The Stand-In

by Leo, Rosanna

  Actually, she thought, putting her phone away, she preferred to deliver this invitation in person. She wanted to see his face when he read it. It would give her a laugh, a sorely needed laugh.

  Something told her Patrick Lincoln, patron saint to suave men everywhere, might not find the next wedding quite as enjoyable.

  * * * *

  “You want me to wear what?”

  “You heard me.”

  Patrick only frowned harder, his eyes wide. As they sat together in the coffee shop, he clutched his espresso so hard she feared he might damage the cup. “Actually, I’m really hoping I heard you wrong.” He shook his head, like a dog dragging its wet carcass out of a lake. “Tell you what. I’ll get my tux dry-cleaned and wear that, okay? It’s classic black. Goes with everything.”

  Winn bit her lip, trying not to chortle. “I’m sorry, Patrick. You can’t wear a tux to this wedding. You’ll look out of place. You don’t want to be the only one dressed inappropriately, do you?”

  “Yes, Winn. Yes, I do.” His mouth opened and closed several times. “What you’re suggesting is…abominable.”

  “Didn’t you say you were going to be the peanut butter to my bread? We won’t match if you wear a tux.”

  He seemed to lose all his tan as he considered the implications. “Who are these people anyway? Why would they make their guests suffer like this?”

  “Actually, it seems their guests are excited about the wedding. And Josh and Sunshine are adorable.”

  “The bride’s name is Sunshine?”

  Her nostrils quivered as she sucked back a belly laugh. “Do you have a problem with her name, too?”

  His lips compressed and he spoke through clenched teeth. “No, but it explains a lot.”

  “Look,” she said, placing a hand on his white knuckles. “I realize you’re accustomed to refined country-club weddings. Think of this as an adventure. Something unique. The stuff of good memories.”

  He glanced at the invitation she’d handed him. “Nightmares, more like it.” He regarded her again, giving her the side eye. “Have you done a wedding like this before?”

  “Nope. I don’t think there’s ever been a wedding like this before.” This time, she couldn’t hold back her laughter. It came bubbling out of her, a chain reaction of unladylike snorts.

  He narrowed his eyes in disdain, glaring at her like an imperious Roman senator eyeing a dirty peasant. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t lie.” Her stomach wobbled in mirth. “I’m loving this. Your face…you look like I just set your puppy on fire.”

  “That imagery is inappropriate and frankly shocking.” He stood and put his hands on his hips.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, still cackling.

  “To get more coffee. Something tells me I’m going to need it.”

  As soon as he turned his back, Winn put her head down on the table and allowed the tears of glee to rain down her cheeks.

  * * * *

  Patrick trudged after Winn as she marched down King Street West. When she’d informed him they had to shop for his wedding outfit in the theater district, his terror had climbed to new heights. Surely the woman was mad? And the wedding couple, this Josh and Sunshine, had to be certifiable. How else to explain this fiasco of a wedding? Okay, it hadn’t happened yet, but surely it would end in tears. Or with all of them being carted away to the nearest insane asylum. Weddings were supposed to be dignified affairs, or so his married friends assured him. Not that he’d ever planned one for himself.

  As he considered the grim prospects, he stopped at a street meat vendor, hoping Winn wouldn’t notice he’d stopped following her. However, within seconds, she turned, like an angry schoolmarm and hauled him away before he could even think of hiding behind a sausage with extra sauerkraut.

  “Let’s go,” she taunted, her lips still quivering with mirth. “Wally’s Costume Emporium is just ahead.”

  “You know, Winn Busby, I feel a great need to put you over my knee right now.”

  “Aw. I’m so glad to see you’re already getting into character. Keep it up, Paddy.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” He paused. “Hang on. Did you say we’re shopping for my wedding outfit at Wally’s Costume Emporium?”

  “Yup.”

  “Dear Lord, give me strength.” She dragged him into a colorful building on which was painted various characters from modern musical theater, wizards and witches and that silly Phantom of the Opera dude.

