In A Heartbeat (22 page)

“I thought you might.”

Chapter Eighteen

THE WEEK PRECEDING the ball passed much too quickly. Angie split her days between the office planning the accounts payable project and beginning interim scheduling at another client. She devoted the evenings to experimenting with make-up and hairstyles. She wished she could share all this with her mother. All the effort she was putting into a promotion just so she could finally move away from home, and here, when she had the house to herself, she was missing her mother.

The long-awaited day finally arrived. Depressing gray clouds threatened rain, but Angie’s excitement about the coming evening could burn away the gloomiest skies. Even the fact that her brother had sent that creepy new guy, Raymond, to maneuver the sleek white limousine through downtown failed to darken her mood.

“What time do you want me to pick you up?” Raymond asked Hank when he opened the back door the limousine.

“I’m not sure. What do you think?” Hank asked Angie as he helped her exit the car.

She glanced at Ray in his new Classic Limousine livery. Had she known he would be driving, she could have driven herself. “I’ve no idea,” she said. “Maybe we should just hail a cab back.”

“You can always call me when you’re ready,” Ray handed Hank a business card. “I’m always at your beck and call.”

“Neither of us brought a cell phone.” She placed her hand on Raymond’s arm and forced herself not to recoil.
Remember Walter
, she reminded herself. “I appreciate you bringing us here, but I think we can manage to make it back on our own.”

“If you insist.” He smiled tightly and tipped his cap before walking back to the driver’s seat. Angie’s spine shivered, but Hank propelled her toward the building’s entrance before she could dwell on it further.

“My cell phone is in my pocket,” the hideous troll, her date, said. “Was there a reason we sent him away?”

She dragged one of her first-time-ever manicured fingernails down the front of his rumpled, ragtag tunic. “Your voice is much too sweet to go with that costume.”
Sweet? My God, listen to me. I’m flirting.
A sudden rash of heat burned her cheeks. She never realized she was capable of flirting.

“May I take your wrap, you…you…fairy?” he said in a deeper gruff tone.

She laughed, then quickly covered her mouth to avoid one of her famous snorts.

Hank’s oversized plastic hands helped remove the shawl she’d worn to protect the fairy wings. Angie watched him plow through the press of witches and ghouls, devils and angels, human-sized food items and walking, talking animals to reach the coat check-in. No one would recognize him in that costume, she reassured herself. Which was wonderful, because already she knew, she wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

The ballroom was lavishly decorated to resemble a mad scientist’s laboratory. Neon tubes flashed bright colors through dry ice mists. A drummer in a skeleton outfit provided a backbeat to a group of goblins wielding instruments. Music and conversation filled the room with deafening harmony.

“Would you like to dance?” Hank practically yelled in her ear. She looked at the packed dance floor.

“Where?” she shouted in reply.

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll make room.”

They stepped onto the dance floor and the other couples seemed to compact, affording them a little room to dance, albeit closely.

The music took over. Even with the clunky plastic cast wrapped around one leg, her feet quickly found the rhythm and she moved as the notes carried her. Hank’s mask covered his face so she couldn’t tell if he approved or not. She was dancing, in a crowd of normal healthy adults. Life was wonderful.

After several fast-paced songs, the band played a slow song. Hank extended his grotesque hand for her glitter-spangled one. Someone bumped her from behind, pushing her closer to Hank. Her hand slid up to the top of his shoulder.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask but audible to her ear.

“Wonderful.” The simple word couldn’t contain all the joy she felt. “How about you?”

“I’m about to melt away in here, but I’m enjoying myself.” They swayed through a few more verses. “Do you mind if after this dance we go get something cold to drink?”

She began to pull away. “We can go now if you like. There’s no reason…”

He pulled her back against his chest, continuing the dance step. “There’s every reason. We haven’t done our spin yet.”

She smiled against his shoulder, content that he must be enjoying the dance as much as she.

“Have I told you tonight what a fabulous dancer you are?” he asked.

She felt her face glow with the compliment. “That’s because I had a fabulous teacher.”

“Oh?”

She heard the smile in his voice.

“He had the biggest, hairiest feet I’ve ever seen,” she teased, looking pointedly at the plastic overshoes that completed his costume. “But he sure could dance.”

