My Lucky Groom (Summer Grooms Series) (2 page)

“Hey!”

The waitress shooed the guy away and nabbed the trash. “He’s
a real Einstein, that one,” she said under her breath, rolling her eyes toward
the guy, who reluctantly took his seat at the next table. In spite of herself,
Ventura giggled. “Let me grab some fresh rags,” the server told her
apologetically. “I’ll be right back.”

She resurfaced quickly with some damp cloths and handed one
to Ventura so she could wipe off her jeans.

“I totally apologize for the mess. Can I get you anything
else? Some fresh coffee, maybe?”

Ventura glanced down at her clothing
,
grateful it would wash
. She was pretty tight on money
these days and had a limited wardrobe. “Thanks, I’ve already had mine.”

The waitress shot her a wry smile. “Wise guy, huh?”

“Just the check, please.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” She scribbled something on her pad and
pressed the tab to the table. “This one’s on the house. We don’t charge for
dumping on customers.”

“Hey, as long as you’ve got your pen out…” The girls turned
to look at Hot Guy, who unbelievably still had the nerve to talk to them. “Do
you think I could have your number?” Naturally, Ventura noted, he was
addressing the server, not her.

The server set her hand on her hip and stared at Hot Guy
with incredulity. Ventura was impressed. She’d seen many a blow-off look, and
this one
ruled.

“Not even your cell?” he asked lamely.

The server shook her head and sighed heavily, turning back
to Ventura. “I apologize for him too. None of that should have happened.”

Ventura shrugged, resigned. “Happens all the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just that guys like
him
,”
she said as Hot Guy finally came to his senses and scurried out the door, “don’t
generally take an interest in girls like me. If you know what I’m saying.”

The server crossed her arms and thoughtfully studied Ventura.
“Might help if you lose the glasses.”

“What?” Ventura asked in disbelief. She adjusted her
tortoiseshell frames, thinking they suited her fine. In fact, she believed
they’d won her extra points in graduate school. Everyone took a girl seriously
who wore such serious-looking eyewear. The fact was, she did have contact
lenses but rarely used them. She didn’t really see the point.

“I’m just saying…” She nodded her head, appraising. “You
actually have very pretty eyes.
But this?
Hoo boy.” To
Ventura’s horror, she leaned forward, invading her personal space, and twisted
up a curly mass of hair. “This, girlfriend, needs work.”

Ventura blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve got to
do
something with it. Not straighten it, I don’t think. If I were you, I’d
definitely go with the curl. Except for on special occasions. Then, I’d use a
flat iron. Maybe add some highlights? Auburn to bring out the hint of red in
your brown?”

Ventura gaped at her. “And you’re such an expert because…?”

The server smiled proudly. “I’m getting my degree in fashion
studies. Online.” She scanned the bustling room, then leaned forward with a confidential
whisper. “As soon as I’m done, I’m out of here. You know what I’m saying? O. U.
T. Out. And onto a better life for myself.”

“Um, that’s great.” Ventura gathered her things, preparing
to stand.

The server stopped her, laying a hand on her arm. “What do
you do?”

Ventura eyed her uncertainly. “I write.”

“Cool! What kind of stuff? Would I know it?”

“Just obituaries, up until now.”

“How depressing. Black isn’t even in anymore.”

“I’m looking for something better.”

“More power to you. I’d imagine dead people aren’t much
fun.” She extended her hand toward Ventura. “I’m Mary.”

Ventura tentatively took her hand and shook it. “Ventura.”

“Where are you headed with that suitcase of yours?”

“I’m new here, so I got a sublet temporarily. Maybe you can tell
me which subway to take?” She shared a small piece of paper bearing a
handwritten address.

Mary took the slip of paper and crumpled it in her hand. “Oh
no, you don’t. I’m not sending you there.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding? What would you want with that location?”

“All the other places cost an arm and a leg.”

“Yeah, well, this is where you go if you want to give your
booty too.” She fanned her face with her hand. “That’s hot territory. Red-light
district, baby.”

Ventura’s face fell. Here she was, a new girl in a new town,
and she’d booked herself into a brothel.

Mary studied her a beat, taking pity. “Hey, don’t look so
down. You know what they say,
When God
closes a door, he opens a disco
.”

