Loe raamatut: «Her Private Dancer»

1

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you don’t know when you’re coming back?” Phoebe Devereaux said into the phone. “How long can you just hang out in the Caribbean when you don’t have any money?” Phoebe managed to keep her voice one level below shouting. If she lost her temper now, she’d never get the whole story out of her little sister.

“I mean, I don’t know when it’ll be cool for me to come back. I told you, that cop, Alvarez, is going to be majorly pissed off when he finds out I skipped town. I keep telling him that Mr. V. is legit, but Alvarez won’t chill out,” Tiffany said. “And money’s not a problem. My boyfriend Tony’s going with me.”

Phoebe cradled the phone to her shoulder and massaged her throbbing temples. Since they were kids, Tiffany had been getting into trouble. Always the faithful big sister, Phoebe had rescued her from too many scrapes to count. Most of which, from the moment Tiffany had hit puberty, included a man. The no-good, love-’em-and-leave-’em bad-boy type that was Tiff’s favorite.

Phoebe shook her head, her gaze finding the open window across from her. The sound of the neighbor’s lawn mower floated inside her cozy little kitchen while a soft breeze ruffled the curtains. What had started out as a fairly perfect day lazing around at home, Tiffany had managed to destroy in less than five minutes. No surprise there, really, considering the source.

“Okay,” Phoebe finally said, plunking her glass of iced tea down onto the countertop and pushing it away. At the moment, she was a little too tempted to round up the one and only bottle of liquor in her house and spike the heck out of it. “I want you to start over at the beginning, and this time don’t leave out a single thing.”

“Oh, all right.” Tiffany heaved a sigh worthy of the stage. “But then I really have to leave, so pay attention this time.”

Phoebe didn’t respond. She was too busy grinding her teeth.

“Like I said before, there’s going to be a big meeting on the Mirage next Saturday night. Some guys who used to work with Tony’s uncle, Mr. V., are coming over from Vegas and New York and the whole ship is gonna be closed off for customers that night. Nothing illegal is going on, I’m sure, no matter what Alvarez says, but even still, the whole thing is pretty hush-hush. Me and a few of the girls happened to know about the private cruise because Mr. V. himself asked us to work special for the party. Hang out for dinner and drinks then do a shorter version of our show. And well—” Tiffany hesitated “—the cops want me to listen in on the meeting. They’ve tried before to get one of their own people on board, but Mr. V. likes things private and he hates cops. I mean really hates cops. His men can spot a plant a mile away.”

“But why you? Why not one of the other showgirls?”

“W-e-l-l,” Tiffany hedged, “the police have some stuff on me. If I do what they ask, they’ll cut a deal with me and forget about pressing charges. But if I don’t come through, I could do time.”

“Do time! Are you trying to say you might go to jail?” Phoebe wasn’t being naive. Tiffany’s antics had always more than crossed over the lines of propriety, and the men she hooked up with were blue collar at best, spiked collar at worst. She also took particular glee in trying to shock their dysfunctional parents into an early grave, though, as of yet, hadn’t been successful. Phoebe understood why her little sister did these things and in part felt responsible. But Tiffany wasn’t a criminal. She just liked to date them.

Tiffany snorted. “It’s so stupid, because they’ll never be able to make anything stick, Tony promised. Besides, Tony says Mr. V. has gone straight since he retired and that the cops will drop everything once they figure out he’s on the up-and-up.”

“Well, if Tony promised then I’m sure you’re fine.” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “But just so I know, what exactly do the police think they have?”

Tiffany hesitated. “Okay. But don’t freak out. A couple of times I went with Tony when he had to make a delivery for his uncle. Nothing major, I promise. A fake passport, I think. Maybe a couple of handguns, but only once. I swear.”

“Guns.” Phoebe sputtered the word. “You’re dating an arms dealer?”

“He’s not an arms dealer. Cripes, you exaggerate everything,” Tiffany grumbled. “He was only doing a favor for his uncle. You make it sound so serious.”

