Burning Up

by Susan Andersen

  “After waiting tables for four years while you kept putting yourself out there even when doors were being slammed in your face.”

  “Yes!” She nodded fervently. “And I’m making the transition to my behind-the-scenes concept work primarily through contacts that I made on my own. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I’m good at visualizing how a song should translate to video.”

  “Once again, a skill developed through your own hard work.”

  “So maybe I should scrap-heap the costumes tonight.” Her stomach clenched at the thought and she promptly reversed herself. “Or not. This is Sugarville we’re talking about. Mayfield and I’m-married-to-the-Mayor Liz are probably just waiting to bar me from the door.”

  The words echoed in her head and got her off the bed faster than anything else could have. She exhaled an as if huff of air. “Like I’m going to let those idiots dictate my choices. I’m tired of reacting to that group as if I’m still in high school. I’ve actually made a few friends outside the family since I’ve been back and I’ve noticed more than once that more folks have let the past go than not. Yet as fast as I become aware of it, I seem to promptly forget and go back to my old knee-jerk ways. I’m the one who keeps hanging on to what used to be—it’s like this bad habit I can’t seem to break. But it’s time to put an end to it once and for all.”

  Peering into the mirror over the dresser, she made a face. “That is not a pretty sight. I’d better go get some ice from Auntie to see if I can bring down the swelling on these puffy eyes. Then you and I have our work cut out for us. Because we’ve got to come up with something for me to wear that’s both attractive and seminormal. And we only have the two suitcases worth of stuff I brought with me to pull it from.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GABE CURSED under his breath when he saw the plume of smoke rising near Spindale Gulch.

  He had the pedal to the metal as he raced back from Wenatchee, where he’d gone to get wrist corsages—only to wind up having to do a verbal tap dance to get a florist to make them for him. Who the hell knew you were supposed to order the things ahead of time?

  It had taken more than an hour and an additional discussion about keeping the arrangements simple, which had grown heated on the florist’s part, since he’d taken a big-ass exception to Gabe’s insistence that less was more. But he was not about to slide one of those huge, fussy numbers on Macy’s wrist, so it had been worth a minor dustup with the guy. Because he now had a clamshell on his passenger seat in which two elegantly minimal rosebud-and-orchid wrist corsages nestled.

  He was less than ten minutes from the boardinghouse, and if none of the AAE guys were using the upstairs bathroom, he’d have more than enough time to shower, shave and dress before zero hour. The part he wasn’t so confident about was his ability to convince Macy that he should escort her and Janna to their reunion as they’d originally planned.

  The woman was stubborn as an ox, and if she was still pissed, there might not be enough hours in the day to change her mind.

  He was calculating the odds of making her see things his way when he spotted the slender column of smoke rising against the still-brilliant blue sky. For the first time since joining the fire department, he had fuck-all desire to stop and investigate.

  Dammit, he was already running late. And for all he knew the smoke might be from a controlled burn. The only thing down that way was the dream house a couple of retirees from the other side of the Cascades were having built. Maybe their contractor was getting rid of some of the scraps that were part and parcel of new construction.

  But maybe he wasn’t. “Shit.” Hitting the brakes, he waited for his rig to rock to a stop, then put it in Reverse and backed up to the cutoff road he had just passed that would take him down the gulch.

  His cell phone rang moments later. Pulling it out of the cup holder on the console as he turned onto the side road he glanced at the readout and saw it was Johnny. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. Solberg shot by me a while ago, headed out of S-ville. Given that it’s almost Saturday night, I thought he was probably on his way to the Red Dog. But he blew right past not only that, but his own place, as well. He’s heading west on Two. Look, I know you’ve got the reunion, and for all I know, your guy could have a hot date in Wenatchee or Leavenworth—or, hell, anywhere between here and Seattle if it comes to that. But I had to hang back to keep him from making me and now I’ve lost him. Plus, it’s a change in his pattern and…I don’t know, man. I’ve got an itch at the back of my neck about this.”

