Bone Frog Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series) Page 6

  “Your Program Director speaks highly of you, Shannon. He also stated you thought my interview this morning had been botched.”

  I was impressed Jared had the clout to be able to reach the ex-Mrs. Gambini, and even more by the fact that he told her about our conversation.

  “I think she did a great disservice to your project, Mrs. Gambini.”

  “Oh please, I’ve been going by “Hey Slut” now for the past year or more. You can call me Rebecca.”

  She did have balls the size of his. Okay, so much for one wrong mismatch. Maybe hers were bigger? I couldn’t believe I was even thinking about his balls, and I certainly hoped she couldn’t tell.

  You really have the chops to make it if it doesn’t go well?

  Jared’s question hung upside down in the bedroom of my belly, somewhere dropped around my ankles where my underpants went every time I thought about Marco.

  “Thank you, Rebecca. In short, I think she dissed you.”

  “She totally dissed me, Shannon—or did I get that right?”

  “It’s Shannon, correct. I thought her comment about you taking over was disrespectful—almost as if she wished you’d fail.”

  “Well, I’ve dealt with little sluts before. Takes one to know one. If I didn’t know it, I’d almost believe she was one of my husband’s floozies.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that—”

  “Don’t be. It’s just my wild imagination. I can only imagine what he’s doing and how many women are hitting on him now. He was a Navy SEAL, you know.”

  “Yes, I—” Shannon had to stop herself or she’d send a vibe Rebecca’s way that she was keen enough to pick up on. “I’ve read that was the inspiration for the project. A home for homeless SEALs. I didn’t know there were any.”

  “A lot of people don’t know how haunted they can be. Some are driven, some are haunted by their past.” She sighed. Shannon surmised she was examining the grey clouds in the sky, detritus of the sunset nearly wiped away by now. “You want to join me for a drink, or is it too late? You’re a weather girl, right?”

  “Actually, I’m a full-fledged reporter on a string to become a news reporter. They’ve just not discovered me yet.”

  That was the truest thing I’d said to her so far. I was jumping at the chance to join her but didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “Well, come on over. I’ll grant that interview. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other out?”

  “Thank you. Hope it isn’t a big imposition.”

  “Not at all. I don’t sleep well these nights. If I’m going to get drunk tonight, I might as well have company.”

  “You’re on, then. So, you’re at the Wyndham?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Penthouse suite. Nice view of the Gulf, which you won’t see much of.”

  “I’ll be over as fast as I can.”

  My fingers were fumbling, my nerves buzzing throughout my body as if I was on a blind date with a Martian. This wasn’t that kind of encounter of course, except for the fact that I had done all kinds of nasty things with her husband, rather, her EX-husband, the one she discarded and left up for grabs. And not only had I done those things, I wanted to do them over and over again.

  I dropped my lipstick on the bathroom floor rug and had to toss it in the washer. I fluffed up my hair, pushed my boobs down in my minimizing bra and wore my sloggy black slacks under the big shirt that did nothing for my figure. One way to not win the trust and friendship of another woman is to do the “whose boobs are bigger, whose ass is tighter” thing, and reality didn’t have anything to do with it. If she even thought I was prettier than she was, I’d be cooked liver without the onions.

  I took a cab over since I knew I’d be drinking. He recognized me immediately.

  “You smell as nice as you look Miss Marr.” His wink was genuine and non-threatening.

  “Thank you—” I checked the badge swinging from his rear-view mirror—“Carlos. Those modern flat screens have everything. I’ll have to be more careful tomorrow tonight when I come on. Don’t want to overpower the audience with too much perfume.”

  We both laughed.

  The newly remodeled pink hotel was still pink in the late evening air, enhanced by rose-colored floods and a swarm of Flamingos who graced the lake and waterfall in front of the entrance. I was surprised they didn’t put themselves to bed like chickens.

  Inside the lobby, I was greeted by the night desk manager who recognized me and escorted me to the penthouse elevator, pushing the button and then stepping back. I fumbled for a couple of bills from my purse, but he smiled and shook his head, no.

