Blushing Pink (30 page)

"What happened? I thought things were better—I mean, at Christmas you guys seemed fine."

"Well, sometimes they are, but then he's distant again. I wish we could just talk about what's happened—I mean, we never really have."

"Still?"

"Well, we've 'talked,' but we haven't
talked
talked." Sighing, she said, "I mean, if he's angry with me, or whatever, I wish he'd just
tell
me."

Obviously Drew wasn't from the Tina school of saying things right to a person's face.

"Yeah, of course," Reese said, nodding supportively.

"But it's not just that," Angela went on miserably. "It's... well..." Her eyes pooled with tears, and her voice broke off.

"Angela, what?" Reese pressed.

Shaking her head, Angela said, "It's just that we haven't been intimate in a really long time"—Reese had pretty much inferred that after her conversation with Angela at the Laughing Frog—"and last night I tried to initiate something, and he blew it off cold." Swallowing deeply, she finished, "I'm starting to wonder if there's someone else."

"All right, girls," Lane announced, "we're ready to start!"

"Oh, never mind," Angela said quickly. "Forget I said anything. It's not a big deal."

Okay, this was
it.
Reese absolutely hated giving unsolicited advice, but her sister needed a shove on this issue, plain and simple. And it was long overdue. "No, it is a big deal, Angela," she said firmly. "In fact, it is such a big deal that I cannot believe you haven't confronted Drew yet."

Angela blinked. "What, you mean...?"

"I mean that you've been handling this all wrong. Look, I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm not saying it's all your fault, but you're miserable, and you're just letting Drew control all of your emotions—all the time. If he's happy, you're happy; if he sulks, you can't even face going to work because you're so depressed. For Pete's sake, Angela, you're so obsessed with
his
moods, you can't even sleep!"

Angela looked stunned. "So what am I
supposed
to do?"

"How about acting instead of just reacting? He's manipulating you, and you're totally letting him. Look, you want to confront Drew, you want to talk to him about everything, including the heart attack, so do it. Especially the heart attack."

Angela swallowed, and looked down. A pregnant pause followed and stretched blaringly between them. Oh, no, Reese had said too much—she'd gone too far, and now her sister would be angry.

Finally Angela looked up, and said, "Okay, I will, thanks."

Then Reese said sheepishly, "Sorry about the tough love," and Angela let out a laugh.

"Hey, cuties," Ally said, coming over and sitting next to Reese. "So what's the deal, seriously? Did Lane get me a stripper?"

Sudden loud, twangy, B-movie music sounded through the room, answering Ally's question. "Oh, man!" she said. "This is gonna be funny."

"A real live naked man," Angela muttered. "This should be a refresher for me."

Reese grinned. "Please, it's like primer one for me."

"What are you guys talking about?" Ally asked.

"Oh, he's starting!" The women in the room broke into giggles as the "dancer" shook and wiggled into the room.

"So Lane set this all up?" Angela whispered to Reese.

"I guess."

"Who's paying for it?"

"Take a guess," Reese said, knowing full well that the Brocks would be getting an invoice in the mail after all the wedding smoke had cleared. That was Lane.

Introducing himself as Gino, the stripper donned a pizza delivery man's outfit that lacked, well, authenticity. But maybe it was just Reese who had never seen a delivery man in red satin shorts that rode up his butt, and a muscle-tee with a wide V cut down the front to allow his chest hair breathing room.

"Sooo," Gino drawled with blatant cockiness and a sickeningly feral smile. "Who ordered the
deluxe?"
He tossed the prop pizza box to the side and threw . down his red cap.

Within moments his muscle-tee was gone, and he'd unzipped what there was of his fly. The shorty shorts dropped to the floor. As Gino stepped out of them, he did a high kick that sent them flying into the crowd.

Everyone shrieked wildly, clapped, and yelled, "Take it off!" even though he pretty much had. Well, everyone except Reese, who just couldn't muster up any cheers or whistles.

Maybe she was slightly afraid that if she opened her mouth, she'd end up asking Gino why his hairstyle of choice was a kinky-curly mullet that appeared to be sopping wet. And she didn't want to be rude, after all, or give him some sort of complex. Then he might start questioning some of his other life decisions, too—like setting the tanning machine on burnt orange and putting gold glitter on his nipples.

Okay, so she would never really say any of that to Gino. But still... she wasn't exactly drooling over the guy. In fact, all he made her think about—
quite
ironically—was Brian.

Damn it all.
Why couldn't she just forget about him? Part of her was still livid over the situation with his ex, but another part of her just... missed him.

Gino danced around the room, and then back to the center, wearing nothing but the requisite G-string. As he did a mini-lap dance over Ally, she laughed and averted her eyes a little. That was when Gino made eye contact with Reese.

Shoot! How had that happened? Please don't come over to me, please don't come over....

But he was coming over anyway. And even worse, he was pulling her up. Reese shook her head, keeping a smile plastered on, and trying as graciously as she could to refuse his offer to "dance." It didn't work, though, because Ally's friends were cheering them on, and Gino looked so turned on by
himself,
he was oblivious to Reese's discomfort.

Reese's face darkened as she became the unenthused recipient of Gino's bumping and grinding. She'd definitely need a shower after this. Her moves were awkward and out-of-time, and luckily it didn't take long for Gino to realize that Reese was cramping his style. So finally he winked at her and spun away—gyrating solo back to the center of the room.

Reese jumped back into her seat and warned her sisters, "Don't. Say. A word."

When the music kicked up, Gino's pelvic thrusts showed even more feeling, until, all of a sudden, something happened.