  “I think I know where he is.” Mentally stringing together a few of his favorite obscenities, he filled the deputy in on the smoke he was on his way to investigate.

  Johnny swore. “That’s the place George Fulton’s building for those Coasties, isn’t it?

  “Yeah, so I’m on my way to check it out and—Christ! Flames just shot up. This is no controlled burn. Where are you now?”

  “I just passed Bremer’s farm. The Spindale Road is coming up.”

  “Good. Take that. I’m on the gulch cutoff from this end, so we should have him sandwiched. It stands to reason he’s still somewhere on the siding road if you haven’t passed him coming back and I haven’t run into him headed in my direction. And dammit, he is not getting away this time.” He gave his head an impatient shake. “I need to get off the line, dawg, and call it in.”

  “Meetcha in the middle.”

  Gabe hung up, then called up his truck. After terse instructions to Bundy, who was the first to respond, he tossed his phone back in the cup holder.

  With a regretful look at the corsages, he stomped on the gas and sent his rig rocketing down the road toward the gully.

  “HI, DO YOU REMEMBER me? Mike Bodendorf?” Turning away from a spirited conversation taking place with Janna, seated next to her, and the group on her cousin’s other side, Macy looked up at the former classmate addressing her. The men, she had noted over the past couple of hours, were the hardest to identify—likely because the last time she’d seen them, most had been ridiculously young-looking. Much more so back in high school than the girls, who had matured more quickly and possessed strong hints of what they’d look like as twenty-eight-year-olds.

  This man, however, with his young-bull build, white-blond hair and Germanic looks, struck a cord of familiarity, and she had a vague recollection from… “Mr. Rickel’s science class, junior year?”

  Even as the words left her mouth it felt right. The class in question had been during the halcyon days, before everything had gone to hell, and she tended to remember the guys who’d been decent to her, since they’d soon become almost as extinct as the buffalo hunter. Or at least it had seemed that way at the time.

  “Damn.” Bodendorf grinned. “You’re good. I didn’t think you’d have a clue who I was.”

  “Hey, weren’t we lab partners for a couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And if I remember right, I got a whole lot more out of our association than you did, considering you were way better at the lab stuff than I was.” She cocked her head to study him. “You were one of the Future Farmer kids, right?”

  “Yep.” He flashed a crooked smile. “I still am, more or less. I left the wheat fields to my folks, but I’ve got pear and apple orchards up near Carlton.” He looked around the room for a moment, then slid his hands into his slacks pockets and jingled his change as he returned his attention to her. “I’m betting this isn’t exactly what you’re accustomed to,” he said dryly.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “C’mon. Parties at the grange hall?”

  She laughed. “I was actually just thinking what a great job the decorations committee did dolling up the joint.”

  She wasn’t being facetious; if this was the work of Mrs. I’m-Married-to-the-Mayor and posse, she had to give them credit. Not only did they possess good taste, but they’d managed some serious changes to the appearance of the hall without breaking the bank. The over
head lights had been dimmed about the same time dinner had ended and the sun had gone down, and LED-lighted paper lanterns in Sugarville High’s familiar blue-and-gold had been strung in rows across the ceiling. Candles in matching votives flickered on white linen tablecloths, picking up jewel-toned sparks of color from the metallic confetti scattered around them. Placed about the room was an occasional basket of manzanita branches that had been wrapped in white lights, and on the walls hung four beautiful oversize Turkish rugs. You had to look closely to see the cards giving the corresponding item’s price and discreetly advertising the shop that had undoubtedly lent them for the evening mounted next to them.

  She refocused her concentration on the man standing in front of her. “So, what have you been doing for the past ten years when you aren’t apple wrangling, Mike? Are you married? Have any little Bodendorfs?”

  “No kids. I was married, but I’ve been single again for about two years now.” He looked for a moment as if he might go into detail, but merely hitched a brawny shoulder. “What can I say? It just didn’t work out.”

  “Marriages often don’t,” she agreed.

