Two Holts: Steele Unexpected
Laura cornered Remington in his office late one October afternoon, six months after they had wed
in Ireland. Her slightly shady husband had been elusive for the past two weeks and downright
irritable for the last three days.
He’d managed to avoid her by spending a great deal of time with their new intern, Kaleb Carter.
Monroe had recommended the young man, and so far he was coming along nicely. Laura enjoyed
teaching him the ropes, and he had a knack for asking good questions. Remington took him on his
first stakeout this past weekend, leaving Laura to her own devices. For his sake, it probably wasn’t
a good thing because it gave her time to think about his odd behavior.
Last night had been the final straw. She had caught him merely going through the motions of
making love to her, and she’d stormed out of the room with her pillow and slept on the couch.
When she woke in the morning, he’d already slipped out. Only because he had a meeting with his
security team near the end of the day was she able to fence him in as the crew filtered out of the
office. She was waiting by the front door and blocked it when he tried to leave.
“Mr. Steele, I believe we have a few things to discuss in your office.”
“Of course, Mrs. Steele.” He pivoted and followed her inside. He stood by the windows while she
perched on his desk.
“What exactly is going on here, Remington?”
“I thought you didn’t like airing our personal issues at the office?”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you since Monday, but you’ve had a nasty habit of falling asleep or
disappearing on me at home. And last night--last night was an insult. Don’t ever do that to me
again.” He stood motionless while her anger lashed through him.
Eventually, he turned to her. “I need to leave for a while, Laura.”
Her spine stiffened. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you why. I promise you it’s not a con and it’s not illegal.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. A few days. A couple of weeks. I don’t know how long it will take.”
“Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“When are you going?”
“Tonight.”
“Why?”
“I need to find someone. I can’t tell you anymore than that.” Remington looked haggard and
miserable as he turned to her. Capturing her face, he kissed her with no little desperation. “I’m
sorry, Laura. I hope I can explain it all later.”
He bolted from the office and was gone, leaving Laura stunned with disbelief, but not too stunned to
know her next move. She pressed a button on the phone. “Kaleb? Follow Mr. Steele and let me
know where he goes. Do not let him see you and call me every chance you get. This is your test to
see how well you’ve been paying attention about following a suspect.” Seconds later she heard the
front door slam as Kaleb ran down the corridor.
Next, she buzzed the secretary. “Ian, what does Mr. Steele’s schedule look like for the next two
weeks?”
“He had me clear it this morning. I’ve got nothing on the books for him.”
“Clear mine as well. We’ve had something major come up.”
Lastly, she headed for Mildred’s office and popped her head inside. “Got a minute?”
“Well, of course. Want to tell me what’s going on with you two?”
Laura looked like a sulky teen-ager, but with good reason. “He’s up to something. I need your help
finding out what.”
Mildred got that disappointed frown on her face that she wore whenever one of her “kids” upset
her. “Fire away.” The younger woman laid out a brief synopsis of the last week, skipping the part
about last night, and recounted the conversation they’d just had.
“I need to figure out where he’s going.”
“How much money did he take with him?”
“Good question. He won’t use credit cards; he knows I’ll look for them.”
Mildred pulled up the Steeles' personal financials on her computer and made a few inquiries. She
still did all of their bookkeeping. “Mr. Steele pulled $5,000 from one of his accounts this morning.
Not your joint account, but the other cash account he keeps on the side.” That didn’t surprise
Laura. She already knew he had it, ostensibly so that he could surprise her with a gift or trip
somewhere. But he had pulled personal funds, not agency funds, so this had nothing to do with
business.
“I’m going home; I need to see if his passport is still there and what else he might have packed.”
But his passport was still sitting in his desk at home and as far as Laura could tell, he’d only taken
the bare necessities with him--which meant he was either planning to purchase everything when he
got wherever he was going, or he wasn’t planning to be gone long.
The phone rang.
“Mrs. Steele? Kaleb. I’m gonna make this quick ‘cause I’m still on his tail. We’re on I-15 heading
for Las Vegas.”
“Has he made you?”
“Hasn’t given me the slip yet, but I’ve been real careful. I called a buddy of mine and he caught up
with me just outside of L.A. We dropped back a bit and swapped cars at a stop light.”
