Hot Flash (14 page)

Thanks to my dear mother-in-law, whose advice I took to heart, my marriage has been immensely successful. Henry, God bless him, has never had an inkling who truly wears the pants in this family.

It’s worked perfectly for me and I do hope you find it works for you, as well.

Sincerely,

Every midafternoon, I seem to hit a sugar low. Or maybe that’s when my self-control is at its weakest. All I’m certain of is that three o’clock usually finds me searching for Big E. Not that he’s exactly hard to find. But he knows it’s time to cough up something high in fat and even higher in carbs.

My chef’s whites were even more decorated with the day’s menu than usual because the Future Vampires of America had their convention at La Papillon that week. I’d been having difficulty with the faux blood and desperately needed a shower. En route to the pastry chef’s domain, Mandy snagged me.

“You gotta come now.”

Intent on my upcoming sugar fix, it wasn’t easy to change my course. “Where?”

“The Classical Cookware is having its reception right now. I want to introduce you to Aiden Campbell.”

“Give me fifteen minutes to change.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “There’s no time to spare. He might leave.”

“I can’t go looking like this. I’m covered in faux blood!”

Mandy grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the elevators. “You look great.”

I so did not, but I patted down my hair and hoped it didn’t look as awful as I feared, because Mandy on a mission was impossible to stop.

Once we arrived and acclimated ourselves to the crowded ballroom, Mandy pointed toward a man at the far end of the room. “There he is.”

Okay. She likes nerds, but her taste can’t be this awful? “The man by the lectern?”

“Yeah. Isn’t he great?”

I bit back a request for her to define
great
. The man she indicated was about five feet, five inches tall, assuming he wasn’t wearing lifts, three-hundred pounds, and wore a squirrel on his head. Honest. It was either alive or had to be the worst toupee ever created. “I thought you said he looks like Harrison Ford.”

“His eyes look like Harrison’s.”

Since the little man’s back was to me, I couldn’t check out his eyes. But my gaze was transfixed by the squirrel. Was it hoarding cocktail peanuts? I kept expecting it to move.

The man chose that moment to do a little moving of his own. He turned, giving me a view of him from the front.

But my gaze wasn’t drawn to his eyes. He wasn’t wearing a tie and his shirt collar was open, revealing enough hair to reforest Somalia. Either that, or the squirrel had lost his tail. All in all, he reminded me of a Mini-Me version of the abominable snowman—without the snow.

After a sustained shocked silence, I finally moved my gaze up to take in the little man’s eyes. They looked more like Igor in Gene Wilder’s
Frankenstein
. “When was your last eye exam, Mandy?”

“Last month.” Then she realized I was giving her a hard time. “What’s your problem? Come on, let’s go meet Aiden.”

She began making her way toward him. I trailed her, wondering if she’d forgive me if I slipped out the service door. “Don’t you think he’s kind of short?”

“Short? He’s over six feet tall—Oh. Not the short guy. Behind him. That’s Aiden.”

Whoa. The man in question was tall, fully muscled in all the right places. Better yet, no animal headgear. Mandy was right. Aiden did resemble Harrison Ford, back in his early Indiana Jones days. Wowwie.

Best of all, his eyes met mine as we approached and he looked at me like he thought I was as hot as he was.

“Hey, Aiden. This is Jill, the one I told you about,” said Mandy, with a flourish of her hand in my direction.

“You didn’t say nearly enough.” He gave me the kind of look every woman recognizes as
interested. Very interested
.

Cute, sexy, and interested? What more could a woman ask for in a traveling salesman? I wanted to fall to the floor and grab him by the knees in gratitude. Instead I shot him a similar leer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He addressed Mandy, “Why didn’t you tell me about Jill’s dazzling smile?”

So what if it was a line? It was a great one! Probably the best I’d ever heard and light-years ahead of the clichés most men toss around like dirty underwear.

