Operation Gigolo

“Some women go for that type.”

“Of course they do!”

“But you don’t?” He put on his jacket and adjusted the lapels.

“I didn’t say that.” Damn, this was a bog she hadn’t intended to get into. Six months after a divorce was a prime time for a rebound attraction, and she didn’t want to be the target for that sort of temporary affair. “I just—we’re way off the subject here. Tony, please help me out. It won’t take much of your time to meet my parents. Once they see you, they’ll start a campaign to break us up, which will bring them together again. They can succeed in breaking us up, and then I’ll conveniently miscarry the love child, and life will return to normal. I happen to know you haven’t taken much time off lately.”

“And to remedy that, you’re offering me a fun-filled trip to Springfield, where I get to act like a jerk and hopefully get pitched out of your parents’ house on my butt? Gee, you sure know how to tempt a guy.”

“Actually, I wasn’t thinking of Springfield. Ever been to Sedona, Arizona?”

“Nope. Just seen pictures of all those red rocks. Pretty impressive.”

“It is. And my parents honeymooned there. The summer rush would be over now, so I probably could get reservations at the same cottages on the banks of Oak Creek where they stayed thirty-five years ago. I’m sure I can convince them that they have to come,” she said, patting her stomach.

He looked more interested at the prospect of going to Sedona. “What if your folks demand separate sleeping accommodations?”

“I’ll tell them they have to share because there were only two available when I called.” She folded her arms and repressed a smile of triumph. As a lawyer she’d learned to read expressions, and she could see that Tony was beginning to consider her idea. “What do you say? An all-expense-paid long weekend in a beautiful spot in exchange for wearing tight jeans and flexing your muscles.”

He hesitated. “Is your dad a violent man?”

“Absolutely not. He might try to talk you to death, but he wouldn’t challenge you to a fistfight or anything, if that’s what you mean. I promise this is low risk.”

“You don’t have somebody else who could do this? I thought you were dating a guy named Edgar.”

She grimaced. “I was, but in the first place my parents have met him, and in the second place, I broke it off a couple of months ago, and in the third place, Edgar could never play a convincing stud-muffin.”

“Is that right?” He looked pleased with the information.

“That’s right.” Tony was awfully cute, she thought, cuter than she’d allowed herself to realize.

“I don’t know.” He glanced at her. “It’ll take a lot to rub the polish off, don’t you think?”

Thinking about turning him into a modern-day James Dean sent delicious shivers through her. Transforming Tony. What a fun concept. “No, I don’t think it’ll take all that much,” she said. “Although it would be helpful if you had a tattoo.”

“It would, huh?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t expect that kind of sacrifice. Maybe we could try one of those temporary kinds.” She waited, hoping he was as intrigued by the whole charade concept as she was.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Tony. You’re a real friend. I’ll let you know when I’ve made the arrangements. Is there any weekend I should avoid?”

“Not really. My social calendar isn’t what you’d call jammed.”

So he wasn’t dating anyone yet, she thought. He really was ripe for a rebound affair. She’d have to be careful. “It takes time after a divorce.”

“Yeah. But hey, things are looking up. I’ve just been invited to spend a long weekend with a beautiful woman.”

She laughed, as if he’d made a joke, but it didn’t feel like a joke. “Thanks for the compliment.” She liked having him call her beautiful, but she couldn’t encourage him to think there could be something between them. “But I’m afraid it’ll be a platonic weekend.”

He shrugged. “It’s a start.” As he walked out the door, he paused and turned back to her. “Oh, and about that tattoo…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll check into the temporary kind. It may not be all that important, anyway.”

“You don’t have to check into anything.” He gave her a killer smile. “I already have one.”

2

THE NIGHT BEFORE the trip to Sedona, Tony dug in his closet, unearthing memories as he worked, and came up with a couple of pairs of jeans he’d worn in high school. Michelle had begged him to get rid of this old stuff, claiming that he had no reason to keep it.

