Thomas
Trying to go undercover is hard enough when it's just me. I've done it before and generally pulled it off because self-reliance is a wonderful thing most of the time. Going undercover with someone else requires a degree of teamwork and while I could manage it with TC or Rick, that's because we've known each other long enough to anticipate each other.
Not quite so with Daisy. Since her commercial wasn't going to be filmed until next week, I took the case. We agreed to dress as preppy as we could, which meant a Lacoste shirt and khakis for me. She went with some little sundress but she was also wearing a pair of glasses that made her look like a librarian. A cute librarian. Added to that she'd put her hair in these flirty sort of pigtails. All that was . . . distracting, but not nearly as much as the three carat diamond on her left hand.
"Okay, where'd you get that?" I wanted to know as we climbed into the Ferrari.
"Won it in a poker game," Daisy snickered. "Look if we want to hook these con artists, we have to show off that we're rich. The car helps, and this . . ." she waved her hand a little, "drives it home. So you're the one with big money, right?"
I grinned. "Sure. The Smiths are FFV right back to the founding fathers. I run a branch of the fah-mily's investment firm when I'm not playing tennis and squash."
"Ooooh, squash, huh? Handsome and spoiled," Daisy nodded.
"Spoiled?" I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that, but she gave a shrug.
"Maybe not spoiled, but . . . used to getting your way, then. I'm well-off too. Ugly duckling of my family, met you at . . ."
". . . The country club," I prompted, pulling out onto the highway and heading towards Ala Moana. "The Spring Fundraiser for the Gilded Palms Art Gallery."
"Ah yes," Daisy giggled. "How could I forget? You dropped a canapé down my cleavage when one of the caterers bumped you. The rest is history."
I grinned because it was a pretty great image.
"Speaking of history," I began as tactfully as I could a moment later. "Tell me about this magazine so I can be, ah, properly outraged."
Daisy stuck her lower lip out, which along with the pigtails made her look about fourteen. "Okay, the fake story is that I did it on a dare with two of my Sorority sisters. The real story though? About nine years ago my car was stolen. An older Volkswagen Beetle but it was the only transportation I had. I was stuck with a part-time job and freelance work that wasn't steady enough to build much in the way of savings. There was a photography studio next door to the answering service I worked at and they had been offering me nude modeling jobs for a while. This time I took them up on it. Got enough to replace the car."
"The ends justified the means," I sympathized. Nobody wanted to see me naked, but I'd sold my blood more than once when I had to.
"Something like that," Daisy nodded. "I used a fake name and never told anyone until now. Not that I'm ashamed of my body or anything, but . . . it wasn't where I wanted my career to go."
I thought about Holmby Hills and for once, kept my mouth shut.
"Then my parents found out and . . ." she trailed off.
"Not good," I agreed.
Daisy turned to look at me, her gaze bleak. "They never liked me to begin with, and yeah, this was too much for them. We haven't spoken since."
That took me aback. "They're your parents," I protested. "Of course they like you."
"No, they don't," she countered, sighing. "I wasn't planned; I was a difficult birth and I was an imposition on both their careers—a fact that both of them reminded me of repeatedly while I was growing up. I'm sure you have great parents, Tomcat, but trust me, not everyone is lucky that way."
There was something in her tone of voice that told me she was telling the truth—at least the truth as she knew it. And while I'm no psychologist, suddenly a career as a stuntwoman—a person forever looking for attention and approval—made sense.
I shifted my hand to pat hers as best I could while driving.
We made it to the Rolling Waves hotel and just inside the lobby was the sign for the counseling, directing us to a meeting room. I parked my sunglasses on top of my head, wrote out my name badge and stuck it on my chest, doing my best to look rich and impatient. Sort of channeling my inner Higgins I guess. Daisy took her time and I stared at her tag.
"John and . . . Marsha?" I muttered, echoes of Stan Freberg in my head.
She grinned at me.