“It is serious. By the way, Tony’s family sounds great. I think I saw an episode about them on The Sopranos.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Once again Phoebe found herself forced into the role of Tiffany’s savior. Something she’d already sworn she’d done for the last time. Yet, even though Tiffany shouldn’t have ridden shotgun with her gangster boyfriend, Phoebe couldn’t bear to think of her little sister in a prison cell. Which meant that she had to get to Miami today if she wanted to stop Tiffany from making the biggest mistake of her life.

Spying the phone book, Phoebe grabbed it off the shelf and started flipping the pages. “All right, Tiffany, you’re going to listen to me and do exactly what I tell you. First off, break up with that mobster—”

“He’s not a mobster!”

“Of course not. He commits crimes and everyone in his family has names like Scarface or Luigi the Choker. What was I thinking?” Phoebe recognized her mother’s biting sarcasm in her words and immediately softened her voice. “I know you care about him, Tiff, but he’s no good for you.” Phoebe hesitated then forced herself to go on. “After you break up, go straight to the cops and tell them you’ll do whatever they say. I’ll call the airline right now. I’ll try to get a flight out tonight. It’s only six or seven hours from San Francisco to Miami, so I should be there by tomorrow morning. But get ready because when this is all done we’re packing you up and I’m bringing you home.”

“Are you insane? I’d rather let the cops put me in jail than live back under the same roof with Mom and Dad. Besides, San Francisco isn’t home. Miami is. Heck, we grew up here. Just because you chose to buckle under Mom’s nagging and move out west after you left New York City doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to be on the same side of the country as our parents. Not that they’d want me there, anyway.”

Phoebe winced. Truthfully, the thought of living with her parents sent chills up and down her own spine. Being within a thirty-minute drive was bad enough. But she wasn’t the one who’d ruined her life and couldn’t be trusted. Tiffany had done this to herself and it was about time good old Mom and Dad helped share the burden of keeping up with their crazy, younger daughter. Though they’d never bothered to concern themselves in the past. But Phoebe would fix that, too. Somehow…

“And I’m not breaking up with Tony,” her little sister continued. “Even though the police have no reason to harass Mr. V., he admitted that some of his uncle’s associates may be a little on the shady side. Tony doesn’t want me around that kind of stuff, especially now that I’m—” Tiffany broke off then finally said, “Well, I’ll get into that later, but he’s quitting the family business for now. And I’m leaving Miami. Only a person with a death wish would spy on Mr. V. and I’m not that stupid. If you want to help the police so much, you work at the Mirage. Hey—” Tiffany dragged out the word “—wait a second…I think I just came up with an idea.”

Phoebe recognized that particular sound in her sister’s voice and it made the little hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. “Whatever you’re plotting, forget it.”

“I really think this can work. Listen, we’re both dancers, right?”

Phoebe practically choked. “I’m a ballet teacher. You’re a showgirl. Big difference.”

“Meaning, I have a good time and get laid more than once a year?”

“Why sell yourself short?” Phoebe snorted. “You could probably get it every hour dancing at that stupid place.” Though truthfully, she didn’t really disapprove of Tiffany’s job as much as she’d just sounded. There were scores of serious dancers who worked on cruise ships. At casinos, as well, for that matter. Still, there was a mile of difference between a tutu and a thong. Yet, in spite of the ridiculousness of Tiffany’s suggestion, Phoebe actually tried to envision herself in one. A thong, that is, and immediately the image came into focus.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Secretly, she’d always wished she could be more like her little sister. Less inhibited. Daring. Confident enough to embrace life and take what she wanted. See an attractive man and go for it—wait a second. The attractive man part of her internal ramblings brought her up short. Back in college, she’d learned her lesson about embracing life and attractive men the hard way, hadn’t she? So what on earth was wrong with her? The one and only time Phoebe had ignored her head and followed her libido instead, she’d ended up losing her heart. She didn’t want to go through that again, did she? Sure, Tiffany had more fun. Just too much of it. Without any thought of the consequences.

