Joyride

Dom squinted at Leo, as though to see him better. After a pause, he stood up and brushed some pretzel crumbs off his pants. “Wrap this one up nice and neat, and we’ll talk.”

Dom’s word was better than a signature. “We’ll talk” meant Leo had a chance to break out of desk hell. “Deal.”

CORINNE STOOD ON the porch of her best buddy Kyle’s apartment and jabbed at the doorbell. She prayed he’d answer the door—she wasn’t in the mood to flash his partner, Geoff, who despised her. Kyle had once explained that Geoff got jealous of the time Kyle and Corinne spent together—that Geoff viewed Corinne as “the other woman.”

“Me, the other woman,” she muttered, holding one hand over her breasts, the other over her thighs, not sure if she was really covering anything at all. “I can’t excite my fiancé, but a gay man views me as competition.”

The door swung open. Kyle, a chocolate-dipped strawberry in his hand, leaned over a little, a look of shock on his face. “Corinne?” His gaze wandered down her plastic-wrapped torso. “What are you doing dressed in company property?”

They both worked at Universal Shower Door, which had a sideline of shower curtains as well. “Like it?” she asked in a high-pitched squeal that bordered on hysteria. “I’m also wearing curtain rings as earrings!”

Kyle gently pulled her inside. “Honey, honey, honey,” he murmured, holding her close.

That did it. She’d been strong facing Tony’s infidelity. And nothing short of courageous driving across Denver in a see-through getup while madly pumping pedals in stilettos. But right now, she was tired of being strong. Sinking against Kyle, she sputtered tearfully, “Tony. Gift-wrapped. Blonde.”

Kyle paused, then said quietly, “If Tony has a thing for gift-wrapping blondes, he should be ecstatic that his fiancée now has beautiful golden locks…” He stepped back and looked into her eyes. “What happened, honey?”

She swallowed, hard. “I took your advice and made my man howl, all right—I stole his macho sports car.”

“You stole Baby Ferrari?”

“Yes, stole,” she admitted, “and I’m never returning it or me to him. From now on, I’m my own woman.” She hadn’t even known she felt that way until she’d blurted the words. It was as though her shattered insides were resolidifying into a new Corinne. But her bravado shrank a little. A new Corinne with no home. No money. No clothes. “I’d ask to stay here, but Geoff would freak—”

“To put it mildly.”

“I’m in a bind.”

Kyle looked her up and down. “To put it strongly.” He dangled the strawberry between them. “Want a bite? Sweets for the…” He looked her up and down. “…spicy?”

“No thanks.” She grinned. Only Kyle could make her laugh in the middle of a life crisis. Gesturing toward the road, she said, “I can’t park that Ferrari on a public street—when Tony figures out I’m not returning, he’ll call the police, and they’ll find it faster than Geoff can say ‘the other woman.”’ She sucked in a ragged breath. “Tony’s been fooling around on me. With a dumpy blonde with the most nonluscious vanilla scoops you’ve ever seen!” The image of that over-packed blonde hurt. Deep.

Kyle waited a moment before responding. “Dumpy?” He snorted dramatically. “He should be jailed! As for those nonvanilla scoops—”

“Nonluscious—”

“We should sic the Baskin and Robbins police on him!”

“And tell them to stick him in a freezer, dressed only in a pair of his tiger-striped G-strings.” No doubt that’s where Blondie got “Tiger Boy.” Corinne was tempted to add a few more imaginative punishments for Tony when she heard a noise inside the apartment. “Who’s here?”

“Geoff and a few friends.”

“What’re they doing here?”

“Well, Geoff lives here. The others are a few out-of-town friends who’re spending the week with us.”

“Oh God.” Teetering a little on her high heels, Corinne grabbed Kyle’s arms for balance. “What am I going to do? It’s bad enough I’ve stolen Tony’s Ferrari. Now I’m naked in an apartment filled with strange men.”

Kyle chuckled. “All men are strange, darling, but these happen to also be gay. So trust me—you’re safer than a meatball at a vegetarian banquet.” He nibbled on the end of the strawberry while looking her over. “We need to get you into clothes—” He met her eyes. “—then plan what’s next in the life of Corinne Mc-Court.”

Kyle offered her his arm. “As we have to pass through the dining room to get to the bedroom where we can raid Geoff’s closet, I suggest we pretend you’re Judy Garland and I’m Fred Astaire strolling along in the Easter Parade.”

“Was Judy naked?”

“Yes, but she wore a hat.”

