Just Desserts (34 page)

He leaned his head down to hers and nuzzled her dark curls with his nose. She prepared her heart for the sweet nothing he was about to whisper in her ear.

“See?” he said, “I didn’t have to wear this stupid penguin outfit, after all. The damn tie’s choking me so bad I can’t even swallow my own spit. Any minute now I’m gonna start drooling down the front of this sissy shirt.”

Okay,
she thought.
Which will it be? Kill him with kindness? Or just open the car door and push him out
?

She decided to be nice. “Nice” was the programmed, default mode for Southern belles. Though she could flip the switch into “Cantankerous” when the situation warranted it – when “Nice” wasn’t getting her what she wanted.

Long ago, she had decided that Dixie gentility had more to do with effectiveness and efficiency than any code of ethics. And being a pragmatist, she had no problem with that.

“But darlin’,” she cooed, “you look so handsome in a tuxedo. Sorta like James Bond, Clint Eastwood on Oscar night, and Elvis – all rolled into one.”

“Now, when did you ever see the King wearing a tux?”

“I don’t know. He probably did when he and Priscilla got married.”

Dirk nodded toward the front of the car, where their good friends, Ryan Stone and John Gibson sat – John at the wheel and Ryan in the passenger seat. “Yeah, well, you were wrong about the formal wear crap, about me having to wear this stupid thing to this stupid shindig. They’re not wearing tuxedos. Hell, Ryan’s not even got a tie on. I feel like an overdressed idiot. And that’s the worst kind – gussied up and uncomfortable.”

Savannah considered telling him the truth, which was: When you look like Ryan Stone, tall, dark, gorgeous hunk that he is, you didn’t need a tie.

With a body like Ryan’s, he would’ve looked good in a barrel, or better yet, in Savannah’s humble opinion, a loincloth.

“He may not be wearing a tuxedo,” she whispered. “But that’s an Armani suit he’s got on. I’m pretty sure that John’s is Prada.”

She glanced up and her eyes met John’s in the rearview mirror. Obviously having heard what she’d said, he was giving her one of his warm, kind hearted smiles.

“Before you complain too bitterly, old chap, about your formal attire,” John said, his British accent thick and lush, like his silver hair and mustache, “remember that when this evening’s festivities are over, you’re the only lad in this vehicle who’ll be going home with that lovely lady sitting next to you.”

Dirk gave a little sniff. “It ain’t like the two of you wanna go home with her, or any other lady for that matter.”

Savannah gave him a warning pinch on the thigh. But Ryan turned in his seat, a grin on his face, and gave Dirk a long, deliberate, head-to-toe look. “If I were you, and I wanted to update my look, I’d ditch the tie, open the collar, and muss up my hair a bit.”

Savannah cringed, knowing how well that suggestion would go over. Mussed hair looked a lot better on the guy like Ryan, who had plenty to muss. Dirk, on the other hand, worked long and hard on his hair to make the most of every precious strand. To a guy with so many bare spots to cover, “mussing” was simply not an option.

True to form, Dirk scowled and grumbled something semi-menacing under his breath as he peeled off the tie, shoved it into his pocket and unfastened his top two studs.

Savannah decided she’d better turn things around, before her hubby’s mood plummeted into the Dirk Abyss. In the space of two hours, he had been yelled at for messing up the bathroom, then squashed into a tuxedo that he now realized he didn’t have to wear, and told to muss up hair that he didn’t have.

She recognized the signs; their evening steeped in Hollywood glamour was circling the toilet. A full-fledged flush was imminent.

“I hear the special-effects in this movie are amazing,” she said a bit too brightly. “And they say that Jason Tyrone’s been bulking up like crazy. Looks even better than he did in his last film.”

A sideways glance at Dirk told her that this road might not be the one to take either.

“And the gal who plays the heroine looks fantastic, too,” she added quickly. “‘Fills out her barely-there costume exactly like a super hot, Celtic goddess should.’ I believe that’s what
The New York Times
reviewer said.”

Dirk rewarded her efforts with a broad grin.

Ryan and John chuckled.

“Indeed,” John said, as he guided the Bentley off the 101 and onto the Hollywood Freeway, heading toward Los Angeles. “I believe those were the reviewer’s words verbatim.”

