It was selfish he knew, but he was practically counting the days until David returned. By then Taylor would be almost twenty-one and he could walk away with a clear conscience. He was tired of fake people and big crowds and loud parties. He planned to find a cabin in some remote part of the country and hole up with a fishing pole for an extended period of time. No TV, no telephone, no women.
Because if he’d learned nothing else the past couple of years with Taylor, he’d learned he was better off alone than to be tangled up with a woman who messed with his head. At times he wondered if he and Taylor had gotten together when he returned from the Air Force, things would’ve turned out differently. The electricity between them had been palpable in the beginning, and he had to admit, he’d never been so affected by any other woman. But Taylor was Taylor, and everything and everyone in her life paled next to her quest for stardom. He was being arrogant if he thought a relationship between them would have helped matters. If anything, it would have made matters worse. And probably splintered his bond with the entire Gumm family.
It was a shame that Taylor couldn’t have been satisfied with the love of one man instead of millions of men. A shame that instead of possessing the generous disposition shared by the rest of her family, that Taylor was like poison to the people who came in contact with her. Love was wasted on her.
Jarett laughed at his preposterous musings. What he dreamed about was a woman who had a face like Taylor Gee, but had a heart of gold—absurd. She didn’t exist. And if she did, he didn’t want to meet her, because he’d be a lost man.
3
A FEW DAYS LATER Meg descended the stairs leading from her sister’s tiny apartment down to the workroom of the costume shop. Rebecca’s Murphy bed had been comfortable enough, but Meg hadn’t slept well—too many thoughts spinning in her head, too many decisions to make. One minute marrying Trey made perfect sense, the next minute she wondered if marrying him would be selling out, the path of least resistance.
She flipped on lights as she moved through the workroom cluttered with sewing machines, costumes, and dress forms, marveling over Rebecca’s design talent—and laughing at the abundance of yellow sticky notes, some in odd locations. On the coffeepot: “Err on the weak side.” On the bathroom door: “Jiggle the handle.” On the drafting-table lamp: “You’re the best, Sis!”
Swinging doors led to the glorious showroom and dressing rooms of Anytime Costumes. A shiver of excitement slid up Meg’s spine at the new setting, eerily quiet and orderly compared to the start of a school day. The seclusion was downright liberating. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed her own company.
She hadn’t told Rebecca that Trey had proposed. At first she’d convinced herself she didn’t want to steal Rebecca’s thunder. Meg’s sister was obviously infatuated with her new beau, Michael Pierce—they couldn’t take their eyes off each other.
But last night when she’d waved goodbye to Rebecca, Meg acknowledged that she wanted to keep Trey’s proposal to herself in order to sort things out on her own, without anyone else’s advice, no matter how well-intended. Kathie’s parting remark about making sure Trey was the one for her had stuck in her mind like a trendy song. Not to mention the hurt in Trey’s voice when she gently refused his offer to accompany her to Chicago.
If she was making a checklist of qualities she was looking for in a husband, Trey would score high. Handsome, polite, successful. They had similar tastes in books, films, politics. He was dependable—no, she would not say “boring”—and was always prompt for their Saturday-night dates and their Wednesday lunches. Friday evenings he usually spent with his father and two brothers in Mr. Carnegie’s home office, smoking cigars and catching up on family business—real estate, transportation and petroleum.
On Sundays she joined his family for brunch at their vast home—Trey’s brothers were both married, and everyone treated Meg as if she were already part of the family. The Carnegies had an opening, and she fit the mold—passably photogenic, suitably reserved and demurely successful. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Trey had picked her because of some real or imagined checklist, and not because she moved him. And worse—that she’d allowed herself to be picked.
