Temple scavenged among the shoe racks in her wall-long closet, rejecting several candidates before finding the pair of purple satin sandals she’d got on sale at Designer Shoe Warehouse.
Perfect, the mirror said. You look way too hot, the voice in Temple’s head warned the blonde in the mirror. So? Her date had just faced a huge personal shock. Might as well take his mind off of it. He seemed to be in the mood. Besides, what could happen at the Bellagio that they couldn’t backtrack from … which they’d gotten very good at … in a heartbeat?
“Wow. You look like a movie star,” Temple greeted Matt at her door.
He was wearing a cream blazer over an open-necked cocoa silk shirt that showcased his unusual brown-eyed blond coloring.
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
“Then we’ll really wow them at the Bellagio.”
“Not that I want to obscure your glory but do you have some sort of wrap? Could get chilly later.”
“Oh.” She’d figured they’d use valet parking but maybe not. “Just a sec.”
She darted back into the bedroom to raid her scarf drawer for an airy lavender and silver-thread stole-thing.
Midnight Louie, stretched out on the bed, opened one green eye to watch her swing the stole over her bare shoulders. He looked like he was winking approval.
“Back before midnight, boy,” she reassured him, as if he cared.
When she returned to the foyer and grabbed her tiny silver evening purse again, Matt opened the door. Before she could glide through, his finger touched the necklace in recognition.
Temple stopped as if hitting an invisible wall. “Looks even nicer on,” he said.
“It’s lovely. I I… just needed the right occasion to wear it.”
“This is the right occasion.”
When his finger dropped away from her skin, she felt like someone who had been released from a spell and hurried out into the short hall leading to the elevator.
The one-floor elevator ride was a study in awkward silence.
When the door slid back, Electra Lark was waiting for them. Mega-awkward.
Actually, she’d been waiting for the elevator.
Electra stepped back in mock awe, clutching her hands over the terminally floral muumuu covering her buxom body in the region symbolizing her heart.
“I’m stunned. Don’t you two look like escapees from the top of a wedding cake; good enough to eat! What’s the occasion?’ There was nothing to do but step out into lobby and explain themselves.
“Dinner at the Bellagio,” Temple said.
“That’ll set you back! Must be a big celebration.”
“I wrapped up a big account,” Temple said, just as Matt said, “A family reunion.”
“Well.” Electra looked from one to the other, speculative, surprised, and pleased at the same time. “Temple, love the hair! Nice to have such snazzy tenants add class to my lobby. Enjoy yourselves.”
“We will,” Matt promised in farewell, ushering Temple down the side hall to the parking lot at the rear.
She giggled as they left the landlady behind. “Suppose that reaction means she’s used to seeing us in our scruffies.”
“And separately.”
The parking lot was only half full.
Temple came to a full halt again as they emerged into the still-warm night air. “That’s right! I get to ride in the Crossfire.”
“The Hesketh Vampire would hardly do for that get-up.”
“Guess not.” Mention of the silver vintage motorcycle that had been Max’s, then Electra’s, and now was Matt’s to borrow when he pleased drew a thin curtain of what Temple would from now on consider “Catholic guilt” over her mood.
Matt established her in the passenger seat of the low silver car. She oohed over the leather interior and futuristic dashboard until they were well underway.
“Regret not waiting to buy until the convertible model came out?” she asked.
“Not really, given both our needs to avoid too much exposure to the sun.”
“I suppose my Miata ragtop was a dopey purchase but it’s great to tool around town in, and I wear a vintage straw hat with a built-in scarf I can tie on. So forties.”
“Risk taking is good for the soul,” he said, while Temple decided to reparse his last comment about the Crossfire convertible being dangerous to their skin types.
It was true. Natural blondes and redheads were sun-sensitive. Skin cancer was an ugly reality in a sunshine state like Nevada. So why should Matt be thinking of the Crossfire in relation to her skin tones as well as his?
Hmmm.
The Circle Ritz building, dating from the fifties, had been erected amazingly close to the Strip. Nowadays, it couldn’t afford the location, had it not already snatched it. In moments, they were cruising the Strip’s overheated neon length. The Paris Hotel’s festive balloon floated above the traffic like a tattooed moon fallen to earth. The Mirage’s volcano flashed fire and outroared the MGM-Grand lion. The Hilton’s chorus line of neon flamingos pulsed their hot-pink plumage.
They were heading south.
“The Bellagio—” Temple was about to point out that the hotel was north from where they were now. They were heading away, toward the Crystal Phoenix Hotel’s neon namesake looming large on the right. It vanished into their wake.
“I decided someplace off the beaten tourist path would be better,” Matt said. “That all right?”
“Uh, sure. All the restaurants in the Bellagio cost an arm and a leg and a first-born child, anyway.”
He just smiled at her. The dashboard lights made his features look, not eerie, as that kind of theatrical uplighting usually did, but gilded.
For some reason, Temple felt that the tiny metal purse on her lap required the tight custody of both hands.
In moments, the Strip was glittering history in the rearview mirror. Oceans of bedroom communities twinkled across the broad valley floor.
Max’s place was somewhere out there.
And then the desert darkness swallowed even that, leaving only the Crossfire’s headlight beams sweeping the deserted highway ahead. From the darkness all around came the intermittent rhythm of the one mysterious light glimpsed now and then. Who lived way out there alone, you wondered. What were they doing now?
What were they doing now?
Temple racked her brain for some new chichi restaurant out in the boonies but she could only think of Three O’Clock Louie’s at Temple Bar on Lake Mead. That was definitely not chichi and not in the direction they were heading.
An antsy little spasm started in the pit of her stomach. This was ridiculous! She was with Matt. He wouldn’t take her anywhere she didn’t want to go.
He wouldn’t take her anywhere she didn’t want to go. Oh.
When he reached a break in some barbed wire (all this land was owned, no matter how deserted looking), she glimpsed another of those cryptic highway mile markers. Fifty-one, it read.
Fifty-one! Area 51. But, no, that was farther north than this.
Temple cringed as the Crossfire jolted over a winding sandy road. Hard on the brand-new suspension. “Where are we—?”
“The horses know the way,” Matt said. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” Liar.
He’d had such a huge shock back in Chicago. Finding a father he’d never known and thought was dead. She remembered the Matt who’d been obsessed about tracking down his stepfather. He’d been relentless, angry, explosive sometimes. She hadn’t glimpsed that side of him for a long time. Still .. .
The headlights finally revealed another sign.
Salt Cedar Springs.
For a moment, Temple had thought it read “Saltpeter Springs.” She giggled to herself. Nervously. “I didn’t know there was a restaurant way out here.”
Matt turned off the engine. Turned to her. “It’s Alice’s restaurant. You can get anything you want.”
Then he came around and opened the door. She stepped out onto sand.