by Mary Hughes
“No.” I cut him off before he could offer me the single thing more intimate than sex—a loan. “It’s not the money. Or not totally.” I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m a good listener.” His gaze on me was searching. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I wanted to tell him. But we’d shared something close—more lovemaking than sex—and I didn’t want to shatter our fragile truce. Until I knew how he’d handle the fact that I didn’t simply want to be serious, I needed to, I’d play my cards close to my chest.
Close to my breasts… Remembering how we started out, with my breasts playing peek-a-boo, he’d like that.
Which led to a nascent idea for a prank.
“How about this,” I said. “I strip on the bar. Only when I get down to ground zero, I’m wearing pasties here.” I pointed at the ladies.
His gaze zoomed to my chest; fangtips shot from between his lips. Then his face scrunched in an expression of supreme concentration, or pain, and they disappeared.
He met my gaze and growled. “I hate that idea. It’s a horrible prank.”
The rejection sliced. “It has the advantage that it doesn’t hurt anybody.”
“Except you. Besides, how’s that a prank? You have a gorgeous body.”
“It’s a prank because…wait. I what?”
“Gorgeous.” His eyes, firing, underlined his sincerity. “How about I put mustard in the beer?”
“Ew. Don’t ruin good beer.” I was still reeling over the idea that Mr. Drool-worthy thought I had a nice body. No, more than nice.
Gorgeous.
Inside, something blossomed. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, or embarrass them, or make them ill at ease.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “What part of ‘prank’ eludes you?”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. I knew too well what a prank was, and why it was funny…at least for the people it wasn’t happening to. The victims, on the other hand, didn’t have quite the same perspective. “Look, I had a mayonnaise donut idea that would’ve worked okay, except for the webcam.”
“What?”
“Long story. My point is, whatever prank we decide on, we’ll need a way to video it without anyone getting suspicious of why we’re aiming a camera at them.” I yawned again.
“You’re exhausted,” he repeated. “Go home, sleep on it. We’ll think better in the morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep, not with this hanging over me.” I scrubbed my eyes, forgetting I was wearing mascara. Oh great. Now I probably looked like a tired raccoon. “What if we pulled a prank on ourselves? Like that ice bucket thing?”
“Good idea, but that would disqualify us. Pranks have to be played on an unsuspecting party.”
“Stupid rules.” I nearly covered my mouth at me dissing rules, but frankly, I was too tired.
A lively tune popped from behind the bar. “What’s that?”
“Your phone.” Thor vaulted easily over the bar, grabbed something from underneath, and brought up my purse. “Your brother.”
“You know Bruno’s ring tone?”
“I pay attention.” His shrug almost looked embarrassed.
With a smile, I answered.
“Hey, Sis,” Bruno’s rough growl of a voice greeted me.
My brother was a shaggy bear of a man. Mom was always after him to get a trim, but the style fit. He ran the city’s survivalist store, Armageddon Three. You wanted your shoulder-launched, multipurpose, assault weapon freshest, you went to Bruno. But he was also simply a sweet guy—who had a bit of a thing for ladies heels. Don’t ask.
“I heard you’re entering the April Fools’ Day competition this year. Good for you, getting back in touch with your fun side.”
“Um, sure.” What could I say? He might have been ex-SEAL and stock military grade weapons, but he was my brother, and he worried about me. “I kind of have to. It’s to advertise the bar.”
“Hey, that’s a great idea. Play a good prank, and you get instant city-wide exposure. What?” His voice muffled, like he was covering the phone. “My friend Jocko just came in.”
“He’s on third shift?”
“No, this is the start of his day. He’s a real early bird. He just opened a gag shop next door to mine—Jocko’s Jokes. He needs all the free advertising he can get. He’d love to get in on your prank.”
I blinked, an idea forming in my sleep-hazed mind—which probably should’ve warned me. “Really? Where does he live?”
More muffled talking. Then Bruno came back on the line. “He has a house on East Roosevelt, number 892. Why?”
“Sera,” Thor cautioned. “What are you thinking?”