“Hold tight.” His knee pressed against the inside of hers. They spun neatly around in a tight circle. Chilling air from dry ice clouds tingled on the back of her neck, as her hair, curled just for this occasion, lifted in the artificial current. The music sounded the final notes just as her world stopped spinning. Before she could catch her breath, he lowered her in a dramatic dip over one arm. Her heart pounded, each beat reinforcing the joy of life that filled her.

She felt vulnerable and defenseless before the man in the mask, but at the same time, secure and desired. The song ended, the couples clapped, and in their own little corner of the dance floor, Hank slowly raised Angie back to her feet. They stood chest to chest. She suddenly wished he wasn’t wearing that silly mask. She wanted to see his face, his eyes.

“We never practiced that before,” she said, chest heaving while she caught her breath.

“What can I say?” he said. “You’re an inspiration.” He tugged at her hand. “Let’s get that drink.”

Hank guided her to an empty table. “What would you like?”

She’d like to sample his lips again, she realized, only this time longer and maybe…deeper. A small vibration originating below her belly tingled upward, sparking nerve endings in its path.
He’s a friend
, she reminded herself in an effort to find her voice;
he’s a client
. “A soft drink would be fine.” She needed something to moisten her suddenly parched throat.

“The bar is over by that bubbling cauldron.” He pointed to a group of costumed celebrants huddled in a far corner. “Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Angie sat on the edge of the chair, afraid sitting back might damage her wings. She waited patiently, marveling at the imaginative costumes. She tapped her finger on the table decoration made of test tubes.

Inexplicably, she felt watched. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Twisting in her seat, she studied the other party attendees.

Most of the costumed patrons acted oblivious to her scrutiny, but at one far table, a man faced her directly. He wore a brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead that shielded his face. His black shirt blended into the shadows but his white tie gave him away. If only she could see his face. She watched him rise and step in her direction. A warning shiver rippled her senses, what if—

“Angela, is that you?”

She twisted toward the familiar voice. A devil, complete with a black cape, a red pointed tail and a pair of bifocals stood to her right.

“Mr. Falstaff?” She couldn’t get any other words past the lump of dread in her throat.

He laughed, his horns shaking in rhythm with his ponderous belly. “I thought I saw you on the dance floor.” He nodded to her leg. “That plastic cast gave you away.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to her.

“That’s a…a…great costume,” she said, while scanning over his shoulder for Hank. Not a single troll in sight.

“This?” He leaned his plastic trident against the tabletop. “It’s my wife’s idea of a joke, I think. She came dressed as an angel. But she doesn’t look half as angelic as you, my dear. What a lovely outfit.”

Her cheeks warmed under his gaze. “I admit it’s a change from a business suit.”

“Yes, quite a change indeed.” They sat at the table a few moments in awkward silence. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize you were a patron of the arts.”

Angie planned to reply when she saw Hank twisting through the crowd trying to protect the contents of the two plastic cups in his hands.
Go away
, she tried to telepath. Even hidden beneath his costume, someone who knew him might recognize his voice. She knew she would, no matter what kind of mask obscured his face.

She looked back at Falstaff. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the music. What did you say?”

“I was asking who you were dancing with a moment ago. You made such a handsome couple.” Speculation glinted in his shrewd eyes.

“My brother,” she answered quickly, noting Hank’s imminent arrival. “I don’t think you’ve ever met my brother.” Hank arrived at the table, two drinks carefully nestled between his arm and his chest. She raised her voice to a near shout. “Stephen, I’d like you to meet my boss, Mr. Falstaff.” In an aside to Falstaff, she added, “he can’t hear well under that mask.”

Hank nodded once, then stooped to place the drinks on the table before extending one fake rubber hand to Falstaff.

“Actually we met at the company picnic last July. Do you remember?” Falstaff shouted, pumping Hank’s oversized troll hand. Hank bobbed his head as if agreeing with the devil. “If you can’t hear well under that mask,” Falstaff shouted, “maybe you should take it off.”

“No!” Angela shouted. Both men turned toward her. “He can’t,” she said. She took a moment grasping for a reasonable explanation. She leaned toward Falstaff’s ear with the first plausible explanation. “He doesn’t like to be seen in public. He’s self-conscious about his scar.” She slashed her finger across her cheek.

