Joyride

Determined to mend that broken heart, Corinne mulled over Kyle’s comment about “playground time.” It took her all of two seconds to associate that concept with her cousin Sandee. Wild, fun-loving Sandee—the complete opposite of mild, sedate Corinne. Maybe, on the outside, they were as different as oil and water, but mix them up, and some secret part merged, forming a special world only they shared. A world where they let down their guards and discussed their dreams and fears…a world where they discovered that, deep inside, they weren’t so different after all.

Fortunately, Universal Shower Door owed Corinne several weeks’ vacation. As the guys cheered her on, Corinne phoned her cousin in Vegas who, after hearing about Tony’s two-timing, had demanded Corinne “get her butt out here, now.”

Kyle’s friends then took up a collection. After a group hug, where Corinne confessed with a giggle that she’d always wanted to be held by four men at once, she was now driving a stolen Ferrari across the country with three hundred and fifty dollars in her new silver-beaded purse.

It was like being a glamorous Louise minus the Thelma.

Two days later, Corinne arrived on Sandee’s doorstep. After squeals of reunion and multiple hugs, Sandee pulled Corinne inside the pink-and-orange living room that made her feel as though she’d stepped into a sunset.

Or, considering she was restarting her life, a sunrise.

Sandee stuck a cigarette between her glossy peach lips and fired the tobacco with the snap of a silver lighter. After exhaling a stream of blue smoke, she smiled—an expression that had always looked more secretive than happy on Sandee. “We still look alike,” she said in her signature husky voice.

Their mothers had been identical twins, so Corinne and Sandee did look eerily alike, but their outward personalities were about as similar as Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow.

Sandee planted her hands on her curvaceous hips, barely covered in a pair of denim shorts, and gave Corinne a once-over. “And we’re still the same size.”

Corinne darted a glance at Sandee’s breasts. “Well, give or take a few cups.”

Sandee waved her frosted-pink fingernails, tipped with tiny red roses, in a dismissive motion. “Honey, inserts can turn Bs into Ds.” She narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Corinne’s hair. “What’s with the bottle blond?”

“It’s hot gold. I colored it—” She bit her lip, hating to confess the truth, but knowing Sandee was the one person to whom she could. Corinne took a fortifying breath. “I colored it to remind Tony of his beloved Ferrari,” she finished quickly.

Sandee took a long drag on her cigarette, her eyes shooting fire, like the color of her hair. “That bast—” She released the rest of the word on a burst of smoke. She took a few steps, pivoted, and jabbed her cigarette at the air as she spoke. “Honey, never change yourself for a man. Never, never, never. Been there, done that.” Sandee’s blue eyes softened with a look that gave away that “been there, done that” hadn’t been so long ago. “If you feel an overwhelming urge to change something, honey, change it for you.” She shrugged apologetically. “Uh, sorry I cussed.”

“Cuss away,” murmured Corinne, but her thoughts were on the other things her cousin had said. Tough, strong Sandee changed herself for a guy? He must have been a very special man to have pierced her tough-skinned “been there, done that” exterior. From the pained expression in Sandee’s eyes, Corinne guessed her cousin had been pierced all the way to her heart. But even if that were true, Corinne knew Sandee would never let the world know.

“Cuss away,” Corinne repeated, realizing she’d been staring intently at her cousin, but not wanting to voice what she’d been thinking. “You can call Tony whatever you like. Except Tiger Boy.” Corinne grinned, feeling silly and happy that she could play with that term.

“You got it.” Sandee smiled, that sly, secretive smile that reminded Corinne of the Cheshire Cat. “No T. Boy. Besides, I have a list of much better names for that bozo after what he did to you. But I’ll not use them all at once—I’ll sprinkle ’em like salt on food…just enough to spice up our conversations.” She pointed at Corinne’s high heels. “Speaking of spice, dig the stilettos.” Her blue-eyed gaze roamed up the silvery body-hugging dress. “Cool look, too. Looks good with that heart necklace Aunt Charlene gave you.”

