that well,” said Rachel.
“She got any weaknesses?”
“Chocolate and Chippendale Dancers,” said Rachel.
Ashley smiled. “What about Fire Dance tickets. I hear the male lead is burning up the headlines.”
“You’ve got tickets to Fire Dance?”
“Front row, center, balcony one.” Ashley’s grin widened. “Clive Johnston traded me for the Lakers last week.”
“Throw in dinner at La Salle, and I think I can get you a deal.”
“Done,” said Ashley. “Get her to switch the meeting to Friday.” She stopped at the door to the change room. “You going to be around tonight?”
“You want to grab dinner and sketch out some ideas?”
Ashley nodded. “That would be terrific.”
“Meet you on the deck at the Breakwater Café.”
“Give me half an hour to shower and change.” Ashley pushed open the door with the heel of her palm. Her workout was officially over. She now had more important things to worry about than her glutes.
JORDAN WASN’T GOING to worry about Cyd, even if she was overdue by half an hour. The storm had grown faster and more violent than anyone had predicted. The radios weren’t working, but if she’d gone down, they’d have an emergency beacon signal coming in. They didn’t.
She’d probably landed short of Arctic Luck.
“Everyone but Cyd’s accounted for,” said Wally, hanging up the office telephone and tossing his clipboard onto the counter. “Bob’s holed up in Sitka, and the rest never got off the ground.”
Just then an operator’s voice came over the radio phone.
Jordan was closer, so he grabbed the mike.
It was Cyd. And, thank goodness, she was fine.
But before Jordan could get more than a few particulars, an angry male voice took over. “I’m the passenger who paid to be flown to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey Bradshaw thundered.
Terrific. Maybe Cyd wasn’t so fine.
“But I was flown to Kati—Kati—”
Jordan didn’t wait for Jeffrey to spit out the word Katimuk. He keyed the mike. “Sorry about that,” he interrupted, putting on a relaxed, professional voice. “Can’t fight the weather. But we’ll get you to Arctic Luck as soon as possible.”
“I need to get there immediately.” The command crackled through the static of the radio waves.
Wally raised his eyebrows.
“Afraid we can’t do that,” said Jordan. Weather delays were a necessary hazard of flying in the North, particularly in the fall. Jeffrey needed to buck up and wait it out.
“Nothing’s impossible,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll contact my office. Have them call another airline.”
Jordan keyed the mike again. “You can call. But, nobody’s going to fly in this.”
“Why?” Jeffrey demanded.
Why? Didn’t they have windows up in Katimuk? There was a good foot of new snow on the ground in Alpine, and more was gusting from the sky.
“Weathered in is weathered in,” said Jordan, shooting Wally a look of amazement. What part of blizzard didn’t Jeffrey understand?
Wally grinned. He’d made a big deal yesterday about how this Jeffrey guy looked exactly like Jordan. And Jordan had to admit there was a bit of a resemblance. But he was beginning to hope that was all they had in common.
Jordan released the mike button. “Please tell me I’m his double in looks only.”
Wally just grinned wider.
The radio stayed silent.
Jordan keyed the mike again. “Nobody will risk an aircraft,” he elaborated, trying not to let the frustration come through in his voice. “And I’m sure you don’t want to risk your life. Stick with Cyd. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Jeffrey. “Your pilot could have landed me in Arctic Luck, but she flew me to Katimuk instead?”
Wally rolled his eyes and started to chuckle at the absurdity of the questions.
“She landed where she felt the plane and passengers would be safe,” said Jordan. Be thankful you’re alive, he almost added. Be it Katimuk or Timbuktu, safe on the ground was safe on the ground.
“Bull,” Jeffrey barked.
“Charming,” said Wally.
“And nothing like me,” said Jordan.
“THERE WAS NOTHING even remotely funny about that, was there?” Ashley let her head fall back in defeat on the couch in her small Westwood apartment.
Rachel clicked a button on the remote control, turning off the last video clip for the detective series, and the television screen went blank.
“Not particularly,” she admitted.
They were going to have to reshoot every clip.
“What if Detective Moonie is older, more worldly-wise, jaded…” Ashley searched her brain for possibilities. Their original idea was definitely not going to fly as comedic.
“If he’s older, we’ll lose the buff bod,” said Rachel. “Pecs sell. You know that.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, moving immediately into a graceful toe touch.
“So do tight butts,” Ashley pointed out. “Could we have an older, worldly-wise detective with a great butt?”
Rachel straightened, pulled down her cropped T-shirt and laughed. “I can see it all now, Detective Moonie, health club maniac, near retirement and just in from the mean streets of New York, decides to take a part-time gig as a lifeguard, faces danger, thrills and jokes while chasing bikini-clad women along Malibu Beach.”
“Okay, the butt would be tough to do on an old guy. What if we make him younger? But a geeky, unattractive man who’s fawned over by gorgeous women. Then we’re sure to nail the eighteen to thirty-five-year-old male demographic.”
“The basic premise behind all of your finer adult films.” Rachel crossed to the small kitchen. “Got any wine in here?”
“In the fridge door,” said Ashley. “Maybe we make him gay.”
“Oh, yeah, now that’ll nail a broad demographic.”
“I think women like gay men.”
“As friends, sure. But not as a buff butt
