Jaine Austen Mystery: Killing Cupid Part 4

She was in the middle of one such colossal whopper when the door to her office opened and in walked a raven-haired hunk in tight leather pants and a silk shirt unb.u.t.toned practically to his navel. Six-pack abs waxed to perfection peeked out from the deep V in his shirt.

All very Rodeo Drive Hit Man.

Joy's eyes lit up at the sight of him.

"Tonio, honey!" she cried.

"Hey, babe," he said, sauntering in, giving me an up close and personal look at his impressive tush.

If those leather pants of his were any tighter, they'd be a tourniquet.

"Who's this?" he asked, raking me over with bedroom eyes that came complete with satin sheets and an overhead mirror.

"This is Jaine Austen," Joy said. "The writer I told you about. Jaine, this is my boyfriend, Tonio."

"Nice to meetcha," Tonio said, then slithered over to Joy and, totally unabashed by my presence, bent down and planted a wet smacker on her lips.

"Miss me, babe?"

She nodded mutely, her eyes glazed over with l.u.s.t.

Okay, cla.s.s. Time out for discussion. What, we must ask ourselves, is wrong with this picture? What was a serious hottie like Tonio doing with the G.o.diva G.o.dzilla?

I was about to find out.

"Hey, babe," he said. "I just saw a great shirt over at Barneys, but I'm a little short on cash. Can you spot me two hundred?"

The glow in Joy's eyes dimmed just a tad.

"Can't you use your credit card?"

"Those idiots at Visa cut me off," Tonio said with a careless shrug. "It's some kinda clerical error. I'll have it sorted out in no time."

Joy bristled in annoyance, but then Tonio bent down and nuzzled her neck. Instantly her eyes went all soft and gooey.

With a sigh, she reached for her purse and pulled out an impressive wad of dough.

"Here," she said, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills.

"Thanks, babe."

Then, with a wave and a wink, Tonio was out the door.

Whaddaya know?

Looked like somebody had a boy toy. And an expensive one at that.

Chapter 4.

"Jaine!" Joy was beaming at me when I showed up at her office the next day. "I've got the most marvelous news, and you'll never guess what it is."

"You've decided to go straight and turn yourself in to the Better Business Bureau?"

Okay, I didn't really say that.

"In order for you to get a better idea of how my service works," Joy announced, "I'm going to treat you to your very own Date of Joy!"

"How nice," I murmured.

I only hoped it wasn't with Barry, aka Mr. Pocket Protector.

"But first you're going to need a makeover. I can't possibly have your picture in my date book with that G.o.dawful haircut."

Well! Of all the nerve.

(Fatima at Supercuts, if you're reading this, my deepest apologies.) "Ca.s.sie!" she shrieked, summoning her purple-haired aide-de-camp. "Drop what you're doing and give Jaine a complete makeover. Haircut and makeup. The works!"

Ca.s.sie gathered some supplies and took me to the ladies' room across the hall to wash my hair.

"Isn't this a public health violation?" I asked as Ca.s.sie worked up a lather with a lovely citrus-scented shampoo.

"Of course it is," Ca.s.sie blithely replied. "But Joy thinks she can get away with anything. And you know what? Somehow she always does."

After my shampoo, Ca.s.sie led me back to Joy's photo studio, where she sat me down in a director's chair and began snipping away at my curly locks.

I must confess I was a tad nervous getting a haircut from a woman with purple hair and a nose ring. But much to my surprise, she did a pretty fantastic job.

When left untamed, my hair bears a striking resemblance to Shirley Temple's on the Good Ship Lollipop. Very Curls Gone Wild. Usually I spend ages trying to tame them into submission, but Ca.s.sie let them sp.r.o.ng to their hearts' content, shaping them to perfection, giving me the kind of sophisticated do you rarely see at Supercuts.

(Oops. Sorry, Fatima.) She showed equal skill with her makeup supplies, dabbing on this and brushing on that. When she was through, my eyes looked larger, my skin clearer, and best of all, I had actual cheekbones! Wow, if I lost a few gazillion pounds, I could practically be a stunt double for Sarah Jessica Parker!

"You're so good at this, Ca.s.sie!" I said, unable to tear myself away from my reflection in the mirror.

"Thanks," she said with a shy smile.

Eventually Ca.s.sie managed to wrench me from the mirror and trotted me into Joy's office for inspection.

"What do you think?" Ca.s.sie asked, spinning me around.

"Fabulous!" Joy exclaimed. "Just fabulous!"

"Thanks, Joy. I really appreciate this."

"It's nothing," Joy replied. "I'll just deduct three hundred dollars from your paycheck."

