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in her purse. “All right, girls.” She flipped her hair back. “Let’s go flaunt it.”
They slid out of the limo, then streamed past the line of hopefuls outside the club. Parker gave her name at the door. In seconds they were inside the wall of music.
Mac scoped it out. Two levels of booths, tables, and banquettes left room for a central dance floor. On either side, under the rainfall of colored lights, stood stainless steel bars.
Music churned; bodies gyrated. And her mood clicked up a couple of notches.
“I love when a plan comes together.”
They hunted up a table first, and Mac considered it an omen of good when they scored a small banquette where they could squeeze in together.
“Observe the species,” Mac said. “This is my first rule. Observe the plumage, the rituals before making any attempt to acclimate.”
“Screw that, I’m going for drinks. Are we sticking with champagne?” Emma wanted to know.
“Get a bottle,” Parker decided.
Laurel rolled her eyes as Emma wiggled out and started toward the nearest bar. “You know she’ll get hit on a dozen times before she orders anything, and feel obliged to have actual conversations with the guys who drool on her. We’ll all die of thirst before she gets back. Parker, you should go, and put on your invisible cloak of Back Off until we’re set up here.”
“Give her a few minutes first. How’s the fear factor, Mac?”
“Diminishing. I can’t even imagine the undeniably cute Dr. Maguire in a place like this, can you? At a poetry reading, sure, but not here.”
“Now, see, that’s assumption and conclusion based on profession. Like saying because I’m a baker, I must resemble the Pillsbury Doughboy.”
“Yes, yes, it is, but it helps my cause. I don’t want to get involved with him.”
“Because he has a PhD?”
“Yes, and great eyes, a really soft blue that go all sexy when he’s wearing his glasses. And there’s the unexpected superior kisser factor, which could blind me to the basic fact that we’re not suited. Plus any relationship with him outside the most casual of friendships would be a
serious relationship. What would I do about that?
And he helped me on with my coat, twice.”
“Dear God!” Parker widened her eyes in shock. “You have to nip this in the bud, quickly, finally. I understand it all now. Any man who would do that is . . . Words fail.”
“Oh, shut up. I want to dance. Laurel’s going to dance with me while Parker swirls on her Back-Off cloak and rescues our champagne—and rescues Emma from her own magnetism.”
“Apparently it’s time to acclimate,” Laurel said when Mac pulled her up and toward the dance floor.
SHE DANCED, WITH HER FRIENDS, WITH MEN WHO ASKED, OR whom she asked. She drank more champagne. In the silver and red ladies room, she rubbed her sore feet while Emma joined the army of women at the mirrors.
“How many numbers have you collected so far?”
Emma carefully applied fresh lip gloss. “I haven’t counted.”
“Approximate?”
“About ten, I guess.”
“And how will you tell them apart later?”
“It’s a gift.” She glanced over. “You’ve got one on the line, I noticed. The guy in the gray shirt. He’s got some moves on the floor.”
“Mitch. Smooth on the floor, great smile. Doesn’t strike me as an asshole.”
“There you go.”
“I should get the tingles for Mitch,” Mac considered. “But I’m not getting them. Maybe I’ve been detingled. That would be seriously unfair.”
“Maybe you’re not getting them for him because you’ve got them for Carter.”
“You get the tingles for more than one guy at a time.”
“Yes, yes, I do. But I’m me and you’re you. I figure men are there to make me tingle, and if I can do the same for them, everybody’s happy. You’re much more serious about such matters.”
“I’m not serious. That’s a mean thing to say. I’m going out there and dancing with Mitch again, open to tingles. You’ll eat those words, Emmaline. With chocolate sauce.”
It didn’t work. It
should have worked, Mac thought as she settled at the bar with Mitch after another dance. The man was great-looking, funny, built, had an interesting job as a travel journalist but didn’t bore her senseless with countless stories about his adventures.
He didn’t get pissy or pushy when she turned down his suggestion they go somewhere more quiet. In the end they exchanged business numbers, and parted ways.
“Forget men.” At two A.M. Mac crawled back into the limo, and sprawled. “I came to have fun with my best pals in the land, and said mission was accomplished. God, do we have any water in here?”
Laurel passed her a bottle, then groaned. “My feet. My feet are screaming like voices of the damned.”
“I had the best time.” Emma slid onto the limo’s side bench and pillowed her head on her hands. “We should do this once a month.”
Parker yawned, but tapped her purse. “I have two new contacts for vendors,
and a potential client.”
And so, Mac thought as the limo streamed north, we each define ourselves. She toed off her now very painful shoes, shut her eyes, and slept the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE MORNING THE SUN WAS JUST A LITTLE STRONGER THAN it needed to be, in Mac’s estimation. But otherwise, all was well.
