The Mandy Project

by Toni Blake

  Maybe he was just happy to find out he actually had them both—the spitfire Mindy who didn’t let anyone push her around, and the passionate, adventurous Mandy, who grabbed life by the horns and held on for the ride, whatever it may bring. And this did simplify one thing—at least now he didn’t have to worry about falling for one sister while he carried a secret torch for the other.

  Not that Benton was going to let her off the hook with just a wink and a smile, though. No way. You didn’t tell a lie this big for this long without deserving to be taught a lesson. So that quickly, he decided to just keep playing along with her. After all, it appeared that Mindy liked games—so maybe he’d play one of his own and make her suffer for a while until she finally told him the truth.

  And he had a feeling he was going to enjoy it immensely.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked, peering pointedly at his split-personality lover.

  Mindy gaped up at him, clearly still flummoxed by the whole knee-grabbing event. “Um, yes. Sure.”

  “And you, Jane?” He turned to Mindy’s faithful assistant, who always sat quietly watching their exchanges without a word. He suspected the two were close, and that Jane knew everything.

  “Me?” She flinched in surprise at suddenly being drawn into the conversation. “Oh yes, ask anyone. I’m an ace secret-keeper.”

  “I’ll bet.” He shifted his smile back and forth between them, then spilled the beans. “Don’t tell Mandy, but the next time I see her, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  As Mindy gasped and flung her chair backward, Jane let a bag of M&Ms fall from her hand, sending the candy clattering across the floor. Mindy attempted to speak, but it took her awhile to get any words out. “D-d-don’t you think this is a little fast?”

  He just smiled. Suddenly, this was even more fun than the drive in the Lamborghini. “Not at all. That was my goal, after all. Finding a wife. Remember?”

  “Well…well…you don’t really know her yet!”

  He countered by raising his eyebrows. “Oh, you might be surprised. Just last night I discovered she’s into kinky things.” Both women gasped, yet he went on. “But hey, who am I to complain if she wants to spice things up in the bedroom?” He finished with a suggestive wink.

  “I think,” Mindy began slowly, her face turning a delightful shade of red, familiar from his outings with Mandy, “that she was probably just…curious about those things, but not really into them, per say. In fact, I think you should ask her about it and give her a chance to explain.”

  “Nope, doesn’t matter. And besides, the next time we’re together, I’ll be too busy asking her to be my wife to discuss anything else.”

  “But Benton, you don’t know the real Mandy!” Mindy claimed, her panicky green eyes looking as if they’d soon pop from her head. “She’s impossible to live with! She…leaves the cap off the toothpaste! She never puts her clothes in the hamper! And she—she lets dishes pile up in the sink until there are bugs! It’s disgusting, I tell you!”

  Benton raked a dismissive hand down through the air, without bothering to hide his smile. “I’ll get her a maid. Or better yet,” he announced, lifting one finger triumphantly, “I’ll get her a maid outfit. You know, one of those sexy ones with the short skirt and the fishnet stockings? Now that I know she’s into experimenting, this’ll be perfect. Thanks for helping me think of it, Mindy. But I really have to run now—money to invest, empires to topple, that sort of thing. Take care, and—hey, be careful with those knees.”

  With that, he swept out the door, glad when it shut behind him so he could finally burst into the laughter he’d been struggling to contain.

  It really was good to be king.

  Mindy sat on her couch in a pair of sweat pants cut off into shorts and a T-shirt bearing a picture of Eeyore. She kind of felt like Eeyore today. Woe is me. Everything’s depressing.

  She’d dressed that way intending to go for a run before her date with Benton, but about two strides into it, she’d realized running hurt her knees too much. She wasn’t usually a runner anyway—she’d just thought it might clear her head. Now she decided it served her right to be prevented from doing it. Besides, did she really think anything was going to clean up the mess cluttering her brain?

