by Zoe Chant
Mindy looked up into those tall faces as everybody said the usual thing, then Mick added, “The plane is this way. Engine running. Ready to go?”
Dennis said, “Mindy would love to see the lights from the sky. Can you make that happen?”
Mindy felt her face reddening. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “If you’ve a flight plan to stick to, I totally understand.”
Mick flashed a smile her way. “I’ll talk to the pilot. As long as we stay well below the commercial aircraft lanes, we should be fine.”
As they walked out to the waiting plane, Shelley said, “Dennis mentioned you like to travel. You haven’t seen L.A. lights from the sky?”
Mindy glanced up at Shelley, who just looked and sounded curious. Mindy said, “Not Christmas lights. For the past few years I’ve left L.A. in early December and come back at least mid-January.”
As they took their places inside the little plane, which seated six, Shelley said, “Where do you usually go that doesn’t have Christmas lights?”
“Anywhere else,” Mindy said. “New Zealand last year, a tour through the remote parts. What a fabulous place.”
“I bet,” Shelley said. “Until recently, I’d never been outside of L.A. I thought the geology along Route 66 pretty amazing.”
“It is,” Mindy said as the plane began bumping and rolling down the runway. “Some of the most beautiful scenery in the world is right there in those national parks along the Rockies.”
“So you’ve traveled a lot?”
“Not like Dennis. Quick getaways now and then, but always back to L.A. where I ran an investigative business.”
“I heard a little about that,” Shelley said. “I’d like to hear more.”
But at that moment they took to the sky, and Mindy peered down as the plane swung around as it gained altitude. Very soon Los Angeles lay below, cupped between its rows of mountains, a vast fairy geometry of brilliant multi-colored lights.
She gazed in rapture as the plane traveled east, then veered northward and rose to clear the San Gabriel mountains.
When at last they were flying over the dark landscape, lit here and there by pockets of lights, Mindy turned to find Dennis and Mick deep in a discussion of what sounded like the guts of film-editing.
Shelley, meeting her gaze, said, “L.A.’s lightscape is exceptionally fantastic this time of year. Thanks for the idea of the detour.”
Mindy was experienced enough in social exchanges to recognize an attempt at being friendly. Sidestepping talking about herself, she said, “One thing I’ve never seen is a film project from the inside. Like your pilot. Location shots, sure—anyone who lives in L.A. has had to drive around at least one. What’s it like, doing stunt work?”
“It’s basically getting paid to have fun,” Shelley said with a grin.
“How did you get into it?”
“With my size and a bunch of older, sports-crazy brothers, it was hard not to get into what they were into, which was martial arts and motocross. I sort of fell into stunt work at UCLA,” she said. “Discovered I liked it way better than memorizing lines for theater—”
Shelley broke off at the sound of Dennis’s sharp voice, “Fucking asshole.”
Mindy was instantly alert, her poodle quivering inside her. “Dennis?”
He glanced back. “Sorry,” he said instantly. “It’s just this damn phone—I keep trying to deal with the never-ending stream, and there’s this asshole who I guess was buddies with that crook Ellerton I helped bust last year. Seems to think I’m here in L.A. to make trouble for him, when I could give a flying fuck for him and his douche-canoe pals.”
Dennis jammed his phone back into his pocket, and made an obvious effort to lighten up. “So, did L.A. in December lived up to the hype?”
“It’s beautiful,” Mindy said. “But if someone is threatening you, shouldn’t we alert the police?”
“It’s bullshit,” Dennis said. “I think he’s running scared. Assuming that someone is going to be scratching below the surface in his own business. Maybe that needs to happen, maybe he’s as clean as he says he is, but either way, it’s not going to be me. Forget I said anything—I’m not letting some asshole ruin the mood here.”
“We’re making our descent,” Mick pointed out, as they seemed to skim the up-thrusting mountains below which lay the flat Imperial Valley, divided up the middle by the tiny lights of Highway 5.