  “We’re just happy you’re here this evening, Miss Marr. Mrs. Gambini is expecting you.”

  About halfway up the floors I was struck with a sudden sense of impending danger. Just what in the hell had I gotten myself into, I wondered? I felt like a kite that had lost its tether, looking for a safe place to land (which was impossible for a kite). Every story and scenario running through my brain was messed up. It was so bad, that, if she hadn’t greeted me in the hallway outside her suite, I might have pushed the button to go back down and caught a cab to run home. Maybe have a good cry on the beach. Find some of Judie’s Scotch she left the last time she visited. Should I have called her first, just to make sure that if Rebecca murdered me when she found out what I’d done that someone could notify the police? Would I be afflicted by that talking disease that would make me blurt out something like, “He sucked me good, Rebecca. He screwed me so hard I couldn’t sit down for days, and honey, I thought about him every time I crossed my legs and hoped his tongue was buried deep inside me.”

  Surely something nasty and venomous would come out of my mouth.

  Nothing another nude encounter with him wouldn’t fix. He could even be furious with me, want to beat me up and I’d still sleep with him. Oh, God, I had it bad. And now I was about to jump into the cage of the tiger who, if she ever found out, would surely have me gangraped, tape it and send it to him.

  Or worse, have it played on one of those celebrity smut shows for everyone I ever cared about to see.

  I bounced to attention, nearly biting my own tongue I was so hot for Marco, when she cooed at me, “Welcome, Rebecca. I’m so glad you could make it!”

  I walked behind her into her den, the torture chamber of my imagination. I was looking for the gangster guys who would be standing by with whips and chains and bungee cords. My life would come to a horrible screaming end. And Marco would never see me again as a person. I’d be a corpse he would identify by picture as, “Yes, I slept with her in Boston.”

  Such an ignoble way to go. She could even get away with it. Or, perhaps she’d shove me off the balcony. With my fear of heights, it would be the worst way for me to go, turning my lungs inside out with my screams, wetting and pooping in my pants as I made myself deaf just before I splattered my everything all over the concrete edges of that blue glorious pool I’d seen pictures of. I wouldn’t even make it to the beach one more time. I’d be surrounded by lawn chairs, wet towels and empty beer cans.

  Rebecca had her hands on her hips and was smiling at me. Could she read my mind? This was worse than I imagined, and I could imagine a lot.

  “I’ve seen your work, Shannon. You’re very good with the arms and you have graceful hands,” she said as she winked. Her stare into my soul was way too long for comfort.

  “Th-thank you.” It was all I could think of.

  Come. On. Shannon. You’re. Not. Twelve.

  It was like the day I saw a boy’s penis for the first time because his friends at school had pantsed him. Even his butt cheeks blushed.

  Really, Shannon? This the way you’re going to start your big girl pants career?

  Rebecca Gambini picked up a tumbler already prepared with a single ice cube, handing it to me with the brown liquid glistening inside the crystal, calling my name and laughing that I couldn’t handle any hard liquor.

  She shoved it into my chest, so I grabb
ed it.

  “Come on, Shannon. Let’s get shit-faced and tell dirty stories,” she said. She actually said this to me. I perked back to life when she loudly clinked my glass with hers like it was the clash of the titans.

  Well, it was, sort of.

  We both drank, and I was good at not spitting it back into her face, but wanted to. For lots of reasons I wanted to.

  She added the warning I knew was coming. “And if you print a word of this, I’ll sue your ass to the next century, I’ll sue your parents, your siblings and your children. Then I’ll sleep with your husband and make him fall in love with me so I won’t sue him.”

  She really said that. She. Did.

  Rebecca was magnificent if she was anything. Except she was a total witch, not a bitch like I heard Marco said she was. She was red meat to a vegetarian. A cat with claw extensions to a tiny helpless mouse.

  I was that mouse.

  I knew I wouldn’t survive the night.

