More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) (32 page)

Walker would say so-and-so’s too skinny and not much for a woman to love on, or he’d roast him for some other reason. Then Brenda would take over and tell the crowd how handsome, smart, and fun so-and-so was and how a woman will have a blast going on a date with him. Walker would counter, “All right, fine, but can he ride a hog?” And so it would go.

When it was Adrian Brody’s turn to be auctioned, he came to the microphone and said, “I just want to be on record here. I can ride a bull, and I can probably ride a hog.” He looked over the crowd with some trepidation. “But I thought we were just going for lunch.”

Brenda and Walker, who were acting like a couple on the new
Dallas
, continued to spar as they encouraged people to bid higher and higher for each of the men. Some of my tablemates had wandered off, leaving only a few of us there to enjoy the show.

Viggo was the last to be auctioned, and bidding was instantly lively. Like the others, Brenda started it off at two hundred bucks. It went immediately to three hundred, followed by a jump to five hundred, then a thousand, and up it went. Viggo looked a little uncomfortable—actually, they all had looked uncomfortable—but I’d been watching Viggo’s face for longer than the others, so I thought he was easier to read. Every time the bid increased, he’d give a little smile and wave at the person who raised her paddle. And as I watched the bidding climb higher and higher, I again started to think about Frank. Actually, it was less like thinking and more like pining. I was still hoping, Frank being such a practical person and all, that he would have seen through all the Hollywood crap to the real me—the girl from Fresno with the mother who covered her furniture in plastic and a dad who restored old generators in his spare time.

Finally, Brenda said, “Sold to the woman in the gold suit,” ending the bidding. I’d met the woman who won earlier in the evening. She was about seventy years old and an avid collector of contemporary art.
Maybe she’d also buy some of Viggo’s paintings
.

Walker came front and center, “Ladies, as you can see, I’m a large man who hails from the southwest, enjoys a good steak, and a drive in the country in a big car with quality air conditioning. I like to talk—but I’m told I’m a good listener—and I will make you feel like the center of the Universe. So what am I bid? Let’s start it off at two hundred…can I get two-hundred bucks?”

There were several women who stuck their paddles in the air. Perhaps they liked steak and big cars, too, or wanted to be the center of Walker’s Universe. Brenda took over the bidding with a joke about people tooting their own horns, but Walker said he was just as happy to have her toot it as long as she kept saying nice things about him. The bidding was up to five hundred by that point, with Walker wanting to show off a tattoo as inducement for women to bid higher.

I sensed a presence next to me and turned, expecting to find one of the Muffs returned from the ladies room. But it was Frank Sexton sitting down next to me. My jaw dropped open.

“Aren’t you going to bid on Walker?” he asked. “I know you had a thing for Viggo Mortensen, so I waited until bidding was over on him to come talk to you.”

His sunglasses were off and his eyes mischievous. It was so good to see him. “How’d you get in here?”

He gestured over his shoulder. “I flashed my military I.D.”

“That must come in handy.”

“Oh, yeah. Instead of thanking me for my service, they just waved me in.” He paused. “How come you didn’t bid on Viggo?”

“A little steep for me. And he’s a client, so it’s not like I can’t hang out with him.”

He nodded, glancing around the room, scanning like I’d seen him do many times.

“George and I spoke earlier today about another matter,” he ducked his head, “and he told me about his wife’s benefit tonight and that you’d be here.”

Could it be he had come to see me? I didn’t want to flatter myself, but it sure sounded that way. And he was doing it his usual way—showing up unexpectedly. Suddenly, I wondered if he had something to tell me.

“Has there been a new development?” I asked.

“Actually, there has.”

So that’s why he’s here. A wave of disappointment washed over me. “Oh.”

Behind me I heard Walker say, “Come on, Brenda, you can get more than $600 for this fine, masculine specimen.”

Brenda gave him a gentle punch in the arm. “I’m running this show, Mister.”

“I’m just sayin’ that’s a steal for one entire long afternoon of good times with yours truly. Tell you what, we’ll finish up with a fine steak dinner at Boa. I’ll spend more than $600 takin’ care of whoever wins.”

