Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  “No.” Beth pushed past her, carrying a bulging tote. “Unilateral decision. You don’t have anything to do this evening.”

  Sarah’s voice rose indignantly. “Of course I do. I always have work.”

  “That’s the problem.” Beth’s voice was grim enough to give Sarah prickles of alarm. “Let me restate that. You don’t have anything urgent to do this evening and you’re going to have some fun.”

  Oh, great. “I thought we settled this,” Sarah began.

  “I’ve settled it. We’re doing it my way, for a change.” Beth was three inches shorter and who knows how much lighter, but Sarah didn’t doubt for a minute that she meant it.

  Sarah considered. Maybe Beth was right. Maybe she would more patient if she took some time for herself. Life was lived one moment at a time, and now she had one hundred and eighty moments before her mother and Violet came home. “We have three whole hours,” she said. “We could go to a movie. Or we could go bowling.”

  “At least you remember some of the things you used to do for fun,” Beth said. “But I have a better idea. Come on.” She picked up the bag and grabbed Sarah’s arm, towing her toward the staircase.

  “Wait. What are you doing?” Sarah held on to the door frame as Beth pushed her out of the kitchen toward the hall.

  “Clothes,” Beth said, tugging harder. “Trust me.”

  If ever there was a phrase that meant trouble, that was it. Sarah was still wondering why she allowed herself to be pulled up the stairs to her bedroom when Beth gave a final shove and she fetched up against the bed.

  Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door, wearing a much-too-tight dress of Beth’s. It had looked so innocent on the hanger, a high-necked column of black. On her, it didn’t look innocent at all. She turned to get the back view, and realized the dress was almost backless. It clung from neck to top of her thighs, then belled out.

  “My God, Beth. No one over twenty ought to appear in public in this.” In spite of the high neck, the bodice wrapped lovingly over her breasts and showcased them in a way that didn’t look at all proper.

  “You look perfect. You may be forty-something, but you look great. Hot. We’re going to DiLucca’s.”

  DiLucca’s. It sounded like a nice, family-style Italian restaurant, but Sarah had lived in Crowley Falls long enough to know about DiLucca’s, the swingingest—and only—nightclub in Crowley Falls. A place she’d never been, on her own or in response to Beth’s many invitations. She’d never wanted to go there, so why was she letting Beth hypnotize her into an evening that didn’t even sound like fun? “I can’t go in there.”

  “Of course you can. It’s just what you need. You like to dance, and you’ve never gone there with me even though I’ve asked you a million times. Besides, we haven’t done anything together for so long. I feel like I’m not very important to you. Maybe you don’t even like me anymore.”

  The guilt card. But she couldn’t say Beth was wrong. It had been a long time since they’d done anything except have lunch together at work.

  Beth considered her handiwork, head tilted to one side. “Almost,” she said, and rummaged in Sarah’s jewelry box. She came up with a pair of earrings from a long ago office gift exchange. Sarah had never had the nerve to wear the three-inch dangles of silver stars, but when Beth gave her a no-arguments glare, she put them on.

  “Now makeup,” Beth said. “Sit down. I’m going to do this. You never put enough on.”

  Sarah didn’t dare move while Beth swiped recklessly with the mascara wand and slashed scarlet across her mouth. When she was done, someone else looked back out of the mirror. This wasn’t calm, steady Sarah Gault, nit-picky accountant, loving caregiver, and all-around good girl. Whoever she was, she looked ready to party.

  Beth stepped back. Her gaze met Sarah’s in the mirror. “Okay, babe. You and me, we’re going to paint the town tonight. You’re gonna get a life.”

  Sarah inspected herself. Was that really her? Yes, she wanted a life, but this didn’t look like the one she wanted. She didn’t even know this woman with the do-me outfit and yearning eyes.

  Yearning. That was what she felt. Not to be free of responsibility, but yearning to be free of this insidious, ever-present worry, and the guilt that went with every bit of discontent.

  A tiny bubble of guilty excitement began to burn deep inside her. “I can’t do this,” she said, but her voice sounded unconvincing even to herself. “I have to be home by ten.” That made her feel about sixteen.

