Holting Out
for a Steele
Puerto Vallarta, 1975
Laura brushed the crumbs
of sand off her polka-dotted beach towel before rearranging herself to
lie on her stomach again to let the sun saturate the other side of her
body.
She rested her chin on her crossed arms and tried again to
stop thinking long enough to enjoy the
scenery.
Scenery. The beach
is nice. Sand, water, what’s not to like? Laura was too
analytical to put much more description into the Pacific waves rolling
on shore where they
splashed laughing couples and raucous crowds of young men and women
alike. She did note that
the white hotel made a backdrop on the sand and blocked the view of the
rolling hills behind it.
Spring break meant beer and tequila flowed as freely as the water
running back into the ocean with the retreat of each wave. Teens
and young adults sprawled
freely across the beach and played in the water. This wasn’t a
time for families. In fact, those with
small children who accidentally wandered into the on-going party
generally packed up after a handful of minutes. Apparently, the
older generation didn’t approve of the topless women, rowdy drinking
and scores of couples
making out in the sand.
Laura had her own beer stashed in the sand beside her, but it was
getting too warm for her taste. Four girls stretched their own
tan bodies and slim limbs out alongside,
three on her left and one on her right. The oldest and blondest,
Barbara Frick, turned her head and squinted.
“Haven’t you turned your brain off yet, Laura?”
“I’m trying; I’m trying. I’ve been concentrating on scenery for
the last twenty minutes.”
“I’m telling you--you’re missing the point of being in Puerto Vallarta.
There are plenty of men, plenty to drink and lots to do.
You should be exhausted by now. Look
at Sue and Julie.”
Laura groaned. The pair had staggered back to the hotel just
after dawn, having found a couple of new friends the night before from
UCLA. Cheerfully complaining about
being up “all night long,” both of the girls promptly crashed on their
beds--only stirring well after lunch.
Sue had been casually scanning the beach this morning, hoping to
attract “Tim’s” attention again.
Even Janet, the quietest of the bunch, had slipped out with a
handsome Latino surfer after dark last night.
It was true that she was a little envious of her four friends. In
the past few days, all of them had indulged in short trysts with
perfect strangers--with the results ranging from
“nice, but not again” to “where can I find you tomorrow night?”
She’d anticipated something like this
might happen here. Back at Stanford, the girls had little
compunction about crawling into bed with a new
boyfriend and moving on when the relationship was done. In
Mexico, one didn’t even need the excuse
of a relationship to have sex.
As the only virgin, possibly on the entire beach, Laura was distinctly
the odd woman out. Her friends would be surprised to learn that
she was more than ready to ditch her
innocence, but perhaps a small modicum of her mother’s standards still
remained, and she was annoyed
to discover that she wanted respect in the bedroom as much as she
wanted it in the classroom. Maybe this was the new wave of
women’s liberation taken to a higher level--she wasn’t sure--but it was
playing hell with her libido.
She knew she was smart, witty and popular with the boys, but those same
boys were increasingly frustrated by her casual dismissal of their
invitations into the
bedroom. More than one had their fragile egos crushed when she
flashed her quirky smile and eluded their grasp.
Recently, even her girlfriends had begun questioning her
reticence to losing her virginity. Maybe I’m making too much
of it. I just need to let go and get it over.
Barbara interrupted her
musings. “Last day, girls! Whom are you going to take home
tonight?” She eyed a muscular blonde as he hefted a surfboard and
headed for the
water.
Janet rolled over to let the sun darken her back and legs one more
time. “Mmm, I want to find me another one like the last one.
What was his name? Miguel?
He said he would be at La Vida tonight.”
Barb eyed her. “You gonna take the plunge, Laura? Give up
that gold card you’re carrying around?”
“I would if I could find someone that wasn’t all bark and no bite,” she
retorted.
“Ouch!” That came from Sue. “So you’re saying you don’t
want a puppy.”
“She wants an older man. More experienced, you know,” Julie put
in.
“I do not,” Laura insisted. “I just want one that doesn’t act as
if he’s twelve.” She eyeballed three boys in particular who were
attempting to finish off a keg of beer by
themselves.
Barbara rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand.
“Honey, he can act like twelve all he wants so long as he knows
where everything goes. You know what I’m
saying?”
Surrounded by the laughter and the increasingly raunchy comments of her
friends, Laura closed her eyes and let the rays soak into her skin.
It wasn’t her fault she
tended to be attracted to brains over brawn. Just once, I’d
like to meet an intelligent, handsome man who knew where everything was
supposed to go. But all the intelligent ones are complete klutzes
in the
personal relations department; the handsome ones are too arrogant, and
the rest act like women are their personal
play things. And the ones that get it tend to be light in the
loafers. Are a few honest sparks too
much to ask?