“Excellent thinking. What’s Mr. Steele driving?”
“A black Porsche 964 Carrera Speedster. It’s a sweet ride, Mrs. Steele.”
“You’re doing great, Kaleb. Keep tabs on him. Call me on the Rabbit’s car phone. I’ll be out and
about.”
“Yes, ma’am. Gotta go.” He clicked off.
Laura threw the rest of her things into a single bag and headed for the door.
When the Angeles National Forest gave way to the California desert, Remington opened up the
Porsche and let the car fly. The remaining three-hour trip turned into two as he punched the speed
up to over one hundred miles per hour and kept it there.
Kaleb threw in the towel nearly an hour into the trip and called in his failure to Mrs. Steele.
“Don’t worry. You’ve done great so far. What do you think you should do next?”
“I imagine I could head to Vegas and look for his car. I might get lucky.”
“That’s an excellent plan. Call me when you get there.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Steele.”
He did. He’d seen the car briefly near the north end of the Strip and then promptly lost it. He met
Laura sometime later at a street corner, and she sent him home with a smile. Taking her chances,
she headed for the plushest five-star hotel in the area, Caesars Palace, and left the Rabbit at the very
top and rear of the parking garage. She figured she could start by canvassing the major casinos.
But she got lucky too. She found the Porsche parked on the bottom floor.
She ducked into the first bathroom she found in the hotel and donned a blonde wig and a pair of
brown sunglasses from her bag after changing into a blue sundress with criss-crossing straps that
accentuated her bust line. White heels and chunky jewelry completed her ensemble.
Checking in under the name “Ilsa Blaine,” she casually asked if “Remington Steele” had registered
yet. The older man behind the counter was very polite. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We do not have a
guest by that name.” Laura tried “Michael O’Leary,” “Paul Fabrini,” and struck paydirt with
“Richard Blaine.” Thanking the man, she tipped him and headed to her room to dump the few
things she'd brought with her. A quick glance at her watch verified that it was nearly 10 p.m. and
the casinos would be heating up to a fever pitch. She began a discrete, methodical search for her
husband.
The first thing Remington did after stashing the car at the hotel was to find himself a pack of
cigarettes. It took three deep drags to steady his nerves long enough to check in and change clothes
in his room. Six months of marriage had him jumpy and irritable. He knew it wasn’t Laura’s fault,
or not directly anyway. She tried to give him as much room as he needed, but lately, it hadn’t
seemed to be enough and he wasn’t sure why.
The casino was redolent with rich red carpeting and gold accents everywhere. Smoke drifted like
fog through the room, and the noise level was just under deafening with all the sirens, whistles,
clinking chips and loud conversation. An occasional shriek from a happy winner split the air. He
settled himself at a blackjack table and let the game play distract him.
It wasn’t long before a hard-eyed brunette pegged him as being rich and alone, although not
necessarily single, judging by the wedding ring on his left hand. She settled in beside him and tried
to flirt. Instead, he completely ignored her and focused on his cards. Three hands later, she gave
up and moved to another table.
Somewhere around two in the morning, Remington raked in his chips and cashed in for the night.
He tumbled into his bed and slept restlessly, wondering why he was so discontented.
Laura had fruitlessly searched the huge casino and gave up in the wee hours of the morning to get
some fitful sleep.
By noon the next day, Remington was back at the tables, letting the cards keep part of his brain
occupied while he sorted out his unhappiness. So far he hadn’t been able to pinpoint the problem.
All he knew is that he was taking it out on Laura in the meantime. Now, old chap, why in the hell
couldn’t you have told her the truth? Instead, she’s probably scared to death you’ve abandoned
her. But he had no idea what he could possibly give as an explanation at this point.
Around three, he began to have the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. A quick scan of the
room revealed no one in particular, but he noted faces and postures automatically. Several women
at the bar noticed his sweep and straightened up as they tried to catch his eye. The blonde with
great legs ignored him though and that was fine by him. He was irritable, not stupid. A pretty
waitress interrupted him with another glass of club soda and he went back to his game.