See, she told herself. Young and resilient.
In her pajamas she ate a mini Hostess coffee cake with her coffee and watched the birds swoop and dive at the feeder. Ms. Cardinal enjoyed breakfast this morning, too, she noted. Along with her brightly plumed mate, and some unidentified neighbors.
She’d need her zoom lens to get a closer look and identify them. Probably some sort of book or guide, too, as the visual wouldn’t tell her anything unless it was a robin or a blue jay.
Catching herself, she stepped away from the window. What the hell did she care? They were just birds. She wasn’t going to sideline into nature photography or birdography.
Annoyed with herself, she crossed into her studio to check her appointment book and her messages. She had an afternoon appointment with a former Vows bride, now an expectant mother for pregnancy portraits. That, Mac thought, would be fun. And a nice stroke for the ego that her wedding photos had been so well received, the mom-to-be wanted this follow-up.
It gave her the rest of the morning to complete some work already ordered, to take the meeting at the main house, and to review the client’s wedding portrait for ideas on baby-in-waiting.
An hour or so toggled in, either side of the studio shoot for website work, she determined, and that was a good day.
Shifting, she pressed Play on her answering machine, business line. She followed up when necessary, congratulated herself on being a good girl, then checked her personal line.
Three messages in, she got the tingle.
“Damn it,” she said under her breath as Carter’s voice hit her straight in the belly.
“Ah, hi. It’s Carter. I wonder if you might want to go out to dinner, or maybe the movies. Maybe you like plays better than movies. I should’ve looked up what might be available before I called. I didn’t think of it. Or we could just have coffee again if you want to do that. Or . . . I’m not articulate on these things. I can’t use a tape recorder either. And why would you care? If you’re at all interested in any of the above, please feel free to call me. Thanks. Um. Good-bye.”
“Damn you, Carter Maguire, for your insanely cute quotient. You should be annoying. Why aren’t I annoyed? Oh God, I’m going to call you back. I know I’m going to call you back. I’m in such trouble.”
Calculating, she decided the odds were strong in her favor that he’d already left for work. She preferred the idea of talking to his answering machine in turn.
When his clicked on she relaxed. Unlike Carter, she
> was articulate on answering machines. “Carter, Mac. I might like to go out to dinner, or the movies, possibly a play. I have no objection to coffee. How about Friday, as it’s not a school night? Pick the activity and let me know.
“Tag, you’re it.”
See, it doesn’t have to be serious, she reminded herself. I can set the tone. Just having some fun with a perfectly nice guy.
Satisfied, she decided to indulge by working the first hour of her day in her pjs. Nicely on schedule, she dressed and took the consult at the main house, breezed back to her own with time to spare before her shoot.
Her message light blinked at her.
“Uh, it’s Carter again. Is this annoying? I hope it’s not annoying. I happened to check my messages at home on my lunch break. Actually, I made a point to check them in case you called me back. Which you did. I’m afraid I have a faculty dinner to attend Friday. I’d invite you but if you accepted and attended, you’d never go out with me again. I’d rather not risk it. If another night would do, even—ha ha—a school night, I’d like very much to take you out. If you’d like that, maybe we could do dinner and a movie. Is that too much? It’s probably too much. I’m confusing myself. I’d like to add, though it may not seem possible, I have asked women out before.
“I guess this makes you it.”
She grinned, as she’d grinned throughout the message. “Okay, Carter, try this one on.” She punched Call Back, waited for the beep. “Hi, Professor, guess who this is? I appreciate being shielded from the faculty dinner. Showing both good sense and chivalry has earned you points. How about Saturday night? Why don’t we start with dinner and see where it goes? You can pick me up at seven.
“And, yes, this makes you it again to confirm.”
In the best of moods, Mac switched on some music, dropped down at her computer. She sang along as she reviewed her upcoming client’s wedding shots. As possibilities and angles ran through her mind, she made notes. She clicked back through her files to see what equipment, what lighting, what techniques she’d used on the bridal portraits.
Considering the client’s olive complexion, the dark hair, the deep brown, exotic eyes, Mac chose an ivory drop. And remembering the client as just a little shy, just a bit demure, Mac decided to save what she thought could be the money shot until after she’d warmed mom-to-be up a little.
But she could prepare for it. She grabbed the phone, hitting the button for Emma as she opened the door to what she considered her prop room. “Hey, I need a bag of red rose petals. I’ve got a client coming any minute or I’d come down and steal them myself. Can you run them up here? And maybe, just in case, a couple of long-stemmed reds? They can be silk. Thanks. Bye.”