“Stop bitching. You’re just jealous because I’m happy and like what I do,” Tiffany said, hitting the nail smack-dab on the head. “Just hear me out. If you got a job on board the Mirage then you could listen in on Mr. V.’s meeting. It’s perfect.” Her little sister’s voice rose with enthusiasm. “Officer Alvarez won’t care who gets the information as long as someone does.”

Phoebe’s mouth fell open. “I thought you said only a person with a death wish would spy on this Mr. V. person.”

Tiffany made a scoffing sound. “I was exaggerating. All right, Mr. V.’s pretty anal about his privacy, but other than that he’s very sweet. Now, his bodyguard, Sonny, can be a little creepy at times, but as long as you don’t let him catch you, you’ll be fine. Come on, Phoebe, help me out here. It’s not like you’re doing anything else. You don’t even have a job.”

Phoebe made a face and stuck her tongue out at the phone. It wasn’t the words themselves that pierced so much, but the sentiment behind them. As if her life only existed to make Tiffany’s easier. “Forget it, Tiffany. It will never happen. And for your information, I still have my job. My knee is fine now. I should be back at the studio any day.” Phoebe wasn’t about to admit that she’d put off giving the prestigious ballet academy where she worked an actual return date. Before Phoebe had reinjured her knee a couple of months ago, she’d already begun to lose interest in her classes.

With the big 3-0 bearing down on her with all the surety of a SCUD missile, Phoebe found herself more than just a little tired of teaching moody teenagers the finer points of the Vaganova method. Especially when said teenagers were constantly harassing Phoebe to ditch the classics and teach them more fun stuff like Who Let the Swans Out? Call her selfish, but there had to be more to life than this.

Then again, if her knee hadn’t given out seven years ago, Phoebe would already have a real life. She scowled down at her leg. The New York City Ballet had been sympathetic yet adamant when they’d let her go from the company. A principal dancer with a bum knee wasn’t in their repertoire.

“Come on, Phoebes,” Tiffany wheedled, using the nickname she’d given Phoebe when they were kids. “Just think about how pissed off Mom will be when she finds out you danced as a showgirl.”

“Tiffany, I’m a little old to be enticed into one of your harebrained schemes simply to annoy our mother.”

“No, you’re not. Besides, you’re going to take my place on the Mirage because you love me and want to help me. Sending Mom over the edge is just a happy coincidence.”

The corner of Phoebe’s mouth curved upward. Sometimes she didn’t know why she bothered trying. Winning an argument with Tiffany was impossible, and for a brief moment, Phoebe actually allowed herself to consider Tiffany’s request. It wasn’t as if Phoebe couldn’t do any form of dance. The stress of dancing in toe shoes was the actual culprit that aggravated her weakened knee. Unfortunately, ballet was all she’d been taught. Her mother, Madeline Devereaux, had never allowed anything else.

Phoebe frowned. Maybe Tiffany was right and pissing off their mother was motivation enough.

While Tiffany blathered on in the background, Phoebe pictured herself in one of her sister’s outrageous getups and, not surprisingly, a frisson of excitement pulsed low in her belly. She pressed her hand to her stomach. Her imagination went to town and she could almost see her body undulating to a throbbing beat under a row of hot stage lights. She licked her lips and envisioned a gorgeous man in the audience, all his senses focused on her while she swayed her hips and…doggonit! How did Tiffany plant these crazy ideas in her brain?

Phoebe narrowed her eyes and slammed the phone book shut. Fantasizing about being a sexy showgirl and actually trying to be one were two different things. No matter how enticing the prospect seemed, if she ever actually had to go onstage and perform half-naked like that, she’d probably have the worst panic attack of her life.

Tiffany must have sensed a negative answer coming her way because she jumped in before Phoebe could speak, and said, “I know the Mirage isn’t exactly your kind of place, Phoebe, but you’ve got nothing to lose. Face the facts, you’re in a rut, and now’s your chance to get out of it. Listen, there’s more to life than what you’re living. It’s time to decide what you want and go for it. Take me, for example. I look at life like sex. You can either lie back and get screwed or climb on top and ride the hell out of it. That’s my motto.”

