by Rene Fomby
“Maddie had a bad ear infection, so the doctors wouldn’t let her travel. All the changes in air pressure, you know.” She nodded her head toward his date, standing somewhat awkwardly behind Harry wearing a cream chiffon dress, cut a little too short and a little too daringly down in front for the occasion. In Sam’s opinion. Annabelle was wearing the look of a woman doggedly determined to catch the bride’s bouquet as she draped one arm protectively around Harry’s shoulder.
“Oh, sorry!” Harry stepped back slightly out of Annabelle’s grasp to make the introductions. “Sam, this is Annabelle. Annabelle, this is Samantha Tulley, the lawyer I worked with last summer. And …” he continued with a sly wink in Sam’s direction. “The person I’m trying to con into being my law partner down in Houston.”
“How delightful to finally meet you,” Annabelle purred as she took Sam’s left hand in both of hers. “Harrison has told me such wonderful stories about you. I’m so glad you could come.”
After years of trial work and many more years just being a woman, Sam knew how to read a face in an instant, and while Annabelle had clearly been well trained in the art of feigned social graces, Sam got the message loud and clear: back off, this one’s mine. “Well, I wouldn’t miss seeing Hailey tie the knot with Davey for all the world. And, of course, getting to finally meet you is the icing on the cake. Harry has told me a lot about you, but I’m eager to get the real story straight from the source, the play by play about how you two really got together. Boys can be so obtuse about such things, you know.”
“Absolutely,” Annabelle agreed, once again slipping an arm possessively around Harry’s waist and dragging him subtly closer. He didn’t seem to be catching on to any of the hidden undercurrents in their conversation as he pointed grinningly at the chapel behind them. “Look, it’s finally ready. Why don’t we head in and grab our seats?”
The chapel itself was small and fairly sparse. The floor was covered in a dark pink pile carpet, which reflected off the white scalloped wallpaper to lend an overall pink glow to the room, an effect enhanced by the mostly pink stained-glass window directly to the right of the altar. Several rows of simple white benches upholstered in a deep red velour lined both sides of the chapel, each about the right size for two people, three if they were tiny. A long garland of artificial flowers stretched across the ceiling above them, drooping about halfway down each side.
“Lovely, don’t you think?” asked Annabelle.
“Quite romantic,” Sam replied, grabbing a seat at the very back.
Harry pointed to the space remaining to Sam’s right. “I’m going to be a groomsman, of course, so Annabelle, why don’t you sit with Sam back here. You guys can get to know each other better while we’re waiting for the wedding to start.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Annabelle answered. She slid into the seat with a fleeting look on her face that suggested she might be every bit as happy sitting down on a dirty toilet seat instead, but she recovered almost immediately. “So,” she smiled, turning to face Sam at a slightly off-center angle. “Harrison tells me you’re a single mom, trying to run a business on the side. That must be absolutely dreadful, having to leave your little girl in the hands of perfect strangers every day while you head out to make a living.”
Boy, this girl didn’t waste any time digging the knife into my ribs, Sam thought, smiling back sweetly and trying her best to engage Harry’s girlfriend as pleasantly as she could manage. For the sake of her friendship, which she knew could evaporate in a heartbeat if she found herself somehow becoming a problem with this new romance.
An eternity later, the wedding party finally started to assemble at the front of the chapel. Sam couldn’t help but notice that the chapel was now completely full, and with the limited seating, that left very little space for any guests other than immediate family. Suddenly, she felt deeply touched that Hailey had made room for her in the wedding group, even though she was pretty sure Harry had something to do with that decision.
The wedding ceremony itself was quite simple and brief. Without the usual layers of religious routines and trappings, and given that there was no real personal connection between the minister officiating over the wedding and the bride and groom, it came down to a minute or so of initial introductions and comments from the minister, then personal vows that Hailey and Dave had each written and largely read off small sheets of paper—Hailey struggling to manage even that through her tears—and then, finally, the pronouncement of marriage and the ritual first kiss. They had wisely decided not to go with the cheesy Elvis impersonator, so at the end they simply walked down the aisle, greeting all of their guests briefly, then out the door and into the limo that would whisk them off to a restaurant reserved for the small reception.
