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She hadn’t had high hopes of an orthodondist in his thirties who went by the name Buddy, and she wasn’t disappointed. Her third cousin sauntered over looking at her with an expression that said, “Ta-da, it’s your lucky day.” He was of medium height with wispy blond hair and round, steel-rimmed spectacles, behind which pale blue eyes took in the world with a self-satisfied air.
“Emily, this is Cousin Buddy.” Honestly, the way she said it, Emily could hear the unspoken, she’s single, too!
“Hello,” she said, extending her hand at the same time Buddy leaned in for a kiss. She turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek, leaving a wet print that felt as if a dog had licked her face.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other,” Aunt Irene said and scuttled off, sending her mom and dad a double thumbs-up.
Buddy was probably a perfectly nice guy, she told herself, and he was family. So, she put a pleasant smile on her face, pretended not to notice that her nearest and dearest were watching her and Cousin Buddy as though they were acting out the season-ending cliff-hanger of a particularly juicy and addictive soap opera. “I haven’t seen you at any family weddings before,” she said for something to say.
“No. I’ve always been too occupied with my practice and busy social life. But a man gets to a certain stage in life where he starts to appreciate the importance of family. And I had a couple of weeks with nothing to do so I thought I’d hang out and see folks I haven’t seen since I was a kid.”
“That’s nice.” But did he have to stand in her personal space?
“Who wants wine?” Uncle Bill strolled up with a tray of filled glasses. “The white’s a chardonnay and the red’s an infidel.”
“Thanks,” Buddy said, reaching for a glass of red.
“Maybe later,” she told Uncle Bill.
Buddy took a sip of wine and when his eyes didn’t water she said, “I think he meant Zinfandel, but I wouldn’t be too sure. Uncle Bill’s wine is pretty strong.”
Buddy sent her a lecherous glance. “I like my booze like I like my women. Strong and tasty.”
Oh, boy.
“Leanne,” she called desperately to the woman walking by. “How’s the bride?”
“Hey, Em. Oh, good, you met Buddy. Come sit with us.”
“Great.” So she followed her cousin to one of the long tables and Buddy followed.
Leanne was probably her favorite cousin, apart from her taste in bridesmaid dresses, and she seemed to have found the perfect man for her. Derek was an accounting major she’d met in college, obviously crazy about his soon-to-be wife, and the kind of man you could call on when you got a flat tire in the middle of the night. They were planning to put down roots in Elk Crossing, where Leanne already had a job teaching kindergarten.
Their table was made up mostly of the bridal party and their friends, so it was a young bunch, getting raucous as they chugged down Uncle Bill’s wine. Emily, from bitter experience, stuck to water, as did Leanne.
Buddy spent most of the dinner bragging about his practice, his shrewd investments and even, for ten interminable minutes, reminiscing about each and every expensive car he’d ever owned. Meanwhile, he was putting back a lot of Uncle Bill’s wine, which she was pretty sure had an alcohol content that would rival Screech rum.
On Emily’s other side was a woman in her early twenties who was a friend of Leanne’s. Emily had met Kirsten Rempel a few times and liked her a lot. She was pretty, fun and smart, but she’d had some bad career luck. A cute blonde with lots of energy, Kirsten had moved to Elk Crossing to work in promotions at the local radio station. Unfortunately, she relocated for the job before discovering that the radio station manager was a sexist boor. She’d lasted three months, and since then had been making her living as a hostess and server at one of two upscale restaurants in town.
Everyone had expected her to move on, but she seemed to have got stuck in this town. Now she was waitressing to bring in some money and dating a guy nobody thought was good enough for her. He also had a bad habit of letting her down, like tonight, so she was here alone.
Emily was happy to have Kirsten to talk to since it gave her a break from Buddy.
“How are things?”
“Good.” Her blond hair swung as Kirsten leaned forward. “The restaurant’s okay, but I need to find something else.” There was something about the way she spoke that made Emily wonder if she’d still be giving the same speech ten years from now. It happened to people sometimes in Elk Crossing. They came here and sort of got pulled into the town and couldn’t seem to get it together to move on.
