The Stand-In (6 page)

* * * *

Winn walked up the last few steps of the dingy entrance to the Stallion Club, clutching her purse. The bride, Elena, had expressed her desire to hold her stagette in one of the last tacky strip clubs remaining on Toronto's Yonge Street. Where so many of the storefronts had been rejuvenated with classy shops in recent years, the Stallion Club was one of the holdouts from Yonge Street's questionable days. As she reached the entrance, a beefy bouncer with a missing tooth grinned at her boobs and held the door open. She slipped in, making sure not to touch the smudged brass handrail on the wall. All of a sudden, she wanted to take a bath.

As soon as she entered the dark interior, a shrill female voice rang out over the pounding dance music. "Winn! My bridesmaid." Elena wobbled toward her, already tipsy. "Thank God, you're here. I'm bored out of my skull. My mother insisted on inviting all my prude cousins. Look at them. They look like scared chickens on their way to the slaughter."

Winn glanced toward a group of women, huddled in the corner with their Cokes. They all seemed much older than Elena, which was why the bride had hesitated in making any of them her maid of honor. For that, she'd wanted someone in the same age bracket or, at least, the same generation. Thus, Winn. Although a gregarious woman, Elena had told Margie she didn’t have a lot of female buddies. They were “intimidated” by her love for life.

Who was she to argue?

"I swear to God," said Elena. "The minute any of them see a naked man, they're gonna run for the hills." As if to emphasize her point, she slurped her piña colada. "Come join us and I'll introduce you to the old biddies."

"Um, Elena," she said, looking around for Patrick. "I know it might sound weird, but I'm meeting a man here."

"Honey, aren't we all?"

"No, I mean, a friend. I hope you don't mind. He's a journalist and is observing my work."

She threw her hands up and proceeded to fluff her hair. "Oh. My. God. This is so fucking exciting. Is he taking pictures, too?"

"No, and he won't be publishing names or anything like that.” She hoped. “He just wants to see what I do."

The woman's dark eyes gleamed with glee and she looked around the crowded club. "Don't look now, Winn, but I think your journalist friend just walked in.
Madonna
, what a hottie. Look at those arms."

Winn turned and saw Patrick at the entrance, politely fending off the advances of a barely clothed male dancer. As he ran a curious hand up Patrick's arm, the reporter spotted Winn and ducked away from the other man. She couldn’t resist smiling when the dancer patted him on the ass, causing Patrick to jump. He walked over to her, looming close and grabbed her elbow. "Jesus, Winn. You could have warned me the talent swings both ways."

"How was I supposed to know?" She tried not to giggle at his flushed face.

In his jeans and black polo shirt, he stood out from the other men in the club. Of course, the other men were only wearing sequined G-strings and smiles. Patrick's hair was damp at the ends, curling gently on his nape, and he smelled good. Soapy and manly and enticing, as if he’d just emerged from the shower. It was all she could do not to tug on his shirt and give his chest a good sniff.

Okay, clearly it was time she replaced the worn out batteries in her vibrator.

"Patrick," she said, motioning to Elena. "This is Elena Albano. Our lovely bride."

He shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. Congratulations."

She batted her lashes. "The pleasure's all mine. You know, I'm still single for the next couple of nights." She allowed her gaze to rove with clear interest over his package.

Even under the flashing club lights, Winn could see Patrick’s blush. “Wow,” he said. “No beating around the bush with you, is there?”

“I’m on borrowed time, honey. No sense wasting it. Don’t get me wrong. I love my Carlo.” She reached a hand out to caress his biceps. “Carlo just doesn’t have these guns.”

"Now, now, Elena," Winn said, steering her back to the table. "As your bridesmaid, it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.” She glanced back at Patrick. “And he’s trouble, trust me.”

He followed them, a smug grin playing on his face. She knew the man had the word “Flirt” written across his forehead, but he could try to look as if he didn’t enjoy it so much.

Elena stumbled and had to right herself on a table. Winn held her up. “You said you wanted to introduce me to your relatives?" She helped the bride into a chair.

Elena offered a dismissive wave at her cousins. “Angelina, Paolina, Carmelina, meet Winn.” She smiled at Patrick. “And her sexy friend, Patrick.”