“You’re lying.” She took Kyle’s arm. “This isn’t fair. You’re fully dressed. I’m almost nude.”

Kyle shot her a whimsical smile. “Trust me, darling, no one will notice.”

2

AN HOUR LATER, Corinne headed west along I-70, tearing across the blacktop in a low-cut slinky number, looking like a Liza Minelli wanna-be from her Cabaret days. Piled on the back seat were a stack of Geoff’s dresses—a variety of skimpy, sequined numbers that Cher would kill for. Geoff had gone full-tilt drama queen upon hearing Kyle and Corinne would be raiding Geoff’s closet. But when Kyle mentioned Corinne would be forced to live with them until she rebuilt her wardrobe, Geoff became ultra magnanimous, offering her dresses, makeup, even a rhinestone dog collar that doubled as a tiara.

She took it all. Anything was better than a roll of plastic wrap.

Then she, Kyle, and four gay men brainstormed her next steps. Everyone agreed she needed an R and R—a fun, relaxing, adventurous getaway before making any serious life changes.

“You never play!” Kyle had chided. “And, darling, you deserve some major playground time after what Tigger’s put you through.” After she told them about “Tiger Boy,” they’d coined a new nickname, Tigger, to take some of the sting out of the situation. It sort of worked. The way a salve momentarily takes the sting out of a scraped knee.

Or a joke momentarily takes the sting out of a broken heart.

Determined to mend that broken heart, Corinne mulled over Kyle’s comment about “playground time.” It took her all of two seconds to associate that concept with her cousin Sandee. Wild, fun-loving Sandee—the complete opposite of mild, sedate Corinne. Maybe, on the outside, they were as different as oil and water, but mix them up, and some secret part merged, forming a special world only they shared. A world where they let down their guards and discussed their dreams and fears…a world where they discovered that, deep inside, they weren’t so different after all.

Fortunately, Universal Shower Door owed Corinne several weeks’ vacation. As the guys cheered her on, Corinne phoned her cousin in Vegas who, after hearing about Tony’s two-timing, had demanded Corinne “get her butt out here, now.”

Kyle’s friends then took up a collection. After a group hug, where Corinne confessed with a giggle that she’d always wanted to be held by four men at once, she was now driving a stolen Ferrari across the country with three hundred and fifty dollars in her new silver-beaded purse.

It was like being a glamorous Louise minus the Thelma.

Two days later, Corinne arrived on Sandee’s doorstep. After squeals of reunion and multiple hugs, Sandee pulled Corinne inside the pink-and-orange living room that made her feel as though she’d stepped into a sunset.

Or, considering she was restarting her life, a sunrise.

Sandee stuck a cigarette between her glossy peach lips and fired the tobacco with the snap of a silver lighter. After exhaling a stream of blue smoke, she smiled—an expression that had always looked more secretive than happy on Sandee. “We still look alike,” she said in her signature husky voice.

Their mothers had been identical twins, so Corinne and Sandee did look eerily alike, but their outward personalities were about as similar as Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow.

Sandee planted her hands on her curvaceous hips, barely covered in a pair of denim shorts, and gave Corinne a once-over. “And we’re still the same size.”

Corinne darted a glance at Sandee’s breasts. “Well, give or take a few cups.”

Sandee waved her frosted-pink fingernails, tipped with tiny red roses, in a dismissive motion. “Honey, inserts can turn Bs into Ds.” She narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Corinne’s hair. “What’s with the bottle blond?”

“It’s hot gold. I colored it—” She bit her lip, hating to confess the truth, but knowing Sandee was the one person to whom she could. Corinne took a fortifying breath. “I colored it to remind Tony of his beloved Ferrari,” she finished quickly.

Sandee took a long drag on her cigarette, her eyes shooting fire, like the color of her hair. “That bast—” She released the rest of the word on a burst of smoke. She took a few steps, pivoted, and jabbed her cigarette at the air as she spoke. “Honey, never change yourself for a man. Never, never, never. Been there, done that.” Sandee’s blue eyes softened with a look that gave away that “been there, done that” hadn’t been so long ago. “If you feel an overwhelming urge to change something, honey, change it for you.” She shrugged apologetically. “Uh, sorry I cussed.”

“Cuss away,” murmured Corinne, but her thoughts were on the other things her cousin had said. Tough, strong Sandee changed herself for a guy? He must have been a very special man to have pierced her tough-skinned “been there, done that” exterior. From the pained expression in Sandee’s eyes, Corinne guessed her cousin had been pierced all the way to her heart. But even if that were true, Corinne knew Sandee would never let the world know.

