RAZZLE DAZZLE

by Lisa Hendrix

  “There was a waiter with a tray coming our direction, but he turned right. Sorry.” She bobbed again. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “The tickets were already paid for, and I realized this would make a great way to introduce Raine to a few of our friends.” He gave Raine’s hand an obvious squeeze. “Sort of a coming-out party.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes, but refrained from comment, and before Mason had time to tweak her again, a short, balding man in a badly cut jacket waylaid them. For the life of him, Mason couldn’t remember the fellow’s name, though the opposite clearly wasn’t true. After a few minutes, Mason started drifting toward their table, hoping the man would take a hint.

  *

  Tish reached Angus just as Bucky shook his hand and walked off smiling as though he’d personally reeled in Moby Dick. She slipped her arm into Angus’s, not even trying to hide the tension in her face.

  “Is there something wrong, Titania?”

  “I’ve come down with the most abominable headache, just in the last few minutes.” She squinted past Angus’s shoulder, trying to decide whether he’d be able to see Mason, and decided to turn him a few degrees to the left, just to be safe.

  “Let me have one of these boys bring you some aspirin,” offered Angus, gesturing toward a waiter.

  “I’d rather not. I try not to take too many drugs. I think I just need a walk. Would you mind taking me out for a few minutes?”

  “Of course not.” He handed his glass to the man behind the table and pressed Tish’s hand into the crook of his arm. “Do you have a wrap?”

  “No, no. I didn’t bring one.” And even if she had, she’d bloody well freeze before she’d let him hang around while she got it. “So, which fishing story was Bucky telling you—giant Alaska salmon or marlin?”

  “Marlin. How did you know?”

  “I could see him casting from the other side of the room. Do you fish?”

  He did, and he was happy to talk about it, as all fishermen are. She kept him going all the way out the door, hanging on his every word so that his eyes never left her adoring face—which flirtation just proved to what extremes Mason was driving her. The gauntlet took them within a dozen feet of Raine and Mason; as they passed, Miranda’s eyes bulged most unattractively, but Tish was too preoccupied with the acid burn in her stomach to bother with so much as a warning shake of the head. And all the while, Angus kept talking and so did Mason, blithely unaware of the near disaster.

  She decided it might be wise to breathe again when she and Angus reached the bottom of the grand staircase. Safe. The relief must have showed on her face, because Angus commented how much better she looked.

  “You know, I do feel a bit better already. I suspect it’s the lighting in the ballroom. Now that I have these glasses, I occasionally react to artificial lighting, and I’ve never been able to determine what triggers it. It’s annoying, but not deadly. I suppose I’ll just have to go home tonight.”

  “It’s a shame to waste the evening, when you’re already out.” Angus hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugged. “You know, I’m not much for sitting through speeches anyway, and I already promised Bucky a hundred thousand, so he’s had his pound of flesh. How about if I take you out? I can think of at least one place where the lighting won’t bother you.”

  “Well…” She had no real interest in going out with Angus, but if she let him take her home right away, there was a chance that he’d turn around and come back here. Dinner would keep him occupied well away from the Four Seasons and let her control the situation a little more.

  Besides, he’d just donated a hundred thousand dollars to Seattle’s best program for underprivileged children—he deserved a night out. “That’s a lovely idea, Angus.”

  “We’d better let Miranda know.” He turned back toward the stairway.

  “No!” she clutched at his arm. “I mean, there’s no reason to go all the way back up. I can just leave a note for a bellman to deliver.”

  They stopped at the concierge desk, and Tish scrawled a brief message to Miranda, although with Angus lurking over her shoulder, she could hardly give explicit suggestions about how to handle Mason. She’d just have to trust her to keep him on a short leash.

  She addressed the note to Miranda, and handed it and the pen back to the statuesque brunette behind the desk. “I have to leave unexpectedly. Can you see my daughter gets this in the next few minutes? She’s at the Wilmott Foundation dinner.”

