The Wake-Up by Robert Ferrigno

permanent.
    Her coffee was cold, but she didn’t feel like calling to Cecil and telling him to brew up a fresh pot. She replayed the party in her mind. All those guests and neighbors, the fancy ones, the rich ones who had it all handed to them, the sportswear industry contacts and country club honchos, they had all been there. It had taken three years, but she had finally cracked the social scene. She was an equal now; she was one of them.
    She was glad that cutiepie from the art gallery had been there to see it. Frank, the sharp-dressed man. She reached for the tarot cards, curious about him, but Cecil had thrown her off. Tonight was soon enough to deal out a reading on Frank. She remembered hearing his voice last night, saw him standing at the front door while Cecil gave him a hard time about being on the guest list, Frank not mad, not throwing his weight around, just beaming, like he had it all under control. She shifted her legs again, the silk warm as a man’s breath. That grin of Frank’s . . . Clark was lucky she was true-blue.
    The front gate buzzed.
    “Cecil!” No response from that useless toad. Missy strode to the front door, checked the security monitor.
    Thorpe smiled at her from the screen. “Good morning.”
    Missy smiled back, even though he couldn’t see her. She glanced over at the tarot cards. “You believe in fate, Frank?” She pressed the button that opened the electronic gate before he could answer.

11
    “Sorry to barge in without calling first,” said Thorpe.
    Missy inhaled the fragrance of the bouquet he had brought. “A man who brings flowers is always welcome.” She took in Thorpe’s gray suit, black cashmere sweater, and gray half boots. “Specially when he looks as good as you.” She went into the kitchen, came out a few minutes later with the flowers in a crystal vase, set them on the table. She had her robe loosely knotted, and her hair was brushed out, zigzagged like the Sphinx. She hummed softly to herself as she arranged the flowers. She looked tired, little pillows under her eyes, but happy, and Thorpe almost regretted being about to burst her balloon. “How about a cup of coffee, Frank?”
    “I can’t stay long.”
    Missy waved toward the tarot deck on the dining room table. “You got time to have your fortune told? I could give you a heads-up on what’s coming at you.”
    “No thanks. If I knew what was coming, I’d never get out of bed.”
    “Don’t be like that,” said Missy. “I’m kind of a white witch, if I do say so myself. That’s why I invited you to the party without even knowing you. I checked out your energy at the art gallery and knew you were good people.”
    “That’s probably not the only thing she checked out.” Clark walked toward them, grinning. “She’s right, though, Frank, the cards don’t lie.” He hitched up his shorts. “I wouldn’t be where I am right now if it wasn’t for Missy and her gift.”
    Missy kissed Clark, nipped at his throat like a she-wolf. “The first time I met Clark, I was working in a Hallmark shop in Riverside. He walked in looking for a Mother’s Day card, wearing an eye-in-the-pyramid T-shirt—you know, like on the back of the dollar bill? I took one look at him in that shirt and I just
knew
I was going to marry him.”
    Clark nodded in agreement. “Find yourself the right woman, Frank. I know you got that Mr. GQ thing going, and that’s cool, but you find yourself a babe like Missy, that other pussy just won’t interest you. Somebody like Missy, she changes your whole life. It’s like you never were really awake before.”
    Missy touched her hair, pleased. “Clark’s a romantic.”
    “I’m serious, babe,” said Clark. “No telling where I would be without you. I know one thing, though, I wouldn’t be enjoying myself nearly as much.” He blushed, suddenly awkward. “Hey, I got an idea. It’s a beautiful day, Frank. How about you ditch the fancy pants and let me loan you some trunks. I’ll