“Cuss away,” Corinne repeated, realizing she’d been staring intently at her cousin, but not wanting to voice what she’d been thinking. “You can call Tony whatever you like. Except Tiger Boy.” Corinne grinned, feeling silly and happy that she could play with that term.

“You got it.” Sandee smiled, that sly, secretive smile that reminded Corinne of the Cheshire Cat. “No T. Boy. Besides, I have a list of much better names for that bozo after what he did to you. But I’ll not use them all at once—I’ll sprinkle ’em like salt on food…just enough to spice up our conversations.” She pointed at Corinne’s high heels. “Speaking of spice, dig the stilettos.” Her blue-eyed gaze roamed up the silvery body-hugging dress. “Cool look, too. Looks good with that heart necklace Aunt Charlene gave you.”

Corinne’s fingers touched the locket, the sole item from her former life. A gift from her mom on Corinne’s sixteenth birthday. A flickering of sadness rose within her as she realized she’d done exactly what her mother had done so many times—run away from a man. Had all the men her mother run away from been two-timing creeps like Tony? Or had her mother been incapable of sticking around, loving any man? The last thought filled Corinne with horror as she clasped the cold metal heart. I’m not incapable, she told herself, hoping it was true.

“Plus you’re in shape,” Sandee continued.

“Running.”

Sandee raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “You always were an outdoor girl.”

“And bowling.”

Sandee grimaced. “Don’t tell me you rent those hideous shoes that everybody and their grandfather’s worn.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Corinne smiled, knowing this conversation was totally grossing out Sandee, who probably wore gold high heels to church—if she went. “You look great—what do you do to work out?”

After swiping a flame-red hair out of her eye, Sandee winked saucily. “I like indoor sports.”

Corinne wanted to say something glib, make it seem that she, Conspicuous Corinne, liked indoor sports, too. But she’d never had the chance to discover if she was good at that particular sport. Based on Tony’s double-dipping, she was obviously a disappointment. How stupid she must have looked to him, sheathed in freezer wrap, when he opened that door…come to think of it, he never even checked out her sexy, see-through ensemble. His gaze never left hers…wow, Corinne McCourt goes all out to made her man howl and he doesn’t even whimper…

“Hey, Earth to cuz,” said Sandee, concern darkening her eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, honey, let it go. He’s not worth it.”

Corinne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Good,” Sandee said softly. “’Cause I have an idea and I think it’s gonna work out swell.” Sandee tapped the tip of her cigarette on a ceramic ashtray with the words “Circus Circus” in bright crimson script around its white perimeter. “Here’s the deal. You need a place to stay and I need a favor.”

Corinne’s antennae went up. She sensed “Sandee Trouble” just like when they were teenagers. Back then, Corinne did favors like sit in for Sandee in classes while she played hooky, play waitress at Sandee’s job while she partied, and once—one gloriously magical summer evening—she filled in for Sandee on a date that Sandee had accidentally double-booked. Fortunately, the guy had only met Sandee once, so he didn’t know the look-alike cousin wasn’t really the girl he’d asked out. An anxious Corinne had worn one of Sandee’s skimpy shifts and slathered on her makeup and perfume—something intoxicatingly spicy called “Forbidden.”

Corinne remembered shaking as she squirted the stuff on…and shaking even more, later, when she experienced her first kiss. A mouth-tingling, mind-melding, twenty-minute lip-lock whose memory, to this day, turned her insides liquid.

“So what d’ya think?” Sandee said.

“Is it forbidden?” Corinne asked breathily. She grinned as though she were teasing, but with a jolt, she knew that’s exactly why she’d come to Vegas. To be dramatic, uninhibited, forbidden. To spend two weeks being the furthest thing from the old, goody-goody, Inconspicuous Corinne.

“Forbidden? More like fun and easy money, honey!” Sandee grabbed Corinne’s hand and led her to the couch. “Take a load off—I’ll bring out some snacks and we’ll discuss the specifics.”

Corinne sank into the overstuffed pink-and-tangerine-striped couch and watched Sandee sashay out of the room, her shorts barely covering her behind. And at the end of those long, tanned legs, her bright pink manicured toes were wedged into a pair of fuchsia, sequined high-heel sandals.

Corinne smiled. Maybe her cousin’s clothes were abbreviated, but her style was unabridged. Always had been. As Sandee had always boldly proclaimed, life was too short to hide your best assets.

