Mistletoe (6 page)

Hearing no response, Gwen said, “You okay in there?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Diana replied, quickly repairing the damage. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Growing tired of shouting their conversation, Gwen waited until she heard the bathroom door open, and when she saw the dress Diana was wearing, her jaw dropped open. “Wow!”

“You like?” Diana asked as she felt her cheeks heat.

Gwen’s eyes started at Diana’s feet and slowly worked their way up, and then back down again. The dress was short, strapless, shimmering and very, very red. Pleated around the bust, with a wrapped skirt that was loose and flowing, it was beautiful. The addition of a small rhinestone brooch centered on the fabric between Diana’s breasts added a hint of sparkle, and Diana did the rest. The swells of her breasts rose slightly above the pleats, helped, Gwen suspected, by a very expensive brassiere. The hem ended a few inches above her knees, allowing whoever was looking to get more than a hint of Diana’s shapely legs, and at that moment in time, Gwen was looking…a lot.

“Well, what do you think?” Diana asked again, tickled by her friend’s open-mouthed gape.

“Let’s just put it this way,” Gwen said, finally allowing her eyes to meet Diana’s. “I just ogled you and I’m straight, so I think you might end up having to pick Jamison Nash up off the floor when she sees you in that.”

Laughing at her friend’s honesty, Diana’s cheeks darkened yet another shade. Chewing on her lip for a second, Diana asked quietly, “Are you okay with this?”

Offering Diana a soft smile, Gwen said, “Attraction is fluid, Diana. I stood in Phelan’s entry and watched her kiss you, and if the chemistry I saw was anywhere near what you felt, I’d say go for it.”

Smiling wide, Diana said, “I feel like a schoolgirl going on her first date.”

“Well, you sure as hell don’t look like one,” Gwen said with a chuckle.

“Now come on, the
wo
man of your dreams is waiting.”

~~~

As they traveled down the long, winding driveway leading to the Willoughby mansion, Diana had to blink to clear the spots from her eyes. Unlike Ted Phelan, Lillian Willoughby seemed to rejoice in the season to the point of being obnoxious. Her two-story house, including the four stately, round pillars in the front, had been completed outlined in red lights, while the front gardens seemed to have been infected by the diseases known as gaudy and glitz.

Figures of snowmen, outlined in blinking red LED lights, stood proudly in one area, while another was overflowing with penguins in blue and white. The next displayed a group of polar bears wearing red, blinking ribbons with their heads bobbing to some unknown tune, and the largest garden housed a collection of outrageously large LED green and red Christmas presents underneath a flashing banner spouting
Merry Christmas
.

“Oh my,” Diana said, looking out the window of the car.

“In her defense, I’m fairly certain that she has four or five grandchildren.”

“Well, I sure as hell hope Santa brings them sunglasses for Christmas. They’re going to need them.”

Chuckling as they climbed out of the car, they made their way up the arched stairs leading to the entry. Within seconds of ringing the bell, the door swung open.

“Merry Christmas,” Lillian Willoughby said, giving the new arrivals her most brilliant smile, but as soon as she recognized Gwen Fowler, an underling in Lillian’s small mind, she frowned. “Oh, it’s just you. Well, you best get in here before all the heat escapes.”

Walking into the home, Diana found herself surrounded by opulence, as well as enough shimmering and flashy Christmas decorations to put the LED explosion in the front yard to shame.

While the foyer was large and elegant, its beauty was marred by several tall, spiraled Christmas trees made entirely of gold and silver foil.

Standing like twin sentries at each and every doorway, they silently rotated on stands, and as the branches reflected the light from the enormous chandelier overhead, a disco effect of dots and flickers of brilliance danced around the room. Adding to the flashy display was a thick rope of red garland which had been wound around the brass balustrade of the noble, curved stairway leading to the second floor. Dotted by green satin bows, it was coiled again and again around the handrail like a snake, winding its way toward its next victim.

Hearing the door close behind her, Diana turned and found Lillian Willoughby staring back at her.

“And who, may I ask, are you?” the woman asked, placing her hands on her hips. “You don’t appear to be anyone I would know.”

Annoyed by the woman’s rudeness, but refusing to allow it to show, Diana put on her best smile and held out her hand. “I’m Diana Clarke. I’m a friend of Gwen’s.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lillian glanced from one woman to the other, studying each as if they had a clue which needed to be discovered. Pursing her lips, she limply shook Diana’s outstretched hand and then looked in Gwen’s direction.

“What kind of friend…
exactly
?”

Like most large companies, Phelan, Willoughby and Nash had a grapevine filled with tidbits of information and amusing anecdotes about the partners of the firm. But while most were just rumors, one was not. Lillian Willoughby was as homophobic as the day was long.

Hoping to calm the woman’s ruffled feathers, which were presently stuffed into an obscenely bright green dress, Gwen said quickly, “Diana’s my best friend, Mrs. Willoughby. My husband is out of town, and since my invitation was for two, I asked Diana to come along. I hope you don’t mind.”

As if an invisible switch had been flipped, Lillian’s frown turned into a beaming smile. “Of course not, Gwen. Now, get rid of those coats and start to mingle. Lots of important clients here tonight, so do your best to make them feel welcome. Remember, you’re here representing Phelan, Willoughby and Nash.”

Before Diana or Gwen could say another word, Lillian waddled across the shiny, white marble floor and disappeared through a large arched opening.

“A bit full of herself, isn’t she?”

Diana said to Gwen, handing her coat to a waiting member of the house staff.

“You have no idea,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes. “But unlike Phelan, Willoughby’s taste in parties is a bit more upscale. Much better food and slightly better liquor.”

“I thought you couldn’t drink at these things, especially since you’re here representing
Phelan, Willoughby and Nash
,” Diana said, adding an air of snobbery to her tone.

“Don’t remind me,” Gwen said with a giggle, locking her arm through Diana’s and leading her to the archway.

“Now let’s go see what’s on the menu tonight.”

