by Jillian Kidd
“Oh!” I cried theatrically. “I have suddenly got to use the little girl’s room!”
Spinning around toward the hotel, I broke out into a full-fledged high-heeled run, right past the two men—in between them, in fact. I caught looks of startled befuddlement on their faces before I sensed with my woman’s intuition that they were following me back inside.
Quickly I glanced into the glass of an approaching car’s windshield and saw that the men had fallen farther behind. I had five, maybe seven seconds on them.
Bursting back into the hotel lobby, I darted right into a crowd of businessmen and women who couldn’t get enough of their bar party. At the end of the dark noisy bar, I quickly sat down among a group of whisky-laden middle-aged men, who immediately started introducing themselves and asking who I was. Actually, they sort of shouted their inquiries because the loud thud-thumping of the music all but drowned out our voices. What was it with people gathering in “social” spots that had their stereo system turned up to ridiculous levels? Did people not have enough to talk about? Worked for me, tonight, though. Anything to make a distraction.
I tried not to grimace when one of the men put his fat fingers on my arm, and I peeked through the crowd to see Mr. Stare and Friend scanning the lobby, trying to figure out which direction I’d headed. When Mr. Stare thought it wise to start searching the bar, I furtively darted from the table and through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Clean silver counters reflected the ceiling’s fluorescent lights.
“Sorry, ma’am, you can’t be back here,” said a hefty blonde woman with tired eyes but flawless makeup. She turned off the faucet where she just finished washing the dishes. “You looking for the restroom?”
“Oh, no, my mistake, I’ll just be heading out,” I said, smiling, trying to be likable.
Please like me, lady, I thought, inching toward my next brilliant idea. Like me enough to let me through that doorway just over there, the one that’s marked STAIRS.
“It’s not that way,” she said with a scowl.
I stopped in my tracks, knowing I didn’t have much time. I took half a second to study her. What would she particularly detest? Roaches? Lizards? No, I knew what would make her freak out.
I let out a shrill, horror movie scream.
“What?” she said, jumping, turning her back to me to try and discover what I was frantically pointing at. “What? What?”
“A rat!” I shouted.
“Shit, no!” she hollered, jumping on top of the clean counter connected to her bubble-filled sink. “Not here! I hate those damn things! HATE them! Where’d it go? RYAN!”
I could feel the door to the stairs pressing against my back. “Along that wall there. I think it went underneath the counter!”
“RYAN!” she cried.
A gangly young man, no older than 21, burst through the doorway from the bar and wiped his hands on his white apron.
“What, Jane? What?” he said, his long, horsey face growing even longer as he frowned.
“A rat!” she said, pointing in the direction I had.
I stayed in place long enough for Ryan to grab a broom and start leaning his gangly body over to look under cabinets and in crevices. And then I went through the door.
I never cease to amaze myself with what I can manage to do in high-heeled shoes. On this occasion, I raced up the stairs, skipping one with each bound. I had no clue as to where these bar kitchen stairs were headed, only that they led away from my pursuers and toward somewhere safe, I hoped.
I reached a door and found it unlocked. It was another kitchen, this one smaller, and though the lights were on, unoccupied. I ran through the door that would lead me out, and excused myself as I tried not to slip on the wet floor that a young man was mopping. This bar was smaller, and it was closed. I did a little double-take at the cleaner. He looked exactly like Ryan. A twin? Pity I didn’t have time to find out.
He looked up from his mopping just long enough to frown and say, “Hey—”
I was gone and into the next hallway. The dual-colored diamonds on the carpet played tricks on my eyes. It was late. I was incredibly sober. I had to make a decision: where to now?
Then I saw it—a laundry bin on wheels about halfway filled with sheets. The hotel room cleaner had left the door ajar. The nearly muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner told me that Mr. or Mrs. Cleaner was still in that room. Little high-pitched reeeee sounds pulsed through the crack in the door—whoever was vacuuming was using one of the kinds that you stood on and rode, and with every change of direction it emitted that sharp noise. That was one of the reasons why I still used a hand-held.
Before I wasted any more time, I grabbed two armfuls of sheets (I didn’t want to think about who had been lying on them or what might still be on the woven threads), and I leapt into the thick cloth bin. I yanked the sheets over on top of me and found myself enveloped in a white cotton womb.
Just in time. Mr. Stare and Friend’s voices trailed through the snowy layers and I heard every word clear as day.
“Just forget it,” one (which one I wasn’t sure) said. “We could be looking all damn night. She just got away.”
“She can’t be far,” said the other. “I say we at least look on this floor.”
I felt pinpricks of sweat stab at my underarms. I breathed slowly, shallowly, silently.
“No,” said the first. “You got a picture of her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good enough. If the boss says she’s the right one, then we can give a copy to all the guys. They can apprehend her on sight.”
“But if this is the girl, she might know she’s being followed now. Might take precautions.”
“Maybe. But you tell me who’s ever gotten away from Boss when he wants her?”
