Man Trouble

by Melanie Craft

  She closed her eyes and heard the rustle of his robes as he stepped forward to stand in front of her. Startled, she looked to see what he was doing. He stopped a few inches away, then lifted off her sunglasses. Quickly Molly squeezed her eyes shut again.

  “We are One, Sandra. I will reach out with my chakras to awaken yours. You may feel the touch of the Spirit, but focus only on your breath.”

  It sounded suspicious to Molly, but she kept her eyes closed and breathed, thinking that if she felt any touch—from the Spirit or otherwise—she was going to punch Rama Guru in the nose and leave the hapless Ingrid to her fate.

  But nothing happened. She sat, listening to the crew talking in French, hearing the sounds of equipment being moved and dismantled. She hoped that Elaine would be quick, and that Carter would make haste to find her as soon as his sister had gone off with Ingrid.

  “Sandra…” sighed Rama Guru. “Do you feel the Spirit?”

  “Yes,” Molly lied. “I sure do.”

  “Do you feel the Ultimate Unity? Does it bring you joy?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Great joy?”

  Molly was about to affirm that it did when she suddenly heard footsteps by the front of the cabana. There was a gasp, and then a scream split the air.

  “Pig!” shrieked Ingrid Anderson.

  Molly's eyes flew open, fast enough to catch Rama Guru jerking his hands away from her chest, his fingers still curved as if he had been gripping two grapefruits.

  “Hey!” she snapped, suddenly realizing what had been happening. She hadn't felt a thing under all of the Sandra padding, and Rama Guru apparently had had no idea that he was feeling up four inches of foam rubber.

  “I knew it!” Ingrid cried. “Baroness Von Reinholz warned me about you! I should have listened!”

  Molly agreed with that. Angrily, she grabbed the nearest object—a stuffed tiger—and whacked Rama Guru with it. He jumped backward, holding up his hands defensively as Ingrid stomped into the cabana toward him.

  “Ingrid, my child,” he said hopefully, and looked at Molly. “Sandra…”

  Ingrid threw a scornful glance at Molly, then paused, surprised, and looked again. “Sandra?” she said. “Sandra St. Claire?”

  “No!” Molly said quickly. Rama Guru might not read the papers, but it was too much to hope that Ingrid didn't. The last thing that Operation Family Man needed was to have wild rumors flying around that Jake Berenger's fiancée was trysting with a guru in a Gold Bay pool cabana. “You're thinking of someone else. I'm not—”

  “Yes, you are. I remember. You were here a few weeks ago, but then your picture was in the news, and you didn't look like this. You had brown hair, and your name was actually—”

  “Molly! Is that you?”

  Molly gasped, stiffening at the sound of the familiar voice. Oh, no, she thought, horrified. Not Jake. Not now. Oh, please. She glanced wildly around, searching for somewhere to hide, but it was too late.

  Jake appeared in the doorway. He took one look at her, and stopped short. He stood, staring at her, with disbelief on his face. “What?” he said.

  “Hi there,” Molly said weakly, reaching up to pat the wig. “What brings you to the party?”

  “I've been looking for you,” he said. “And then I heard your voice.” His eyes moved over her, noting the pink shoes, the skintight dress, the inflated chest, and the platinum hair. Then he looked at Rama Guru, who was investigating the back wall of the cabana to see if there was a way to escape through the canvas.

  Jake folded his arms against his chest. His mouth tightened into a grim line. “What,” he repeated slowly, enunciating with cold precision, “the hell…is going on here?”

  CHAPTER 30

  A brief, frightened silence descended on the cabana after Jake's demand for information. There was a buzz of urgent French outside, and Molly saw various members of the Vogue crew—alerted by Ingrid's shrieks—staring through the open flaps of the cabana.

  “What ees zees!” Pascal the photographer appeared on the fringe of the curious crowd and shoved his way through. “Eeengrid,” he exclaimed. “Chérie! Why do you scream?”

  Ingrid was still trembling with fury. “He's a cheat!” she said, pointing at Rama Guru. “And a liar. He told me that I was the only woman who could know Ultimate Unity with him. But then I came in here to change out of my bikini, and I found them together…sharing their chakras!”