Harry had trailed the wedding couple down the aisle and was all smiles when he finally reached Sam and Annabelle, now standing and watching Hailey and Dave depart. “So, you two look like you’re getting along like old friends,” he suggested, reaching out to sweep both of them up into a group hug.
“Swimmingly,” Sam replied, pulling away after a moment.
“Just like sisters,” Annabelle said.
“Terrific!” Harry exclaimed, blissfully unaware of the real personal dynamic passing back and forth between the two women. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I am absolutely famished. The boys were all out pretty late last night, seeing Davey off, so I kinda slept in and missed breakfast. If we hustle and get to the restaurant before anyone else, we’ll get first dibs on the appetizers before they’re all gone.”
“Don’t you have to take pictures with the rest of the wedding party?” Sam asked.
“Sure, that’s why we have to hurry. That way we’ll have plenty of time to scarf down some chow before the rest of the group arrives and I have to stop for the photos.” Harry fished in his pockets and pulled out a set of keys for his rental car. “I’ll drive!” he said, heading eagerly for the parking lot.
“Boys!” Annabelle complained under her breath, grabbing her purse and racing after him in a rush.
23
Las Vegas
The wedding reception was held in a back room of Joe’s Seafood. Despite the inelegant-sounding name, Sam thought the restaurant was absolutely delightful, a bit romantic without being overly so, perfect for the occasion.
Given the small size of the wedding party, they were all able to sit together at one large table and order off the menu. Sam was tempted to try the stone crab plate, but after thinking about all the mess it would make digging the crab meat out of the claws—and stealing a side glance at Annabelle making googly eyes at Harry—she opted instead for the Chilean sea bass with a side of fried oysters and a small salad. As she expected, Harry ordered the beef tenderloin, which he proceeded to ruin by asking for it well done. The restaurant even had a number of gluten free options for Hailey, who was still pretending that her stomach troubles were diet related and had nothing at all to do with her stress levels at work. Sam noticed that Hailey was drinking non-alcoholic cider out of her champagne flute. Good for her. Already taking care of the baby.
After the previous night’s disaster, Sam had come to the reception determined to hold herself to just one drink, but watching Annabelle’s nonstop shameless flirtations with Harry right across the table from her, she finally broke down and had a second glass of wine. Then a third. By the time they were finished with dessert and everyone rose to leave, she was feeling just a wee bit wobbly, and blamed it on her high heels.
When she looked up, the bride was right beside her. “Sam, it is so wonderful to see you again. We’ll have to catch up after the honeymoon and whenever your work schedule slows down.” Hailey was looking radiant in her “escape” outfit, a simple off-white linen dress with a modest scooped neck that hugged her curves perfectly and dropped in a loose flow to just above her knees. Sam stole a quick peek at her abdomen, but, impressively, she wasn’t showing yet.
“There’s nothing I would en
joy more,” Sam assured her. “And I’m so excited for you and Dave. For the wedding, and …”
“My little brat brother told you,” Hailey said, looking around frantically for Harry. “Oh, well, I guess anyone could do the math when the baby finally comes. Hard to sell the idea that the baby is premature when it comes out at nine pounds seven ounces.”
“Ouch,” Sam replied. “Don’t even want to think about that one. Maddie was big enough at just over seven pounds, and I thought I was going to split in two. But, seriously, I’m so excited for you. God knows you’ve taken your own sweet time.”
Hailey smiled, patting her belly. “Yeah, and don’t think my mom hasn’t let us know all about that. Her first grandbaby, after all. And Harry hasn’t exactly helped out in that department. Never even had a truly serious love interest until now. As a matter of fact, Mom and I were beginning to wonder if he was secretly gay. Do you think Annabelle might be the one?”
