Man Trouble (31 page)

“Hold it,” Jake said sharply. “How do you know about Sunday night? Molly told you?”

“Molly doesn't confide in me,” Cora said. “You left your belt in her room. I saw the maid bringing it out on Monday morning and drew my own conclusions, which you've just confirmed.”

He looked at her, half amused and half exasperated. “This is why I usually stay in Miami on the weekends,” he said. “I'm too old to have my mother monitoring my sex life. Do you have a point to make, or are you just reminding me that you always know everything?”

“I do have a point,” Cora said. “I'm concerned about this, Jake. Molly has done well so far, but I'm worried about her ability to handle this situation with the necessary amount of sophistication. Especially if you start indulging yourself at her expense.”

“What?” Jake exclaimed. “Wait a minute, you think I seduced her? No, no. That's not how it was, believe me. She—”

“Stop,” Cora said. “I
don't
always know everything, and I don't want to. You were the one who was so concerned about Amanda falling in love with you that you rejected her as a candidate for this PR plan. What makes you think that Molly isn't vulnerable? What makes you think that she won't also be wounded when this fake engagement ends and you tell her thanks and good-bye?”

“Molly's not in love with me,” Jake said, shocked by the very idea.

“Oh?” Cora said.

“You have no idea what you're talking about. You said yourself that she doesn't confide in you.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake. My dear, listen. I've become very fond of Molly, and I don't want to see you break her heart.”

“Her
heart,”
Jake repeated.

Cora shook her head. “The differences between men and women will never fail to amaze me,” she said. “No matter how long I live.”

“Are you trying to tell me to stay away from Molly?” A suspicion came to him. “Are you the reason she's avoiding me? Did you arrange—”

“No, of course not,” Cora said impatiently. “Molly's avoiding you because you didn't call her, and she doesn't know what to think about you. I said that her confidence was fragile. And I'm certainly not telling you to stay away from her. I'd prefer the opposite, but it's your life, and I'm not going to meddle in it.”

“Since when?” Jake asked dryly.

“Accidental passion is fine, and sometimes these things just happen. But if you do continue this involvement,
don't
do it thoughtlessly. Pay attention. Make sure you know what you're doing, and why.”

She was right, and Jake knew it. “I should apologize for not calling.”

“That would be a good idea, dear.”

“I'll go down to the resort and find her. Which cottage are her friends in?”

“Five,” Cora said, and hesitated. “Jake, I really don't mean to meddle in your affairs. It's just that this one is important, and I would hate to have it ruined by carelessness or foolish mistakes.”

“I understand,” Jake said. She had justifiably reminded him of something that he should never have overlooked. “Point made. I need to handle this situation more carefully. It would be stupid to give Molly an entirely new reason to feel vengeful.”

Cora sighed. “That's not what I meant,” she said. “But it's a start, I suppose.”

“Magnifique!
So sexy! Eeengrid,
bebe,
turn zees way, now be like ze kitty cat and show me ze claws.
Miaou!”

Ingrid Anderson twisted sideways and crooked her fingers at the photographer, a wiry man in tight jeans. She was wearing stiletto heels, a leopard-print bikini, and a diamond choker. Her hair was wildly teased, and her eyes had been painted with black kohl. Next to her, a well-oiled male model in a loincloth embraced a stuffed giraffe and pouted sulkily at the camera.

“It's a very artistic shoot,” Elaine said to Molly. “French
Vogue
is so avant-garde. That's Pascal Thibault behind the camera…the man is a genius.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly said. The genius in question was now making growling noises and wiggling his hips at Ingrid, who didn't seem to think that any of this was odd.

The photo shoot was taking place on the pool terrace, half of which had been cordoned off for the afternoon. They had just arrived at the scene, and they were standing behind the bulk of the crowd of spectators. It was late afternoon, and the shoot would be over as soon as the light faded. Elaine's plan was to swoop in as the
Vogue
group dispersed, using Molly to distract Rama Guru while she approached Ingrid.

To that end, Molly was experiencing an episode of fashion déjà vu. Luckily or unluckily, depending on your perspective, the old wig had arrived by helicopter that morning, along with the rest of the Sandra gear. It did look slightly the worse for wear—the hair was matted, and the nylon cap was crushed, as if a heavy weight had been sitting on top of it for several weeks.

