QUEENIE BABY: On Assignment (13 page)

I looked at Mark. He gave me a look that said I was on my own. Mrs. Kester settled it for me. “She’s brought the devil on this building with all her evil harlot ways!” she shrieked. “I tell you there was a vampire with blood dripping from his fangs trying to break in and get me!”

Maybe a little visit to the psych ward would do her some good. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” I replied to John.

“Yeah,” John said. “We see this a lot in heavy drinkers. She’s probably short on cash this month and going through alcohol withdrawal.” He waved a hand. “They’ll sort it out at the hospital. Take good care of her, the poor thing. You’re going to be fine, ma’am,” he said loudly.
 

“I’m not drunk,” yelled Mrs. Kester. “And there was a vampire.” The ambulance pulled up and in a few minutes they whisked a screeching Mrs. Kester away for evaluation.
 

“Looking forward to Friday night,” said John as he was heading out the door.

“Me too,” I said conscious of Mark standing at the top of the stairs.
 

“Boy, your dance card is filling up quick,” he said sarcastically.
 

“He’s a fan,” I said brushing past Mark into the apartment. “And he’s coming out to see me play on Friday.”

Mark made a face. “Seemed like he thinks it is more than that.”

“Well, there’s not,” I said going back for more wine. What another crazy night!

I waved the bottle at Mark. He shook his head. “Unless you’re offering me a bed to sleep in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, probably not room in your bed for one more,” he said with a laugh.

I threw a pillow off the couch at him. “Hey!” he exclaimed and threw it back at me. Max started barking and leaping around. Pillows got him excited. And not in a good way. He went right for Mark’s leg and had a good hump going before Mark was able to shake lose.

“Even your dog is crazy!” he said grouchily and sat down on the couch. I sat down next to him and tucked my legs up under me. “I take it the dapper old guy in the cape was your current temp assignment.”

“Yep. I told you I was working for a vampire.” I smiled.

He laughed. “I know I shouldn’t find this funny, but, damn, that was funny! Your poor neighbor,” he said shaking his head. “You owe her a fruit basket or something.”

“I do feel bad now,” I said. “But she’s just so mean. And really, maybe she does need a psych eval. Mr. Pyres didn’t have blood dripping from his mouth,” I added.

“Yeah,” said Mark. “But he was wearing a cape and peeking in her windows.”

“I’m going to call that semantics,” I argued.

“Call it what you will, but that lady will be out to get you when she gets released.” He was right. It wasn’t going to be pleasant around here. Mark leaned down and picked up my guitar from its stand next to the couch. “Play me some Patsy?” he asked, handing me the guitar.
 

I made a face. “No way.”
 

He thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said, “then play me an original.”

I brightened. It’s always more exciting to play your own stuff. I strummed the guitar a few times and checked the tuner. “Here’s a fun one I wrote that almost made me famous,” I said mysteriously and launched into
The Rum Song
. It was fast and funky with an island feel. It was a great summer song and never failed to get people out of their chairs and on the dance floor.

When I finished, Mark clapped enthusiastically. “Great song! It should be on the radio.”

“Everybody says that.” I shrugged. “There are lots of songs that should be on the radio but aren’t. Most of us just write music and play small venues hoping that one of our originals will get some radio play at some point in our lifetimes.”

“Doesn’t sound too promising for a career,” Mark said.

“I do okay,” I replied a little defensively. “Especially in this area during the summer. That song and a few others were featured in a TV series pilot.”

“Impressive,” Mark said.

“Yeah, but the show never got picked up. I haven’t heard anything from the producers since the fall.”

“That stinks,” he said. “How did you end up in a series pilot—right place at the right time?”

“Right bar at the right time,” I said. “I was playing one Saturday night when a group came in. They heard my originals and, as luck would have it, they were producers looking for a bar to feature in their TV pilot. The next thing I knew I was in a sound booth in California having my songs produced. It was an exciting time. Quite an amazing experience. I met a lot of great people,” I said a little wistfully.

