Hot Pink

by Susan Johnson

  “Mark wouldn’t even go to a movie. He couldn’t sit still that long.”

  Which might have accounted for his short attention span with women. He continually needed new conquests. “We should go and see some of the foreign films at the Lagoon.”

  “Any time. They have real butter on their popcorn too.”

  “And dark chocolate bars with espresso beans.”

  “And espresso.”

  Chloe laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Are you going out on the boat tonight? You look stylishly ready.”

  “I hate boats. You can never get off.”

  “So you’re not cruise material.”

  Rosie shuddered. “Torture.”

  “But we are going to check out the merchandise tonight, right?”

  Rosie smiled. “Oh, yes. Although, I’m going to stay away from lawyers.”

  “After your experience with Mark, that might be wise. You need a change of pace—say a—”

  “Piano player,” Rosie interposed.

  Chloe grinned. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “You know, I am in the mood to have fun. It’s been so long, Chloe, I’d forgotten how it feels.” Rosie sort of wiggled in her seat. “It feels good. By the way, I decided to take your advice and keep the ring. I’m having it put in a new setting.”

  “Good girl. Courageous, confident”—Chloe smiled—“kick-ass assertive.”

  “Kick ass, that’s me.” But Rosie pronounced the slang with two long syllables, like someone using English as a second language might. “Do you know low long it’s been since I danced?”

  Since you met Mark, who didn’t like to dance. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it,” Chloe said instead. “I’ll bet we’ll have dancing music there tonight.”

  “Tess said so. I wore good dancing shoes.” Rosie lifted her feet slightly, her navy blue flats practical work shoes. “Leather soles.”

  Rosie was always so efficient; even her classroom cubbies were neat as a pin, and that took some doing with five-year-olds. “Me too. Leather soles,” Chloe said as though she’d planned it. Four-inch strappy heels generally didn’t come with rubber soles, so she was safe. Inadvertently, she’d fallen into the efficient category tonight. “Do you think they’ll play any polkas? I’ll dance with you if they do.”

  Rosie gave her a look of disbelief. “Of course they won’t.”

  “I’ll ask the band. Remember the fun we used to have up at the lake when we were in high school? There always were wedding dances at the country halls—and polkas.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “They still polka at Nye’s.”

  “I forgot about Nye’s. We could always dance there.” Rosie gave Chloe an assessing glance. “You’re definitely in a mood tonight.”

  “I need a change of scene. Like you.”

  “Any special reason?” Rosie had that soothing kindergarten-teacher tone that solved issues of sharing toys and missing Mom and wanting to be first in line.

  “I met a guy last weekend who’s hard to forget. And I want to forget him.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Chloe laughed. “Not really. I barely know him—discounting the hot sex, of course.”

  “Was he good?”

  “Oh, yeah, definitely good. But already taken.”

  Rosie’s mouth formed into a shocked O. “You mean he’s married?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. He’s probably as bad as Mark.”

  No one’s as bad as Mark, Chloe wanted to say, but on such short acquaintance, she couldn’t be absolutely certain where Rocco stood in terms of badness. “I don’t really know much about him. Nor will I. He’s gone.” She blew out a breath of discontent. “So I’m out looking tonight.”

  Rosie giggled. “Like we did in high school—at the dances.”

  Not exactly, Chloe thought, not anywhere near exactly. She nodded and smiled. “Just like that.”

  TWELVE

  WHEN ROCCO CAME TO PICK UP AMY FOR dinner on Thursday, Marcy Thiebaud met him at the door. “Come in and have a drink with us. Amy’s still getting ready. And Jim’s celebrating today. He just bought part interest in the baseball team.”

  Rocco smiled. “Sounds like something to celebrate.”

  “I know; isn’t it exciting? It’s been hush-hush for a month or so, but it’s official today. Come,” she said, waving him to follow her. “Jim’s in the library.”

  “Congratulations,” Rocco said as he entered the large sun-filled room, wishing Amy wasn’t their daughter; he really liked the Thiebauds. “Marcy told me the good news.”

