Come Back To Me (22 page)

John was away most of the time, either working or hanging out with the other ski instructors. When he was around, he was usually stoned. He was generous with his dope and he urged Cara to join in, but she wanted to try to make it in her new life without resorting to the numbing effect of drugs.

Cara took every opportunity to find out about the hostess job, but for some reason John was evasive. Finally, at her wit’s end, she asked him flat out why he hadn’t introduced her to his boss as he’d promised. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“What?” she asked. “What is it? Am I so offensive that you’re afraid to be seen with me?”

John’s turned towards her, red-faced. “No, it’s not that. It’s, well, Cara, look at yourself. You aren’t
cool
. I mean, I work for a pretty high-class guy. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Your hair’s all ragged, your jeans hang on you. All you wear are baggy tee shirts. I can’t take you in to meet him looking like this. You gotta clean yourself up, you know, fix yourself up, get some style. You used to be real pretty. Now you’re just sort of, I don’t know, sort of messy.”

Cara felt as if all the air had just been sucked out of the room. She turned around and headed for the door. She heard John call her name. She ignored him.

You used to be really pretty. Now you’re just sort of messy.

Messy. John had her pegged. She wondered what he’d say if he knew exactly how much of a mess she truly was. Cara forced back tears.
Uh-uh, no crying.
She’d promised herself after that first day in Park City there would be no more crying.

Cara hiked up the hill through the center of town. She turned right, striding past the last of the buildings, continuing on toward the ski slopes. When she entered a copse of trees she stopped to perch on a rock outcropping. Dusk had fallen, painting the sky a pale rose. The wind whistled as it brushed through the pines. Cara heard the occasional chirp of a bird bedding down for the night.

John was right. He couldn’t introduce her to his high-class boss and expect her to impress him. How could she start a new life when she still clung to the old? She needed to step it up. When he was stoned John waxed on and on about the wealthy Hollywood-types who patronized the restaurant, the movie stars to whom he gave ski lessons.

That was the world she needed to fit into. She still had enough money. A visit to a salon and a little shopping wouldn’t break the bank. She could leave early in the morning for Salt Lake City. If she didn’t get everything done in one day, she could afford a night or two in a motel.

Cara shook her head, surprised she’d forgotten the lessons Jeanie had taught her,
look the part even if you don’t feel it
. Jeanie used to say,
the outside affects the inside and vice versa
. It had worked once before. Cara needed to get the outside fixed as soon as possible and hope maybe that would help fix her inside. She didn’t want to see John again tonight, preferring to wait until it grew so late John would either be gone or passed out in bed. She’d see him when she felt ready.

∗    ∗    ∗

“Holy shit.” John gave a whistle as Cara strolled out of the bedroom. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Cara twirled for him, giving him a three hundred and sixty degree view of her makeover.

“Much, much better. You are hot Cara. You are sizzling. Damn.” He circled her, checking out the hair and the outfit. “Now you can come to work with me. My boss will be in tonight. He’s hosting a private party for a few of his friends in the back room. Come, and I swear you will get that job. Goddamn, you look good enough to eat.”

Cara almost smiled. She’d better look good. She’d spent hours in an expensive salon in Salt Lake City the day before getting the works—hair, nails, a pedicure. The stylist had trimmed her unruly hair, teaching Cara how to slick it back with gel and curl the ends. The cut was stark, sleek and sophisticated, drawing a man’s gaze to Cara’s lush red lips, her high cheekbones and her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes.

Cara had made judicious use of a dark gray eye shadow, the way Jeanie had taught her, to bring out the violet color in her eyes. She had such naturally thick lashes that she’d skipped the mascara, but she’d touched her lips with a deep, dark red stain, almost the same color as her hair. She didn’t use much but, as the girl at the makeup counter had teased, just enough to make a man salivate the moment he met her.

She wore a fitted black skirt that fell to mid-thigh, exposing what her mother would consider an indecent amount of her long legs. The blouse she’d donned was a pale, mint-green silk. The color emphasized her creamy complexion and pulled out the mahogany highlights in her hair. She’d unbuttoned the top button.

