Midnight Madness

Marly nodded. “Thanks.”

“You have an art degree?”

“No.” She let the word lie there, unadorned and bald. She wasn’t about to explain about dropping out of college after her junior year to help pay her father’s medical bills. She’d dragged him to an endocrinologist not covered by the welfare program, and it was thanks to that he was alive today. But oh, God, the bills…five months to go until she was at a zero balance with the hospital. Just a short five months.

She really had no regrets. She had her dad, and as Ma had pointed out—not too gently—she couldn’t have made a living as an artist anyway. So here she was, hair-dresser and accused martyr. Her dad hated the fact that she was in debt on his account—of course he’d found out. Ma said she deserved it, interfering like she had and thinking she knew better than the doc at the VA hospital. Always thinking she was smarter than everyone.

Great, Ma—Marly had said, to her shame—then when you get sick, you can rot in the VA. You can be a social security number taking up a bed, aware that the administrative staff just wants you to die so they can give that bed to somebody else.

Marly had no idea why she could never do anything right for her mother. Was it because her parents had waited ten years to have a child and she had drastically changed the dynamic of their marriage? She couldn’t answer that question, and she’d never wanted to put her father in the position of having to answer it.

The Hammer brought her back to the present. “You’re a really talented artist, you know.”

“Thank you.” She sectioned a piece of his hair, slid a piece of foil under it and painted it with the smelly color from her bowl. Then she folded it up and secured it while she went on to another section.

“Ever want to paint canvases or furniture full time, instead of hair?”

“I love what I do, Governor.” And it was true—she did. But had she ever dreamed of more free time to paint? Of course.

“Please,” he said, “call me Jack.”

Oh, right. Because I’m The One. “Okay, Jack. So now that you’ve read an entire dossier on my life and times, why don’t you share some of your history with me?”

“Good point. Where would you like me to start?”

The governor now had little foil wings at each of his temples, which unfortunately didn’t diminish his sex appeal. They just made him look like some kind of goofy—but hot—space alien. She tried not to laugh.

“What’s your secret dream?” she asked him.

“To be a rock star,” he said promptly. “Can’t you see me with head-banger hair and tattoos on my chest and maybe some KISS makeup?”

He would have to bring up the subject of his chest again. “No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“You’re crushing me, here. Absolutely crushing me.”

“Governor—Jack—you’re so Republican that you squeak.” And he was, judging by his looks alone. However, now that she thought about it, his actions toward her hadn’t been very conservative at all.

“I’ve never squeaked in my life.” Jack straightened and she remembered the breadth of his chest and the corded muscle of his arms. “And what do my politics have to do with anything?” He looked offended.

She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s just that…I think most rock stars vote for the other side.” And then there’s me—I didn’t even make it to the polls during the last election. She wasn’t proud of that.

“You’re stereotyping.”

She shrugged. Maybe she was.

“You’re trying to tell me that because of my politics, I’m not allowed to dream about being a rock star? That makes no sense at all.”

“Yes it does,” she insisted. “Rock is all about rebellion and anger and doing what feels good—calling bullshit on the establishment. You are the establishment! You’re up there in Tallahassee trying to legislate morality, which by the way is never going to work….”

“You know,” he said calmly, “I don’t think you have the faintest idea of what I do in Tallahassee. I don’t think you have a clue what a Republican is, and I know you don’t understand my personal agenda.”

Marly swallowed, set down her color bowl and brush on a table, and folded her arms. “Oh, really? What is it?”

Jack poked his tongue into his cheek and cocked his head at her. “In one sentence or less, I’m for streamlining big government, sweeping educational reform and the restructuring of our tax system. Does that sound evil to you?”

“Depends on the specifics.” But inwardly she was cynical. Streamlining big government was Republican code for “throwing out all social programs” and the restructuring of our tax system clearly meant “giving breaks to the rich while worsening the financial situation of the poor and middle class.” She only just refrained from curling her lip.

“Well, if you had about three days to listen, I’d explain it all to you. Now, what other crazy ideas do you have about Republicans? That we’re all religious nuts and right-leaning and only have sex in the missionary position—solely for reproductive purposes?”

“No—”

“Because I can assure you that none of those things are true of me—and especially not the last one.”

His blue gaze bored into her and all of a sudden Marly found herself remembering that the man did have a little hair on his toes. Hmm, wonder if Shirlie’s right about that toe hair/size connection?

How was it possible for the blasted man to look sexy with foil wings on his head? Nobody looked good in foil. Except for him! He was in the most emasculated position possible—at least with clothes on—and yet he vibrated with testosterone. He wore it like a tailor-made suit.

It was lowering to have to place herself on a level with Nicky and Shirlie, but the shoe fit: Marly wondered with sudden intensity what Jack Hammersmith looked like completely naked, and whether there was truth in advertising. Rock Hudson was gay, she reminded herself. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Governor, would you like something to drink while we’re waiting?” The color had to stay in for a few minutes longer.

“Jack,” he said again. “And that would be great. Just water, please.”

“Will Frick and Frack need to test it for toxins or killer microbes?”

“You tell them that if they stick their tongues into my drink, they’ll be guarding the mail room next week.”

“I’d be delighted.” Marly left the room, slipping again through the twin slabs of muscle outside the door. They didn’t so much as blink at her.

Peggy, After Hours’ massage therapist and third owner, was humming in the kitchen. “Hi, sweetie.”

“You’re humming again,” said Marly, oddly touched. She hadn’t seen Peggy this happy in forever. She was definitely in love.

“Oh. Sorry. Am I getting any more musical? Probably not.” She grinned. “So do you really have Jack Hammersmith back there for color? I saw the limo and the security detail.”

Marly nodded. “Yeah, those are hard to miss. Can you believe it? This is great PR for us.”

“Just watch out,” Peg warned her. “I hear the guy is relentless when it comes to good-looking women.”

Marly shrugged. “He’s already tried—I’ll give you the juicy details later.”

Peg rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait. Hey, Troy and I have a couple of spare tickets to the Dolphins’ game. You want to come?”

Marly would rather be thrown naked into a bed of fire ants than attend a football game. “Thanks so much, but I’m off to visit my da—uh, parents. You should ask Shirlie.”

Peggy frowned. “Well, I think she still has a thing for Troy.”