around at home, Tiffany had managed to destroy in less than five minutes. No surprise there, really, considering the source.
“Okay,” Phoebe finally said, plunking her glass of iced tea down onto the countertop and pushing it away. At the moment, she was a little too tempted to round up the one and only bottle of liquor in her house and spike the heck out of it. “I want you to start over at the beginning, and this time don’t leave out a single thing.”
“Oh, all right.” Tiffany heaved a sigh worthy of the stage. “But then I really have to leave, so pay attention this time.”
Phoebe didn’t respond. She was too busy grinding her teeth.
“Like I said before, there’s going to be a big meeting on the Mirage next Saturday night. Some guys who used to work with Tony’s uncle, Mr. V., are coming over from Vegas and New York and the whole ship is gonna be closed off for customers that night. Nothing illegal is going on, I’m sure, no matter what Alvarez says, but even still, the whole thing is pretty hush-hush. Me and a few of the girls happened to know about the private cruise because Mr. V. himself asked us to work special for the party. Hang out for dinner and drinks then do a shorter version of our show. And well—” Tiffany hesitated “—the cops want me to listen in on the meeting. They’ve tried before to get one of their own people on board, but Mr. V. likes things private and he hates cops. I mean really hates cops. His men can spot a plant a mile away.”
“But why you? Why not one of the other showgirls?”
“W-e-l-l,” Tiffany hedged, “the police have some stuff on me. If I do what they ask, they’ll cut a deal with me and forget about pressing charges. But if I don’t come through, I could do time.”
“Do time! Are you trying to say you might go to jail?” Phoebe wasn’t being naive. Tiffany’s antics had always more than crossed over the lines of propriety, and the men she hooked up with were blue collar at best, spiked collar at worst. She also took particular glee in trying to shock their dysfunctional parents into an early grave, though, as of yet, hadn’t been successful. Phoebe understood why her little sister did these things and in part felt responsible. But Tiffany wasn’t a criminal. She just liked to date them.
Tiffany snorted. “It’s so stupid, because they’ll never be able to make anything stick, Tony promised. Besides, Tony says Mr. V. has gone straight since he retired and that the cops will drop everything once they figure out he’s on the up-and-up.”
“Well, if Tony promised then I’m sure you’re fine.” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “But just so I know, what exactly do the police think they have?”
Tiffany hesitated. “Okay. But don’t freak out. A couple of times I went with Tony when he had to make a delivery for his uncle. Nothing major, I promise. A fake passport, I think. Maybe a couple of handguns, but only once. I swear.”
“Guns.” Phoebe sputtered the word. “You’re dating an arms dealer?”
“He’s not an arms dealer. Cripes, you exaggerate everything,” Tiffany grumbled. “He was only doing a favor for his uncle. You make it sound so serious.”
“It is serious. By the way, Tony’s family sounds great. I think I saw an episode about them on The Sopranos.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Once again Phoebe found herself forced into the role of Tiffany’s savior. Something she’d already sworn she’d done for the last time. Yet, even though Tiffany shouldn’t have ridden shotgun with her gangster boyfriend, Phoebe couldn’t bear to think of her little sister in a prison cell. Which meant that she had to get to Miami today if she wanted to stop Tiffany from making the biggest mistake of her life.
Spying the phone book, Phoebe grabbed it off the shelf and started flipping the pages. “All right, Tiffany, you’re going to listen to me and do exactly what I tell you. First off, break up with that mobster—”
“He’s not a mobster!”
“Of course not. He commits crimes and everyone in his family has names like Scarface or Luigi the Choker. What was I thinking?” Phoebe recognized her mother’s biting sarcasm in her words and immediately softened her voice. “I know you care about him, Tiff, but he’s no good for you.” Phoebe hesitated then forced herself to go on. “After you break up, go straight to the cops and tell them you’ll do whatever they say. I’ll call the airline right now. I’ll try to get a flight out tonight. It’s only six or seven hours from San Francisco to Miami, so I should be there by tomorrow morning. But get ready because when this is all done we’re packing you up and I’m bringing you home.”
“Are you insane? I’d rather let the cops put me in jail than live back under the same roof with Mom and Dad. Besides, San Francisco isn’t home. Miami is. Heck, we grew up here. Just because you chose to buckle under Mom’s nagging and move out west after you left New York City doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to be on the same side of the country as our parents. Not that they’d want me there, anyway.”
Phoebe winced. Truthfully, the thought of living with her parents sent chills up and down her own spine. Being within a thirty-minute drive was bad enough. But she wasn’t the one who’d ruined her life and couldn’t be trusted. Tiffany had done this to herself and it was about time good old Mom and Dad helped share the burden of keeping up with their crazy, younger daughter. Though they’d never bothered to concern themselves in the past. But Phoebe would fix that, too. Somehow…
“And I’m not breaking up with Tony,” her little sister continued. “Even though the police have no reason to harass Mr. V., he admitted that some of his uncle’s associates may be a little on the shady side. Tony doesn’t want me around that kind of stuff, especially now that I’m—” Tiffany broke off then finally said, “Well, I’ll get into that later, but he’s quitting the family business for now. And I’m leaving Miami. Only a person with a death wish would spy on Mr. V. and I’m not that stupid. If you want to help the police so much, you work at the Mirage. Hey—” Tiffany dragged out the word “—wait a second…I think I just came up with an idea.”
Phoebe recognized that particular sound in her sister’s voice and it made the little hairs at the back of her neck stand on end. “Whatever you’re plotting, forget it.”
“I really think this can work. Listen, we’re both dancers, right?”
Phoebe practically choked. “I’m a ballet teacher. You’re a showgirl. Big difference.”
“Meaning, I have a good time and get laid more than once a year?”
“Why sell yourself short?” Phoebe snorted. “You could probably get it every hour dancing at that stupid place.” Though truthfully, she didn’t really disapprove of Tiffany’s job as much as she’d just sounded. There were scores of serious dancers who worked on cruise ships. At casinos, as well, for that matter. Still, there was a mile of difference between a tutu and a thong. Yet, in spite of the ridiculousness of Tiffany’s suggestion, Phoebe actually tried to envision herself in one. A thong, that is, and immediately the image came into focus.
She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Secretly, she’d always wished she could be more like her little sister. Less inhibited. Daring. Confident enough to embrace life and take what she wanted. See an attractive man and go for it—wait a second. The attractive man part of her internal ramblings brought her up short. Back in college, she’d learned her lesson about embracing life and attractive men the hard way, hadn’t she? So what on earth was wrong with her? The one and only time Phoebe had ignored her head and followed