  Angus plunked a five-dollar bill on the marble counter and tapped it.

  Tish groaned inwardly over the lack of finesse, but the concierge didn’t seem to mind. She smiled and reached for the bill. “Of course, ma’am. And thank you, sir.”

  “All right, then.” Tish turned to Angus. “I put myself in your capable hands.”

  “You won’t regret it, dear lady. You have my word.”

  *

  The dinner part of the evening was pretty much what Raine had expected, a very formal affair during which she finally had the opportunity to use all that maternal training on cutlery and etiquette. The table was filled with friends and business associates of the Alexanders, all curious about Caro’s apparent replacement but much, much too polite to say anything over the salmon. If it hadn’t been for the glaringly empty chair that should have held Tish Alexander, things would have been fine.

  But the chair was empty, and the fact that Tish had been on the premises and had disappeared at about the same time Mason and Raine had arrived left a question hanging over the table—had she left because she disapproved of Raine? The arrival of a message from the missing lady along with the salad did nothing to address the implied criticism, especially when Miranda carefully folded it and stuffed it in her purse after she’d read it. Headache, indeed.

  Mason went out of his way to be attentive, of course, and although he barely touched her, after the speeches when the crowd started breaking up into those who danced and those who hung around the edges and gossiped, Raine had a pretty good idea who was fodder for the latter.

  Her suspicion was reinforced when all conversation crashed to a halt as she walked into the ladies’ lounge with Miranda. It took everyone a good thirty seconds to recover—they must have been really dishing the dirt.

  “So, Miranda,” said a woman in a strapless, hussy-red dress who sashayed up when they paused at the mirror afterward to touch up their makeup. “Introduce me to Mason’s new friend.”

  “Louise Demarco, Raine Hobart,” said Miranda The way she held her lipstick up gave the impression she might like to scribble on Louise’s cheek. “Louise used to date Mason. It didn’t work out, but hope springs eternal.”

  Louise’s smile stiffened. “Oh, no, darling. I gave up on him when he started seeing Caro. They’re just so perfect for each other. So … mutually mercenary. Well, Raine, is it? How do you know Mason?”

  “She’s a family friend,” said Miranda quickly.

  “Actually, Caro’s the one who introduced me to the Alexanders,” said Raine. She pulled her compact out of her bag and opened it. “I don’t find her mercenary at all. Mason, either. I suppose I just don’t have that sort of mind.”

  Someone snorted back a laugh at the far end of the marble vanity, and Louise turned to glare. Raine quickly touched the powder puff to her nose, slipped the compact back into her purse, and headed for the door before Louise could regroup. Miranda was right behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” said Raine when they’d made good their escape. “She was just—”

  “—asking for it.” A laugh burst from Miranda. “Caro introduced you. That’s rich. How did you learn to handle people like Louise?”

  Raine shrugged. “We have bitches in Bemidji, too.”

  “They are universal, I suppose. Anyway, well done, but let’s get back to the table before this bitch recovers and comes a-hunting. I’m not so certain you could handle Louise if she gets a hair up her ass, but she won’t go anywhere near M
ason these days.”

  The table gradually emptied as couples got up to dance, and soon it was only Mason, Raine, and Miranda.

  “My, isn’t this exciting,” said Miranda. She scanned the crowd and apparently spotted someone interesting, because she started to stand up.

  Mason put his hand over her arm and held on firmly. She stared at him, then sagged back into her seat.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me where Mother went.”

  “Mason, you don’t want to get into this right now.” She glanced at Raine.

  “Did she leave because of me?” Raine asked.

  “Sort of, but… Oh, hell. You’re going to find out anyway. Angus was here. Mother hustled him out with the headache excuse.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Mason leaned back, swiping one hand across his forehead as though that would take away the ache in his own brain.

  Raine didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, my. Thank goodness we didn’t bump into him. Wouldn’t it be terrible if he called Caroline before you had a chance to talk to her, Mason?” She leaned forward, as though to confide in Miranda. “A woman just shouldn’t hear about a breakup from her father.”

