they could vote accordingly, and explain why in a comment box. “Remember, you have the rest of the show to call in. All votes will be tabulated at the end.”

  Walker and Buffy were next.

  “Buffy, your turn.”

  “A jaguar,” she said, in her high, squeaky voice. She still channeled Betty Boop, but tonight the dress was black. Although the purse was the same—a fashion faux pas of epic proportion. I’d shoot myself before I appeared on national television carrying a stuffed animal.

  Walker didn’t react—he sat stoic in his buttoned-up silence. The makeup artist was truly that, an artist. She must’ve used Spackle or applied foundation with a trowel—Walker’s wounds were invisible.

  “Jaguars are known for their sneak attacks,” Buffy recited, as if she’d memorized her part in a play... or a farce, as Ella had observed. “A jaguar’s prey never sees it coming.”

  The crowd awwwwed. Apparently they interpreted this as something cute—like love bites you when you least expect it. I knew better, but I wasn’t giving it up.

  “Walker?” Trey asked.

  “Buffy would be a white rabbit.”

  Buffy bounced up and down on her stool as she clapped her hands. “How sweet. A cuddly rabbit.”

  “Who can’t hide in the wild due to its color, so it needs protection.” Walker delivered his lines stiffly and without emotion. He came across harsh, but Buffy pretended not to mind as she threw her arms around his neck and gave him an exaggerated kiss.

  “That was weird,” Teddie said. The crowd clearly agreed, as their response was ambivalent and muted. “There’s something going on there, but it’s hard to read.”

  “If you can’t have his heart, take his wallet.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Money, a substitute for love.”

  “You believe that?” Teddie sounded surprised.

  “We’re not talking about me... or you.” I shot him a look. “But, the term gold digger must’ve come from somewhere.”

  “True.” Teddie shook his head and grimaced. “The two of them together makes me feel like nothing is right in the world.”

  “Happiness can’t be bought.”

  “Right.”

  At least we agreed on something.

  Trey waved his arms with a flourish. “Now, last but not least, our leaders, Melina
and John.”

  The crowd applauded politely—no wolf whistles, no shouts, no emotion. Somehow that seemed to fit.

  “John, what animal would Melina be?” Trey asked, still energetic, but almost falsely so, as if he was trying to inject his own energy into the game. Not a bad idea—John and Melina’s cool reserve acted like a wet blanket on the fire of the crowd’s enthusiasm.

  “A snow leopard.”

  “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” Trey brightened. “Tell us why.”

  “The snow leopard is regal, reclusive, almost mythic in its desirability, but very difficult to find.” John had no inflection in his voice. No real emotion in his eyes when he reached for her hand. A pragmatic choice. A life box checked.

  I looked at the crowd around me. Underwhelmed, and so not fooled.

  “Almost mythic in its desirability?” Trey repeated, looking for a foothold. “A beautiful sentiment.”

  “Melina?”

  “That’s very sweet.” She smiled. She seemed pleased... reserved, but happy enough. In her red dress and kick-ass stilettos, with her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup subtly applied, she personified perfection in a Grace Kelly kind of way. Removed, and somehow above it all. “John, I picked a cheetah for you. Regal, graceful, fast, almost unattainable.” A frown skittered across her face then was gone, leaving her brows slightly furrowed.

  “This is like voting for president,” I whispered in Teddie’s ear. “May the least awful win.”

  Trey Gold cut to his going-to-commercial patter, thanking everybody and telling everyone to vote. During the break he talked to the couples, joking, trying to loosen them up. As a pro, he knew the energy was lacking, and the show would lay an egg if something didn’t happen.

  “Who’re you voting for?” I asked Teddie, my celebrity judge.

  “I don’t want to vote for any of them.”

  “The rules state you should pick the best couple. So, pick the best couple.” He looked at me like I’d started drinking early. Which, all things considered, wouldn’t have been a bad idea.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  I just smiled—that statement opened a whole can of worms.

  Ox, my ass.

  * * *

  The crowd milled around while the votes were tabulated. Open bars dotted the circumference of the dolphin enclosure, and most people took advantage, grabbing the libation of their choice. In short order, the mood elevated, fueled by a steady supply of eighty proof. People chatted animatedly as they made their way back to their seats.

  Teddie and I once again settled in. Ella had disappeared, which didn’t bother me. I scanned the crowd for my parents, spying them in the back, next to one of the bars. Behind the hedges near the exit, smoke rose in a plume—hamburgers sizzling on the grill, nearing perfection. I could picture Jean-Charles, spatula in hand as he worked in concert with Rocco and Gail, smiles of contentment competing with frowns of concentration. Off to the side, Miss P nuzzled Jeremy, who held her close with an arm around her shoulders.

  Trey Gold bounded back on stage and the crowd quieted. The stools had been removed and the three couples stood in a semi-circle behind Trey. With various expressions on each of their faces, the one universal emotion evident seemed to be relief.

  Drums rolled, commanding everyone’s attention.

  My heart beat faster, I had no idea why. Perhaps it was the terror of knowing there would be losers once a winner was chosen. Nobody should be branded a loser, unless they deserved it, of course. And none of these people did. Oh, they’d made interesting choices, for curious reasons. But hadn’t we all?

  Trey waited for the crowd’s absolute attention, then milked it a few beats more, ratcheting up the suspense. Finally, he presented the envelope and worked a finger under the flap. He pulled out the card and scanned it. A stunned look. I know I saw it, but it was quickly concealed as his professional mask fell back into place.

