Chapter Three
Not ten minutes later, Dolenz walked in again. “April, have you found any spare buttons? Mister Perfection here forgot to count and lost a few.”
Behind him walked Tork, wearing a half-buttoned shirt. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up . . . ”
April took deep, even breaths to maintain her composure and pulled a box of buttons from her drawer. “What size?”
Tork laughed. “There they are.” He scooped three white ones out without seeming to disturb the others. “Thank you! Now for a needle . . . ” He left the shop to the tune of Dolenz’s laughter.
“That man, I swear . . . sometimes I think he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed to his spine!”
April shrugged, allowing a thick lock of hair to tumble down the side of her face. “He’s nice. You all are.”
“Why, thank you.” He took the hair and hooked it back over her ear.
The touch was so gentle and tender that she bit her tongue to contain the gasp that rose in her throat.
“Would you like to go dancing a little later?”
“I would love to,” she replied dreamily, staring into his eyes.
“All right, then. We’ll set a date later.”
A date. Later. Okay, Micky . . .
He smiled and turned to go.
Tork walked back in. “Hey, April . . . thanks for saving the buttons.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling a strange jerking sensation as she focused on him. Micky Dolenz’s warm, kind eyes suddenly vanished from her consciousness, replaced by Peter Tork’s warm, broad smile.
“That meant a lot to me—Clara never would save my buttons.”
“Clara?”
“The lady who ran the laundromat before you. You know, the one you bought it from?”
April cursed under her breath. “Yes, of course. I thought you meant . . . a girlfriend.”
“No, Valerie was my girlfriend.”
“I see,” April said, feeling a surge of pity. A man as gentle and caring as Peter shouldn’t be alone.
“Hey, wanna hear the new song I’ve been practicing?” Peter said, brightening.
April went over to the piano, lifting the cover. “Please. I’d love to.”
He sat down and fingered the keys lightly before beginning to play a light classical song. April leaned on the piano, the rest of the world drifting off until all that was left was Peter and the music. When he lifted his fingers and opened his eyes, he looked to her as if to say ‘well?’
It took her a few moments to find her voice. “My . . . ” You’ve already agreed to go on a date with Micky, April, she thought distantly. “I’d like to hear you play some more . . . sometime.”
“Maybe I could play while you dance with Micky.” At her puzzled look he added, “I heard you making the date with him.”
April took a deep breath. A date with two of them at once? “I . . . if he doesn’t mind, I wouldn’t mind . . . ”
“I’ll ask, okay?” April just nodded dumbly.
Micky walked in and hissed, “Get out here, will you? Got somethin’ to show you!”
“I’ll be right back, April,” Peter said, following Micky outside.
April sank back down into her chair, fanning the heat from her face. Not an entire loss. You didn’t lose all your composure . . .
Jones walked in. “April, are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” she responded cheerfully. Are these guys taking turns or something? “I’m glad to see you again.”
“Great!” he smiled. “Look, about earlier . . . I’m sorry if I embarrased you with the drawing.”
“Oh, no! Far from it! I was quite flattered, actually . . . ”
“Flattered?”
April nodded. “Yes. It was quite lovely.”
He blushed. “Well . . . uhm . . . . thanks.” He reached up and nervously scratched the back of his neck.
“Do you have an itch?” And would you let me scratch it?
“Huh?” He blinked and lowered his hand. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
What is he again? The Dragon or the Monkey? I forget . . . April propped her head on her hand, smiling at the Englishman. “So . . . was there something you needed? Some buttons, perhaps?”
He laughed. “No, no buttons. Peter got them all. I just came to see if you were okay. You looked stunned a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Both of your friends have offered to show me a good time.” She looked up at him. “I don’t suppose you were about to offer the same thing?”
“Depends on your definiton of a good time.”
“Well . . . I’ve been offered both music and dancing. Art is missing, you know,” she said, giving him a wink. Come on, Davy . . . ask me! her mind chirped giddily.
He smiled. “All right . . . would you care to pose for me sometime?”
“I’d love to,” she said, her fingers excitedly clenching the edge of her forgotten textbook. “Name the time and place.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” He smiled warmly at her. “How’s the studying going?”
“Just fine,” she said, not even looking at the book.
“Yeah? Learning a lot?”
“Just fine,” she repeated. Such pretty eyes . . . and lips . . .