Studying her, John reached over in a friendly fashion and unbuttoned her second button. The lace edge of her new black bra just barely peaked out, giving anyone who might be interested a tantalizing taste of what lay beneath her clothes. John checked out her shoes. Cara had slipped her bare feet into black stiletto heels. She’d forgone the stockings, her dislike of stockings a persistent holdover from her previous life.

The only jewelry Cara wore was a pair of simple gold hoop earrings. She’d learned from Jeanie that a woman should never overdo the jewelry. She should wear just enough to draw the eye to the body part she wanted another person to appreciate. Cara wanted John’s boss to look at her face. She didn’t want him to focus on her scarred hands. But what would it hurt if he looked at a few other parts of her too?

Two nights in a motel, two days of shopping and the salon makeover had used up a sizeable chunk of her cash, but Cara hoped to make it back quickly. Her portion of the rent was only ninety dollars a month and she spent little on food. If she had to she could last six months or more on her savings. Cara’s mother had offered to send money when she’d called her ten days ago, but Cara had turned her down. She didn’t the obligation. This was her new life. It was better to make a clean break.

Her mother had cried during the phone call, begging Cara to come back home, but Cara had held it together. She was fine, she had a nice place to live, she was perfectly safe, and she would soon have a job. After some wrangling, she’d reluctantly agreed to call home every two weeks to check in, and she left her mother with John’s phone number and address in case of an emergency.

Her ability to resist that nagging inner voice, the one that demanded to know if James was all right, pleased Cara. Her future didn’t lie with him. It was better not to look back, just like it was better not to look too far ahead. Thinking about her past and wondering about her future didn’t pay. Maybe John had the right idea. Hang out, party, work a little, party some more. What had all her hard work gotten her in the end? The same as always, not a damn thing.

It was better not to get attached. Not to make plans. Not to fall in love. If you had nothing to lose then there was nothing to miss when it was gone, right? That had been her rule until James had appeared at her office in the med center. Never let yourself fall in love. Well, she broke her own rule and look what happened. For an instant Cara felt sick, as memories flooded back of that night, memories of Ezra Payne. She shoved them into a corner of her mind, ordering them to stay put.

“I’m gonna get changed,” John said, interrupting her thoughts. “Then we can go. Do you mind driving? My car’s out of gas.”

“Not at all,” said the new Cara. “You think this will work? You think I’ll get the job?”

“Oh, hell yeah. You’re exactly what he’s been looking for. You look just the way I described you. Better.” John disappeared into his room.

“But I thought you didn’t talk to him about me yet. You didn’t tell me that you’d already . . .” Cara’s voice trailed off. What did it matter if John had been withholding information? Once he got a look at her he’d probably realized he couldn’t bring her by the restaurant, but he was afraid to tell her, afraid of hurting her feelings. Obviously this was a classy place.

Ten minutes later, John reappeared. Cara grabbed her new leather clutch and they walked to her car. As he opened the passenger door, John cleared his throat.

“Uh, one more thing,” he said, looking across the roof of the car, a sheepish expression on his face. “I, uh, told my boss you’re twenty-three. It’s kind of a Utah thing. The liquor laws and all that. The older you are the better. He thinks I’m twenty-three too, so let’s just keep that between us, okay?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Cara. “What liquor laws?”

“Utah liquor laws are kind of weird. You can’t sell liquor in a restaurant, only in a private club. You can’t even sell wine unless you have some kind of special license, I think. You can serve wine if the customer brings it, you just can’t sell it.”

Cara looked at John, confused. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, my boss runs a, well, it’s kind of like his own private club in the back. He serves alcohol and he won’t let anyone under twenty-one work there. I mean, sometimes even twenty-one isn’t old enough for him, so I fudged a little. Do you mind backing me up?”

“Yeah, sure.” Cara shrugged. “No problem. It doesn’t matter anyway. I turned twenty-one a while ago.

“Good, thanks. I just don’t want any misunderstandings. And I’d like to keep my job.”

“Will your boss need to check out my driver’s license?”

John winked at her. “I doubt it.”