  Beth hustled her out the door before she could protest, out the door. Mr. Reynolds across the street dropped his briefcase when he saw Sarah, and she would have bolted back into the house but Beth pushed her into the car. Sarah couldn’t believe she was doing this, hoped this was all a joke, a dream, but Beth drove, kept on going, right through downtown, past the stoplight, out onto Highway 72, and into the gravel parking lot in front of what looked like a garden shed on steroids.

  “We’re here,” Beth said unnecessarily.

  “Yeah.” Who could miss the plastic beer bottle on the roof? Trucks and cars already jammed the parking lot. Sarah had three hours, well, two and a half hours, of life. She’d better start having what Beth called fun.

  Beth gave her a shove toward the entrance. Sarah tossed the long chain strap of her tiny black suede purse over her shoulder and picked her way across the parking lot.

  The wall of noise that greeted her would have stopped her in her tracks if she hadn’t slammed into an immovable object first. Hands grabbed her upper arms to steady her, so she figured she’d met someone. She looked up.

  “Sarah, is that you?”

  Brent. Oh, hell. Didn’t it just figure?

  “What in God’s name are you doing here, Sarah?” he asked. “Where’s your mother?”

  Sarah grimaced. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t heard him. But no.

  He looked over her shoulder. “Beth. I suppose you put her up to this.”

  Beth grinned and dashed inside without answering.

  Brent shoved Sarah back through the door into the relative quiet of the parking lot where he looked her up and down in the blinking light of a Coors sign. “And what the hell are you got up as?”

  She sighed. “Mama and Violet are at the church for bingo night, Brent. I’m got up as an adult out for an evening of fun. Or so Beth tells me. Does that meet with your approval? May I go in now? Or do I need a note from my mother?”

  “Sarah.”

  She tapped her foot. “Brent,” she echoed, and stared at him until he shrugged.

  “All right, all right.” He stepped back and held the door for her. “But be careful. Don’t drink anything that you haven’t taken directly from the bartender. Don’t leave with anyone you don’t know. Don’t—”

  “Brent!” Sarah’s shout chopped off his words. “Thank you, but I think I have that much sense. Now, may I go inside and get Beth? I think I’m ready to go home and she drove.”

  Brent stepped aside with an embarrassed apology and Sarah stalked through the door. This time she was ready for the noise and the crowd, but she couldn’t spot Beth in the dimly lighted room. She slithered her way to the bar and eased onto one of the leather stools.

  “Hey, is that Sarah Gault?” shouted the bartender. “Never thought I’d see you in here.”

  She’d gone to school with him but couldn’t remember his name. “Hi,” she said, pretending she knew him and acting as though bar-hopping were a normal thing for her to do.

  “Sarah Gault,” he repeated. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Oh, jeez. Trying to step out of character in a small town was harder than people thought. Even though she didn’t want to be doing this, some remnant of rebellious teenager was coming to life inside her and shouting at her to do it, go for it. “Appletini,” she yelled, and plunked money on the bar.

  The bartender gave her a measuring stare. “Well, I guess I don’t have to card you,” he
said, and began measuring and shaking. He set a glass of something frou-frou and green in front of her. Sarah peered at it doubtfully. A slice of apple and a cherry peered back.

  She picked it up, trying to look as though she did this every day, and Heaven only knew why all the pretense. Most of the people in here knew that she wasn’t a regular, that she didn’t drink more than the occasional glass of wine or sherry, that she was a middle-aged stick-in-the-mud. Heck, half of them probably knew her birth date and present weight.

  After the first tiny sip, she couldn’t keep from making a face. Candy, that hard candy that came in bags at the grocery store. But candy with a kick.

  The bartender smirked, so she took a second taste. She’d been right. This wasn’t her kind of drink. “Thanks,” she said, climbed down from the stool, and squirmed through the crowd in search of Beth. The dance floor was as crowded as the bar, but with more movement, and she still couldn’t spot Beth. She hoped Brent would, and warn her. But then, Beth came here all the time. She should know how to take care of herself.