Those lips parted in a smile that, while not as devastating as Peter’s dimpled one, was sensual in its own right. “Tell me something you’ve learned.”
Learned? “Well . . . that I have quite a few nice young men courting me . . . ”
He laughed, and it wasn’t a nasty laugh that made fun of her. It was a rich sound, full of joy. “I’m serious. What have you learned about running a laundromat?”
Put clothes in, take clothes out, never put clothes in the fake washer . . . “It’s . . . not what I expected it to be.”
“Harder? Easier?”
“Much harder,” she said.
His eyes shone with compassion. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That’s so sweet . . . ” Her elbow moved, knocking some of the papers from Mistress into the waste paper basket. Later . . . I’ll get them later . . .
Davy glanced at the papers as they fell, but made no move to get them. “Sweet?” he grinned. “That’s one I’ve not heard in awhile.”
“No?”
“No. It’s been quite some time.”
“Well, you are. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I bought this place. I’m so . . . grateful . . . ” She rose out of her chair, the sudden desire to kiss those lips overwhelming her. He leaned forward onto his palms, meeting her halfway.
Right before their lips met Mike came in. “Hey Dav—whoops. Didn’t know I was interruptin’.”
Davy pulled back, licking his lips. “You’re fine, Mike.”
April turned to Mike, Davy’s lips disappearing from her attention as swiftly as if they hadn’t been there in the first place. Mike was leaning on the nearest washer, running his long fingers through his windswept black hair. Oh . . . my . . . Her head pounded and the sudden wish that the other two wouldn’t show up slowly took her over.
He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and smiled shyly at her. “Hi. Didn’t mean to intrude.”
A small whimper rose in her throat. That hair . . . A sudden wave of dizziness gripped her and she sat back down, her mind swirling with dimples and black hair and blond hair and curls and hazel eyes and brown eyes . . .
“Hey.” Strong arms gripped her arms, and she found herself looking down into worried dark brown eyes. Mike was crouched in front of her, holding her arms, looking at her with an expression of concern. “April, are you all right?”
Those eyes my I could get lost in those eyes oh dear oh my . . . April just stared into his eyes, smiling dreamily.
And at that very second there was a rattle from the empty machine. Blinking slowly, April turned to face it, a vague, distant feeling of dread surging through her. Oh, it’s the secret entrance. They’ll know all about the plan . . . how nice.
Davy frowned. “Your washer’s rattlin’.”
“It is? How divine.”
Davy frowned. “Well, shouldn’ t you go check it?”
“I should, shouldn’t I?” April murmured, still staring at Mike and nodding.
Mike nodded. “You should, yes.”
“Okay. I will.” April didn’t move; she stayed rooted like a musical chairs participant afraid of losing the game. Gently Mike tugged her to her feet. With the numb movements of a shell shock victim April tottered over to the rattling washer and opened it.
Peter’s head popped up and he was smiling. “You’ve got a dud washer here, April. Someone’s hollowed it out and has carved a tunnel to the jewelry shop next door.”
April leaned down, propping her elbow on the washer and gazing deeply into his eyes. “What a shame.”
Peter frowned. “April?”
“Hmm?”
“Hey, you okay? Like you’re not all here.” He slid out of the washer lithely, moving like the Monkey his tattoo designed him as.
“Where’s here?” April murmured. Mistress. Hadn’t . . . hadn’t she been doing something for Mistress? Maybe . . . maybe that was last week. Yes, that’s it . . . it must have been last week.
Peter shot a wild look at Mike.
“April,” Mike said. “I think you better come with us. You need to sit down and have a rest, okay? You can come home with us—we’ll get you something to eat and drink.”
Davy nodded. “Yeah, you’ve been working very hard.”
“Yes, I have. Very hard. Mistress expects too much of me.”
Four backs—Micky had come in in time to hear the last of it—stiffened. “Mistress?” Micky asked gently.
“Yes,” April replied wistfully. “Prestigious . . . working for her . . . but demanding.”
“What does this Mistress want?” Peter asked as he put an arm around the statuesque redhead and led her out of the laundromat, settling her in the passenger seat of the Monkeemobile.
“Oh, many things . . . ” April replied wistfully. “You. But let’s not talk about such decadent things.”
On to Chapter Four
Back to Chapter Two
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