  Jim was grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve been dickering for weeks and the lawyers finally got all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. The announcement will be on the six o’clock news. A little bubbly to celebrate?” He held up a champagne bottle.

  “Of course. The team’s hotter than hot. You must be pleased.”

  “It’s a pretty good feeling, no doubt about that.” Jim poured champagne for them and handed out the flutes. “Sit. Amy’ll be down any minute. I suppose she’s trying to decide what to wear.” He winked. “You know women and their clothes.”

  Rocco had every intention of not getting to know Amy that well. “How did you decide to get involved with the team?” he asked, preferring not to discuss Amy.

  “I knew most of the owners already. Have for years. I think we first talked about it over a golf game last spring. In fact, next spring Marcy and I will be going down to Florida for the training camp. I suppose I’ll get in the way and make a general nuisance of myself, but, hey—”

  “Jim’s like a kid with a new toy,” Marcy interposed, smiling fondly at her husband. “It’s all he talks about.”

  “It’s a damned nice toy. I don’t blame him.”

  “It’s an old man’s indulgence,” Jim said with a grin. “I don’t feel like sailing around the world or climbing Mount Everest or even buying a sports car. My pickup suits me just fine. But enough about my midlife crisis plaything—how are the new product lines shaping up? I talked to Anthony a couple of days ago and he said he hoped to start up the first run of shampoos by the end of the month.”

  “That’s my understanding. With our accelerated schedule in mind, I gave notice at work. I’m going to be out of town a fair amount making sure we have the orders we need.”

  “You always were such a hard worker, Rocco. Remember, Jim, when the boys decided to sell vegetables that summer they were ten? I never saw such a neat, well-tended garden.”

  Rocco laughed. “We made about fifty bucks for all our hard work, but you couldn’t fault the flavor. That homegrown stuff is good.”

  “And then you and Steve decided to repair motorcycles when you were in junior high,” Marcy said, reminiscing.

  “I still do occasionally for my friends; it’s my mental zen.”

  “Have you hung on to your XLCH sportster? I remember that machine tore up the road,” Jim remarked. “What was top end again?”

  “One forty, one fifty. Not that I have much time anymore to take it out and open it up, but maybe someday.” Rocco’s gaze flicked to the doorway and his smile stiffened.

  “Did you hear about Daddy’s newest amusement?” Amy cooed, strolling into the large cherry-paneled room dressed in a pale blue Chanel dress.

  “Yes. Great news,” Rocco replied, watching her approach, overwhelmed—as always in her presence—by an urge to flee.

  “Rocco’s going to have to come with us to the games, won’t he, Daddy?” Amy dropped onto the couch beside Rocco, sitting so close her thigh touched his on a leather sofa that could easily seat six.

  He would have liked to move, but he couldn’t.

  And she knew it.

  “You’re welcome to come to a game anytime, Rocco,” Jim offered, leaning across the coffee table to hand his daughter a glass of champagne.

  “Thanks, Daddy. You and Mommy are the best,” Amy said in a breathy lit
tle-girl voice. “We’ll have so much fun.”

  Marcy and Jim gazed at their daughter with doting smiles.

  Amy was undeniably beautiful, Rocco reflected, taking in the expressions of parental pride opposite him, but that didn’t make up for her manifold faults, and that childish tone was one of them. It always sounded so phony, it made him wince—but then, she wasn’t his daughter. Maybe the phoniness became charming when you were related.

  “Amy tells me you two are going to Zinc’s tonight,” Marcy noted, shifting her fond gaze to Rocco. “It’s such a lovely place.”

  “Then we’re going to Andy’s party later.” Amy smiled at Rocco like she’d actually told him before—knowing he couldn’t take issue in front of her parents. “Andy’s having a band and moonlight boat rides. I just adore the lake at night.”

  “His mother told me he’s thinking of settling down,” Marcy said with a small conspiratorial smile. “He might have an announcement to make tonight.”

  “Humph. It’s about time,” Jim grumbled.