Carmelina picked up Elena’s glass and sniffed it. “How much rum did they put in your drink?”

“Not enough. Hey Patrick, what do I have to do to get you to strip tonight? You don’t want to disappoint the bride, do you?”

“I, uh…”

As he blushed once more, Winn felt a streak of heat across her own chest. Angry heat.

“Oh, Winn,” said Elena. “Don’t look so jealous. I’m just teasing him.” Loud music reverberated from the speakers and the MC took the stage to great applause. “Oh! The show’s starting. Everyone, stop talking. I don’t want to miss a single penis.”

Patrick bit back a laugh as he sat next to Winn, leaning close to her. “Are all your brides this…enthusiastic?”

“No,” she admitted. “Elena’s special.” She grinned, noting a similar smile on his face. He really was amazing to behold when he smiled. Dimples. Straight, white teeth. Lips that looked so supple. “Listen, I’m sorry about the sexual harassment, from both the bride and the dancers. I’m guessing more will come.”

“No sweat. I’m comfortable with my sexuality.”

“Right.” Just how comfortable was he? Comfy enough to bed a married woman? Despite his pleas to the opposite, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rumors might be true. After all, he’d been fired from his job. Surely his boss wouldn’t have tossed him aside without due cause.

After speaking with him at the coffee shop, she’d gone right home and Googled him. One of the first quotes she’d discovered had been from his former boss, Jason Dietrich. The newspaperman had gone on at length about, “misplaced trust,” and, “betrayal by those in his inner circle.” When she’d first heard about Patrick’s fall from grace, before meeting him, she hadn’t questioned his transgressions. Why, the Dietrich woman herself had admitted to the world about their affair. And yet Patrick had never publicly said the words. He’d never admitted guilt.

Oh, come on, Winn. He’s the biggest flirt on the planet. Of course, he’s guilty
.

She felt the grin slide off her face, even as she regarded him. In a bizarre mirror-image situation, his followed suit. His mocha eyes darkened with disappointment.

Winn turned from Patrick, already tired of guessing at his culpability. She looked toward the stage where not one, but three buff men strutted in construction worker gear, complete with hard hats. At any other time, she might be able to enjoy the show, as much as she could enjoy a tacky strip show in a dirty location. Okay, some of the dancers looked a bit past their prime, but it was easy to disregard their wrinkles under the strobe lights. Besides, the drinks were tasty and she liked the 80’s soundtrack. Even still, while the bride tucked bills into every G-string she could reach, Winn found it hard to let loose and have fun. Maybe it was the prude cousins and their matching scowls.

No, it was Patrick. His presence set her on edge, even though he tried to make the best of an awkward evening. He bounced his knee to the music, even going so far as thanking a dancer for his interest when the nearly naked man offered to take him out back. Presumably to discourage additional offers, he pulled his chair closer to Winn’s and looped an arm around her shoulders, making her stiffen.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said in her ear. “I told him I was with you. Do me a favor and play along, okay?”

“Okay.” The heat from his arm practically seared the exposed skin along her neckline, but she endured it as a martyr over the fires of righteousness.

Even as he bopped in his chair next to her, she couldn’t stop wondering about him. If he hadn’t slept with the Dietrich woman, had he done something else? She could only hazard guesses as to the skeletons in his closet.

He made her curious. Too curious.

During the show, he asked her some questions about her job, wanting to know about her various obligations. She answered them, keeping her responses short and sweet. He pressed her for anecdotes, but she demurred, careful not to reveal too much. The whole time, she kept an eye on the inebriated bride and another on the prude cousins, who insisted on peppering her with their own questions about her history with Elena. By the time the MC announced the end of the show, Winn breathed a sigh of relief, eager for the inquisition to finish.

As the audience rose from their seats, Elena jumped up and pointed at one of the dancers. “I wanna get a lap dance from Hot Chocolate.”

Hot Chocolate tipped his hat to her, the only article of clothing still on his body.

“No, you don’t, honey.” Winn steered Elena to the door, the cousins and Patrick in tow. They exited the club. The muggy air, so different from the air-conditioning inside, hit her, making her feel as if she were swathed in cling wrap. “We’re going to put you in a cab now and your cousins are going to see you home. The wedding’s in two days. You need to rest.”

