The Balance Thing (24 page)

Y
ou guys…”

I did my best to ignore the annoying voice that was attempting to intrude on the best moment of my life. “Hey! You guys!”

But she wasn't making it easy.

“You
guys
!” It was Shayla, and now she was poking us. “We have thirty-five minutes to get to Vida's wedding!”

Josh broke away from me, panting, as I noticed with satisfaction. “We'll never make it.”

I grabbed both of their hands and headed for the door. “Come on,” I told them. “I have an earl in a limo waiting outside.”

 

“ISN'T THIS EXCITING!”
George greeted us as we piled into his car. “Where are we going?”

“The Bellagio,” Shayla said. “Connie took over the arrangements,” she explained. “And she's going to beat you senseless if you show up looking like that.”

“I don't imagine she'll be any too thrilled with you, either.”

Shayla still sported Vladima's leather catsuit and about a pound of vampire vixen makeup.

“Ah, but I came prepared.” She opened the enormous black bag she'd been carrying and started pulling out bottles and brushes, handing them at random to Josh, a delighted George, and the friendly flight attendant, whose name was Penny and who had accepted an invitation to a Vegas wedding with evident enthusiasm.

Shayla slathered cold cream on herself while shouting out directions for me. I applied moist towelettes, moisturizer, foundation, and blush without benefit of a mirror. Then Penny did something to my eyes and lips as we crept down the strip toward the hotel.

“Do you have anything to change into?” Shayla asked me as she pulled some sort of flimsy blue thing out of her bottomless bag. She pulled it over her shoulders, then lowered it strategically while she simultaneously wiggled out of the tight leather gear. George and Josh politely averted their eyes, but Penny and I stared in fascinated amazement at her flawless technique.

At the next stoplight I hopped out and ransacked my bag in the limo's trunk until I found the dress and shoes I'd planned to wear to the wedding. And the white dress shirt I'd packed for Josh, in the (accurate) belief that he'd forget to bring one.

Back in the car, I said “Vida's going to kill me” while attempting the Shayla wriggle with less than spectacular results.

“No she won't,” Josh said, stripping off his shirt. The sight of which made me wonder whether we should go to the wedding after all, or just jump out of the car and find the nearest room with a bed in it.

“You're right,” I tried to focus on the zipper of the thing I needed to get into. “She won't want to get her dress all messed up. She'll ask Connie to kill me.”

“Neither of them are going to kill you,” Josh said, buttoning rapidly. “Because neither of them know where you've been.”

I froze. Shayla zipped me up while I stared at Josh.

“They've been calling all day,” he said. “And I kept telling them you were busy.”

“Josh…” I didn't know what to say.

“Oh, well done, young man.” George clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done.”

Josh looked over at me, still staring at him. “After Max told me about what you'd overheard, I called Joe Elliot. His assistant told me everything. But I couldn't”—he cleared his throat. “I couldn't believe you wouldn't be back.”

I looked into his eyes, and for one horrible moment I allowed myself to imagine a world in which I'd made it to China. I blinked and shook my head. It was too awful. “Josh—”

“Ah,” George interrupted me before I could start blubbering outright. “It looks like we're here.”

We pulled up to the massive hotel with ten minutes to spare, and we didn't look half bad. Shayla was a blond bombshell, George and Penny were perfectly presentable, I was as chic as I could manage under the circumstances, and Josh…Josh was the sexiest man in this world or the next.

 

“DUDES! YOU MADE IT!”
Tim, apparently not in the least bit nervous, gave us an enormous grin as we burst
through the door to the tastefully appointed and mostly deserted East Chapel of the Bellagio.

“Thank God,” Max said. “If you hadn't—”

“Where's Vida?” I demanded breathlessly.

He gestured down a hallway. I ran, calling over my shoulder, “Josh, introduce George and Penny to everyone!”

I skidded to a stop at a door marked “Bridal Party.” It didn't really need the label because I could hear Vida shouting at Connie quite clearly from the hall.

“I don't care when the reservation is for, Connie! I don't care if we have to go get married somewhere else! I don't care if I have to get married by a goddamn midget dressed as Elvis! I will not get married without Becks here!”

I gulped. I tried very hard not to get completely choked up. I opened the door.

“Hey, is that the sound of a bride having a breakdown?”

“Becks!” Connie turned on me, hands on hips and nostrils flared. “Where the hell have you been? Do you know what I've gone through to put this thing—”

“Shhhh.” I waved at her to shut up and turned my attention to the bride.

“Vida. You're beautiful.”

The dress was simple and elegant and perfect for her. And the look on her face made me redefine
radiant
.

“Becks. I knew you'd make it.”

 

“I'LL SAY THIS FOR YOU,
Becks, you know how to keep things interesting.” Max plopped down next to me with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other. The ceremony was over, Vida was married, and we'd
all adjourned to one of the hotel's many bars for dancing, drinks, and general post-wedding revelries.

“Thank you, Max.” I took a glass of bubbly. I'd been jitterbugging with the bride, and it was thirsty work.

“Where's your man?”

I grinned and pointed to the dance floor, where Josh was currently cutting something of a swath with Penny, the flight attendant.

“He's got some moves,” Max said appraisingly.

“He's spoken for.”

“Don't worry. I'm completely harmless.” He sighed elaborately and sipped his drink.

“Oh, that's convincing. What's the matter? Postwedding letdown?”

He shrugged. “It's stupid of me, and I know it's stupid of me, but I wish Phillip were here.”