She almost wished she’d had some of Uncle Bill’s “wine” so she’d have the courage to give this woman she barely knew a little pep talk. Not only was she in a dead end job but even Emily, who didn’t live here, knew her so-called boyfriend was far from faithful. And given that Kirsten was far too good for him, it drove her crazy.
Somebody challenged Derek to a drinking game and Kirsten cried, “No, they should play Newlywed Game.”
Then she put on her radio announcer’s voice, her whole body coming to life as she got into her role. “Now, Derek and Leanne, you’ll be asked a series of questions about each other. We’ll be able to tell if you’re truly compatible, if your love is the real thing, if your marriage will last, based on how much you know—or think you know—about each other.”
A great deal of laughter and hooting accompanied the questions Kirsten came up with. “What is Derek’s favorite kitchen appliance, and why?”
Naturally, Leanne had lots of help answering the question. “The vibrator is not a kitchen appliance, Don,” Kirsten reminded Derek’s friend. “You’re disqualified.”
“She keeps it in her kitchen!” he yelled. “I’ve seen it.”
“That was my cream whipper,” Leanne insisted, very red in the face.
“Okay, okay,” Kirsten said when the catcalls had died down. “Here’s a serious question and no one but Derek can answer. What’s Leanne’s favorite movie?”
“Star Wars,” he proclaimed.
There was a burst of laughter. “That’s your favorite movie,” Leanne reminded him.
“I thought it was yours, too.”
“Nope.”
“What is it, then?”
“Gone with the Wind.”
Derek was incensed. “You can’t say Gone with the Wind. Every chick says her favorite movie is Gone with the Wind. It’s like not having an opinion at all.”
“Except that it really is my favorite movie. Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable? When he carries her up the stairs?” She sighed gustily, all the women at the table nodding in agreement. “Are you kidding me? You don’t see movies like that anymore.”
“Know what my favorite movie is?” Buddy asked loudly, not seeming to realize the question-and-answer game was restricted to the bridal couple.
“What?”
“21.”
Derek said, “Isn’t that the one about those MIT kids who clean up in Vegas?”
“Yep. It’s based on a true story. These kids invented a system to win at the casinos using math. Brilliant.”
“So, you’re a gambler?” Leanne asked.
He shrugged. “I think above-average intelligence allows certain people to achieve above-average returns. I don’t call that gambling.” He slurred a little over his words.
“How about you, Emily?” Derek wanted to know. “What’s your favorite movie?” She couldn’t help wondering if Derek was trying to pull her and Buddy into some kind of compatibility game. If so, she’d happily prove that she and the money-obsessed dentist couldn’t be more different.
“My favorite movie is Wall Street. It’s about how greed destroys people.” She smiled demurely and sipped her water.
Leanne pulled her aside, ostensibly to discuss bridal matters. “Wall Street? What is the matter with you? Sense and Sensibility is your favorite movie.”
“Buddy’s getting on my last nerve. All he’s interested in is money. Who cares about his Mercedes Coupe? There’s more to life.”
Leanne sighed. “He’s trying to impress you. I bet he’s a really nice guy once you get to know him.”
“But not my type.”
“I only want to see you as happy as I am with Derek.” She gave Emily a quick hug. “We all do.”
“I know. And please don’t remind me I’m not getting any younger because your mom and mine already tag-teamed me on that one. Thirty-one is not exactly ancient. I’m picky, that’s all.”
“I know.”
Unfortunately, Buddy hadn’t listened when she’d tried to tell him that Uncle Bill’s homemade wine was about four hundred percent pure alcohol. Leanne had made her feel a little bad so she went and got him a coffee to go with his tiramisu. He ignored both and downed more of the red hooch, moving his chair closer to hers and slurring in her ear. Buddy was becoming an annoying drunk. The sooner he passed out the happier she’d be.