  He cursed as she led him up a long set of stairs, and he decided to reward himself by checking out her amazing ass. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. For a moment, he forgot his trials and lost himself in her swaying hips. Fucking amazing. The only bright spot in a dismal day.

  They arrived at the top floor and he had to refrain from gasping at all the baubles and sequins. It looked as if Liza Minelli had exploded in the showroom.

  Winn approached a man at the counter. Dressed like a clown, he lunged at her in greeting. Patrick had to make a split decision whether or not to beat the man off with a stick, but then realized he meant no harm. He checked out the clown’s name tag, which flashed with bright lights, and realized this was the famed Wally.

  “How can I help you lovely people?” Wally intoned brightly. He then collapsed into a coughing fit typical of life-long smokers. He pointed at Winn once he recovered. “You’re with the Porter-Reyes wedding, aren’t you? I got you suited up a few weeks ago.”

  “That’s right, Wally. And now I need an outfit for my friend.” She glanced back at him. “I don’t suppose there are any premade ensembles left?”

  Wally grimaced, which made him resemble the clown from that horrific Stephen King novel. Patrick took a step back. He’d always hated clowns. This one, more than most.

  “We might have to cobble something together at this point,” said Wally. He nodded at Patrick. “You. What are your measurements?”

  “Uh, 16 neck, 34 in the sleeves…”

  “No, no, not those measurements. What size sword do you wanna carry?”

  “Sword? I have no clue what size sword I should carry.” He glanced at Winn but she averted her gaze.

  Wally stepped out from behind his counter and Patrick saw the clown costume only covered his top half. His bottom half, sadly, was attired in stained shorts and smelly sneakers with holes in them. Dear God.

  He was in hell.

  The clown sized him up. “Of course, you could do a dagger instead, but a sword’s nice for a ceremony. Pomp and circumstance and all that crap.” He rummaged through the racks and Patrick tried his best not to breathe as a musty smell filled the air. Wally produced a few garments, several of which looked as if they’d been through a war. “All the fancy costumes were taken by the other guests. Your character will have to be down on his luck.” He coughed in Patrick’s face and thrust the rags at him. “Try these on.”

  He grabbed the garments and plodded toward the dressing room, a cubicle made to look like a shower, complete with a curtain that might have been see-through. “Is this the only dressing room?”

  “Nah,” said Wally. “But it’s the best one. Come on out when you’re dressed, princess.”

  Princess? What the fuck? He whipped back the shower curtain, stepped inside, and shut it again. As he closed it, he glimpsed Winn’s face, so full of joy and amusement.

  In that moment, he felt less ornery. He had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with her smile. In fact, he was tempted to try on a dozen silly costumes to coax that smile from her again. She was the happiest he’d ever seen her. He had to admit, despite his initial horror, there was a chance he might be having the smallest bit of fun.

  But then she pulled out her phone, aimed the camera at him, and clicked.

  Okay, now he wanted to spank her again.

  * * * *

  “Come on. We just have one more stop before I release you.” Winn grabbed Patrick’s arm and dragged him into the pantyhose store. As she pulled him, her fingers
clutched his biceps and she almost swallowed her tongue at its firmness. Before she forgot herself completely, and demanded kisses followed by penetration, she let go of his arm and sighed.

  He cast an appraising glance around the shop and picked up the package nearest him. When he spotted the picture of fishnet-clad legs, his eyebrow arched in interest. “This is a much better store than Wally’s.” He put a hand on his chest. “I swear it on my life.”

  She pried the fishnet package out of his hand and replaced it. “You have no self-control.”

  He peered at her. “You have no idea how self-control governs my actions.”

  “Well, try not to get too excited while I browse the knee-high area. I know it conjures up sexy images.”

  “Seriously? Knee highs?” His lips twisted. “I’m going back to the fishnets. You do what you have to do.”