I’m not even going to mention the women who fell for the lines in order for them to become clichés. Aiden was
refreshing
in that he didn’t talk about my eyes, how sexy I was, or my legs. A dazzling smile implies more than good looks. It suggests personality.

“What kind of cookware do you use?” he asked.

“Classical, of course.” It was true. The hotel used Classical and I had a number of their products at home.

“Beauty and brains!”

His smile did something to my knees, making them wobble.

“I hear you’re talented, too,” he said.

“Very.” I grinned wickedly. “Want to—” I was interrupted mid-flirt by Big E, the pastry chef, who seemed to interrupt me quite often lately.

“Jill, thank God I found you. You’re needed in the kitchen.” Big E twisted his hands with worry.

“I’m off the clock.” Dammit, I finally found a guy who might be Mr. Right and couldn’t bear an
interlude interruptus
.

Big E lowered his head to my ear level and whispered, “We need you.”

“I’m busy.” I turned back to Aiden. “What’s your favorite Classical product?”

As Aiden started to answer, Big E shifted around. “You gotta come now.”

I waved my hands for him to go away.

“SOS. 9-1-1! Emergency!,” hollered Big E.

“Is there fire, blood, or broken bones?”

“All three.”

He grabbed my arm and began pulling me away from Aiden and Mandy. I wasn’t about to let Aiden get away, though. As Big E dragged me bodily away, I called to Aiden, “Come to my house for dinner Saturday night? I’ll cook.”

“Love to.” He ran to catch up with us and handed me his business card. “Call me and we’ll arrange.”

“Great,” I called over my shoulder as Big E continued his caveman antics, removing me from the Cocoon Ballroom and my dream salesman.

“This had better be serious, Big E.”

“It is. A Fed is here. Chef Radkin is holding him at bay.”

“A Fed?”

“An INS agent. Spooking the staff.” Shit.

We neared the kitchen and I heard Radkin calling out, “You’ll soon be walking the plank, you skulldug-gerous blackguard.”

Double shit. What the hell was Radkin up to? He sounded like he’d been hitting the bottle again, like that was new. My stomach clenched.

We came to a screeching halt behind the INS agent, who stood in the kitchen doorway. I leaned forward to see what the hell was going on.

Radkin was holding the agent at bay, all right. With a butcher knife that Miguel had sharpened earlier. In his other hand, Radkin was holding a large stockpot lid like a shield.

He directed the line cooks, “Men, toss the booty overboard!” He shouted at the INS agent, “You’ll not get my pirate’s treasure!” Then, like a movie swashbuckler, Radkin brandished his butcher knife. Overhead fluorescent lighting sent a chilling gleam down the knife’s steel tip.

I tapped the INS agent’s shoulder to get him to step aside, then slipped between him and Radkin. The chef smiled when he caught sight of me. The kitchen staff behind him looked extremely relieved.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“‘Lo, Ms. Morganstern.”

I sighed since there was little point in correcting him about my name right at the moment. The knife in his hand caught the light from overhead and gleamed dangerously.

His smile turned into a pout. His lower lip trembled. “The men are mutinying.”

I scanned the kitchen and while I saw signs of fear, I didn’t see anything to indicate mutiny. “What makes you think that?”

“They want him”—he gestured toward the agent—”to lead them. The plank’s too good for him!”

I caught the agent’s eye, and it appeared he was about to leap at Radkin. I shook my head for him not to, letting him know I could handle Radkin. The agent seemed to get the message. That was when I noticed Mandy and Aiden had come up behind the agent and Big E, having followed me from the ballroom.

Perfect. Just perfect. I made a shooing motion at Mandy, thinking she’d get the hint to get out of there, but she ignored me and instead sent me an okay gesture with her right hand. Aiden smiled
his
dazzling smile and I wanted to curl up in a fetal position. The last thing I needed was an audience to Radkin’s insanity.

I spun and glared at the kitchen staff. None of them would meet my eye. “Which one of you failed to lock up the sherry?”