~~~

After being introduced to all of Lillian’s clients, and making the necessary small talk associated with corporate Christmas parties, Jamie had found the bar first and the patio second.

To her dismay, Lillian’s fondness for pageantry didn’t stop at mere decorations. Several glass urns throughout the house had been filled with potpourri, and coupled with the smell of the bayberry-scented candles lining the mantle in the reception area, the fragrance had become overpowering.

Within minutes of entering the home, Jamie’s head began to pound, and soon after that, she began to sneeze.

Walking in from the patio for the umpteenth time, Jamie closed the door behind her and scanned the crowd again.

While most of Lillian’s clients were men in the process of getting a divorce, it seemed by the amount of women in the room, none of the men appeared to be grieving the loss of their wives. Paying no attention to those dressed in tuxedos, especially Ted Phelan, who was standing near a group of giggling women looking bored out of his mind, Jamie’s eyes darted from one cocktail dress to the next. A few times she paused when dresses plunging low in the front or high on the thigh came into view, but when none of them were wrapped around the body belonging to Diana Clarke, she quickly lost interest. With a sigh, Jamie headed back to the bar. Exhausted from sneezing, and with her headache in full swing, she had resigned herself to the fact that her evening would have to end early.

As Gwen stopped to snag two glasses of Chablis from a waiter exiting the reception area, Diana continued inside. At first, she found herself impressed by the tall ceilings, and the fact that the room seemed to match the depth of the house, but when the smell of cloves, cinnamon and bayberry invaded her nostrils, Diana winced. Pushing past the pungent odor, she looked around and quickly came to the conclusion that Lillian Willoughby did
not
know the meaning of the word subdued.

Lengths of red garland, similar to the snake wrapped around the balustrade in the entry, had been draped over all the windows and doors, and animated snowmen and carolers swayed on every available windowsill. More gaudy Christmas-themed spangle shimmered, shined, blinked and twinkled all around the room, and the massive tree standing in the corner had been covered by hundreds of ornaments stuffed into every crevice of its artificial branches.

“Overkill comes to mind,” Gwen whispered in Diana’s ear as she came up behind her.

Turning around, Diana took the glass of wine from Gwen’s hand. “Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of murder, but then I remembered the housing sucks.”

