Read Online She Walks in Beauty by Sarah Shankman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Shankman
Tags: Mystery
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But rooms wasn’t what they were interested in joining.
They did it in 1803, his room. He stormed in first, slamming the door open. He was mad as hell about something, but not saying a word. Eighteen oh five jawing a mile a minute. “Kurt, honey.” Wayne could read her lips. He could have turned the volume up and heard every word. But he had the audio recorded anyway.
It was a little game Wayne liked to play, watching with the sound turned off, trying to figure it out. He was pretty good at it, usually. Especially when the actors, that’s how he thought of them, actors playing out scenes just for him, were really into it. When they weren’t talking about something dumb, like the stock market.
There was nothing like that on 1805’s mind. No sirree. She was a real tall, pretty woman, nice set hanging out of her little blue bikini top, pleading with 1803, “I didn’t mean it. I was just joking.” She followed him into the bedroom.
Eighteen oh three was playing the tough guy. Quiet. Not a word. The Sly Stallone part. She pulled on his arm. He flung her off and gave her a stiff arm, just to make sure. She landed on the bed. Big boo-hoo. Sly stepped into the head and slammed the door.
Wayne flicked on the bathroom camera, just to make sure. There was nothing happening, except that Sly wasn’t the least bit upset, playacting in the bedroom, checking himself out in the mirror. He got up real close so he could see his pores. Gave himself a big smile. Looked this way and that, right profile, then left. He ran his hand over his jaw, feeling a couple of days’ growth. Winked at himself, deciding to leave it. Then he peeled off his white trunks and headed for the shower. Wayne switched back to the bedroom.
Miss Boo-Hoo had gotten ahold of herself. She was over at the dresser with her big bag, pulling out her makeup. Pat pat, slick, lick. Polishing herself up.
That was the one thing you noticed about these people this week. All of them were good-looking, well, almost all of them, and dead set on staying that way. Wayne could understand the girls, that’s why they were there, but the judges? Go figure. Maybe whatever the girls had, it was catching.
Anyway, Miss Boo-Hoo finished with her lipstick. Checked her teeth. Fluffed up her hair. Adjusted herself in her swimsuit. Got ’em just how she wanted ’em, checked herself out back and front, looked down, picked up 1803’s red judging binder. Flipped through a few pages. Flopped down in a chair to take a closer look.
Wayne zoomed in. He wanted to look too. It wasn’t every day you saw something like this.
Wasn’t this great? He could read every word: Homecoming queen. Graduate nursing school. 23, 5′7″, 117.
Now here came trouble slouching back into the bedroom like Mr. Cool. He was wearing a towel and carrying something in one hand, kind of hidden behind him. Wayne couldn’t quite see it from this angle.
Damn! There was 1801 and that stupid little mutt. Now 1801 was making a phone call. Should he listen in? Nawh. The tape’d get it.
But back to 1803. They were lying across the bed. Hadn’t pulled the covers back. He had her all snuggled up. They were flipping through the red binder.
Look at that dog, he was saying. Ahwooooo! Flipped a couple more. Now, that’s more like it. Who’s this blonde? Miss New Jersey. She looks a little like you, Cindy Lou. He reached over and gave her boobs a lift. Or like you used to.
She swatted him one. She does not!
Then they were fooling around too much for him to read their lips. This could be important. Wayne flipped the volume up.
Sly was still turning pages, looking at girls.
I like her, Cindy Lou said, pointing at a titian-haired beauty with big brown eyes. I think she’s got it. I gave her a 10 in the interview.
Sly shook his head. No way.
Old Cindy Lou wasn’t giving up. Listen to me, Kurt, she said. I know what I’m talking about. This girl’s got it. She tapped the picture again.
He still wasn’t buying
They did it in 1803, his room. He stormed in first, slamming the door open. He was mad as hell about something, but not saying a word. Eighteen oh five jawing a mile a minute. “Kurt, honey.” Wayne could read her lips. He could have turned the volume up and heard every word. But he had the audio recorded anyway.
It was a little game Wayne liked to play, watching with the sound turned off, trying to figure it out. He was pretty good at it, usually. Especially when the actors, that’s how he thought of them, actors playing out scenes just for him, were really into it. When they weren’t talking about something dumb, like the stock market.
There was nothing like that on 1805’s mind. No sirree. She was a real tall, pretty woman, nice set hanging out of her little blue bikini top, pleading with 1803, “I didn’t mean it. I was just joking.” She followed him into the bedroom.
Eighteen oh three was playing the tough guy. Quiet. Not a word. The Sly Stallone part. She pulled on his arm. He flung her off and gave her a stiff arm, just to make sure. She landed on the bed. Big boo-hoo. Sly stepped into the head and slammed the door.
Wayne flicked on the bathroom camera, just to make sure. There was nothing happening, except that Sly wasn’t the least bit upset, playacting in the bedroom, checking himself out in the mirror. He got up real close so he could see his pores. Gave himself a big smile. Looked this way and that, right profile, then left. He ran his hand over his jaw, feeling a couple of days’ growth. Winked at himself, deciding to leave it. Then he peeled off his white trunks and headed for the shower. Wayne switched back to the bedroom.
Miss Boo-Hoo had gotten ahold of herself. She was over at the dresser with her big bag, pulling out her makeup. Pat pat, slick, lick. Polishing herself up.
That was the one thing you noticed about these people this week. All of them were good-looking, well, almost all of them, and dead set on staying that way. Wayne could understand the girls, that’s why they were there, but the judges? Go figure. Maybe whatever the girls had, it was catching.
Anyway, Miss Boo-Hoo finished with her lipstick. Checked her teeth. Fluffed up her hair. Adjusted herself in her swimsuit. Got ’em just how she wanted ’em, checked herself out back and front, looked down, picked up 1803’s red judging binder. Flipped through a few pages. Flopped down in a chair to take a closer look.
Wayne zoomed in. He wanted to look too. It wasn’t every day you saw something like this.
Wasn’t this great? He could read every word: Homecoming queen. Graduate nursing school. 23, 5′7″, 117.
Now here came trouble slouching back into the bedroom like Mr. Cool. He was wearing a towel and carrying something in one hand, kind of hidden behind him. Wayne couldn’t quite see it from this angle.
Damn! There was 1801 and that stupid little mutt. Now 1801 was making a phone call. Should he listen in? Nawh. The tape’d get it.
But back to 1803. They were lying across the bed. Hadn’t pulled the covers back. He had her all snuggled up. They were flipping through the red binder.
Look at that dog, he was saying. Ahwooooo! Flipped a couple more. Now, that’s more like it. Who’s this blonde? Miss New Jersey. She looks a little like you, Cindy Lou. He reached over and gave her boobs a lift. Or like you used to.
She swatted him one. She does not!
Then they were fooling around too much for him to read their lips. This could be important. Wayne flipped the volume up.
Sly was still turning pages, looking at girls.
I like her, Cindy Lou said, pointing at a titian-haired beauty with big brown eyes. I think she’s got it. I gave her a 10 in the interview.
Sly shook his head. No way.
Old Cindy Lou wasn’t giving up. Listen to me, Kurt, she said. I know what I’m talking about. This girl’s got it. She tapped the picture again.
He still wasn’t buying
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