They both snickered in a low, creepy tone.
“Let’s get out of here,” said the first. “We’ll run into her again. And if we don’t, there’s plenty other flowers in the garden.”
I waited a good 15 minutes after the elevator dinged and their voices, now talking about football, trailed off and then shut off entirely when the elevator door shut.
I needed to find a phone. Even if I thought the men were gone, I couldn’t be too sure. I needed Colt to come pick me up. We could come fetch my car in the morning when the jerks were sure to be gone, or at least off my trail. I could wear a wig. Whatever it took.
But before I could climb out of my fluffy safe-haven, it started to move.
The cleaning lady, cursing at the surprising weight of her bundle, rolled me into the elevator and pressed a button and a pleasant ding sounded.
If I burst out of the sheets now, she was apt to scream and page the manager. If by chance she had a weapon, she might try to stun/hurt/kill me with it. I didn’t want to risk holding her up with my laser gun because I wasn’t sure if we were headed up or down. And the worst thing that could happen would be for the elevator door to open up on the ground floor, revealing me pointing a gun at an employee for half a dozen people to see. The men that had been chasing me might be down there, too.
I decided to stay put and wait.
I didn’t have long.
The door dinged as it opened, and the woman cursed while she pushed me and the sheets through the elevator door and down a quiet hallway. Well, sort of quiet. I heard bass thumping loudly behind one of the doors, and the grouchy lady lugging my heavy ass stopped to pound on it.
“Excuse me?” she shouted.
A door latch clinked, and the music—finally some good old rock—streamed through.
“You are being too loud!” she said. “It’s past time to make noise! There are other patrons on this floor!”
“Gee, lady, it’s Mark’s 18th birthday,” said a youthful voice. “Cut him a break, huh?”
“No, I won’t!” She tried to push her cart to the side but cursed when the weight barely budged. “And what the hell is in here making it so heavy? I know I can’t be that tired!”
“What is this?” she spat. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in there?”
I stood up and waved, smiling my cheesiest, guiltiest grin I could muster. I felt one of my dress straps fall down my naked shoulder. She reached for her belt pager to inform the manager, no doubt. In the meantime, the pimpled but cute youth who had opened the door, shirtless with washboard abs, grinned from ear to ear.
“Oh!” he said in a most delighted tone.
He then turned to the party of older teenage boys drinking and roughhousing in the room and cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the following words, which he shouted like a battle cry:
“Hey, guys! The stripper’s here!”
12
“So what did you do next?” Colt asked with brow furrowed.
“Nothing awful,” I said, giving his forearm an assuring pat. “I kept my clothes on, if that’s what you were wondering.”
“Good.” He nodded, passing over a slower car, and then taking the next turn a little sharply. “I’d hate to have to hunt the brats down and give them a whipping for taking advantage of my Sissy.”
“No need. So, as soon as the boys let me in and shut the door, I knew we didn’t have long before management got involved. I very politely asked to use the phone, and that’s when I called you.” I laughed. “Poor young things didn’t even know what to do with a woman anyway, so they were giving me plenty of space, waiting for their magic show to happen and being pretty damn loud about it”
“It was really noisy. They were in a hotel being that loud?”
“Oh, come on!” I jabbed at his shoulder with my fist. “As if you and your friends never did anything like that.”
He shrugged, dimples creasing his cheeks. “So?”
“So anyway, I wasn’t in the room for five minutes before the actual stripper showed up. She was a blonde in a glow-in-the-dark trench coat and—well, I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. She got really jealous that another ‘stripper’ was already there, and she nearly started a fight. So—and you’ll love this, I’m so brilliant—I suggested a strip-off contest, to see who the best one was.”
“What!”
“No, no! Listen! She took the challenge and I let her go first. So while the virgin crew was watching her, I slipped out, ran like mad to the stairs, dashed down, and met you out back.”
“Hmm,” he said.
“Smart thinking, huh?”
“I guess.”
“You know it!” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself. “So, yeah, if I give you my keys, would you and A.J. run by and pick up my car later and drop it off?”
“Yeah, that’s cool. Did you have a good time with Jackson?”
Thank heavens we were pulling into my apartment. As if I’d try to explain the sudden attraction towards Jackson to him. The instant of fright. The statement that had meant so much more than just his suggestion to come to his concert.
Give me a chance.
“It was a lot of fun,” I said, toying with my thin silver necklace. “Jackson’s a really cool guy. Cool like ice.”
“No doubt,” he said, stopping the car in front of my building. “Details?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, stifling a yawn. I handed him my car key. “Thanks a lot for doing this. I don’t know who those men were, and I really hope they mistook me for someone else.”
“Let me walk you up,” he said, furrowing his brow again.
The night air was pleasantly perfumed with the honeysuckle on a vine that crept up the side of my apartment wall. Frogs and crickets croaked and chirped, their song rising up from the river and into the night. Colt let me go first up the stairs, and we reached my apartment door. I pressed my thumb to the lock, and the door opened. Rogue greeted me with a wagging tail and a little whimper upon seeing my brother. I picked him up and let him lick my chin.