  Chapter 9

  Marco

  There were times when it was necessary to keep my wits about me, and there were times when it was necessary to get drunk. I knew I was even more dangerous when I got drunk, so I wanted to do it alone.

  I ordered up some of Ollie’s best Scotch and warded off his suggestion for the grape juice, orange liqueur and cherries or whatever the hell it was that turned the drink into a Midnight in Manhattan. I was going to have the zombie apocalypse Manhattan with dried fruit and fish skeletons as stir sticks. I was having my own midnight in the garden of Marco Gambini’s future, and it sucked big time. I didn’t want anything diluting the drunk I was determined to accomplish tonight.

  By drink number two, I was on my way.

  Then I had a hankering for steak. And all of a sudden, I wanted a new car, new clothes. I even wanted to set fire to my apartment at the Towers I hadn’t even gotten properly dirty in yet. I shaved every day, trimmed my beard carefully with my expensive beard shaver, taken a shower at least twice daily, carefully put away my dirty clothes and laid out the clothes I was going to wear the next day.

  I felt the need for the Old Marco Gambini to come out and play, that old crusty guy who didn’t mind letting his beard grow wild and wore the same sweats and t-shirt for more than three days. I was hungry for lots of things, but steak would be first. Then I’d like to settle in and finish Ollie’s bottle and watch porn. Maybe stumble into a bar at six in the morning or throw croissants at runners passing by while I sat outside on a park bench and tell them they were at least an hour late or ran too slow. I’d run if challenged. Even in my wingtips I’d beat them. In my suit and tie I’d beat them. I might hurdle park benches and sit with the bums and drink out of brown paper bags.

  It was that kind of a shitty night and it wouldn’t be over until the sun came up and I could make the next day a shitty one too.

  But first that steak. Then I got a great idea. Fuck the bank who turned me down. Fuck the woman who screwed half of SEAL Team 3 in the old days, even though everyone told me she didn’t. Fuck the flabby banker at East Coast who was probably screwing his secretary in the broom closet. Maybe I should go rescue her from that flabby fuck. I’d love to ring her chimes and bring her with me to Barbados where we’d lay naked on the beach and screw all day long.

  But first I had to have steak. And my idea needed birthing. I dialed my Bentley dealer.

  “Tony?”

  “Holy crap, Marco, don’t you know it’s past midnight? Shit, it’s one AM.”

  “I know it. You have any Bentleys you haven’t sold yet, a convertible?”

  “Yeah,” he yawned and mumbled into the phone.

  “Can’t hear you, Tony. I gotta have a Bentley.”

  “Sure. Sure, I got a red one, real pretty. Palomino interior, a real—”

  “Wrap it up, put on your clothes and drive it to Boston.”

  “When, you mean now?”

  “Yup. I’ll give you an extra twenty-five thousand dollars if you get it here before the sun comes up.”

  “Oh God, Marco. Is this going to be one of those conversations you won’t remember?”

  “I’m writing it down. One. Red. Bentley. Convertible.”

  “Comes with a warning.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You gotta drive it sober, Marco. You’ll love that thing, but you’ll wrap it around the first telephone pole you come across if you don’t do it sober. And it’s a babe magnet. You better hope not to go monogamous for at least two years. About the time it needs new tires, then you can trade it in, like all the others.”

  “Sold! I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to know what it costs?”

  “You think I’m worried you’ll overcharge me and lose a good customer?”

  “No, but don’t you—”

  “I’m using a credit card. Bring your machine when you come.”

  “No, I can’t do that, Marco. You know it doesn’t work like that. I’ll take a check. Even an IOU will do, coming from you.”

  “Fine. Have it your way. Am I convincing you to sell me that red convertible?”

  “Yes. You made the sale, Marco. I’ll get it there as fast as is humanly possible. Will you be awake?”

  “I will. I promise. If not, you can wake me.”

  “No harem, Marco. I’m not waking you up in a middle of pink little asses.”

  “Have I ever asked you to do that?”

  “No, but just hearing your state of mind, I’m wondering…”

  “Shut up. You’re wasting time. You know where I live because you got me into this prison.”