  Even through a noise level that could outdo LAX, she could hear the beat and catch a bit of melody. The crowd sorted itself into lines, and someone grabbed her glass. She thought about having to drink more horrible apple-flavored vodka, released the glass, and surrendered to being yanked out onto the dance floor to the strains of Achy Breaky Heart. This must be the only place in the world backward enough to still be playing that. And doing line dances.

  By the time the song ended, she had to admit she was having fun. She’d been so busy concentrating on the steps that she hadn’t figured out who had pulled her out onto the dance floor. When the band swung into a slow two-step, he had her crushed against him so tightly she couldn’t move, and her cheek was firmly pressed to his chest.

  Didn’t matter, she guessed. She wanted to dance. She was dancing, and even that tiny amount of vodka put little sparkles around the lights and she felt about nineteen again, and wasn’t that the whole point?

  She relaxed against the Unknown Partner until she realized that he wasn’t relaxed. Far from it. His majorly aroused body pressed against her in a way that would take several gallons of appletini to make acceptable. She tried to pull away, and he ran one hand down her back and pressed her closer.

  Not good. She pushed harder against him, but his arms were about as moveable as a strait-jacket. She tried to stop dancing, but he spun her in a complicated series of turns that left her dizzy and limp.

  When her head stopped spinning, she tried again to push away from him. He laughed and laced her hands behind his neck. His arms clamped around her like prison bars and pulled her closer.

  She couldn’t push him away, couldn’t get a deep enough breath to scream, couldn’t even move enough to use her knee.

  Chapter 6

  Sarah couldn’t believe she could be any closer to the guy, but someone bumped into her and drove her against his unyielding bulk.

  He made an appreciative murmur and let go of her with one arm to tilt her face up to his. Before she could protest, his mouth was on hers.

  Yech.

  His hands tightened on her and she pushed at him again. She might as well have been trying to push her mother’s big, blue Cadillac.

  She wasn’t afraid. Exactly. What could he do to her in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Except for the yech factor, this wasn’t a problem. Exactly.

  But she was getting really angry. He murmured a suggestion in her ear. Not something she’d do anytime in the next million years. She renewed her struggles. “Damn it, let go of me.”

  “You’re cute when you’re mad,” her partner said, and her temper skyrocketed. What an absolute jerk.

  He locked her against him and executed a couple of fast turns, practically carrying her because she was so furious she’d given up all pretense of dancing.

  Okay, this wasn’t what she thought of as fun. She squirmed and was rewarded by his low growl. “Come on, honey. You know you like it.”

  Not in a billion years.

  His mouth clamped over hers again, and she couldn’t breathe.

  “Sarah?” Rob’s voice in her ear was incredulous. And incredibly welcome.

  Her partner raised his head. “Get lost,” he growled, and swung her around, away from Rob and rescue.

  Taking advantage of the moment, she gasped, “Help.” It was a faint thread of sound that she was sure no one could hear over the din of music and laughter.

  As if the word were a catalyst, however, she was released so suddenly that she stumbled. “Ow!” A rough hand grabbed her arm and kept her on her feet.

  She was ready this time, and sank a fist into his stomach.

  It was like hitting a brick wall.

  “Let go of me,” she said, but it came out more as a snarl. She hadn’t had any idea she could even sound like that, and a small corner of her mind was pleased.

  “Stop that. I’m the good guy.”

  Rob. Thank goodness. She threw her arms around him.

  Sarah’s erstwhile dance partner grabbed her arm. “You bitch. You get back here.”

  Rob put a hand on the man’s shoulder, turned him away from Sarah, and hit him. The man folded gently to the floor and didn’t move. The dancers shifted to make room for him and ignored the altercation.

  Oh, my. She’d never been rescued before. Rob suddenly looked inches taller. “What took you so long?” she said, trying for cool and laid back. The quaver in her voice gave her away.

  He bent closer to her and touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “Sorry. It took longer than I wanted to get through the crowd. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “Just scared.”

