No Such Thing As a Good Blind Date: A Brandy Alexander Mystery (No Such Thing As: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) (27 page)

Joe felt bad for me and offered to let me cut in front of him, but I was sort of out of the mood for pastry. I stood off to the side and thought about who I could call to pick me up.

Frankie, Carla, the twins, Paul, Johnny—none of them would take the news of my being threatened very well. Bobby’s a professional, but his mood swings are worse than a girl’s lately. That left only one person. I sighed and punched in the number.

“It’s Brandy. I hate to ask, but I wonder if you could do me a favor.”

Fifteen minutes later a black Bronco pulled up to the curb and Alphsonso stuck his head out the window, hollering for me.

I yanked open the door and climbed in, resting my head against the back of the seat. The strain must’ve shown in my face, because he studied me for a beat and then leaned across me and buckled me in.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry about calling you. I just didn’t know who else to ask.”

I couldn’t see his eyes because he was wearing shades, even though the sun had set about fifteen minutes earlier, but he was smiling so I knew he wasn’t too annoyed.

“Does Nick know about this?”

I shook my head no. Alphonso raised an eyebrow but he didn’t press the point. “So what happened?”

I gave him the Readers’ Digest version, skipping over the more graphic details of my conversation with Glen. When I was finished, he pulled away from the curb into the rush hour traffic.

“You’re gonna have to toughen up if you plan on doing this for a living,” he lectured me. “You can’t be passin’ out all the time. How’re the bad guys gonna take you seriously?”

Alphonso was right. I have to toughen up. And I’ll do just that, right after my bubble bath.

“I’ll give you a hundred bucks to forget the whole thing.”

I was sitting with John in the parking lot of the Kensington Rifle Club, a seedy looking building in a dicey neighborhood, overlooking a city dump. I’d found it in the yellow pages.

“Oh, come on, John. You said we need to hang out together more.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘antiquing’ and art shows.”

“Think of this as a bonding experience.” I pried his hands loose from the steering wheel and shoved him out the car door.

Okay, the logical choice would have been Alphonso. The man, no doubt, knew his way around a gun, but then he’d want to know why I didn’t ask Nick and I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Franny’s pregnancy knocked her out of the running. Paul wouldn’t know the port side of a gun from the starboard, Uncle Frankie isn’t technically allowed to handle a firearm, after a little altercation back in ‘93 that the family still refers to as “the incident.” Bobby would freak if he knew I was even considering carrying a weapon, and Janine and Carla—well, that’s just silly. In the end, it was a toss up between John and Mrs. Gentile and I chose John.

I was hard pressed to justify in my own mind why the daughter of a ‘60’s peace-nik would suddenly become a “gun-totin’ mama,” but the thing is, Glen really scared me. He’d been so close he could chart my every movement. I guess I just wanted to know I could take care of myself, should the occasion call for it.

The guy behind the counter looked like your average escapee from a chain gang. The name “Steve” was embroidered on his shirt. Steve cast an aloof eye our way and turned to the behemoth standing next to us, a two hundred and eighty pound linebacker with a penchant for large weaponry.

“Sorry, man, we’re out of AK-47s. But we got some AR-15s that just came in.”

John looked over at the guy, a nervous twitch developing in his right eye. He turned back to me, leaning into my ear. “Did you hear what he just asked for?” he hissed. “They’re talking about semi-automatics. What would he possibly need with a semi-automatic!”

“Shhh. You’re going to get us thrown out of here.”

“And that would be a
bad
thing?”

Ignoring John, I stepped up to the counter. “Excuse me. We’d like to borrow some guns, please.”

“Handgun or rifle?”

I looked at John. He gave me a blank stare that said, “You’re on your own.”

“Um, handgun. A little one.”

Steve slapped a twenty-two on the counter, along with a box of ammunition. “This is good for beginners. You’re new at this, I take it.”

I wonder what gave it away. I handed him my driver’s license and paid for the gun rental and the ammo.