“At least if it’s got Jason Tyrone in it you know there’s gotta be some ass kicking action,” Dirk said. “It ain’t gonna be one of those girlie flicks where everybody’s just sitting around talking to each other, and the audience blubbers their faces off at the end.”

“Heaven forbid,” Ryan said with a smile and a wink for Savannah. “I think you two will enjoy it. The production values are top rate, the special effects are awesome, and the acting and the script are pretty good, considering that it’s a superhero action film.”

“But above all else,” John added, “we’re looking forward to introducing you to Jason. He’s a fine lad. Hasn’t let all this fame and fortune go to his head.”

“That’s true.” Ryan nodded. “We’ve known him since he was a kid, washing dishes in the bars and restaurants on Sunset Strip and working his way to the top in bodybuilding competition.”

“Didn’t he do some modeling, too?” Savannah asked. “I think I remember seeing him and all of his muscles on billboards.”

“Yeah, wearing nothing but his skivvies.” Dirk gave a sniff. “You’d never catch me posing for something like that, showin’ the whole world what I got.”

“Oh, yeah?” Savannah gave him a poke in the ribs. “I seem to remember a certain policeman hunks charity calendar, where you were Mr. December. And if it wasn’t for a well-placed Christmas package, you would’ve been showing off a certain package of your own.”

Ryan whipped around in his seat. “What’s this? A
hunk
calendar? First we’ve heard of this.”

“Indeed!” John added. “We require details, details.”

Dirk growled and shot Savannah a You-Started-This-Crap look. “It was for a good cause, and the present I was holding was extra-large. That’s all the details you two need. What were we talking about before?”

“Jason Tyrone and how hot he is right now,” Savannah said. “Even Granny Reid knows who he is. Every week, he’s on the cover of the tabloid she reads. To her that’s the epitome of success.”

“A success to be sure,” John replied as he brought the Bentley to a halt on the congested street. “Look at this bloody mess, and we’re still blocks from the theater. ”

Ryan took out his phone, did some research, and said, “They have Hollywood Boulevard blocked off between Highland Avenue and Orange Drive. Parking may be a bit of a challenge. Are you two up to a hike?”

Savannah thought of the movie trailer she had seen – multitudes of scantily clad, bronzed bodies with rippling muscles as far as you could see. She glanced over at Dirk and saw his grin and the lusty twinkle in his eye. Her womanly, wifely intuition told her he was thinking something similar about buxom Celtic goddesses overflowing their costumes.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “We’re up for a bit of a jaunt, ain’t we, darlin’?” She nudged Dirk.

He chuckled. “Absolutely. Park anywhere you can. We’ll hoof it from here.”

Jaunts in three-inch heels were highly overrated. And so was wearing a long-sleeved, wrap around, silk dress on a warm Southern California day. Or so Savannah decided after six blocks of jostling through the rambunctious crowds en route to their destination.

Savannah and her three favorite fellows passed through numerous security checkpoints as they fought their way to the center of the festivities. But each time, Ryan presented the magic tickets – even before Dirk could take his badge out of his pocket – and they were graciously motioned past.

“Kinda nice being treated like royalty, huh?” Savannah said, nudging Dirk with her elbow.

“I get this every morning at my local 7-Eleven where I buy my lottery ticket. Or at least I used to, before I became a married man and had to give up all my vices.”

“Oh, yes, all those decadent vices of yours: leaving the toilet seat up, dropping your dirty drawers on the bedroom floor, littering the place with empty beer bottles.”

“Rituals that are near and dear to the male heart. Abandoned, all for the love of a woman.”

“I never told you to stop playing lotto.”

“But now that I don’t live by that store, I can’t buy my tickets there.”

“Buy them somewhere else. There’s a convenience store two blocks from my house.”

“Nope. It’s gotta be my lucky store or nothin’.”

She looked up at him, gave him a flirtatious grin, and whispered, “I didn’t hear you complaining about all these changes in your life last night, when I was abusing you something fierce between the sheets.”

He chuckled. “This marriage stuff isn’t without its benefits. That brand of mistreatment I can handle.”

“Manly man that you are.”

“Exactly.”

As they drew nearer to Grauman’s landmark theater with its Chinese pagoda façade and famous hand and footprints captured for eternity in cement, the celebratory pandemonium around them increased exponentially.

In front of the gigantic columns that flanked the ornate, gilded double doors, stood twenty-feet tall, cut-out figures of Jason and his co-star, Alanna Cleary. They wore the brief, leather and bronze costumes of their supernatural, superhero characters, Dagda and Caolainn.