  With a laugh, Winn searched for her size and let him wander a few feet away. She was still giggling quietly, remembering his face at Wally’s, when the tinkling bells at the door signaled another customer. She didn’t look up until she heard a woman say her companion’s name.

  “Patrick.” The woman cleared her throat. “What a surprise.”

  Winn’s head shot up. When she saw the woman, she did her best to remain in her place even though she wanted to dart over to Patrick’s side and clutch his biceps again. The other woman was gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous produced by excellent bone structure and insane top-model height. The blush on her cheeks only heightened her obvious charms.

  Patrick turned to the newcomer. His smile faded. “Gloria.”

  The two of them stared at one another and Winn stared at them. The pause, so awkward, inspired the shop girl to meander toward them. “How can I help you folks?”

  You folks. As if they were a couple.

  Winn swallowed and dropped her gaze, pretending to check sizing on a package of knee-highs. Even though the packaging clearly stated “One Size Fits All,” she reread it a dozen times to keep her eyes busy and off Patrick.

  From her periphery vision, she saw him acknowledge the clerk. “Thanks. I’m good.” He walked toward Winn. “Besides, I’m here with a friend.”

  Winn glanced up and nodded. She looked at the woman he’d called Gloria. Something twigged at the back of her brain as she pondered the name. Gloria…Gloria…Dietrich?

  Oh, God. That Gloria. Winn clutched her knee-highs to her chest.

  After dismissing the clerk with a shake of her bottle-blonde locks, Gloria walked toward them. With a curt nod at Winn, she addressed Patrick. “How’ve you been?”

  He smiled through compressed lips. “Fine, thanks.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I saw you and Jason on the news the other night.”

  “Oh, yes. The cerebral palsy gala.” She smiled at Winn. “These things are tedious but one must do one’s part.”

  “You seemed happy enough,” he commented.

  Winn’s head spun. This was the woman Patrick was reputed to have seduced out from under her husband. She might have expected him to rage or throw a fit, or even to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the nearest bed. However, his flat tone gave no hint of quashed ardor. His blank expression showed no emotion other than disappointment.

  “How are things with you and Jason?” he asked quietly.

  Winn looked away in a show of discretion.

  She heard Gloria’s swallow. “They’ve been better.” Her voice cracked. “But he’s determined to put on a good show.”

  Patrick put a hand on her shoulder and Winn tensed. “If you’d only…”

  “I know. It’s my own fault.” She nibbled her lip. “Patrick, I never…”

  “Don’t mention it. It’s done.” He exhaled. “How are those knee-highs coming, Winn?”

  Cringe. He had to mention the knee-highs in front of Gloria Dietrich, a woman who looked like she had Dolce and Gabbana on speed dial. “Great,” she said in an overly cheery voice. “Only I think I will pick up those fishnets, too. Maybe a couple.” She grabbed at the first packages she saw and escaped to the cash counter.

  As she paid, she angled her head in such a way she could discreetly see if Patrick and Gloria would share a parting hug or kiss. They didn’t. She merely turned around and left the shop, frowning. And Patrick gnawed on his thumb and stared at the wall, his unfocused gaze trained on a framed print of a pair of sexy legs.

  Winn completed her transaction, picked up her bag, and walked over to him. She put a hand on his arm. “I know this little Greek place around the corner on Adelaide, if you want to grab lunch.” She grinned. “The elderly owner gives me extra tzatziki. I think he might be in love with me.”

  His tight mouth relaxed and spread into a wide smile. “Of course, he’s in love with you. Sure. Let’s do lunch.” He opened the door and held it for her.

  “So,” she ventured, shortly after they left the hosiery shop. “Gloria seems…”

  “Winn, don’t.” He stuck the tip of his thumb in his mouth and gnawed the end, as if on a mission to draw blood. “I really don’t want to talk about her right now.”

  “Understood. Only I know you counseled me on getting things off my chest and I thought it might be good for you to do the same…”

  “Please.” He stopped walking and stared at her. “Not right now. Okay?”

