~ Distant Memories ~

by

Gini Wilson

Chance Wakelin watched the alluring young woman on the small stage. Her voice turned his mind into sensual yearning. It was as if the stage was made for her. She captivated the late dinner crowd who had always been hard to please. But please them she did. Many of them now spent two or more nights a week listening to her while eating dinner. Her voice wrapped itself around the audience and held them as securely as the spotlight held her to the stage. The words she sang echoed in his mind, heating his blood.

“I’m in the mood for love...”

Are you, Jennifer Garden? That was a question that woke him in the middle of the night with physical reactions he had always been more than able to control.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that his usual approach to a woman wouldn’t work on this lady. Every bachelor in town worth the title, plus a number of married men, had hit on her. Showing a cool smile, and colder shoulder, made it obvious she wasn’t interested. She was always polite, never actually turning them down, but making plain that the lady was definitely not interested in playing any games they might have in mind.

He wasn’t sure why she fascinated him, but she did, almost to the point of obsession. Once again, he wondered why this fascination haunted him so. Each of her features taken separately was mismatched. Mouth a bit too wide, cheekbones a little too high, and eyes deep enough to glimpse the other side of the world. But all the parts melded together into a classical beauty not unlike many beauties down through history. She was a tall woman, projecting pride and dignity. She was cool in a self-contained sort of way, making a guy want to muss her up just a bit. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her that titillated him. An aura, an ethereal aloofness, made him want to breach the veneer that held her separate from her audience. Try as he would, there seemed to be no way to touch her through the wall erected between her and the rest of the world.

And she smoldered as she sang. If he squint his eyes just a bit, he could swear he saw an aura of smokey tufts reaching out to the audience, to him. He could feel its warm sensual touch.

Tonight, she wore a gown the color of heavily creamed coffee. The shimmery material seemed to touch her body everywhere and nowhere at the same time, which was totally illogical. His hand moved involuntarily when her smooth nylon covered thigh peeked through the slit in her floor length gown. His reaction didn’t help his simmering temper.

He was angry with himself, angry because he couldn’t stay away. Anger ate at him because he didn’t want to shatter his fantasies or his illusions of her with reality. Angry because he was losing control to the growing need eating at him. This sort of thing never happened to Chance Wakelin. Where women were concerned, he always controlled the situation. Laughter from the small voice in the back of his head said this time was more than just different; it was life changing.

Damn it! Jennifer Garden just didn’t fit into any of his preconceived ideas of women, nor would she stay in the pigeonhole he had assigned her. He had wanted her body from the first moment he saw her. But now he also wanted her mind, wanted her to share her most intimate thoughts with him. He wanted her to trust him enough to spend hours telling him who she really was and what she was doing in his dinner club.

He wasn’t sure when his interest in her started to broaden, but it made him even angrier that it wasn’t just physical anymore. When he had first seen her, his greatest wish had been to run his hands over her body, and let nature take its course from there. But not now.

Now he wanted more. This made him doubly nervous. And, even worse, he knew she was vulnerable and afraid of something. He didn’t know what, but that fear spoke to him and made him care. That bothered him even more. Caring was for family, mothers, sisters and nieces. The Jennifer Gardens of this world were supposed to be fair game. A role in the hay and--

Max sat down at Chance’s table interrupting his thoughts. “Hi Boss. Would you believe we have another full house? I think we have a beautiful magnet on our hands. We had to actually turn people away tonight. Just goes to show that word of mouth is still the best sales gimmick. She’s quite a gal, isn’t she? And I sure like her singing.”

Chance didn’t take his eyes off the small stage or the woman standing under the baby pink spotlight singing her heart out. “Yeah, she’s something all right, but what? That’s the question, my friend.”

“I don’t know what’s bothering you, Chance, but we both know that this lurking in the background isn’t your usual style. You ought to talk to her; she’s a nice kid.”

“That’s what bothers me, Max.”

“Aw, come on, Boss. We’re lucky she came here and asked for a job. If she had gone to our competition, monetarily we’d be hurting now. If you would just--”

“Leave it alone, Max! I’ll pick my own time for us to meet. Take care of your bar.”

“Okay. I guess I need to say it, don’t hurt this kid, Chance. Someone has already done an A-1 job on her. I think she’s got all the problems she can handle.”

