Best Laid Plans (2 page)

He winks. My body shudders,
my grip loosens, and that expensive bottle of champagne falls to the floor. The
impact dislodges the cork, which ricochets off the ceiling into the tower of
flute glasses, knocking them over like bowling pins. They shatter into a
million shards that rain down over the bar.

This is a sign. Anytime I’m
attracted to a man, it always ends badly.

The broken glass snaps me out
of my trance and I go into disaster recovery mode. “Kyle, pull anything that
might have broken glass in it. I’ll take this ice and dump it.” I grab the bucket
and scurry out from behind the bar, getting some distance between me and the
man who wants to be called Jackson.

I dump the ice, rinse the
bucket out and put in a fresh bag. I look for Robert, hoping he can handle
this. Unfortunately, he’s busy handling our birthday girl. Lois is looking a
little wobbly herself, and is calling for Luke.

Maybe this is all for the
best. If tonight had run smoothly, I would want to keep my business alive. This
party makes me realize it’s time to do something new.

I pick up the ice and head
back, trying not to care whether Jackson is there or not. I made my bed and now
I need to lie in it. Well, maybe I shouldn’t use a bed reference in regards to
that
man.

As I round the corner, I
notice they’re both still at the bar. My courage evaporates, until he throws
her unconscious body over his shoulder! Her short dress bunches up, revealing a
pair of very sheer, black, ridiculously flimsy panties. He turns to leave, and
suddenly I don’t have a good feeling about this. What did he say to her about
finishing her drink? I know she was drunk, but did he slip her something?

I hurriedly set the ice on
the bar while I call out to him, “Wait!” He doesn’t stop. I pull out my phone
as I rush toward them. Planting myself in his path, I grab the bottom of Ms. It’s
dress and pull it down where it should be (Do onto others is my motto). He looks
at me like I’m bacon at a vegan buffet.

“Smile,” I squeak and take
his picture with my phone. The flash blinds both of us, and when my eyes
adjust, his attractive face is looking very dangerous.

“I’m going to need that phone
from you.”

I swallow, but stand my
ground. “Then I’m going to need some ID from you.”

He shifts his gaze from my
eyes to someplace at my left, and then he nods. Suddenly, there’s an arm around
my waist and a hand prying the phone from my grip. I spin around to find a very
tall man in a black suit. He looks kind of like Lurch. Is there an Addams
Family theme tonight? Lurch then walks to the front door and opens it. Jackson
smirks at me and heads for the exit.

“Hey, I’m calling the cops,”
I yell.

“That will be hard to do
without a phone,” he says over his shoulder—the shoulder that doesn’t have Ms. It
on it.

I have to make a decision to
follow my phone or stay on the job. Maybe I’ll just follow them to get a
license plate, and then I’ll come right back. I have to move now before they
get out of sight, though I doubt that Jackson, Ms. It, and Lurch would be
hard to miss—even in this city.

I rush out the door and see the
trio. Jackson has gotten pretty far considering there’s a small woman on his
shoulder. Maybe he has a lot of experience. I head off as fast as I can, and am
grateful I didn’t hesitate. They enter a swank condo complex, and I reach it
just before the door locks behind them. The location is too convenient for it
to be a coincidence. They must be party crashers.

Jackson is on his cell phone.
“Yes, pronto. I want to make sure it’s
gone
.” He swings around to see me
sneak in behind him. “I was wondering where you were.”

The building guard is staring
at us. Finally, an ally. “Call the police. These men have stolen my cell phone.”

The guard looks from me to
the men. Jackson takes his free hand and twirls a finger around his ear—the
international symbol for crazy person.

“Don’t worry, John. She’s
with me. Oh, and I have my head of technology stopping by. We’ll be in the
guest unit.” His gaze turns to me. “Now, if I take you up, will you behave?”

The nerve! Me behave? “I
certainly will not. I’ll scream and yell and shout until I get my phone back.”

“Then it’s a good thing I had
the place soundproofed.”

The elevator doors open and Jackson
steps in, with Lurch following. I know this is the threshold to further
madness, but I want to slap the handsome off his smug face and I won’t be able
to do it from the lobby. The doors start to close, so I take a breath and step
in. He presses the 22 button. I’ll need to remember that for the police report.

I’m standing by the shoulder
that holds Ms. It, and I notice her designer underwear is on display
again. I reach my hand up to give her dress a quick tug, and Jackson steps
back. Is he afraid of me? Good!

“I’m just going to pull her dress
down,” I scold as my hand yanks the hem with more force than necessary. He
doesn’t take his eyes off me, and I can’t believe he thinks
I’m
the
dangerous one on this elevator.

“Who did you hope to sell
this to?”

Is he talking to me? “Sell what?”

“The picture. Some Internet gossip
site? One of the weekly rags?” He leans in and his eyes have an icy hue. “Or
were you thinking I’d like to buy it?”