Daisy
I don't know why I told him about my parents, I really don't. Maybe it's because Magnum listens. Maybe it's because picking up that old issue of Sizzle brought back some pretty bitter memories. Whatever it was I felt awkward having said anything. I mean it had been years since that last fight, and I'd gotten used to the idea of being disowned. I didn't need my father's condescension or mom's pointed barbs getting back in my head. They'd made it clear that I wasn't welcome in their lives and I'd done my best to honor that order.
Still, it hurt. I always felt like I needed to make up for my existence around them and in the early years I tried, I really did but neither my achievements nor my failures ever seemed to make a difference. Honestly, I got the feeling they were glad to find out about my pictorial since it gave them the perfect excuse to cut me out of their lives.
If only that issue of Sizzle hadn't shown up at the barber shop my dad went to. Ah well.
We made it to the hotel and signed in; Magnum looked pained at my choice of names.
"Marsha," I told him. "My sisters are April and May, don't you know."
"You're not taking this seriously," he accused in an undertone, but he got that half-grin on his face which told me he was at least amused.
"Hey, you could be John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith . . ." I offered under my breath.
So close to making him laugh. SO close, but no, Magnum just gave me a pained look and steered me into the room. There were two other couples there, and at the front of the room was a curvy middle-aged blonde woman in a beaded poncho.
"Hello folks, thanks for showing up on time!" she called out to us. "We still have a few minutes before we start, so find a place to sit and get ready to do some soul-searching!"
"I don't want to soul-search," I told Magnum, who gave me a bland smile.
"We're being watched; look pouty," he told me, so I did, huffing a little. As I set my purse down I peeked around the room: two painfully thin touristy types on one side, and an elderly couple who looked ready to shiv each other just on Magnum's left. I fiddled with my glasses, pretending to clean them.
"Chilly in here," I told him meaningfully.
"Oh yeah," he agreed without looking at me.
We found out the blonde in the poncho was Sylvia, who had a degree from Tyrol University in something called 'Empathetic Analysis and Dual Emotional Harmonic Reinforcement' which was horseshit of the highest degree. I had trouble keeping a straight face while she lectured for a while on the 'waves of hurting rays' that she claimed were rolling off all of us. Magnum was shifting around in his seat too.
Finally we were asked as couples to meet with Sylvia at a little side room. She watched us come in and sit down before shaking her head at us.
"So Julius told me about your . . . contention," she said. "Your . . . indiscretion?" That last was to me of course.
Magnum grunted.
"It's not that big a deal, John!" I protested, right on cue. "The human body is beautiful!"
"Not when yours is about to make us the laughingstock of the club, Marsha," Magnum growled. It was sort of sexy to hear him even if the anger wasn't real.
"I realize it's a sensitive topic," Sylvia jumped in, and I noticed she focused on Magnum instead of both of us. "But we can work through this together and get you two back to the loving couple you were meant to be." Then she looked at me. "Did you, ah, bring the item in question?"
I had; I fished in my purse and reluctantly handed over the magazine, well-aware of Magnum's gaze following on it. Sylvia took it and set it face down on the table between us. "All right then. So Marsha, tell me about what motivated you to do this."
I spun a story about a whimsical dare; how my sorority sisters Sondra and Paige had challenged me, and how I'd agreed to it since it would be under a pseudonym and it was just a silly prank, really, nothing serious. Even managed to work up a few tears about it, wiping under my glasses when I was done.
Sylvia looked mildly sympathetic, which I counted as a win. I risked a sidelong glance at Magnum.
He looked irritated. "Be that as it may, Marsha, this little peccadillo of yours could well cost us the Meyer account and get us banned from the yacht club."
"Johnnnnn," I drawled out. "No one needs to know! I didn't use my real name!"
Sylvia tutted. "How bad could it be?" she murmured, and then she flipped the magazine open, landing right on my, um, best side.
No one said anything. I didn't have to; I remembered that particular pose. Sylvia looked a little startled, and Magnum . . .
I actually heard his teeth grind.