“He sleeps on it,” Carter explained as Molly looked askance at the blond tangle. “That's all. There's been no improper activity.”

Elaine had managed to return the wig to a reasonable state, and had sprayed it generously with Chanel No. 5 to drown out the faint odor of cat that still lingered after two washings. Molly was now wearing it, along with a pink stretch minidress, the pink platforms, and all of the old padding. The blue contacts had gone missing, and so Molly was using her own clear contacts, with Elaine's sunglasses to conceal her eyes, just in case Rama Guru remembered what color they had been.

“Where
is
he?” Elaine muttered, scanning the area. “He must be here somewhere…if he suspects anything, he would never let her—aha!”

She had spotted him standing off to the side, inside the roped-off area, but out of the central buzz of activity.

“Perfect,” Elaine said. “They'll be finishing up at any moment, and then there will be enough hubbub for me to pull Ingrid aside, provided that he isn't looking. Molly, dear, go now and start talking to him. Try to lure him away. Carter is waiting just beyond those trees, and I'll send him back to rescue you when Ingrid and I are safely away.”

Molly edged her way through the crowd, earning her own share of curious looks. When she drew near to where Rama Guru was standing, she exclaimed loudly, “Oh, my goodness! Mr. Guru, can it really be you?”

He turned and saw her. A gleaming white smile spread over his tanned face, and he held out his hands in a gesture of welcome. “Sandra.
Namaste.”

Molly stepped over the ropes, letting the minidress hike up higher on her thighs. “I just can't believe it,” she said. “What an amazing coincidence that you and I would both be back at Gold Bay right now.”

Rama Guru's eyes moved over her. “Coincidence?” he said. “Oh, no, my child. There is no such thing as coincidence. Our karma has brought us together again. This moment was meant to be.” He glanced around, frowning slightly. “And your friend, Mrs. Newberg…is she here, too?”

“I don't know where she is,” Molly said truthfully. “But I really, really, need to talk to you. Could we go somewhere more private?”

He hesitated, glancing over at the photo shoot. Pascal the photographer was shouting something in French, and Ingrid was now holding the giraffe. Rama Guru frowned, but he didn't move. Molly had assumed that Elaine was just being paranoid when she insisted that someone had warned him to stay close to Ingrid, but now it did seem as if he suspected something.

“I need to talk to you about Dwayne,” Molly persisted. “He doesn't love me. I think he's just using me…for sex. And not the normal kind, either.”

Rama Guru's eyes widened. “Tell me more,” he said. “So that I may cleanse your soul of this pain.”

“First I tie him up,” Molly said improvising. “Then I go to the kitchen and bring back a huge jar of marshmallow fluff, and a spatula…and then…”

Rama Guru's attention was now riveted on her. His mouth opened slightly. “And? Yes?”

“I'd rather discuss this in private,” Molly said firmly.

It was the closest thing to frustration that she had ever seen on his normally serene face. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “Perhaps…Ah. Yes. Come with me.”

He led her toward one of the poolside cabanas, now being used as prop storage for the photo shoot. Molly had a moment of uncertainty, wondering if this was a bit too private, but it seemed safe enough. There were plenty of people around, and if a problem developed, she could always yell.

The cabana was made of heavy canvas, closed on three sides but open toward the pool. It normally contained only a few lounge chairs covered in white terry cloth, but that day it also held a rolling rack of bikinis on hangers and several large stuffed animals that had not made the final cut. Molly saw a three-foot tiger, and thought of the Maharajah of Marabai.

“Here, my child,” said Rama Guru, clearing a space for her on one of the padded lounge chairs. “Sit here, and I will listen.”

Molly sat, wondering how long she was going to have to keep this up. Outside, the music had stopped, and it sounded as if the shoot had ended.

Rama Guru was watching her eagerly, and she sighed, trying to think. It was hot, and she was feeling distracted. “I'm sorry,” she said. “This is…so difficult for me.”

“You come back from the kitchen,” he prompted.

“Right,” she said. “And then Dwayne…uh…he says…”

“What are you wearing, Sandra?” he interrupted.

“What?” Molly asked, confused.

“During this abnormal activity. What do you wear?”

Molly's mouth opened slightly with outrage. She was becoming very glad that she had agreed to help get Ingrid away from this letch. “I don't wear much,” she said. “Obviously. Marshmallow fluff is extremely sticky.”

