Step Into My Parlor (6 page)

"Stay down," Anne hissed.

"What's going on?"

Terrifying images flooded her memory. "He's found me again! He's trying to kill me!"

"Who's trying to kill you?"

"Preston. Or his hoodlums." Another loud bang exploded. "Oh, Lord!" Hysteria clung to the edges of her sanity, scrambling to rise up and take over her reason. "They must have been following us all day, waiting for their chance. We
’v
e got to get out of here. We've got to run!"

"Anne, listen to me. That was a car backfiring, not a gun."

"A car?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Anne went limp and the breath rushed from her lungs. "Oh, Lord, I feel like such a fool."

Molly helped her up. "You're shaking like a leaf. Is somebody really trying to kill you?"

Anne nodded.

"Are you okay now?"

Her knees were wobbly, but she brushed her jeans and managed a semblance of a smile. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I acted like an idiot. You must have thought I'd lost my mind."

Molly laughed as she picked up the shopping
bag. "It occurred to me there for a minute." They walked to the car in silence. When they were safely inside, she turned to Anne. "I suppose it's none of my business, but I
’v
e always been the nosy type. Why
i
s somebody trying to kill you?"

"It's a complicated story, and the less you know, the better. I don't want to endanger my friends."

"Can't you go to the police?"

Anne shook h
er head. "I told you i
t's complicated. Things will be straightened out in about three weeks. Until then, I'm taking refuge with Spider."

Molly looked puzzled, but Anne appreciated her not pressing for answers. "Spider will take good care of you. He won't let anything happen."

"I know. And, Molly, please don't say anything about this."

The young woman pulled an imaginary zipper across her lips and winked. "Not a word." She started the car, then looked over at Anne. "We still have the sixty-three dollars. Are you sure you don't want to get the polka-dot shoes? They'd be really funky."

Anne laughed, warmed by Molly's obvious attempt to restore the mood of their trip. She, too, wanted to forget the incident. "I'm very sure. The only thing I can think of that I'd like to have would be some perfume, but I can do without it."

"What kind do you like?"

"I usually wear Bal a Versailles, but sixty-three dollars would barely buy a whiff."

"But it would buy some toilet water, and I know the perfect place to get a good deal. It's on the way."

Anne didn't want to make another stop, but she didn't protest. She only wanted to go home. Home. Was she beginning to think of a storeroom in a pawnshop as home? Or was it Spider's being there that made her feel secure?

In a few minutes, Molly wheeled the little red car into a beauty-supply store that advertised special prices on all the best-known fragrances.

While Anne selected a bottle of toilet water, Molly sprayed a tester of Bal a Versailles on her wrists, sniffed, looked at the display wistfully, then sighed and turned to Anne. "Anything else you need from here?"

"I don't think so." She sprayed her wrists as well and sniffed. "You like this scent?"

"I love it. It's so . . . romantic. Maybe if I hint to my boyfriend, he
’
ll buy some for my birthday."

"Is it coming up soon?"

"In May. While we're here, I need some shampoo." Molly went to another aisle.

Anne did a quick computation in her head. Even at bargain prices, she didn't have enough money to buy two bottles, but she wanted to give her new friend something special for helping her. She selected a small purse-size spray, deciding it would do her until Vicki returned. The larger bottle she would wrap and give to Molly.

By the time they reached the Pawn Parlor, the backfiring-car incident had been relegated to the far corner of her mind. They were laughing and talking, with Molly keeping her amused with anecdotes about working in a pawnshop.

"I can't remember when I've had such fun. Thanks, Molly."

"I
’v
e had fun, too. And I won't say anything about, you know, the other stuff. Say, it looks like the ad people are still here. Maybe we can watch them film." She motioned to a large van parked in front of the shop with Fast Track Productions scrolled across its side.

Boots was standing outside the door when they walked up, arms laden with packages. "They're shooting the last one now," the lanky redhead told them. "If you're real quiet, you can watch."