Savannah wondered what it must feel like, to be a mere mortal and look up at those figures and see your face and body. In society’s eyes, they were the epitome of mankind and womanhood.

Like most people who weighed more than the charts recommended, Savannah was quite aware that she didn’t live up to the culture’s ideal. But unlike most people, she had managed to stop giving a hoot.

Her body was strong, healthy, and, most importantly, it provided a place for her to hang out here on earth and enjoy life’s most basic pleasures. So, she was thankful for it and loved it. Every pound and inch of it.

And she felt no envy at all, staring up at Alanna Cleary’s taut, tanned belly with its exaggerated six-pack.

Okay, maybe just a smidgen of envy
, she admitted, before turning her attention away from the advertised and unattainable.
But not nearly jealous enough to ruin such a good time.

As she looked around at the rowdy crowd, she was glad she wasn’t in charge of security at this wild event. Temporary barricades barely restrained the hoard of fans, hoping to catch a glimpse of their superheroes. Even within the areas restricted to the press alone, seasoned reporters jumped up and down, like crazed teenagers at a rock concert, and chanted the names, “Jason” and “Alanna.”

Each time a celebrity exited one of the gleaming, black limousines and stepped onto the red carpet, hundreds of cameras flashed, twinkling like fairy starlight dusted over the crowd.

Savannah decided that, in spite of all the derogatory remarks she had heard directed toward Hollywood, she considered herself very fortunate indeed to be here, enjoying this bit of Never Neverland, this fairytale fantasy coming to life in the real world.

“I gotta admit, this doesn’t suck as bad as I thought it would,” Dirk whispered as he squeezed her hand.

She smiled. Fluent as she was in Dirk-language, she knew that translated into, “I’m having the time of my life!”

“Understate whenever possible” was Rule Number One in the
Manly-Man
Handbook. And she knew, if there had been room, Dirk would have had that booklet tattooed on his left buttock, so strongly did he believe and uphold its precepts.

At that moment, a particularly large and especially shiny black limo glided into view and stopped at the end of the red carpet. Security guards, disguised in chauffeur livery, stepped forward and opened the rear door.

A dainty foot with a 5 inch, high-heeled, strappy sandal emerged, followed by an impossibly long and shapely leg – then its mate and yards and yards of shimmering, emerald green satin.

Cries of, “Alanna! Alanna! Hey, look this way! Alanna, come here! Come over here! Alanna, over here!” erupted from the crowd.

Ryan turned to Dirk and with a quirked eyebrow said, “There you go, buddy. Alanna Cleary in the gorgeous flesh.”

Dirk appraised her, head to lovely toes, for a moment, then he shot Savannah a quick, guilty glance. But as Savannah watched the magnificent goddess in green satin glide down the red carpet, her waist long, copper hair flowing, her toned arms and legs glowing – an exquisite, Celtic beauty beyond compare – Savannah couldn’t blame him for gawking. Every eye was on Alanna Cleary, as she moved along, the picture of composure and grace, offering a warm, open smile to everyone she passed.

“Hey, where’s her date?” Savannah whispered to John.

“Yeah,” said Dirk. “You wouldn’t expect a woman like that to come alone.”

“Sh-h-h,” John replied. “Let’s just say there’ve been rumors.”

“We’ll fill you in later,” Ryan added.

No sooner had Alanna disappeared inside the theater, then another limo arrived. The rear door was opened, as before. But this time, when the passenger emerged, the cheering from the crowd was peppered with the occasional hiss and jeer.

Savannah was surprised at the fans’ reactions, until she saw the face of the newcomer. It was none other Vladik Zlotnik, the villain of the film. Standing at 6’4”, his long, black hair slicked back and hanging limply to his collar, his skin pale to the point of having a faint bluish cast, the Russian movie star looked more like a vampire than the dark, Irish god of the underworld that he played in the film.

“Creepy guy,” Dirk said. “No wonder he always plays an evil dude.”

“Vladik’s not so bad,” Ryan answered. “In fact, he can be the life of the party if you get enough vodka in him.”

John added, “If you’re an actor who looks like he does, you’re not going to get a lot of opportunities to play the hero.”

Nodding, Savannah said “I guess if little children cry when they see you, and dogs bark and run away, you might as well use it to your advantage.”