Corinne’s fingers touched the locket, the sole item from her former life. A gift from her mom on Corinne’s sixteenth birthday. A flickering of sadness rose within her as she realized she’d done exactly what her mother had done so many times—run away from a man. Had all the men her mother run away from been two-timing creeps like Tony? Or had her mother been incapable of sticking around, loving any man? The last thought filled Corinne with horror as she clasped the cold metal heart. I’m not incapable, she told herself, hoping it was true.

“Plus you’re in shape,” Sandee continued.

“Running.”

Sandee raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “You always were an outdoor girl.”

“And bowling.”

Sandee grimaced. “Don’t tell me you rent those hideous shoes that everybody and their grandfather’s worn.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Corinne smiled, knowing this conversation was totally grossing out Sandee, who probably wore gold high heels to church—if she went. “You look great—what do you do to work out?”

After swiping a flame-red hair out of her eye, Sandee winked saucily. “I like indoor sports.”

Corinne wanted to say something glib, make it seem that she, Conspicuous Corinne, liked indoor sports, too. But she’d never had the chance to discover if she was good at that particular sport. Based on Tony’s double-dipping, she was obviously a disappointment. How stupid she must have looked to him, sheathed in freezer wrap, when he opened that door…come to think of it, he never even checked out her sexy, see-through ensemble. His gaze never left hers…wow, Corinne McCourt goes all out to made her man howl and he doesn’t even whimper…

“Hey, Earth to cuz,” said Sandee, concern darkening her eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, honey, let it go. He’s not worth it.”

Corinne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Good,” Sandee said softly. “’Cause I have an idea and I think it’s gonna work out swell.” Sandee tapped the tip of her cigarette on a ceramic ashtray with the words “Circus Circus” in bright crimson script around its white perimeter. “Here’s the deal. You need a place to stay and I need a favor.”

Corinne’s antennae went up. She sensed “Sandee Trouble” just like when they were teenagers. Back then, Corinne did favors like sit in for Sandee in classes while she played hooky, play waitress at Sandee’s job while she partied, and once—one gloriously magical summer evening—she filled in for Sandee on a date that Sandee had accidentally double-booked. Fortunately, the guy had only met Sandee once, so he didn’t know the look-alike cousin wasn’t really the girl he’d asked out. An anxious Corinne had worn one of Sandee’s skimpy shifts and slathered on her makeup and perfume—something intoxicatingly spicy called “Forbidden.”

Corinne remembered shaking as she squirted the stuff on…and shaking even more, later, when she experienced her first kiss. A mouth-tingling, mind-melding, twenty-minute lip-lock whose memory, to this day, turned her insides liquid.

“So what d’ya think?” Sandee said.

“Is it forbidden?” Corinne asked breathily. She grinned as though she were teasing, but with a jolt, she knew that’s exactly why she’d come to Vegas. To be dramatic, uninhibited, forbidden. To spend two weeks being the furthest thing from the old, goody-goody, Inconspicuous Corinne.

“Forbidden? More like fun and easy money, honey!” Sandee grabbed Corinne’s hand and led her to the couch. “Take a load off—I’ll bring out some snacks and we’ll discuss the specifics.”

Corinne sank into the overstuffed pink-and-tangerine-striped couch and watched Sandee sashay out of the room, her shorts barely covering her behind. And at the end of those long, tanned legs, her bright pink manicured toes were wedged into a pair of fuchsia, sequined high-heel sandals.

Corinne smiled. Maybe her cousin’s clothes were abbreviated, but her style was unabridged. Always had been. As Sandee had always boldly proclaimed, life was too short to hide your best assets.

So what were her best assets? Considering she’d worn see-through plastic and Tony’s gaze hadn’t slipped once, she was left a bit clueless. She raised one leg, and checked out her calf. The muscle was nicely molded from her daily runs. She ran her fingers up her thighs, firm, to her tummy, flat. She tilted her head and sighed. The tummy she’d once wished would soon be round. “Well, you’re not gonna be round for a while,” she whispered.