He held the door open, and they tiptoed inside, trying not to let the sacks rattle.

"Step into my parlor, sweet thing," Turk's mellow voice called.

"Keep that bird quiet! We're about to shoot."

The place was crowded with crew and equipment and lights on tripods focused on an area in the rear of the shop. Anne eased around a drum set and craned her neck to see over the shoulder of a burly man in a baseball cap who stood in her
way.

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and every package in her arms crashed to the floor.

"Quiet back there!" a frizzy-haired man in a purple jersey yelled.

Anne froze and stood as still as a mouse, her attention riveted to the center of attraction. Her initial shock was gradually giving way to horror as she watched Spider run through his lines. Surely, he didn't intend to appear in a television commercial like that!

Mortification flooded over her, and she glanced over to Molly, whose pursed lips were twitching. "What is he supposed to be?" Anne whispered to Molly.

"Cupid," she managed to squeak out, then clamped her hand over her mouth to strangle her laughter.

Anne's head swiveled back around, and her gaze swept over Spider, from the silver cutlass swinging to his bare feet. The only things in between were a gold quiver of arrows slung across his back and a pair of brief running shorts, red satin, like his sheets. The quiver's gold strap bisected a thick patch of dark hair that curled over his broad, bare chest and trailed down below his navel quite a distance before its path was obscured by his scanty covering.

A makeup girl ran up and blotted a few spots here and there, then ran back off.

"Okay, let's have quiet. Roll tape," the frizzy-haired man commanded. "Action!"

Spider leaned toward the video camera. A cocky grin lifted one side of his stubbled face. "Friend, are you a little strapped for cash to buy your sweetie a valentine?"

A laugh built in Anne's chest and tried to fight its way past her throat
.
She clamped her teeth together, but it burst forth in a muffled snort. Another louder one followed. Then a whole series erupted.

"Cut, cut!" The director glared at her. "Lady, you've ruined the whole take!"

Anne felt a flush creep up her neck and heat her cheeks.

Spider peered out from the lights. His face thunderous. The director paled, and the room went dead still. "That lady," Spider ground out, "is a special friend of mine, and if she wants to laugh
,
she can. Do you understand me?"

The man nodded, and said, "Let's take a break everyone."

Spider sauntered over to where Anne stood, mouth agape, heart pounding. She, like everyone else in the room, believed Spider was murderously angry.

But for her
,
he smiled, and his eyes took on a special softness. He reached out and brushed the back of two fingers along the curve of her cheek. "Sorry about that, sugar. The guy has no manners. Did you and the squirt have a good time? Did you buy lots of pretty clothes?"

For the longest time, Anne could only stare up at the muscled mountain standing in front of her. Then she managed a tiny nod.

"I'm sorry I laughed."

"Shoot, you're supposed to laugh. Being funny is what makes folks remember the commercial." Grinning broadly, he stood there in his outrageous outfit without even a glimmer of self-consciousness. "I make a hell o
f a cupid,
don't I? You should have seen me earlier in the powdered wig and satin britches."

She tried to imagine the sight, and a smile twitched at her lips. "A powdered wig?"

"And a tricorn hat and a little hatchet." He placed one hand over his heart and said, "I cannot tell a lie. Spider Webb has the best deals in
town.”

Her smile blossomed into a chuckle. "I don't know where you find the nerve."

"I get a kick out of it. Hell, I write most of my own stuff, don't I, Roscoe?" he asked, turning to the man in the baseball cap.

Roscoe grinned. "That he does, ma'am. They're so bad that they call them high camp, and he's won a couple of awards for my agency. His crazy spots have made him a bigger celebrity than playing football ever did. I think it's because his legs are so pretty."

Roscoe glanced down at Spider's legs, thick as tree trunks and covered with hair, and hooted with laughter. Spider gave him a playful cuff.

