Lucky In Love (5 page)

“One in the hand, right?” I commented as we watched the couple walk away, both of them talking excitedly, their heads bent together.

“You and Miss P. What is it with you two and your clichés and platitudes?” My father angled his stool so his knees meshed with mine, and I could no longer avoid his eyes.

“Ella says it’s a defense mechanism, along with the sarcasm,” I said, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

My father’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “Ella has that kind of insight? Who knew?”

“Our resident answer to Dr. Phil.” I took another sip of my Wild Turkey, this time a not-so-dainty one.

My father took both of my hands in his. “Promise me one thing, Lucky.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t ever change.”

* * *

A
fter
finishing our drink over more benign talk, my father went in search of his true love, and I went looking for love in all the wrong places. The game show had finished taping all the interviews and the crowd now spilled into the casino. Throngs of people three-deep ringed every table, which put a spring in my step. Bringing folks into the hotel to spend money was the sole motivation behind subjecting myself to Trey Gold and his little band of cutthroat attention-seekers.

Pausing by a row of slot machines, I absorbed the energy that shimmered off the crowd as I watched the scantily clad cocktails waitresses work the room. They moved quickly, with precision—as much to keep warm in their lack of clothing as to earn more tips. Shouts rang out from the tables, competing with the subtle come-on songs from the slot machines. Music with a pulsing beat served as an undercurrent to the enthusiasm. Basking in the glow of unfounded optimism, I spied a possible love match at one of the craps tables. I sidled up behind him and leaned close. “Hey, handsome, want to buy a little fantasy for the weekend?”

Clearly Teddie had seen my stealth approach from behind and had decided to play along. At my whispered invitation, he spun around and grabbed me, burying his face in my neck. “Could you make room on your schedule for something longer than a weekend?” His words were muffled as he nibbled on my ear lobe, making me giggle.

Giggling used to appall me—a personal affront to my dignity—but somehow I no longer felt that way. Giggling made me feel good. “Tough to do. I might need convincing.”

Holding me close, he looked me in the eye as his playful mood morphed into smoldering passion. After slowly tracing my lips with his thumb, he cupped a hand behind my head and pulled me into probably the most delicious kiss ever. Every nerve tingled as he assaulted my mouth with his tongue.

When he pulled back, he gave me a quizzical look. “You smell like sautéed onions and charcoal. Where have you been?”

I stepped away so I didn’t have to look him in the eye. Afraid of what I might glimpse lurking in the depths, I didn’t want to look too deeply. Taking his hand, I pulled him away from the table and into the flow of the crowd. “Trey Gold needed help finding your Couple Number One. I managed to corral them in the Burger Palais.”

“Yes, they both have a passion for food.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see him looking at me. “Your new chef, was he there?”

“He’s not
my
chef—the Big Boss threw him into my lap. And yes, he was there taking lessons in Italian sauces from Rocco.”

“Someday I’m going to have to meet this chef of yours.” Teddie looked at me as if he could see into my soul. “He sounds interesting.”

“He’s here to make money for the hotel.” I forced my eyes to meet Teddie’s. “That’s as far as my interest extends. So, tell me, how did the initial taping of the show go?” A deft change of subject that puffed my chest with pride. What had Vera said: shuck and jive were part of the skill set.
That
didn’t make me proud.

“Interesting cast of characters for sure,” Teddie started in, clearly relishing his role as arbiter of love. “The young couple, Rocco and Gail, should be the early favorites. They really seemed to be on the same wavelength, as did that weird couple—the young guy and the boardroom gal. They were in tune. Go figure.”

I took a quick survey as we climbed the steps to the elevated platform of Delilah’s. “Yeah, go figure.”

Teddie’s perceptive abilities clearly needed some fine-tuning. Of course, the whole show was a staged farce, which disappointed me. I don’t know why—I was certainly way more than a bit player in the Vegas fantasy show. Perhaps it was something about Teddie, recently—a more tenuous connection? And my fear that our relationship was some sort of superficial game. A figment of my imagination, or was it real? Who the heck knew anymore?