Laura held on to her spot at the bar and finally gave in to the urge that she’d had since she found
Remington at the blackjack table two hours ago. A ten-dollar bill slipped to the bartender resulted in
her own pack of cigarettes without having to move. She tapped one out and the barman pulled out
his own lighter for her. Blowing out a stream of smoke, she winced. It had been nearly ten years
since her last one. For two years in college, she’d become hooked on them, but after graduation,
she had decided they weren’t good for her image or her health and had given them up. It was very
rare for her to even have the urge for a cigarette now, but the atmosphere here seemed to call for it.
She waited another hour and alternated sipping Perrier with smoking.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remington rise from the table and cash in. She gave him a
short lead and then followed him to a quiet restaurant. The hostess led him to a table in the corner,
and Laura slipped to the far side of the bar where she could see him in the mirrors and ordered her
own meal.
Remington wondered about the blonde again once he noticed her as he ate. He wasn’t sure if she’d
followed him or not, but she was enough of a looker to attract plenty of attention--all of which she
waved off. From this distance, he couldn’t see her face, only the wavy hair and sexy legs. As he
placed his napkin on the table, he realized that if it wasn’t for the cigarette the woman was smoking,
he’d have thought she was Laura in disguise. His wife had a habit of sitting straight up in a chair
and could hold the pose for hours. Dismissing her, he went back to the casino and found a higher
stakes blackjack table and settled in to play.
It didn’t go unnoticed by him that the woman found her way to the far side of the room where she
had a decent vantage point again, and after a couple of hours more, she hadn’t moved.
What are you up to, love? Gambling. Smoking. No drinking. No girls. She shook her head. He
wasn’t making trouble for himself and he wasn’t playing to make money, although he had a steadily
growing pile of chips in front of him. Distracting himself? she wondered. She looked down long
enough to slide another cigarette out of the pack. A man’s hand came around her and held a match.
“May I?” he said. Laura smiled. He’d noticed.
“Of course.” She took a deep drag before turning to face him fully. “Hello, Richard.”
“Ah, Laura--“
“Ilsa,” she insisted. “Come, sit, have a drink with me.” She kept her composure cool. She could
tell she’d surprised him. He eased onto the barstool next to her. To the bartender, “Gin and tonic
for my friend, a glass of white wine for me.”
Remington was completely baffled. He’d finally given in to his curiosity about the blonde and had
been pole-axed to discover she was Laura. Smoking in a casino, of all things. All he’d intended to
do was to figure out if the woman had been following him or if it was a strange coincidence.
“So tell me about yourself.”
He gave her an odd look.
"You’re married.” She indicated the ring he wore. “Happily?”
“Generally speaking,” he said hesitantly. What’s she up to?
“When did you get hitched?” Casually, she inhaled from the cigarette again.
“Ah, almost six months ago, six months tomorrow, in fact.” Good timing, old chap.
“What brings you to Vegas?”
He gave her a searching look before answering. “I don’t know. I’m comfortable here, I suppose.”
“Rather noisy for comfort.”
“I can tune it out. Good food, good hotel and I can make a few quid here and there.”
“Takes a real gambler to be able to say that. Especially with the room rates this place charges.”
“Perhaps.” He gave in to temptation and lit his own cigarette. Waving out the match, he
paraphrased, “Ilsa, of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, why are you in mine?”
“I was looking for some answers, but I haven’t found any yet.” They were both quiet for several
minutes before she commented, “You know, I haven’t been married all that long either.” She
inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“How so?”
“Lack of privacy, always having to check in with someone else. That one is really hard for me.
I’m thirty years old, and it’s the first time since I moved out at eighteen that I have to let someone
know where I am all the time. … I work with my husband too. That’s not easy.”
He frowned. “Go on.”
“See, we worked together for a long time before we got married--and we only had one other person
in the office at that time. Oh, we argued and stole kisses, but for the most part, everything was
above board. Now, if we’re at odds with each other, it inevitably spills over into the office and
everyone there knows we’ve been arguing. If we’re in a good mood, everyone assumes we’ve been
having great sex.”
“And have you?”
She flashed a smile at him. “Of course. No problems in that area. But I’m a private person and I
don’t like having my personal issues waved around in the office, even if it is my office.”
