So Damn Lucky (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 3) Page 19

  “And this one?” the remaining guard asked.

  I shook my head. “Unfortunately, he’s mine. You, come with me,” I said to Teddie as I took his arm. “Mother, can I count on you to entertain Kitty?”

  “Of course, Dear.”

  “Jean-Charles, I’m sorry for the disruption,” I said, as I pulled Teddie toward the door. “Please accept my apologies.”

  “This evening has been most entertaining…and enlightening,” Jean-Charles said. “Do you need my help?”

  “Not now, thank you. I can handle it.”

  “That was never in doubt.”

  ***

  Teddie sat on my desk as I stood between his legs, and dabbed at his face with a damp cloth. Holding a Baggie filled with ice, first to one eye then to the other, he looked as miserable as I felt.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” I handed him a cloth to hold to his nose—it still bled.

  “My father is an asshole.”

  “And you’re just now coming to that conclusion?” I wanted to say “takes one to know one,” but that sounded childish and I knew in my heart the Teddie who had arrived from Paris was an imposter—he’d been possessed by the Anti-Teddie, or something. “You’re going to have to stop living your life for him.”

  “What does that mean?” Teddie’s voice took on a hard edge.

  “I think you’re waiting for him to tell you he’s proud of you, and that so ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Now you’ve added pop-psychologist to your résumé?”

  “Let’s just say I’m the poster child for living life for someone else, okay? I know the signs.” I checked the rag on his nose—the bleeding had stopped. “We both have made a life’s calling out of avoiding ourselves, Teddie. You picked the female impersonator gig because your father would be horrified. Now, you’re chasing something else…adulation, I guess. If the world bows at your feet, if People magazine anoints you the next big thing, maybe your father will notice. ”

  Teddie shot daggers at me, but didn’t deny it.

  “You need to discover what it is you want out of life, but be careful. You’ve lost your dream, you’ve lost me, you’ll lose yourself if you let others define you.”

  “I’ve found a better dream. The singing is for me, Lucky. Nobody else.”

  “So why did you come back here?” I asked him.

  He sucked air between his teeth as I hit a tender spot. “I had to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “To say I’m sorry, okay?” His voice held anger, resentment.

  Why he was mad at me, I hadn’t a clue. “Sorry for what?”

  “For promising you the world, then chasing a different dream. For not being here. For not being a shoulder for you to lean on.”

  “You were doing great until that last part.” I rinsed the bloody rag in a bowl of water, then continued wiping his face. Even though I knew each plane, each curve, each angle by heart, I memorized them anew as I gently washed the blood away. “I wanted to share life with you, Teddie. I don’t need you to help me through it.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You don’t need anybody.”

  “You’re intentionally missing the point, Harvard boy.” Finished, I stepped away, taking the bowl and rag to the kitchenette, then returned with more ice. “I loved you, Teddie. A part of me will love you forever, but you’re chasing a different dream now, one that I think you’re trying to tell me doesn’t include me. You didn’t come home to say you’re sorry. You came home to say good-bye.”

  “Maybe so, but I didn’t come back here to have one last fuck-fest, as you so delicately put it. When you’re not with me, it’s easy to forget the attraction between us.”

  Maybe for him.

  “But when I saw you again, you were there in the flesh, I had to hold you, to have you. I’m sorry.”

  Sex under false pretenses was never okay, so I didn’t tell him it was.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” he asked, knowing the answer.

  “First, if you really wanted me too, you would’ve offered that option much sooner. Second, if you’d settle for a woman content to wash your underwear and make sure you’re fed and laid at regular intervals, then you’re not half the man I think you are.”

  “I’ve got to chase it, Lucky.” When Teddie looked up at me through the puffy slits of his eyes, I could see the truth, and the hurt, there. “This is a dream come true.”

  I wanted to tell him he had been my dream come true, but I had banished groveling from my bag of tricks. Besides, even though it’s one of the seven deadly sins, I’d take pride over pathetic any day.

  He added, “As you said, I need to start living life for me.”

  In my opinion, he’d already gotten a jump on that, but I didn’t tell him so.

  Chapter Eleven

  I sent Teddie home in the limo.

  With his parents at his place, and him at my place, I had no place to run and hide, so I stayed where I was most comfortable… at work, among friends. Surrounded by happy people, a lilting tune emanating from the piano at Delilah’s, shouts echoing through the casino, I ran face-first into the difference between being alone and being lonely. The fact that a cure for the first wasn’t necessarily a cure for the latter was one of life’s cruelest ironies.

  Mr. Mortimer sat at the end of the bar nursing a cocktail and a frown. Taking the seat next to him, I motioned to Sean. “How about one of those mixed berry infusion things you make?”

  “You got it.”

  “How was your dinner, Mr. Mortimer?” I asked my fellow barfly.

  He glanced up, startled. “Fine. The food was superb.”

  “And the conversation? You didn’t happen to address the ruckus over the Masked Houdini, did you? I’ve hired him for the Houdini Séance this Saturday, Halloween.”

  “He was practically the entire topic of conversation. Imagine, one of our own, breaking the Magician’s Code! Our members are calling for blood.”