  Molly winced, feeling sordid. Jake's expression seemed to darken. “Listen,” she said to him. “I can explain.”

  “Not here, you can't,” Jake said. He strode forward and grasped her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. “We're leaving.”

  Just like old times, Molly stumbled in her shoes. She squawked and grabbed Jake to steady herself. “No, wait! Where's Elaine? She's supposed to be with Ingrid. And then Carter was going to come and rescue me—”

  But he hustled her out of the cabana, to the sound of Ingrid hurtling a shrill stream of abuse at Rama Guru, who was protesting weakly.

  “It's not what you think,” Molly protested as they hurried across the terrace, although she actually had no idea what Jake was thinking. “We had a plan. Elaine and Carter—”

  “Aplan?” They reached the spot where he had parked the Jeep. Ignoring the curious stares of the people nearby, he opened the passenger door for Molly, then came around the car, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

  He cast a sideways look at her as they drove away. “This seems like a good time to tell you that I have serious doubts about your taste in friends.”

  “Oh,” Molly said, dismayed. “But this wasn't their fault. We were trying to reunite Ingrid and Michael, except that I don't know what happened to Elaine. Did you see her?”

  “No.”

  The breeze picked up as Jake headed up the road toward the villa, and Molly inhaled gratefully. She felt hot and flushed, and the heavy Sandra makeup was making her itch.

  “My job was to distract Rama Guru,” she explained. “So that Elaine could slip away with Ingrid.”

  “I'm sure you were very effective,” Jake said. “What does sharing karmas involve, exactly? And why do you need to hide in a cabana to do it?”

  “Chakras,” Molly corrected. “We were sharing chakras. You don't think that I was actually trying to seduce Rama Guru, do you? That's ridiculous!”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “Of course. How could I imagine that you would dress up like that and try to seduce someone as part of a stupid plan invented by one of your friends?”

  “Oh,” Molly said. “Hmm. Well…what do you care, anyway? You didn't even bother to call me!” Gathering steam, she drew herself up indignantly. “I waited all week to hear from you, and your mother did her best to explain that you were just too busy to call, as if that made it okay…”

  Jake pulled the car over to the side of the road and cut the engine. Startled, she paused. For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the wind in the trees, punctuated by the cries of birds. Molly waited, but Jake didn't say anything. Instead, he stared straight ahead, drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel and frowning, as if he were working through a math problem in his mind.

  Finally, he turned to her. “This is going to sound pretty lame, but it's the truth. I don't know why I didn't call.”

  “You're right,” Molly said. “That does sound lame.”

  “I wanted to give you a good explanation, but I don't have one. All I can say is that it was a terrible goddamned week, and I thought about you every day, even though I tried not to.”

  “How nice. Thanks.”

  He looked frustrated. “Look, I don't know how to say this. You're in a separate compartment in my head. I'm not the same person here, with you, that I am out there, and this past week it was too dangerous to mix the two. I had no choice—I couldn't afford the distraction. I thought that if I just waited, I could come back…”

  Molly was silent. She knew something about keeping separate lives in
separate mental compartments.

  “But I should have called,” Jake added. “Next time, I will.”

  “Next time,” Molly repeated. Was that how it would be, then? A series of steamy weekends until they parted company in April?

  “Unless you want to come with me, that is.”

  “Where?” Molly asked, startled.

  “New York. I'm leaving on Sunday morning.”

  “Oh. Do you need me for another event?” She hadn't made a single public appearance or spoken to a single journalist since the Grand opening two weeks ago, and she guessed that it was no coincidence. Tom and Jake had decided to keep her away from the press. Molly didn't mind—she didn't like interviews any more than Jake did. But if he wanted to reinstate her as an active player in the PR program, she needed more than a day to prepare.

  To her surprise, Jake was shaking his head. “There's no event. I have meetings in the city, and I'll be taping some television shows. That's all.”

  “But if there's no event, why do you want me to come?” She bit her lip, knowing that he was unlikely to say what she wanted to hear.