“Your office?”
“Mostly.” She shrugged and flicked the ashes into the ashtray in front of her. “I own the business,
but it’s as much his by now as it is mine, much as I hate to admit it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because as time goes by, there isn’t a lot left that belongs just to me. I started the agency, but he’s
helped me make it what it is today. Now we share a home, bank accounts and the business. I gave
up my apartment. I even gave up my name.” She drank her wine. “The name change is the
hardest for me,” she admitted.
“Your name?”
“Well, I was Ilsa Lund for thirty years. I knew who she was and what made her tick. And I liked
her. Oh, there were things about her that drove me crazy, but I was comfortable with her. Now
I’m Ilsa Blaine, and she’s a whole new person with a whole new life. I like her, but I’m still figuring
out who she is--and it’s not always very comfortable. At least as Ilsa Lund, I had my own identity
separate from anyone else. Now, I’m a permanent part of a partnership, both at home and in the
office, and sometimes I feel a little lost in it.”
“Do you resent it?” Her disclosure surprised Remington. He hadn’t realized that changing her last
name bothered her. Then again, he’d only had a name for six months and look how attached he’d
become to it. Who would I be if I couldn’t be Remington Steele anymore?
“Sometimes it makes me sad and a little resentful, but then I see all I’ve gained and I’m thrilled to
be Ilsa Blaine. Ilsa Blaine has a whole future ahead of her that Ilsa Lund never had. But she also
has a whole new set of problems that Ilsa Lund never had to deal with, and it’s a little daunting
sometimes.
“Such as?”
She took a last drag and crushed out the cigarette. “My husband is unhappy. And I want to make it
better, but I’m not sure how.”
“What if you can’t fix it? What if he doesn’t know what is wrong?” He had a little bit of
desperation in his voice.
“I have to try. I think I might already know, but he won’t talk to me long enough for me to find
out.”
Remington was quiet and took a couple of drinks while he thought. “What would you tell your
husband?”
“For starters, I would tell him that we are working far too hard. We’ve only had one short weekend
in Catalina since our honeymoon. And let me tell you, his allergy to work is legendary. I’ve never
seen him put so much time into the business. We haven’t sneaked away even once this month to go
see a movie in the middle of the day. I think we both need a vacation--and a lot less time in the
office. But if anyone ever tells him I admitted that last part, I will deny it completely.”
He smiled a little at that. “Where do you want to go?”
“I’d leave that up to him. He’s seen so much more of the world than I have that he’s pretty good at
picking places to go.”
“What else would you tell him?”
“That I understand how hard it is to reconcile the person he used to be with the one he is now. I
don’t expect him to become yet another person entirely just because he’s my husband. There’s a
reason he stole my heart, and it’s not because he’s always walked the straight and narrow. I don’t
want a domesticated husband anymore than I want to be a domesticated housewife.”
“Your husband is a lucky man.”
“I’m the lucky one. Out of the dozens of women he’s known, he picked me. He brings out the
best part of me and I love that.”
“I could say the same about my wife.”
“That’s a nice thing to hear.” She stepped down from the bar stool and laid money on the counter
for the drinks. “If you love your wife anywhere nearly as much as I love my husband, I imagine
she’ll understand better than you think about the things that are troubling you. And if she doesn’t,
she’s going to try anyway. Good luck, Mr. Blaine.” She kissed his cheek and adroitly slipped a key
into his pocket before walking out the casino door.
Bemused by the whole scenario, Remington nursed the rest of his drink for an hour before he rose
from the bar, leaving his cigarettes with “Ilsa’s” on the countertop. He fished for a toothpick out of
his coat pocket and came up with a key instead. He shook his head at her audacity and headed for
the florist.
Laura paced in her small room, hoping she’d made the right moves. Sometimes she could see right
through Remington, but at other times he was as opaque as the La Brea Tar Pits. This was one of
those times she struggled. The knock on her door brought a smile to her face.
Remington had a rose in his hand and gave it to her. “May I come in?” She opened the door wide.
“I am grateful for your conversation downstairs. I--“
“You what?”
