‘‘You look like the same old Mike too,’’ she said. ‘‘And I mean
that
as a compliment.’’ The words didn’t come out as she intended. They sounded sarcastic and bitter.
‘‘Hildy, come on. You’re mad, aren’t you? Don’t be, please.’’ His fingers grasped her chin again and turned her face toward his. ‘‘Let me get a good look at you.’’
‘‘Don’t look at me!’’ Hildy protested, very conscious that her skin tingled where his fingers were. ‘‘I was just tossed around on the bottom of the Atlantic. I must be a mess.’’ She tried to pull away from his hands, but he firmly held her face toward his.
‘‘I just have to look at you. You’re so doggone cute. Just like I remembered.’’ His eyes dropped toward the transparent white T-shirt plastered against her now-transparent white bra that clearly revealed her small breasts. ‘‘In fact, all of you is just like I remembered.’’
‘‘Don’t be fresh!’’ she said, and quickly pulled the T-shirt away from her body, making it opaque again. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. She felt so happy sitting here with Mike. With Mike! Her spirits floated upward like champagne bubbles, making her feel giddy.
‘‘Come on, Hildy, smile, that’s it. Let me see those dimples. That’s better! I always loved your dimples. They just made me melt inside every time I saw them.’’ He was staring at her. The air between them became charged with electricity. A funny feeling started low in her belly. Hildy could barely keep from throwing herself into his arms.
‘‘Hildy’’—Mike’s voice got husky when he said her name—‘‘you know, ever since I got the invitation to our high school reunion, I’ve been thinking about you.’’
‘‘You have? I’ve been thinking about you too, but not just since the invitation. I’ve always thought about you. About you and me.’’ Her voice was almost a whisper and it wobbled when she spoke. She felt like crying again, but this time from happiness.
Suddenly Mike broke eye contact. ‘‘No kidding! You’ve been thinking about me. Isn’t that just something.’’
Embarrassment stained Hildy’s cheeks red once more. She had revealed too much of her true feelings. Mike’s withdrawal had been immediate. It erased the moment of intimacy that had just occurred and put distance between them.
Hildy didn’t know what to say now, so she didn’t say anything. Mike didn’t say anything either. Gulls cried out overhead with sad voices. The waves thundered on the shore.
‘‘Well, maybe I better go,’’ Hildy said at last, feeling awkward and wanting to escape. She started to stand up.
He put a hand on her shoulder, pushed her back down, and kept her from moving. ‘‘No, don’t go. I have an idea.’’
He squeezed her shoulder, then brushed her neck with the tips of his fingers. Hildy’s breath came out with an ‘‘Uh.’’ She closed her eyes. His fingers kept stroking the place at the base of her throat. ‘‘Mike, don’t—’’ she started to say, but didn’t move. She kept her eyes closed tight.
‘‘Hildy,’’ Mike said, and touched her earlobe. A shiver of delight shook her from head to toe. ‘‘Let’s get together. We can talk about old times. Catch up on what’s happened in our lives. Are you staying around here?’’
The realization raced through Hildy’s mind that Michael Amante wanted to see her. He was asking her out on a date. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she should pinch herself. She finally opened her eyes and looked at him. He was staring at her. His fingers kept caressing her earlobe. She felt dazed.
‘‘I have a summer rental in Ship Bottom. On Twenty-fifth Street, first house in from Long Beach Boulevard on the bay side. It’s gray. It’s got whales on it,’’ she murmured. ‘‘It’s easy to find.’’
‘‘You’ll be here for the whole summer? That’s fantastic. I’m down here for the summer too. A big real estate construction deal. Condos. I’m staying at Trump Plaza.’’ He paused and took his hand away from her ear. He slapped the pockets of his wet shorts. ‘‘Oh damn, no way I can write down your phone number. I didn’t bring anything with me.’’ Then his face brightened. ‘‘But you can call me. Just call the hotel. Really, Hildy, I want to talk with you. Will you call me?’’
Hildy felt dazzled, lost in a dream. ‘‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll call you.’’ She turned her head toward him. Mike’s lips were so close. Her blue eyes gazed longingly into his brown ones. She felt as if she could see his soul. ‘‘When? When should I call?’’ Her voice floated on her breath, softly, seductively.
He answered at once. ‘‘Call me tonight—’’ Then his eyes slid away from hers. A shadow flickered across his face. He physically pulled away and when he spoke, a tentativeness muddled his response. ‘‘Wait, no, tonight’s not good. Ummm . . . let’s see. Call me tomorrow. Yeah, that’s okay. But not in the morning. Call me—ummm, try after lunch, around one.’’
