Chapter 18

 

 

Melissa plucked a huge ripe strawberry from the fruit plate in front of her. Its juice filled her mouth and she grabbed a napkin to keep it from running down her chin.

“Ah, the good life,” said Foster watching her, enjoying his own perfectly cooked omelet.

“Better than what I can whip up on that dinky stove in the bus,” she agreed.

“Who would have ever thought Foster-the-loser and little Missy would come this far?” He grinned the same smile that had won her heart the first time she saw him.

“Not my parents, that’s for sure.” Melissa thought of her father. Too bad he’d stayed such a small-time grifter. He would have loved running the big cons like this. Too bad he never would. Mama and Daddy both died when a tornado took out their double-wide and they’d refused to run for the community shelter down the road. They’d never even gotten to meet their new son-in-law.

“We ought to spend our last day at the pool,” Foster suggested, breaking her pensive mood.

“Last day? I want to stay longer.”

Normally, her petulant lower lip could sway him to change his mind. She was persuasive that way, either smiling or pouting until she got what she wanted. Nobody—from the contractors who would build their new palace, to the bankers in Switzerland, to the girl who did her hair and nails—could resist Melissa. She simply shrugged, smiled, and made the argument that she had a very clear vision for her life. For whatever reason, it worked. People gritted their teeth, ripped out a wall, removed the fresh nail polish … and changed it. No matter what she requested she got it.

“Baby, we got several hundred thousand reasons to stick closer to the bus for awhile. We’ve talked about this.” About all their hard work vanishing if someone broke in and found the boxes.

She tossed a kiwi slice back on the fruit plate. “I need this break, Foster. You know how exhausting it is to be in front of people every night.”

“You love it. You feed off the energy of those audiences.”

She sighed. “I do. But I need a break from life on the bus. Two more nights? I have a massage appointment this afternoon and a hair appointment tomorrow. I just don’t look as good in the white gown if my highlights have faded.”

The persistence wore him down. “Fine. I’ll go and stick around the bus, at least during the day when that homeless place next door has all those workers around. I don’t like that.”

Her expression brightened. “That’s a great idea, honey. You’re so smart to figure these things out.”

She ran a fingertip along his arm, a look of promise in her eyes.

Dammit, she’d done it again, taken his plans and turned them upside down.

The fingers leaped down to his thigh and walked upward from his knee until she really had his attention. He scribbled a signature on the check and took her hand, leading her toward the elevators.

An hour later, bedding flung all over the floor, sweat glistening on his skin, Foster tried conversation again.

“I’ll be back at five,” he said. “Enjoy your massage and get yourself back in character for tonight’s show.”

She turned away but he reached for her chin and tilted her face toward him.

“We’ll cut the Arizona gig short, I promise. Let’s make it through the holiday and by January first we’ll be on the road again.”

“Really? California?”

“It’ll be beautiful near San Diego and we’ll put the bus in storage and stay in a nice place. Get a condo for a couple months or something.”

“That’s perfect, sweetie. We can pull off the hippie look there without having to actually live in poverty. Californians expect their New Age types to be wealthy. We can hang out with movie stars. Oh! I know! We get in with the Hollywood crowd and start the Dearly Departed routine. They’ve all got someone they regret losing—breakups with the family they left back home, tragic kid who OD’d. They lap up our séance routine.”

He had already headed for the shower. “Sure, whatever you want to do.” It was the easiest way to shut her up. He had enough on his mind already.