CHAPTER 21
At ten after nine, Lux stood outside the bustling comedy club, the neon sign casting a colorful glow on the busy street. She’d dressed carefully for the occasion—a pair of Judy Blue Jeans hugging her figure, a crisp white blouse that whispered of fresh starts, and black Chelsea boots, grounding her. Her hair was once again restrained in a ponytail—a symbol of the control she yearned to exert over her chaotic emotions.
Her face, though, told a different story. She hadn’t stripped back to the bare essentials with her makeup. If she was to walk away from Scott, she wanted her departure to signify the confidence with which she chose to leave. Which meant she held her head high and her dignity intact. An image for her brain to replay to her heart when it tried to confuse Lux with thoughts of having walked away from the best thing in her life.
“Where in the hell are you?” she muttered, her phone offering no solace. His multi-hour delayed response to her first text, now coupled with his tardiness, gnawed at her. It would serve him right if she shucked the showbill with the antidote recipe written on it, along with the freshly baked cookies in the trash and left. Then again, giving them to him was more for her than for him. They were her one-way ticket to never having Scott return her love.
With a resolve that belied her turmoil, Lux pushed open the club’s door, bracing herself against the wave of recognition that would follow. In the #TeamDoc vs #TeamPrince drama, she was the current favorite, though the internet’s memes continued to paint a less flattering tale.
Pausing first to square her shoulders and lift her chin—an armor against the scrutiny—she marched toward the bar. Halfway to her destination, she found her path thwarted by a towering drag queen, wearing a tiara that rivaled the club’s neon for brilliance.
She attempted to sidestep, but the patron’s exuberant squeal stopped her.
“Dr. Lux Stone, in the flesh!” With a flamboyant flare, a hand flopped in front of her, sparking memories of the day she’d met Ziggy.
“Umm. Hello,” she stammered.
“Eddy’s the name, but you, doll face, may call me Eddy,” he declared. “He, him.”
Lux, confused by the privilege, nodded her thanks. “It’s nice to meet you, Eddy.”
“The pleasure is mine to wallow in,” Eddy cooed. “Your show lights up my Mondays better than a disco ball at a drag queen bingo night.”
“Thank you.” Lux glanced around. There were both smirks and smiles aimed her direction from the onlookers listening to the exchange.
“You and your sass are all the rage with the Manhattan Knitters,” Eddy said, unperturbed by the attention he drew. “We love to hate on that devilishly charming Scott Landshire.”
“The Manhattan Knitters?” Lux asked, ignoring the mention of Scott.
Eddy turned and pointed to a table in the back corner where three ladies sat, all wearing tiaras that matched Eddy’s. They greeted her with enthusiastic waves that seemed oddly charming amidst the comedy club’s cacophony.
“It’s always a pleasure to meet my listeners,” Lux replied, her words feeling strangely hollow as she waved at the Manhattan Knitters.
“Is he here with you?” Eddy asked, his voice booming with curiosity.
“Who?” she asked.
“The Prince. The Rake. The deliciously handsome man you’re schooling on the finer points of relationships. Just between you and all of Manhattan,” he continued in a conspiratorial whisper, “we’re rooting for you to win the challenge.”
“Oh. You know about that.”
“Honey, it’s all Manhattanites are talking about. Which of you will stay in the limelight. Which of you will go.”
Lux swallowed hard. It would be her who faded away. “We’re hoping it doesn’t come to either of us giving up what we love.” She’d meant to say that to herself but must have said it out loud because Eddy gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“I insist you come sit at our table and spill all the juicy details on the rake,” Eddy ordered. “He’s, like, our favorite character to dissect.”
Feeling a mix of amusement and curiosity, Lux nodded. “I suppose I can join you for a bit while I wait for him.” If Scott didn’t want to be the topic of tonight’s conversation, he should have shown up on time. The least he could have done by now was send her a text.
Eddy beamed and ushered her to the table, where his friends greeted her with cheers and excited whispers, immediately making room for her.
While Lux ordered a glass of wine, they shared stories and opinions with such passion she found herself almost glad Scott had stood her up. Within no time, she’d vowed to learn to knit and then fill out a questionnaire to join their exclusive club. They promised to give her serious consideration.
“Honey, let’s talk hypnosis,” Eddy said to Lux during a lull in the conversation.
The others at the table broke into giggles.
“What about it?” Lux asked.
“It’s the one thing you’ve given Scott grief over that I simply cannot condone. I, myself, find the mind-bending practice to be quite delightful.”
“Oh,” Lux said. “I do as well…when used wisely.” Perhaps if her heart hurt too much after she did what must be done this evening, she could turn to hypnosis to forget.