“Personally, I don’t think
she can do it.”
Laura opened her eyes at Barbara’s sly challenge. “Do what?”
“Pick up a guy tonight.” The catcalls of their friends made
several bystanders look over and wonder at the American girls.
“Of course, I can. I don’t want to,” she retorted. Trust
me, no one is more ready to NOT be a virgin than I am. I’ve been
itchy since high school.
“Sounds like a cop out. So what’s your criteria?” Sue shot
back.
“Besides not acting as if he’s an adolescent?”
“Sure. I’m--we’re betting that if you find him, you can’t take
him home.” Julie fished a ten out of her wallet and waved it in
the air.
“I’m in!” each of the other girls chorused.
Laura sat up. “Are you guys serious? You’re betting me that
if I find a guy that meets my specifications, I can’t get him to sleep
with me?”
“Sure. You talk the talk, but you don’t walk the walk,” said
Barbara. “You’ve got half of Stanford convinced that you and
Milton are a couple, but the five of us all know
that he bats for the other team.”
“Is that why he calls you ‘Binky’?” wondered Julie. “I’ve always
wanted to know.”
“Yeah, ‘cause she’s his safety net when he goes out with the guys.”
Barbara rolled back onto her beach towel with that statement.
“They all think he’s getting it on
when half the time they’re doing advanced calculus at three in the
morning.”
Julie raised her eyebrows. “No wonder they blow the curve in all
their classes. Okay, Laura. Come clean. What do you
want in a man?”
“Tall, dark and handsome, smart enough to play the game, slick enough
to win and sexy enough to score when he wants.” She paused, then
added, “But respectful.
I’m not a slut and I’m not a toy.”
Sue whistled. “That’s a tall order for a one night stand.”
Barbara sat up and held out her hand to Laura. “Shake on it.
We’ll help you scope out the guy, and you have to get him to
sleep with you before we leave tomorrow.”
Laura eyed a couple making out on the sand nearby. The girl was
topless and he was less than discrete. Oh, what the hell. “Done.”
The Latin music in La Vida pounded loud and hard enough to reset the
rhythm of Laura’s heartbeat. From the staircase leading to the
mezzanine of the packed bar, she and
her friends scoped out the action above and below. An enormous
circular bar dominated the center of
the ground floor. Barstools created a second circle, and for
every person perched on one of the backless
chairs, two more squeezed up to the railing. Periodically, amid
the whistles and claps of the
appreciative men, girls climbed onto the bar to dance to the beat.
Fifteen minutes after arriving, Laura’s skin had a thin veneer of
sweat. Hot spring air barely drifted in through the open windows,
and the miasma of perfume and smoke mingled
in the air before dropping like a heavy fog onto the crowd below.
A dance floor jammed with
perspiring men and women rubbing bodies together to the salsa and the
mambo made a third ring around the
bar. Disco lights skimmed the crowd, titillating the senses with
the brief glimpses of naked skin and
couples locked at the lip and hip. The sensuality of the scene
was dizzying to all but the most jaded.
Laura, at nineteen, wasn’t quite there.
Growing warmer just from watching those on the dance floor, she did her
best to ignore the action at the top of the stairs. Even a brief
glance revealed the writhing
bodies on the second floor, some of which were more clandestine than
others.
Her girlfriends flanked her but were soon distracted and slunk away to
the dance floor or the bar below. Barb was the last to leave.
“I’m watching, Laura. I’d
better see your lips locked with someone before the night is through.”
Comically, she saluted, “Yes, ma’am!”
As Barbara took the arm of a flirtatious college student, the pool
tables at the far end of the enormous room caught Laura’s eye.
Cautiously, with eyes averted, she
drifted to the other side of the mezzanine where she could watch the
action. Out of the corner of one eye,
she noted the drugs flowing freely in places and made sure she smoothly
skirted those tables and avoided any
attention. Still, she had to turn down two propositions with a
firm shake of the head before ordering a
tequila sunrise from the bar wedged into the corner on the far side.
Glass in hand, she propped herself against the railing to watch the
game play below. The smooth drink cooled her heated face and
eased the knots in her stomach as she
surveyed the men. How
arrogant. I’m supposed to pick a man out like an apple at the
grocery store. Two
cha-chas and a tango
later though, three men stood out--two with brown hair and one with
black--as the
balls clacked and tumbled into the pockets. She watched all three
of them win handily at their
individual games before chalking up their cues for another round.
That was good. She was attracted to
men who could win.