But he didn’t pass out. He got…amorous.
He moved his chair even closer so their knees butted against each other. She moved hers farther away so Kirsten could be forgiven for thinking she was making a pass.
He put an arm around her, big and overwarm. She was sure she could feel his sweat through the wool of his jacket.
She shifted so the arm fell off her and next thing his hand was on her thigh, making her thankful her temporary wardrobe was all wash and wear.
Finally, obviously realizing he was being too subtle, he said to her, “Let’s you and me get out of here.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, I want to show you something.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see it.”
He giggled. “You’re cute. Mature, I like that in a woman.”
She glanced around with “help me” blazing from her eyes. No one seemed to notice or thought about rescuing her. No one. Leanne was too busy being in love with Derek, Kirsten was on her cell phone, presumably tracking down the whereabouts of her loser boyfriend, and everybody else was busy with their own affairs. Everyone except for her mother and father, who were watching Buddy hit on her with hope shining in their faces.
“I really have to go now,” she said at last to Buddy. “I’ve got a headache.” Maybe it was rude to leave so early, but she had had enough. Perhaps because she was inherently polite, or maybe because her parents were watching, she added, “It was nice meeting y—”
Her words were cut off by his mouth. His big, sloppy, wet, bad-red-wine-tasting mouth. He kissed her as though she were an air mattress he was trying to blow up in a hurry. He fastened his mouth on to hers, creating an air lock. When she grabbed his shoulders and yanked her face away she was sure she heard a pop.
Outraged, she looked around for her protective family to come and deal with this drunken moron. She caught her parents exchanging a high five, and her aunt smiling broadly, already taking credit for the match.
She jumped to her feet and headed for the exit, too fast for anyone to catch up with her. On the way she pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped her mouth. Yuck.
4
“HI, HONEY. YOU’RE HOME EARLY,” a gravelly voice said when she threw open the door to 318 a short time later. “Did you have a good time?”
“Don’t even get me started.”
Jonah glanced up from the hockey game he was watching on television. “Wow, you look mad. What happened?”
“Cousin Buddy happened. He got drunk and hit on me and—” Unable to adequately describe how gross the entire escapade had been, she said, “Eeew.”
“Got it. Want a beer?”
“Desperately.”
He popped the top of one and handed her a cold can.
“Thanks.” She took a grateful swig, hoping it would erase Buddy’s taste. “Why are you here? I thought you were boozing with the boys tonight.”
He pointed to his leg and she now saw the ice pack wrapped around his thigh.
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. I pulled something. Hurts like a bitch.”
“How long have you had the ice pack on?”
“I don’t know.” He squinted at the clock. “Forty minutes or so?”
“Take it off. Give it a rest.”
“Can you do anything for me? In a professional capacity?”
“Depends. If you’ve torn the muscle, then no. If it’s in spasm, then yes. You want me to have a look?”
He nodded.
The room phone rang. Jonah leaned over and answered it. “Yeah?” A pause. Then he glanced up at her, looking sheepish. “No, you got the right room. She’s right here.”
He passed her the phone.
“Hello?”
“Who was that?” Leanne asked her.
Damn. “Why didn’t you call my cell? You always call my cell.”
“I had to lend Derek my phone since his died. I’m at my mom’s and I couldn’t remember your cell number so I called the hotel.” Her voice grew low and intimate. “I guess you’re busted. Was that Buddy? Did I interrupt something?”
“No! It’s not Buddy. He is a disgusting drunk, only interested in his fabulous cars and amazing stock picks. Did I tell you what he told me about his portfolio?” She thought if she babbled on enough about Buddy she could get Leanne to forget about the man who had answered the phone in her hotel room.
Her plan didn’t work.
“If that’s not Buddy in your room, then who is it?”
“It’s…well, it’s kind of complicated,” she started, trying to think of something fast, words that would explain a strange man answering her phone, while at the same time not including the word bedbugs or making her seem like a skank. Seconds passed.
“I’m listening.”