I immediately felt a wave of nausea, thinking about my horrible date with John.

“Something I said?” Frank asked.

“Just got a taste of some bad meat. Sorry.”

He smiled. “I know what you mean.”

“You know about my bad date at Boa?”

He hesitated. “I do.”

I felt my cheeks warming, which meant they were turning red—so much so they were probably the color of my dress.

“So embarrassing.”

“Forget about it. The guy was a jerk.”

“I’ll say.” I looked off, wondering when he was going to give me an update on my case, because he’d made it clear he hadn’t come to ask me out.

“Since it’s been about three weeks, I thought enough time had passed…”

I turned to face him, ready to hear what he had to say.

“...that I might ask you out.”

I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. “Wait...What?”
He said he’d come to give me an update, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“I’m not startled, really.” I was
very
startled. “I guess I should sort of be used to you doing unexpected things.”

“You look very pretty tonight, Quinn.”

I had a vague awareness of the bidding coming to an end for the date with Walker and his mock surprise about not fetching a higher sum. It was like the dome on that TV show had plopped down over Frank and me, only Frank wasn’t behaving like Frank—telling me I looked nice and using my first name. I mean, it was great, but he wasn’t the Frank I knew. “Would you like to get a drink?” he asked, offering me his arm.
Who offers their arm these days?

I put my arm through his, and we began walking past a cage of doves cooing, toward a bar tucked back in one corner of the mansion. Through the fog, I heard Walker announce the final item of the evening: an all-expense paid 8-Day trip via Netjets to a private island in the Maldives—complete with a gourmet chef, unlimited massages, private yoga instructor, access to a small yacht, various other seafaring equipment, as well as a constantly-replenishing, fully- stocked mini-bar.

Somewhere down the list of this fabulously unbelievable and unaffordable trip that I could only hope to go on one day, I tuned out—overcome with imagining myself there, opening the mini-bar, pulling out a bottle of Evian, and heading down for a couples massage with Frank on the beach.

It was like he read my mind. “Sounds pretty great.”

“So great I can almost feel it,” I agreed, as the frenetic bidding started behind us.

“What will it be?” Frank asked me, stepping up to the bar.

“White wine, please.” The bartender heard me and poured a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I was still dreaming of the beach until Frank gently withdrew his arm to give the guy a tip.
Who knew he could be so gentle?

“Do you go to a lot of these things?” Frank said, putting the wine glass in my hand.

“Not as often as you’d think with my job, but when you only book commercials, you don’t get to walk the red carpet. And big charity galas like this are pricey.”

“Tell me about it,” he said with a wry smile.

“Did you...?

“Forget it; I wanted to support the effort.” He said it so matter-of-fact; no hint he was seeking a compliment. “I also bid on a silent auction item.”

“What did you bid on?”

“A pair of vintage sunglasses worn by on
Miami Vice
.”

I studied him. “Don’t you already have a pair of those?”

“Mine are fakes and if I win that pair, I probably won’t wear them. It’s just the idea of owning a little piece of history.”

“Hopefully, they’ll come with a Don Johnson seal of authenticity.”

“I can take care of that,” Frank said, grinning. “I saw Don Johnson walking around here somewhere.”

Really
? I glanced around but didn’t see a dark blond wearing a white suit with a pale blue shirt under it. “You must have really liked that show.”

“It was formative,” he said, cracking a smile.

The bartender handed Frank a drink, and we moved away from the bar.

“Actually, I preferred
Hill Street Blues
and
Seinfeld
,” Frank said, “but there wasn’t anything from those shows to bid on.”

“The auction committee was remiss. I’ll make sure next year we get some representative memorabilia.”

“I’ll be there.” He pulled out a couple of chairs at one of the tables along the wall that appeared to be abandoned.

I’d lost track of the auction. Presumably, somebody had won the fabulous trip. The DJ had begun and people were dancing. I think I saw Maddie and Cullen out there. Meanwhile, I was still trying to deal with Frank’s metamorphosis from the uptight, on-a-mission type, to a conversant and attentive “date”—because that’s what it felt like; he was acting like my date. I’d fantasized about him looking at me the way he was now doing, but since I’d given up on it ever happening, I wasn’t prepared. And I was a little scared, too.