The first fell out of favor with her as he rudely copped a feel from a
passing waitress. The second lost his chance when he sulked after
losing his game. But the third …
pocketed his winnings with a nod to the loser and then slipped a tip
into the apron of the waitress with a full
complement of drinks before relieving her of his own. Halfway
through his next match, while waiting for
his opponent to make a play, the dark-haired man suddenly looked up and
pinned her with a hard look.
He’d noticed her watching him--impressive in a room this size.
She knew it helped that she wore fire engine red tonight. The
satin blouse had a peasant neckline and sleeves that gathered at the
wrist. The bodice though, instead of
hanging loose, skimmed her ribcage and clung to her hips as it flowed
into the matching skirt that flirted
with the tops of her thighs. Out of inspiration, she’d snatched a
pink hibiscus on the walk to the bar and
pinned it into her long hair. Strappy, gold stacked heels, a
simple tennis bracelet and gold pendant
earrings finished the outfit. Her throat was as bare as her legs,
and her skin glistened in the sparkle
of the disco ball.
Laura nodded slyly and toasted him with her drink before knocking it
back and draining the glass. Then she waited. She didn’t
see his answering grin but felt it clear
across the room. She continued to watch as he annihilated his
opponent.
When he finished, he racked his cue
and, flicking a quick glance at her, began navigating determinedly
toward the bar.
*****
The next time he looked up, she had vanished. He smiled to
himself as he worked his way through the throngs of
dancers. He’d come here tonight looking for an
interesting diversion. It appeared he’d found one. Until
now, his only amusement had come from relieving rich
college kids of their play money over the pool table or making easy
bets on other people’s stupidity.
He was flush with cash at the moment, but the real money would come
tomorrow. An interesting
conversation with a bartender had resulted in a contact willing to
share information for a split of the take.
His eyes had an inner glow to them from anticipation--of the heist.
And of the satin-wrapped brunette he had every intention of
unwrapping tonight.
He was in his element here--amidst the cynical and the naïve, the
sober and the smashed. Appreciation for the breasts and buttocks
that rubbed against him as he edged to the
bar failed to distract him from his goal. With his usual finesse,
he scored a barstool in time to see
the vision in red wedge herself between a blonde with hair hanging to
her waist and her date. The latter
copped a feel of the vision’s ass, only to yelp as her heel came down
on his instep. Good girl. He
grinned.
He preferred a woman with attitude and gumption.
*****
The second tequila sunrise she’d consumed on the way down the stairs
gave her a dash more confidence than she might have had otherwise.
The resultant buzz was enough
to loosen her tongue--but not her reflexes, as evidenced by her
lightning-fast reaction to the stray
groping on the way to the bar. Emerging from the gauntlet of
dancing bodies, her target was settled at the bar.
Now he toasted her with his drink and she blushed, realizing he’d
seen her retaliation and apparently
approved.
She took automatic note of her girlfriends who’d
suddenly appeared at the edge of the dance floor. Barbara and Sue
dragged their dates to the
far side of the bar. Rapidly, she assessed her target's grin and
settled on a bold tactic to gain his attention.
As if planned, he extended his hand to her as she ascended the
steps, releasing it when she turned to lean with
her back against the bar. Rigorous control kept her from flexing
her fingers where sparks still danced
from that momentary touch. She kept them distracted by slipping
them under her sleeve to retrieve a twenty,
which she laid on the bar in front of him.
Now she perused him from head to toe. With the haze from the
smoke and the dancing lights, it was impossible to determine his
nationality, but he had his hair slicked
back in the Latino fashion and sported a slim mustache. The white
slacks paired with the silver and
black shirt gave him a rakish, worldly look, albeit a rather annoyed
one.
He frowned at the money on the counter, “¿Qué usted
desea?”
Growing up in southern California gave Laura some ability to speak at
least broken Spanish. “Necesito un favor. Do you
understsand English?”
At his short nod, she leaned close to his ear. “No insult.
The twenty is because I have a couple of girlfriends who bet me I
couldn’t pick you up. I don’t want to
lose. If you’re not interested, I’ll buy you a drink.”
He flashed a wide grin, showing his white teeth that gleamed in the
dark light. “I’ll have both.” He caught the bartender’s
attention and held up two fingers.
Promptly, two shots of tequila were delivered and he held one out
to Laura. With an unspoken toast, they drank
and dropped the shot glasses upside down on the bar. Smoothly, he
drew her between his legs and
cupped her face in his hands, stroking a cheek with his thumb.
The small portion of her brain not soaked in tequila noted that, at
this close range, he definitely wasn’t Hispanic. She flipped
through her
mental file of various nationalities to determine where he might fit.