I set my phone to mute.
“We have a volunteer. We can do the ice bucket thing on him.”
Thor shook his head. “He’ll be expecting it.”
“No he won’t, not if we don’t tell him what or when.” I touched unmute. “Bruno, he’s in.”
“Great!” He hung up.
The Viking was still shaking his blond head. “I don’t know about this.”
“Come on, it’s the best of both worlds.” Relief rode me in giddy excitement. “We get our prank played on a victim who is both unsuspecting and willing.”
“Won’t he suspect something when he sees us coming with a bucket?”
“Yeah.” Disappointment fogged my brain—until an idea gamboled from the fog like a drunk deer. “So, we’ll wait until after he’s asleep. Then he really won’t expect it. I’ll call Bruno back and ask him to tell Jocko to keep his normal schedule and not attend the awards ceremony, so we’re sure he’ll go to bed. Even if we wait until ten, that’s a full hour before preliminary judging. Lots of time.” I couldn’t believe how lucky this was—a volunteer right when we needed him. Maybe Serendipity wasn’t gone after all.
I know, I should have just asked, What could possibly go wrong? and braced for impact.
Reluctantly, he nodded. “That would do. I still don’t like it, though.”
“But, you’ll agree to do it?”
“Well—sure. Fine.” The way he said it sounded less like sure and more like no way.
“Because I’m not winging it.”
“I said fine.”
“Because if I wing it, I’ll strip.”
“Fine. I’ll buy the ice, you bring the bucket. We’ll meet here tomorrow night.”
Chapter Six
It seemed as though my head barely hit the pillow before noise and light woke me. Rattling like two skeletons on a tin roof—using a porn star-size vibrator.
Turned out it was just my phone, set on vibrate for the night. I think I was a bit disappointed.
Slapping a hand around in the dark on the night stand, I finally located the thing. “’Lo?”
“Sera? It’s me. Jenny.”
“Jenny?” I was surprised she’d identified me, ’cause even to me I sounded like a frog. Somewhere in there the thought filtered through, Dummy, why would a frog answer your phone? “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, wait. I have an alarm clock.” I blinked blurrily at the red LEDs. Numbers resolved into the impossible shape of four effing thirty. I’d had an hour’s sleep.
“I’m in jail.”
“What?” That woke me up like chewing live wires. My brain, suddenly online, spurted the information today was the first, April Fools’ Day. “Is this a joke?”
“I wish it was.” Her voice was dark, filled with unshed tears, and Jenny was not the sort who could fake it. Believe me, I’d seen her in the Meiers Corners Masquers’ production of Mame, and she couldn’t act her way out of an open door.
“How did you end up in jail?”
“Well…you know your mayonnaise-filled donut joke?”
“How did you find out about that?”
“A couple of the patrons you pranked told me. Well, I liked the gag a lot and…well…”
I slapped the phone briefly to my forehead. I knew what was coming, but really
didn’t want to be right. “Spit it out.”
“See, I do third shift work at a nursing home, and I thought it’d be so funny to catch a senior O-face. Like Mr. Bacet—poor old guy is so wrinkled he looks like a hound dog. So, I set a box out for anyone wandering around with late night munchies, and I was right, it was really funny with Mr. Bacet, his O-face even funnier because he hadn’t put his dentures in yet…but then old Ms. Becker took a donut, too, and who knew she had an egg allergy, right?”
“You fed mayo to an old woman who’s allergic to eggs?”
“I didn’t know mayonnaise had eggs.”
“Mayonnaise is eggs. Eggs and oil. Is she okay?”
“Yes. Mostly.” She coughed. “She’s just in the hospital—don’t worry, she’s stable. It’s just…I’ve sort of been arrested by Officer Titus for attempted involuntary manslaughter.”
I scrunched my eyes in pain. I’d though Dirk Ruffles had been enthusiastically inept. Apparently, Officer Titus outdid even Dirk. “So, what do you want me to do about it?”
“You’re my one phone call. Can you come get me? Oh, and um, maybe bring bail?”
