Lucky In Love (9 page)

“Looks like you two put more than your heads together.”

That cracked Walker’s reserve. “What?” He lowered the ice pack, revealing the start of a nice shiner plus a long red gash across his temple that disappeared into his hairline.

“That’s what you told me you were going to do, the last time I saw you.” I moved in to get a closer look at him, squinting my eyes in the darkness. “Shouldn’t you get that sewn up or something?”

“It’ll be fine,” he growled.

“I wouldn’t want to explain it either.” I stood and looked him straight in the eye.

“A bit messy, I admit.” To his credit, a little bit of color rose in his cheeks.

“A wee bit,” I agreed.

Vera stepped into the abyss. “We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company—we do have so much in common, a shared value system. We’d just been denying the obvious.”

“Interesting attestation in a sex toy store, but hey, common ground is a wonderful thing.”

Vera eased closer to Walker and clutched his arm.

“Your timing sucks, but I’m happy for you, truly I am.” I fought with myself—I really wanted to shoot them and put them out of my misery. But idiots were probably out of season, and justifiable homicide was so tricky to prove. “I hate to throw a blanket on the fire, but we have the little issue of a televised contest tonight... with your respective betrotheds. Remember?”

Reality dumped on their heads like a bucket of ice water.

“What exactly do you propose we do about that?” Walker asked.

“Well.” I looked at Vera. “I’ve saved your stones once today already.” I expanded my gaze to encompass both of them. “I’d say I’ve done my job. How you two play it from here is up to you.”

* * *

A
s
darkness settled over the valley and the lights of Vegas worked their magic, I actually felt fairly happy with how the day had turned out—I hadn’t killed anybody, and all the couples had been delivered to Trey Gold for pre–prime time primping. We’d patched up Walker as best we could; the make-up artist would have to do the rest.

As luck would have it, the final show was to be broadcast live from Siegfried & Roy’s Secret Garden, behind the Mirage. Yes, the moveable feast had decamped; the Babylon’s responsibilities were officially over.

Ella found me standing in the lobby. I must’ve looked a bit the worse-for-wear as she said, without preamble, “Those
contests
folks are
nutcases
.”

“Is that a technical term?”

“A professional diagnosis, dumbed-down for you lay people.” Once again, she used her inside voice—the second time in as many days. She must be coming down with something. “The whole thing has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Dysfunction on display.”

Ella gave me a slight smile. “Welcome to my world.”

“You and I occupy different sides of the same street. On my side, we just pretend everything is fine.”

“You can’t hide there forever, Lucky.”

“Watch me.” I spied Teddie as he rounded the corner and waved.

“Hope it doesn’t bite you on the butt.”

Teddie grabbed me, pulling me close. “If anyone’s biting you on the butt, it’s going to be me,” he murmured, before he covered my lips with his.

The man took my breath away. When he righted me, my thoughts had tumbled. I knew there was a witty response in there somewhere, but I’d be damned if I could find it.

“How’re you getting to the Mirage?” he asked. “As one of the judges, I have to get going. Want to head over with me, ladies?”

Ella grabbed one arm; I grabbed the other. “Safety in numbers,” I said. “It’s a beautiful evening. Feel like a stroll?”

The Mirage wasn’t far, but we enjoyed the intervening stretch of the Strip—perhaps me more than the other two. Wandering with the revelers recharged my personal stores of magic. Ten minutes of walking with them, and I’d learned to say “give me a kiss” in several languages, where to buy the strongest drink for the best price, and how to get to the second floor of Margaritaville before it opened in order to watch the fountains at the Bellagio. Several young men decided I ought to join them later, which I found charming. Teddie disagreed, and I enjoyed that, too.