Steve picked up the twenty-two and was now showing me all about gun safety and how to load the thing properly. I didn’t think this was going to be necessary, seeing as I was too afraid to pick it up off the counter.

John had wandered off and was engaged in conversation with the man with the semi-automatic.

“But what if somebody all of a sudden went crazy in here and started shooting at everyone?” John asked in a voice so high it could shatter crystal. “I mean, what’s to stop him?”

“Well then, we’d all just have to band together and get him,” the man said, as if anticipating this very scenario.

“But how could we possibly do that?”
John screeched.
“We’d all be dead!”

In the end we were asked to leave. The counter guys said we were scaring the other patrons.

“Sorry,” John told me when we were back in the car.

“That’s alright. At least now I know what it’s like to go to a firing range with Woody Allen.”

“Shut-uh-up!”

I didn’t want to be alone, so I went back to John’s and stretched out on his couch, while he developed some photos in his dark room. Twenty minutes later, my cell phone rang, rousing me from an uneasy sleep. I plunged into panic mode, thinking it was Glen again. I opened the phone slowly, as if I expected him to pop right out like some psycho Jack-in-the-Box. It wasn’t Glen. But I still wasn’t too anxious to get on the line.

“Hey,” I said.

“Are you avoiding me, angel?”

“What? No. Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous. Pfft.”

Okay, so I was avoiding him.

I got up from the couch and moved into the bathroom and shut the door. I didn’t know where this conversation was headed, but I wanted to go there without John, the big snoop, listening in.

When Nick spoke again, there was playfulness in his voice, and I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or pissed off.

“Because there’s no reason to feel embarrassed by what happened—”

“I’m not!” I shouted, settling on pissed off.

“Good,” he said, amicably. “Since you’re not avoiding me, I’ll expect to see you later on tonight at the apartment. I still owe you a dinner. And a dance,” he added benignly, but he might as well have said, “and some hot Latin sex” for all the innuendo lacing his words.

“Fine,” I told him. “I’ll see you then.”
Good girl, Brandy. Keep it curt, business-like.

“Oh, and see if you can salvage that outfit you wore the other night. That was very nice. I’d like to see you in it again.”

There was no mistaking the message behind his request.
Oh boy.

My original intention was not to avoid Nick, but to slowly wean myself from him. Since I’d moved into his place, I’d found myself growing more and more dependent on him, and dependence is a dangerous thing. I’d discovered that last July when my cable went out and I was forced to watch network television. I nearly went crazy until it was fixed. But there I go digressing again. The point is I was starting to form an emotional attachment to this man that went far beyond the bounds of safety for me.

Because the thing is, for all of his charm and the genuine kindness he’s extended to me, Nick is a “bad boy” in the truest sense of the word. And bad boys will break your heart every time. My heart is vulnerable enough as it is, what with poor diet and little to no exercise. I don’t need to add emotional turmoil to push it over the edge.

So my plan was to rein in my raging hormones, deny my growing feelings and keep Nick at bay until I was able to move out of his apartment and back into my own home again. Only you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

After Alphonso had picked me up from the bakery, he delivered me to Nick’s door, did a quick, albeit unnecessary sweep of the apartment and instructed me to lock up when he left. I’d turned off my phone after Glen’s call. Now, I turned it back on to check for messages. I had two.

“Brandy, honey, it’s your mother. We were just wondering if you’ve given any more thought to visiting us over the holidays.”

In the background, my dad was shouting, “Tell her I love her.”

“Your father says he loves you. And he wants you to come see us.”

“I didn’t say that,” my dad yelled.

“Lou, that’s terrible. Don’t you want Brandy to come for the holidays?”

“She’ll come if she can. She doesn’t need the pressure.”

I don’t recall having a direct conversation with my father in years. All of our communication is conveyed through voicemail messages, filtered and manipulated by my mom. Ya gotta love her.

Nick was call number two, letting me know he wasn’t planning to be home tonight. I was equal parts relieved, disappointed and frightened. I turned on the television to keep me company and found a Seinfeld marathon.

