Page 61 of Space Oddities

She quirks a light brown brow at me, but thankfully lets the lie go. “By the way.” She steps back, eyeing me from heel to chignon. “You look banging in that dress.”

“Oh.” The compliment has me rolling back shoulders I hadn’t realized were hunched. “Thanks.” I run my hand over the textured fabric, trying to drum up my earlier excitement. I do love this dress. I love the way Ian looks at me in it. But standing here, away from all the fancy people and their fancy lives, I feel like I might as well kick off my heels, strip off this thousand-dollar dress, and unearth my Walmart cut-offs and tank top I wore while barefoot back in my grandparents’ double wide.

The pale, matte fabric looks almost bridal under the glow from the ceiling lights. I’d like to think I chose white because the lack of color contrasts well with my dark hair and favorite magenta lipstick. But, if I’m honest, the fanciful part of myself chose it as a nod to the debutante ball I never had. A southern tradition most all of my high school classmates participated in, and one that I was never chosen for, not even to attend. Except to serve as a cocktail waitress at the country club before moving on up in the service industry to exotic dancer.

As if reading my mind, Rose snickers, elbowing me in the side. “Not many strippers can pull off white.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the stab the harmless-meant joke makes.

Rose hikes up her strapless emerald green gown, her boobs jostling. Her wild blond hair is high on top and loose around her shoulders, and the fabric of her gown is so tight it looks fit to burst. Nothing about Rose is contained. I doubt it ever could be.

Shaking off my pointless sad thoughts, I return the favor and give Rose the once-over. “You also look banging, sugar.”

“Damn straight I do.” Rose grabs my empty glass and tosses it in a potted plant. “Let’s get something a little harder, shall we?” She tugs me along after her, thankfully not fast as she’s restricted by her dress. “And maybe a drink too while we’re at it.”

* * *

Ian lied.

He said he’d be back in ten minutes, and it’s been sixty of them.

So here I am, sitting at an empty back table, sipping watered-down gin and tonics with a billionaire oil heiress who’s on a mission for a one-night stand.

Rose heaves a large sigh, testing the limits of her dress seams. “I get that you’re more an introvert, babe.” She snorts. “Who’da thought a stripper could be an introvert?”

“Ex-stripper, thank you very much.” I seriously regret admitting that piece of my past.

“Yeah, yeah.” Rose attempts to wave away my clarification, but the hand she’s using has a drink in it. Half of it splashes onto the white tablecloth in front of us. “Shoot.” She scans the room, making eye contact with the waitress she’d bribed for quick service. After a nod, the girl scurries off to the bar. “Anyhoo.” Rose knocks back the rest of her drink. “As I was saying.”

“Me being an introvert?” I think about it. “I guess it’s true. Most writers are.”

“But don’t you getbored?” She draws out the last word, sounding like a whining child. “Like right now.” Rose drops her head into her hand, supported by her elbow on the table. “I am so bored.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I can see that. Whenever I do, I make up stories or squirrel away information to use in a book. I find people fascinating.” And also threatening, but I leave that part out.

Rose continues to pout.

I scan the room of important-looking people until I find what I’m looking for. “There.” I point, one drink past caring about being polite. “That woman in the white fur stole.”

Rose straightens up, finding the person I’m talking about. “Fur? It’s September in Houston, for God’s sake. It’s still in the eighties.”

I shimmy forward in my seat. “What if she isn’t rich, and that stole is all she has left from her grandmother and she’s here tonight to try and find a rich husband to help her pay off her family’s debt?” Rose opens her mouth, but I snap my fingers, cutting her off. “Orwhat if she’s a plant by an animal activist group and she’s sacrificed herself to get red paint poured all over her for a political statement?”

Rose laughs. “She chose the wrong state to make that plea. Texas is the poster child state for leather, fur, and all things anti-PETA.”

I nod, recalling all the cowboy boots, belts, and leather jackets at Big Texas on any given night.

Rose finishes the rest of her drink and considers the woman. “I think it would be cooler if she’s an assassin and underneath her fur she has a ceramic blade taped to her back.” She smirks at me. “Audrey Cole hasn’t written a romantic suspense yet.”

That makes me chuckle. “No, I guess she—”

“God Bless America” blasts from the speakers, making me jump in my seat.

Rose points to the double doors across the way. “Must be the senator making his grand entrance.” We both stand, trying to get a better look.

The senator and his wife stroll slowly through the crowd, shaking hands and waving like royalty as they make their way into the room. Cameras flash, and people cheer as if at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Which is fine. Apparently this is the pomp and circumstance due a United States senator.

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