For Hildy, the spell had broken. First he came on to her, then he backed off. Then he came on to her, now he was hedging about what time she should call. Something else was going on here, and she didn’t like her feelings being played with like this.
‘‘You know, Mike—’’ she snapped. She was about to say maybe the whole phone call thing wasn’t such a good idea.
Mike cut her off. ‘‘No, I mean it, Hildy. I do want you to call me.’’ Mike picked up her hand in his and squeezed it. His touch sent a zing of electricity up her arm. ‘‘I really do.’’ He said the words soft and low. He had started stroking her palm with his thumb. Hildy could barely think straight. His eyes sought hers again. ‘‘It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Promise you’ll call.’’
It’s been too long since he’s seen me?
She couldn’t believe her ears. She’d walk across coals for him now. ‘‘I promise,’’ she whispered.
‘‘MIIIII-CHAEL! MIIIII-CHAEL!’’ A high shrill voice called from the distance. ‘‘MICHAEL!!! DARLING! WHERE ARE YOU?’’
Mike dropped Hildy’s hand as if it were a burning coal. He jumped up. He waved his arms. ‘‘Over here!’’ he called.
Hildy saw a woman coming toward them. As she got closer, Hildy could see that she was tall and slender, like a fashion model. A turquoise sarong hung low on her hips, revealing a diamond on a gold hoop through her pierced navel. She was holding a floppy-brimmed straw hat on her head with a bejeweled hand. Long black hair cascaded down over darkly tanned shoulders. And her ample breasts bounced with every step, nearly escaping the skimpy halter top that matched her sarong.
Hildy got to her feet slowly and stood next to Mike. He moved away.
‘‘Kiki! You’ll never guess who I ran into!’’ Mike’s voice sounded too loud to Hildy.
The woman removed her dark sunglasses, revealing kohl-rimmed eyes so dark they looked black. She glared at Hildy as if she were seeing something repellent, like a cockroach. ‘‘You’re right, Mike. I’ll never guess. Who is this poor wet child?’’
‘‘Child?’’ Hildy sputtered. ‘‘I’m not—’’
‘‘She’s only kidding, aren’t you, Kiki?’’ Mike said, flustered. He quickly moved to the woman’s side. ‘‘Hildy, this is my fiancée, Kiki. Kiki, this is Hildy, an old friend from high school. I’ve talked about her before. Remember?’’
‘‘No, I can’t say that I do,’’ Kiki answered, and extended a hand. Hildy felt obliged to take it. Kiki’s hand was cool and lightly perfumed. Hildy’s was hot, sweaty, and covered with sand.
‘‘Hildy, is it? What’s that short for? Hildegard?’’ Kiki looked down her perfect little nose. Her smile never reached her eyes, and her red lips parted to show very white teeth.
Like a barracuda’s,
Hildy thought, and said, ‘‘It’s Hildy. Just Hildy.’’ She widened her stance, put her hands on her hips, and lifted her chin. She felt totally pissed off. This creature was odious. Whatever was Mike doing with such a witch? But even as the question formed, she knew the answer. Kiki was absolutely gorgeous.
Kiki turned to Mike, making a point of ignoring Hildy completely. ‘‘Michael, we have a luncheon with the governor in an hour. Darling, we really have to hurry.’’
Just then, wafting on the breeze, Hildy heard the
Gilligan’s Island
theme song. She knew that ring tone. She had downloaded it herself to celebrate her summer vacation, and she had left her cell phone in her tote bag. She glanced around. Her towel and bag were just a few yards up the beach.
The jaunty theme song continued to warble about ‘‘a three-hour tour.’’
‘‘Oh my, that’s my cell. It’s probably the pope calling. I simply must answer it.’’ Hildy’s clear voice rang out; it was very bright and very sharp. ‘‘Nice to have met you, uhhhm, what was your name? Kinky?’’ Hildy whirled around and began to stalk away.
‘‘Hildy, wait!’’ Mike called out.
Hildy stopped and looked back over her shoulder. She gave him her best smile, the one that showed her dimples. ‘‘I really have to go, but thanks, Mike. Thanks for pulling me out of the water.’’ Then the devil made her do it, and she added, her voice dripping sarcasm, ‘‘It’s been just
great
seeing you. I mean that. I really do.’’
Then she turned away so Michael Amante—and his fiancée—wouldn’t see the silvery tears already spilling from behind her eyelids and running down her cheeks.
