Nothing In Common Page 21

  Slipping out of the dress and wig, Lila stepped back into the worn cotton sweatpants and sweatshirt she’d owned for years. Once navy blue, the suit had faded through countless washings until it was a nondescript gray. It sagged in places she didn’t, but was as soft as flannel and just as comforting. The sweatsuit might not be fit for a queen, but Lila liked it anyway.

  Padding into the bathroom in stocking feet, she scrubbed away the red and black marks from her face until she was once again her old self. Oddly enough, even though she no longer saw Cleopatra staring at her from above the bathroom sink, Lila still felt changed.

  For the first time in what seemed forever, she really scrutinized her reflection. Her blue-ice eyes were different from her sister’s by only the slightest of shades. Her mouth was thicker than Rivka’s, and her nose, thinner. The dark, wild brows matched the dark tangle of curls falling to her shoulders. Her skin was slightly pinker from the scrubbing she had given it, but was rapidly fading back into the pale cream that never really tanned.

  "Huh. I don’t look so much like Rivka after all."

  She wasn’t a plainer version of her sister, as she had always thought. She was perfect version of herself. The flaws, both real and imagined, only served to make her face unique.

  She shivered a little in anticipation and hugged herself. She would see Tom tomorrow night. She would show him denial was just a river in Egypt. Show him, and show herself, too.

  * * *

  Tom pulled his Tahoe into the space Rivka had reserved for him. Thank goodness for the parking garage. The parking lot behind The Gallery on Second was completely full. Even the space reserved for Lila was filled, which meant she was already here. At the thought, his heart thumped a little faster.

  He sat for a moment in the truck. Tonight could be the most important night of his life, and not just because he had invested a lot of money in Rivka’s gallery. Tonight he was going to ask Lila Lazin to become his wife.

  He had turned his brain inside out trying to think of ways to prove his love for her. Finally, Tom decided nothing could say more than the simple but elegant square-cut diamond he had in his coat pocket. The ring had been his grandmother’s, and he wanted Lila to wear it. Not to prove anything. Not to fix anything. Just because he did love her and the thought of living the rest of his life without her was too horrible to contemplate.

  He would ask Lila to marry him and brave whatever response she gave. Slipping the ring into the small velvet pouch he’d bought from a jeweler, he carefully secured the bag’s ties around a belt loop. Then he tucked the pouch away, out of sight. Though it caused an odd bulge, he left it that way. It might garner him a few strange looks, but then again, maybe not. He was sure there would be stranger sights at the party than his bulging bellybutton.

  A loud group of partygoers passed by on their way into the gallery. They were dressed as a cruise ship. The man in the center of the group wore a captain’s hat with a model of an actual ship around his waist. Surrounding him were two people dressed as crazy tourists, complete with loud Hawaiian shirts and life jackets. One person was dressed as a waiter, carrying a tray of tropical drinks, while another woman carrying a clipboard was obviously the cruise director. There was even a person dressed as a lobster.

  People had really gone all out for this party, just as Rivka had wanted. Tom was glad. He had long admired Rivka’s works, and truly felt she deserved a showcase for her paintings. If the gallery was going to be a success, however, it needed some good publicity. It looked like she was going to get it. The mayor passed by dressed as George Washington. It was the same costume he wore to all the masked events in Harrisburg.

  Tom gathered his keys and got out of the truck. The bitter wind instantly assailed his bare legs and arms, and he let out a low whistle of discomfort. Shifting his legs rapidly to keep some warmth in them, he pulled the rest of his costume from the back seat. Helmet. Sword. Shield. Finally, a laurel wreath to cover his hair. He was ready.

  He had initially decided to go dressed as a lamb, after learning of Lila’s costume choice of Little Bo Peep. He had even gone so far as to try the damned woolly thing on, standing in front of the mirror looking like an idiot. The suit was too small. His arms had hung out a good two inches below the sleeves, and his ankles were bare, too. The stupid, floppy headpiece hadn’t even closed around his neck.

  Emma, who had decided to attend the ball as Glinda the Good Witch, couldn’t stop laughing. In fact, she’d laughed so hard and long Tom had threatened to drop a house on her. His suggestion had only made her howl even more.

  "That was the other witch!" Emma had held her pink-sequined sides and nearly stabbed herself with her wand. "Boss, you look like a freak!"

  "What am I supposed to do?" He’d paced back and forth, or wagged his tail behind him, as the rhyme would have it. "The party is in three hours. I don’t have anything else to wear."

  Emma, fortunately, had come through again. Rifling through the trunk in her room, she’d pulled out the costume he now wore. She’d even thrown in a couple of copper armbands from her jewelry box.

  "Should I ask why you have this laying around?" Tom grew suspicious when she handed him the leather skirt and breastplate.

  "No. And don’t mention it to Mom either."