Just as he was doing something that looked like a cross between the Running Man and the Roger Rabbit, the music cut out. A blip and it was gone. It just
stopped.

Gino froze, his bug eyes betraying how unprepared he was for the technical glitch, as he searched Lane's face for some explanation. Lane shrugged, and hopped out of her chair to go see what happened.

She was gone only about two minutes, but they were
long
minutes. Especially to Gino, who stood in the center of the room awkwardly, not knowing quite how to posture himself, and pretending to fiddle with tassels that hung above his balls. Not exactly a moment that oozed dignity. Apparently, without the music, his bravado and confidence were completely shot. Finally he looked up and laughed nervously. "Wonder what happened," he said.

Reese turned to Angela and whispered, "This is brutal."

She nodded emphatically.

Beats of silence followed; then women began whispering among themselves. Some were making small talk about the hotel, while others were saying un-groundbreaking things like, "I guess something's wrong with the sound system."

Not that Reese could come up with anything better. She was just sitting there like a dolt, resisting the urge to point out to Gino that he was actually living that famous dream of standing in a room full of people, wearing only underwear. Hmm—something told her he wouldn't appreciate the profoundly Freudian moment.

Finally Lane shuffled back into the room and announced, "I can't figure out what's wrong with the sound system." Bad news for Gino.

"But there's no reason why we can't still continue the fun!" Even worse news for Gino.

"Come on, everyone, let's keep the action going!" she added on a rallying tone that harked back to her cheerleading days.

Beaming, she added with grating peppiness, "We don't need music to enjoy a good old-fashioned hunk, right, ladies?"
Sure, just bring in the hunk.
"Go on, shake it, shake it!"

Reese didn't know whether to laugh or cry—either option would be at Gino's expense, of course. "Huh?" he croaked, still standing front and center and nearly buck, with one set of toes crossing over the other.

"Keep it coming stud!" Lane sang.

"W-what do you mean?" he asked, appearing frightfully concerned. "You actually want me to keep dancing... without music?"

"Sure, we don't need music!" The horrified look on Gino's face that said,
Maybe
you
don't but
I
do
seemed to go unnoticed.

Ally spoke up encouragingly; "Yeah, you're doing great!"

Finally he muttered feebly, "All right," and began rocking his pelvis. Back and forth. Back and forth. In utter, blackening silence. He jiggled his hips, repeating the motion sporadically, and making the move look more like a spasm. Then he halfheartedly stroked his oiled torso. His face was deep red-orange. The women shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Gino turned around and clenched his butt.

"Oh, my Lord," Angela managed, while Reese brought her palm to her forehead, thinking,
My sentiments exactly.

After a few more protracted moments, as Gino awkwardly caressed and flexed his body, while the room couldn't muster even the most benevolent catcall, Reese decided she couldn't take any more. Strippers had labor laws, too, right?

But just as she was about to demand some mercy for him, Lane ended his torture. "Okay, thank you!" she said, clapping her manicured hands. "Ooh, we'd better get some ice water in here, right, ladies?"

Gino smiled brittlely—hell,
everyone
smiled brittlely.

After one bow, he gathered up his strewn costume and bolted from the room.

No one said anything at first. Then the room broke into muted chatter, while Reese turned to her sisters and they all exchanged knowing looks. Words would only be redundant.

Finally Angela slapped her knees and said, "Okay, show's over." That was the best news Reese had heard that day.

Chapter 23

Drew was in the bedroom, sitting at his desk, going over bills, from what Angela could see, but his back was turned away from her—which it always was these days.

Balling her hands up, she steadied them against her thighs and sucked in a calming breath. Then she said the words she knew he didn't want to hear: "Drew, we need to talk."

"About what?" he asked with perceptible uninterest.

"I... um... I want to know if..."
Just blurt it, you wimp.
"Is there someone else?" Tears stung as she said it, because it felt like such an idiotic cliché. Asking if there was someone else usually meant, I
know there's someone else, but give me a rationalized denial I can live with.

Drew just snorted, his shoulders jerking up. "Yeah, right. One of the blue-haired ladies in that support group you sent me to."

"That's not an answer."

"Oh, Christ," he grumbled. "What, did you find out one of your clients is lying again?"

"I wanna know if there's someone else," she said, feeling her temper rise. "I want to know
now."

Drew spun his chair around. "Oh, so I'm not only an ineffectual invalid, I'm also a philanderer, is that it?"

"Who said anything about your being an invalid?" she cried. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed. "I see you didn't disagree."

"Oh, quit feeling sorry for yourself, and answer the stupid question!"

"Are you
kidding
?" he nearly yelled, and smacked the arm of his chair with his hand. "You think there's someone else? I can't even satisfy my own wife!" He rose and stormed toward the door, but she wouldn't let him get away that easily.

"You don't even try," she said pleadingly, as she grabbed his arm to stop him. He yanked away, still turned and refusing to look at her. "Drew, you... it's like you're not even interested."

"Christ, don't you
get
it?" he yelled. "I'm not the same man I used to be—I can't just throw you down and fuck you anymore!"

That was
it.

She took one of her balled fists and socked him right on the back.

"Ow!" he said, startled, and bringing a hand up to rub his shoulder blade.

"You miserable ingrate! How dare you treat me like this? You think you can keep taking out all your self-pity on me? I've always supported you; I've given you all of myself. And now you're gonna try to turn it around like
I'm
the one who's not satisfied?"

She swept her knuckles across her cheek to wipe the tears that had fallen. "You know what I think? I think that
you're
the one who's not happy. You're the one who wants out, and you just don't have the guts to say it!" She bolted for the door, because if she stayed in his presence one more second, she seriously might kill him.