Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight by Ann Mauren Read Free Book Online Page A

lost. I thought about calling Hoyt and asking him to drive me
down there, and then maybe we could stop over and see Mom at the
library afterwards. Hoyt could come and go from work as he pleased
unless he had a specific meeting on his schedule. He was always
pleasantly willing to help me out on spur of the moment
chauffeuring requests. And that was even before I became so mental.
Now he and Mom both practically tripped over each other to comply
whenever I asked to be taken somewhere, which admittedly, was rare
these days.
    But then my thoughts took a different tack.
This business about me being of legal age must have started a
mental ball rolling up there. It seemed like this was something I
should go and see to all by myself.
    There was only about an hour and a half
until noon.
    A game plan began to take shape in my mind.
I hopped in for a quick shower. Then I blew dry and fussed with my
hair until it was perfectly smooth and twisted into a braid down my
back. I decided that this occasion called for better clothes than
what was available in my closet. So I picked out an ensemble of my
mom’s that had looked great on her. Once I had that all in place I
decided that I was going to have to put on some makeup, too. Since
I didn’t have any of my own, I picked through her cosmetics drawer
until I had made the amateurish improvements I thought I required.
Then I did something very grown up—something I’d never done
before—I called a taxi.
    I felt absolutely ridiculous wearing a hat,
but at the same time I didn’t think I could pull off the outfit
without it. It looked best with the hat, I assured myself, and I
purposely turned the volume down on the internal critical
commentary that was beginning to sound alarmingly like an episode
of “What Not To Wear.”
    Besides, a hat helped to obscure and offset
my extremely youthful face and hairstyle—in fact that had been the
point of the whole ensemble and the motive for raiding Mom’s closet
in the first place.
    I pulled out five twenties from the stash in
my dresser, not certain what it cost to be driven back and forth
downtown, and wished that I would have gotten my license two years
ago like a normal teenager—I even had a perfectly good Jeep waiting
for me in the garage! Well, it was too late to lament my stunted
development today.
    It was unusually mild, probably after so
much rain this week, so I spent the last few moments anticipating
the arrival of the taxi on our front porch, stepping out into the
sun to warm up a little. As I lifted my face to the warm rays of
sun, I had to smile when I thought about what my mom’s face would
look like if she saw me at this moment, especially dressed in her
outfit and then riding away in a cab.
    Just then the taxi pulled in and I moved off
the porch and out to the drive, hopping in the back, only to face
more uncertainty.
    “You headin’ to Churchill Downs?” asked the
cab driver, an older gentleman, who apparently was retired from his
stint in the band ZZ Top.
    If I could have chosen my own cab in which
to ride, based on the appearance of the chauffeur, this one would
not have made the cut. It was a clear case of pognophobia (fear of
beards).
    “No. Downtown. Five hundred Broadway,
please.”
    He shrugged, as if disappointed, and backed
the car out of the driveway. I smiled to myself when, as we were
getting on the highway, he turned his music back up and sure
enough, ‘Legs’ was vibrating out of the speakers.
    The ride downtown went fast. I wondered what
my watchers were making of this. It was completely off the charts
as far as activity went for me. I’d purposely stayed out of sight
in the beginning, self-conscious about being observed, and certain
my awkward embarrassment would tip them off that I knew I was being
surveilled. Unfortunately, they didn’t give up because I was
boring, and cabin fever finally won out over stage fright. It
occurred to me that since they had saved my life, I probably owed
it to them to be a