Hot Flash (32 page)

“That’s a relief.”

“Are you still mad at me?” I asked.

“Why should I be mad at you?”

“Because I’m a jerk.”

“I’ve come to expect that from you,” Davin said. “It’s one of your most admirable personality traits.”

I snorted. “I want you to know, I didn’t mean to use you. I wasn’t sure what I wanted.”

“Do you know now?”

“Sorta.” I wasn’t ready to admit I wanted to spend time with him or that my discontentment had lifted when he’d joined us. I wasn’t at all ready for that.

So, of course, he asked, “And what you want
is?”

I glanced around the room, searching for something safe I could say. A few couples were dancing on the parquet dance floor in front of a small orchestra playing a mix of songs. Right now they were playing a slow dance. “I want to dance.”

He looked at the dance floor and raised a lone eyebrow.

“I want to dance
with you
.”

“That can be arranged.” He took my hand and led me to the dance floor. My heart thudded in anticipation over the chance to be embraced by him, the opportunity to be in his arms again. He didn’t disappoint as he swung me into his embrace.

Tucking my head in the cradle formed by his arm and chest, I relaxed for the first time that evening. The music was perfect, as was the lighting. The dance floor was smooth and even, and a little voice inside my head said the man was nearly perfect, too. I couldn’t allow myself to be too swept away. Some light conversation was called for. “I’m very impressed by how well you dance.”

I was pleased by the way my words came out sounding fairly normal rather than as breathless as I felt.

“Do you have any idea of how many middle school dances I have chaperoned?” he asked.

“You teach elementary school.”

“I taught middle school before switching to third grade.”

This was news. I’d always pictured him surrounded by nine-year-olds. “So how many middle school dances have you chaperoned?”

“I lost count at sixty-five. Middle school dances give me hives. However, I did perfect my Lindy.”

“You’re only thirty-five. That dance was out before you were born.”

“Shows what you know.” He stopped, made a few moves, then pulled me back into his arms for a slow dance.

I had to admit, he did the Lindy very well. We were dancing along and I was enjoying the legitimate excuse for snuggling in public thanks to the music, when someone tapped Davin on the shoulder.

“May I cut in?”

The voice sounded familiar and I glanced up. Dad?!?

“Dad,” I cried. “What are you doing out of prison?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dear Friends,

It’s our fiftieth wedding anniversary!

Please join the celebration!

Zelda and William Morgan

8:00 p.m.

Grand Ballroom

La Papillon Hotel and Casino

Black Tie

Dad enfolded me into his arms for the rest of the slow dance. He didn’t answer my question, so I asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“You think I’d miss your mother’s and my anniversary party?”

“You’re supposed to be in the state pen.” I couldn’t believe he was acting as if nothing was wrong. “You know, the place with orange suits, not black tuxedos.”

He laughed and led me in a swift dance move. After a quick dip, he said, “I think they played this song at our wedding reception. I wish you could have seen your mother. She was so beautiful. I thought I’d won every jackpot. Still do.”

“Mom
is
beautiful.” She’s also interfering and oblivious to the real world, but I suppose Dad was feeling romantic and didn’t much want to deal with reality—like SWAT teams and dragnets to cart him back to prison. “Dad, I’m worried. I’ve got my cell phone. Let’s call your attorney. I’m sure he can help get you out of this fix.”

“Jill, this is one fix I don’t need my attorney to get me out of.”

He probably didn’t need an attorney. He probably needed a team of them. I wondered if Gloria Allred was available.

Just then, the orchestra leader called for my dad to come to the podium. Dad released me, saying, “It’s time to dance with your mom.”

Reluctant to allow him to walk away, I said, “As soon as you’re done, we have to talk.”

“I promise to explain everything then,” he said, pulling a long, narrow jewelry case out of his inside front pocket. He flashed a white toothy grin. Amazing. Prison dentists now did teeth bleaching?

“I’ve got the perfect gift for your mother.” He flipped the jewelry box open and I stopped breathing. An ornate diamond necklace twinkled at me.