He caught her assessing look and moved in--thoroughly distracting
her.
Sparks. Oh. Just as they did at
the scorching contact of his fingers on hers, sparks flew when they
touched lips. Crap.
These aren’t sparks; it’s a bonfire. He definitely knew
how to kiss. She moved in, running her hands over his shoulders,
noting the lean, hard muscles on
his slender body. Her buzzing brain dropped lower and wondered
what she would find below.
*****
Bugger me to the nine
circles of Hell and back again. The fiery sprite in
his arms lit him up. Experienced beyond his years, he’d kissed a
respectable number of
women. None so far had ignited the fire in his belly in the way
this slip of a girl was managing to do at
the moment, which simultaneously terrified and thrilled him.
Without breaking their connection,
she pressed her body to his. He skimmed his hands down her
satin-clad back, marveling at her slender form and
tiny waist. He teased her lips with his tongue and she opened her
mouth instantly, darting her own into his
mouth. He shivered in response.
Abruptly, she clutched his shoulders and lifted herself into his lap,
wrapping her legs around his hips. He nearly lost his balance on
the barstool, caught it with his shoe on the
footrest, and then had other things to worry about. Her warm
lithe form sat squarely where his rising
erection was cradled against her apex. Whatever heat was in the
club didn’t compare with what was emanating
from his lap at the moment. They settled into a rhythm of slow
rocking while kissing.
Uncharacteristically, he lost track of time as he let his mouth
discover her secrets. She tasted of citrus and
sunlight; he feasted as if he’d been deprived of both for a decade.
*****
Laura was lost. Lost in a tequila-induced haze. Lost
in the dizzying sensations of this mystery man sharing kisses ranging
from light and teasing to deep and devastating.
Lost in the feel of his hands sliding over her hair, down her
spine and back again. Her core was on
fire from the mere parody of the sexual act. She ached to have
him touch her, to make her come apart in
only that way a woman can. Ignoring the throngs of people
surrounding them was easy. Her world had
narrowed to the one man who was doing things to her body she had only
fantasized about in her own bed.
*****
When she tore her mouth from his to pant from excitement, he slid his
hands under the satin fabric of her skirt--only to discover
unexpectedly lean, muscled thighs and
buttocks--and shifted her a fraction closer to him. And there, in
the center of the Puerto Vallarta bar, with
his hands on her ass and his lips to her throat--with smoke in the air,
lights flashing and the music still
mercilessly pounding away--she went up in flames. As he felt her
legs tighten around him and her whole body
vibrate, he closed his own eyes against the greedy urge to possess her
then and there. They flew open
again when she leaned into his ear and murmured over the din of the
crowd, “Take me upstairs.”
He didn’t hesitate. But he didn’t take her to the main staircase.
Instead, he pushed her toward a tiny stairway hidden in the
corner behind the pool tables. At the top,
she barely registered that they were still on the mezzanine but
opposite the sensuous mayhem on the other side.
Here, only a handful of other couples were present and all were
well-occupied. He backed her
into a corner where he resumed his exploration of her body. He
cupped her small breasts, teasing the
nipples through the satin until they stood in hard peaks. A
simple tug dropped the sleeve off her
shoulder. Another tug at the chemise left one breast bare for him
to feast upon. Further exploration
revealed that she was wearing only a strip of red floss for panties.
When she kicked them off, he stuffed them
into the pocket of his slacks.
*****
Laura felt herself spiraling down into the sensual miasma, her
inability to think only exacerbated by the alcohol. She felt.
She craved. Urgently, she tugged
at the buttons of his shirt--managing only to open the top three before
her mystery man unfastened his own slacks.
Before she could ask, he covered himself with a condom and
pressed her against the wall. His
clever fingers plucked and probed until she shivered with need, and as
she began to fly, he pulled her to him and
sheathed himself in her in one swift move.
She couldn’t help the little gasp of discomfort--not from the flimsy
barrier of innocence that only momentarily impeded his movement--but
from the sheer newness of the
sensation. Her body felt impossibly full of him, and she
involuntarily tensed up--accidentally
squeezing him more tightly in the process.
He froze and then began muttering curses in a combination of Spanish
and English that left her confused. Dredging up control from some
place unbeknownst to him until this
moment, he held utterly still while her body adapted. He kissed
her again, deeply and searchingly.
Long seconds later, the tension in her frame released as heat
curled around her again. Needing to move,
needing to feel him move, she whispered, “Please?”