  “Oh, great Goddess,” said Miranda.

  “It was very sweet of you to try to protect my feelings,” Raine went on to Miranda. “But you really don’t have to worry. I know Mason has certain obligations to Caroline. Neither one of us wants to hurt her unnecessarily.”

  She looked so much like a woman trying to be understanding in a difficult situation that Mason felt guilty. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  “Oh, great Goddess,” repeated Miranda, louder. “Not in public. I can’t deal with this.”

  She shook her arm loose, stood up, and smoothed her dress over her hips. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t stay to watch this little extravaganza.” She stalked off across the ballroom.

  “Bull’s-eye,” said Mason, feeling like he’d narrowly avoided a train wreck, only to have the baggage car door pop open to spill a million dollars in loose change at his feet. “And you, Raine Hobart, take the gold. How on earth do you keep so cool?”

  Her gaze flickered down, toward her hands, folded in her lap. “It’s all part of the act.”

  “I feel like celebrating. Come, dance with me.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and flashed him a big smile. “All right. As long as you remember that I’m strictly a two-step and jitterbug kind of girl. Very basic.”

  “Deal.”

  They weren’t exactly Fred and Ginger, or even Fred and Cyd, but they found their rhythm by the middle of the second dance, an easy swing version of the old standard, “Tangerine.”

  “So, what do you think?” asked Mason as they stepped through a simple turn. “Of the party, I mean. Ignoring the by-play.”

  “Well, it’s not the Bemidji High gym,” she said. “But hang a few hundred yards of twisted crepe paper and we could pretend.”

  “I bet you were the prom queen.”

  “Hardly. I got stood up that night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t be. He was too full of himself to be worthwhile, and besides, I had a ball. My best friend, Mary Ellen Johannesen, didn’t have a date either, so I ran out and rented a tux—excuse me, dinner jacket—and we walked into the gym arm in arm. I gave her a corsage and we danced and everything. Half of Bemidji probably still thinks I’m a lesbian. Especially since I live out here in Seattle. Liberals, you know.”

  Mason laughed. “So I’m dating a woman with a history.”

  Her smile flickered. “Developing more every minute.”

  He led her through another spin just as Miranda danced by with Todd Dennison.

  “You’re frowning,” said Raine as they came back together. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing crucial. That fellow Miranda’s with is an idiot,” said Mason as the idiot in question slipped his arm around Miranda’s waist. “They dated for a while after her divorce, but he was always chasing after some other woman. She usually refers to him as Two-Timing Toddy.”

  “Apparently she’s changed her mind.”

  “The question is, why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe so you’ll focus all your attention on her instead of me? That’s what I’d do if I was trying to keep my big brother from romancing the wrong woman.”

  Mason watched as Miranda glanced sideways at him and self-consciously tacked her hair behind her ear. He chuckled. “Again I bow to your brilliance.”

  The number ended and the band moved into a slow ballad. Smiling, Mason pulled Raine close, close enough to remind himself how pleasant it was to hold her. They had barely taken a step when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Todd Dennison stood there, grinning. “Hi, Mason. Just cutting in.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Mason. His gut rebelled at the idea of Raine in Todd’s smarmy hands.

  “Mason.” Raine put her hand on his arm. “It’s all right. There’s lots of music left.”

  So he released her and stood off to one side, watching her dance and chat while he waited for the song to end.

  It eventually did, and the band took a break, so he didn’t have to arm wrestle Dennison for the right to take Raine back to the table. They sat through Wes’s recounting of an avalanche in Gstaad, and got up as soon as the next set started.

  The same thing happened again three times. They danced the fast dances, the swing numbers and upbeat pieces, but as soon as the band moved into something slow and romantic, someone showed up to cut in—a different guy each time, but all with something in common: each had previously dated Miranda.

  “We’re being set up,” Raine said when she met him on the sidelines after the fourth cut.