  Glancing at the clock, she realized she should be donning some Mandyish apparel right about now, lowering her blond locks onto her head, standing in front of the mirror honing her Mandy smile and her Mandy voice. The fact that she wasn’t preparing for her date could only mean one thing—that she wasn’t going, that she wasn’t letting Benton propose to her tonight.

  She shook her head, reliving the horror of his most recent visit to Mates By Mindy. She still couldn’t believe the man intended to ask for her hand in marriage! And to buy her a French maid outfit! It wasn’t even Halloween. Then again, she didn’t exactly think he intended to take her to a party in it. Well, perhaps a private party, with just the two of them, which—although Mindy had never thought about such a thing—maybe wouldn’t be so bad. Certainly much better than dog collars.

  What am I thinking? Everything had gone so awry, gotten so terribly out of control, that she clearly couldn’t process the situation anymore.

  Since she wasn’t busy practicing her Mandy voice, it seemed much more apropos to get started on her Cher impression. She shifted her gaze toward the phone, thinking of Benton’s impending arrival, and belted out the first couple of lines to “If I Could Turn Back Time.”

  Well, she couldn’t turn back time, but she could freeze it for a while, at least as it pertained to the progression of her relationship with Benton. Without another second’s delay, she picked up the phone and dialed the direct line to his office. When he’d called to make the date, he’d mentioned he’d probably work late and head straight to her house afterward.

  He answered on the first ring. “Benton Maxwell.”

  She held her nose closed with her free hand in an attempt to sound congested. “Benton, it’s Mandy.”

  “Mandy? Are you okay? You sound…”

  “Sick. I’m sick.”

  “Oh no, honey, that’s awful.” Then the concern in his voice shifted to disappointment. “Does this mean you’re calling to postpone our date tonight?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  He sighed. “Me too—but if you’re ill, it’s better not to go out.”

  She still pinched her nose. “I was really looking forward to seeing you, but”—she coughed for good measure—“you’re right. I should stay in.”

  “Well, I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I am.” I’m taking care of myself by canceling this date. That was one way to keep from sleeping with the guy.

  “By the way, how are your knees?”

  She let loose of her nose just long enough to make some snuffling noises. “Sore. They’re very sore.”

  “Well, take care of those, too.”

  When he asked to reschedule, she told him she’d rather wait a few days, see how long it took her illness to blow over. And when she finally hung up the phone, she felt like a heel. A relieved heel, but a heel just the same. He’d hate me if he knew what I’d done. He’d despise me. One more reason to keep up the charade until she could figure out how to drive him away without the truth coming into play. She didn’t think she could bear having him hate her.

  Just then, Venus bounded gently up onto the couch next to her, so Mindy reached out to give her a soft under-the-chin scratch. “Hey, V, looks like it’s just you and me tonight.” Despite herself, she was disappointed, too. She hadn’t been lying—a part of her really had looked forward to seeing him this evening. She was crazy about him, after all. But she was also weary of pretending to be someone she wasn’t, and tired of knowing nothing real would ever come of their shared passion, even as wonderful as it was.

  Lifting the cat so they were face to face, she decided to cheer herself up. “You know what—let’s not sit here and mope all night. Let’s work on
my Cher costume.” It was only May, but it sometimes took her a while to perfect her Halloween look, so she figured it was never too early to start. And it would take her mind off her troubles. “This will be my first time as a brunette!” she said, cheered by the change. “Let’s head up into the attic and see what we can find to get started.”

  Two hours later, she stood before her long mirror admiring the floor-length red sequin dress she wore. Her mother had bought the gown for some formal event back in the eighties, and Mindy had now cut out the neck so it scooped low between her breasts and pinned the waist tight. It would take a little sewing, but add a slit up one side and it would be perfect for her seventies Cher. As Venus stood at her ankles, casting up a gentle, “Meow,” it finally dawned on her why the cat never acted alarmed about her Mandy costume—she’d seen Mindy in disguise so many times before!

  That was when the doorbell rang.