  “Maybe they already got it,” I said casually, as I took a sip of the pink-colored martini concoction Sean set in front of me—a berry blast that had one heck of a kick—perfect. “I know we touched on it before, but I’m sure you’ve heard all the rumors about Dimitri Fortunoff being the Masked Houdini. Did you know my office received threats and Dimitri received one the night he died?” On the theory that if I didn’t say it out loud, then it wouldn’t be true, I left out the part about me being on that list as well.

  “I didn’t know that. ” Mr. Mortimer’s face snapped into a frown.

  “Was he the Masked Houdini?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Mr. Mortimer shrugged as if he didn’t care. His face told me otherwise.

  “Did one of your magicians take matters into his own hands?”

  “What would make you think that?” His hand was unsteady as he took a sip of his drink.

  “Letting out your secrets couldn’t be good for business,” I pressed. “Sounds like a motive to me.”

  “Magic is about illusion,” Mr. Mortimer explained. “Knowing the trick and still being fooled can enhance the experience even more.” His eyes met mine. “People like to be fooled.”

  My eyes held his, my voice held a threat. “Not me.”

  The magician was the first to break eye contact as he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, magic appeals to some and not to others.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any insight on the words Bart Griffin is spouting, would you?”

  Mortimer fixated on the waterfall behind the bar. “Fairly obscure, aren’t they? I really haven’t a clue.”

  I didn’t expect he would, or that if he did, that he would tell me, but I felt like asking, taking comfort in at least being right about something. Small comfort, but I’d take it.

  “How did you come to know of the Eden medallion?”

  He glanced at me, then looked away. “Danilov. We’ve been friends a long time. We started in the business together.”

 
; “Really? Are you into mentalism as well?”

  “No, I find it a curiosity, nothing more. My specialty was sleights of hand, parlor tricks, that sort of thing. In fact, I was the first to wander the streets with a camera filming tricks in front of casual bystanders. Now it seems every magician starts as a street performer.”

  “You know what they say about imitation…”

  Mr. Mortimer stared into his drink. “I suppose, but I’ve found I’m a better organizer than magician. I run our professional organization now.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Other than a healthy distrust of everyone right now, I had no reason not to. And, to be honest, I was too tired to work up more than a hint of energy on the subject. Thoughts pinged randomly in my empty head. Reaching for one was like trying to kill a swarm of gnats with a fly swatter, and about as effective. I stared into the pink liquid in front of me as if trying to divine some hint of truth. Finally a realization dawned.

  “Where is Mr. Danilov? You guys are usually attached at the hip. Wasn’t he at the dinner?”

  “Yes, but something came up—he had to leave early.”

  ***

  Mr. Mortimer bid me adieu and I switched to nursing a soda and killing time, still avoiding the unavoidable at home. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my mind around the fact that Teddie was bugging out, once again proving there is no sure thing in the game of love. When had he fallen out of love with me? And why hadn’t I noticed? Pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, I forced back tears. For a brief time, life had been perfect. How do you get over that? Let it go? I had no idea. A song sprung to mind—“I’ll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me.” Teddie was usually the one with a song for every occasion.

  Taking a deep breath despite the ache in my chest, I pulled myself together. My heart would heal. Like a scar over a deep cut, time would mask the pain. Life would go on. Maybe one day, it would be perfect again.

  Miss Patterson’s call caught me working up the courage to go home—to face the thing I feared the most.

  “Lucky, I’m sorry, to bother you, but can you break away for a moment?” She didn’t sound panicked.

  “Why haven’t you called it a day?”

  “I’ve been chasing a missing mentalist.”

  “Danilov?”

  “His wife called. He didn’t come home and she was worried.”

  “Have you found him?”

  “On our golf course. Tenth fairway near the green.”

  ***

  With only two wrong turns in the half-light of night, I finally found myself on the right fairway. Three shadows clustered near the green. As I neared, I noticed a fourth figure, this one lying on the ground at the feet of the others. Soon faces came into view—Miss P, and Harry and Mavis of sex-swing fame. Danilov lay on his back, motionless, as naked as the dancers at The Palomino and covered from head to toe in whipped cream.

  “We found him passed out cold,” Mavis said, awe in her voice, as I approached.

  Not to be outdone by his wife, Harry added, “We came out here for some fresh-air nookie and tripped over the guy.”

  Was there some special aphrodisiac in the water in Oklahoma? If there was, I was going to have some of it trucked in, bottled, and sold it at the bar. On second thought… perhaps that was not a good idea. I had enough problems as it was. I’d just keep it for myself… now that I was apparently single again.

  “Too much information, Harry,” I said. “I’m very visual.”

  Mavis giggled, as if she was thrilled a naughty movie featuring them might be running through my head.

  “Mr. Danilov,” I said. At his name, the figure on the ground began mumbling. I knelt beside him and was instantly sorry.

  “Be careful,” Miss P added a wee bit too late. “He’s been sick.”

  “Thanks,” I groused as I felt the damp soak my knee. “Danilov! Come on.” I slapped his face gently. “What happened?”

  His eyes flickered open. Looking around wildly, he started, then calmed when he noticed me. “Where am I?” He croaked.