  “I know. I’ve been trying to spot her. I haven’t seen her since she danced by with Todd.”

  Raine studied the room, too, with no more luck than Mason. “Maybe we can make an end run. If the band takes requests, we might get one slow dance in before she recruits her next flunky.”

  Grinning, he nodded. “I like the way your mind works. Excuse me for a moment.”

  After a brief conversation with the bandleader, he returned to Raine’s side and tagged her onto the floor for the last few bars of “Paper Doll.”

  “Here we go.”

  Without a pause, the band slowed and segued into the Glenn Miller classic, “Moonlight Serenade.”

  “Oh,” she breathed. “Good choice.”

  Impatient after an evening of waiting for this, he pulled her close, so that they had to move as one. A certain amount of danger lay in dancing that close. Danger that she’d notice how much he wanted her. Danger that other people would notice. But it was worth it, having her there in his arms for a few minutes. He whirled her across the floor.

  *

  Miranda’s lips moved in a quiet chant of Separation while she watched her brother and his inamorata from the corner where she’d taken up vigil behind the sound equipment. They were on to her, that was certain. Mason had looked ready to send out the hounds to find her, and now he’d fouled up her schedule by paying off the bandleader.

  “Where’s Philip?” she muttered when she’d cycled through the chant three times.

  “Probably in the head,” said Todd. “He didn’t expect to be on for another ten minutes at least.” He watched with her. “They move pretty well together.”

  They did, but as Miranda watched, she realized there was more to it. There was something in the way Mason looked down at Raine, a tenderness, a sweetness that Miranda hadn’t seen in her brother’s eyes for years. He loved her, and, potion or not, that was a good thing for Mason. And the way Raine looked up at him… Miranda sighed.

  They spun off across the floor to the building lushness of the saxes. Lucky Raine, thought Miranda. “Moonlight Serenade” was a great number. Sexy. Romantic as hell. Just the kind of thing she’d like to be dancing to, with the right man.

  Unbidden, an image of black hair, dark almond e
yes, and tight blue jeans swam into Miranda’s mind.

  Not a chance. Not only did Paul firmly believe in the sanctity of the chasm between garage and house, he thought she was a total flake, and there were times, like now, watching Mason with Raine, that she suspected he was right.

  She really needed to get her mind off such an unproductive tack, and one possible means for that was standing at her side, part of the reason she’d nominated Todd to the board of Operation Cut-In-Cut-Out. Toddy was always good for a little good-natured debauchery.

  Just then, Philip Watts made his way to Mason’s side and tapped his shoulder. Mason whirled on him, and for half a second Miranda thought he was going to deck poor Philip. Then, to her relief, he stepped aside and stalked off the dance floor. His eyes raked the corners of the room, searching for the real source of his torment, and then, with a snarl of frustration, he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Toddy,” said Miranda, shrinking deeper into the shadows. “I don’t think I’m going to be very welcome at home tonight.”

  His eyebrows went up in a familiar, lascivious way, and he edged closer, slipping one arm around her waist. “Maybe you should consider alternative lodgings.”

  “Why, Todd.” She looked up at him as though she hadn’t been planning it all afternoon. “What a good idea.”

  Philip spun Raine through a reverse turn and into a triple chasse. He was a better dancer than Mason, but, to Miranda’s eye, he and Raine didn’t look right together, and suddenly she knew that the game had gone far enough. She’d tell the rest of her commandos to back off. Let them dance.

  The band swung softly through the last chorus of “Moonlight” and into the crescendo of runs that marked the end. At the final chord, Philip kissed Raine’s hand, then, with his usual mix of charm and good sense, he escorted her back to her table and quickly vanished into the crowd before Mason reappeared.

  When Mason finally did come back, though, he didn’t sit down, but simply leaned over to whisper something into Raine’s ear. She brightened, and then they were off, pausing barely long enough to say good night to the Gorsheims and Neustetters before they dashed for the door.