Studio Time: Three

Millwood - 119 West Ox Road: 2 PM

"Are you doing that auction thing again this year?" Shooter rocked back in his chair, propping his foot up against the column on the deck at the back of his house, glancing to the right where he thought he'd put his beer. It wasn't there. He sighed, got up, went back into the kitchen where he'd probably left it on the counter.

"Yeah, already told Rob I would," Blade yelled back through the open door. He'd showed up, didn't call ahead of time, and made himself right at home, the usual thing. Show up and show off.

Settling down a second time, Shooter popped the top, took a long gulp and shook his head thinking about the auction. He went along with almost anything but he wasn't doing that thing again. Wind blew in from north and chased nothing but water in front of it, but he'd seen a few snowflakes at this altitude, and he was comfortable sitting here and thinking about the evening ahead and the prospect of snow and a girl he liked to go along with the snow.

"I'll write 'em a damned check. I'm not doing that dance again, not after last year. That Redmond chick got pissy about the whole thing, like it was real, like I was going on a real date with her. Syd gave me shit about not playing nice but it wasn't what I signed up for. You're really going to do it again?"

Blade crossed his hands behind his head, stretched out long legs and grinned. "I think I can count on someone I know to pay for the privilege."

Shifting on the rail, Shooter set the beer down and looked back at the man he'd known through three of his four marriages. Was he doing it again? What the hell was wrong with him? This time the woman wasn't even a single lady, and the dude with the other ring...one very bad idea.

"You know, maybe you ought to slow down with this one. You said you're taking her to the RMA's, red carpet, after parties and the whole deal? She's still married to Coop, you think that's, you know, maybe not the best idea in the world?"



Laughing, Blade got up, crossed the deck and leaned back against the rail. "I can't wait to see his face! It's going to throw him off his game, wait and see, he'll blow it. He won't be coming alone either, you know that's not going to happen. It's better for Beth to be out in the middle of it with me than sitting at home watching him with another woman."

Shooter picked up his beer, drained it, frowning at him over the rim. "It's a bad idea, man. You do what you want, but it's one lousy idea."

“I know what I’m doing.”



Blade picked up one of Shooter’s skateboards, held it by the toe and studied it. Letting it fall, he placed his left boot on it and tried to balance. He kicked off with his other leg, the motion taking him careening, out of control, toward the stairs. Blade jumped off laughing as the board tumbled down and landed with a soft thud in the sand below.









Shooter winced; that was his favorite board. "You might want to be careful; you could end up falling on your ass and breaking something." Heading back to the kitchen for another beer he muttered, “like your damned hard head.”

South Beach - 60 Coast Road: 12 AM

"So is she like your dead wife?"

Duff poured another shot, looked at the glass and doubled it.  Blue pool light rippled across the walls.  The nude woman beside him had the complexion of a ghoul in that light, her nipples a ghastly shade of bleached pink, her nail polish almost black. He leaned back against the bar and took a drink. He could tell her he had never been married and let it go at that, but the remark amused him. "I don't have a dead wife."

He expected her to follow with 'ha ha' or 'I didn't know you were married' or 'who is she then'. She picked up her glass and drained it while looking at the painting and then said, "Oh." And she smiled. Her teeth shone, and they were blue like her skin. It was interesting; he wasn't sure he liked it, but it was interesting. Sliding one hand down, gripping one rounded globe of her ass, Duff studied the contrast in the color of his other hand against the pale breast it cupped.

"She's pretty even if she is dead." She was still smiling, searching for the right response and utterly failing to find it. He realized he couldn't remember her name. Cassandra. Or was it Charlotte...no Charlotte was Rob's dog.

Duff focused on the painting, the one thing in the room that didn’t appear cold. He took in every detail from the fiery branches behind her to the elegance of her neck down to the ripe curves of her breasts. A lovely, sensitive thoroughbred woman. He’d imagined the hours he could spend teaching her ways to please him, the things he could do to her. His body stirred in response.

He set his drink down on the top of the bar along with the rest of the evening's consumption. He'd drunk too much. Turning his back on the blue woman, walking carefully through the glimmer, using the mirror propped against the wall to steady himself, Duff left the room. "Show yourself out. And leave the cognac; I've spent enough on you tonight.”

South Beach Metro East - Blue Point: 10 PM

Rob leaned forward, propping his arm on the table, quiet, intent on the young woman on the stage. She sang, she played, she showed off a pair of remarkable legs, but he knew her better as someone who partied hard than as a musician. She wasn't bad; she was pretty good; she had her father's voice and some of his talent.