Miguel looked sheepish and I knew it was him. I schooled my expression to something more placid and faced Radkin, wishing Davin Wesley was here because he was welcome to fix
this
mess. Everyone appeared to be waiting for me to do something, so I thought fast. “Your men aren’t mutinying, they’re merely stunned by your leadership.”

I didn’t know what else to say, but wanted to calm him and get him to give me the knife. Maybe if I played along with his delusion something would occur to me. “The men are extremely loyal to you. Did you ask this gentleman for his papers or documentation?”

Radkin looked confused. “No. He’s a scoundrel. A cur. A miscreant. Probably on Napoleon’s payroll. His papers are likely forged.”

I gestured to the INS agent. “Give me your badge.”

He slipped it from his coat and handed it to me.

“As I thought,” I cried melodramatically. Would Radkin go along with this, I wondered and figured it depended on exactly how much sherry he’d imbibed. “Our boss, the king of Estovennia, personally vouched for this man.”

I showed Radkin the badge. Hell if I knew whether his fantasy ran to kings or queens. If he was stuck in the Napoleonic era and knew a lot of historical facts, there wasn’t much chance my plan would work since I’d slept through that week of world history class. But it was the only shot I had at calming him without calling in Security. “Look, this is his royal seal of approval!”

“Oh! I see! I see! Why didn’t you tell me?” he chided the agent. “If you’d mentioned the king, why, I’d have welcomed you with open arms!”

Since he still had the knife in his hands and was waving it drunkenly, being welcomed by his open arms didn’t hold much appeal.

The INS agent hung back and I wondered if he packed heat. For an instant I felt like an actress on a cheesy TV program talking about someone carrying a gun. But there was nothing about this situation that reeked of camembert.

“Men,” Radkin bellowed. “Prepare a feast to welcome the king’s own man!”

Once it became clear the INS agent was about to get past the chef, the entire kitchen staff, Miguel, Juan, Jose, and all the others skedaddled out the back door.

The agent attempted to chase after them, but Radkin blocked his path, yelling, “Lily-livered, yellow-bellied vermin!”

“Don’t worry, Radkin. They’ve probably gone to get feast supplies. And speaking of feasts …”

“Yes, Ms. Morganstern?”

“I need that knife to slice the royal majestic beef in preparation for the feast.”

“S’right.”

He handed me the blade, which I carefully put away, out of his reach. I hoped he wouldn’t search out another weapon; the kitchen was filled with sharp objects. “If you’ll come with me to your office, maybe we can discuss the menu?”

“Very well.”

Careful to protect my boobature, I gestured toward his office and he scampered past me, then stopped near the office doorway.

“I’ll be there in a sec, Radkin. Let me instruct Big E on the pastries we’ll need.”

He nodded happily and toddled off.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I returned the badge to the agent. “Big E, please take care of him while I handle Radkin.”

The agent did not look happy, but considering what had transpired, I didn’t expect any better. He said, “Your chef is insane. Perhaps a call to the police would be in order?”

I looked at Big E. “Call Security and have them alert detox.”

Mandy stepped from behind the agent. “I’m the catering manager. Why don’t you come with me to my office where we can wait for Jill to join us after she’s finished here?”

Thankfully, he appeared to be appeased as they headed off together. Mandy has that effect on most men.

“Well done.” Aiden patted me on the back. “You were magnificent.”

I opened my mouth to deny his compliment, but Radkin popped out of his office door with the stockpot lid still in his hand.

“Ms. Morganstern. Are you ready to get started making babies?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dear Jill,

I’ve enclosed my answers to your survey and I’m glad I completed it. It really got me thinking about life, marriage, men, and families.

Frederick is my second husband. I had a very short and very passionate first marriage. Here’s what I learned: having
no
man is much better than having a bad man. I’m not saying my first husband was a criminal or anything. He was simply bad news for me. On the surface a man may seem perfect, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be the perfect mate for you.