  “Young people don’t get married as early as they did in our generation, Jim. It just isn’t the same.”

  “Seems to me when you find someone you want to marry, you don’t have to wait until you’re forty.”

  “I don’t think Andy’s quite forty.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to wait that long.” Amy tilted a flirtatious glance at Rocco.

  “Good. I’m not getting any younger,” Jim said, “and Steve seems more interested in dating Playboy playmates than settling down.”

  “L.A. is way too fast for me.”

  Amy’s prim tone set Rocco’s teeth on edge. This was the girl who was asking him or Steve for pot or drugs or booze when she was thirteen. “Steve’s work schedule is pretty brutal, I hear,” Rocco said in defense of his friend. “I don’t think he’s dating all that much.”

  “Call me old-fashioned,” Jim muttered, “but that Hollywood tinsel town glamor seems fake as hell.”

  “Steve has been seeing that nice girl from San Francisco who works with him too, Jim. Remember? Her parents teach at Berkeley.”

  “Well, that may be, but Steve’s already made it clear he’s not interested in the business. We sure could use a son-in-law in the family,” Jim added with a wink at Rocco. Jim and his son had butted heads over the business for years. That was part of the reason Steve lived on the West Coast. “One of these days someone’s going to have to take over the business.” Jim’s voice was gruff, his gaze on Rocco. “I’m hoping a son-in-law might be willing.”

  “You’re so sweet, Daddy.” Amy cast the full power of her baby blues on Rocco. “Isn’t Daddy just the sweetest, Rocco?”

  At that particular moment Rocco was finding himself hard-pressed not to bolt from the room and run until he reached an ocean, at which point he’d dive in and start swimming.

  “Don’t embarrass the boy. Hell, you’ve got that deer-in-the-headlights look, Rocco,” Jim said with a chuckle. “Been there myself once. There’s plenty of time for talk of weddings. We don’t have to do it now. Here, have another drink.” Leaning over, Jim handed Rocco the bottle. “Now tell us about the advertising firms you’ve been looking at. Mary Beth said you like some better than the others.” Jim Thiebaud knew when to change the subject. His people skills were a natural gift and largely responsible for his rapid rise to millionaire status.

  After talk of weddings and son-in-laws, Rocco needed a moment to find his voice. Fear did that to you. “I’m leaning toward McGillicutty and Perth,” he finally managed to say.

  “Didn’t they do that great ad for Volkswagen—that funny one with the couch?”

  “Right.” Rocco’s mind was practically blank—the wedding march a crescendo, drowning out everything else in his brain.

  “Ed McGillicutty’s a good guy—his golf handicap’s not bad either.” Jim nodded, as though satisfied with those two criteria. “When can they deliver if you decide on them?”

  “Ah . . . a month . . . well—maybe five weeks.” Distracted by the organ music in his head, Rocco hoped whatever he’d just said sounded reasonable.

  The moment their conversation had shifted from her and her marriage, Amy’s interest had waned. “You two can talk about business some other time,” she announced, rising from the couch. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

  Coming to his feet, Rocco politely offered Amy his hand although in his current skittish mood, it felt like too literal a gesture.

  “You two kids have fun,” Jim proclaimed, lifting his champagne glass.

  “We always do, Daddy, don’t we, Rocco?” Amy replied, leaning into him.

  Using all his willpower to keep from jerking away, Rocco said, “Thanks for the drink,” in lieu of lying. Moving toward the door, he was mentally counting down the hours until his torture was over.

  “We’ll call you when the next game is in town,” Marcy called out as they walked from the library. “There’s plenty of room in the owner’s box, isn’t there, Jim?”

  “Sure is, honey. They’re a great-looking young couple, aren’t they,” Jim Thiebaud added in a stage whisper.

  Amy smiled a contented little half-smile as they walked down the hall.

  A chill ran up Rocco’s spine.

  He was beginning to understand how a trapped animal would gnaw off his foot to get away.