Patient, he waited until she finished the first set,placed her $50,000 Gibson in the rack and strutted offstage on those long legs before he turned his attention to his companion. "The idea is to get Cooper on board by asking his daughter to volunteer, or is there another reason you're spending time on a total unknown?"

Sydney watched the girl. From her seat, she could see the activity in the corner, a makeshift staging area, and she was obviously interested in whatever was going on. This was the third year he'd gone along with her, doing what he could even if it was sitting through appalling performances while Syd managed her celebrity auction for some charity that seemed to change from year to year. She smiled and reached across the table for his hand, stroking his palm and wrist. She wasn't wearing the diamond. She quit wearing it a year ago with no explanation, but she was still wearing the wedding band, that slice of engraved white gold she would probably always wear.

"I'm hoping to get both Wyatt and Cooper." She leaned forward over the clutter of glasses and cocktail napkins; no one had bussed the table after the third round of drinks leaving his empty shot glasses crammed up against what was left of Syd's gin and tonic. "Wyatt's here, right over there with Rayne, and I believe that's Jimmy Breaux. I can probably get commitments from Rayne and Wyatt tonight, perhaps Jimmy as well. Cooper...he'll be easier to approach if his son and daughter have already committed. He refused me last year. He never agrees."

Peeling off a couple of $20's and tossing them on the table among the trash, Rob straightened his jacket, irritably wiped something sticky off his hands. He was distracted, looking at the girl with her boy, trying to push it aside and give Syd's business his attention, and he was tired. He wasn't sure he'd filled Charlotte's water bowl before he left the house. Find the bright note...if Cooper agreed to join Syd's annoying 'buy a date' celebrity auction and actually showed up, that could work to the band's advantage. It was something.

"Maybe this year he will. Maybe he'd like to stick it to his ex. Or maybe she'll be so overwhelmed at the sight of the man that she runs right back to him."

Sydney touched the corner of his mouth, lingering a moment along the curve of his lower lip. "I don't believe the woman is as taken with Alex as he would like or expects, nor is he as serious about this one as he was with the others. Alex is playing a game with another man, not a woman. You worry too much, darling. Wait for me, I shouldn't be long.”

Hunching his shoulders against the edge in the air, Rob walked across the parking lot outside the club and leaned against the hood of his car. It had long gone cold; they'd been here for...he checked himself and did not look at his watch. Roughly an hour and 15 minutes, give or take five or six, more like five. He had nowhere in particular to go after they left, was in no hurry, and, except for the uncomfortable cold, didn't mind sitting around out here for another half an hour.

Years ago he'd learned how to stand in the cold, how long he could bear it, how to stay alert, and the memories weren't entirely unpleasant: the thrill made up for the frostbite. He didn't regret giving it up, though: he would have been caught eventually. Lights flashed inside the club. Rob felt the heavy beat of the music pound up through his body, strong and sensual, and he crossed his arms, shivered a little, closed his eyes and fell into that beat.

She slid her hands under his shirt, warmth against cold skin, silently rocking against him, nipping the side of his throat, biting down before turning her mouth to find his. He kept his eyes closed. He knew her taste, her scent, her rhythm, and it was dark and it was deserted. He slowly stroked her bare thigh, still warm, she was always warm, gliding higher until he wrapped long fingers around the silk ribbon of her panties. "Here," Sydney breathed into his mouth. The buckle on his belt clicked in the quiet as she loosened it. "Here and now, angel..."

The risk, the surge of adrenaline a pop, a high octane rush pumping heat into explosive sex, every time they risked it, every time was hotter than the last. One step around the side of the car into the shadow, and he was inside her moving in tempo with her gasps. One long silky leg moved higher wrapping around his hip drawing him closer and intensifying the act. Pulses racing, their breath misting in the night air they held each other as the last wave of orgasm washed over them.

Someone shouted from the other side of the parking lot, a long echoing WOOT WOOT of laughing appreciation, two men punching each other, one of the yelling WAY TO GO or something similar. Syd threw back her blond head on her long pale throat and laughed along with them.

"You're going home tonight?" He held the car door for her as she slid onto the seat, moving slowly, showing off her legs. She murmured yes. And kissed him. And drove off.

Rob stood for a while in the dark and the cold, watching the winter rain, watching the taillights disappear, before he kicked silently, absently, at trash on the pavement, got into his own car, started the engine and let it idle. The rain beat down on the windshield while he watched it and leaned back, wrapped stiff cold fingers around the wheel and drove the damned car out of the lot and onto the dark wet street.