  Surprisingly, and luckily for Tom, whoever the costume had been meant for originally was just his size. Even the flat leather sandals with rawhide laces fit him, though the laces did pull on the hairs of his leg rather annoyingly.

  "You’ll get used to it." Emma blushed. Tom didn’t ask any more questions.

  So now here he was, dressed as Mark Antony. Another gust of winter wind swirled around his legs and chilled him in places he’d rather not have chilled. Tom needed to enter the party before he lost all sensation in his toes. Mingling with the other guests pushing through the front door, he no longer felt self-conscious. He spotted two men dressed even more skimpily than he was, both wearing little more than a pair of socks and a bunch of balloons. Green for one and purple for the other. Grapes, Tom realized.

  "Tom!" Rivka called to him in an imperious voice from across the room. She flicked open her fan. "Come here! We can’t move in this gown!"

  She must be using the royal "we." Tom pushed his way through the throngs of costumed revelers. Mick was nowhere in sight. Martin, however, was close at hand. His only concession to the party was a polka-dotted bow tie that lit up and twirled around. He was demonstrating the tie to a man dressed as a sailor and a beautiful woman in a red sequined gown who looked like Diana Ross. Tom nodded a greeting when he finally got close enough to speak to Rivka without shouting. "Quite the turnout."

  Rivka looked pleased. "Yes, thank God. I hope there’ll be enough food."

  Tom grinned at her pointed remark. "Of course there will be, Your Majesty."

  "Good." Rivka let out a peal of nervous laughter. "Oh, Tom, isn’t this great? Everyone’s here. Did you see the mayor? He came as old George, of course."

  "I saw him." Tom looked around. "Where’s Mick?"

  "Rowf." Mick stuck his head out from beneath Rivka’s voluminous skirts. A brown fur cap with long floppy ears covered his black hair. Black face paint covered his nose and ringed one eye. He waved a bone at Tom.

  Tom just goggled for a moment, stunned by Mick’s sudden appearance. "What are you doing under there?"

  "He’s my little dog." Rivka rapped Mick on the head with her fan as he tried to lick her hand. "My naughty little pooch. I take him with me to the guillotine, you know, and have his little head chopped off, too."

  Tom grimaced. "Ouch."

  "That’s what Martin told me anyway." Rivka poked her dealer unceremoniously with her fan. "Right?"

  Martin pulled his attention away from the woman in the red dress long enough to reply. "Certainly, Rivka."

  "I don’t believe we’ve met," the woman who had so captivated Martin cooed, extending one slim hand to Tom. "I’m Miss Ross, of course."

  "Pleasure." Tom took the woman�
��s hand. "Tom…I mean Mark Antony."

  The woman’s fingers squeezed his for a moment, her dark eyes shimmering against her caramel-colored skin. She swept a mane of curly black hair out of her eyes. "Mr. Gorgeous." She nudged the sailor.

  "Have we met?"

  "No, honey," Miss Ross said. "But I’ve heard all about you. I’m Lila’s assistant, Darren Ramsey."

  Martin choked rather loudly. Tom did a double-take. Miss Ross smiled, obviously pleased that her costume had fooled them.

  "Is Lila here?" Tom was unable to think of any other response.

  Darren waved a sequined arm around the room. "Oh, yes. She’s around here someplace."

  "She’s supposed to be dressed as Little Bo Peep," Rivka said in disdain, every inch her royal majesty. "How bourgeois!"

  "I’m going to find her."

  Darren’s hand on his arm stopped him. "She’s not dressed as Bo Peep."

  "What is she dressed as?"

  "That," Miss Ross said Supremely, "is for you to find out, honey."

  Tom shrugged, confused. Taking his leave of Rivka and the others, he began making his way toward the food. He wanted to make sure everything was all right since The Foxfire was doing the catering. He’d just take a quick look and be off on his mission to find Lila.

  He found the buffet table groaning with food. Emma, delightfully whimsical in her frothy pink costume, was making suggestions to several hungry revelers who seemed overwhelmed by the choices. Michel, looking rigid and uncomfortable dressed as the Cowardly Lion, was overseeing the servers who stood on either side of the table.

  "Looks great," Tom complimented the chef.

  Emma waggled her brows at him. "So do you, boss. Look at those knees!"

  "Nice costume." The man to Tom’s left was dressed as Julius Caesar.

  Something seemed familiar about him, though Tom couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps the man had come into the restaurant on occasion. It seemed the most likely explanation, though just where he had seen the guy before nagged at his mind. He shrugged off the feeling, certain it would come to him in time.

  "Enjoy the salad." Tom indicated the man’s plate. "We made it because we knew you would be coming. Fresh anchovies and everything."

  The man stared blankly at him for a moment, than laughed rather insincerely. "Funny." He stuck out his hand. "William Darcy."