  THIRTEEN

  THE NOISE LEVELS AT ANDY’S PARTY WERE morphing into call-the-police stage, and if the house hadn’t been set on ten acres, the explosive sound might have been a problem. The bartenders were having trouble keeping up with the thirsty, raucous crowd. The band, set up on the ground floor of the four-story lake home, were playing a combination of way-early U2 and get-your-ass-on-the-dance-floor rock and roll, the music vibrating through the house like a centrifugal force.

  Andy, obviously high, had just announced his engagement, hoisting his fiancée over his head and twirling her around like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Although, with reflexes considerably impaired by illegal substances, Andy’s coordination didn’t quite match Travolta’s fine-tuned precision. On the third revolution, he and his fiancée, Tiffany—if her boobs were real, Chloe would eat her nonexistent hat—fell onto a section of an enormous sectional taking up a half acre of the living room. They were currently trying to get untangled, not unlike a scene from the Three Stooges.

  “Dave said this is Andy’s fourth fiancée,” Tess hissed into Chloe’s ear.

  The two women were out on the balcony viewing the scene through floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Maybe four’s his lucky number.” The girl looked happy—and young. Andy looked like he’d been around the block a few times, but obviously had money, so maybe it was one of those proverbial matches made in heaven.

  “Have you seen Rosie lately?”

  Chloe turned to Tess with a wide grin. “You’re going to seriously believe in miracles when you hear this. She found another kindergarten teacher among the guests. How many kindergarten teachers have you ever met in your life other than Miss Engle at Bass Lake Grade School? Exactly. He teaches somewhere out here, an ex–Peace Corps philanthropist type who wants to give back to the world. She’s all starry-eyed and smiling.”

  “So screw Markie Mark.”

  “Figuratively speaking, of course. You heard about his less-than-stellar performance in bed.”

  Tess’s eyes sparkled like the glitter on her T-shirt. “I’m telling everyone I know.”

  Chloe’s smile was one of satisfaction. “I’ve beat you to it.”

  “He deserves every word of bad press.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. He deserves a lot more payback if you ask me. Think how many years Rosie’s suffered. Although, speaking of suffering, I’d say those days are over. There’s Rosie over there by that lamp made from someone’s car bumper. The tall, sandy-haired man gazing at her like he’s just found the lost treasure of the Incas is the kindergarten teacher-slash-philanthropist.”

 
“He’s good-looking.”

  “And right out of central casting in those khaki shorts and rumpled shirt and espadrilles. He was in Peru last.”

  “Rosie looks happy. He must be nice, because she’s not the type to hug a man she’s just met.”

  “Or maybe he’s just charming as hell. But who cares? She’s enjoying herself, and right now with the Markie Mark debacle so recent, she needs entertainment.”

  “He has that look of enchantment, though—staring into her eyes like that. Wouldn’t that be nice after all the shit she put up with from that prick Mark? And a philanthropist? That would be just be the coolest thing to piss off Markie Mark, who talks about how rich he is within three seconds of meeting him.”

  “I’d pay money to see Markie Mark’s face when he hears. This guy with Rosie has some foundation for underprivileged children. I forget the name. So it sounds pretty real.”

  “Not that money’s everything.”

  “Actually, it’s not much of anything unless there’s something to go with it.”

  “How’re you doing?” Tess’s voice changed, her gaze turned kindly and she patted Chloe’s shoulder. She knew Rocco had been more than a weekend guest.

  “Fine.” Chloe smiled her well-honed social smile. “Absolutely fine. The food’s good, the drinks are perfect and the band is beginning to sound pretty hot. I think I’ll go downstairs and listen.”

  Tess gave Chloe a hug. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure. Go find Dave. I don’t need a baby-sitter. My heart isn’t broken. Really.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone if—”

  “Go,” Chloe said, giving Tess a shove that jiggled her short black curls. “I don’t need company.”

  * * *

  JUST AS CHLOE stepped into the small elevator connecting the floors of the lake house, Rocco and Amy arrived at the line of valets in the car court.

  As Rocco exited the car and handed his keys over, he glanced up at the blaze of lighted windows, heard the music drifting out over the lake and checked his watch.