Five's A Crowd (7 page)

Taylor turned away, not wanting Tiffany to see her smile. “What are you going to wear to the casinos, Tiff?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. “I thought I’d wear my denim skirt and a knit top.”

“Sounds good,” Tiffany agreed, sitting up again—the child had more energy than a two-year-old on a sugar high. “We’re going to the Taj Mahal, you know. I asked. The limo is coming at one o’clock.”

“The
limo?”

“Of course,” Tiffany answered calmly, while Taylor shook her head, knowing the last time she’d ridden in a limousine was for her high-school prom—and then, three couples had chipped in to hire the thing, so they’d ended up crammed into it like sardines.

“Holden has to take precautions, you know,” Tiffany explained. “Be happy he doesn’t have bodyguards crawling all over him like Daddykins. Not that he probably won’t be sending a bunch of them here any minute now, since Woody and I are in the newspapers this morning. It’s
such
a pain! Holden has even asked Lance’s last name. I think he’s having him checked out on orders from Daddykins. I tell you, I’m
suffocating!”

Taylor looked into the mirror, saw that her mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. It had never occurred to her—she hadn’t given Tiffany and
Woody’s father’s fame a second thought, just as she hadn’t considered Holden’s fame. Until the cameras had shown up, of course. Until those girls had drooled all over him on the beach. Then it had sort of become impossible to miss. But living in the limelight, the spotlight, day after day, year in year out? It had to be terrible!

“I don’t think I like this,” she said aloud, forgetting Tiffany’s presence.

“What’s to like?” the younger woman responded as if Taylor’s words had been directed at her.’ “Fame is a royal pain. I think that’s why Holden is so crazy about you. You’re like Thelma—you don’t care who he is. Now, Amanda—well, do you think she’d be hanging around if Holden was a plumber?” She rolled her eyes comically. “Duh! I don’t
think
so!”

Tiffany stood up, slapping her hands against her thighs. “Well, I’m outta here. I have to go break the bad news to Lance. He’ll be totally crushed, of course, which I consider wonderful. It shows how much he loves me. Oh, and Taylor? If you happen to leave the casino for a while…you know, to walk around a little…and if you see Lance anywhere…well, you’ll just keep that little secret to yourself, right?”

“Tiffany, if you’re thinking about disobeying Holden, I just want to say that—” Taylor began warningly.

The girl gave her a hug and a kiss. “Thanks, Taylor. You’re such a brick! I knew you’d understand!” she exclaimed, then skipped out of the room like a petite green beach ball, all bright and bouncy and full of fun.

Leaving Taylor to wonder yet again how a nice girl like her had ever ended up in a mess like this….

I
T WAS THE SENIOR PROM
all over again.

There has to be a joke in here somewhere,
Taylor thought as she held on to the jump seat as the limousine zoomed over the speed bumps in the private roadway leading to the casino.
How many idiots does it take to fill a limousine?
was the first thing that came to mind, although she couldn’t seem to come up with a punch line.

Woody and Tiffany were in the limousine, of course, squabbling between themselves like much younger children and generally having themselves a high old time while anticipating an even better one.

And there was also Amanda Price, who had spread out her full skirts on the deep navy velvet seat beside Holden, staking out her territory and leaving no room for Taylor. Or so Amanda must have thought before Thelma Helper—dressed in her “gambling clothes,” which included lots of faux-gold leather and polyester, along with a smidgen of fringe—crowded in right after the model and plunked herself down between the two of them.

Which was, or so Taylor told herself, why she didn’t mind sitting in the jump seat. In fact, as it gave her a marvelously clear view of Amanda’s less than glamorously puckered mouth as Thelma explained the marvel of having her soap opera taped on the VCR while she was gone, the whole experience was rather making her day.

Amanda tried, without notable success, to steer the conversation to friends and experiences she and Holden had shared—and Taylor obviously had not But Thelma, bless her, kept interrupting—mention of the late, lamented Sam sprinkling the conversation at regular intervals, along with demands the chauffeur take a small detour to the town of Margate to show everyone Lucy the Elephant, a local display—and giving a running commentary on each small town they passed through, its history and its premier ice-cream parlors.

She was just beginning to run down when they entered Atlantic City, at which time she heaved herself forward, knocked on the tinted glass separating them from the driver and yelled at him to stay in the left lane so as not to get stuck behind one of the shuttle buses.

“I think he probably knows that, Thelma,” Holden told her politely. “I hired him through the hotel, and he makes runs up here all day long.”

“Which explains why he didn’t have the correct change at the tollbooth heading out of Ocean City, I
suppose,” Thelma answered with a sniff, then broke into a wide grin as she saw the casinos. “Oh, what fun! Here now, Ms. Price, stop sitting on my bag of quarters.”

Amanda, who had already complained—twice—about the plastic bag of loose quarters Thelma had jammed down beside her on the seat, merely lifted her chin and looked disdainfully away.

Taylor decided to treat Thelma to a triple scoop hot fudge sundae the first chance she got.