Dennis said in that determinedly congenial voice, “You know what they’ve got planned for us tonight? I hope it includes dinner. I could eat a horse right about now.”
“Dinner it is,” Mick said. “Promised we’d have a table at the steakhouse.”
“Now, that’s what I want to hear,” Dennis said.
Mindy could see that whatever had irritated Dennis was now regarded as old news. Dennis turned to smile at Shelley. “Sorry—we got caught up in tech talk. Mick probably told you that in high school we were the world’s worst would-be filmmakers, and as camera work was mostly my specialty, I can fall into technical discussions in a heartbeat. Tell me about your new pilot.”
Shelley smiled, lifting a shoulder. “Truth is, it’d be easier to screen the pilot than to yak about it.”
Mick broke in, “Especially as we’re just about to start our landing run. Tell you what. If you really want to see it, we’ll make time to screen it. Day of the premier. My place.”
Dennis turned Mindy’s way. “Would you like that?”
What could she say but yes?
* * *
Dennis hadn’t realized how anxious he was that Mindy like his friends—that she have a good time—until he saw her talking to Shelley, and something relaxed a little inside him.
That was before the bullshit email waiting from some douche-nozzle named Atkins. If it was even a real name. This was the third one on a similar theme. Either these were all one guy, or Ellerton had had a lot of friends who found Dennis’s presence in L.A. a threat.
He felt like firing back an email saying that he’d spent weeks in L.A. not long ago, but under a fake name while investigating something far more interesting than a bunch of petty hoods. But he made himself delete the email, just as he the previous two.
One or many, let ‘em stew, Dennis thought as they climbed down the boarding ladder from the plane. Or if Atkins had made some kind of bullshit promise to Ellerton (who was behind bars in Germany, from which he wouldn’t be getting out in this lifetime) about getting revenge, then he could stuff it.
As they headed toward a waiting limo, Dennis’s brain caught up with him at last, and he took Mindy’s hand and slowed their pace so the other two couldn’t hear. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have thought of this before, but where do you want to stay? JP and Jan will offer a guest room. They have a million of them. But I’m so used to staying at my place, which is dinky, old, and has no servants.”
“What will be the least trouble?”
“For whom?” he asked, grinning. “If we stay at our place, we strip the bed and wash the dishes, so my dad won’t come home to the mess when his current deployment is over. If we stay with the LaFleurs, then their army of servants will take care of it all when we’re not around.”
Mindy turned her serious brown eyes to him. “This is unknown territory for me. What would you do if I weren’t here?”
“Stay at my place. Police my own mess before taking off,” he said promptly.
“Then let’s do that,” she said. “I do have a washer and dryer at my apartment, and I’m not afraid to use them,” she added dryly.
“Good,” he, said, and lowered his voice, “I’ll feel less weird about making love to you all night long when we’re not in someone else’s house.”
She smothered a laugh, then caught up with the others. A short time later, they reached the steakhouse that Dennis and the guys had been eating at since they were kids, one of the best places in the small town.
JP and Jan were waiting there. Dennis stood back as the others went through th
e greeting routine, watching carefully. He wanted so badly for Mindy to like the guys, to fit in. To want to make his chosen family her chosen family.
As they ordered and settled into questions, mostly about tomorrow’s wedding, Dennis observed the others observing Mindy. He reveled in everything his Mork did, from her quiet enthusiasm over the menu to her sympathetic responses as Jan—after a glass of wine—got into some of the logistical nightmares that it seemed were inescapable when running a mayoral wedding.
The food was excellent, but as everybody finished, it became apparent that Shelley (who had avoided the wine) was not feeling great.
Dennis noticed that Jan and JP both looked done in, so when Mick offered to take them anywhere in town if they wanted what little nightlife Sanluce offered, Dennis turned to Mindy. “Shall we just go back and turn in early?”
She smiled. “I was just thinking that that would be perfect. But thanks,” she added to Mick.