She pushed aside her troubled thoughts, and her spirits rose as the colorful showroom became illuminated. Rebecca’s costume shop was such a happy place, one couldn’t help but be transformed—the perimeter of the showroom was lined with racks of costumes ranging from blue dinosaurs to Frankensteins to medieval maidens. Meg walked around, stroking the rich fabrics and exotic trims, admiring the more detailed costumes displayed on mannequins—a suit of “armor,” characters from the Wizard of Oz, and an alien. The most elaborate costumes—an iridescent mermaid, an Indian chieftain, and many others were on dazzling display above the long counter.
Rebecca had also added a wall of performance costumes—spangled bodysuits, sequined halter tops, slinky pants, sheer skirts, high-slit gowns, and an array of showy accessories—shoes, hats, scarves. Even though she was alone, Meg looked all around before gingerly holding a blue sequined bikini up in front of her. She angled her head, smiling mischievously. Wouldn’t everyone be scandalized if the Teacher of the Year showed up wearing something like this? Then she sighed and rehung the bikini—some women were born to wear sequins and some women were born to wear cotton.
Mirrors abounded. She knew her sister enjoyed dressing up to entertain customers. Although Meg couldn’t bring herself to do the same, she had foregone her normal “baggy” dress in favor of jeans, T-shirt, and green V-neck sweater, all loose enough to conceal the curves her mother had convinced her eons ago would attract the wrong kind of attention. Since she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she assumed her mother was referring to the type of man her father had been—the type of man who would love, then leave a woman with two small children. Maybe that’s why she’d been drawn to Trey, to his…stability. And his relative indifference to her curves.
Unsure what the day would bring, she’d opted to French braid her fine-textured light brown hair into a single plait down her back to keep it out of her way. She squinted at her reflection—maybe she’d get a new hairstyle before she returned home, or even a complete makeover. Contact lenses? A new outfit? The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she was simply bored with herself, and was allowing that boredom to overflow into other areas of her life. Somewhat cheered at her revelation, she turned her attention to opening the store.
Following a list of instructions Rebecca had left, as well as the numerous yellow sticky notes, Meg counted cash into the register, turned on the stereo beneath the counter, and flipped the sign on the door to Open. When she unlocked the front door of Anytime Costumes, she was startled by the ringing of the overhead bell.
“No bells,” she muttered, vowing to tie up the brass clanger as soon as she found a ladder.
Humming to the oldies tune playing over the speakers, she pressed her nose against the window until her glasses bumped. The street was studded with cars. Two policemen rode by on horseback. The shops across the street—a bakery, a drycleaners, and an old-fashioned barbershop—were already open for business. A rounded woman sweeping the sidewalk took a good-natured swat at a kid going by on a scooter.
It was a cool, blustery Saturday in Chicago, but the sky reminded her of a child’s drawing—clear blue with white fluffy clouds and a radiating bright sun, still hanging low. Meg grinned and stretched tall on the toes of her tennis shoes, effused with a heady feeling of freedom, like the first day of summer vacation.
But the tinkle of the bell on the door cut short her reverie. She turned, blushing guiltily at being caught in the throes of giddiness. She was, after all, representing Rebecca’s business.
“Hidy-ho!” A dark-skinned deliveryman walked in bearing a stack of packages and a friendly smile.
“Hello.”
His smiled widened. “You must be Rebecca’s sister from Peoria. She told me to expect you.”
She smiled and
stuck out her hand. “Meg Valentine.”
“Hello, Meg Valentine. I’m Quincy Lyle. Welcome to Chicago.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure why, but she suspected the delivery man was gay. Maybe because he was so approachable—there was no filter of sexual attraction.
“Mighty good of you to look after the shop for Rebecca while she enjoys a few days away with Mr. Pierce.”
“You know Michael?”
He pushed back his cap. “I know almost everyone around here. They make a great couple, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do.” Meg signed the clipboard he extended.
He gestured vaguely. “You know your way around the costume shop?”
“I’ve spent time here with Rebecca, but never on my own.”
“Have you met Harry?”
She frowned. “Who?”
He gave a little laugh and a dismissive wave. “Never mind.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “If you need help getting around town, or if you need anything at all, just call my cell phone number.”