  She had no chance to voice a response. His cell phone rang, and he quickly fished it out of his pocket and answered the call.

  After his greeting, he didn’t say a word, although he listened intently, his eyes glassed over. He made a couple of short humming noises, as if to reassure the caller he was still there.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally mumbled into the phone.

  Winn’s chest tightened.

  “Fine. Okay, just fine. Are we done?” He paused. “Yeah, whatever.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not really. That was my liaison at Big Brother.”

  “You have a little brother?” Why did the idea make her want to smile?

  “I used to.” He shook his head. “But because of my indiscretions, the association has decided I’d be best off volunteering elsewhere.”

  “Oh, Patrick. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. But you know what? It’s their loss.” He turned and resumed walking, his fists clenched.

  Her heart hurt as she caught up to him. And somehow she knew, as much as he put on a brave face, he felt the loss deep in his core.

  Chapter 6

  Ahoy there, matey!

  Ye scallywags be invited to witness the merriment on the 24th of July

  As Joshua “Bluebeard” Porter walks the plank

  To join his wench Sunshine “Gunpowder” Reyes

  The bell will toll at two o’clock

  Join us as we pillage and plunder the Coral Reef Seafood Restaurant

  Attendance is mandatory.

  Do not miss it, or ye shall swab the deck.

  * * * *

  Winn was just putting the last touches on her costume when Patrick buzzed her from the foyer phone. The Porter-Reyes nuptials were a casual affair, being a pirate wedding, and there was no limousine to transport her. Patrick had kindly asked if she needed a lift and she’d accepted, only because it would give her an opportunity to see him in costume before anyone else did.

  He hadn’t allowed her to see him at Wally’s. As soon as he’d tried on the ensemble, he’d emerged from the dressing room, in his street clothes and pale of face. He’d plunked his credit card on the counter, and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Now, her eagerness to see him surprised her. They’d chatted the past couple of days, mostly to confirm pick up times and so he could ask her a few more questions for the article. However, he’d refused to let her see him until the wedding date. Just like a superstitious bride.

  She had to admit part of her eagerness stemmed from learning of his severed relationship wit
h the Big Brother organization. Although she’d hinted at the topic at their lunch that day, he’d skirted around the issue, refusing to discuss it. She supposed she had no right asking, but something in his guarded gaze had made her want to shelter him.

  A disturbing thought, to say the least.

  She answered the call and buzzed him up. “Come on up. I’m just gathering my things.”

  Giving her lipstick a quick dab with a tissue to remove any excess, her heart began pounding as she heard his determined footsteps in the hallway. In fact, she couldn’t help but notice how her heart vaulted into that frenetic pattern each time she met up with him.

  Silly. Just prewedding jitters. Although it seemed odd she’d be having them, rather than the bride.

  He knocked on the door and she sucked in a breath. Deciding to keep things light and friendly and fun, she posed with her hand on her hip and opened the door.

  Pirate Patrick stood on the other side. When he saw her, his mouth fell open. “Fuck me. I mean, you look awesome, Winn.”

  God help her, she just about purred at his reaction. Well, she had worked hard to create the perfect pirate bridesmaid. She’d curled her hair so it hung in ringlets about her face. Her white blouse framed a décolleté that was amplified by a push-up bra. Gold bangles hung from her wrists and hoops from her earlobes. Her gypsy-style skirt looked like a dozen swatches of fabric that had been sewn together, accentuating her hips. But the pièces de résistance were her thigh-high black boots, the ones that gave her an extra five inches of height. “Will I do as a scurvy wench?”

  He put his hand out, as if to caress her hip, and then pulled it back. “There be nothing scurvy about ye, sweet maid.”

  “See? You did get into character.” He certainly looked the part. In fact, Patrick had gone above and beyond the call of duty, adding a few details to his costume. She looked him up and down. “I don’t recall you trying this outfit on at Wally’s.”