I turned to say goodnight, but stopped. Colt’s eyes were lit with concern; he had started chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He glanced down and to the side. “What happened to you tonight was my fault.”
I gave my head a confused little turn. “What do you mean?”
“If they were Roberto’s men, I mean. It was my stupid idea to have you distract him that night, and—”
I covered his mouth with my hand and narrowed my eyes. Letting the silence prep him for the seriousness of my next statement, I cleared my throat.
“Now, you know that I agreed to it, and you know that we have no regrets when we go out and work as a team. We don’t ‘make’ each other do anything. It was a good plan, and it worked. We got Nando in the bag, and split the nasty Fish’s catch payment. You’re my brother, and you’re an inventive bounty hunter, and I love you. It’s most definitely not your fault if these guys are Roberto’s people. And I don’t think they are.” I lied. “So don’t you worry one smidget.”
He nodded and gave the cheek chewing a rest. But his face hadn’t relaxed.
“Colt? Did you hear me?”
“Can I come in for a minute?”
“Sure! Let me take Rogue down to potty first.”
“I can take him.”
“Okay,” I said, handing the dog to him. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I just have something I need your advice on.”
I nodded. It wasn’t often that my brother wanted to talk or get advice. He was generally a fun-loving, high-on-life kind of guy. Whatever was bothering him must’ve really brought him some anxiety.
“I’ll go fix us something to drink,” I said. “What do you want?”
“Got anything hard?”
“Nope, sorry, I may have some mini wine bottles, or there’s tea or Diet Coke—is it that bad?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I come back. I’ll just have a Coke. Be right back.”
He carried Rogue down the stairs and I stood in the doorway. What was going on? When he turned to head down the slight slope of grassy lawn, I went into the kitchen and filled two glasses with ice. I’d barely finished splitting the soda between both glasses when I heard the door shut, and Rogue ran into the kitchen to sniff the air.
“No Coke for you, little buddy,” I said. “Do you want some milk?”
His wagging tail flapped back and forth so fast it was nearly a blur. I poured him a little milk in his bowl, then joined Colt on the couch and handed him his drink. Colt didn’t waste any time.
“I have to go have dinner with Mom tomorrow night,” he said.
“Ah,” I said quietly. “I’m going to meet her the next evening.”
“There’s someone I want to tell her about, but she’s just such a bitch.” He sipped on the Coke. “You know how she is.”
“I know. Who do you want to tell her about?” I rested my back against the squishy arm of the couch and brought my legs up to sit with them crossed. A smile started to play on my lips. “Did you meet somebody? Is it a girl?”
“Doi, what else!” His cheeks went pink. “She’s one of A.J.’s friends from college. Her name’s Deirdre. I asked her to go serious with me, and she said she would.”
“Whoa—wait, my brother? Going exclusive? She must be some woman! I thought you were having a blast playing the game?”
“Well, I was. Until I met her.” He scratched Rogue’s chest, the dog having jumped in his lap. “She’s different.”
I knew better than to press him when he was open like this. He was doing good to say what he did. I was as bad as Jenny and wanted to ask, How is she different? How long have you known her? What does she look like? How old is she? When can I meet her? Instead, I said:
“That’s great, Colt. I’m really glad you’ve found someone.”
“I think now I know that feeling you had for—”
“Let’s talk about how Mom ties into this,” I said with m
y hand held up for him to stop right there. “Are you wanting to take her along tomorrow night?”
“Well, here’s the thing. I’d already promised Deirdre a date tomorrow night, and then Mom practically twisted my arm until I told her I’d eat dinner with her. So I was going to try to fit them both in, and also introduce her to Mom. It might be the only chance for a while.”
“But?”
“But you know how Mom is.”
“Yeah, I do, but Mom’s a socialite, and she’d probably talk Deirdre’s ear off, and—”
“She’s black, Sis.”
“Huh?”
“Deirdre’s black.”
“Oh.” My eyes widened. “That is interesting.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You know what? I think Mom will behave herself.” I made a mental note to call my mother and forewarn her of this meeting—and threaten her good and well, with one of the many bits of blackmail I had on her, that she’d better be cordial or else. “I think she will.”
“Yeah, but she’s prejudiced. It’s like she’s stuck in some alternate reality, like 200 years ago when it comes to that.”
It was true. Why? I didn’t know. I’d always assumed it was part of her eternal snobbery. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was her acceptance of Deirdre and my brother’s happiness.
“I think it’ll be fine, Colt,” I said. “Just give Deirdre a heads-up. Let her know that Mom’s kind of snooty.”
“She knows. She knows all about Mom. She says she doesn’t care and that she’s dealt with it, mostly from really old or really rich white people, and she usually laughs it off. She’s just the greatest person, Mina. She’s beautiful, she’s sexy, she’s gorgeous.”
I giggled, still having a hard time believing Colt was going serious. “Is she anything but good-looking?”
