Look, But Don't Touch

“I know. But don’t think I’m not on to you. You like to be the one to call the shots. It just seems to me that a woman like you who works with men all the time could find at least one who suits her.”

One thing about Bettina Dane, she didn’t give up. To her, Cat couldn’t possibly be happy until she had a husband or at least a significant other. “Lots of them suit me…through a camera lens. I like my life, just like it is. And that’s how I intend to keep it. I’ve seen too many desperate women willing to give up everything to keep a man.”

“Cat. Look at your sisters. They’re happy, aren’t they?”

“I knew a long time ago that I wasn’t like my sisters. They didn’t like the location moves that came from being military brats. I did. When they married and settled down, they sent out roots that have gone so deep they hardly take a vacation. They say they’re happy—” Cat shrugged “—but so does my mother.”

“What makes you think she’s not?”

“Because she has no life of her own. In the military, an officer’s wife is simply an extension of him. And now he’s retired and she’s switched to caring for grandchildren. She’s never had her own identity.” There was a catch in her voice when she said, “That’s never going to happen to me.”

“I know how much you worry about her, but you’re carving out a lonely life for yourself,” Bettina said. “Who exactly are you waiting for?”

“I’ll know him when I see him. But, for now, I like my life just fine. Besides, where’s your significant other, girlfriend?”

Bettina sighed and admitted, “You’re right. You either marry at eighteen and divorce at twenty or you suddenly realize you’re thirty and there are no available men interested. But the difference in me and you is that I haven’t given up. I like men. I’m just selective.”

“To each her own. Your relationships are selective. My relationships are impersonal.”

“That’s what you told me when you did your first photographs of the hunks for my Bachelor in a Box portfolio. Your work may be impersonal to you, but I have to tell you, Cat, the poor guys who were your subjects told me that it affected them a little differently. They said you’re a vamp.”

Cat smiled. In a way Bettina was right. She could have used experienced models for that shoot but she preferred real men and she’d had to learn how to make them relax. “So? Any good photographer develops her own techniques and if a little flirting gives me what I want on film, I reap the results. The men feel important and nobody gets hurt. And occasionally…well, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying your work so long as you move on. That much of the military life I liked.”

“Being a military brat didn’t seem to bother you,” Bettina agreed.

“Hated the rules and regulations. Loved the travel.”

Bettina took a look out the front window at Cat’s bike and nodded her head in the direction of the parking lot. “I can see that. A motorcycle? I don’t know why that surprises me. Do you intend to ride it to Texas?”

Cat laughed. “I wish. No, I’m driving the El Camino.”

Bettina rolled her eyes. “The truck? I can’t get over that. You have the looks of a sex goddess—every man you meet falls at your feet—and you drive a truck?”

“The El Camino isn’t a truck. It’s a sleek, restored, classic vehicle, a cross between a truck and a convertible. It may not be your style, but I love it. Tell me, what are you driving these days?”

“I drive a white Honda Civic, and the only way anybody notices it is if I park it illegally.”

“Bettina, you may be supplying imaginary lovers for women who are satisfied with a picture and a few phone calls and gifts. But you have the opportunity to see these guys up close and personal. I say you ought to buy yourself a red convertible and drive out to audition your bachelors personally.”

“Not interested,” Bettina said. “I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“You don’t have any pleasure. My career is my pleasure and it works fine for me.”

Bettina nodded. “I suppose. But, unlike you, I think it’s important to build roots. Your sisters may have established domestic roots—well I’m building business roots. Haven’t you ever stopped to think where you’ll be in ten years?”

That made Cat pause for a moment. The future was always out there. She told herself she’d know it when she arrived. She sure as hell didn’t have a game plan to get her there. “Someplace exciting. But for now the near future is enough for me to think about.”

“So what’s the new assignment?”

“I’m going to Texas to shoot a catalog for Sterling Szachon. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He’s Texas’s answer to Donald Trump, a love-’em-and-leave-’em tycoon who’s opening a chain of underwear shops for men.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Bettina said. “Sounds dangerous. Better keep your distance and stick to scouting for those yummy models.”

Cat slapped her hand down on the table. “I know. Why don’t you come with me and help me look for men?”

For a moment Bettina looked startled, then studied Cat thoughtfully. “No way, but I know who might be able to help you—my brother Jesse. He lives in San Antonio.”

“Jesse? Well, I always hire a local assistant. If he’s looking for a job, I’ll talk to him.”