Grinning, Gwen took a sip of wine and looked over Diana’s shoulder at the throng of people milling about. Noticing one particular person, Gwen said, “You seemed to have captured someone’s attention.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me it’s Ted Phelan,” Diana moaned, quickly tugging up the bodice of her dress.

“Somehow I don’t think Phelan has ever filled out a tuxedo quite like that,” Gwen replied. “And now, I’m going to mingle, and you’re going to blush.

Cheers.” Giving Diana a wink, Gwen quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Swallowing hard, Diana took a deep breath and slowly turned around.

Being nearly six feet in height had its advantages. A bulb in a ceiling fixture could be easily changed without the need of a ladder. Items on the top shelves in grocery stores could be retrieved without so much as a stretch, and seeing over the heads of average-height women to spot the one you’re looking for is effortless. Although miserable from her allergic reaction to the oppressive scent of dried flowers and herbs, when Jamie spotted Diana at the opposite end of the room, for a moment, her misery waned.

As if on cue, the crowd slowly parted, and when Diana came into full view, the moisture in Jamie’s mouth disappeared, and promptly reappeared somewhere else.

Gwen’s description, although lacking in detail, was spot-on, and as Diana watched Jamie walk across the room, she couldn’t help but admire the black tuxedo the woman was wearing. While most of the men at the party had also chosen to wear tuxedos, they lacked the panache of Jamie Nash. Choosing single or double-breasted suits with velvet collars and red or green cummerbunds, although appropriate for the occasion and the season, they could have very easily been members of a men’s choir waiting to perform. Jamie’s tux, like the person who wore it, was unique. With no lapels on the jacket, it was simple, yet elegant. The mandarin collar and the piping down the edges of the coat were of black silk, as was the wing-collared shirt she wore underneath. However, unlike the others in the room wearing tuxedos, Jamie had chosen not to wear a tie, and she was fairly close to not wearing a shirt. Her black blouse was unbuttoned all the way down to where it met the candy-apple red vest which completed her ensemble, and the swells of her breasts were more than apparent in the glittering lights of the room.

Smiling as Jamie approached, Diana’s expression suddenly turned to one of confusion when Jamie came to an abrupt halt several feet away. About to take a step in her direction, Diana stopped when Jamie held up her hand as if to say don’t, and then watched in amusement as Jamie quickly squeezed her eyes shut, scrunched up her face, turned her head and sneezed.

Shaking it off, Jamie offered Diana an apologetic grin, but as she was about to speak, she sneezed again, and then again. Unable to say a word for fear that she’d spray the crowd with spittle, Jamie turned and ran outside, silently cursing Lillian Willoughby every step of the way.

Slightly amused by the alluring woman’s demise into normality, Diana trotted after her. Grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins from a nearby table, she opened the French doors and walked out into the cold night air. With even more Christmas decorations lighting up the back of the house, it took her only a second to see Jamie standing near the railing. However, before Diana could say anything, Jamie sneezed again and then began to mumble.

“Fuck!” she growled as another sneeze rose from within and quickly escaped. Emptying the contents of her runny nose into a crumpled napkin, Jamie sniffled a few times and then sneezed again. “Fucking Willoughby and her fucking need to anoint the fucking house in dead flowers!”

Sneeze.

“God damn it!”

Sneeze.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, give me a fucking break!”

Sneeze.

Hearing someone giggling behind her, Jamie glanced over her shoulder and saw Diana standing near the door.

“Christ, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

Shaking her head, Diana walked over and handed Jamie the cocktail napkins.

“I thought you might need these.”

Quickly grabbing the wad of napkins, Jamie turned her back on Diana and blew her nose. Waiting a few seconds to make sure the tickle that had caused her sneezing had disappeared, Jamie turned back around. Noticing that Diana was trying not to laugh, Jamie asked, “You think this is funny?”

“No…well…maybe,” Diana said, allowing one small snicker to escape.

“You look funny when you sneeze?”

“I do?”

“Yeah, your face gets all scrunched up and…well, it’s funny.”

Before Jamie could respond, her nose tickled. Turning her back on Diana, Jamie sneezed again, and again, and again.

“God bless you,” Diana said, putting her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, Christ, that fucking potpourri is killing me,” Jamie said, wiping her nose.