"Anne, this wise guy that I'm making rich and famous is Roscoe Osborne, owner of the ad agency and old running buddy. Roscoe and I go way back. Anne Webb, distant cousin and special lady."

She offered her hand and Roscoe took it. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I'm sorry that the director mouthed off at you that way. We won't be using him again."

Before she could protest, Spider said, "He does good work, and everybody's entitled to one mistake. I don't think he
’
ll make the same slip again."

Roscoe laughed. "I don't think he will either. You scared the sh—" he glanced at Anne and sobered "—stuffing out of him."

Spider insisted that Fred bring a chair so that she could sit near the action while they taped the last spot. Anne looked around for Molly, but she had left her armload of packages with Boots and slipped away sometime during the course of things.

"Won't it make you nervous for me to watch?"

"Nah. I'm a born ham. You can be my muse." He readjusted the quiver. "Let's roll it, Percy."

"That's Perry, Mr. Webb." the director corrected meekly.

Anne stifled a snicker.

Spider took his place under the hot lights. Even in his ridiculous garb, he was mesmerizing. The outfit only accentuated his blatant virility. A drop of sweat rolled down his neck, disappeared in the black curls of his chest, then reappeared as it
s
lowly slid along the corded plane of his abdomen. Spellbound, she watched the drop descend toward the low-slung shorts covering—she flushed and went warm all over as she remembered what they covered.

The makeup girl ran out, brushed Spider's hair, blotted and powdered, then ran off the set. The drop was gone.

"Roll tape! Action!"

Spider took the cigar from his mouth and gave Anne, who was sitting by the camera, a devilish grin. "Friend, are you a little strapped for cash to buy your sweetie a valentine?"

Her mind wandered to red satin sheets, and before she knew it. Perry was yelling that it was a wrap. The lights were struck and the cameraman started putting away his equipment.

Anne blinked up at Spider. "Is it over already?"

"Yeah, they're only thirty-second spots. We did three of them today. We'd have been finished sooner, but I had something I needed to do before we got started. I want to show you something, but let me get out of this outfit first."

"I
’
ll put my packages away while you dress."

"No, you stay right here. Don't move till I get back. I've got a surprise for you."

When Spider left, Roscoe wandered over to talk to her. "What did you think of our spot?" he

"It was . . . interesting."

He grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But he comes across great on TV. The camera loves him. And his crazy commercials have made him a
sort of cult figure around town. I keep telling him that with his background, he ought to go to Hollywood and be a movie star. He'd be a natural."

"His background?"

"Yeah, you know he got a degree in communications. With honors. And when he was with the Raiders, he made a lot of commercials on the West Coast, for everything from tires to underwear. He was good. I always figured that when his playing days were over he'd get into s
ports broadcasting or pictures,
but
..."
Roscoe shrugged.

This new information about Spider had surprised her. And, upon reflection, she was disappointed in herself. She'd always been impatient with people who jumped to conclusions before they had adequate information, and now she was guilty of the same offense. It seemed that there was a great deal more depth to Spider Webb than she'd assumed. And it occurred to her that she really didn't know very much about him at all.

They chatted until Spider, dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt, strode into the room. His eyes were bright and energy crackled the air around him. "Are you trying to make time with my lady, Roscoe? I may have to tell Trish on you." Grinning, he gave Roscoe a poke in the belly.

"Aw, she'd never believe it. We still going to get together this weekend?"

Spider threw his arm around Anne's shoulder and pulled her against him in a playful hammerlock. "It depends on my friend here." He looked down at her. "You wanna drink some beer and boogie?" He swiveled his hips and bumped twice against hers.

Catching his mood, she laughed. "Fine with me."

"Well, I'd better be shoving off," Roscoe said. "Nice to meet you, Anne." He tipped his baseball cap. "Spider, the valentine spot will be ready to start running Wednesday, and the Washington's Birthday and rodeo ads are scheduled for next week."