He looked surprised, and she realized that her tone had been too sharp. “My child,” he said reproachfully, “clinging to your pain will only prevent you from finding the Way to the Light.”

“I know,” Molly said. “And I haven't even told you yet about the leather gloves, and…the eggplant, and…and the turtle.”

“Turtle?” Rama Guru echoed. He finally looked disturbed, which was a relief to Molly. “Oh, Sandra,” he said. “You are deeply in need of my help. I will need to guide you through an Insight Meditation, to awaken the Spirit within you.”

“What do I have to do?” Molly asked.

“Nothing, my child. Just sit quietly and close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes and heard the rustle of his robes as he stepped forward to stand in front of her. Startled, she looked to see what he was doing. He stopped a few inches away, then lifted off her sunglasses. Quickly Molly squeezed her eyes shut again.

“We are One, Sandra. I will reach out with my chakras to awaken yours. You may feel the touch of the Spirit, but focus only on your breath.”

It sounded suspicious to Molly, but she kept her eyes closed and breathed, thinking that if she felt any touch—from the Spirit or otherwise—she was going to punch Rama Guru in the nose and leave the hapless Ingrid to her fate.

But nothing happened. She sat, listening to the crew talking in French, hearing the sounds of equipment being moved and dismantled. She hoped that Elaine would be quick, and that Carter would make haste to find her as soon as his sister had gone off with Ingrid.

“Sandra…” sighed Rama Guru. “Do you feel the Spirit?”

“Yes,” Molly lied. “I sure do.”

“Do you feel the Ultimate Unity? Does it bring you joy?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Great joy?”

Molly was about to affirm that it did when she suddenly heard footsteps by the front of the cabana. There was a gasp, and then a scream split the air.

“Pig!” shrieked Ingrid Anderson.

Molly's eyes flew open, fast enough to catch Rama Guru jerking his hands away from her chest, his fingers still curved as if he had been gripping two grapefruits.

“Hey!” she snapped, suddenly realizing what had been happening. She hadn't felt a thing under all of the Sandra padding, and Rama Guru apparently had had no idea that he was feeling up four inches of foam rubber.

“I knew it!” Ingrid cried. “Baroness Von Reinholz warned me about you! I should have listened!”

Molly agreed with that. Angrily, she grabbed the nearest object—a stuffed tiger—and whacked Rama Guru with it. He jumped backward, holding up his hands defensively as Ingrid stomped into the cabana toward him.

“Ingrid, my child,” he said hopefully, and looked at Molly. “Sandra…”

Ingrid threw a scornful glance at Molly, then paused, surprised, and looked again. “Sandra?” she said. “Sandra St. Claire?”

“No!” Molly said quickly. Rama Guru might not read the papers, but it was too much to hope that Ingrid didn't. The last thing that Operation Family Man needed was to have wild rumors flying around that Jake Berenger's fiancée was trysting with a guru in a Gold Bay pool cabana. “You're thinking of someone else. I'm not—”

“Yes, you are. I remember. You were here a few weeks ago, but then your picture was in the news, and you didn't look like this. You had brown hair, and your name was actually—”

“Molly! Is that you?”

Molly gasped, stiffening at the sound of the familiar voice.
Oh, no,
she thought, horrified.
Not Jake. Not now. Oh, please.
She glanced wildly around, searching for somewhere to hide, but it was too late.

Jake appeared in the doorway. He took one look at her, and stopped short. He stood, staring at her, with disbelief on his face.
“What?”
he said.

“Hi there,” Molly said weakly, reaching up to pat the wig. “What brings you to the party?”

“I've been looking for you,” he said. “And then I heard your voice.” His eyes moved over her, noting the pink shoes, the skintight dress, the inflated chest, and the platinum hair. Then he looked at Rama Guru, who was investigating the back wall of the cabana to see if there was a way to escape through the canvas.

Jake folded his arms against his chest. His mouth tightened into a grim line.
“What,”
he repeated slowly, enunciating with cold precision, “the
hell
…is going on here?”

CHAPTER 30

A
brief, frightened silence descended on the cabana after Jake's demand for information. There was a buzz of urgent French outside, and Molly saw various members of the
Vogue
crew—alerted by Ingrid's shrieks—staring through the open flaps of the cabana.