‘Perfect’ was the word to describe Mindy, Dennis thought as he slid his fingers into hers. It wasn’t just her nice manners, she was really kind inside. The idea of not spending the rest of his life with her made his neck chill. Oh yes, it was time for the most romantic proposal the world had ever seen.
But as he glanced at his tired friends who had both been hip-deep in hassles before their respective weddings, he thought to himself: And if she says yes, I hope she wants to run away to get married.
“You’re staying with us, right?” JP asked when they reached the parking lot.
“Nah, you’ve got enough to deal with,” Dennis said. “We can bunk at my place.”
Jan turned from him to Mindy. “Are you sure? We have a room all ready.”
“Thanks,” Mindy said. “We’ll be fine at Dennis’s house.”
“Okay—see you tomorrow,” Jan said, which set off all the good nights.
Mick dropped them off at Dennis’s. He reached up above the rain spout for the key, and let them in. The place smelled like leather and pine cleaner and other less identifiable aromas that meant home, and he watched Mindy as she looked around the tiny living room with its shabby early eighties furniture, and beyond into the kitchen whose linoleum floor dated back to the fifties, much scrubbed since then.
She sighed. “Very homey,” she said, turning her smile up at him. “JP and Jan are super nice, but this feels comfortable. Not sure I’d feel comfortable in a house where people are trying to organize a wedding.”
“Yeah,” Dennis said, leading the way to his room. “My dad, who calls it like he sees it, says he hates to stay anywhere he can’t fart without causing a national incident, unless he’s under orders.”
Mindy giggled, then said, “I’d like to meet him.”
“I think the two of you would get along like a house on fire,” Dennis said, realizing it was so.
Mindy set her suitcase inside his door, and he watched her take in the plain room, with a few old movie posters he’d left up, the ancient computer-LP-speaker system he and JP had kludged together, the battered dresser that had belonged to his grandparents. “I love imagining a young Menace in here,” she said, turning to him.
“I love imagining Mindy naked in here, right now,” he growled, sliding his arms around her.
He slid his fingers along her ribs and thumbed her nipples through her dress, circling the nubs. He loved how responsive she was—and had just enough time to think how hot he found it—before she attacked him with fierce, wine-tasting kisses.
He kissed her back, each taking command and then surrendering. He sensed how keyed-up she had been, and realized how important this whole meeting was to her, how much she wanted to fit in.
She was so sophisticated about some things, like the way she’d researched yachts and arranged to buy one, then handled all the difficulties of foreign ports and finding places to stay and all the hassles that often took him an entire day. She did it in an hour and made it look easy—and it wasn’t merely her money.
He took pleasure in undressing her, taking it slow as if it were the first time, pausing to touch, and caress, and kiss and nip each beautiful curve as it appeared. When her eyes actually rolled in her head, he growled deep in his chest, and threw her on the bed to ravish her slowly, until her hair was sweaty, her eager nipples were a blushing red from his attentions, and she whimpered with utter abandon as he took possession of her core first with lips, tongue, and teeth, and then ramming himself in to the hilt, just the way she liked it.
Oh yeah, he thought triumphantly as he rode her hard, and she clenched around him, her nails digging into his back, this was going to take all night.
* * *
Mindy got up the next day pleasantly sore. They’d enjoyed wild sex not once but several times during the night, which was exactly what she’d craved most, because her mind had been spinning too much to let her sleep. As she leaned against the shower wall, hot water streaming down her, she felt boneless, all the worry and anxiousness drained out of her.
She thought about the impending wedding, which led right back to the familiar track she’d kept herself busy in hopes of avoiding: marriage.
She and Dennis hadn’t discussed it since she’d told him emphatically that she didn’t believe in it, offering her family as proof. The subject had come up once or twice since, but mostly as jokes, largely about her family’s spectacular lack of success.
But as she’d tried to be a good guest the night before, watching her hosts and Mick and Shelley carefully for social clues, the thing that distracted her the most were the little signs of a bonded pair.
