Chapter 18
As I entered Ace’s vessel, I noticed two things. One, the seat was padded in purple velvet, and two, the walls had photos of every brigand he had taken to Gitmo, and there were many. Riding with Ace was an amazing experience. Instead of the swift, forceful ride I had in my vessel or the smooth ride with Caiyan, Ace’s vessel sort of rocked. Swirling colors flashed around me like I was inside a lava lamp. As we traveled, I swear I heard music.
When the music stopped, the colors disappeared. I stepped out into the gray drizzle of the Saturday I’d left behind.
“Was that the Beatles?” I asked.
“I like to add my own personal touch when traveling. It makes me more comfortable.” He stopped and looked around, taking in his surroundings. “This weather is going to frizz my hair, doll. Let’s get inside.”
I opened the sliding-glass door and took Ace inside. Gertie’s empty popcorn bowl was sitting on the coffee table. The demon cat was lazily stretched across the back of the couch.
“Hello, little kitty,” Ace said.
“He’s really mean—I wouldn’t get too close.”
“It would shed all over my Vera Wang, and we can’t have that, now can we?” Ace asked as he moved away from the cat.
Gertie’s Brando movie had restarted, and the opening credits were running, waiting for the play button to be pressed.
“Ooooh, I love this one!” Ace remarked. “Marlon Brando is so sexy.”
“Um, yeah,” I agreed. I bent down to pick up the remote from the coffee table to turn off the movie and knocked Gertie’s gum wrapper on the floor. “Hey, that reminds me—Gertie had gum in her mouth when we transported back to 1915. I thought you couldn’t take anything back.”
He took the silver piece of foil from me. “If you put something in your mouth, it can go back with you.”
“Really?” I thought about the possibilities of this statement. “What, like maybe a small knife, or some other weapon we could use for protection?”
Ace’s freshly glossed cherry lips curved into a cunning smile. “Or maybe a condom.”
OK, not the type of protection I had in mind, but it resolved some of my unanswered questions.
Ace moved around the room and flopped down in an easy chair. “These shoes are murder on my feet.” He pulled off his pumps, revealing big hairy toes painted red to match his hair. Egads.
“Yep, we had a defender come back with the clap after he had been visiting 1965. Those hippies like to get it on with everyone and everything.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to go back for our own pleasure.”
“Girl, there are rules that are meant to be broken. Sometimes our job may take a while, and let’s just say you run into James Dean while he’s filming Rebel Without a Cause. You gonna pass up that piece of meat?”
“Mmmm, how did you figure out you could transport objects in your mouth?”
“Caiyan figured it out. Talk about a piece a meat—that boy is finer than frog hair split three ways. From what I heard, he was sixteen when he first started travelin’. You know how the hormones rage at that age. Anyhow, girls in the past, or the present for that matter, couldn’t take their hands off him. His transporter had to save his butt many times so he wouldn’t get shot by an irate daddy or beheaded for deflowering the Queen of England.”
Crap, I could have lived all day without that information.
“Now that you’re his sexy new transporter, you’d better watch that tight little butt of yours, or he’ll have you for lunch.”
I guess my face said it all.
“Uh-oh, looks like he already conquered that territory.” Ace came over and put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, doll, men are just shit.”
“You’re a man.”
“Yes, but I am a man on estrogen, so I’ve got your back.”
“It’s complicated, and it’s in the past anyway.”
“Always is, sugar. Why don’t I go upstairs and help you put together an outfit that will make him wish he treated you better.”
“I thought you had a date?”
“Always better to make ‘em wait.”
We climbed the stairs, and I showed Ace my closet next to my bedroom. “Have at it,” I offered.
Ace rambled around in my closet for a while. I went to my bedroom, plopped down in my comfy chair, and put my feet up on the matching footstool. While working at Steve Stone Shoes, I used my discount to redecorate my room. I had found a Ralph Lauren chair at a boutique on Knox Henderson, a street with trendy shops, and coordinated my duvet for my bed.
As Ace entered my room, he said, “Trés chic, sort of Mary Poppins meets Versace.” He laid out a few tops on my bed, then went to my dresser to search for jewelry. I noticed the picture I always kept on my dresser of Jake and me at the prom. So did Ace.
“Well, well, well, looks like you and the boss man go way back,” Ace said.
“We grew up together. He’s been my best friend since fourth grade, a little more than that these last few years.”
“He was sexy back then too. I loooove the Zac Efron hair. Met him at the Oscars, you know.”