She was charging me? For a makeover I didn't even ask for? What monumental chutzpah!

And speaking of chutzpah, we were about to get another dose when Travis poked his head in the door and announced, "Jaine, there's someone here to see you."

At which point Lance Venable, the Chutzpah King himself, came sailing into the room, all duded up in a designer suit, his blond curls moussed to perfection. And if I wasn't mistaken, it looked like he'd popped in for a quick trip to the tanning salon.

"Jaine, honeybun!" he cried, affecting the most G.o.dawful Southern accent. "How mawvelous you look!"

"Ca.s.sie just gave me a makeover," I said.

"A little gift from me to Jaine," Joy had the gall to say.

Then she turned to Ca.s.sie and Travis and dismissed them with an impatient wave.

"Jaine, darlin'," Lance drawled, still doing his Southern accent. "Ah'm afraid ah'm a wee bit early for owah lunch date."

Needless to say, we had no lunch date. And I will not bother trying to replicate his idiotic accent beyond this point. It was bad enough having to listen to it in the first place.

"Why, I do declare!" he cried, turning to Joy. "You must be Joy Amoroso, Matchmaker Extraordinaire. I've heard so many wonderful things about you!"

Joy preened and quickly segued into Queen Mum mode.

"How teddibly kind of you."

Between the two of them, I felt like I was at the Boris & Natasha Royal Academy of Bad Accents.

"I thought you were pretty in your photos," Lance was saying, "but you're even lovelier in person."

He stood back and looked at her, clasping his hands in admiration. "That hair! Those eyes! Anyone ever tell you, you bear a striking resemblance to Scarlett Johansson?"

My G.o.d, if he laid it on any thicker, he'd need a trowel. Could she possibly be buying any of this?

Apparently yes.

Because the next thing I knew, she was reaching for her treasured G.o.diva box and saying, "Care for a chocolate?"

"I really shouldn't," he said with a wink, "but when it comes to G.o.diva, I simply can't resist."

He plucked one from the box and took a dainty bite.

"Jaine's told me such wonderful things about your fabulous service," he said, "I've decided to give it a try."

"Have a seat," Joy said, gesturing to one of her rump-sprung chairs, "and tell me all about yourself."

"To start," Lance said, with a ridiculous little bow, "my name is Lance Vanderbilt Venable."

Vanderbilt?? Since when?

Joy perked up, interested. "Vanderbilt? Any relation to Cornelius?"

"A wee bit, on Mumsie's side."

Oh, puhleese.

By now Joy was ready to dandle him on her knee and hand-feed him chocolates straight from the box.

"So where have you been all my life, Mr. Venable?" she crooned.

I tactfully refrained from pointing out that for half of it, he wasn't even born.

Lance sat back in his chair and let the lies flow like lava.

"I grew up on our estate in Virginia, dabbled a little at the Sorbonne, came home to work on one of our oil wells, and then thought it would be a kick to move out to Los Angeles."

Wait, I felt like saying. You left out your stint as advisor to the Pope.

"Right now I'm head shoe buyer at Neiman Marcus," he said, giving himself a hefty promotion. "I've always wanted to work in fashion, and I'm having the time of my life. It turns out I just adore women and their shoes.

"Love yours, by the way," he added. "Louboutins, aren't they?"

She nodded.

"You have amazing taste."

"I do, don't I?" she preened.

By now they'd totally forgotten about me, and I stood there about as important a player in this scene as the statue of Cupid in the corner.

"And just why," Joy asked, "would a young man of your obvious appeal need my services?"

"Oh, it's easy for me to meet men," Lance said. "But all too often I've discovered"-here he paused for a dramatic batting of the eyes-"all they're interested in is my name and my money. I want to meet a quality man who'll love me for myself."

With Herculean effort, he managed to work up a runt of a teardrop, which he wiped away with a dramatic flourish.

Joy reached across the desk and took his hands in hers, no doubt getting chocolate all over them.

"You poor darling," she clucked. "Fortunately I happen to have a small but very exclusive gay clientele, and I think I know just the man for you! Donny Johnson! Wonderful fellow. I'm not supposed to say anything, but just between you and me"-they still had no I idea I was standing there-"rumor has it Donny's family are the Johnsons of Johnson & Johnson."

I believed that one about as much as I believed Lance was a Vanderbilt.

"Sounds divine!" Lance gushed. "Doesn't it, Jaine?"

At last, someone remembered I was alive.

"Yep, just divine."

I smiled serenely, waiting to see how he was going to cough up the necessary cash to cross the finish line.