I was mad before. Now I’m indignant.
“I’m not selling that picture!”

“Everything’s for sale, for
the right price.” He’s very close and he’s using that voice again. It’s low and
threatening and seductive, and it’s coming out of a very attractive mouth. I
notice his five o’clock shadow and imagine if he kissed me, my lips would be
scratched and bruised and very happy. Except I’m not supposed to be happy. I am
supposed to be mad.
Focus, Jillian!

“I saw you having drinks with
that woman, and then I saw you carry her unconscious body out of the party. No
one leaves my events unconscious without me taking a picture.” It’s never
actually happened before, but it sounds reasonable. For good measure I add, “It’s
for
their
protection.”

Now
he’s
offended. “You
think I’m a date rapist?”

“Well, I know you’re a thief,
so thinking you’re a pervert is not a great leap in my mind.”

“Oh, I do have my
perversions, but do you think I need to drug a woman to get her in my bed?”

He’s giving me his bedroom
eyes, and he’s doing it on purpose. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less
effective. “Maybe you don’t like low-lying fruit.”

His bedroom eyes blink open,
and he stares at me for what feels like an eternity. From his expression, I don’t
think he’s used to people arguing with him. Then his eyelids descend to
half-mast, and he leans farther into me. “When I want something, there isn’t
any fruit beyond my reach. Or beyond my
plucking
.” My cheeks burn, and he
almost gloats. “It seems I’ve made you blush,” he drawls as he straightens.

At that moment, Ms. It’s
eyes flutter open. “I feel like I’m floating.” Then she projectile vomits all
over me, before passing out again.

Jackson tsks. “No good deed
goes unpunished.” As if on cue, the elevator doors open. “Let’s get you cleaned
up. And try not to drip on the carpet,” he adds, stepping off the elevator.

The unit is 2201. Again, I
need to remember that when the police interview me. It’s one of those techno
buildings, and the door opens with a key fob, rather than a key.

The first thing I notice is
the smell. Stale smoke and booze. If I can smell that over the vomit on my
dress, it must be really bad. Jackson curses as I enter, and even the size of those
two men in front of me can’t block the view of the mess inside. It looks like a
garage sale exploded. The place is littered with bottles, ashtrays, fast-food
containers, and dirty clothing. This is the home of someone hitting bottom.

“Bathroom is the first door
on the left,” Jackson barks. I make a beeline to get Ms. It’s bile off me.

For a hall bathroom, it’s a
good size and there’s little trace of the disaster in the living room, other
than the empty half-gallon vodka bottle in the sink. I move it to the floor and
wet one of the hand towels. They are seriously plush, which makes them useless
for blotting off this mess.

I realize the dress has to
come off. I’m going to have to rinse it out in the sink, and when I put it back
on, it’s going to look like I entered a wet t-shirt contest. It’s a matte black
cotton/poly blend so it might hide some of the dampness, if I can get it clean.

I carefully slip out of it to
find my bra is equally slimed. Once that’s removed, I’m “tits to the wind,” as
my Aunt Celia says, in a soundproofed apartment with two men and an unconscious
woman. I probably should be afraid but I’m too damn mad. And it’s better to
stay mad right now. Especially when I hear someone rattling the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s just me, Jillian.”

Is he psychic? “How do you know
my name?”

“Robert called, looking for
you. I told him you had an unfortunate accident but you’ll return shortly.”

“Thank you,
Jackson.”
Two
can play the name game. “You aren’t planning to drug me?”

“You sound disappointed. And
how do you know
my
name?”

I lower my voice to the
deepest register I can. “Jackson. Call me Jackson.” It doesn’t sound as good
when I do it.

“Is that what I sound like to
you?”

No, what he sounds like is
sex, but I’m not going to tell him that.

He doesn’t wait for a reply. “If
you open the latch on the door, you’ll find a compartment with some clean
clothes.”

The back of the door is a
full-length mirror, with a hinge on one side and a small latch on the other. I
drape the hand towel over me and open it cautiously. Inside are three dresses,
hanging on a hook. There must be another one of these panels on the outside. What
a wonderful invention—a hollow door to hold your clothes.

I pull the dresses out and
look at them. Three identical little black dresses. Not like the one I am
trying to clean—more like what Audrey Hepburn wore. They are made with the
softest wool I’ve ever felt. There’s one in size eight, ten, and twelve. I could
love a man who thinks I fit into a size eight. Well, not
that
man.

I try on the size ten (which
is usually wishful thinking). I have to forego the bra since it’s soaking wet. The
cut fits me like a glove, though I wish it was two inches longer. His words
flash in my brain.
Everything’s for sale, for the right price
.

I’ll return this dress
tomorrow. I know where he lives. I’ll address it to
The Pervert in 2201
.
I roll my wet clothes up and leave them by the sink, with my bra buried deep
inside. I’m not going to risk flashing any underwear to his smirking smile.