  She glanced toward it, annoyed. “Who could that be?” Probably her neighbor, Mrs. Weatherby, who was always borrowing an egg or a cup of sugar like it was 1950 and there wasn’t a convenience store two blocks away—and who had also recently commented on having seen Mindy coming and going in a blond wig with a handsome fellow and wanted to know what that was all about. Put on the spot, she’d claimed Mrs. W. had actually seen her twin sister, Mandy, and had simply confused the two of them. “Happens all the time,” she’d added. Oh, what a tangled web.

  Scurrying to the window, she pulled back the curtain, squinting when the setting sun flashed bright and blinding in her eyes. Yet it didn’t take long to discern that the silhouetted figure on her front stoop wasn’t Mrs. Weatherby; it was none other than Benton Maxwell III. As her heart began to pound and fresh panic set in, she figured any minute now that web was bound to strangle her.

  Chapter Eight

  “What now?” Mindy murmured. Think, think. But hurry. Dropping the curtain back into place, she yanked and pulled and scrambled to get the long sequin dress off over her head, then flung it against the wall. Then she scanned the messy room, littered with open boxes from the attic. Where on earth were her shorts and T-shirt?

  Aha! She snatched the shirt from under the edge of her bedspread and tossed it on. The doorbell rang again, twice—his familiar impatient ring. Shorts, shorts, where were the shorts? MIA. This wasn’t good. She’d have to go without them.

  Yanking open her closet door, she grabbed her big pink terrycloth robe and threw it on, cinching it at the waist. Then she dashed from the bedroom, turning back halfway down the hall in order to close the bedroom door, concealing the array of fabrics and hair pieces and exotic garments that just didn’t say “sick in bed.”

  Skidding to a halt before the front door as Benton rang the bell once more, she had just gripped the knob when she caught sight of herself in the little decorative mirror hanging in her entryway. Her red-haired self. She gasped—then called, “Just a minute!”

  Scurrying back to the bedroom yet again, she flung the door wide. “Wig, wig,” she whispered. She’d made such a mess that she didn’t see the darn thing anywhere! “Come on, where are you?” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  Just as pure dread spiraled through her, she caught sight of one blond curl protruding from under a bolt of brightly flowered fabric. She dove for it, thrilled to discover it was the Dolly wig and not the Marilyn wig, since she was in no state of mind to explain a major haircut. Tugging the fake hair haphazardly onto her head as she sprinted back toward the front door, she paused before the mirror again, just long enough to tuck in the few renegade strands of auburn sticking out.

  “This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” she murmured to her alter-ego’s reflection with a scowl.

  Ready to rip open the door, she stopped only upon remembering she was sick—thus she forced herself to slow down, take a deep breath, then feebly twist the knob. “Benton,” she uttered weakly, tacking a little cough on the end of his name.

  Worry colored his expression. “What took you so long? Are you all right?”

  “Had to, had to…” she glanced down, “…find a robe. Because I’m not wearing any shorts, see?” Using both hands, she parted the pink terrycloth beneath the tie, flashing cotton undies.

  He flinched, clearly taken aback, then lifted his eyes to hers. “You sound a lot better than you did on the phone.” He stepped over the threshold, not giving her much choice but to back up and let him in.

  “My, uh, nose cleared. Wonder drugs.”

  Benton glanced around her small living room, looking perplexed. “Really? Where? When I’m sick, I usually gather everything I could possibly need and keep it within arm’s reach at all times.”

  He was smiling as he spoke, yet clearly, he’d expected to see tissue boxes, cold pill packages, and half-eaten bowls of soup strewn about—which would have been the case had she really been ill. But darn it, the place was neat as a pin. Since originally tidying the house for Benton before their first date, she’d just sort of kept it that way. And after Mindy had claimed Mandy was such a slob, too. As usual, nothing was going right.

  “They’re in the…bathroom medicine cabinet. I just straightened up a little, right before you came.”

  “When you should be resting,” he scolded. “Which is why I’m here. I’ve come to take care of you.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was guilt or warmth that trickled through her as she gazed up at him, but she chose to believe it was the latter, and she wanted desperately to throw herself into his arms, yet somehow refrained from doing so. Instead, she just gazed dreamily into his eyes. “You are the sweetest man.”