With bougainvillea trellises, a stone water feature forming the wall behind the bar, and a white baby grand in the corner, Delilah’s was a nice oasis from the raucous, desperate energy of the casino floor. Of course video poker games were embedded in the bar top, and a camouflaged
atm
lurked discretely in a corner—subtle signs that this place was still all about wagering. At least here, one knew the odds.

Sean, drying clean glasses with a rag, still manned the bar. “You back for more?”

I sidled onto a stool as Teddie broke away and slid onto the empty piano bench. With no apparent thought, he began to play and sing. His rich tenor always turned heads—the bar quieted as people stopped to listen. He played my song, the one he’d written for me, “Lucky for Me.” When he caught my eyes, he held them. The room fell away. The past and the future faded, distilling life to the now.

After exactly two bars and a chorus, a call from my office broke the spell.

“Lucky?” Miss P’s voice emanated from the phone at my hip. “We have an emergency at 3M. And you’d better hurry.” Her voice held a note of panic. History had taught me that when something rocked Miss P off center, I’d better pay attention.

With an irritated swipe, I grabbed the offending device and held it to my lips. “On my way. Have Paolo waiting out front in two minutes.”

Teddie didn’t even miss a beat, or a note, when I waggled my fingers at him and bolted.

3M was our code for Miss Minnie’s Magical Massage Parlor. I know, that’s four M’s, but after dealing with the proprietress and her establishment more times than we could count, we no longer found it magical. And, to be honest, three out of four was still formidable.

One of the hotel’s limos slid to the curb as I burst through the front entrance. Without waiting for Paolo to come around to assist me, I yanked on the handle, threw the door open, and dove inside. “Miss Minnie’s and make it quick.”

The acceleration threw me back against the seat as I pulled the door closed. Paolo glanced at me in the rearview, but said nothing. He was a small man, and behind the wheel he looked like a kid taking a joyride. Granted, his chauffeur’s cap made him look a bit more professional, but not by much.

“You okay, Miss O’Toole?”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to marshal my thoughts. “Fine, thank you.” I leaned back, savoring the silence, quieting the cacophony in my head. “Say, Paolo, you wouldn’t have taken anyone to Miss Minnie’s this evening, would you?”

Although I’d never been a driver in Vegas I knew how the system worked. Many of the local establishments, from fine dining to spouse-swapping party houses, offered drivers a kickback if they delivered a paying customer. As wily as a snake after a rabbit, Miss Minnie worked the system like a pro.

I opened my eyes in time to catch Paolo’s gaze flicking to me in the mirror, then away again. Guilty. I knew it. “Paolo, we had a talk about this. Miss Minnie is trouble.”

He ducked his head. From where I was sitting, he disappeared from view, which was a bit unsettling. I hoped he still could see where we were going. “The money, Miss O’Toole. It is hard to resist.”

“You make a tip. I get a problem dropped on my head.” I moved to the bench seat behind him and stuck my head through the open window separating the driver from the passengers. “It’s really unwise to piss off your boss.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, tell me again, who is your boss?”

“You are.” His voice lost some its normal exuberance.

“Look at me, do I look happy?”

His eyes glanced up the rearview and I gave him my best frown.

“No, ma’am.”

“Remember that the next time Miss Minnie dangles a twenty in front of your nose, okay?” I returned to the deep, forward-facing seat and leaned my head back. “Tell me whose ass I’m going to have to drag out of the fire.”

“That game show guy... Mr. Gold.”

This time, when I shut my eyes a grin tickled my lips. In a particularly spectacular twist of fate, life had dropped a golden goose in my lap.

As Jerry said, we don’t get mad, we get even.

* * *

S
ubtlety
was not Miss Minnie’s forte. Her establishment lurked in a nondescript strip mall in the bowels of Koreatown. Small and dark, with blackened storefront windows, it would have been easy to miss... except for the neon sign. Huge, pink flashing neon screamed, “Miss Minnie’s: Let Us Rub You the Right Way.”