She wrapped her arms around Winn’s neck and squeezed. “Oh my God, I love Carlo so much. And I love you, too, Winn. You’re the best bridesmaid ever.” She kissed her on the lips. “Hey, I have an idea. Let’s have a lesbian fling!”

“Maybe some other time, but thanks.”

With a chortle, Patrick hailed a cab and helped her usher the bride into it. He put a hand on Elena’s head as Winn folded her limp legs into the car. With matching nods, the Italian cousins got in after her. Winn and Patrick watched as the cab drove away, disappearing into Yonge Street traffic.

After a quiet moment, they turned to each other. “Well,” he said. “I can now scratch that off my bucket list.”

His deep voice, made gravelly from talking over loud music, landed on her ear and sent pleasing shivers down her spine. He had the perfect voice for pillow talk, a rich baritone made even sexier by overuse. She gawked at him, shuffling in her spot.

“Are you parked nearby, or did you take the subway?”

“I managed to find a spot in the lot behind the club.”

“I’ll walk you to your car. God only knows what dubious characters are hiding back there.”

She didn’t question his willingness to accompany her and was glad of the company. Compared to many big cities, Toronto had a reputation for being safe, but she still didn’t look forward to being in a dark parking lot by herself.

“You make a good maid of honor,” he volunteered, regarding her from the side. “Have you done it in real life?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“None of your friends have gotten married?”

“No one I’m particularly close to.”

They reached her car and he did a once-around, checking in her back seat for the afore-mentioned dubious characters. “I’m surprised. You’re a natural at this wedding business.”

Her shoulders tightened as her nerves played havoc in her back muscles. “Yeah, well, I guess research pays off.” She got in her Yaris, shut the door and rolled down the window. “Thanks for walking me to my car.”

“You’re welcome. I had a strange night, but it was strangely fun.” He smiled. “See you at the wedding in a couple of days?”

“See you at the wedding.”

She pulled away and drove out of the parking lot. Allowing herself to glance back in the rearview mirror, she noticed as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out of the lot. His gaze remained locked on her the whole time.

* * * *

“Are you all set for tomorrow’s wedding?” Enid asked as she sipped her beer.

“Yep. Got my pantyhose. Got my dress.” Winn looked skyward, mentally ticking off the items in her travel bag. “Oh, and I splurged and bought a ten-dollar lipstick.”

Enid threw up her hands. “Whoa. I’ve never seen you spend more than a buck ninety-five on any sort of cosmetic.”

“I know. I’m the frugal one. I’ve always had to be, but now I have a bit of spare change.” She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “It feels good to have some money to my name.”

“I’m glad for you, Winifred. I really am.” Enid gnawed on the inside of her lip. “And the whole wedding thing doesn’t bother you?”

“Nope.”

Her sister regarded her for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, as if not quite sure she believed her. “Awesome.”

“Yep.” Not sure what else to say, Winn sipped her fizzy water. She would have loved a beer as well, but learned if she drank Guinness at night, she’d end up with dark circles the next morning. “Only this next wedding will be a little weird. I have a reporter shadowing me.”

“A reporter? Why?”

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, Patrick’s just doing a story on stand-in bridesmaids.”

Enid waggled her eyebrows. “Patrick, huh? Sounds promising.”

“Not really.” She leaned in and whispered. “It’s Patrick Lincoln, you know the one who was fired from the
Torontonian
.”

Her sister’s eyes widened. “Fuck me. Is he as slimy as they say?”

“I wouldn’t say slimy. He’s actually, well…” She considered her words. “He’s kind of nice.”

Enid only paused a moment. “You think he’s hot.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, yes, Winifred. Sweet girl, it’s plastered all over your face.”

Winn touched her cheek. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I hope so because Patrick Lincoln is not the sort of man you need in your life.”

“He’s not
in my life
. I just met him.”

“Yes, but I know you have a way of falling quickly and falling hard. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Winn picked up her glass and then set it back on the table. “I’ve barely had a conversation with the man. It’s not as if I’ve singled him out as my future life partner and father of my yet-to-be-conceived children.”