Phillip. Yikes. “Have you heard from him since…God, was that only last weekend?”

“It was, and I haven't.” He shook his head. “And I probably won't.”

I slid around in the booth until I could lean my head on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Maxie.”

He put his arm around me. “It doesn't matter. I don't need a man.” He gave me another melodramatic sigh. “I'm just going to get two cats, name one Sky Masterson and the other Nathan Detroit, and reconcile myself to being a big fat bitter old queen.” He sniffed.

“Don't be silly,” I told him. “You're not fat.”

He pushed me away and pinned me with a very evil look. “For that remark, you bitch, you're going to have to dance with me.”

 

“ISN'T IT WONDERFUL?”
Connie was standing at the bar watching Vida and Tim engage in some sort of free-flowing movement that would have been more at home at a Grateful Dead concert than on the dance floor of the Bellagio, but she'd had enough champagne not to judge. “Aren't they wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” I agreed. It was getting late and I felt as if I'd been up for at least three days. Two of them in uncomfortable shoes.

“I wish everyone could be married,” she sighed.

I choked on my drink.

“Are you all right?” She turned to me.

“The bubbles went up my nose.”

She smiled, and I swear I felt an arctic chill move up my spine. “So, Becks, about you and—”

“How's Ian?”

It was a cheap shot, I know, but my self-preservation instinct had kicked in, and it doesn't play fair.

“He's fine. He got back on Wednesday.”

So I wouldn't have run into him on the Silk Road, after all. “Are you two…”

“Talking.” She nodded and looked out at the dancers again. “Aren't they beautiful?”

I thought things over. If Ian could see her like this, all her sharp edges blurred by French wine, they'd probably do more than talk. “Connie?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Here. Why?”

I took her glass from her. “Because you should go to your room.”

She gave me a puzzled, tipsy grin. “Why?”

“Because now might be a very good time to call your husband.”

“Call Ian?”

“Call Ian. You know. On the phone…” I raised my eyebrows suggestively. “Ask him how he's doing. Maybe ask him what he's wearing…”

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. “Becks!” Then the grin came back, this time not at all puzzled. “Will you say good night to Vida for me?”

“I promise.”

She pecked me on the cheek. “The man won't know what hit him.”

“I have every faith in you.”

I watched her navigate her way to the door.

“What's she up to now?” Josh came up from behind, putting his arm around my waist and observing Connie's departure.

“Phone sex with Ian.”

He winced. “There are so many things you shouldn't tell me.”

“You have no idea.”

He moved me out to the dance floor, where we swayed sleepily to a lovely rendition of “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.”

“Josh, can we have this be our song?”

His mouth twitched. “Nope. We're stuck with Elton for the rest of our lives.”

I leaned my head on his chest and closed my eyes. “Bastard.”

We moved around the dance floor. “Josh?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you really believe I'd come back?”

He didn't break his rhythm for an instant. But it took him a while to answer. “I had to.”

It was good that I was leaning on him because that way I didn't have to look him in the eye. “I'm so glad I did.”

He lifted my chin with his fingertips until I was looking up at him. “I know.”

I reached up to touch his face, tracing the little lines at the corners of his mouth. I knew myself too well to promise him I'd never do anything stupid and pigheaded again. But there was one promise I could make.

“I'll always come back.”

He pulled me in close to him again, still moving to the music. “I know.”

As we swayed silently for a while, I began mentally going over everything we'd have to do for the rest of the ComixCon weekend. I knew I didn't need to worry about WorldWired anymore because George had promised, with much delight, to deliver my resignation to Joe Elliot personally in the morning. Then he and a clearly besotted Penny had headed off to the airport again.

That left only a million and one Vladima tasks to take care of. I needed to follow up on how her press coverage was going, how the e-mail campaign was progressing, whether we'd have critical mass for the big Sunday night party when Chloe, the Fox exec, was going to announce the movie.

“Josh?”

“Still here.”

“Did you hear anything from Chloe today?”

He groaned. “We're not going to talk about work now, are we?”

“I just want to know if she's still coming on Sunday.”

“She's coming. Now can you please relax?”

“Of course.”

I snuggled into that spot by his shoulder and we danced for a while.

“Josh?”

He tipped my head back and kissed me. “What?”

“Do you think Chloe was serious about offering me a job at Fox?”

First and always, thanks to my parents, Dolores and Keith Dumas.

Great big bouquets of thanks to the people who braved the early drafts. Denise Lee, who tells me the truth while distracting me with shiny objects; Erick Vera, who is usually right, dammit; Carole Dumas, who gets the award for best long-distance comments; and Rosanna Francescato, who's edits are happily accompanied by martinis.

Many thanks to Ann Parker, Janet Finesilver, Carole Price, Rena Leith, Michael Cooper, Clair Johnson, Gordon Yano, and Colleen Casey for sticking with the book in the every-other-Thursday critique group—even though I know I disappointed you by not murdering anybody.

Huge thanks to the fabulous Amy Rennert, for letting me be able to say “my agent, Amy,” and the amazing Marjorie Braman, who might be the world's most delightful editor.

Thanks to everyone who's had to put up with my endless blathering about the book over the past year or so. The list is long, but includes Christine Dorffi, Karen Mcintyre, John Dumas, Richard Dumas, Mary Dumas, Josie Wernecke, Eric Laine, Peter Conrad, and Camille Minichino.

And finally, would it be weird to thank the people who put me on a layoff list a few years ago? Maybe not, because that's what it took for me to finally figure out the balance thing.