I banged my head against the pillow, whump, whump. Why didn’t Jenny call legal help? Although, I knew why she hadn’t called her family. Parents in the Corners were meaner than parole officers. You better fly straight and narrow or Bei Gott you won’t sit down for the rest of your life. “I’ll take care of it.”
A quick Internet search netted me the phone number for Meiers Corners’s premier attorney, Julian Emerson. I didn’t worry about waking him or his wife Nixie. As a vampire, he’d be just finishing up for the night. As a punk rock musician, she’d be awake, too.
They promised to meet me at the jail and take care of the paperwork.
But I had to supply the bail.
I had enough money from my daytime job to comfortably handle my bills. But the only pool of ready extra cash I had was in the hands of my boss. And earmarked to bail out my granny.
I’d now have to use it for another bail-out.
Assuming that Camille would give it to me early. I’d have to promise to be extra Sexy And Fun. Probably have to wear my dirndl pulled up to my ears. Also assuming the tip and bonus money would be enough to bail out Jenny, because this time of the month, I sure didn’t have anything in my checkbook.
In a rush I pulled on jeans, tee, and coat and, not even taking time to pin up my hair, headed for Nieman’s.
Not at all thinking that Thor would also be there. My stomach did a little yippy. Not at all.
I knocked on Nieman’s front door, hoping Camille was still awake. Though the sky was pretty dark, sunrise couldn’t be more than an hour away.
Thor answered, and my brain did a facepalm—yeah, I wanted to see him, but now I’d have to go through another layer of defense to get my money. My stupid belly didn’t care, shimmying another happy dance.
“I need to see Camille.” My urgency translated into a breathless voice. That was the only reason. Really.
He backed up and let me in. “Why?”
“I need my bonus and tip money.”
“Whoa, wait. I thought you were sleeping. What do you need money for?” He drew me farther inside and shut the door.
“You remember the donut mayonnaise prank I was telling you about? Jenny picked up on it and imitated me, except one old lady was allergic and had a reaction that sent her to the hospital, and Officer Titus got overenthusiastic on Jenny’s ass and put her in jail.” Words tumbled over each other as I tried to get it all out as fast as possible.
By the end, he was shaking his head, but not for the reason I thought. “Let her use her own money. She brought it on herself.”
“Weren’t you listening? She wouldn’t have done it without my example. It’s my fault.”
“No, it was her choice. She didn’t have to do that prank.”
“But it was my prank. Thor, you’re not listening. Jenny’s in jail because she was trying to do what I do. Because she was trying to be like me. I need to be a better example—”
“Sera, you’re not listening to me. So the kid has a bit of hero-worship going on. That’s her choice, too.”
I made a low, frustrated sound. “Is it? You know those infomercials that make everything look easier, bigger, more fun? If you buy something based on an exaggeration or downright lie, is that your choice?”
He frowned at me. “You’re not making sense. What do infomercials have to do with you and Jenny?”
“I’m the infomercial! I make being bad look fun and easy.” I almost yelled it. This, this was what I’d worked so long and hard to avoid. “To other people, especially impressionable youngsters like Jenny, I seem to dance through life, cutting corners. When she tries the same thing, she gets hurt! But I’m the guilty party.” I dug one hand through my loose hair. “Oh, why am I bothering talking to you? You don’t understand. Where’s Camille? I need to talk to her.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. But I want to.” He took my arms and drew me onto one of the stools in front of the bar. “This is obviously important to you. Slow down, Sera. What happened? Try to explain it to me.”
“There’s no time.” I couldn’t meet his gaze. I shook my head and kept shaking it. “It’s my fault, and I have to make it right. Where’s Camille? I need my money. Camille.”
“She can’t hear you. She’s downstairs with Buddy. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. Sera, sweetheart. ” He tipped a finger under my chin, his gaze not narrow, but gentle and compassionate. “I’m not talking about Jenny. I don’t mean what happened this morning. That just pushed your button. I mean, what caused the button? What happened to you that you’re so sensitive to this? Not Jenny.”