  “So now it’s my fault, is it?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You’re in a rather self-destructive mode. Are you sure you can afford this machine of mine?”

  “I can. My credit is at least that good. Ask me to buy another 747 and the answer will be no.”

  “You need a woman, Marco, not a car.”

  “Nope. Already tried that.”

  “I mean a real woman, not a banshee.”

  I poured my fourth tumbler and remembered the smooth ass of the lady I pleasured a week ago. I wanted more of that. I wanted to stay in bed with her, or in the back seat of the Bentley for a couple of lost days. I so needed just a couple of lost days…

  And the lady lived in the Tampa area, which gave me another booze-filled brilliant idea. I was liking the images coming at me fast and furious…

  “Are you still there, Marco?”

  “Which would be faster, bringing the car to Tampa or to Boston?”

  “Shit, Tampa’s a thirteen-hour drive. I could make it to Boston in about six if I break the speed limit the whole way.”

  “Change of plans. Have the car delivered to the Oceanis Resort in Belleaire Beach. That’s right outside of Tampa. Can you have it there tomorrow? I’ll wire the funds in the morning.”

  “If you wake up, you mean.”

  “I’ll be awake. I’m going to fly to Tampa tonight if I can.”

  “Why Tampa?”

  “Something I forgot to do.”

  “Okay. I’ll email all the information to Frank, as usual.”

  “Nope. We go direct on this one. Just have the car in Tampa tomorrow, earlier the better.”

  “Probably won’t leave until the morning, but I think we can have it there tomorrow night before it’s too late. What’s so special about it?”

  “I have plans for that back seat, at sunset. So, make it before sunset.”

  “Then I’ll have to start tonight. Fuck, Marco, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Tony, I’ve never been worse, and I’ve never been better. I’m going to grab hold of something good, and if it isn’t good, I’m going to hold it until it is good. But I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll have to be in D.C. by Tuesday.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “One thing is for sure. It’s either the dumbest thing in the world I could do or the best thing in the world. I’ve already done som
e pretty good things, and I’ve just come off of doing a really dumb thing, so the odds are good I’ll hit one of those extremes again. I can just feel it in my bones, and some other places, too.”

  “Somehow I get the impression there is a woman involved.”

  “You could be correct.”

  “A reconciliation with Rebecca perhaps?”

  “You just lost your twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus, Tony.”

  “I don’t want to take your money, Marco. I just want you to be safe.”

  “This is not only safe, it’s a life-saver. It’s going to change my life forever. Trust me.”

  “Well, if the President and the Vice President and the Secretary of State do, then I do as well. I’ll get working on the papers now. And I better brew some coffee.”

  After he hung up, I thought about the Tampa weather girl as I scanned the clouds lit up by the lights of the harbor district. I remembered she’d cried, for some strange reason, and it wasn’t because I’d hurt her. It was because some kind of connection was made. I knew that connection was going to be just the lifeline I needed.

  Maybe the thought of screwing—no, making love in the back seat of that convertible with that beautiful, gentle and intriguing woman was all a fantasy. But I willingly walked head-on into that fantasy, welcomed the images of her lips, her breasts and the way it felt to make her shatter, with her hips hugging mine and her arms holding me pressed against her. Her combination of softness, sweet female pheromones I hadn’t experienced for years going back to before Rebecca, was something I’d missed and somehow overlooked.

  I dared to peek under the carpet and examine that part of my life that belonged to Emily. I forced myself to feel the pain of her loss, staring right at the reality of how my life would have been different if she hadn’t been killed in that accident. It was something I’d not had the courage to look at again. Somehow, Shannon brought back those days like a spirit from the past.

  Maybe the old Marco hadn’t been such a dumb fuck after all. Maybe that’s where my mojo, my secret of success lay. It was a shame I’d laid it down with tuber roses and lilies at that little grave in Santa Rosa. Maybe, contrary to what I’d told myself these past fifteen years, that was the day all this craziness started, and maybe, just maybe it had nothing to do with Rebecca.