“Now, when we get inside, Woody,” Thelma went on undaunted, zealously explaining casino economy to the son of a multimillionaire, “the first thing you have to do is go get one of those personalized cards for the slot machines. You stick it. in each slot machine as you play, and then they send you a voucher for cash or food the next time you come back. I eat free all the time.”

“And it only costs you how much in quarters lost to the slot machines?” Holden asked, smiling at Taylor.

“Oh, pish! You’re just like Sam,” Thelma complained, reaching into the hip pack she had strapped to her waist and pulling out a long, neon yellow strap to which was attached a ring holding a half-dozen plastic cards the size of credit cards. The strap was also plastic and curled like a stretchable telephone cord so she could extend it to reach the slot in the machine. Thelma looped the strap around her neck
like a necklace, then began shuffling through the cards until she found the one from the Taj Mahal. “Here it is! See, Woody? I’ve got one for each casino. You might want to think about stringing yours around your neck, too. Keeps you from losing it.”

“Uh-huh,” Woody said noncommittally, then winked at Taylor, who did her best not to laugh.

“Do you have a leather visor, too, Thelma? In case you want to play poker, you understand.”

“Not funny, Mr. Masters,” Thelma scolded. “This is serious business, you know. Real serious. And don’t forget the buffet. All you can eat, real cheap. Woody—you listening to me, sonny boy? This is your education.”

“Uh-huh,” Woody said again, and Taylor recalled the thickness of the young man’s wallet as he’d stuffed it into his shorts pocket. “I’ll remember. But, Thelma—don’t you want to go to dinner with us? Holden’s already made reservations. He’s taking us to the steak house in the casino.”

Thelma dismissed that offer with a wave of both hands. “Steak-schmake.” She then turned to wink at Holden. “Poor boy, he has
so
much to learn! Before-dinner drinks. Appetizers. Dessert. People waiting on you hand and foot. That could take hours. I don’t want to lose time on the floor. Ah, here we are. Look out, Mr. Masters—from here on in, it’s every man for himself! Besides, I’m dying for a cigarette, now that I’ll be away from Miss ‘Good God, I’m allergic!”‘
she told him, already climbing over him and opening the door, although she did spare a backward glance at Amanda, who had refused to allow her to smoke in the limousine. “We meet right back here at ten, right?” she asked, then scooted out without waiting for an answer.

“Holden, I cannot understand the reason behind bringing that ridiculous woman with us,” Amanda said, brushing down her designer skirt. “Those terrible cigarettes—and all that ridiculous red lipstick. Honestly, I’m glad she’s gone. It’s embarrassing to be seen with her. She would have, I’m sure, felt much more at home on a bus, or some such thing.”

“Well, I like her, and so does Holden. We all do,” Woody said firmly, glaring at the supermodel. “Besides, I can’t understand the reason behind bringing
you
along. Don’t you know you’re yesterday’s news?”

“Woodstock,” Holden growled warningly, looking to Taylor as if for help. She didn’t give him any.

Why, she might not even toss Holden a marshmallow if he were in the middle of a burning building.

Hand him a wet blotter if he were crawling through a desert.

Pass him a feather if he were falling out of an airplane.

She might, if he were starving, peel a hard-boiled egg and toss him the shell.

Maybe.

But she wasn’t going to help him now.

No sir-ree. Uh-uh. Nope. Not her. Not right now. Not after what he said and did this morning on the beach. And maybe, just maybe, because he
had
brought Amanda along this afternoon.

“Woody, don’t be a jerk,” Tiffany snapped, then smiled at the driver as he offered her his hand and hopped lightly to the pavement in front of the casino, at which time she turned in a full circle, taking in the sight of multicolored minarets high above her. “Holy cow! We’re deep into tacky here, aren’t we? Kewl!”

Taylor inclined her head to Holden as he motioned for her and Amanda to precede him out of the limousine, and within less than a minute, five people had called out, “Isn’t that him? Holden Masters? Hey—number 8! How’s it going? You coming back to the team?”

Holden smiled and joked, signing more than a few autographs, then escorted his small party inside, where they were met by one of the casino staff, who promised them they were very, very welcome indeed.

“You ever get sick of this?” Taylor asked out of the corner of her mouth as Holden held out his right arm to her—while holding out his left to Amanda, who was openly preening at all the commotion.

“It comes with the territory, Taylor,” he answered, then smiled as someone took his picture. “But people leave you alone after a while, honest.
Just keep smiling for now, okay? It’s only a little attention.”

And it was impossible to escape that attention. Holden was tall and broad and handsome—one of those naturally bigger-than-life sort of people no one could ignore—and his face graced everything from television commercials to cereal boxes. He was, as they said in the bleachers, “the man.”

With the tall, willowy, professionally gorgeous Amanda Price on his arm—and some little nobody on his other one—Holden Masters made quite an entrance. Having the beachboy handsome Woodstock LeGrand and the exotic, giggling, green-haired Tiffany LeGrand also in tow certainly didn’t make them any more inconspicuous, and it took a good ten minutes to get through the lobby and into the casino.

Holden stopped at the entrance and turned to Tiffany. “You know you can’t come in here, right? I mean, we went all over this at home, remember?”