Meg smiled. “Thanks.”
He nodded toward the street where more policemen on horseback had gathered. “I guess you heard about the local commotion.”
“No.”
“Big splashy benefit in town, lots of celebrities around.”
Meg made a rueful noise. “I have a friend who’s a celebrity hound—she’ll be disappointed she missed a chance to spot someone famous and get their autograph.”
“Do you have friends here in Chicago?”
“Not really.”
He rooted in his back pocket. “I have an extra ticket to a reception tonight if you’d like to come. The hotel is just a couple of blocks from here. A lot of my friends are coming—it’ll be fun.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Bring your camera—with luck, you can bring your friend back a souvenir.” He flashed a grin. “See you later.”
Meg felt a rush of gratitude for Quincy’s generosity, and his upbeat visit seemed to set the tone for the rest of the morning. The shop was a whirlwind of activity as customers returned costumes, and others came in to try on garment after garment looking for just the right one. Michael Pierce’s restaurant, Incognito, had become a popular spot for dining in costume—according to Rebecca, every night was a masquerade party, and business was booming. The bell on the door rang incessantly, and Peoria seemed like a million miles away.
An attractive middle-aged woman named Mrs. Conrad came in with a tin of cream candy. She appeared to be a regular customer since she was familiar with the store layout. She rented a sexy cowgirl outfit, complete with a little rawhide whip. Just putting the items in a bag sent a blush to Meg’s face.
Around lunch time, she got a breather. Meg sighed and sank onto a stool behind the counter, marveling at the business her sister had grown. She pulled off her glasses and massaged her temples, then used the hem of her sweater to clean the smudged lenses. The ringing of the bell on the door startled her and she dropped her glasses on the counter. While she fumbled for them blindly, the customers approached the counter—bright blotches of color, a man and a woman from the sound of their voices, and they seemed to be bickering. A hot flush climbed her neck and cheeks as she searched the counter in vain—she felt like Mr. Magoo.
“Are these what you’re looking for?” the man asked, placing her glasses in her hands. He had a warm, pleasing voice.
“Thank you,” she murmured, then jammed the glasses on her face. But just as her vision returned, her speech fled. Her helpful customer was tall, dark and exotic looking, tanned with dark hair and eyes, high cheekbones and a prominent nose. Around thirty, she guessed, although he had the carriage of a more mature man. Or maybe it was his sturdy build that made him look older, or the fact that he was dressed in black from head to toe. Regardless, she was sure she’d never seen anyone more handsome in her life. Quincy’s comment about celebrities being in the area came back to her, and she wondered if he was someone she should recognize. Of course she couldn’t ask him, because she couldn’t speak.
“You’re welcome,” he said with a little smile, and he squinted at her, as if something weren’t quite right. Were her glasses crooked? Her hair falling down? Drool spilling over her chin? Meg was paralyzed.
“Could I get some help, please?” his companion said in a high-pitched voice. The woman sounded annoyed.
Meg jumped up, an apology on her tongue. Until she got an eyeful of the blond bombshell. She blinked. “You’re…Taylor…Gee.”
The woman gave her a tight smile. “Smart kid. I’d like a private dressing room, please. And an ashtray, pronto.”
4
KATHIE WOULD NOT BELIEVE this, she simply would not believe this! Feeling a little light-headed, Meg carried an armful of show costumes to the dressing room where she’d taken Taylor Gee. The brawny guy in black, some sort of bodyguard she now realized, stood outside the curtain, his hands clasped behind him. He made it a point to be alert every time the door opened, but he didn’t appear menacing. Still, she wondered what weapons he harbored under that jacket—a woman who looked like Taylor Gee probably attracted all kinds of weirdos. From the looks of him, though, he could probably handle just about anything….
He smiled as she approached and her throat went dry. “Should I knock?” she whispered.
“Go on in.”
Oh, that voice. Meg swallowed and cleared her throat loudly before she opened the curtain a fraction of an inch and peered inside.