“Stop preaching, Max. Don’t you think I would walk away from this if I could? I have to find out about her. God knows I wish I didn’t feel this way.”

“If you say so. But watch your backside. This lady is different than the gals you usually cut out of the crowd. I think she’s a cottage-and-picket-fence gal. Not the kind you usually like.”

“Let me worry about that. And don’t worry about me being caught--I’m the catcher, and I always walk away alone. It won’t be any different this time.”

“Like I said, watch your back side, boss. This one will sneak up on you.” He pushed away from the table and headed for the bar.

Chance’s dark brooding eyes followed Max for a few seconds then swung back to the young woman standing center stage. Her voice, sultry and plaintive, sang about the cost of forbidden love. Chance’s body felt as if she were singing to him alone. The fantasies his mind built around her were the kinds that were physically painful.

Did she know he was there? Probably not. She never looked at the people who came to hear her sing. Her eyes were either closed, as if she sang only for herself, or they were focused on an unseen image that hovered just above the audience. The air of detachment added to her mystique.

As she finished her last song of the night, Chance put some money on the table, and walked through an alcove toward the back of the building which led to his office. He unlocked the door on his right and moved across the room while the door closed itself. He lowered his large frame into the equally large leather chair behind the desk.

He gazed off into space for a few seconds then shook his head as if coming out of a trance. Jennifer Garden had been working at the Mello Mood for eight weeks. He had spent five nights of each of those weeks watching her. His mouth twisted with the irony of it. Hot-shot Wakelin lusting after a woman to whom he had never spoken a word. And, until he knew who she was, had heard her story, he would never be able to let it go. The fish had definitely caught the fisherman this time.

Chance sighed and pulled a manila folder out of a desk drawer. The name Garden, Jennifer and the date were written on the tab. Maybe he had missed something in Scott Denning’s report. He doubted it but needed only one small clue to help him see things from another point of view. Something to ease the gnawing he felt every time he thought of her. He knew that the answer lay just beyond his fingertips. Therefore, someone had to know who in the hell she was, where she came from, and why she picked Orange County California in which to hide.

He scanned the report again. The same two things jumped off the top page at him. Jennifer Garden hadn’t existed ten weeks ago. Between the cost of her apartment lease, furniture and car, she had paid out at least seventy-five thousand dollars, all cash. And she spent it during the two weeks before she went to work at the Mello Mood. A couple of other questions flitted though his mind. Where had she come from, and how did she come into that much cash? Scott’s report said that who she was or where she came from eluded detection. He said he was sorry he couldn’t find out more about the subject. He also said that maybe when he checked more closely he might find more info, and that he would stay on the job and report if he discovered anything more. Keep in mind that she might be in witness protection. If so, the chances were down the toilet. The fed’s aren’t happy with people who try to break through a well thought out cover story.

“So who in the hell is Jennifer Garden, and why had she come into the Mello Mood to ask for a job?” The sound of his own voice startled him.

Chance knew that Scott would not give up until he found all available information on Jennifer Garden. Now the only thing he had to do was wait; though that had never been one of his stronger characteristics.

The report was as thorough and to the point as Scott could make it with so little information. Chance knew that Scott had a pipeline to the most confidential information available. That told him two things; Ms. Garden had covered her tracks well and, did not want to be found by who ever might be looking for her. The big questions were how had she done it and why.

Scott Denning had worked miracles for him in the past where women were concerned. Women had a way of metamorphosing into what they thought a man wanted, especially a very rich, very eligible man. It didn’t usually take Scott long to report back to him that his investigation showed that Chance’s latest young-thing had the morals of a hooker, a heart as soft as Carrara marble, and the soul of a medieval tax collector.

He looked up sharply as a knock on the door interrupted his meandering thoughts.

Without waiting for an answer, Max walked into the room, and plunked his bulky frame down into one of the chairs facing the desk. “You can leave anytime now, boss. She’s gone.”

“Tell me, how is she with the other employees, Max? Does she have any special friends or does she treat any one person differently?” Chance asked as he closed the folder and slid it into the desk drawer

“Not that I’ve noticed. She’s always polite, but never volunteers anything about herself. If anyone asks a personal question, she just kind of smiles, looks vacantly at them then walks away. Why?”

“Because, my friend, I won’t rest until I know what makes the lady tick.”