Sam finally spotted the lovebirds near the exit. Annabelle was showing him Hailey’s bouquet that she had managed to snag earlier in the evening. Not a particularly impressive achievement, given that she was the only one standing behind the bride when it was tossed. Sam couldn’t speak for Harry’s long-term plans, but it was pretty clear that Annabelle was already trying out the sound of Crawford as a new last name. She turned back to Hailey. “Well, I think that’s certainly the tack she’s taking. So I guess it all depends upon whether your brother manages to somehow get lost or diverted along the way.”
As Sam glanced back at the happy couple again, Hailey looked her over slowly, smiling knowingly to herself. And if anyone could manage to divert my little brother, she thought, that person would definitely be you, Samantha Tulley.
24
Las Vegas
Sam was sitting at the bar, sipping on a Pinot Grigio. Earlier, Harry and Annabelle had invited her to join them at a particularly raunchy Vegas show on the strip, but since they had only purchased two tickets, and the show promised to be nothing but a nipple fest, and she definitely didn’t feel like playing the third wheel to their obviously private plans, she politely opted out. Returning back to her room, she took a long bath, surfed the pre-primetime lineup on the flat screen, then stared for a long while at the maxi bar, wondering if she should risk a repeat of the previous night’s misadventure. Deciding finally that discretion was the better part of valor, she changed out of her pajamas and into the muslin blouse and loose cotton slacks she had planned to wear on the plane home the next day. Stopping briefly in front of a full-length mirror near the bathroom to make sure she looked fully put together, she grabbed her purse and headed downstairs toward the bright lights and fast action of the hotel casino. She had given her bodyguard Fred the night off, thinking that she would be staying in all night, but with all of the cameras and armed security scattered throughout the hotel, she figured she was even safer out there than she was with Fred at her side.
Riding the elevator down to the casino floor, she decided to try her hand at blackjack, but all too quickly ran through the hundred dollars she had set aside for the evening. Since the night was still early, and she wasn’t even close to being sleepy, she wandered around until she found a small alcove off the gambling floor that featured an acoustic band and an open seat at the bar. She ordered a glass of wine and sat back to enjoy the band.
He startled her as he stepped up from behind and gestured toward the empty stool beside her. “Is this seat taken?” he asked. Her eyes darted quickly around the club. One other seat was open, but it was further away from the band, and also at the bar. So this most likely was a legitimate request, and not just some kind of lame pickup line. “No, help yourself,” she answered awkwardly. He nodded his thanks and sat down, motioning for the bartender. “Glenlivet, neat,” he ordered, then turned back to her. “Can I get you something?” She looked down at her glass, still half full. “No thanks,” she replied curtly. “But thank you for asking.”
The band wasn’t half bad, she had to admit. She was tapping her toe to the music when she reached for a sip of wine and realized that she had already polished off her first glass. He leaned toward her. “Refill?” he asked, pointing out her empty glass to the bartender and not waiting for an answer. What the hell? she thought. Why not? “Thanks.” Sam tried to concentrate on the music and her freshly refilled glass of wine, but secretly she studied her bar companion every time he turned to focus his attention on the band. He was easily ten years older than her, plus or minus, with graying hair but deeply cut dimples, a squared off jaw and a strong chin with a prominent cleft cut right down the middle. She had to lean over the bar somewhat to check out his left hand. No ring and no telltale ring line. Sam also couldn’t help but notice that he had a tight little ass that sat up nice and firm on the lightly padded bar stool. Okay, she reminded herself. This might be Vegas, but you still have a little baby waiting for you at home, so rein it in, girlfriend. Just then he turned and caught her staring at his ass. Rather than make a comment about her rudeness, he just smiled.
“I’m Peter, by the way. And your name is?”
“Uh, Sam,” she stuttered. “Samantha, actually. Good to know you, Peter.” She could feel her cheeks reddening, but also other parts of her that had been long dormant slowly starting to respond to his easy smile. And that light trace of some kind of accent. “At the risk of being too cliché, may I ask, do you come here often?”