He captured her face in his hands and turned out the lights. “For tonight, there isn’t anyone but
us.” In the darkness, clothes rustled and frantic kisses were exchanged along with moans of
pleasure. When he breathed a name in her ear, it wasn’t “Ilsa.” She smiled and lost herself in the
moment.
Remington woke the next morning from the first decent night’s sleep he’d had in days, and it took
him a few minutes to recognize the hotel room. He stumbled into the bathroom, frowning when he
didn’t see Laura. None of her things were there, and he found only a note left propped against the
alarm clock.
Dear Mr. Blaine,
I hope you find yourself in Las Vegas. It’s obvious how much you love your wife, and it would be
a shame if you didn’t give the two of you a chance to work things out. If she loves you anywhere
nearly as much as I love my husband, she’ll be waiting for you when you get home.
Sincerely,
Ilsa
P.S. Last night … last night will stay in my memory.
The Porsche might have had wings as it zipped across the desert in record time. During the trip he
had plenty of time to think through the things Laura had told him. By the time he hit LA traffic, his
head was clear once again. He opened the door to the penthouse to find Laura asleep on the sofa.
Setting his keys on the island, he crossed to her. She must have sensed him standing there because
her eyes drifted open and her mouth curved up.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a drowsy voice. She’d left the hotel after he’d fallen asleep, and the
Rabbit wasn’t anywhere nearly as fast as the Porsche. The sun was easing over the horizon by the
time she’d pulled the Rabbit into the garage.
“More than okay, love. I’m sorry.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and took her hand.
Her other hand came up to cup his cheek and caress it with her thumb. “It’s all right. I love you.”
She sat up then and blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Did you find whom you were looking for?”
“I did. Funny, though, he wasn’t interested in staying lost for very long. A very nice lady talked to
him for a while and helped him think through a few things. Last time I checked, he went home to
his wife.”
“What about you? You’ve been edgy for a few days.”
He looked at her with a smile. “I think I need a vacation, Laura. I’m not the workaholic you are,
and spending this much time at the agency is affecting my ability to be irresponsible. How does
Venice sound?”
“Venice? As in Venice, Italy? Can we ride the gondolas?”
“Do you honestly think I’d miss out on taking in the most romantic part of that city with you?”
“When do we leave?”
“Is tomorrow soon enough, Mrs. Steele?”
“Since we’ve cleared our schedules for the next two weeks, I think we can make it work. We can
always get called away for a major case that takes us overseas.”
“Nonsense. It’s your agency, Laura. I do think I need to educate you on how this ‘owning your
own business’ thing works. Really, aren’t you supposed to be able to pick and choose what you
want to do? And by that, I mean telling the staff that today is our six-month anniversary, and we’re
going away to celebrate in style.”
It was her first real smile in two weeks. “That sounds wonderful, Mr. Steele.”
* * * * *
It wouldn’t be the only time Richard and Ilsa helped each other work through their marital problems,
but they didn’t always need to meet in Las Vegas. Sometimes the bar at the end of the block
worked just fine.
24 March 2009
Laura cornered Remington in his office late one October afternoon, six months after they had wed
in Ireland. Her slightly shady husband had been elusive for the past two weeks and downright
irritable for the last three days.
He’d managed to avoid her by spending a great deal of time with their new intern, Kaleb Carter.
Monroe had recommended the young man, and so far he was coming along nicely. Laura enjoyed
teaching him the ropes, and he had a knack for asking good questions. Remington took him on his
first stakeout this past weekend, leaving Laura to her own devices. For his sake, it probably wasn’t
a good thing because it gave her time to think about his odd behavior.
Last night had been the final straw. She had caught him merely going through the motions of
making love to her, and she’d stormed out of the room with her pillow and slept on the couch.
When she woke in the morning, he’d already slipped out. Only because he had a meeting with his
security team near the end of the day was she able to fence him in as the crew filtered out of the
office. She was waiting by the front door and blocked it when he tried to leave.
“Mr. Steele, I believe we have a few things to discuss in your office.”
“Of course, Mrs. Steele.” He pivoted and followed her inside. He stood by the windows while she
perched on his desk.
“What exactly is going on here, Remington?”
“I thought you didn’t like airing our personal issues at the office?”