“Jake?” I asked.
“No, Zac Efron, right after High School Musical Three. He’s totally gorgeous. I found a few good pieces in your closet, but you know, girl, the shoes have got to come first.”
Finally a girl—or guy, I guess—after my own heart. I opened the slider closet in my room, revealing floor-to-ceiling shelves of designer shoes.
“Be still, my heart,” Ace said, dramatically grabbing his chest. “Where did you get all these precious babies?”
“I worked as a shoe buyer, and I got a great discount.”
“Honey, these Malono Blahniks are gonna make his tongue roll clean out of his mouth. I think with this Marc Jacobs top and that rockin’ miniskirt,” he said, holding up the red low-back top. “In fact, there may just be a war between the WTF and the CIA.”
“I just want to get Gertie back.”
“We will. Those boys will figure out something. I’ve got to get goin’; my date awaits.”
“Thanks, Ace.”
“No problem, sugar. Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be back to pick you up at 0700 hours—that way we can stop off at La Marmount for breakfast.”
“I don’t think there is one around here,” I said as I walked Ace down to his vessel.
“Of course not, silly, the only La Marmount is in Paris.”
“Paris? As in Paris, France? How do we get to Paris?”
“Lateral travel, hon, didn’t you read your contract?”
“Well, um…”
“Honey, you gotta read before you sign. They’ll have you doin’ all the dirty work and not havin’ any fun. Page three, paragraph eighteen, line seven says if we are not engaged in working for the WTF, we are free to travel inconspicuously as we please.”
“I thought there had to be a full moon?”
“Not for lateral travel, hon. Anytime, day or night.”
I had my hand over my heart in disbelief. “You mean we can just pop over to Paris and go shopping?”
“Absolutely, but you have to be discreet, because it makes General Poopy Potts grumpy.”
I envisioned myself strolling down the Champs-Élysées carrying bags of Prada and Sephora. “I’m in!”
“Of course you are. See ya tomorrow, doll.” Ace gave me a wave and he was gone.
I was pretty sure stopping off for breakfast in Paris was breaking a rule. I returned to my room and relaxed against the big pillows on my bed, thinking about everything that had happened over the last couple of days, at least time traveling–wise. Based on the present time, we had returned approximately four and a half hours after I left, and that included my stop at Gitmo. I felt exhausted, when actually only a few hours had passed. Time traveling was going to take some getting used to.
There had to be some way to rescue Gert and get my key back. I wanted to prove to Jake I wasn’t some dumb blonde who couldn’t be trusted to prot
ect my key and do my job as a transporter.
A ringing noise jostled me back to reality. The phone next to my bed was ringing. I checked the caller ID. Perfect…Cousin Trish. What was I going to tell her? Sorry, your daughter hitched a ride back to 1915 and then was kidnapped by the bad guys, who turned out to be the Mafia. Maybe Gertie’s stepdad, Vinnie the Fish, knew this Mafia family and could ask them to release Gertie. I decided to answer.
“Jen,” came Trish’s sultry voice. I always thought she sounded like Cher and looked like Kristin Chenoweth. “It’s your cousin Trish. I was just trying to get hold of Gertie; is she there?”
“Um, no, not at the moment.” It wasn’t a lie.
“She’s probably got her nose in some book at the library. Could you tell her Vinnie’s family is coming for the weekend? And I want all my family here too. Ya know, those Ferraris are so highfalutin’—I want some of my kin here too.”
“Sure. Uh, Trish, do you know a family by the name of Mafuso?”
“Well, doesn’t everybody this side of Manhattan? Bunch of gamblin’, no-good thieves. Always jammin’ up the port authority so my sweet Vinnie-pie can’t get his fish shipments.”
I guess they are not on such good terms after all.
“Tell Gertie I’m e-mailing her a plane ticket for next weekend. The twins are coming too. Gonna cost me extra since they take up two seats each on the plane. I keep tellin’ Vinnie we should get our own jet. The Ferraris have their own jet. You remember Vinnie’s nephew Marco, don’tcha? He’s always showing up in fancy places all over the world. One day London, then the next day he’s in Rome. Disgusting, the way they flash their money.”
“Trish,” I interrupted. “I’ll tell Gertie next time I see her.”
“Oh, OK, thanks a bunch, sweetie. Give your dad a kiss for me. Bye now.”
I fell back against the pillows. Now I was truly exhausted. I let my mind wander and remembered the last time I had seen Marco. I was sixteen.