“A scar?” His eyebrows rose. “I don’t remember a scar.”

“It’s recent. Happened in a car accident,” she lied while silently vowing never to invite her brother to another company function.

Falstaff turned back to Hank. “If all you got was a scar, sounds like you were pretty lucky.” Hank continued bobbing his head. Falstaff lowered his voice to a normal level. “Looks like the band is taking a break. It’s safe for me to find my wife. I’m not a big dancer yet she always insists.” He stood. “It was nice to see you again, Stephen.”

Hank nodded again and extended his hand for a parting handshake.

“Falstaff laughed. “Next time,” he said. “I’ll see you in the office on Monday, Angela.”

She smiled, relieved to see him leave. “I’ll be there.”

“Yes, well.” He collected his trident. “Enjoy the ball.” After a quick nod, he melted into the crowd.

Angie nonchalantly sipped her drink, watching Falstaff until she was certain he was no longer a threat.

“Do you want to leave?” Hank asked, his own drink untouched.

She nodded. “It’s not that this hasn’t been wonderful. It’s just…”

“It’s okay.” Hank covered her hand with his. “I understand.”

They both stood to leave. “To tell you the truth,” Hank said. “I’m anxious to get this darn mask off.”

Angie looked past him to see if the mysterious man in black still watched her from the corner. The table was empty.

Hank collected their garments from the coat check. They stepped into the chill night air before sliding into the backseat of a taxi.

“Thanks for not driving tonight,” she said as the cab pulled away from the curb. “I was afraid someone might recognize your car otherwise.”

“It’s okay, Angie.” He said, pulling his hands out of the oversized rubber ones. “I promised you, we, or at least I, would be completely incognito and I meant it.” He gripped the bottom of the plastic mask with both hands. “Do you mind if I took this off now? I don’t think anyone can see.”

“Oh yes, please.” She helped him shed the torture device. His sweat-plastered hair combined with the rivulets of moisture running down his cheeks ran straight to her heart. He did this for her. She leaned close to his ear. “Thank you.”

His dimple deepened. “So you had a good time, if only for a little while?” He mopped his face with a handkerchief.

“It was wonderful, like a dream…better than a dream.”

“Better than a dream?”

She nodded. “I’ll remember all of this, the costume, the decorations, the dance, long after I wake up.”

His hand sought hers for a gentle squeeze. “What did you like the best?”

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. How could she tell him all that this evening of firsts meant to her? First costume, first dance, first date.
Not a date
, a voice tried to remind her. She refused to listen.

He jiggled her hand. “Come on, you can’t go to sleep on me. The evening is too young.”

She reluctantly opened her eyes, not quite ready for reality.

“Tell me,” he teased. “What did you like the most?”

“That you asked me.” The words just slipped out.

The jovial humor faded from his eyes, replaced by something else, something that warmed every inch of skin touched by the fantasy costume. Delicious.

“Angie?” He kissed the back of her hand. Her spine melted into the upholstery. “There’s something I need to tell you…” His breath bathed the back of her hand, causing the tips of her breasts to tingle. “Something I need to explain.”

“Here you go, folks.” The cab driver pulled the cab up to the curb in front of her house. “Thirty-seven fifteen Plum Street.”

“Wait for me?” Hank whispered, releasing her hand. As he settled with the driver, Angie allowed herself a moment to recover before she let herself out the side door. She drew deep breaths of the autumn-tinged air into her lungs, sharp, cold, a whisper of smoke, a hint of dead leaves. The fresh air chased away her amorous illusions.
I’m only a substitute date. Get hold of yourself.

“Angie?” She jumped a little, not realizing he was there.

“Figures.” He looked off in the distance, a smile teasing his lips. “My natural face is scarier than the mask.”

They laughed all the way to the front door. She fished her house key from the tiny whimsical drawstring bag purchased just for this evening. The dark empty house opened in front of her. She could hear the phone was ringing, probably her mother wanting details about the evening, or Stephen wondering why she’d dismissed the limo. Let them wait. She wasn’t ready to share this magical evening with others.