When her stomach growled, Corinne realized she hadn’t eaten since that pit stop in some small town near the Utah border where she’d grabbed a bag of chips and a soda. Reminded her of the nights she sat up waiting for Tony, munching on a pretzel or a carrot, not wanting to spoil her dinner because she figured they’d still eat the stew—or lasagna or casserole—that’d been sitting lukewarm on the stove the last two-plus hours. After a few more pretzels, Corinne would give up and go to bed. In the morning, Tony would apologize, claiming he’d had a late business meeting with a client.

“A frizzy blond-haired client,” Corinne murmured. How could I have been so naive?

Click click click.

The staccato of Sandee’s heels brought Corinne’s thoughts back to the present. She looked up as her cousin crossed the faux wood floor of the small dining room, carrying a white wicker tray piled high with food and several pop-sized bottles. Corinne could finally walk straight in her stilettos, but it would take some practice for her to simultaneously carry trays of food like Sandee. That girl was multitalented.

“Egg rolls,” explained Sandee, pointing at some crispy fried cylinders with her rose-tipped index finger. Her finger waved over the rest of the items, like Vanna White gesturing over letters. “A chili relleno, chicken nuggets, some carrot sticks and two Mai Tais.” She set the tray on the glass coffee table next to a stack of women’s magazines.

Sandee then plopped herself onto the couch and uncorked one of the bottles with “Maui Zowie Mai Tai” embossed in purple letters on a shiny label. She toasted Corinne with a short “Here’s looking at you, kiddo,” took a sip, then began talking rapidly. “So, here’s the deal, I got this job at a local casino…”

Corinne uncorked her own Mai Tai and tasted it, liking how it fizzled sweetly on her tongue. She settled back into the cushy couch, eager to hear one of Sandee’s life stories.

“And then this dude Hank enters my life,” Sandee 30 Joyride continued, picking up an egg roll. She paused, her blue-lined eyes misting over as she looked at the roll. “Reminds me of a baby bird he picked off the asphalt once. Little thing must have fallen out of its nest. Hank—we was driving past—lurches to a stop, hops out, and picks up that little bird. Big ol’ semi barely missed Hank as he carried that little feathered creature across the road to safety.” Sandee sniffed and set the egg roll back onto the plate. “For a guy with a record, he has such a soft heart,” she whispered, her voice choking.

Sandee, crying? Could this Hank guy be the one who twisted her heart? Corinne handed her one of the cocktail napkins, then sat quietly while Sandee dabbed carefully at her eyes, expertly wiping away her tears without mussing her makeup. Corinne was way impressed. When she cried, she needed a mirror and multiple tissues to do damage control.

When Sandee gained control of herself, Corinne quietly said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You kiddin’? Honey, this is part of the deal. You need to know what’s happened.” Rolling back her shoulders, Sandee cleared her throat and continued, “Hank was a lightweight contender years ago. He works as a bouncer now, but he’s mostly on standby, so his paychecks get sketchy.”

Sandee wiped her fingers on a cocktail napkin with “The Mirage” printed diagonally across it. “On our second date, Hank starts tellin’ me I’m ‘the one’ and his heart is mine forever. I’m used to stuff like that on maybe the fourth or fifth date, but on the second?” Shooting Corinne a can-you-believe it look, Sandee took another sip of her Mai Tai.

Yes, Corinne could believe it. Sandee always had that effect on men. Even when she was fourteen, the year thirteen-year-old Corinne and her mom moved to Texas. Shy, quiet Corinne had at first been aghast at her cousin who wore tube tops, skintight jeans and bright-red lipstick that matched her hair. And when the two of them walked down a street, Corinne couldn’t believe the number of catcalls and whistles Sandee got. It was like walking through a human jungle.

“So this Hank fell for you,” Corinne said, enthralled with sultry Sandee’s power over the opposite sex.