“I’m sure a few more boyfriends,” Mark teased.

Well, actually he was correct, but I didn’t feel the need to share that story. “You’re a real comedian. So how ‘bout you? All I know is that you’re a commercial real estate developer who may, or may not, be an impostor.”

“I don’t think my life is anywhere near as exciting as yours,” he deflected.

“Oh, no, buddy,” I said setting my guitar down. “I think I deserve more details, considering everything that’s going on.”

He sighed. “I’m thirty-five, never married, and I have an MBA from Georgia State. I had a football scholarship, but tore my knee up in the first season and was never competitive after that,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “What else?” he stalled. “I starting working for my uncle right out of graduate school and then decided that I needed to do something more adventurous. After a few years, I wanted more stability so I went back to my uncle three years ago. Anything else?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Uh, yeah. You left out all the good parts!”

“Like what?”

“The adventures,” I exclaimed.

“Adventures are overrated,” he said with a wave of his hand.

I gave him an irritated look. “I just sang you a song,” I reminded him. “You can, at the least, tell me about your adventures.”

He said, “Some of my former team members that didn’t make it to the big time went into the military right out of college. They did four years, got out, and started doing personal security for American ex-pats in the Middle East. They asked me to join them and I spent five years overseas.”

That was adventurous. “So you were a bodyguard?” I asked.

“No, they had the training,” he said. “They guarded and I handled everything else. Logistics, accounting, etc. Not quite as glamorous, huh?” he asked.
 

“So why did you come back?” I asked.

“Just got tired of it,” he said and looked away.

I was pretty sure there was more to the story, but decided not to push. His phone rang and Patsy started to croon. He looked down. “It’s my uncle,” he said. He answered the phone and I took my wine glass back to the kitchen. Max scratched at the door. I glanced at the clock. It was almost time for his walk. I grabbed my jacket, clipped on his leash and headed outside. We walked around for a long time before His Highness found a satisfactory spot.
 

When we got back inside Mark was still on the phone. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly and made a couple of notes on one of the pages in my notepad. “Okay, I’ll be there,” he said and hung up. He leaned back looking shell-shocked.
 

“What did he say?”

Mark took a deep breath. “He knows about David and he’s sure that Marcie is having an affair. She surprised him with the retreat at lunch a couple of days ago. He’s been suspicious the last few months so he agreed to go and wants me to come down and follow Marcie. He said he couldn’t call me because they took his phone. He’s been trying to bribe the help to get a phone, but no luck.”

“Good thing you threatened Marcie with the police.”

He nodded. “I think Marcie’s plan, whatever it is, is starting to unravel. I’m leaving for Virginia as soon as you’re done at Greene’s tomorrow.”

“Is your uncle okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Mark chuckled. “He said he feels like he’s in a harem. Stuck in the lap of luxury with no way out. Marcie is supposed to pick him up Sunday.”

“Which gives her the whole week to hook up with her boyfriend? Still doesn’t make sense,” I said.

“I’ll find out tomorrow,” Mark said. “Speaking of boyfriends—it’s time for you to answer some questions,” he said looking over at me.

“Oh, really?” I said.

“Who’s your date with tomorrow night?” he asked.

Well, that was direct. “My high school boyfriend that, until yesterday, I hadn’t seen in over ten years.” Right back at you.

That seemed to throw him. “Wow,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Me neither.”

“So does he have a shot?” Mark asked.

I thought for a moment. “I wrote a song last night about it—want to hear a rough version?”
 

“Sure.”

I wasn’t sure what made me offer to sing the song. I never sang an original until it was polished. Maybe I was just trying to avoid answering his question. Or maybe I didn’t know the answer. I pulled the pad out of my case where I had scribbled the words last night. I fiddled with my guitar a few seconds and started to sing. I glanced up at Mark a few times to gauge his reaction, but his face was a mask. Singing the song for the first time since last night reignited my turmoil over Rick.
 