“I’ve been trying to talk to you since Monday, but you’ve had a nasty habit of falling asleep or
disappearing on me at home. And last night--last night was an insult. Don’t ever do that to me
again.” He stood motionless while her anger lashed through him.
Eventually, he turned to her. “I need to leave for a while, Laura.”
Her spine stiffened. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you why. I promise you it’s not a con and it’s not illegal.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. A few days. A couple of weeks. I don’t know how long it will take.”
“Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“When are you going?”
“Tonight.”
“Why?”
“I need to find someone. I can’t tell you anymore than that.” Remington looked haggard and
miserable as he turned to her. Capturing her face, he kissed her with no little desperation. “I’m
sorry, Laura. I hope I can explain it all later.”
He bolted from the office and was gone, leaving Laura stunned with disbelief, but not too stunned to
know her next move. She pressed a button on the phone. “Kaleb? Follow Mr. Steele and let me
know where he goes. Do not let him see you and call me every chance you get. This is your test to
see how well you’ve been paying attention about following a suspect.” Seconds later she heard the
front door slam as Kaleb ran down the corridor.
Next, she buzzed the secretary. “Ian, what does Mr. Steele’s schedule look like for the next two
weeks?”
“He had me clear it this morning. I’ve got nothing on the books for him.”
“Clear mine as well. We’ve had something major come up.”
Lastly, she headed for Mildred’s office and popped her head inside. “Got a minute?”
“Well, of course. Want to tell me what’s going on with you two?”
Laura looked like a sulky teen-ager, but with good reason. “He’s up to something. I need your help
finding out what.”
Mildred got that disappointed frown on her face that she wore whenever one of her “kids” upset
her. “Fire away.” The younger woman laid out a brief synopsis of the last week, skipping the part
about last night, and recounted the conversation they’d just had.
“I need to figure out where he’s going.”
“How much money did he take with him?”
“Good question. He won’t use credit cards; he knows I’ll look for them.”
Mildred pulled up the Steeles' personal financials on her computer and made a few inquiries. She
still did all of their bookkeeping. “Mr. Steele pulled $5,000 from one of his accounts this morning.
Not your joint account, but the other cash account he keeps on the side.” That didn’t surprise
Laura. She already knew he had it, ostensibly so that he could surprise her with a gift or trip
somewhere. But he had pulled personal funds, not agency funds, so this had nothing to do with
business.
“I’m going home; I need to see if his passport is still there and what else he might have packed.”
But his passport was still sitting in his desk at home and as far as Laura could tell, he’d only taken
the bare necessities with him--which meant he was either planning to purchase everything when he
got wherever he was going, or he wasn’t planning to be gone long.
The phone rang.
“Mrs. Steele? Kaleb. I’m gonna make this quick ‘cause I’m still on his tail. We’re on I-15 heading
for Las Vegas.”
“Has he made you?”
“Hasn’t given me the slip yet, but I’ve been real careful. I called a buddy of mine and he caught up
with me just outside of L.A. We dropped back a bit and swapped cars at a stop light.”
“Excellent thinking. What’s Mr. Steele driving?”
“A black Porsche 964 Carrera Speedster. It’s a sweet ride, Mrs. Steele.”
“You’re doing great, Kaleb. Keep tabs on him. Call me on the Rabbit’s car phone. I’ll be out and
about.”
“Yes, ma’am. Gotta go.” He clicked off.
Laura threw the rest of her things into a single bag and headed for the door.
When the Angeles National Forest gave way to the California desert, Remington opened up the
Porsche and let the car fly. The remaining three-hour trip turned into two as he punched the speed
up to over one hundred miles per hour and kept it there.
Kaleb threw in the towel nearly an hour into the trip and called in his failure to Mrs. Steele.
“Don’t worry. You’ve done great so far. What do you think you should do next?”
“I imagine I could head to Vegas and look for his car. I might get lucky.”
“That’s an excellent plan. Call me when you get there.”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Steele.”
He did. He’d seen the car briefly near the north end of the Strip and then promptly lost it. He met
Laura sometime later at a street corner, and she sent him home with a smile. Taking her chances,
she headed for the plushest five-star hotel in the area, Caesars Palace, and left the Rabbit at the very
top and rear of the parking garage. She figured she could start by canvassing the major casinos.