It’s pretty obvious by now
that Jackson wasn’t trying to drug Ms. It. She seems quite capable of
doing that on her own. They either live together, or they’re dating. He’s
probably trying to control her behavior “for her own good.” I’ve seen it before—and
lived it before. Trying to protect someone from the consequences of their
actions. I could share with him my lifetime of experience, if I wasn’t supposed
to be working right now.

I open the door as quietly as
possible. Stealth is going to be my best weapon. Lurch is busy cleaning up the
worst of the mess, and Ms. It is passed out on the sofa. Her hair has fallen to
the side, and now I notice that she is in one of these same black dresses—probably
a size two. He must put all his women in it. That’s why it comes in every size.
I wonder whether it’s too late to slip back into my wet work dress.

Jackson is at the front door,
letting another man in. What did he say to the guard? His head of technology. The
guy doesn’t look old enough to shave.

“Sorry it took so long. One
of the elevators is out of service.”

Jackson hands the boy wonder
my phone. “I haven’t seen one of these since high school,” the kid squeaks.

“Was that this afternoon?” All
heads turn toward me, but it’s Jackson who holds my attention. He’s staring at
me, and I’m not sure whether he’s imagining me naked, or planning how to
dispose of my body. Either way, it’s a dangerous look, and he’s focused on the
dress. The uniform for his harem.

“What’s your password?”

His words jolt me out of my concubine
fantasy. “I am not telling you my password.”

Junior doesn’t even look up
from the phone. “I don’t need it. There’s not a phone I can’t hack. And this is
barely
a phone.”

Looking at these three men, I
realize that they represent the dating pool in a nutshell. A master of
technology. A master of women. And Lurch. The tough choices us single women
have to make. If these were the last three men on earth, who would I choose? Right
now, I’m leaning toward Lurch. At least he cleans. Unless I was expected to
repopulate the planet. Then it would have to be Jackson.

I finally have enough
distance to see the whole package, so I take in the view of that man. He’s
wearing jeans, and they fit him perfectly. They’re stretched tightly in the
thighs and butt yet look loose in the waistband (he probably suffers from
washboard abs). He’s wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and
a black leather jacket. All that beauty wasted on an arrogant jerk.

The moppet holds my phone up
to Jackson. “Is this the picture?”

Jackson nods. “It’s not in
the cloud, is it?”

The whiz kid actually snorts!
“Not on this phone.” He presses a few keys. “Okay, it’s gone.” He hands my
phone to Jackson, who holds it out to me. As much as I want to lunge for it, I
approach slowly in case it’s a trap. Before I can reach it, he takes the phone
back.

He’s toying with me, and any
sympathy I have for his situation disappears. “Is this your idea of fun? It’s
very immature.”

He punches something into my
phone, and flips it closed. “I think you’d find my idea of fun much worse than
this. Ron—” Lurch drops another bottle into the trash and stands next to
Jackson. “Ron will take you downstairs and hand you the phone when you’re out
of camera range.” Ron takes my phone, and Jackson leans into me. “Text me if
anyone goes missing.”

I notice Ms. It is lying on
her back, so I give him some free advice. “You should turn her over. If she
gets sick again, you don’t want her choking on her vomit.” Jackson has a lot to
learn about being codependent. “I’ll have your dress cleaned and mail it back
to you.”

“Keep it, for all the inconvenience.”

I bristle. “I’d rather return
it. I don’t want you to think I have a price.”

Lurch—I mean Ron—leads me to
the door. I suddenly remember my wet clothes and slip into the bathroom to grab
them. Returning to the living room, I swear I hear Jackson tell the wunderkind,
“I want everything you can get.” Is he talking about me? I’m about to confront
them when Ron’s paw grabs my arm, leads me into the hall, and onto the waiting
elevator.

The ride down is long and
silent. I can see my phone in his hand. Barely. He has large hands, too, but
they aren’t anything special. It’s so quiet, I decide to start talking. If
nothing else, it will annoy Ron. “Have you worked for Jackson long?”

He doesn’t respond, or even
turn. He just keeps staring ahead. That doesn’t stop me. “Are you it, or is
there a whole security team to protect him from women?” His face is a mask. He
could be in the Queen’s Guard with one of those big, black, fuzzy hats. Although
the man doesn’t need anything that adds to his height.

When we finally reach the
ground floor, Ron grabs me by the arm once again, and guides me (though it
feels as if he’s dragging me) out of the elevator. I flash my biggest smile to
the security guard. “Thanks for all your help!” Kill them with kindness is my other
motto.

Once we’re outside, Ron hands
me my phone. As I grab it, he heads back to the building, and I can’t resist
one last try. “Ron, what name should I use when I send this dress back?”

He doesn’t turn around. He
must think I am going to take his picture. “Send it to Current Occupant.”