“Jesse, a photographer’s assistant?” Bettina chuckled. “I don’t think so. He’s a rules-and-regulations Texas Ranger now.”

“I guess that means he wouldn’t consider posing for my catalog. If I said you told me to look him up to add him to my portfolio, he’d probably run the other way.”

Bettina laughed. “You got that right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget looking him up. You two would never get along anyway, you run away from rules and regulations. Beside, Texas Rangers only operate in Texas.”

The conversation shifted to Bettina’s new service, Rendezvous. The idea for the service had come about after a busy executive had asked her to arrange a real exotic weekend with a real woman. Now she had as many male clients with special requests as females. And the best part about it was that everything was anonymous.

“That’s great, but I don’t know why the men need you, Bettina,” Cat said. “There are travel agencies who specialize in that sort of thing.”

“Not for the men I deal with. These are high-profile individuals who want complete confidentiality. Since this part of my service caters to the client’s personal needs, it’s very expensive—and business is booming.” She eyed Cat. “You know, I could really use a partner if you ever decide to stop covering the world and find a man of your own.”

Cat laughed. “I don’t need a nine-to-five business and I don’t need a man. You already know that, girlfriend.”

They polished off the chips and tacos, finished their drinks and left, splitting in different directions, Bettina to her Honda and Cat to her Harley. At the last minute Bettina turned back. “You know, Cat, maybe I’m wrong about you and Jesse. You’re very different but you do have some things in common. He has a motorcycle. And he seems to be as much a connoisseur of one-night stands as you.”

“Forget that. First of all, I’m not interested in one-night stands with anyone I know personally.” Cat ticked off her fingers. “Second, Jesse already has a job and I’ve had enough rules and regulations to last a lifetime from my father. And third, unless your brother agrees to audition, I couldn’t even put him in the catalog. So what’s the point in getting in touch?” She dropped her hands. “No, I’ll just have to count on finding some other men who will pose for me.”

“It’s a tough job…” Bettina laughed. “By the way, how do you find out how your models look in a thong?” she asked curiously.

“Simple. I have all my candidates strip.”

JESSE WAS TIRED and he was later than he’d planned.

Clouds were building into swirling black shapes across the murky light of the October moon. The breeze was strong. A storm was brewing.

As Jesse picked up speed and let the wind whip past him, he thought about why he loved his motorcycle—it was controlled power. No arguing, just compliance. But driving through a Texas rainstorm changed the rules. The elements didn’t abide by the rules. Without order, came chaos. He needed to be careful.

The Katy Highway between Houston and San Antonio alternated from busy clusters of strip malls and fast-food outlets to long flat areas of nothing. He’d been summoned for an appointment in San Antonio with the chief the next morning and Jesse James Dane would never be late. A little caffeine would help; he’d pull into the next truck stop.

In the darkness ahead he caught sight of the tail-lights of an eighteen-wheeler running side by side with a smaller truck.

As he came closer, the commercial rig started to weave and the trucker jerked the vehicle back into his lane. After several “near misses” that forced the pickup to either speed up or slow down, Jesse decided he might be driving into trouble.

Jesse hadn’t witnessed a traffic offense in a long time, but it looked as if he was about to. Matters worsened when a light rain began to fall. As Jesse approached, the big rig picked up speed and moved into the passing lane in front of the pickup.

To avoid rear-ending the eighteen-wheeler, the pickup whipped into the inside lane in front of Jesse, forcing him to use his brakes. Normally the bike would have responded but a little sand on a barely wet road caught it and the bike began to slide to the outside lane. For a moment, Jesse thought he had it under control, then the back tire lost traction and the bike skidded into a sudden sideways motion. Jesse swore. He was going to have to lay the bike down. As the eighteen-wheeler that had started the trouble sped out of sight, Jesse’s machine slid across the highway and landed in the ditch with a crunch.

Jesse swore again and pulled himself to a limping stand. Taking a deep breath, he dragged off his helmet, dropped it next to the bike and glanced up to see the pickup driver now backing along the shoulder of the empty highway. He didn’t know why the two vehicles had been playing tag and he couldn’t assume the driver of the pickup was stopping to be a Good Samaritan. He’d been a ranger long enough to know that even the most innocent action could have disastrous consequences. He stepped back, pulled his cell phone from his backpack, and punched in 9-1-1. No service. Damn. The driver was almost at the crash site. Casually, Jesse reached down and picked up one of the rear view mirrors that had snapped off in the skid.