  “On the golf course. What do you remember?”

  “Wine. Magic Ring. Dinner. Call.” He shivered. “Girl.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Call Security,” I said to Miss P. “Tell them somebody rolled Mr. Danilov and left him on the golf course.” I motioned to Mavis and Harry. “Can the two of you help me get Mr. Danilov over to that bench? Miss P, find something to cover him with.”

  As we bent down to grab him, he grabbed my shirt with one creamed hand. The cleaners were so going to love me.

  Something hanging from his neck caught the weak light. An Eden medallion. Crazy Carl’s was safe in my pocket—this was another.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “She died,” he whispered, chilling me to the bone.

  “Who? Who died?”

  “Long time ago. He killed her.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “The Devil. And you’re next.”

  ***

  “Where the hell is your mother?” The Big Boss’s voice shouted out of my cell phone, which I had been fool enough to answer. “It’s almost one in the morning and she’s still not home.” Even though I held the thing away from my ear, I had no trouble hearing him over the noise in the casino.

  One in the morning? Really? I glanced at the time on my phone. Time had gotten away—it had taken longer than I thought to see Mr. Danilov properly cared for. Of course, I hadn’t hurried. Then, with courage in short supply, I had once again taken refuge on my stool in Delilah’s.

  “I left her hours ago in the Burger Palais,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice light. “The evening had deteriorated. Mother said she would entertain Mrs. Kowalski while Mr. Kowalski cooled his jets in the holding cell and I cleaned the blood off the heir apparent.”

  I heard my father huffing into the phone as he digested that. “You have no idea where she is?”

  “None,” I said, my thoughts racing. Mona on the loose in Vegas? Anything was possible.

  “Just find her,” he shouted.

  “Please?” I said, but the line was dead.

  Well, that was fun.

  I slid off my stool, actually grateful for a mission. Two chronologically mature women—the jury was still out on Mona’s emotional maturity—on the prowl in Vegas. Where would they go? After making a quick tour of Pandora’s Box and Babel, our Club and Lounge respectively, I felt fairly certain our two had gone over the fence.

  Maybe Jean-Charles would know—he was probably one of the last ones to see them.

  ***

  With only one table still occupied and the Burger Palais closing down for the evening, Jean-Charles sat at the bar nursing a glass of wine. He stared at a photograph in front of him, which he pocketed when he saw me. Reaching behind the counter for another glass, he filled it from the bottle in front of him, as I slid onto the stool next to his.

  “This is not quite as good as the Bordeaux we had the other night, but it’s passable for the price,” he said as he raised his glass, holding it to the light.

  I did the whole wine thing, then took a sip. “Nice. Fairly mature. Woody. Hints of fruit, but not too sweet. I like it.”

  He rewarded me with a weak smile.

  “You look like you’ve got a case of the sads. Are you okay?” Instinctively I reached up and touched his face gently—there it was again, that feeling when our skin touched—then, realizing what I was doing, I pulled my hand back. “Sorry.”

  Grabbing my hand, he pressed my fingers back to the side of his face, closing his eyes for a moment—an intimate, unguarded gesture. “You have a nice touch and a warm heart, Lucky O’Toole.”

  “And look how far it’s gotten me,” I quipped, trying to recover from the powerful effect the man had on me. What was it with me lately?

  “Does your mood have anything to do with the photo you were looking at?” I asked. I knew it was non
e of my business, but… “I don’t like seeing you unhappy.”

  His eyes met mine and for a moment it seemed he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and gave me a shrug.

  “Will that person in the photo be joining you here?” Okay, that question was for me.

  “Soon.” His face brightened at the thought.

  Terrific. As usual, my luck was running cold. With a sinking heart, I wondered what kind of woman had stolen the Frenchman’s heart.

  “That was quite a group you assembled tonight,” Jean-Charles said, eyeing me as he twirled the glass stem between two fingers. “Is that guy your lover?”

  “Was.” Only a Frenchman would use the term “lover.” I closed my mind to the memories as I fought back a tear. Life without Teddie… Would I miss him more as a lover or as a friend? The fact that I didn’t have an answer spoke volumes. “He wants to be a rock star,” I said, leveling my voice.

  “Will he be?”

  “I have no doubt—he’s brilliant.”

  “And what do you want?” The Frenchman eyed me with those robin’s-egg eyes—they’d gone all deep blue and sexy.

  What did I want? What did it matter? Life with Teddie had been a short course in the reality that what I wanted bore no relation to what I got. “Right now, I want to find my mother. Were you here when she left?”

  “Oui. She and the other lady stayed for dinner—your Mother is, how do you say it? A handful?”

  “She appreciates handsome men.”

  He rolled his eyes and whistled. “And her daughter? Does she appreciate men?” Jean-Charles eyed me over the top of his glass.

  I thought this was banter, but he looked serious. “Let’s put it this way, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “What kind of answer is this?” His brow knitted in confusion. “What do apples have to do with men?”

  “It’s an expression. Look it up.” Of course apples and men made Eden spring to mind, but I closed my thoughts to sins and Devils… I couldn’t deal with any more tonight. “Do you have any idea where those two might have gone?”