The parking lot was packed, so Paolo eased the big car to a stop in front of the door. I jumped out and burst through the doors, taking in the sign on the door that read, “Tonight’s Special—A Happy Ending for Everybody.”

Great. Giving Trey Gold a rub and a tug sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine. I’m very visual, which at times can be traumatic. This was one of those times.

Someone must’ve alerted Miss Minnie to my presence. Dressed in full geisha regalia, she rushed to greet me with hurried, mincing steps, her hands clasped at her stomach, her head bowed in a false show of respect. “Miss O’Toole.” Keeping her head lowered, she stopped in front of me. “You please us with your presence. It’s not often a woman such as yourself—”

“Cut the crap, Minnie,” I growled, using my full height to intimidate as much as possible. “Where’s Trey Gold?”

A door opened behind Miss Minnie, about halfway to the end of the long hall. Trey Gold stuck his head out. “Help me, Lucky!” His head disappeared. “Hey!” he shouted, and then the door slammed.

Pushing Miss Minnie aside, I charged down the hall. She grabbed my arm, but I pulled her along as easily as a hooked shark would tow a dingy.

“He no pay,” Miss Minnie whined as she clung to me. “He not nice man.”

Although I agreed with her, I wasn’t about to say so. He was a guest in my hotel, and as such, he had my fealty. I stopped in front of what I thought was the right door and tested the knob. As expected, it was locked. I gave Miss Minnie a grin, then put some muscle to it. The cheap pot metal gave easily.

Taking a deep breath, I charged inside—I’d only have a moment to assess the situation. Trey cowered in the corner with a towel around his waist as a dark-haired woman clad only in lace panties shook a finger in his face, letting him know exactly how she felt... in Korean. Nearby, a short, stocky guy, dressed in wrinkled black slacks and a white dinner jacket that strained across his shoulders, narrowed his eyes at me—Miss Minnie’s muscle. Unsure of whether I was a threat—me being female and all—he moved toward me, a hand reaching inside his jacket. I grabbed his lapel with one hand, surprising him. As I knew he would, he stepped back, expecting me to pull him toward me. Instead, I moved into him, throwing him off balance. Stepping in between his legs, I braced myself. I threw an elbow at his temple with all I had. Bone connected with bone, a hollow thunk that reverberated through my shoulder. He dropped like a rock.

Miss Minnie lurked in the doorway. Before she could bolt, I grabbed her, pulled her into the room, then kicked the door shut.

Stepping over the inert body on the floor, I advanced on the young woman and Trey Gold. Both of them stared at me, their mouths hanging open.

“One of the advantages to having been raised in a whorehouse,” I explained, as I took stock of the surroundings. Miss Minnie usually had only one strong-arm guy, but I kept her at my side as added insurance in case tonight she had doubled up.

“I’m going to call the police,” Miss Minnie said. “You can’t come in here like big, tough broad.”

“You’re going to call the police?” I pulled my phone from my hip and extended it to her. “Go ahead.”

Trey started to snivel. I silenced him with a look.

Miss Minnie gave me a hard-eyed stare, then shrank back.

“Thought so.” I re-holstered the phone as I herded everyone into the far corner of the room, where I could keep them corralled and still have an eye on the door. “Okay, somebody tell me what’s going on.”

“He want happy ending.” The young girl looked ready to spit nails.

I wanted to give her a hug, take her home, and feed her a hot meal. “And?”

“I paid the price,” Trey interjected, managing to actually sound irate rather than mortified. His psychological profile would probably turn my blood to ice. “She said it would be ten dollars more.”

Ten dollars for a hand job. Men. Why the hell would he pay for something he could do himself? As much as I’d like to know the answer, a philosophic discussion with Trey Gold would probably destroy any illusion I might still harbor regarding the future of the human race.