But there was a reason. He didn’t want to totally lose the connection to the hell-raiser he’d been back then, and the clothes helped make that connection. He smiled to himself. Lynn had no idea that the punk she’d described as her parents’ worst nightmare was Tony Russo fourteen years ago.

The tattoo was a souvenir from his senior year, his way of balancing the embarrassment of ending up the valedictorian. When he got drunk with his buddies one night and was caught spray-painting Class of ‘84 on the hood of the principal’s Caddy, the school board hadn’t wanted to let him graduate, let alone give the valedictory speech. His mother had pleaded his case and suggested his penance be cleaning gum off the bottom of the bleachers. To this day the smell of chewing gum made him sick to his stomach.

He pulled open a dresser drawer and dug in the back for the white T-shirts he hardly ever wore these days. They’d seen a lot of use at one time, and they felt soft and familiar in his grip. He kept one out for the plane ride and tossed the rest in a large duffel bag just as the phone on the bedside table rang. As he picked up the receiver, he wondered if Lynn had some last-minute instructions for him.

“Tony?”

Michelle. And she sounded as if she’d been crying, dammit. He tried to harden his heart. “Yeah, Michelle.”

“Are you busy?”

He tensed. “Kind of. What’s wrong?”

“I’d like…” She sniffed. “I’d like to come over, if it’s okay.”

He glanced at the clock. Michelle in tears, wanting to see him at eleven at night, couldn’t mean anything but trouble with Jerry. Jerry, his stockbroker and health-club buddy, the guy who’d spent his evenings playing handball with Tony and his afternoons playing bedroom games with Michelle.

“I know it’s late.” Michelle’s voice quavered. “I just…need to talk to somebody.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what ex-husbands are for.” As he hung up, he wondered why he hadn’t told her to get lost. She deserved to be told that, after the way she’d treated him. He was a sucker when it came to the women in his life, just as his brothers and sisters had always said. They’d advised him to use the adultery issue to make sure Michelle didn’t get a dime, but instead he’d agreed to split their assets down the middle. His family called that stupid, but he’d handled enough divorce cases to know that nobody was blameless. He’d been concentrating too hard on his job, leaving her alone too much and paving the way for Jerry to step in.

For the first couple of years of marriage everything had been wonderful. She’d been his Uptown Girl, just like in the Billy Joel song that had been such a hit back in high school. It hadn’t hurt that she’d looked a little like Christie Brinkley, and he’d always identified with a working-class type like Billy Joel. Then he’d become more involved in his law career and had never quite noticed that the magic was slipping away.

He repressed thoughts of Michelle and his mistakes as best he could and continued packing. As much as he’d resisted the idea of Operation Gigolo when Lynn had first proposed it, he’d finally realized he’d be a fool to refuse. He’d wanted to ask her out for weeks, but he’d held back, afraid she’d think a recently divorced guy was a bad risk. As family-law specialists they’d both seen how divorce screwed up anyone’s judgment concerning the opposite sex.

He figured she’d think any interest on his part was strictly on the rebound from Michelle. At this point, Tony wondered if she might not be right. Maybe it was a good thing Michelle was coming over. He hadn’t seen her for six months.

He stared at his open duffel and wondered if he’d forgotten anything. Cigarettes. Lynn had said something about a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, but he’d given up smoking years ago. Then he remembered that Sam, another lawyer friend, had left half a pack behind over the weekend when he’d dropped over to watch a Cubs game on TV. Tony walked into the kitchen and rummaged through his catchall drawer until he found the cigarettes he’d tossed in there, meaning to return them.

Shaking one out, he found matches in the same drawer and cupped the flame as he lit up. Funny how the action, after so many years, brought back the old swagger. It brought back a slight cough, too. He’d never been a heavy smoker, doing it more for effect than for the nicotine buzz. That had made quitting more bearable than it had been for some of his high-school pals. If he limited himself to one cigarette whenever he was around Lynn’s parents, he shouldn’t get hooked again.

The doorbell rang, and he took another drag on the cigarette before walking over to let Michelle in.