Lured outside by the air that held a hint of fall—as refreshing as a cold beer on a hot day—other couples... or trios... hiked up the driveway with us to the entrance of the Mirage. We ambled, matching our pace to the flow of humanity. As we rounded the volcano in front, we slowed further, waiting for it to belch fire. At the first rumble, we stopped at the railing to watch. Fire and steam belched and flowed. The crowd
ohhhed
and
ahhhed
—me included. I loved the magic, all that was Vegas. The faces of the people reflected all that I felt. Even if only for a weekend, Las Vegas could lighten the burden of reality. It was a special kind of magic.

Steve Wynn and his building of the Mirage had started the mega-resort boom on the Las Vegas Strip. Still the visionary, Mr. Wynn remained the single most influential man in the city. He shaped the town, built its skyline, and gave us all Siegfried & Roy by luring them into the spotlight. They rose to the occasion and became icons revered the world over. Although they no longer performed, Siegfried & Roy still drew the crowds to see their Secret Garden and its population of wonderful white cats.

Like the city itself, the Secret Garden was best at night. The canopy of trees hung ripe with twinkling lights, obscuring the high netting designed to provide separation between felines and their prey. The cats lazed and played, in expansive holds lush with grass and waterfalls cascading into refreshing pools. A huge white Siberian tiger padded to the edge of one pool, then lay half-submerged. If he could’ve smiled, I’m sure he would’ve—or at least groaned with pleasure. In another enclosure, two huge, magnificently maned white lions sat like statues, watching us but pretending not to care. While men trolling the Strip could make a woman feel like a piece of meat, the lions made me feel like dinner. I wasn’t sure which was more unnerving.

A magical place. The Secret Garden hid a secret of its own.

We pushed through the crowd already gathering for the taping, looking for a set of guarded gates. Taking the lead, I pulled Teddie by the hand. Ella clung to his trailing arm. As we arrived at the gates, the guard nodded and opened them wide enough for us to squeeze through into another world.

Animal lovers from childhood, Siegfried and Roy—especially Roy—were forced through circumstance to give up their show, but they never abandoned their animals. In a huge aluminum building behind the Secret Garden, the famous magicians nurtured a menagerie of snowy felines and other beloved creatures—a conservation effort designed to perpetuate the breeds and eventually to reintroduce them to the wild. Tonight, the animals stalked the length of their cages, nervous at the increase in human activity.

At the call from a group of friends huddled by a white lion’s cage, Ella veered off, leaving Teddie and me alone in the crowd. I pulled him along the wide path through the center of the building. Cages lined each side. The cages were clean, the animals luminescent. And the place smelled like... hamburgers.

“I’ve got to go meet the other judges,” Teddie whispered in my ear. “Some sort of logistics thing. I’ll meet you back here when they start choosing the animals. Okay?”

“Choosing the animals?”

“The final test.” Over my shoulder, he eyed the crowd behind me. “Each couple has to choose the animal they think most represents the traits of their partner.”

“Good thing there’s no reptiles in here,” I muttered.

That brought his focus back. “What?” His baby blues focused on mine.

“Never mind.” Secrets were meant to be kept. “You were saying?”

“They each choose the animal—it’s done in secret, like a blind ballot. Then they reveal their choices on live
tv
.”

“Interesting.”

“Fairly benign, I should think.”

He hadn’t a clue.

Bending to give me a distracted kiss, he segued into his in-front-of-the-crowd mode. “I gotta go. But I’ll be back. Don’t wander off with any strange men.”

“All men are strange.”

I watched him as he walked away. He had a nice ass. It was perhaps his best feature. Although, all his features were pretty yummy—from his dancing eyes and full lips, to his broad shoulders that squeezed into taut abs and a teenage waist. I flushed at the assault of a memory—that whole visual thing could so get me into trouble. The crowd finally swallowed him, saving me from doing something spontaneous and potentially embarrassing.

“There you are.” Mona’s voice carried over the crowd and jerked me back from my musings. She and my father wormed their way toward me. I loved seeing them together. Whatever strident notes they hit separately, as a couple they melded into a pitch-perfect melody, a symphony of synchronicity.