“Window.”

“What?”

“The expression is… Never mind.”

“I really did mean to allude to a party.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”

“My landlady’s looking for a new tenant.”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as a makeover.” She studied Ventura with
determination. “It’s the perfect opportunity, for you and me both.”

“What’s in this for you?”

“If we don’t find another girl by Monday, my rent doubles.”

Ventura eyed her skeptically. “Where exactly is this place
of yours?”

“On Capitol Hill. You’ll love it.
It’s
just Nanette, who’s a little weird.”

“Nanette?”

Mary shot her a big, bright grin. “You’ll see.”

The front door opened, and a flamboyant woman in her sixties
greeted Mary warmly, then glanced at Ventura. Her red hair was spun up high in something
akin to a beehive, and her brightly colored, polka-dot dress fit tightly over a
curvaceous figure. She blinked behind long false lashes.

“Hello! What’s this? A new makeover project?”

Mary protectively wrapped an arm around Ventura’s shoulder
and tugged her inside. Ventura nearly stumbled, dragging her suitcase behind
her. “This is Ventura, our new boarder.”

Nanette studied Ventura from head to toe,
then
back up again. “So you’re a lucky girl, ha?”

Ventura was surprised Nanette knew the meaning of her name.
Most folks just equated it with the song “Ventura Highway
.
”
Ventura forced what
she hoped was a pleasant expression. “Not yet, but I’m trying.”

“And we’re going to help her,” Mary said eagerly, shutting
the door behind her.

“Hmm, yes. I see what you mean.” Nanette narrowed her eyes.
“Might help if we start with the hair.”

Ventura swallowed hard, affronted. “Maybe this wasn’t such a
good idea,” she told them both.

“Nonsense!” Nanette proclaimed with a wave of her hand.
“Improving ourselves is
always
a good
idea.” She winked at Mary, sharing some private understanding, then turned her
gaze back on Ventura. “Don’t you worry one bit,
dear.
We’ll do everything in our power to help. It certainly worked with the last
girl.”

“Last girl?”

“My roommate before,” Mary explained. “She moved out to get
married.”

“That was
after
we
helped her turn her life around.”

“And her wardrobe,” Mary inserted.

Hoo boy, just what
have I gotten myself into?
Ventura wondered. Her gaze traveled toward the
door. There was still time to make her escape. But where would she go? Hotels
in the city were expensive, and she barely had enough in savings for a security
deposit and her first month’s rent. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could try
it for the first month,
then
bolt if things got creepy.

“Why don’t you take her to the basement, Mary? I’m sure
Ventura’s tired and would like to settle in.”

Basement? Ventura stared around the cluttered living room
decorated with heavy swags of velvet curtains, old stuffed furniture, and
hurricane lamps that looked like they came from another century. Except these
were electric. Ventura wondered briefly if there’d be a single
lightbulb
dangling from a string in the chamber below.
Maybe above a solitary chair in the center of the room.
The
kind used for interrogating people.
Or worse, for making over
their hair.

“Come on,” Mary urged, hoisting Ventura’s heavy bag to help
her. “Let me show you your new digs.”

Ventura followed her down the dark staircase with
trepidation. At least the neighborhood seemed nice, and the townhouse looked
neat enough from the outside, with its red brick façade and beveled bay windows
leading to a turret on top. But down here in the dungeon, there didn’t appear
to be a hint of natural light anywhere.

Mary flipped on a light, illuminating the small space.
Ventura was relieved to see it wasn’t nearly as horrid as she’d imagined.
They’d entered a small efficiency kitchen with a checkerboard floor and a tiny Formica-topped
table with chairs. Through a doorway into the main room, she found two neatly
arranged twin beds separated from a living area by a large Oriental screen.
Ventura spied blinking neon colors and walked toward the back of the room,
mesmerized by the pulsating lights. Noting they streamed through a high transom
window, she stood up on her tiptoes to peer out of it. Finally, thank goodness.
Something that was bound to be an excellent sign.
Zen’s Chinese Take-Out: Open Twenty-Four
Hours.
What more could a girl hope for?

“So?” Mary asked. “What do you think?”

She turned toward Mary with a grin. “I’ll take it.”

