Maybe all they needed was more time together.
For now, he had a job to do. He put in the call, then set off. The shop wasn’t far, so he’d likely be first on the scene.
WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG with Rick? Samantha wondered, driving to Mirror, Mirror. Was he so hurt that she’d turned him down that he had to run away? Rick had never been flaky. No. He’d acted as if it was important. What was he up to?
Another Rick West mystery. There was a message there. She didn’t really know the man. He was a wonderful fantasy lover and that was all he could be. She shouldn’t get comfortable. Probably didn’t want to. Eventually, it would turn ordinary as it had with Barry maybe. Before long she’d forget who she was and what she wanted. Maybe they should stop.
No. No. No. Everything in her protested the idea.
Luckily, she had work to do, so she pushed away the quandary for now, grateful to find Bianca and Elisha waiting for her in the Mirror, Mirror parking lot.
Bianca was signing off on the floral delivery when Samantha walked up to the pair.
“Just in time,” Bianca said and introduced her to Elisha.
The girl made her feel odd…uneasy, really. It wasn’t the Goth look or the pierces or even the barbed-wire tattoo running up her forearm. It was something predatory in her eyes, a calculating glitter that made Samantha glad the girl wouldn’t be staffing the cash register this week.
Maybe that was unfair. Bianca trusted Elisha and she seemed eager enough to get started when Samantha led her to the dressing room. Pointing out the hats and wigs, Samantha noticed that the top row of cupboards sported new locks. Very odd. Darien and his storage, she guessed.
“Got it, Samantha,” Elisha said, drawing her attention back. “Consider this room handled. Don’t even think about it.” She seemed almost too confident, but Samantha soon had her hands too full to ponder the combination of false confidence and a predatory gleam.
First, she had to listen to Bianca’s ideas about the flowers and the grapes she’d bought. Lord. The woman had been reading too many art photography books.
Then the clients began arriving and all strangely overdressed. Summer clung to the October days and it was easily eighty degrees outside, yet the women wore blazers or light sweaters, the men leather jackets, suit coats or shiny athletic sweatshirts. Many were from Chicago, which might be chillier, so perhaps they’d driven straight from the airport, but still…
The women were tattooed and hard-eyed like Elisha and they wanted to pose as biker chicks or hookers in black leather and vinyl, grousing when Bianca brought a flower anywhere near them.
The girls bothered Samantha, but the men were downright scary. The wedding began to seem more like a World Wrestling Federation convention than loving nuptials. And there was none of the usual wedding-party giggling and chatting, either. Maybe these were the distant relatives and the close ones would show up later in the week with stars in their eyes.
She wished Rick were here. They made a good team and his steady solidity calmed her. But she didn’t have time to think about Rick right now either.
“How about a flower to cover that?” Bianca waved a tiger lily over the skull tattoo between the breasts of a dangerous-looking blonde sitting, elbow on a side-angled knee, on the black leather ottoman. The woman had obviously worn the black-leather vest to display the tattoo, not hide it.
The blonde ignored Bianca and glared at Samantha. “Just take the picture, wouldja?”
“Got it,” she said, snapping the release, grateful the wedding clients would be gone soon. This job would bring in a lot of money, but she almost dreaded the rest of the week, hating how these clients clashed with the warmly hopeful atmosphere of Bedroom Eyes.
The blonde clumped off in jackboots, chains clanking like the ghost of Jacob Marley.
“I’m getting the feeling these girls don’t even like flowers,” Bianca said thoughtfully. “And that last girl ate all my grapes.”
Samantha tried not to roll her eyes. Only a couple more hours of this and the day would feel normal again. The last wedding client was due at two.
“Bianca, what the—bleep—are you doin’ here?” Darien stood in the doorway to the studio, his face red, his tone furious. “I told you to go—bleepin’—shopping. Let’s get the—bleep—out of here.”
Samantha was startled by the change in the man she’d only seen as cheerful and friendly and solicitous.
“Darien, honey…” Bianca said, startled and embarrassed.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her arm impatiently.
“I’m sorry, Samantha. I don’t want to strand you.” Bianca clearly didn’t know what to make of Darien’s behavior.