Prologue

The omnipresent bass rising from the dance floor decayed to a tolerable level where I perched alone in an overstuffed chair. Far below me, glowing neon gyrated in a reckless sea of abandonment. Voices, some singing, some shouting, mingled together in a wonderful cacophony of vibration deep under my rib cage. I sipped at a tonic and lemon, eyes scanning the twirling crowd below.

Her voice, close and hot against my right ear, surprised me out of the hypnotizing neon. Her arm brushed against the side of my breast.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Cameron laughed.

Her breathing laboured, she pecked my cheek, grinned and flopped into the sofa opposite me. Leaning forward, she lifted my glass, bringing it to her upturned nose. Making a face, she laughed easily again, returned my drink to the glass tabletop and motioned for the waitress, a smiling blonde wearing a tight blouse. Cameron ordered a Jack and soda, shooting me a meaningful look: clearly disappointed, yet unsurprised, by my less alcoholic choices. When her glass arrived, she downed half of it in one swallow, then leaned over the table conspiratorially, taking my hand in hers. Her slender fingers tipped in ruby were as warm as I remembered them.

Our affair could best be described as tumultuous. Wonderful fun that summer so long ago, a fantastical time in my life that I both cherish and regret. Cameron had always been more wild than I: more whiskey than tonic. We loved like newlyweds. We fought like mortal enemies. Fatefully, we arrived at a crossroads, as many lovers do. Sometimes friends become lovers. Sometimes lovers become friends. Sometimes both. The odds are heavily stacked against friends becoming lovers again.

I would trust Cameron with my life, and I still loved her. Maddeningly, she knew it.

She pulled gently on my hand and I leaned across the table. She rested her forehead against mine. For a crazy minute, I was certain she would kiss me. Irritatingly, I didn’t know if I wanted her lips against mine, or not. Wisely, she didn’t.

“I’m glad you came,” she said raising her voice above the thump of the bass. Her breath exuded whiskey and mint. “I miss you.”

I smiled.

“I miss your craziness, too,” I replied.

I waited for the inevitable. She’d always been direct.

With our foreheads still in contact, she continued: “There’s someone I think you can help.”

“Oh?”

“She’s terribly unhappy.”

“I’m not a therapist,” I pulled gently away from Cameron. Cameron happily leaned back into the sofa and resumed her Jack.

“It’s not like that!” she laughed, waving her glass dangerously. The liquid inside swirled, but didn’t spill. “I merely think you can help her, is all.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know her. Yet.”

“I can help her? How?”

“I’ll let her explain.”

Cameron could be endlessly frustrating, too.

“Cameron...” My voice trailed off.

“There’s one more teensy thing.”

Warning bells rang.

“Oh?”

Uncharacteristically, Cameron hesitated, biting at her lower lip. Concern filled me.

“She’s married.”

I simply gaped at Cameron.

“I don’t mess around with married men. Or married women for that matter. You know that,” I stated fiercely.

Cameron shrugged easily. “You don’t play with any men, married or otherwise.”

“Beside the point.”

“She needs your help. And she’s a friend.”

“How good a friend?”

“Not like that,” she replied easily. And I believed her. “But I care about her.”

Defeated, I shook my head slowly, breaking her gaze. If Cameron cared about this married woman, that was enough for me. And, maddeningly, Cameron knew that, too. She would never have asked me if it wasn’t important somehow.

“You’ll do it, won’t you? For me? At least talk to her?” She batted her lashes. Those lashes I used to kiss on lazy Sunday mornings.

I sighed. I trusted Cameron with my life and my heart. And I always would.

Reluctantly, I nodded. I suspected I might regret this.

Cameron’s face brightened with a mischievous grin. She downed the final mouthful of her whiskey, laughing easily.

“PATH food court, noon, Friday. Look for the pink stetson.”

With that, she grabbed my hand and physically pulled me to my feet. Her dress whirled above toned bare legs, a neon rainbow flashing under the black fluorescence above.

I wanted her. And I didn’t.

“Did you say: pink stetson??”

Ignoring my utter confusion, Cameron pulled me down the balcony staircase and into the gyrating sea. The crowd parted for her, sensing an approaching disciple. The throbbing music captured my spirit. Unresisting, my legs followed her into pulsing recklessness.