Mother wore slacks in a browned butter shade with a matching cashmere sweater set, rich with a hint of gold. The gold flats still sparkled on her feet. She wore her hair in soft curls that brushed her shoulders. Her face, barely highlighted with makeup, shone with love as she clutched her man’s arm. Tall and thin, she ducked her head toward her man to minimize the difference in their heights. Clearly, he had no issues with being the shortest in the family. Besides, he was larger than life; everyone said so.

Spit-and-polished as usual, my father sported a gunmetal grey suit, a starched white shirt with a diamond-encrusted collar bar, a bright pink tie—which made me grin, no doubt it was my mother’s influence—and a huge smile. “My two women. I am a lucky man.”

“So have you picked your animals?” I asked when they stopped in front of me. “I think we all should play, don’t you?” At their puzzled expressions, I quickly explained the game.

Mother’s face immediately lit. “Oh, that would be so fun. Come, Albert, let’s pick.”

He shot me an amused look, then let her pull him toward the row of cages. With my responsibilities completed, I found myself in the unusual position of having nothing to do and no one to do it with, so I followed along. It felt good just to be part of the crowd and not in charge of anything.

Mother stopped in front of a small sign. “Look, Albert. It says a bull symbolizes masculine strength and vitality.” She clutched his arm and giggled as she whispered in his ear. He ducked his head and grinned.

“Look, Mother.” I pointed to the sign, drawing her attention. “This one says a badger denotes a person with a nagging personality—usually someone who interferes in someone else’s life. I’m thinking . . .”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mona snapped as she stuck her nose in the air. “And you’re lucky to have me.”

“True.” I gave her a quick squeeze. “But admitting that is not part of the game.”

With one hand, Mona flipped her hair and gave me a wicked grin as she pulled her reading glasses from the top of her head and put them on. “Now it’s my turn.”

Silence fell between the three of us as we meandered, reading the signs describing the symbolism of various animals. The big cats padded silently as they watched us—whether they were looking
for
morsels or looking
at
morsels was anybody’s guess.

“Here it is,” Mona announced, triumph in her voice. “If there is an animal reflective of all that is my daughter, this one is it.”

I bent down and looked. “An owl.” Hands on hips, I turned to my mother. “You think I’m an owl?”

“Read it,” she urged, as she pulled off her glasses and chewed on the end of one of the earpieces, a superior look on her face.

I read aloud: “A symbol of knowledge and heightened observational skills. It can also mean to use more judgment in a life situation.” When I finished, I looked at my mother with a raised eyebrow.

She shot me a look of pure innocence, which for her was an Oscar-worthy effort. “Romance is a ‘life situation.’”

“I get it. I know you’re proud of yourself, but an owl is also an evil omen, a harbinger of misfortune,” I added.

Mona slapped her glasses back on and bent to read. “Where does it say that?”

“It doesn’t,” I admitted. “It’s part of Chinese animal symbolism. When you deal with Asian clients you become sensitized to that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’ll handle that the same way I handle organized religion.”

My father glanced at me and gave me a shrug. Mother’s logic always traveled a circuitous path.

“From animal symbolism to organized religion—not too far a leap. I know I shouldn’t ask,” I said, completely unable to prevent myself from charging in where most angels would fear to tread. “But how exactly do you handle religion?”

“I pick the parts I like and ignore the rest.”

“Interesting approach.”

“Spirituality connects us as humans.” Mona’s smile morphed into a serious expression. Her voice was hushed, yet vibrating with conviction. “Religion, on the other hand, is a power struggle. In the wrong hands it tears us apart. I don’t think the powers that be would like that.”

The little pearls of wisdom Mother was trotting out surprised the heck out of me. I don’t know why. She’d preached from the her Gospel of Simplicity so often throughout my life I could probably quote it from memory. “As you know, Mother, I’m a Golden Rule gal, myself. Everybody else can fill in as they see fit.”