  “I'll be busy,” Jake continued. “You can work, or shop, or go back to that museum, whatever suits you. But I'll try to take an evening off so that we can go to dinner and the theater.”

  “For a photo op,” Molly said, her heart sinking.

  “No,” he said, “for fun, if you don't mind traveling all that way for one night on the town. Now that I think about it, it doesn't sound like much of an offer.”

  “I wouldn't say that,” Molly said. “It sounds like an adventure. I have a soft spot for those, in case you haven't noticed.”

  He chuckled, and reached out to brush a strand of platinum hair out of her face. “Sandra St. Claire rides again. You're a very unusual woman, Molly.”

  “Not boring?” Molly asked hopefully.

  “Definitely not. I don't think I've spent a single boring minute with you. You could stand to be a little less interesting, in fact. Just a humble request.”

  Her eyes met his. “What about keeping things separate? Won't I be a distraction?”

  “Oh yes,” Jake said. “You sure will.”

  “Maybe you'll just have to learn to deal with it.”

  A dry smile touched his mouth. “Maybe so. And if that's the case, I've got no time to lose. Right now, I hardly know what to do with you.”

  “Do whatever you want,” Molly said. “It's worked for you so far. Why change your strategy now?”

  He laughed softly. “Good point,” he said, and reached for her. Molly's hands slid up his chest as he pulled her to him and began to kiss her, holding her as if he never wanted to let her go.

  “Take this damn thing off,” he muttered against her mouth, his fingers tangled in the blond wig. “And burn it.” He tugged at it.

  “Ow,” Molly said, wincing. “Wait, you can't do it like that—there are pins…” She began plucking pins out of the wig, dropping them on the floor of the Jeep. He watched as she pulled it off and shook out her own hair. “There. Is that better?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Before long, Molly had been divested not only of the wig, but the padding, the enormous Sandra bra, and all of her carefully applied lip gloss. She had also discovered that the front seat of a Jeep was not a comfortable spot for a make-out session.

  “How are your chakras?” Jake asked.

  “Cramped,” she said, adjusting her position. The gear stick was digging into her hip.

  “Do you want to go back to the villa?”

  She shook her head. “No, I have a better idea. Do you remember when you accused me of starting games that I couldn't follow through?”

  He looked intrigued by the teasing note in her voice. “I remember. Why?”

  “You were wrong. I always follow through. And I believe that you and Sandra St. Claire—or whatever is left of her—have some unfinished business to attend to at Falcon's Point.”

  To Jake's surprise, there were three cars parked in the clearing just below the steps to Falcon's Point. He had occasionally encountered a guest or two up at the overlook, but this appeared to be a tour group. Or a party, he thought, as they drew closer. One of the Jeeps had a stack of insulated metal boxes in the back, the kind that the kitchen used to keep food warm. Another Jeep was empty, but littered with petals and bits of greenery, as if it had been used to transport several large floral arrangements. There was a young man sitting at the wheel of the third car, and as Jake pulled up next to him, he saw that it was Brett, the staffer who had done a less-than-ideal job of babysitting Molly in December.

  “What's going on?” he asked Brett.

  The young man shrugged. “I don't know. I drove him up here a while ago. I'm supposed to wait until he wants to leave.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Delafield. It was supposed to be dinner for two, but so far, he's the only one.”

  A staff butler was coming down the stairs, walking very carefully and balancing a white confection that looked like a miniature wedding cake. He looked surprised when he saw them. “Sir,” he said to Jake. “I was just going to put this back into the cooler. It's melting in the heat.”

  Molly inhaled sharply, and Jake looked at her. She was staring at the tiny cake. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I think I know who's up there. How long has he been waiting?”

  “More than an hour, madam,” said the butler.

  Molly shook her head, muttered something that sounded like “Elaine,” and “secluded spot,” then started up the stairs. A moment later, Jake followed.

  Falcon's Point looked very different than it had the last time Jake had seen it. Now, tiny lanterns were strung through the trees, and they glowed faintly, still eclipsed by the warm light of the evening sun. A table had been set up in the middle of the clearing, covered with a white cloth that spilled extravagantly over its sides and onto the ground. Masses of white, pink, and red rose petals were scattered over the ground like soft confetti, and a fluffy bouquet of flowers was arranged on the table, flanked by two fat white candles that had burned halfway down, puddling wax onto the linen.

