my first priority. And besides, I thought, watching the swish of Cher’s skirt in front of me, they were all I had now.
Nine o’clock was apparently still early for the swinger crowd, though there were enough people in the east ballroom to begin the evening’s fun. In the event that Joaquin was one of them-knowing he was never one to turn down a willing victim-I linked my arm with Cher’s so we could make our first round of the room, decorated in acres of black leather just for the occasion. I hoped.
First, however, we had to register and receive our armbands.
“Got anything in pink?” Cher asked the receptionist sitting behind a long draped table just to the right of the door. Pamphlets touting regional, local, and national conferences were splayed out before her, but Cher was busy studying the red, blue, yellow, and green plastic bands taped to the table in front of us. “Pink’s my favorite color.”
The woman only stared.
“I’m more of a purple-lovin’ kind of girl myself,” I added, smiling down into the woman’s round face. Besides, purple was almost black, and I thought Olivia would consider such a detail.
The woman just blinked and turned her cold gaze on me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Hunh? “Well…purple is traditionally the color used for royalty. It’s also really great with my coloring, though it has to be the right shade. Lilac would be best.”
Troy, who’d been listening behind us from his guard post next to Suzanne, edged his way between us and the table. “I think she means what does the color signify for the purposes of this event. In this case, purple and pink mean nothing.” He turned back to the greeter, and his lips drew up in pure saccharine smile. “I’ll take a green one, please.”
The woman blushed all the way down to her graying roots. As she fumbled with his wristband, I noted she too had a green one fastened over her own pudgy wrist. I held out my hand for one as well. She ignored me. “And your name is, Mr…?”
“Just call me Troy.”
“Troy,” she said breathlessly, her eyes traveling up to his lips. What the hell was going on here? Was there some sort of mental telepathy at play, or had I completely missed the nuances of a new form of speed dating? “That’s lovely, but I need your full name so I can give you your name badge.”
“Ugh.” Cher shuddered beside me. “Name badges?”
That seemed to wake the woman from her lustful reverie. She was all business as she flicked through a box to find Troy’s badge. “It makes the introductory process less inhibiting, and it’s a good conversation starter. Your place of birth is printed below it as well, ah…Mr. Stone.”
As she handed it to him I held out my arm. “Green, please.”
Suzanne put her hand on my shoulder. “Um, Olivia, maybe…”
The woman-her badge said Mary Malone from Topeka-snapped the green over my wrist. Troy nodded approvingly. I lifted my mask, smiled at Mary again, and used my sister’s sweetest tone-and the dimple I knew resided in her left cheek-to try and win her over again. “Thank you, Miss Malone.”
This time she responded warmly. “You’re very welcome…?”
“Olivia. Olivia Archer,” I said slowly, my brows drawing together at her quick change of heart. My dimple wasn’t that cute. She handed me my name badge, fingers lingering over mine, and I drew back quickly. I heard a muffled snort behind me, but when I turned Suzanne’s face was straight, absent of all humor.
“And for the rest of you?”
Cher held out her wrist. “I’ll take-”
“Maybe we should find out exactly what each color means first, dear,” Suzanne said, stilling her stepdaughter. “Mary?”
Mary blinked at us in surprise. “Oh, are you first-timers? All right then, welcome. We have a color-coded system that’s used nationally, so if you attend any soirees in other parts of the country, you’ll know what to ask for. It’s very simple, though. A red wristband means ‘women only.’ Blue means you prefer to be approached only by men. Yellow means ‘only couples,’ and green means…”
My brain scrambled, trying on the remaining options. I didn’t have to, though, because Troy lifted my hand high, kissing the fingers just below my own green wristband before murmuring, “Anything goes.”
Before I could respond-i.e., barf all over the reception table-both he and Mary shot me meaningful looks. I ripped my hand from Troy’s and lowered my mask over my own burning face. The giggle came from beside me again, and this time when I looked over, Suzanne’s face was alive with merriment. She turned to Mary, still smiling. “I’ll take a blue one, please.”
“Red for me,” Cher chimed in, merrily.
I turned to Cher. “Red?”
“Sure. Women are always easier to talk to, and if I don’t want to talk to someone, I’ll just stick close to you or Momma.”
Now why hadn’t I thought of that? I turned back to change out my wristband, but Mary was already ushering us aside for another party of four. Their eyes dropped furtively to our wrists, lingering on mine, before scanning my body. I pulled my mask down tighter.
“Suzanne! Cher! Over here!”
I glanced behind us to see a man winding past half-dressed mortals like they were an obstacle course and we were the finish line. His eyes lit on me, and he picked up his pace with renewed fervor, nearly bowling over a man dressed as a woman escorted by a man. I sniffed, scented out printer ink and nerves, and turned to Suzanne with narrowed eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said nervously, “but my friend Ian has been asking about you.”
“Momma!” Cher hissed, and batted her stepmother with her Fendi bag.
“He’s a nice guy!” Suzanne whispered, hitting her back. “and they have that whole computer expert thing in common.” She turned back to me with pleading eyes. “If you just give him a chance-”
She was babbling, and though the last thing I needed was another mortal to babysit, I cut her off with an understanding smile. “It’s okay,” I said, as Ian-harmless and guileless and hopelessly uncool-came to a halt in front of us.
“Hi,” he said, breathless, though I didn’t think it was from his trek across the ballroom. He seemed like a breathless sort of guy in general. “Am I late? Sorry I’m late.”
“Not at all. We just got here ourselves.”
Ian seemed not to hear her, and was running a hand over his head, muttering, “Traffic, and I couldn’t figure out what to wear…”
He had a lanky runner’s body, strong, with long muscles, which made it totally incompatible with his face, lined and freckled from the sun. His head was topped with thinning blond hair that looked like chopped plumage, but knowing how deceiving looks could be, I inhaled deeply like I did whenever I met someone new.
Ian smelled like cotton and starch, and beneath that, strangely, like sand from the seashore. His cologne was soft and nutty, like a weakened almond extract, though I decided this guy was as vanilla as they came. Clashing sharply with all this was the tang of his anxiety-like a red wine gone bad-and the chalky streaks of his hope as he stared, unblinking, at me.
He was, unsurprisingly, sporting a red wristband, and I hid my green one behind my back as Suzanne introduced Ian to Troy, who greeted him curtly, and turned away to survey the rest of the room just as Ian stuck his hand out. Now I was determined to be nice to him. I beamed kindly when Suzanne said, “And this is Olivia.”
“Hello Ian. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. At least his babbling had been cured.
“Should we get a drink?” Suzanne asked, earning a grateful nod from Ian.
“This way,” Troy said, starting off without us. There were makeshift bars stationed in all four corners of the elongated ballroom, though Troy led us toward the farthest, a ploy I was sure was meant to draw us farther into the lion’s den. In doing so we had to pass the curtained stalls, which turned out to be vendors’ booths touting everything from sex toys to videos to brochures for a chicken ranch located just over the county line. This booth came complete with a menu of appetizers to choose from, and two of the ladies of the house available to answer any questions. I admit I lingered there, wondering what exactly a “Hot Shot” entailed, but hurried on when one of them knowingly caught my eye…and the color of my wristband.