"See you Saturday night, Hoss," Spider called to Roscoe as he left. To Anne, who was still penned in his arms, he said, "You look tired." He brushed at her bangs as his eyes scanned her face. "Did you and the squirt buy the stores out?"

"The stores still have a few items left, very ugly and not in my size," she teased, smiling up at him. "Molly is a demon shopper. I can't believe that we bought so much for the money. As a matter of fact, I have twelve dollars left over. Want to help me carry packages?" She looked around the shop, quiet now except for two customers with Fred. "Where are my things?"

"Boots stashed them in your room. Come on," he said, taking her hand and pulling her after him. "I want to show you my surprise."

"What is it?"

"Now, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise,
would it?"

"You seem to be in especially good spirits," she said as he led her from the shop and down the short hall toward her storage room-bedroom. "Have you been drinking?"

He laughed. "Nah, sugar. I'm always wired after I shoot commercials. Must be the thespian in my soul."

She shot him a you
’v
e-got-to-be-kidding look, and he laughed again. At the door of her room, he paused and, with a sweep of his hand, allowed her to precede him.

Two steps in, she stopped in her tracks, awestruck at the transformation. Gone were the sewing machine, the saddle, and the stacks of other goods that had been shoved around the perimeter of the room.

The water bed was still there, but instead of the jungle pattern and fake fur, the mattress was covered with an old-fashioned print, flowers and butterflies, in dusky rose on white with touches of blue, green, and wine. Ruffles along a matching quilted coverlet brushed the floor around the bed
,
the head of which was piled high with variously shaped pillows. Two walls were covered with the same print fabric, as was a round table next to the wine velvet Victorian settee she recognized from the shop.

Against one wall was the Venetian armoire from Spider's room; against another was a Victorian writing table and a round, ornately carved piano stool. There were two Tiffany Favrile glass and bronze lamps, one beside the settee, another on the writing table. Shaped like clusters of lilies, they cast a soft glow over the delicate furnishings and the plush scatter rugs on the floor.

Walking to the writing table, Anne ran her finger over the intricate inlay and rosewood surface. She picked up the top of the jade censer from Spider's office, which now rested on one side of the table.

It was filled with peppermints.

Her throat constricted and she blinked her eyes several times. She looked into the gilt-framed mirror above the table to see Spider's blue eyes watching for her reaction.

"Is it okay? Do you like it? Lisa said the pretty little desk we found out back would do for a dressing table—for your makeup and stuff—and she said anything would be better than that god-awful zoo on the bed. She didn't have time to do everything, but we decided that you'd want to put the finishing touches on. I told her—"

Anne turned, touched her fingers to his mouth, and smiled. "I love it. It's beautiful. And the nicest surprise I've ever had."

His face split into a king-size grin. "Lisa said she thought you'd like it. I called her while you were taking your driver's test this morning. She's a professional decorator."

"Oh, Spider, you shouldn't have hired a decorator."

"You don't like it."

"I do like it, but the expense
..."

He shrugged and grinned. "A couple of bottles of beer. Lisa and her husband, Wally, are—"

"—friends of mine," they finished together.

"You'll meet them this weekend," he told her. "Wally and I played football together my last season on the Oilers. He retired last year. They're nice folks. Now let me see what's in these sacks." He gathered several of the packages Boots had left by the door and dumped them on the bed.

"Are you really interested?" She began pulling
garments from the bags while he picked up the rest of the load.

"Sure I'm interested. What did you get?"

Spider leaned against the armoire, stuck his fingers under his arms, and watched while she took out all her purchases and laid the clothing on the bed. He nodded and made appropriate comments for each item.

He was so dear, pretending to be interested in her clothes, that Anne wanted to hug him. And how many men would have even considered the decor of her bedroom as something worthy of their time? For all his macho posturing, Spider Webb was a teddy bear.

Striding over to the bed, he picked up the jumpsuit and held it up against Anne. His mouth curved into a slow smile. "I think this is my favorite."