Phoebe almost dropped the phone. After a minute of pure speechlessness, she cleared her throat then said, “How beautiful. Truly touching, and I mean that. You should cross-stitch it on a pillow.” She wiped her hand over her face then shook her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t view infiltrating the Mafia the same as riding the hell out of life. Look, Tiffany, I think it’s about time you swung down from the, er, saddle, so to speak, and learned to clean up one of your own messes. I’ll come to Miami and stand by your side.” Phoebe’s voice rose as she picked up steam. “But there is no way I’m going to dance on that ship in a sequined bikini so you can sun yourself on some darn beach. So, save your breath. There’s not a single thing you can say that will make me change my mind.”

Tiffany remained silent until Phoebe felt she’d scream. Finally, her little sister spoke. “Phoebe, I know you think I’m being a jerk, but, honest, it’s not me I’m trying to protect.”

Phoebe slumped against the wall and rubbed the back of her neck. “Tiffany, what are you trying to tell me?”

Her sister then spoke the two words guaranteed to change Phoebe’s mind. “I’m pregnant.”

PHOEBE’S ANKLES wobbled precariously in her three-and-a-half inch high heels and she cursed under her breath. It wasn’t easy to run in screw-me shoes while balancing a tray of deviled eggs and a gift-wrapped Crock-Pot, but it had taken her forty minutes longer to navigate through the Miami traffic than she’d planned and she couldn’t mess this up by being late.

One of the showgirls, Candy, was getting married and Phoebe had been invited to the bachelorette party. Oddly enough, after only three days, she seemed to be fitting in better with the showgirls than she ever had at her previous jobs. Probably because she was Tiffany’s sister. And probably because, for the first time in her life, she was the worst dancer of the bunch.

Phoebe grinned and thought to herself, “I’m a showgirl.” There were times when the absurdity of it almost made her laugh out loud. So far, she was enjoying herself, too. She’d only been in town a couple of days but things were going remarkably well. Exactly as she’d planned.

Thanks to Tiffany’s grossly exaggerated reference, the Mirage had hired Phoebe on the spot. Of course, not surprisingly, she hadn’t been asked yet to join Mr. V. on his Mafia Reunion Cruise next Saturday, but she wasn’t alarmed. It was one thing for Mr. V. to make Phoebe a showgirl on the spur of the moment. Another for him to welcome her right in with open arms to witness his illegal activities. Besides, she still had plenty of time. Well, a week to be exact, but her first performance was in two nights and Phoebe knew that Mr. V. and his right-hand man, Sonny were waiting to see how she held up onstage.

She’d also spoken with Officer Carlos Alvarez. Though he’d been understandably angered at Tiffany’s impromptu honeymoon, he’d agreed to present Phoebe’s offer to his captain. Which reminded her that she had an appointment with Alvarez in the morning to discuss the specifics of the case. They were meeting at Tiff’s condo, where Phoebe was staying. As a precaution, Alvarez had told her not to risk coming down to the police station a second time. Though the detective doubted Phoebe was being watched, he’d told her not to underestimate Sonny Martorelli.

She fought back a chill, the thought of being watched at any time in her future enough to make Phoebe want to pirouette herself right around and onto the first plane back to San Francisco. But she’d come too far to wimp out now. Besides, she had no reason to be nervous. She was an intelligent, capable woman. She could do this. Actually wanted to do this. And not just for Tiffany.

Phoebe had come to Miami as much for herself as to protect her new little niece or nephew from any potential harm. She’d allowed Tiffany to believe that it was her pregnancy that had changed Phoebe’s mind, and in a way it had. But it was more the reality of Tiff getting married suddenly and starting a family that had really knocked Phoebe’s world off kilter. Her whole life Phoebe had played it safe, and yet Tiffany was the one with a husband and a new baby on the way. In three months Phoebe would be thirty years old and had nothing to show for it. The men she dated were boring. Her job was boring. Her life was boring. She was in a rut. Tiffany had been right. Go figure.