  “How about you?”

  “Never been married or had a kid.”

  Next to her at the table, Janna laughed at something someone said and Macy turned to look. When her cousin twisted around in response to her movement, Macy touched her arm. “Janna, do you remember Mike Bodendorf?”

  “Sure. Mike and I used to run into each other in town occasionally before he moved up north.” She turned a brilliant smile on the blond man. “How’s life in the Okanagon treating you?”

  “Can’t complain. My folks told me you were the victim of a serious accident last spring, though. How you doing?”

  “Much better, thanks. I just recently finished my physical therapy and am definitely on the mend.”

  “Glad to hear it. You sure look good.”

  “Thanks.” She beamed up at him. “So do you.”

  Mike edged around Macy to stand closer to her cousin’s chair and she thought, Go, Janny. A corner of her mouth tipping up in a wry smile, she scooted her chair away from the table. “If you two will excuse me for a minute, I’m going to go visit the—” She waved vaguely in the direction of the hallway hosting the restrooms and wandered off. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Mike take her seat and lean in to talk to Janna.

  She was waylaid on her way to the Ladies’ by a guy who’d once taken her out and promptly become part of the ongoing Macy-is-easy propaganda machine when he’d lied about how lucky he’d gotten with her. Not that it had made him different from all but a few of the high school Romeos who’d dated her after Mayfield started the rumors. But he apparently wanted to regale her now with how much he’d loved her videos. At least the other authors of her bad rep had the brains to give her a wide berth.

  She played nice, however, and politely extricated herself. No sooner had she left him when a woman who had been blessedly neutral back in the day asked her if she’d join her and her husband in the memory photo they were about to have taken in front of the backdrop set up out in the foyer. Macy agreed she’d be delighted.

  It was the fourth time this evening she’d posed with classmates, so you’d think by now she would be blasé about it. Yet it still managed to catch her by surprise that people wanted her to be in their photographs.

  Surprised and, if she were to be honest, tickled. Tonight was turning out much better than she’d anticipated, and after she finished up in the restroom stall she chatted with two women named Jenny and Lisa while washing up and freshening her lipstick.

  “I love your dress,” Jenny said, and Macy grinned down at her little silver-blue slip dress, which she’d paired with her blue Cuban-heeled, peep-toed forties-look shoes. She was attired more or less like all the other women here tonight. She’d gone a little heavy in the eye-makeup department, perhaps, but as it turned out so had most of the other females. It must be one of those universal evening-wear things.

  “I’m impressed with your makeup,” Lisa chimed in. “How do you get such a flawless look? Just have great skin?”

  “It’s a little bit inheriting my mother’s complexion and a whole lot Diorskin Nude mineral powder,” she promptly replied. “It’s made with mineralized water so it doesn’t settle in to show every imperfection. My favorite makeup artist turned me onto it—she always used it for my shoots.”

  Lisa sighed in disappointment. “That’s what I was afraid of, that it’s one of those specialized products you can only get in Hollywood.”

  Macy laughed. “Sugar, you can get it at most department stores. Check it out the next time you go into Wenatchee.” She studied Lisa’s makeup for a moment. “You need a lipstick with a warmer undertone,” she informed the other woman, digging through her cosmetic bag. Since an evening purse wasn’t an accessory she’d thought to pack when she’d left California, she was toting around her regular purse with all its usual paraphernalia.

  Locating the lipstick she’d been seeking, she pulled it out. “Here. This one’s a shade called All Heart.” Plucking a tissue from the box on the counter, she used it to wipe a rosy layer off the tip and extended the tube to the other woman. “If you don’t mind that it’s not new, you’re welcome to try this.”

  Lisa didn’t even hesitate; she grabbed a tissue and removed her own lipstick, then reached for the tube Macy offered. Leaning into the mirror, she applied it, then stood back to inspect the results.

  And flashed a huge smile. “Omigawd. This is way more flattering.”