  He shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “You’re easy to be sweet to.”

  Mindy wanted to kiss him. Which wouldn’t make any sense, of course, for a multitude of reasons. It would be inconsiderate to pass her imaginary germs to him that way. And her whole goal here was to avoid him, put distance between them—so kissing probably wouldn’t be a good means to that end. Still, peering up at that handsome face and knowing he’d come to see her through her fake cold made her feel tingly and affectionate. She bit her lip, struggling against her desires.

  “What’s this?” His focus shifted to her neck as he reached gentle fingertips to pluck a lone red sequin from her skin.

  If nothing else, it kept her from kissing him. “Looks like a sequin.”

  He appeared a little dumbfounded. “Have you been wearing sequins lately?”

  She swallowed, then summoned an answer. “Actually, I was just cleaning out the attic when I started feeling bad. Old Halloween costumes and that sort of thing. It must have come from something in the boxes I was going through.”

  When he nodded, she realized it was among her most sensible lies. She almost hated to think she was getting better at this, that it was coming more naturally. She wasn’t really a liar—usually—and she didn’t want to be someone skilled at the art.

  Too late, Mandy murmured viciously inside her.

  She changed the subject, glancing down at the shopping bag at his side. “What’s in the bag?”

  He smiled and, moving farther into the room, lifted it to the coffee table to reach inside. “I brought some DVDs.” He set a stack of them on the table. “I bought you some ice cream.” He extracted a large tub of mint chocolate chip. “And I even picked up some catnip for Venus at the pet store since I didn’t want her to feel left out.”

  Mindy stood before him, nonplussed. “Sweet man” didn’t even begin to describe him. “You got a special treat for my kitty when you don’t even like kitties?”

  He tilted his head, gave a quiet laugh. “Guess I wanted to show Venus my intentions are honorable.”

  That makes one of us, unfortunately. “And you got my favorite ice cream. How did you know?”

  He smiled. “Lucky guess. Actually, the first time I met your sister, she was eating—well, dropping—a cone of mint chocolate chip, so…thinking you might share common taste buds, I took a shot.”

  “A, uh
…good one,” she said, swallowing back the guilty lump in her throat, even as she recalled how cold Benton had seemed to her on that first meeting. She’d judged him so wrong. “What movies did you bring?” She lowered her eyes to the table to keep from looking at him.

  He reached to hold up the DVDs one by one. “When Harry Met Sally—for laughs. E.T.—for comfort. Titanic—for romance? And Casablanca…well, because it’s Casablanca.” He concluded with a smile. “Thought maybe I’d get lucky and you’d like at least one of those.”

  Watching Mindy pretending to be Mandy, staring up at him as if he were the greatest thing since sliced bread, was almost enough to make Benton forget his own end of the pretense, even as she said, “I love them all.”

  But he was pretty certain Mindy wasn’t actually sick—that she’d just been trying to outrun his marriage proposal—so he had to stick to his teaching-her-a-lesson strategy, even if, at the moment, he wanted to forget it and just be as sweet to her as she was being to him.

  He settled on the couch, prepared to tease her mercilessly as she lowered herself beside him. “If I’d had more time, I’d have run downtown to that shop where we stopped the other night and picked up a different kind of movie.” He raised his eyebrows at her in a woo-woo kind of way for good measure.

  It took her a minute to figure out what he was suggesting, but then slow look of mortification crept into her gaze. “You’re not serious.”

  He wanted to laugh—from the look on her face you’d think he’d asked her to star in one of those movies. Feeding on her shock, he slanted an extra-lascivious grin in her direction. “I thought maybe you were…into that sort of thing. I figured that’s why you dragged me into that place.”

  Mindy blinked at him—her typical nervous reaction. “See, the thing is, I was just…curious, about what kind of stuff they had in those stores. But that certainly doesn’t mean I want to buy anything like that.”