But she got lucky too. She found the Porsche parked on the bottom floor.
She ducked into the first bathroom she found in the hotel and donned a blonde wig and a pair of
brown sunglasses from her bag after changing into a blue sundress with criss-crossing straps that
accentuated her bust line. White heels and chunky jewelry completed her ensemble.
Checking in under the name “Ilsa Blaine,” she casually asked if “Remington Steele” had registered
yet. The older man behind the counter was very polite. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We do not have a
guest by that name.” Laura tried “Michael O’Leary,” “Paul Fabrini,” and struck paydirt with
“Richard Blaine.” Thanking the man, she tipped him and headed to her room to dump the few
things she'd brought with her. A quick glance at her watch verified that it was nearly 10 p.m. and
the casinos would be heating up to a fever pitch. She began a discrete, methodical search for her
husband.
The first thing Remington did after stashing the car at the hotel was to find himself a pack of
cigarettes. It took three deep drags to steady his nerves long enough to check in and change clothes
in his room. Six months of marriage had him jumpy and irritable. He knew it wasn’t Laura’s fault,
or not directly anyway. She tried to give him as much room as he needed, but lately, it hadn’t
seemed to be enough and he wasn’t sure why.
The casino was redolent with rich red carpeting and gold accents everywhere. Smoke drifted like
fog through the room, and the noise level was just under deafening with all the sirens, whistles,
clinking chips and loud conversation. An occasional shriek from a happy winner split the air. He
settled himself at a blackjack table and let the game play distract him.
It wasn’t long before a hard-eyed brunette pegged him as being rich and alone, although not
necessarily single, judging by the wedding ring on his left hand. She settled in beside him and tried
to flirt. Instead, he completely ignored her and focused on his cards. Three hands later, she gave
up and moved to another table.
Somewhere around two in the morning, Remington raked in his chips and cashed in for the night.
He tumbled into his bed and slept restlessly, wondering why he was so discontented.
Laura had fruitlessly searched the huge casino and gave up in the wee hours of the morning to get
some fitful sleep.
By noon the next day, Remington was back at the tables, letting the cards keep part of his brain
occupied while he sorted out his unhappiness. So far he hadn’t been able to pinpoint the problem.
All he knew is that he was taking it out on Laura in the meantime. Now, old chap, why in the hell
couldn’t you have told her the truth? Instead, she’s probably scared to death you’ve abandoned
her. But he had no idea what he could possibly give as an explanation at this point.
Around three, he began to have the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. A quick scan of the
room revealed no one in particular, but he noted faces and postures automatically. Several women
at the bar noticed his sweep and straightened up as they tried to catch his eye. The blonde with
great legs ignored him though and that was fine by him. He was irritable, not stupid. A pretty
waitress interrupted him with another glass of club soda and he went back to his game.
Laura held on to her spot at the bar and finally gave in to the urge that she’d had since she found
Remington at the blackjack table two hours ago. A ten-dollar bill slipped to the bartender resulted in
her own pack of cigarettes without having to move. She tapped one out and the barman pulled out
his own lighter for her. Blowing out a stream of smoke, she winced. It had been nearly ten years
since her last one. For two years in college, she’d become hooked on them, but after graduation,
she had decided they weren’t good for her image or her health and had given them up. It was very
rare for her to even have the urge for a cigarette now, but the atmosphere here seemed to call for it.
She waited another hour and alternated sipping Perrier with smoking.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remington rise from the table and cash in. She gave him a
short lead and then followed him to a quiet restaurant. The hostess led him to a table in the corner,
and Laura slipped to the far side of the bar where she could see him in the mirrors and ordered her
own meal.
Remington wondered about the blonde again once he noticed her as he ate. He wasn’t sure if she’d
followed him or not, but she was enough of a looker to attract plenty of attention--all of which she
waved off. From this distance, he couldn’t see her face, only the wavy hair and sexy legs. As he
placed his napkin on the table, he realized that if it wasn’t for the cigarette the woman was smoking,
he’d have thought she was Laura in disguise. His wife had a habit of sitting straight up in a chair
and could hold the pose for hours. Dismissing her, he went back to the casino and found a higher
stakes blackjack table and settled in to play.