She had only seen that kind of sign once in her life—with her great-grandmother. She’d been a little kid then, unobservant as kids are, or rather uncomprehending, but she kept getting memory flashes as she watched the subtle signs between Mick and Shelley, Jan and JP. No more than flicks of glances, a tip of the head, the touch of a finger, and they seemed to read each other’s minds.
Mick had known when Shelley’s dinner seemed to disagree with her, though Shelley didn’t say a thing. Jan had flicked one look at JP, who smoothly handled all the check-please and see-you-tomorrow.
She wondered if anyone saw those signs between her and Dennis.
Mindful of the time, she got out of the shower and began to dry her hair, so Dennis could have his turn and she could pay attention to her makeup. She’d finally found a simple, beautifully made dress of periwinkle blue, which could be turned into something formal with the addition of the right shoes and jewels. She’d noticed both times she met her that Jan favored Jimmy Choos, so she’d opted for the same designer, but a simple, classic design.
“Wow, you look amazing,” Dennis said, when he came out of the bathroom, self-consciously buttoning the third button of his jacket.
“And you look so good I want to rip that right off you,” she said. “But I shall restrain myself until later.”
“I’ll beat you to it, at least with this damn thing,” he said, grimacing as he gave a tug to his tie. “Only for a friend.”
She laughed, a question bubbling up, Would you wear a tie to your wedding?
Where did that come from?
She bit back the words before they could escape, appalled at herself. Why would she go and spoil what they had, which was perfect? No strings, no expectations, and yet a total understanding that she fully expected would last for the rest of their lives. She regarded their relationship rather like fragile glass, and mentally tiptoed back from any baggage-laden words that could shatter it.
As they walked out to the garage, and his fired up his dad’s Jeep, she felt like she had escaped a landmine.
And was still thinking about it as they parked on a broad sweep before a garden whose beauty reminded her of her beloved Huntington Gardens in Pasadena. This garden was not only spacious, but had had generations to mature, and was impeccably kept.
Even more surprising, the wedding was to take place in a sound shell that looked both futuristic and fantastical. A young kid rather self-consci
ously played romantic piano music from nineteenth century composers on a baby grand as the guests filled into the chairs.
Down in front, a stylish brown-skinned woman who had to be Mrs. LaFleur seemed to be making painstaking conversation with another middle-aged woman whose frown lines looked carved in. She, like Jan, was a natural blonde, but her hair was faded, her attitude brittle as she sat close to an obviously bored man of about sixty, to whom a tall, silver-haired man was trying to engage with.
“Are those Jan’s parents and the LaFleurs?” she whispered to Dennis.
“Yeah. JP’s dad just flew in early this morning—his contract wouldn’t let him off but one day. He’ll be on the way to the airport as soon as the ceremony is over.”
“Geez, that’s kind of harsh.”
“Well, apparently no one can take his place in London. The blonde woman is Jan’s mom, and the guy next to her the current hubs, or maybe he’s a boyfriend. Don’t know which. All I know is, Jan’s mom expected him to walk Jan down the aisle, even though the guy moved in with Jan’s mother when Jan was like twenty-two. So Jan said nobody is walking her down the aisle, and her mother has been sulking since.”
So, Mindy thought. I’m not the only one with family problems. But Jan was making this wedding work for her just the same.
“Mick’s grandparents are the old couple sitting over there. I’ll introduce you afterward. They came over from Russia when Mick was real small.”
“Are they . . .” She flicked her poodle hair to indicate ‘shifter.’
Dennis’s lips twitched. “Both. And mates.”
The piano music came to a halt, and Jan and JP entered the little stage from opposite sides.
Mindy took a moment to deeply appreciate Jan’s Galia Lahav wedding gown from the Twenties collection, as the kid left the stage. Jan was short, every bit as pear-shaped as Mindy, but she rocked those curves with confidence.
Then JP sat down on the piano bench, and softly ran his fingers up in an arpeggio. He and Jan didn’t even seem to look at one another as he played a brief intro from an opera Mindy had seen in Italy, the notes usually played by flute.