  “Now this is interesting, folks. Very interesting. Not quite what any of us was expecting.” He looked at the crowd, then focused on the camera. “And the winners are . . .”

  The crowd didn’t move. I didn’t think anyone even breathed. The soft calls of the animals in the Secret Garden and the muted rumble of traffic from the 15 were the only sounds—besides the pounding of my heart in my ears, but I didn’t think anyone else could hear that.

  Trey licked his lips and smiled as he gave a slight shrug. “The winners are Vera and . . .”

  Guy Handy clutched his chest. I’m sure visions of a polygamy reality show danced in his head. Some in the crowd cheered. Some laughed. Some tossed out a boo or two.

  Trey held up his hand. “Wait.”

  The crowd quieted.

  “The winners are Vera and... Walker.”

  A moment of stunned silence, then the crowd erupted. I couldn’t help myself as I laughed along with them. Surprise hit Vera and Walker as they looked at each other with disbelieving smiles. Then Vera leapt into Walker’s arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, her arms circling his neck. Their kiss lasted a very long time... much to the delight of the crowd.

  Teddie whirled to me. “Vera and Walker? How’d that happen?”

  I studied the man I called the love of my life, then let my gaze drift to the gentle wafts of smoke curling upward into the dazzling lights of Vegas. Life could take the most surprising twists. Who knew where mine would lead?

  “Teddie, my love. Don’t you know by now that love always finds a way?”

  THE END

  Thank you for coming along on Lucky’s wild ride through Vegas. Please drop me a line at debcoonts@aol.com and let me know what you think. And, please leave a review at the outlet of your choice.

  Also by Deborah Coonts

  Read a short excerpt below

  Love and lust—two four-letter words men often confuse.

  More specifically, a certain man . . . the man standing in my doorway.

  Teddie.

  My heart tripped, then steadied.

  Thinner than I remembered, he still had that tight ass, those broad shoulders, spiky blond hair, soulful baby-blues, and a sippin’-whiskey-smooth voice that could warm me to the core, despite my best efforts to douse the fire.

  Teddie.

  Despite serious reservations about turning a platonic friendship into something . . . not platonic . . . I had let him lead me into the deep, dark waters of love. And being an all-or-nothing kind of gal, I’d done a half gainer off the high dive and things had not gone swimmingly.

  He left.

  And now he was back.

  As I looked at him and tried to compose myself—it just wouldn’t do to let him see the splash his return made—I wondered how I’d ever get my heart back. The empty hole in my chest echoed with longing, leaving me winded.

  My office phone jangled, giving me an excuse to avoid Teddie for a few moments longer. I grabbed the receiver. “Customer relations, Lucky O’Toole speaking. How may I help you?”

  “We have a problem.” Detective Romeo with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department started in without preliminaries—not a good sign.

  “What’s this we shit, Kemosabe?” I tried to make light. Apparently I failed miserably.

  Romeo’s tone hardened. “Dead body. Back lot. Somebody wrapped her head in plastic and killed her with a smoking gun. You’re going to want to see this one.”

  “Dang.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I never want to see that kind of thing. You know that.” I looked up and locked eyes with Teddie, who stared at me, his eyes dark and troubled.

  “Trust me on this one.” He took an audible breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ve got to take Christophe Bouclet back to his father.”

  “I’ll meet you there. This one’s bad.”

  As if they all aren’t bad. “Meet me where?” My only answer was the hollow echo of a disconnected line. Romeo had hung up—he knew how much I hated that little bit of rudeness.

/>   Men.

  I narrowed my eyes at the prime example of the Y chromosome set standing in front of me.

  Teddie knew me well enough to take a step back. “Romeo?” he asked with a forced lilt to his voice.

  I set the receiver back in its cradle, but refused to let Romeo and Teddie get me all worked up. Problems, I could handle—as the vice president of Customer Relations at the Babylon, Las Vegas’s most over-the-top Strip property, problems were my job. And, if I can say anything about myself, I’m good at my job.

  Now, to the most immediate problem. “Teddie, why are you here?”

  Ignoring my glower, he continued, sounding like an old friend stopping by to reminisce. “Your office door was open,” he began in a casual tone, as if the earth still rotated on the same axis. “I expected to find you in your old office. What are you doing back here in this construction zone? Not VP digs. Congrats. By the way.” Teddie paused when his eyes came to rest on the young boy in my lap who clutched a crayon and concentrated on the drawing in front of him. I saw questions lurking in Teddie’s eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t voice them, choosing instead to give me a tentative grin.

  A dagger to the heart.

  A frown was the only response I could muster as my pulse pounded in my ears and I struggled to remain outwardly calm.

  “This early in the morning I expected to see your staff out front,” he continued, ignoring the fact that this whole situation was fraught with possibilities of homicide. “But the desks were empty. Since you and I are . . . friends . . . I didn’t think you’d mind me wandering back here to find you.”

  What was I going to say? “Get the hell out” seemed a bit extreme. And “no, we’re not friends” would have been too hard to admit. Offering to shoot him the next time he wandered in unannounced also seemed a bit aggressive. Maybe. I opted to duck-and-weave. “If I minded, would it matter?”

  Teddie’s smile dimmed and he jammed his hands in his pockets as he shifted from one foot to the other, his shoulders hunched around his ears.

  I took a deep breath and blew at a strand of hair that tickled my forehead. “To be honest, you were the last person I expected to darken my doorway this morning. Weren’t you just in Prague or Moscow or someplace half a world away?”