  A man in a tuxedo sat on a rock. He was holding a violin in his lap, and he appeared to be asleep. Molly walked up to him. “Excuse me,” she said. “Are you…Michael?”

  The man opened his eyes, blinked at her, and then focused on Jake, who was standing just behind her. He looked startled, then quickly jumped to his feet and began to play “Moon River.”

  “Oh,” Molly said. “I guess not. Do you know where he went?”

  The violinist swung around, using the tip of his instrument to point toward the vegetation near the edge of the cliff.

  Molly gasped. “What? Oh, my God!”

  “Who's Michael?” Jake asked, moving fast to keep up as Molly hurried toward the trees. He did not like the look on her face. There was a rock wall at the edge of the drop-off, intended to keep clueless tourists from plunging to their deaths, but it wouldn't do much to thwart a determined jumper.

  They took the path through the scrubby trees and burst out into the area before the wall. A man stood there, his back to them as he stared out into the air over the vast cliff. He was leaning on the wall, his shoulders hunched despairingly.

  “Stop!” Molly cried. “Michael, wait!”

  The man straightened up and turned, and Jake saw that he was holding a cell phone to his ear. He waved one hand impatiently, gesturing for them to be quiet. “God damn it,” he said into the phone. “Don't give me that obstruction of justice shit. I deleted those e-mails because they were old! Company policy requires regular file cleanup, and you can tell that to the feds.”

  He snapped the phone closed and glared at them. “Who the hell are you? Where's my wife?”

  “You're Michael?” Molly asked, looking slightly stunned. “Ingrid's Michael?”

  “No, I'm Batman. Look, babe, I've been waiting here for hours. Where's Ingrid? Where's that Newberg woman? What do they expect me to do, stand
around all night listening to a penguin playing lounge music on the violin? I'm getting eaten alive by bugs.”

  “I…don't know where Ingrid is,” Molly said. “She finished her photo shoot, but then there was a little problem…”

  Jake remembered the scene in the cabana. “I don't think she's coming,” he said.

  “Yeah, I pretty much figured that out.” Michael shook his head, disgusted. “Whaddya do? I wrote poetry for her, and still she stands me up. That's it. I quit, and that Newberg woman is going to be hearing from my lawyers. Do you know how much this goddamned dinner is costing me?”

  “Don't worry about it,” Jake said. “I'll make sure that it doesn't go on your bill. We're sorry that your Gold Bay experience wasn't more satisfying.”

  Michael looked surprised. “You work here?”

  Jake nodded. “You could say that.”

  The other man smiled for the first time. “Great. That's great. Thanks, sport. I appreciate it. Listen, since I'm taking off, why don't you and the young lady enjoy the evening? Hate to see all those flowers go to waste. There's a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon, too.” He winked. “Don't worry, I won't tell the boss.”

  Jake grinned. “Gosh,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “What I don't understand,” Jake said later, after they had dined on lukewarm beef Wellington and wedding cake, then sent the violinist and the rest of the staff back to the resort, “is why you let your friends involve you in these crazy schemes.”

  “Oh, please,” Molly scoffed. She'd had two glasses of champagne, and she was feeling giddy and relaxed at the same time. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the sky had turned from salmon pink to a melting dark apricot. The tiny lanterns bathed the clearing in a glow like moonlight, and so far, there had been no sign of whatever bugs had been eating Michael Delafield alive. “What about your scheme? You can hardly call Operation Family Man a normal business strategy. You should be glad that I'm so agreeable.”

  Jake shrugged. “At least I didn't make you wear a wig. How did your friend Carter talk you into the Sandra project?”

  “I owed him a favor, but that's not really why I agreed to help him. I spent two years at Belden trying to get rid of any part of me that didn't fit the mold of Perfect Professor, and I was sick of it. The idea of coming here, of pretending to be someone totally different…it sounded like a vacation from myself. I think I needed one.”