An hour later, Ventura was nearly unpacked. Only the
treasures in the front flap of her suitcase remained. She debated on whether to
take them out,
then
reasoned Mary would understand.
“Do you mind if I put a few things on the refrigerator?”

Mary looked up from where she sat on the bed painting each of
her toenails purple and shrugged. “What you got in there?” she asked,
indicating Ventura’s bag. “A whole magnet collection?”

“That and a few fortunes.” Ventura dug out a gallon-size
plastic bag with a zippered seal. It was stuffed to the brim with little white
slips of paper.

Mary set her polish bottle down on the nightstand with a
thunk. “How long did it take you to eat all—I mean, collect those?”

“Been saving them for years.”

“Really?” Mary’s dark eyes lit up with interest. “Any
special ones?”

“They’re all special,” Ventura told her. And they were. Each
and every one had spoken to her in some individual way. Not that she was
superstitious or anything.

“I mean,
extra special
,”
Mary prodded.

Even though there was one of particular importance, Ventura didn’t
know Mary well enough to share it with her. In fact, in all these years, she’d
never shared it with anybody. Just kept it squirreled away in a secret spot in
her wallet, so she could glance at it whenever she felt like it.

“Yeah,” Ventura teased. “There’s one about meeting a tall,
dark stranger.”

Mary’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding! They still print
that?”

“No. That one is vintage. At least ten years old. But I’ve
got it.” She dug it out of her bag as evidence and handed it over.

Mary laughed and shook her head. “You’re funny, Ventura. You
should come with me tomorrow. Meet some Washingtonians.”

“Where are you going?”

“Some big arts fundraiser. Scored tickets from my friend
Petra at the gallery.”

“I’m not sure. It sounds…” Ventura looked down at her dowdy
clothes. “Fancy.”

“Tons of people will be there,” Mary tempted. “Reporters and
such. Maybe you can make connections?”

That sounded good in abstract. Concretely, Ventura wasn’t
sure she could pull it off. Attending some big DC soiree with tons of society
types, on only her second day here?

Mary studied Ventura’s clunky sandals. “Bring any better
shoes?”

Ventura sat on the bed with a sigh. “They’re all more or
less like this.”

Mary’s face brightened sweetly. “No worries. We’ve got
plenty of time.”

Chapter Two

Ventura and Mary approached the awning overhanging the
gold-framed front doors to the glitzy hotel.
Arriving
limousines were greeted by valets opening doors and escorting elegantly clad
patrons into the night
. Ventura clomped forward, self-consciously
adjusting her too-tight halter. The dress might have been Lycra, but the tiny
size eight was stretched to the max over Ventura’s ample size-twelve figure.

“Stop gripping on to me, will ya?” Mary chided Ventura as
she clung to Mary’s elbow, teetering unsteadily on spiky heels.

“You should have let me wear flats.”

Mary shot her an indignant pout. “I know that was a joke.”
While they were a different size in dresses, luckily for her, Mary had said,
they both shared the same size shoes. “Come on,” she said, leading Ventura along.
“You look gorgeous.”

Ventura tucked her cleavage beneath her glittery thigh-high
gown. It was all gold and sparkly, making Ventura feel more like a bulbous
Christmas ornament than a glam girl.

A bellman pulled back the door, and the women walked inside.
Mary waved her tickets in the air with a smile and they headed for the ballroom
door. “This is going to be fab. You’ll see.”

“Sure,” Ventura said. “Just don’t go too far. I might topple
over.”

Mary swatted Ventura’s hand with the tickets. “Get a hold of
yourself, and put on your party face. This is your big chance. An opportunity
to mingle! Actually,” she said, prying Ventura’s fingers off her arm, “it’s my
chance too.” Then, to Ventura’s horror, she started to scurry away. “Catch you
in a while. Ta!”

Ventura drew a breath, attempting to steady herself. The
room in front of her was abuzz with clinking champagne flutes and society
chatter. Men in tuxedos walked by, chatting amiably while elegantly coiffed
women followed. A waiflike blonde threw her head back in exaggerated laughter,
attempting to flatter a gorgeous, dark-eyed man. There were so many
conversations milling about, it was impossible to pick up more than snippets of
them beneath the clickity-clack of empty drink glasses being set down on trays
as waiters carted fresh libations forth.