Dad snapped the case shut and headed for the podium before I got my breath back. Oh. My. God. No wonder he didn’t want to call his lawyer. This would be way over his head. The man specialized in white-collar crime, not prison escape followed by jewelry heist.

I joined my friends at the edge of the dance floor and watched Dad present the case to Mom. The necklace took her breath away, too, judging by the way she gasped. She smiled sweetly up at his grinning face. After tonight, they were going to lock him up for much longer than his original sentence.

In a matter of minutes, Dad had draped the necklace around her neck and swept her out on the dance floor for their celebratory dance.

All of the party guests hovered around the edges of the dance floor and started applauding at the sight of my parents dancing.

Are you the type who gets choked up over AT&T commercials, the smell of babies, and anything remotely sentimental? I am. It’s not any wonder, then, that I had tears in my eyes as I watched my parents dance.

Yes, I was worried about Dad being hauled off to jail for the rest of his natural life, but there was something very sweet and heart-warming about the way my folks gazed into each others’ eyes as they swayed to the music. No matter how odd my parents are, they have a love that will last a lifetime.

Susan stepped closer to me and asked, “Do you think your dad escaped from prison?”

“I hope not.”

Connie suggested, “Maybe they gave him some kind of get-out-of-jail-free-for-the-night pass? For good behavior?”

Davin commented, “I don’t think prison works that way.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.” I nervously chewed my lip. “But look at them. Look at the glow on my mother’s face.”

“Are you sure that’s not a reflection of the chandeliers in the diamond necklace she’s wearing?”

“Do you think my dad escaped, then robbed a jewelry store?”

“Jailbreak and Tiffany’s jewel theft, news at eleven,” quipped Connie.

My stomach began churning as if the ballroom was on a cruise ship during a monsoon. Stealing wasn’t in Dad’s character, I assured myself. He’s more of a “mess with the accounting methods” type, a white-collar criminal. But I was anxious. He’d been hanging out with the wrong elements in the state pen. There was no telling what new skills he’d learned. Lock picking, jewelry heisting, grand larceny. The sky’s the limit.

“As soon as they finish dancing, I’ll tell him he has to go back. Right away.” I didn’t like the way my voice came out sounding like Minnie Mouse.

“Maybe there’s some other explanation,” said Davin. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. Then not so reassuringly, he added, “He needs to contact his attorney and arrange to turn himself in.”

“Whoa,” said Connie. “Look over there.”

I glanced in the direction in which she pointed and observed a man in a black suit. Not that the room wasn’t filled with men in black, but this man stood out from the run-of-the-mill high-society riffraff. Maybe it was his starched white shirt, maybe it was the way he seemed focused on all the party guests, maybe it was the way he was watching everyone and everything so intently. I turned back to Connie. “Do you mean that guy?”

“That guy, as you so casually put it, is law enforcement. I could swear he’s Secret Service, but that’s not likely. See the earpiece he’s wearing?”

Sure enough, the man was wearing an earpiece. “Maybe it’s a hearing aid or an iPod?”

Connie shook her head. “It’s part of his surveillance kit. Trust me, I know.”

Susan added, “I see three more of them. Over by the door.”

Sure enough, all three men looked as rigidly observant as the first man. I noticed several hotel security men milling about in the hallway outside the door. Gradually, the men spread throughout the ballroom and began working their way, like spokes on a wheel, to the center. My dad. Shit.

“It may be too late for your dad to turn himself in,” said Davin.

My forehead broke out in perspiration. What a lousy time for a hot flash. “He’s got to turn himself in. Otherwise they’ll probably throw away the key.” I had to do something. But what? First, I needed to make Dad aware of what was going on. I headed across the dance floor, resisting an urge to run for the nearest deep freeze to cool off and tapped on Mom’s shoulder.

Her eyes were dreamy as she looked at me, then her expression changed to confusion. “What?”

“I’m cutting in.” I grabbed Dad’s arm and swung him around the dance floor, closer to the exit. My chest felt hot, beads of moisture formed on my upper lip, even my fingertips were burning up. If I could convince him to go now, then I could head for the closest ice sculpture. “You’ve got to get out of here, Dad. I’ll lead you over to the door.”