“Of course.” He dropped his arm to curl around her back and
stroked one of her legs that she had wrapped around his hip with the
other hand as he began moving inside
her with smooth, strong strokes. With new understanding, she
lifted her other leg as well. The now
familiar ache grew until her hips pumped hard and fast, taking him with
her as she flew. He
swallowed her screams with his mouth and they fell, spiraling down in
the same dizzying pattern they’d set from
the beginning.
For some time she could only shiver in his arms. Gingerly he held
her, stroking her hair and satin-clad back until the shudders receded.
He caught her wince as he eased
from her body, despite the care she’d taken to cover the expression.
One shrug of her shoulder shifted
her chemise and blouse back in place. Another tug settled her
skirt. He was equally quick, leaving the
shirt unbuttoned as he zipped his pants after crumpling the condom in a
handkerchief from his pocket.
When she stood from readjusting her shoe buckle, he stroked her cheek.
“Por qué?” he asked. Why?
“Because you were the
right man. Thank you.” She leaned up on her toes and melted
him with a last devastating kiss. His hand tangled in her hair as
he savored
citrus and sunlight once again.
When she turned to go, he stopped her with a brush of his fingers on
her arm. “What’s your name?” he asked in oddly-accented English.
“Tracy.” Then she was gone.
Barbara and Sue met Laura at the front door, and after they found their
other two friends, the five wandered home. By the time they
reached the hotel, the roar of
the tequila had settled into a low hum in Laura’s head. Barb made
comment on her friend’s mussed hair and
outfit, and the other girls solemnly handed over her winnings, but
Laura waived them all off.
“No bets. It was worth every second.”
Janet asked, “Including the wait?”
A glow touched her face in remembrance. “I can see why some women
throw away everything for that. It’s a good thing I can’t find
him tomorrow. I might spend the
rest of my vacation in his bed.”
Sue’s eyebrows flew up. “That good?”
“That good,” Laura confirmed.
For the rest of the semester,
she had dreams of a tall, dark, handsome man with a worldly countenance
and the oddest flash of blue in
his eyes. For years she wondered if it was real or just the disco
lights.
*****
As he walked home alone, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and drew
out the left one. He pulled out only his pocket lining. A
sharp laugh erupted as he discovered
his vision in red had nicked her underwear from his pocket before
taking flight. From his other pocket, he
drew out her earring. Ah,
lass, we’re even at least. He frowned as he
noticed something on the back of the earring. L E H--her initials?
From time to time, he thought of her and wondered.
* * * * *
In 1980, Laura opened the doors of Remington Steele Investigations.
To create the illusion of a boss, she rented a condo, purchased a
limousine and gave it the license plate ‘R.
Steele.’ Then she went shopping for clothes to hang in the closet
for her fictitious mentor.
After a solid hour of debating his size, in desperation the
tailor asked her to hold up her hands in various ways
to describe his form. Firmly squelching thoughts of that louse
Wilson, she held up her hands and the
tailor began making detailed notes.
* * * * *
A year and a half later, a blue-eyed Irish con man scoped out the
security setup for the Royal Lavulite jewels. With his camera in
hand, he persuaded a young
mom to let him snap photos of her family. In reality, he took
several pictures of the people standing
behind her children. When his viewfinder came to rest on a pretty
brunette in an unattractive grey suit on the far side of the street, he
nearly swallowed his glib tongue.
Only his innate professionalism
allowed him to rattle off the pleasantries that sent the mother away
smiling.
Bugger me. I am not
this lucky. It can’t be possible. After following the
grey-clad woman to her office, he ducked into his car for a change of
clothes before reentering the building.
“Hello?" He tapped on the inner office
door and opened it.
"Anyone about?" The woman in gray was putting on her shoes,
and her eyes widened as he walked in. Does she recognize me or
did I startle her? He held out
his hand to
the man standing near her. "Mr. Steele--"
Smoothly, the woman interjected, "I'm sorry. Mr. Steele's out of
town."
Nope. No recognition
at all.
The other man eyed him
suspiciously. "I'm his associate,
Murphy Michaels."
His gaze shifted from Murphy to the woman and back
again, but his mind never wavered from her. "Have we met before?"
he asked Murphy .
He really wanted to ask her the same question.
"I don't think so," answered the detective.
"Odd. You look vaguely familiar," he said to the man. Yes, you look very familiar, he thought at her.
"I've got that kind of face.”
"So you do." He dismissed Mr. Michaels and turned his full
attention to the young woman. Oh, yes, my
vision in red. We’ve met.
She held out her hand.
"Laura Holt."
L.E.H. Laura Holt.
You’re mine now.
5 May 2009
edited 12 August 2010
Steele Holting On
Steele
Holting On