Chapter 5
It was the best of days. It was the worst of days.
Hildy had never before experienced such extremes of emotion in such a short time. Even after she had walked away from Mike and answered her phone—her sister Corrine was ringing to find out where Hildy had gone—she felt confused about what had just transpired here on the beach by Caesar’s.
When she finished the brief phone call, she thought she could feel Mike’s eyes watching her, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t bear to. With as much poise as she could muster, she held her head high and crossed the sand to return to the boardwalk. There, out of sight of the beach, she broke into a trot as she headed for the casino parking lot, level five, row eight, where she told Corrine to meet her.
Within seconds, a stab of pain radiated outward from the middle of her chest and scared her so badly she nearly stopped to call 911. But she realized this terrible hurt was just what happened when your heart breaks a little. Like a vase with a hairline crack in it, she was still in one piece, but definitely damaged.
After all, for a little while back there on the sand, all her wishes seemed to have come true. Mike had behaved as if something special was happening between them. They both had been swept up in a sudden passion; there had been magic in the air. Hildy hadn’t imagined the magnetism and the desire.
Yet the rush of desire didn’t mean Mike still cared. Maybe the attraction that drew them so swiftly together had been lust, although that seemed ridiculous. Mike was going to marry a woman who looked like a Hollywood star.
Why would he get all hot and bothered over me?
she thought.
I’m the girl next door, not a femme fatale. In the movies, I’m the good girl who gets left behind when the hero runs off with the naughty sex symbol
.
Just then, Hildy gazed upward. A huge statue of the great Roman emperor Julius Caesar outside the casino seemed to smile down on her, telling her to consider the whole picture. As much as she ached inside, Hildy felt a sense of wonder and awe that it had been Mike Amante who pulled her out of the sea. The coincidence had been so extraordinary it must be some kind of miracle. It had to mean something.
What did it mean?
Hildy thought. Had her rescue been a divine intervention? Or was some lesser deity laughing at her right now, for behaving like such a fool?
Hildy was so preoccupied that she reached the casino parking lot without seeing the short man, more stocky than fat, in a lime green sports jacket who had been following her. He had spotted her coming up the path from the beach at Michigan Avenue. He hurried to try to get close to her, but he couldn’t believe how fast that young girl moved. She was practically running.
The best the man could do was keep her within view. Fortunately there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. He might be fifty-something, but he had nearly twenty-twenty vision even if his eyes did protrude from their sockets like Rodney Dangerfield’s. The problem wasn’t his eyes. It was his thyroid; he’d had trouble with it all his life. It made him nervous. It kept his rage dangerous and his temper on a hair trigger. And those pop eyes had given him the nickname that even his parole officer called him, although not to his face—Jimmy the Bug.
And speaking of parole officers, Jimmy the Bug was trying to duck his. By the terms and conditions of his release from prison, he had been instructed to stay out of the casinos. But James O’Callahan Torelli, boss of a South Jersey crime family, hadn’t been ordered to attend Gamblers Anonymous for nothing. Jimmy the Bug had a betting habit, one he couldn’t kick.
So not having made a wager in a week and getting very antsy because of it, Jimmy the Bug figured nobody would look for him at Atlantic City in the daytime, when all the old folks came on the buses. He was cautious to the point of paranoia. He wore large black sunglasses. He had ordinary Nikes on his feet, partly because his bunions were killing him.
He was blissfully unaware of his idiosyncrasies. Nobody ever dared to point them out. He hitched his pants up when he walked, and he frequently talked to himself, muttering complaints and a steady stream of four-letter words. But since Atlantic City attracted a broad spectrum of oddballs and weirdos, nobody paid attention to the little man in the brilliant green sports coat.
Today he traveled alone. He told his crew, which is what he called the bodyguards, fellow criminals, and sycophants who stayed close to him at all times, that he had an appointment with his proctologist.Nobody volunteered to go along, which was his plan. He didn’t trust anybody unless he cut the cards first. He had been betrayed before.
Jimmy the Bug had chosen Caesar’s as the casino where he planned to spend a few relaxing hours at the slots, hoping it would settle his nerves. He needed to get his equilibrium back after a week of business disappointments, including a scam gone bad and the arrest of one of his lieutenants. As it turned out, Jimmy didn’t even come close to mellowing out. He had just settled himself at a Slingo machine when who did he see pulling the one-armed bandit maybe ten machines away? Mr. Adderly, his parole officer.