I gave Uncle Frankie a quick call and begged off dinner, citing a colossal headache—Glen could definitely qualify as a headache, so technically, I wasn’t lying. Then I fed Rocky and Adrian and played a couple of quick games of “Chase the aluminum foil ball,” their favorite pastime, next to stealing food off of my plate.

At eleven thirty I turned off the television, took a quick shower, changed into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms and crawled into bed. Two minutes later I was up. The pillow wasn’t right. It didn’t smell like Nick. Since he wasn’t planning on coming home tonight, I figured he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his pillow. I didn’t want to think about where he might be. The possibilities were endless.

I padded down the hall to his room and swiped the pillow off his bed and returned to the guest room. I wrapped my arms around the pillow and closed my eyes. Then I opened them again. The pillow wasn’t enough. I grabbed the pillow off the bed and marched back down the hall. “He won’t even know,” I thought, crawling into his bed.

Even in the dark, I knew I wasn’t alone. My heart stopped and my knees quaked.

“Oh God, please don’t let it be Glen…but if it is, he sure does smell good.”

“You’re in my bed, darlin’.”

Sweet Jesus, how am I going to explain this?

“I am?” I said. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Oh wow. How did I end up in here?”

Nick sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on my knee.

“I should probably get up,” I thought, but I liked the feel of his hand on my knee way too much.

“Maybe you were sleepwalking,” he said.

“Yeah, must’ve been,” I agreed, ignoring the gently mocking tone in his voice.

A thin stream of moonlight filtered in from the window, casting a shadow on the wall. I fixated on that so I wouldn’t have to think about how awkward this was.

“Um, I thought you weren’t coming home tonight,” I ventured.

He reached down and pulled off his shoes, tossing them in a pile next to the bed. “I finished earlier than expected.” He began unbuttoning his shirt and added that to the pile as well.

I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I had to. “Finished what early?”

I could hear the grin in his voice as he responded. “You don’t really want to know, do you?”

I sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

“Don’t worry, it was nothing illegal.”

Funny, that’s not what I was worried about.

Nick stood up and in the next instant I heard the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered and then the rustle of material dropping softly to the floor. I held my breath as he stepped out of his pants. I had no idea where he stood on the subject of underwear and the thought made me break into a cold sweat.

“What are you doing?” I gulped.

He peeled back the covers and climbed into bed next to me, and I could feel the heat rise in my belly as he pulled me against his naked chest.

“It’s been a long day, darlin’,” he said. The palm of his hand rested lightly on my breast. He began slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth over the thin fabric of my t-shirt, stroking me until I squirmed against him.

“But if you give me a reason to stay awake…” He gave my nipple a light pinch, sending tiny bolts of electricity straight between my legs.

I catapulted myself off the bed, propelled by fear or common sense, I really couldn’t tell which. “No, no. You need your rest.” I was poised to sprint across the room, but he caught my wrist and held me there. His voice was playful but the predatory look in his eye told me he wasn’t playing.

“I’m going to let you slide tonight, because Alphonso said you had a rough day. But the next time you come to my bed, you’d better be prepared to stay for the party.”

I did an about face and bolted from the room.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the guest room door. When I didn’t respond, he opened it and came in anyway.

“Why
did
you get into my bed tonight, angel?” His voice was soft and there wasn’t a trace of teasing in his tone.

So for once I surprised even myself by opting for the truth. “Because it smells like you.” I flipped onto my stomach and pulled the covers over my head. After a minute I heard the door softly close.

In the morning I waited until Nick went into the shower before I got up. I threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, fed Rocky and Adrian, stuffed my feet into my shitkickers and snuck out of the apartment.

The only place I knew that was open this early, besides the bail bonds office and The Melrose Diner was my uncle’s gym. Frankie was in the back room, lifting weights. He let out a surprised grunt when he saw me and walked over to say hello.

“Hey sweetheart. You’re up early. What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get my favorite uncle to take me out for breakfast.”

“Sorry, hon, I can’t get away. I’ve got a kid coming in at seven for some private training. Did you see DiCarlo on your way in? He had an early morning sparring session.”