I finished the song awkwardly, adding, “I’m still working on it.”

Mark said nothing. He reached down to pet Max. I was getting ticked. “If it sucks, just say so,” I said setting my guitar down.
 

“It was great,” he finally said. “It made me think about things I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

“That’s what it does for me too,” I said feeling mollified.
 

He leaned closer and said, “Diana, I think you are the most amazing songwriter. Thanks for giving me a private show.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek and patted my hand. He stood up and stretched. “I should get going,” he said.

What the heck just happened? A peck on the cheek? A pat on the hand? “Okay,” I said standing up. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said. “Your song just made me realize that your date tomorrow is more than just a date.”

I wrinkled my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
 

“It means that I would love to chase you around this apartment the rest of the night,” he said, stepping closer. “And I like to think I’d probably catch you. But when that happens I want it to be just the two of us.”

That irked me. Did he think I was an old maid pining away for lost love? I put my hands on my hips. “First of all,” I began as I followed him to the door. “There was no way you were going to ‘catch’ me tonight.” He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “And second, if you had done a good enough job of it, my old boyfriend wouldn’t have been on my mind. Really,” I added sarcastically, “if the women you sleep with have a problem keeping their minds off old boyfriends, then maybe you should work on your skills a bit.”

He started to say something but stopped. He turned and grabbed me by the waist and pulled me against his chest. I was immediately enveloped in the scent I was starting to think of as ‘manly spice and everything nice’. They should make a candle scented like a good-smelling man. He lips brushed mine and my stomach flipped and flopped. I pressed against him and returned the kiss hungrily. Old boyfriend? What boyfriend? He pulled away first.

“My skills are just fine,” he said looking down at me. Yes, they were, I silently agreed. “I’m not worried about right now. I’m worried about later.”

I looked up at him. “I wasn’t thinking about Rick just then. What makes you think I would later?” I asked softly.

“Your song,” he said and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

AFTER ANOTHER SLEEPLESS night, I pulled myself together and got ready for work. My mood lifted when I took Max for a walk and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of a promising spring day. After taking care of payroll I had the rest of the day to myself and I had a date that I was actually looking forward to tonight, despite what Mark had said. I wasn’t stuck in the past or trying to recapture my lost youth. Okay, so I wrote a song about recapturing lost youth with an old boyfriend. It didn’t mean that was how I felt
now.
Like many songs I wrote, it was how I felt at a moment in time. I liked to capture those feelings with a song. It’s how I wrote.
 

I continued to mull over last night on my way to Greene’s. Funny, but I wasn’t torn between Mark and Rick. They were at two ends of the spectrum. I was single and it was fun to have a couple of options. I was looking forward to the discovery process. I stopped in at Shack’s and grabbed a cup of coffee. I decided to have whipped cream on my latte. It was one of those kind of days. I reached Greene’s at eight. The doors were still locked and the blinds were closed. I used my key and went in.
 

Carol would freak if she saw the place; it was a mess. Timesheets littered the floor around the fax machine. Files had been pulled out of the cabinets and stacked haphazardly on the desks. The coffee pot was still on and the blackened residue permeated the air. I sighed. This was going to take a while. I set about cleaning up and organizing as best I could. The coffee pot was beyond repair. The phone rang, interrupting the quiet.
 

“Do you know there were twenty-five messages on the machine this morning?” asked Carol.

“Well, good morning to you too,” I said. “Sounds like you have finally risen from the dead.”

“Yes,” she said. “Other than a slight headache, I am up and moving. I checked the messages from home this morning and couldn’t believe it! What’s going on there?”

I brought her up to speed on Mark’s call last night from Mr. Greene and the current state of the office.

“I’m coming in,” she said with determination. “If that idiot wants to fire me, he can go ahead.”

“Not a good idea,” I warned. “Manage what you can from home, but wait until Monday before you come in. Give Mark a chance to get to the bottom of everything this weekend.”

“Speaking of Mark,” she asked, “how did things go last night?”