  “Well then, you owe me. I think I broke my hand. What are you doing in a dark corner with an ape like that anyway?”

  “He was okay when we were line dancing.” She started to shake. “And then he wouldn’t let me go.”

  Rob grabbed her fallen ex-partner by the collar and hauled him off the dance floor. “I’ll call Brent to collect this guy, and then let’s get out of here.” He put an arm around her and said something that made her jaw drop. The evening might not be fun, but it was certainly educational. “We should we go out the back,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Your dress is torn.”

  “Oh, no. It’s Beth’s dress. She’ll be furious.” Sarah twisted and tried to peer over her shoulder. “Where?”

  “Here.” Rob put his hand on her back. “The whole back is gone.” Rob pulled off his shirt and put it around her, pulling her into the circle of his arm.

  His shirt was soft and warm against her bare skin. It, and his arm, made her feel so safe, so cherished, that she didn’t want to tell him about the dress, but the absurdity of the whole evening overcame her and she giggled.

  He stopped tugging her along and peered down at her. “Are you hysterical?”

  She shook her head and managed to stop laughing. “No. It’s only that the dress didn’t have a back to start with.”

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Just a sip. I’m okay. Really.”

  Rob scowled, but he didn’t let go of her.

  She leaned into him, feeling not at all trapped by the arm around her shoulders, not at all like on the dance floor.

  He pulled out his cell phone and punched a speed dial number. “Yeah,” he shouted over the din. “Over by the hall to the rest rooms.”

  A few seconds later, Brent charged into the dark hallway. “What’ve you got?”

  Rob kicked the man on the floor. “He was putting the moves on Sarah.”

  Brent grimaced. “Last time I heard, that wasn’t illegal. You want exclusive rights to Sarah, you better talk to her about it.”

  Red flooded Rob’s face and Sarah swallowed a snicker. This was interesting.

  “You want to file a complaint, Sarah?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I’ll haul him in for drunk and disorderly.” Brent bent over
the man and Sarah heard the snick of handcuffs. He unclipped a radio from his belt and muttered into it.

  “I have to go home,” she said. “If Mama and your Aunt Violet see me like this...” She shuddered.

  “I’ll take you home,” Rob reassured her. “Don’t worry. Find Beth,” he told Brent. “And tell her I gave Sarah a ride.”

  Someone banged on the back door and Brent opened it. Two uniformed officers entered. “Darker than the inside of a mole,” one of them growled, and his powerful flashlight illuminated the scene. Sarah looked down at her would-be attacker and shuddered again.

  Rob leaned close and said, “Don’t think about it, honey. No one’s going to hurt you while I’m around.”

  Beth wriggled through the crowd, headed for the rest room. She stopped dead at the sight of Sarah. “Oh, my God,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Later,” Rob said. “I’m taking Sarah home now.” The way he said it dared anyone to stop him. No one did.

  “Oh, God, this is all my fault,” Beth cried as he led Sarah out the door. “I should never have made you come here.”

  Exhaustion swept over Sarah. “Not tonight, Beth. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Even as she spoke, she wondered how she was going to get through the night. Every time she shut her eyes, she’d be transported back to those moments of helplessness. Thank goodness Rob had been there to save her.

  If she were a superstitious woman, she’d figure that she’d been well-paid for her moment of wishing things were different. One thing she knew: there wasn’t going to be any more nonsense about taking time off to live a life of her own.

  From now on, it was all about her mother.

  ****

  The next afternoon, Sarah puttered around the kitchen, baking, trying not to think about Rob. He’d winked a knowing wink at her when he’d come to pick up Violet this morning. She looked at the clock again. Her mother and Miranda had been gone for almost two hours, and if they didn’t get home soon, they’d be caught in the coming rain.

  Visiting an old friend in a nursing home couldn’t be pleasant for them. Sarah could imagine that Adele wanted to talk and talk and talk, and they were having trouble getting away. That was so much better than envisioning auto accidents. Anyway, Miranda was a good driver. For an elderly woman.