“No,” he answered, his lips turning upward, ever so slightly. She was captivated by the way he seemed to absorb the entire energy of the room without even trying. Like a black hole, just one simple word from him and she was being sucked inexorably into his orbit. “My first time in Vegas,” he answered. “Not really my cup of tea. How about you?”
“Right. Same thing. First time.” Sam felt like a little schoolgirl on her first date. It had been a long time since … “I’m—uh—here for a wedding. An old friend. You?”
“A pharmaceutical conference. Pretty boring, actually. As a matter of fact, you’re the first thing I’ve seen that’s at all exciting since I landed in this crazy city.” He glanced down at her glass. “Looks like you’re due for a refill. Mind?” He nodded at the bartender, motioning toward both of their glasses.
As he held up his hand to order the drinks, Sam noticed a small pendant hanging from his neck on a thin gold chain. It looked familiar, like something she had seen briefly once before. “What is that?” she asked, pointing toward the pendant.
“Oh, this?” Peter answered, touching the pendant momentarily. “It’s a Chi Rho. Something someone gave me a long time ago.”
Sam leaned forward to get a better look. “Cairo? Oh, yeah, I thought it looked Egyptian. So is that like an ankh? The symbol of life?”
“No, not Cairo. Chi Rho,” he explained, reaching up once again to tuck the necklace away. “It’s a combination of two Greek letters, chi and rho. One of the earliest symbols of Christianity.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it’s very striking.” Now she remembered where she had seen it before. Luke had something similar stashed away in his personal junk drawer, something she’d found when she’d cleaned out his things after his death. So it was a pendant Luke probably also wore back in the day when he was still pretty religious. Before his father had poisoned him on the whole religion thing. And, evidently, this Peter person was still a practicing Christian, at least at some level. But he was clearly uncomfortable talking about it, so she decided to change the subject, starting with asking him about what kinds of things he was involved with in the pharmaceutical world.
By the time their drinks arrived, Sam was completely captivated. Deep down she knew it was the wine, and her frustrations, and the three years she had gone without anything close to intimate relations with a man. Not that anything like that was going to happen tonight. After all, she was a mother, and the head of a multi-billion-dollar empire. And, she had to admit, deep down she was a complete prude, just like her mother. Government certified. So sex
wasn’t on the menu tonight, not even close. But the game of sex is still pretty pleasant, she thought, as he handed her the fresh glass of wine. The key to it all is, you just need to make sure to enjoy the game, the playing, without ever letting yourself wander too dangerously close to the finish line.
25
Las Vegas
Sam woke up with a pounding headache and a blinding light in her eyes.
A voice spoke up from somewhere off to her left. A male voice, somehow familiar. “Sorry about the window. I dropped a cufflink and had to open the curtains to find it.”
She rubbed at her eyes, but they didn’t seem to want to open up. The light from the window was physically painful. “Would you mind?” She gestured blindly toward the window.
“Sure. No problem. I was just leaving, anyway.”
The room went darker, and Sam realized she could finally open her eyes, if only barely enough to see where she was. She looked around. He was fastening a cufflink on his left sleeve, a small suitcase sitting upright on the floor beside him. “What—where am I?” she squeaked out.
“I’ve got a flight to catch. The room’s yours until after lunch. Just drop the key card off at the desk downstairs.” He reached down to grab his suitcase and headed for the door. “Had a great time, Samantha. See you around.” Then, with a slight flip of his hand, almost but not quite a wave, he was out the door and gone.
Sam was still struggling to get her bearings. She looked down, and saw that underneath the sheets she was completely naked. Something that looked and smelled like dried sperm was coating her chest and the inside of her thighs. “Oh God no!” She sat up quickly, too quickly, and the movement made her suddenly dizzy, nauseous. She eased back down onto the bed. Her head was throbbing, and she was still having troubles focusing. Crap. Just how much did I have to drink last night? She tried to think back, remember, but the night was all just a blur. She remembered sitting at the bar in the night club. He—what was his name? Patrick? No. Peter—he was handing her a glass of wine. Her third glass that night. She had stepped away for a few minutes to find the bathroom, then returned to the bar and her drink. After that—nothing.