∗    ∗    ∗

Cara developed a bad case of the jitters during the short drive. This was not her forte, a restaurant and private drinking establishment. What did she know about food and alcohol? She didn’t eat much and she didn’t drink. She lagged behind John.

John turned back towards her. “Relax,” he said. “You’ll do fine. It’s no big deal. You’re just meeting him tonight. That’s all. Don’t sweat it. And Cara,” he added, “Whatever you see, keep it to yourself.”

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.” John held the door open for her.

The minute she stepped inside, Cara was wrapped in scent. She smelled roasting meats, the yeasty aroma of warm bread, the spicy tang of garlic and tomatoes and the light, salty, slightly sweet fragrance of fresh fish. The restaurant delighted her. Glass on three sides provided lovely views of the town and the ski slopes. The windowless side was taken up by an old, heavy wooden bar. It looked like something straight out of a western saloon. As John had explained to her, the bartender was only allowed to serve low alcohol beer.

Cara watched waiters bustle back and forth between the tables, the bar, and a door that she assumed led to the kitchen. She didn’t notice any waitresses. John escorted her to the bar, and sat her on a stool. “Wait here.” He motioned to someone. A man stood up from behind the bar. Despite her height in the high heels, Cara had to lift her head to see his face. He looked like an athlete, a boxer or a football player.

“Jerry,” John said to the bartender, “this is my friend Cara, the girl I told you about. Cara, this is Jerry, our bartender.”

“Hello.” Still sensitive about her scars, Cara kept her hands at her sides. She’d told John she’d been in an accident.

Jerry gave her a slow once-over, his eyes sliding from her head to her toes, before he shot her wide, white smile.

“You were right, man,” he called after John. He poured Cara a beer. “On the house.”

“Right about what?”

“That you would be perfect for the job. What did you say your name was?”

“Cara. Cara Franklin.”

Jerry stuck out a big hand. “Well, Red, you are a real beauty. Welcome to Park City. I’m Jerry Mitchell. I tend bar and I’m the bouncer on the weekends. Anyone gives you any trouble, you come see me.”

Cara hesitated as she laid her hand in his. He squeezed hers, making her wince. He glanced down.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“A car accident,” she said. “It happened last December.”

“Both hands, or just the one?”

She showed him her other hand. He held them both in his for a moment, studying her scars.

“Rough.” He released her hands with a gentle motion, turning to pour a couple beers for one of the waiters.

Cara sat on the barstool and looked around. For a Wednesday, the place was busy, but not packed. John had told her that the big crowds came in on Friday and Saturday nights. The restaurant was closed on Sundays except for private parties. To Cara’s eyes, the patrons appeared well-off, the wait staff professional and unobtrusive. She watched a waiter wheel a cart to one of the tables and, with almost comical theatrical gestures, make a Caesar salad for two. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she would have laughed out loud, but for the fact that everyone else in the restaurant seemed to take the matter quite seriously.

“You gonna drink that?”

“Oh, sorry.” Cara smiled at Jerry. “I don’t drink much. Thank you though, I do appreciate it.” She took a sip.

“Kind of like water, isn’t it?”

“Sorry?”

“Utah beer. It’s kind of watered down.”

“Oh, John mentioned something to me about the liquor laws here.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty strict. But there are ways to bend them without breaking them. Just like back in the days of Prohibition. People will always find a way to buy alcohol.” Jerry grinned at her. “You’re not quite what you seem, are you, Red?”

Cara’s eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

“John’s a flake. He shows up to work on time, but he’s still a flake. Stoned on his ass is more like it. He tells us about this friend of his who’s coming to room with him, this beautiful stoner, and he asks the boss if he can give you a job. Knowing John, I figured you’d be just as flakey as he is, maybe some empty-headed bimbo, but you’re not. You graduate from college?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“I was a double major in Art History and Painting.”

Jerry whistled. “Then what the hell you doing here?”

“Taking a break.”

“After your accident, huh?”

Cara nodded.

Jerry said, “Well, you have what I call the three ‘Ls’.”

“The three ‘Ls’?”

“Long, leggy and luscious.”