  “It is,” Jenny agreed. “It’s just like that episode of The Closer where Chief Brenda Leigh got talked into giving up her red lipstick for a color kinda like that and ended up looking soooo much prettier.”

  “Man,” Lisa breathed, gazing in awe at Macy as if she were Angelina Jolie and Cameron Diaz rolled into one. “How do you know all this stuff? You must live such a glamorous life.”

  Macy laughed. “Nah. I’ve just spent a lot of time sitting in makeup chairs. You either nap or you pay attention.” She shrugged. “I’ve done both.” She indicated the tube in the other woman’s hand. “You’re welcome to keep that if you want.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that very much, since I already hate the idea of reapplying my old color when this one wears off.” She hesitated, then said in a serious voice, “You know, I owe you a long-overdue apology. I knew, for all your flirting back in school, that there was something a little too contemptuous in the way you looked at all those boys for you to be doing what they said you were doing. But I was afraid that if I talked to you that crowd would make my life miserable, too. It was so cowardly, and I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Macy said lightly, even as she felt the other woman’s words soothe a tiny ache she hadn’t even realized she still carried inside her. “High school’s a killer for everyone.”

  “Except a few,” Jenny said. “And have you noticed that a lot of them never seem to get beyond it? It’s like that was the highlight of their life—and that’s kinda pitiful, too.”

  Macy was feeling mighty fine as she sashayed down the hallway a few minutes later. For the first time in more than ten years she had a clear, adult-driven view of the people in this town, rather than the one she’d been filtering through her high school experiences.

  A handful of them were always going to have a problem with her, no matter what. Most of the men and women she’d chatted with tonight, however, had treated her either as easily as Mike Bodendorf or as if she were some big-deal star, a much bigger celebrity than she’d ever been anywhere except in her wildest dreams back in the days before she’d gotten a foot in the industry door.

  The first was relaxing, the second seriously flattering, considering what a small cog she actually was in the huge wheel that was the entertainment industry.

  “What, you couldn’t afford a dress, so you just wore your slip instead?” drawled a voice to her right. “Business must not be nearly as good as you’d ha
ve everyone believe.”

  Macy looked over to see—oh, goody—Liz Pickett-Smith and her coterie of yes-chicks bearing down on her. That’ll teach me to get cocky.

  Giving her shoulders an infinitesimal roll, she refused to let the other woman get under her skin. She’d mingled with far too many truly decent people tonight to let Mrs. Mayor spoil her mood. In fact, with sudden clarity she realized that most of Queen Bitch’s nastiness likely stemmed from jealousy. Because Gabriel was right about one thing: Macy had made something of herself in the larger world, strictly on her own merit, through perseverance and hard work. In sharp contrast, Liz had climbed to the top of Sugarville’s social elite, which was a small pinnacle by anyone’s measure, on the back of her husband’s accomplishments.

  And Macy wasn’t above rubbing it in. Facing the group squarely, she gave the other woman a kind smile. “I know it can be terribly difficult for someone who buys all her clothing off the rack to recognize couture when she sees it. But this ‘slip,’ Lizzy? It’s Vera Wang.” From two years ago, and she’d bought it at a huge discount from a sample sale. Damned, however, if she owed Liz and the Pucker Ups that information.

  Temper mottled the other woman’s complexion. “Why did you come tonight?” she demanded through stiff lips. “Nobody wants you here.”

  “Macy O’James!” called a jovial voice from behind her, and she looked over her shoulder.

  Liz’s husband strode up to their group. Reaching them, the older man grabbed her hand and enthusiastically pumped it. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  She bit back her grin. Who said there wasn’t a God? “Hello, Mayor Smith. It’s good to see you, too.”

  “Has my beautiful bride been telling you how happy we are to have you back in Sugarville?”

  A choked laugh escaped her. “Not exactly.”

  “She probably hasn’t had time, what with all the effort she’s been putting into this reunion.”

  “Yes, I was just mentioning to Mike Bodendorf what a lovely job she and her committees did decorating the grange.”