So what were her best assets? Considering she’d worn see-through plastic and Tony’s gaze hadn’t slipped once, she was left a bit clueless. She raised one leg, and checked out her calf. The muscle was nicely molded from her daily runs. She ran her fingers up her thighs, firm, to her tummy, flat. She tilted her head and sighed. The tummy she’d once wished would soon be round. “Well, you’re not gonna be round for a while,” she whispered.

When her stomach growled, Corinne realized she hadn’t eaten since that pit stop in some small town near the Utah border where she’d grabbed a bag of chips and a soda. Reminded her of the nights she sat up waiting for Tony, munching on a pretzel or a carrot, not wanting to spoil her dinner because she figured they’d still eat the stew—or lasagna or casserole—that’d been sitting lukewarm on the stove the last two-plus hours. After a few more pretzels, Corinne would give up and go to bed. In the morning, Tony would apologize, claiming he’d had a late business meeting with a client.

“A frizzy blond-haired client,” Corinne murmured. How could I have been so naive?

Click click click.

The staccato of Sandee’s heels brought Corinne’s thoughts back to the present. She looked up as her cousin crossed the faux wood floor of the small dining room, carrying a white wicker tray piled high with food and several pop-sized bottles. Corinne could finally walk straight in her stilettos, but it would take some practice for her to simultaneously carry trays of food like Sandee. That girl was multitalented.

“Egg rolls,” explained Sandee, pointing at some crispy fried cylinders with her rose-tipped index finger. Her finger waved over the rest of the items, like Vanna White gesturing over letters. “A chili relleno, chicken nuggets, some carrot sticks and two Mai Tais.” She set the tray on the glass coffee table next to a stack of women’s magazines.

Sandee then plopped herself onto the couch and uncorked one of the bottles with “Maui Zowie Mai Tai” embossed in purple letters on a shiny label. She toasted Corinne with a short “Here’s looking at you, kiddo,” took a sip, then began talking rapidly. “So, here’s the deal, I got this job at a local casino…”

Corinne uncorked her own Mai Tai and tasted it, liking how it fizzled sweetly on her tongue. She settled back into the cushy couch, eager to hear one of Sandee’s life stories.

“And then this dude Hank enters my life,” Sandee 30 Joyride continued, picking up an egg roll. She paused, her blue-lined eyes misting over as she looked at the roll. “Reminds me of a baby bird he picked off the asphalt once. Little thing must have fallen out of its nest. Hank—we was driving past—lurches to a stop, hops out, and picks up that little bird. Big ol’ semi barely missed Hank as he carried that little feathered creature across the road to safety.” Sandee sniffed and set the egg roll back onto the plate. “For a guy with a record, he has such a soft heart,” she whispered, her voice choking.

Sandee, crying? Could this Hank guy be the one who twisted her heart? Corinne handed her one of the cocktail napkins, then sat quietly while Sandee dabbed carefully at her eyes, expertly wiping away her tears without mussing her makeup. Corinne was way impressed. When she cried, she needed a mirror and multiple tissues to do damage control.

When Sandee gained control of herself, Corinne quietly said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You kiddin’? Honey, this is part of the deal. You need to know what’s happened.” Rolling back her shoulders, Sandee cleared her throat and continued, “Hank was a lightweight contender years ago. He works as a bouncer now, but he’s mostly on standby, so his paychecks get sketchy.”

Sandee wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin with “The Mirage” printed diagonally across it. “On our second date, Hank starts tellin’ me I’m ‘the one’ and his heart is mine forever. I’m used to stuff like that on maybe the fourth or fifth date, but on the second?” Shooting Corinne a can-you-believe it look, Sandee took another sip of her Mai Tai.

Yes, Corinne could believe it. Sandee always had that effect on men. Even when she was fourteen, the year thirteen-year-old Corinne and her mom moved to Texas. Shy, quiet Corinne had at first been aghast at her cousin who wore tube tops, skintight jeans and bright-red lipstick that matched her hair. And when the two of them walked down a street, Corinne couldn’t believe the number of catcalls and whistles Sandee got. It was like walking through a human jungle.

“So this Hank fell for you,” Corinne said, enthralled with sultry Sandee’s power over the opposite sex.

“Bam!” Sandee snapped her fingers. “Like a megaton of bricks. So after the second-date dinner—steak and candlelight, Cuz, none of that cheap stuff—when he takes me for a ride outside town, I figure the guy’s gonna pop the question.” Sandee took another sip of her Mai Tai while wriggling her perfectly plucked eyebrows at Corinne.

“So?” Corinne asked, feeling thirteen again as she listened to her wild, sexy cousin tell forbidden tales.