“But you see, your definition of wisely and mine are at odds,” Eddy said.
“How so?” Lux asked.
Eddy ran his pink feather boa over his shoulders like he was about to start a strip tease dance. “I’m one of the subjects that was hypnotized on the evening of February 14th that prompted Scott’s column that women might benefit from hypnosis to turn their shy ways into guy ways.”
Lux frowned. “You were hypnotized into having on demand orgasms?” Her imagination couldn’t even picture him up on stage doing what Scott had described in his column. “And you’re not livid?”
“Oh, doll face,” Eddy said. “I will take orgasms on demand twice a day every day.” He flicked his hand through the air as he spoke, drawing her attention to his bracelets and rings and pink nail polish. “I knew what I was getting into when I went on that stage. No one exploits Eddy. Not anymore, anyway.”
“Is it true, then,” Lux said, still trying to wrap her brain around what Eddy was saying. “You had orgasms…in front of the audience!”
He dropped his knitting and leaned toward her. “Honey, if I didn’t want to be talked about, I wouldn’t wear white before the first day of spring.” He placed his hand over his mouth while fluttering his crazy long, pink eyelashes. “Or dress drag. Or volunteer at an after-midnight comedy club to be hypnotized.”
“Enough about Eddy,” said Abby, one of the club’s founding members and owner of a nearby yarn store. “Lux, for your sake, we’re all hoping like hell you are as allergic to commitment as Prince Landshire is. We’d just hate to see you get hurt.”
“Umm. Hello,” Eddy said. “We were talking about Eddy—”
“Don’t mind him,” Wendy, the president of the Manhattan Knitter’s club, said. She sported a low ponytail, ragged sweatshirt, and jeans. “His boa has been in a tinsel tangle ever since his off-Broadway production was cancelled and replaced with a naughty version of Cinderella as a nod to Prince Landshire moving to America and choosing Manhattan as his new home, thus our fondness of flaying the man.”
“How awful,” Lux said to Eddy, forcing herself to contemplate how hard it would be to learn to knit and absolutely not allowing herself to recall Scott’s comment about adoring his Naughty Cinderella who wanted to swallow.
“Trust us, he has plenty of other irons in the fire,” said Annie, the only non-founding member of the club. If Lux recalled correctly, she was a lawyer.
“You know, Lux, you make me wish I was in college just so I could take your Psychology of Your Twenties class,” Abigail said in a thick southern drawl. “God bless my hometown, but it did not prepare me for the intricacies of meshing adulthood with knitting needles that double as secret weapons and cozy mystery novels that turn out to be more real than I ever imagined.”
The others gasped at her, and she looked sheepish. “Pardon my blathering. That was overshare. Ignore me.”
Lux frowned. “Do you stumble upon dead people often?”
“More times than I can count on one hand anymore,” Abigail said with a straight face.
Lux, who’d been expecting an I’m joking response, gasped. “Really.”
“Oh, sugar pie,” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of shock and amusement and syrup. “I have just revealed more than the bosses allow.”
“I’d say,” said Eddy. “Not that I’m ever again going to rat you out. I learned my lesson last time.”
Abigail giggled. “Pay him no mind. He thinks just because he had a chat with some of my people, he’s suddenly on their hit list. I mean, it’s not like they have a hit list or anything.”
As if Abigail’s people had been conjured and were here to place Lux on a hit list, someone touched Lux’s shoulder, causing her to yelp. Turning, she breathed a sigh of relief to discover it was Scott and not a hitman. His presence was as commanding as it was belated.
“Scott, you made it,” Lux said breathlessly, her heart still pounding from the fright.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said.
“Darling, you’re beyond fashionably tardy,” Wendy said, her voice cutting through the conversation. “You’re rudely behind schedule, and our Luxury deserves better. Especially from a man who’s been two-timing her all day long.”
Lux felt every pair of eyes at the table urging her to demand the respect she was due.
“You’re right. She does,” Scott said with a grimace. “Doc, I’ve procured a table for two over there.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room. “If you’ll just give me a chance, I’ll explain everything.”
Lux stood. “Thank you all so much for keeping me company this evening,” she said to the Manhattan Knitters, before tucking her hand in the fold of Scott’s arm and allowing him to guide her away, the warmth of his touch a bittersweet contrast to the rehearsed coldness of her impending speech. “Where’s your friend?” she asked, only to be interrupted by a waiter.
While Scott ordered a bottle of wine, Lux casually memorized him—the tilt of his head, the promise of his smile, the depth of his gaze. These were details she could tuck away deep in the sanctuary of her heart. Remnants of a love not meant to be.