2000 Kisses (4 page)

“Okay, okay,” Tess croaked to the person pounding at her door. She sat up slowly and pulled on a long cotton robe, then padded to the door and stared through the peephole. “Agatha?” She unlocked the door, frowning. Agatha Spinelli, her fragile eighty-two-year-old neighbor, was leaning on a walker in the hall. “Is something wrong? You're not sick, are you?”

“I'm fine, my dear, just fine. I was worried about you when the power went out briefly. You must have been asleep.”

Deeply asleep.

Blissfully asleep.

Dreaming of turquoise skies and hot wind, Tess thought. Thinking about a closet full of cashmere sweaters and a sleek blue Mercedes that could cruise to sixty in seven seconds flat. “No problem. Why don't you come in for a cup of tea?” Tess prayed she had some left.

“No, I really shouldn't stay. I'm expecting a call from my son. The cable's broken again, I'm afraid.”

Not broken, Tess knew. Agatha had had to pull the plug on her favorite channels when the rates had increased. Tess had already sent a check to the cable company, arranging to have the service restored anonymously. She knew how much Agatha loved her nature shows.

She watched the white-haired woman wince as she gripped her walker. “Are you sure you won't come in?”

“No, I've got water boiling on the stove. I just wanted to check on you.”

“You ankle's bothering you again.” Tess saw the
lines of strain at her eyes. “When are you going to have that tendon operation?”

“My son's working on it. He's been saving for quite a while now.”

“You'll outlive us all, Mrs. Spinelli.” But Tess made a mental note to phone her son in Arizona and see about arranging for her to visit. The warm, dry weather would be good for Agatha's arthritis. “So what has been happening in the outside world? Did civilization topple and the world economy crumble while I was sleeping?”

“Aside from losing the electricity for a short time, things don't seem too bad. The phones seem to be working, but I've heard there were some minor problems out in California. Several stores have run out of milk. Stockpiling.” The elderly lady shook her head in distaste.

“Any news about the banks?”

“I heard there were problems with some of the ATM machines.”

Tess decided she'd better drop by her neighborhood ATM and withdraw some extra cash, just in case some kind of Y2K disaster did occur.

But first she had to present a gift to her elderly neighbor, who had a mean sweet tooth. “Breakfast is served.” She held up a foil-covered box with a wicked grin. “We have dark chocolate raspberry cream, espresso chocolate-covered strawberries, and white chocolate truffles. I hope you're in the mood for decadence.”

“Dear me.” The woman stared in delight. “But those are very expensive, aren't they?”

“Cost is no object,” Tess announced, opening the box with a flourish. “After all, it's a new era and we'd be churlish not to celebrate.” Especially since Richard had hinted at what a nice bonus Tess would be receiving.

Tess froze. Her bonus! Recalling that Richard had
told her it would be in her account today, she was suddenly seized by curiosity about how much he'd given her. What was a lot of money to her was peanuts to a millionaire like Richard. She couldn't even begin to guess what he'd meant by “a week-in-Kauai happy” though she knew how much Richard would drop during a week in paradise.

“Is something wrong, my dear? You look pale.”

“No, I'm fine.” Tess restrained a frantic urge to run to the bank to check her account balance that instant. She held out the box to Agatha. “You first.”

“You're certain?”

“Today chocolate. Tomorrow the moon.”

In a blue Mercedes and red boots.

The elderly woman patted Tess's hand. “In that case, a white truffle would be lovely, my dear. On account of the new millennium.”

After insisting that Agatha take the rest of the chocolate, Tess escorted her neighbor to her door and saw her settled comfortably. By then her stomach was growling, so she padded off to do a quick inventory of her refrigerator.

She found two cans of brandied cantaloupe balls.

A wedge of Gouda.

Peppered wasabi in a tube and cocktail marshmal-lows.

Tess stared at the bizarre ingredients and shook her head, trying to remember the last time she'd cooked a complete meal.

Twenty minutes later, tightly bundled in a long wool coat and a bright scarf, she made her way through the snow. After she stopped at the ATM, grocery shopping was at the top of her list. After that she'd rent some movies and read a good book.

There was a giddy feeling in the air, and every store seemed to be open with huge signs announcing special millennium sales in progress. Couples were walking hand in hand, and even strangers seemed to have a smile today. Perhaps the millennium had begun to work its magic after all.

People were already lined up inside the bank's ATM vestibule, and Tess got in line for one of the machines. She saw a woman in a fur coat sigh in relief when the machine disgorged her requested cash. A balding man in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a black leather jacket was next. He leaned over the machine, punched in a set of numbers, then studied his receipt in fury.

Tess immediately panicked, hit by a nightmare vision of cascading computer failures and global bank insolvency. “Is there a problem with the ATM?”

“It's working fine.” The man crumpled his receipt. “It's just my account that's whipped.”

Tess watched him take a step back. “What are you doing?”

“A complex programming maneuver that I learned my last year at Cal Tech.” He cracked his knuckles. “Don't try this one at home, boys and girls.” With a nasty grin he shoved up his sleeves and took a furious kick at the base of the machine. “That certainly made me feel a hell of a lot better,” he growled. “Machines are like horses. Don't ever let them think they're in control or you'll live to regret it.”

After he shuffled out, Tess inserted her card and keyed in her access code, praying the machine hadn't been damaged. At the next prompt, she chose the option of one hundred dollars cash back.

More gears whirred.

A metal door opened, depositing five crisp twenty-dollar bills in the tray, along with her transaction receipt.

“So much for Armageddon,” Tess muttered.

Two young women stood behind her in line, waiting in obvious impatience. Clutching her receipt, Tess turned up her collar and headed outside. As the wind whipped up the street, she stopped to look at her account balance.