“So he pops all right!” Sandee slammed down her bottle. “Pops the rear end of some shiny antique car! Now we’re off the side of the road, it’s dark, and Hank and some old dude get out to exchange insurance info.”

Corinne was wanting illicit tales of lust and love, not cars and insurance. Hiding her disappointment, she helped herself to the last spicy wedge of relleno, waiting for the rest of the story.

“Suddenly,” Sandee said, her voice dropping to a dramatic low, “Hank opens the back door and shoves this old guy’s limp body into the car! I yell, ‘What the hel—?”’ Sandee blinked. “Anyway, I yell some stuff, then Hank yells back, ‘Cool it. You drive this car back to your place. I’ll meet you there.”’

Corinne almost choked on the relleno. “You—” She coughed. “You drove some dead guy back here?” She looked around, half expecting to see a leg sticking out from underneath a chair.

“He wasn’t dead.” Sandee rapped her lighter against the thick glass top of the coffee table, the tap, tap, tap adding dramatic suspense. “I get to a stop light near the Strip and Mr. Back Seat suddenly comes to life, hops outta the car and runs like hell. The light turns green and I floor it. Last thing I need is Mr. Almost-Dead flagging down a cop and pointing at Hank’s car, which yours truly is driving!”

Corinne waited. But instead of explaining further, Sandee began adjusting her top so both boobs bulged the same bulge amount. This was a woman who knew her priorities.

“So,” Corinne finally said, “is that the end of the story?” Although with Sandee, one never knew the real story.

Sandee, satisfied she was bulging appropriately, stopped her adjustment and leveled Corinne a look. “And the end of Hank! He keeps calling, calling, but I want nuthin’ to do with a bump-and-run dude. Especially when he endangered me over an old Studebaker!”

Corinne only heard the words “bump and run.” The term Sandee had used on the phone. “What’s does, uh, ‘bump and run’ mean?” Corinne took a quick, involuntary breath in anticipation of the answer. It had to be as fiery as the color of Sandee’s hair.

“It’s…” Sandee lowered her gaze, suddenly preoccupied with one of the sequins on her fuchsia-pink sandal. “It’s nuthin’ really.”

Just like her cousin to avoid the question when she was up to no good. Definitely “Sandee Trouble,” but Corinne didn’t care. She was aching to know. “Bump and run” had to be better than any chapter in How to Make Your Man Howl. Probably a book in itself! “Tell me more,” she whispered, almost losing her voice in her thrill-drenched state.

“I gotta split town,” Sandee said matter of factly.

Not exactly the “more” Corinne wanted. But before she could elaborate, Sandee began speed-talking again.

“After that crazy stunt Hank pulled, I gotta put some distance between me and him, which is where you come in. You can stay at my place—there’s a garage for the Ferrari. All I ask is you fill in for me at work.”

Corinne scuffed one stiletto-heeled foot across the rose-pink carpeting. “Fill in?”

“I’m so new there,” Sandee said, waving her hand as though this was the itsiest-bitsiest favor in the world, “nobody even knows me! Just show up on time, do the gig and split. I’ll be gone only a week or two—just enough time for Hank to cool his burners. And speaking of lover boy, he probably won’t show up at work, but if he does, just tell ’im to get lost. Considering we only had a few dates, he’ll easily believe you’re me. Tell ’im you got a hankerin’ to be blond if he asks. And he wouldn’t dare show up here ’cause my neighbor is The Phantom. You know, that hunky, mega-body star wrestler.”

“Oh, good,” Corinne said, her voice breaking on “ood.” Mega-body star wrestler? This was so dangerous, so delicious, she shivered. “I could use the money.” And the adventure. Heck, maybe she’d get a tattoo, too. Hello Angelina!

“Yeah,” Sandee agreed, arching an eyebrow. “This could work.”

Work. What was this job? Knowing Sandee, it could be anything from lion tamer to exotic dancer. Corinne better fess up about her minimal job experience so Sandee didn’t over-estimate her cousin’s abilities. “The, uh, only thing I’ve done for the past five years is payroll invoices for Universal Shower Door.”

“Perfecto!” Sandee stood, tugged on the bottom of her shorts, as though that did any good, then picked up the tray and sashayed back into the kitchen. “Shower doors are a lot like modeling. Not much between you and the world.”

“Modeling?” Corinne gulped. “I, uh, haven’t had a whole lot of experiencing doing that…”

Sandee paused at the door to the kitchen and flashed a grin. “It’ll be a breeze, sweetie,” she cooed before disappearing.