“You’re not supposed to cut in on a celebration dance, Jill. I thought your mother and I taught you better manners.”

“Manners be damned.” That was when the hot flash hit its peak. Nuclear reactions had nothing on this puppy. Although Dad’s situation was of paramount importance, visions of ice buckets danced in my head and I struggled against the impulse to disrobe. “If you value your freedom, Dad, you’ll get out of here now. The police have arrived. Go. Now.”

Just then, the first agent had made his way to the podium and said something to the orchestra leader, who then said on the mike, “Mr. Morgan, you’re wanted.”

He was wanted, all right. Probably by law enforcement in all fifty states. “Run for it!” I cried.

“Trust me. It’s fine.” Dad stepped away and walked to the podium.

I dropped my arms and just stood there, my heart breaking. At least he was willing to face the music like a man, like the good example he’d always given me about living up to your responsibilities. But I still wished he’d run for it.

When he stepped up to the podium, several agents came up, began talking with Dad, then led him to the exit. Rather than slap handcuffs on him, more agents and hotel security joined him just outside the doorway.

He was surrounded by the agents as he made his way back into the room, approached the orchestra leader, and borrowed a microphone.

Maybe the police were going to let him say goodbye before hauling him off?

“Thank you to our friends for coming to help us celebrate fifty years of marital bliss,” said Dad. “Waiter, please serve the champagne now. We’ve got some toasting to do.”

That was when I noticed that numerous waiters had been waiting for this cue. Their arms were filled with trays of champagne glasses. I grabbed two flutes off the nearest waiter and downed them then grabbed a third. The waiter offered me his entire tray of champagne, but I waved him away and turned back to my father. The cool beverage staved off the worst of the hot flash.

Dad was waiting patiently for all the guests to be provided with champagne then raised his glass.

“To my wonderful wife, Zelda.” His voice broke as he said her name. “She’s kept every one of her wedding vows, including sticking with me through the bad times. You’re the best woman who ever lived.”

Everyone drank to my mother, who came forward to join him. Dad then turned and looked at the contingent of law enforcement officers. “Governor Richards. Can you please come up?”

Connie exclaimed, “I knew they were Secret Service. He’s running for president!”

The governor waved at everyone as if he was at a political fund-raiser as he joined Dad and Mom at the podium.

“I wouldn’t be here tonight,” said my father, “if it weren’t for Governor Richards. Thank you, Dick, for the pardon. A million thanks.”

Dad hugged the governor, who seemed a little surprised at first, but recovered quickly and returned Dad’s hug. “My pleasure. Everyone who knows you knows you wouldn’t do anything criminal.”

He’d been pardoned? What a relief. No tear gas, no SWAT teams, no high-speed car chases. Why couldn’t Dad have told me earlier and put me out of my misery?

“Did you know about the pardon?” asked Connie.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, sure. Knew it all along.”

“Yeah, right. Not,” said Susan. “How does your father know Governor Richards?”

I was only slightly embarrassed at being caught in my little white lie. “They were fraternity brothers during what Dad describes as their wild university years.”

“I find it difficult to believe either of them had wild university years,” said Davin, pulling me aside.

“Who do you think invented streaking?”

“Isn’t your dad a little old to have invented it?”

“It had to start someplace.” I shrugged. “It took the nation twenty years to catch on.”

I could tell he was looking at both my dad and our governor in a whole new light. He said, “Does the press know about this?”

“No. And you’re not going to tell them, either.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Deep throat,” I whispered.

He gave me a funny look. “Isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?”

I slapped his shoulder. “You are
such
a baby. I was talking about Watergate.”

“I knew what you were talking about, but I was thinking about the movie.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Don’t need a gutter.” He leaned even closer and whispered in my ear, “It’s still stuck in my back seat. I’m thinking about having it preserved in bronze.”

I blushed. I did not need the reminder. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to think about it. So of course whenever my mind was at rest, it was
all
I could think about.

That was when Connie piped up. “I seem to have lost my date.”