  "Tom Caine." Tom was already shaking the man’s hand before the name sank in. When he realized who he had in his grip, he had to make a conscious effort not to bear down and grind the man’s bones to a pulp. This was the man who had hurt Lila.

  "Nice party." A petite, platinum-blonde woman dressed predictably as Marilyn Monroe appeared beside Darcy.

  He draped his arm around her shoulders. "This is Pansy, my wife."

  Pansy? Tom shook the woman’s hand politely. This was the woman Darcy had chosen over Lila? The petite blonde was pretty, sure, but in the same way thousands of other women are pretty. She had nothing that made her stand out from the crowd, except perhaps for her immense chest. It rose from the top of her white halter dress like twin mountain peaks. Tom bet he could rest a drink on each one, and she wouldn’t spill a drop.

  "This place is so…neat." Pansy paused for a long moment as though she was having trouble finding an adjective strong enough to describe her feelings. "I think I might buy one of the paintings for the rumpus room."

  "Just don’t buy any that are over in that room." Darcy tweaked her nose. He pointed to the Bold Room, the room Rivka had set aside to honor Lila.

  "Right." Pansy sniffed. "Like I want a picture of your ex-girlfriend in our house."

  "She was hardly a girlfriend." Darcy turned to Tom, speaking with casual pride. Though he had just denied his real relationship with Lila, clearly he thought it a bragging matter to mention he had dated the artist’s sister. "I dated Lila Lazin. Her sister dedicated that room over there to her."

  "You know Lila?" Red rage boiled up and threatened to erupt through his fists.

  "Sure." The pompous braggart appeared relaxed and somewhat talkative. Pansy had tripped off to look at the prints for sale along the far wall. "Nice enough girl, though not much to look at. And somewhat stupid as well."

  "She must have been, to date you," Tom muttered through clenched teeth.

  "What did you say?" Darcy seemed unable to believe his ears.

  "Say." Tom clapped Darcy’s shoulder suddenly, jovially, as though Darcy was his best friend in all the world. "We’ve met before, you know."

  Darcy furrowed his brow. "I don’t think so."

  "Sure." Tom gave him a light punch to the upper arm. Real man-to-man bonding. "In the parking lot behind my restaurant."

  A slow flush crept up Darcy’s thick neck toward his face. "I’m sure I don’t know what you mean."

  "Of course you do." Tom’s fingers became talons in Darcy’s flesh. "You were in the car, knocking boots with that sweet little chippie who isn’t your wife. Tammy, as I recall. Remember?"

  Darcy swallowed heavily. His ruddy complexion had gone a pale, pasty white. He flicked his muddy brown gaze toward Pansy, who appeared to be haggling with Martin over the price of one of Rivka’s prints. Darcy’s tongue flickered out from between his lips to lick them nervously.

  "Don’t tell Pansy," he whispered, almost pleading. "She’ll kill me. Or divorce me, which would be worse. She’d take everything."

  "I won’t tell Pansy." Darcy recoiled from Tom’s smile as though a snake had twisted itself across his face. "Not if you do exactly what I tell you."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Come with me. I just want you to make a few announcements."

  * * *

  Nobody recognized her, Lila realized as she passed within yards of Rivka without her sister noticing. A secret smile bloomed across Lila’s face. Only Darren and Lance knew she had decided to come as Cleopatra. What fun she would have when Rivka discovered Lila’s new look!

  She debated about finding Tom first. No, she’d go greet her sister. If the evening went as Lila planned, once she spoke to Tom there would be no time to congratulate Rivka on the opening success of The Gallery on Second. She had better tell her now.

  "Greetings, Your Highness." Lila lifted her chin up just as haughtily as her sister’s.

  Rivka stared at Lila for a long moment. "Lila-love?"

  Lila burst into laughter. "I thought I could fool you. Guess not."

  "It was your perfume." Rivka reached for Lila to give her a hug. Lila stepped forward, meeting a solid obstacle with her toe. From beneath Rivka’s skirt, Mick let out a loud yelp.

  "Sorry." Her fur-clad brother-in-law emerged from under Rivka’s gown.

  "What happened to Bo Peep?" Rivka asked. "Not that I’m complaining because you look fabulous!"

  "Well, aren’t we all just a bunch of queens." Darren joined them.

  He looked gorgeous. His form-fitting red gown glittered with sequins. Lila checked his legs, just to be sure. Yes, he wore nude stockings.

  They bussed each other’s cheeks, careful not to smudge their carefully applied makeup. Darren then held her at arm’s length to see her better. Lance nodded approvingly.

  "Girl, you got it goin’ on! When Mr. Gorgeous sees you.…"

  "He’s here?" His parking space had been empty when she arrived.

  "He went to check out the food." Darren leaned close to whisper to her. "Go find him, honey."