Her throat went dry at the string of numbers.

The very
long
string of numbers.

She stood frozen in shock According to the receipt in her hands, her balance totaled $1,005,56037.

Tess stared into the blowing snow, speechless with shock. A million dollars had been deposited in her account.

One million.

Which is how much Richard had cfropped on his last vacation.

Snowflakes drifted down as she clutched her receipt. Richard had said she'd brought in a huge amount of business and her cruise project had been wildly successful.

A generous bonus, he'd said.

A
huge
bonus.

Sweet heaven, she'd never have to work again—except that she loved her job and she didn't want to do anything else.

But she could relax.

Take a trip.

Buy some new clothes—no, buy a whole new
wardrobe.

She took fast, gulping breaths as giddy excitement bubbled through her.

One dream had come true. She was a success! All of her hard work had paid off.

Adrenaline pumped heady excitement through her
body. She felt as if she were soaring. Plunging her hands into her pocket, she stared at the giant sales signs around her, struggling to take in the sheer immensity of this moment.

Spontaneous
, she told herself.

Remember the resolution.

It appeared she wasn't the only person scanning the shop windows. Men and women alike were staggering out of stores, laden with bulging shopping bags. The prices must be good.

Tess stopped in the snow and danced from foot to foot.

A
million
dollars.

She, Tess O'Mara, had nine figures separated by a decimal point and a whole day with nothing to do.

She was going to be spontaneous, all right. She gave a husky laugh and tossed her scarf over her shoulder, determined for the first time in her life to act on sheer impulse.

She had never been on a shopping spree, never bought anything that she didn't particularly need or that wasn't on sale.

She shoved her hands in her pockets, studying the signs that blazed in every shop window, announcing millennium sales. Everyone seemed to be open with an eye toward cashing in on the day that came only once every thousand years, and a party mentality prevailed everywhere.

Even at her trendy corner hair salon.

Tess frowned, studying her face in a window. She fingered her straight, shoulder-length brown hair.

Her gaze flickered back to the bustling salon.

Spontaneous, remember.

She took a breath, forgot all about her grocery shopping, then sprinted across the street

“You're lucky I had an opening at the last minute,”

Vincenzo Amalfi, better known by his professional name of Vido, was forty-one and looked ten years younger in black spandex biker shorts and a neon Hawaiian shirt. He rocked back on his heels, frowning as he fingered Tess's hair.
“Three
months since your last cut?”

“Give or take.”

“I see highlights. Something that will really punch up your profile.” He pursed pursed his lips. “I see energy. I see intelligence.”

I
see big bucks
, Tess thought. But she was wise enough to keep her comments to herself. “Fine, you're the expert. I just want a change—but please, nothing outrageous.”

“A change,” he repeated. “Okay, what have we got?” He scrunched, tugged, draped. “Good texture. Nice volume. We'll go for the max. I'm seeing, a texturizing cut here. We'll lay in a crisscross part, then maybe some copper highlights.”

“Subtle,” Tess repeated firmly.

“Subtle
plus
shine.” Vido gave her bangs a tweak. “Into the chair.”

Ninety-one carefully positioned foil rectangles later, Tess stared into a broad mirror, regretting the impulse that had put her into the hands of the volatile Vido. She'd probably end up looking like Madonna on a bad day. Or maybe like Dennis Rodman on a very good day, which was even worse.

A chrome hairdryer hummed around her head, making the tiny foil slips vibrate furiously. If there was any more ambient wind, she might reach flight velocity.

The high-tech clock chimed twice. Tess closed her eyes, afraid to watch as Vido eased the foil squares free and snipped quickly along her neck.

Damp strands fell. “Not too short,” she murmured.

“Not to worry. You're going to turn heads with this hair.”

Tess opened her eyes and gasped. Veins of gold, amber, and copper exploded through her hair, vibrating with primal color. She would turn heads, all right. She was going to bring traffic to a dead halt because people thought her head was on fire.

“But you said—I told you—”

“Fabulous! Very now! The highlights are perfect,” he said firmly. “Now we go for a razor undercut. Something very 2000.” Vido plunged his hands into her hair with savage energy, shaping and scrunching. “It's very fresh.”

Tess swallowed hard at the sight of the stranger in the mirror. It was so different. It was so—
out there.

Fifteen minutes later Vido was done, and Tess was paying the bill, studying her reflection in one of the salon's floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Soft curls kissed her face and the wild color lent radiance to her cheeks. She managed a small smile.

Wasn't it time she truly went for something different? She was a success, and that meant she had to start thinking like a success. From now on, she would think big and reward herself for reaching her goals. It was also time that she conquered her fear of shopping. No woman should reach the ripe age of twenty-eight without developing solid skills at handling salespeople, mastering their
subtle forms of intimidation. Tess decided to view it as a professional challenge.

Where should she go first?

When Tess walked out into the snowy street, her gaze was drawn to a store window filled with bright streamers decorating hand-tooled cowboy boots in a dozen colors. An exquisite concha belt slanted across a matching fringed suede jacket and a creamy cashmere sweater set.

Now,
this
was shopping.

Tess refused to be intimidated by the indecipherable, handwritten price tags and the saleswoman who appeared to have stepped right out of
Town and Country.

No backing down. This was business. This was a life experience.

Imagine Katharine Hepburn in
The Philadelphia Story
, she thought. Think of Grace Kelly in
To Catch a Thief.

“Shop or die,” Tess muttered as she clutched her purse, straightened her shoulders, and marched inside.

The boots were wildly beautiful. So were the silver concha belts and the fringed suede jackets. But the lingerie stopped Tess cold. She stared at it wistfully.