“Come in and close the curtain,” the starlet said without looking up. She was punching in a number on a tiny purple cell phone with a pencil. Those three-inch-long nails had their limitations, Meg guessed.
She hesitated, hoping another customer didn’t need her help right away. Rebecca hadn’t left her cheat sheets for what to do when a megacelebrity stopped by. Maybe she should have put an Out To Lunch sign on the door.
“I’ll let you know if you’re needed out here,” the man in black said.
She nodded gratefully, then entered the dressing room and closed the curtain behind her in one quick motion. She stood frozen, her arms full, while she waited to be acknowledged. Taylor Gee had made herself at home in the large red dressing room, scattering the contents of her purse—makeup, brushes, a bottle of water, coins, dollar bills, prescription bottles—over the upholstered cushions on the three benches that formed a U. She appeared to be conferring with a thick schedule book that lay open in front of her. A long thin cigarette dangled from her mouth. She took a drag and leaned her head back to exhale straight in the air just before she spoke into the phone.
“Jules, this is Taylor. I’m in town for a benefit, and I need the benefit of a facial.”
The woman was too beautiful for words. Between her tangle of white-blond hair and her golden tan, she fairly glowed. She wore a pink suit with flowing pants and a matching sweater with a feather boa collar. Her shoes were black and pink zebra print stilettos. Everything about her oozed sensuality and femininity. In contrast, Meg felt like peeling wallpaper.
“Oh, I knew you would work me in! I’ll see you around three-thirty. Love you, too, sweetie.”
The offhand way the woman tossed around endearments made Meg feel backward. She didn’t even have a pet name for Trey, the man who had proposed to her.
Taylor pushed down the antenna and bounced the phone on a cushion toward the pink leather bag that Meg assumed had cost a small fortune.
She stood and kicked off her shoes as if they were discount knock-offs and took another drag on her cigarette. This, Meg realized, was when she should have told the woman that the fire marshal frowned upon smoking in retail businesses. But she didn’t say anything because she suspected that even the fire marshal would make an exception for Taylor Gee.
“Did you bring everything I selected?”
Meg nodded, marveling that they were nearly eye-to-eye without Taylor’s stilettos. Taylor Gee just seemed so much larger than life that M
eg assumed she was taller than her own five feet seven inches. “Yes, and a few extra.”
Taylor smiled, displaying a dazzling array of white teeth, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Good girl. Now hang those up and help me out of these clothes.”
Meg did as she was told, although she hoped that the woman didn’t expect her to, um, watch.
Taylor removed her jewelry and tossed it in a pile on a nearby cushion. Meg prayed nothing got lost.
“Unzip me, please.”
Taylor turned her back and held up her glorious hair with one hand. Meg swallowed hard, then stepped forward to slide down the pull of the fine zipper. The feather collar and the cigarette smoke tickled her nostrils, but she would have imploded before she would have sneezed on the starlet’s back.
The sweater came off—not an easy feat with Taylor still holding a lit cigarette—and landed in a far corner. She wore a sheer pink bra that was a little short of modest. Then she leaned over and stepped out of her pants. They landed opposite the sweater. Taylor turned and stood before her, a miniscule bra and a pink thong away from full disclosure.
Meg turned quickly and reached for the first outfit, a body-glove dress made out of blue iridescent fabric. “My sister designs most of these pieces—” She stopped when the filmy pink bra when flying past her to land near the sweater.
Busying herself with removing the gown from its hanger, Meg turned her back and kept her eyes averted. But Taylor snatched the dress from her, and Meg couldn’t help but get an eyeful of what had every man in America drooling.
Meg was no prude…she grew up with a sister, for heaven’s sake. She’d seen other women naked. Sort of. At the shower room in college, in the steam room at the YMCA, in National Geographic. But there was a difference in nudity for the sake of practicality and nudity for the sake of, well…being seen.
Two Sexy! Page 3