Tiffany clearly wasn’t listening. She stood just at the entrance, just beyond the uniformed guard, gnawing on the nail of her baby finger, going up on tiptoe as she peered into the cavernous room that was alive with people, blinking lights and the sound of ringing bells. “Damn,” she mouthed quietly, then looked toward the machines that were closest to the doors, assessing them.

And then she smiled. She reached into her small purse and pulled out two fifty-dollar bills, pressing
them into her brother’s outstretched hand. “That one, Woody. That one, right over there—with all the red, white and blue sevens in it. Do that one.”

“Excuse me, miss,” the guard began, looking at Tiffany’s sandal-clad feet, which were very close to standing on the “wrong” carpet. “Do you have proof of age?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Would I be standing here if I had proof of age?” she asked before pushing Woody into the casino.

“I don’t think he can gamble for you, miss,” the guard began, only to have Holden cut him off.

“She was just holding his money for him,” Holden explained quickly. “She won’t try to go onto the floor, I promise.”

The guard looked Holden up and down, then nodded. “You’re Holden Masters, aren’t you? You look better with the mustache, you know,” he said, clearly not impressed. “Okay, I’ll know who to go after if she tries any tricks. Can’t let underage kids in here. Just can’t.”

“I understand completely,” Holden said, then followed Woody into the casino, calling over his shoulder to Tiffany to “stay” and “mind.” She stuck out her tongue at him, but did as he said.

“I imagine that guard sees a lot of celebrities in the course of his job,” Taylor offered as they stood behind Woody, watching him play off the credits from the hundred dollars he had fed into the machine’s bill
changer. “You’re right, Holden, the attention only lasts for a little while. Thank goodness. I was beginning to understand what a goldfish feels like. Holden—Woody’s playing three coins at a time, and this is a dollar machine! That’s three dollars every time you pull on that handle. Does Tiffany have any idea just how fast one hundred dollars can disappear into one of these things?”

“Oh, yeah,” Woody said calmly, his eyes on the rotating sevens. “We’ve done this before, lots of times, when we travel with Dad. But let me tell you—she’s got a real eye for this stuff. Never misses. It’s like she’s got some kind of radar, you know?” As if to prove Woody correct, the machine locked in with three lovely sevens straight across the line, and bells and whistles and lights signaled that Woody had hit a jackpot.
“Yes!”
he exclaimed, running out of the casino to slap high fives with Tiffany. He ran back in to grin at Taylor. “Told ya. Never misses. Now she’ll let us alone and go shopping.”

Taylor stared at the machine, bug-eyed, checking the lines, reading the payoff amounts. Three sevens all in a row, red, white and blue, on the third pay-line. Woody had won the grand jackpot. Ten thousand dollars! Ten—count ‘em—
thousand
dollars!

“I don’t believe it,” she mumbled under her breath. “Guess that’s the old rule of ‘them that has,’ huh?” she asked, turning to Holden.

“Believe it or not, Taylor,” he answered, not smiling, “I’d still call the two of them underprivileged children, if that saying is still in style.”

Taylor closed her eyes a moment, knowing exactly what Holden meant. Benevolent neglect would be the most flattering term she could come up with to describe Peter LeGrand’s parenting style. How lucky for Woody and Tiffany that they had Holden in their lives.

A half hour later, after Woody had had his picture taken next to the machine—and met his very own IRS agent—Tiffany was off to the second-floor shops with Amanda in tow, and Taylor and Holden were free to walk around the casino. Woody, however, had already found the roulette table and, or so he promised, would be staying right there until it was time to go to dinner, if anyone wanted to find him.

Nobody did. Or at least Taylor found herself to be curiously happy to finally be away from everyone and alone with Holden, who showed no inclination to place a single bet anywhere. Not that she’d tell
him
that she was pleased to be in his company. So they just walked along, looking at the millions of lights, the thousands of people, and not saying much of anything.

She thought she should feel awkward, being alone with him after what had happened on the beach only that morning, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel awkward and she was no longer angry. She felt happy and
relaxed, and curiously proud of how
normal
he seemed in the midst of all his fame, all the silly cra-ziness of having Woody and Tiffany—and even Thelma—in his life.

“You want to put a few coins through a machine?” Holden asked at last, as they reached an exit at the other side of the large casino.

She smiled and shook her head. “There’s no way I could even hope to top what Woody and Tiffany did. Wait until Thelma hears what happened. She’ll want Tiffany to come back here with her every day for the rest of the summer.”

Holden shook his head. “That won’t happen. Tiff bores easily, which is my only hope where Lance is concerned. If only Amanda would take the hint.”

Taylor enjoyed his discomfort. “That’s what happens when you’re seen everywhere together for nearly six months. A girl starts believing you really like her, although I have to admit I’m a little surprised she hasn’t simply slapped your face and gone away, because you’ve really thrown her a curve—if I might use a baseball analogy to a football man. She must really be smitten. Not that I’m in any danger of succumbing to the Masters charm myself, mind you. It would be pretty difficult to misunderstand the reason for our so-called engagement.”