“I see you’ve kept your shoe selection a little more sedate this evening.”

I looked down at my sexy, strappy, black three-inch heels and smiled. They weren’t what I’d call sedate, but compared to the pink bling platforms, they were loafers.

“Well, you know, I try to keep the pole dancing to myself. Just remember, if I hadn’t been wearing pole dancing shoes at Narita Airport, I never would have met you.”

“Then I’m glad you wore them.”

“Me too.”

He lifted the glass of wine from my hand and put it on the table alongside his own drink, and took my hand in his.

“They tell us to wait six months to a year after the conclusion of a case before approaching a client—not that I’ve ever approached one before. I’m sorry if you thought I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I said, my heart beating harder. “You know, you had to… ”

“The thing is, if I waited much longer, somebody might snatch you up.”

He said all this with no guile, and I felt his sincerity. Under all that gruffness was a very kind man.

“You’re a pretty good actor,” I said. “I never would have guessed that you…actually, I was hoping there was a reason you weren’t...you know.”

He looked at our joined hands and squeezed. My gaze followed his and I squeezed back, just as he lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed.

A throat cleared nearby. It wasn’t Frank’s, and I knew it wasn’t mine. “Excuse me, um, Quinn?”

I looked up, disappointed to be shaken from the moment.

Sarah was standing a few feet away. If it had been any other Muff, she probably would have found another way to get my attention at such a sensitive moment, but there were sometimes judgment issues with Sarah. And where was Nate? I hadn’t seen her husband all evening.

She looked at Frank, then to me. “Um, sorry for...” she said awkwardly, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Sarah.” That’s right, she hadn’t been at Kiki’s the night we busted her pornographic neighbors. “Sorry, Quinn, but you just disappeared! Lauren’s been trying to round everyone up so she can bring the Muffs to the stage and thank us.”

“Okay, well,” I said, glancing at Frank.

“Of course you need to be there,” Frank said, standing. “You need to be acknowledged with your friends. You’ve all done a terrific job.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “To be continued.”

“Hope so.”

“I guarantee it. I’ll be here when you get back.”

My feet were rooted to where I stood, and Sarah started pulling on me. “Sorry, but we gotta go. I’ll bring her back.”

“All right already,” I said, aware of a warm and welcome wooziness—like after a great massage. “What’s a few more seconds going to matter?” I looked back at Frank, who was smiling at me with his crooked smile as Sarah charted a path to the stage, never letting go of me.

“There isn’t time to dawdle. Lauren wants to make a speech right now. Who is that guy anyway?”

“That guy… is my new boyfriend.”

Sarah was moving so fast, we almost knocked down a tiny old man whom I think was a famous director from the 70s.

“Sorry,” I said. “You know, we don’t have to go this fast; it’s not like this is
The Amazing Race
.”

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?” she said. “I knew about the married guy but...wait; that’s not married guy, is it?”

“Doesn’t even have a girlfriend, unless it’s me.” I grinned and kept moving.

“Wow, it must feel good not to be an adulteress anymore.”

“Hey!” I yelled, as we barely averted another collision. “Watch where you’re leading us.”

Frank could have been lying when he told me there was no girlfriend; like Steven, at the beginning, told me there was no wife; like Titania had lied to Jamie. But I was choosing to believe him. Where would choosing the opposite get me, anyway? Exactly nowhere.

Lauren was effusive in her remarks, lavishing each of us Muffs with thanks for our specific contributions to the event’s success. She was gracious and funny, with an anecdote about each of us. From the stage, I looked out and spotted Frank standing off to one side watching and listening. I just knew he was one of the good ones, and I wasn’t going to blow it.

When Lauren had concluded and thanked everyone, George stepped in to give her a hug. He was so proud of her, as were we. Who cared if she hadn’t cracked the book I picked for book club next week. I glanced at the faces of the other Muffs, and in each one I saw love and admiration.

I whispered to Maddie that Frank had shown up and that I’d probably be slipping out momentarily. Sarah might say something about the guy she saw kissing my hand, but Maddie knew the whole story after that night at Kiki’s and would keep things in perspective.