“Yes, Jenny.” He wanted me to talk about the most shameful event of my life. I shook my head. “This. This happened before.”
“Happened to you?”
“Not to me. That’s the problem.” I looked off in the distance over his shoulder, as if my money would be there.
“Avoiding telling me isn’t going to work. I can be all kinds of persistent when it matters.” He used that warm finger to tip my face back to his, his gaze understanding. “And this matters. Tell me, Sera.”
I wanted to, wanted to pour my heart out into his quiet acceptance. But after I told him, he wouldn’t be quiet or accepting. At this moment, we might have a truce…maybe we were even on the way to something more…but after he heard my story, our fledgling relationship would be kaput.
I decided not to tell him. “Thor, I would, but—”
“Your money.” As if he sensed I was about to shut him down, he picked the one thing that would make me give in. “I can get it for you. But first, you have to talk to me.”
I stuttered a breath. I needed that money. “Damn it. Fine.”
I chuffed another breath. I hadn’t told anyone about this, not even Gabriella. Abigail knew because she’d been there, but even she didn’t know how deeply it had affected me.
“It was in high school. I was with Abbie and a bunch of my friends. We were experimenting with drinking.”
“Slightly wicked, but normal enough.”
“There’s more. The high school was across the street from a park.”
“In Meiers Corners, everything is across the street from a park. The only thing we have more of is churches and bars.”
In spite of everything, that made me smile. “True.” I sobered. “We were supposed to be in study hall, but we slipped outside and did our version of getting hammered…splitting a bottle of peach schnapps.”
“Daring.”
“Not so much. I’d planned it all out, you see. I may look like I’m Ferris-Buellering it—playing it by ear—but I rarely am. I’d covered for us in study hall, telling them we were doing an AV project, and in AV by telling them we were in study hall. I had a hiding place mapped out for us if someone saw us. The only thing I hadn’t planned for was…” I swallowed. “Jenny.”
“I thought she was a
lot younger than you. You were in school together?”
“She seems younger than she is. She’s actually only a few years behind. Anyway, she was in class, saw us out the window—and got it into her head to join us.” Even now I wanted to bash my skull against something, remembering how events turned out. “She had this idea that what I do is worth copying.”
“She has a girl-crush on you.”
I stared at him. “Have you been talking to my roommates?”
He smiled faintly. “It’s obvious. The way she watches you, holds her beer tray just as you do, leaps to leave for the night exactly when you do, so you can walk her home.”
“You know, that observant thing you do is sexy as hell, and just as annoying.” I shook my head, chasing away the smile. “She apparently told her teacher she had to go to the bathroom and hopped across the street to join us. What she didn’t know was that Vice Principal Schleck saw her leave. He’s a real stickler for rules, and he followed her. I saw him coming and gave the signal to hide. But I didn’t see Jenny…and by the time I did see her, she was at our blanket, picking up the bottle, and Schleck was roaring up behind her like an angry steam engine. He yelled at her. We were all so flabbergasted, we just stood there. Jenny got in big trouble.”
“Detention? A note to her parents?”
“I wish. No, big trouble. Not a simple hand-slap, because Schleck, who’s an ass anyway, had just had a run-in over alumni weekend with Nixie Schmeling-now-Emerson.” The tiny punk rocker pushed all straight-laced Schleck’s buttons, and gleefully pushed them at that. “Jenny hadn’t touched a drop, but because the empty bottle was in her hand when Schleck caught her—and because Schleck is an ass—Jenny got suspended.” Even years later, the image of her being ejected from school, her head hanging, her parents barely looking at her, made me weep inside.
“Suspended for holding a bottle of schnapps? That’s serious bad luck.”
“It wasn’t bad luck, it was her imitating me. I felt so guilty I came forward and told him what really happened. But you know what? One of the girls on the blanket that day with me was the daughter of the principal, and that coward Schleck didn’t want to accuse her and get in trouble with his boss. Jenny was easier to accuse, and you could tell from the way Schleck strutted around that catching her red-handed made him feel like a big man. So Jenny, and only Jenny, was suspended.”