It didn’t go unnoticed by him that the woman found her way to the far side of the room where she
had a decent vantage point again, and after a couple of hours more, she hadn’t moved.
What are you up to, love? Gambling. Smoking. No drinking. No girls. She shook her head. He
wasn’t making trouble for himself and he wasn’t playing to make money, although he had a steadily
growing pile of chips in front of him. Distracting himself? she wondered. She looked down long
enough to slide another cigarette out of the pack. A man’s hand came around her and held a match.
“May I?” he said. Laura smiled. He’d noticed.
“Of course.” She took a deep drag before turning to face him fully. “Hello, Richard.”
“Ah, Laura--“
“Ilsa,” she insisted. “Come, sit, have a drink with me.” She kept her composure cool. She could
tell she’d surprised him. He eased onto the barstool next to her. To the bartender, “Gin and tonic
for my friend, a glass of white wine for me.”
Remington was completely baffled. He’d finally given in to his curiosity about the blonde and had
been pole-axed to discover she was Laura. Smoking in a casino, of all things. All he’d intended to
do was to figure out if the woman had been following him or if it was a strange coincidence.
“So tell me about yourself.”
He gave her an odd look.
"You’re married.” She indicated the ring he wore. “Happily?”
“Generally speaking,” he said hesitantly. What’s she up to?
“When did you get hitched?” Casually, she inhaled from the cigarette again.
“Ah, almost six months ago, six months tomorrow, in fact.” Good timing, old chap.
“What brings you to Vegas?”
He gave her a searching look before answering. “I don’t know. I’m comfortable here, I suppose.”
“Rather noisy for comfort.”
“I can tune it out. Good food, good hotel and I can make a few quid here and there.”
“Takes a real gambler to be able to say that. Especially with the room rates this place charges.”
“Perhaps.” He gave in to temptation and lit his own cigarette. Waving out the match, he
paraphrased, “Ilsa, of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, why are you in mine?”
“I was looking for some answers, but I haven’t found any yet.” They were both quiet for several
minutes before she commented, “You know, I haven’t been married all that long either.” She
inhaled and blew out a stream of smoke. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“How so?”
“Lack of privacy, always having to check in with someone else. That one is really hard for me.
I’m thirty years old, and it’s the first time since I moved out at eighteen that I have to let someone
know where I am all the time. … I work with my husband too. That’s not easy.”
He frowned. “Go on.”
“See, we worked together for a long time before we got married--and we only had one other person
in the office at that time. Oh, we argued and stole kisses, but for the most part, everything was
above board. Now, if we’re at odds with each other, it inevitably spills over into the office and
everyone there knows we’ve been arguing. If we’re in a good mood, everyone assumes we’ve been
having great sex.”
“And have you?”
She flashed a smile at him. “Of course. No problems in that area. But I’m a private person and I
don’t like having my personal issues waved around in the office, even if it is my office.”
“Your office?”
“Mostly.” She shrugged and flicked the ashes into the ashtray in front of her. “I own the business,
but it’s as much his by now as it is mine, much as I hate to admit it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because as time goes by, there isn’t a lot left that belongs just to me. I started the agency, but he’s
helped me make it what it is today. Now we share a home, bank accounts and the business. I gave
up my apartment. I even gave up my name.” She drank her wine. “The name change is the
hardest for me,” she admitted.
“Your name?”
“Well, I was Ilsa Lund for thirty years. I knew who she was and what made her tick. And I liked
her. Oh, there were things about her that drove me crazy, but I was comfortable with her. Now
I’m Ilsa Blaine, and she’s a whole new person with a whole new life. I like her, but I’m still figuring
out who she is--and it’s not always very comfortable. At least as Ilsa Lund, I had my own identity
separate from anyone else. Now, I’m a permanent part of a partnership, both at home and in the
office, and sometimes I feel a little lost in it.”
“Do you resent it?” Her disclosure surprised Remington. He hadn’t realized that changing her last
name bothered her. Then again, he’d only had a name for six months and look how attached he’d
become to it. Who would I be if I couldn’t be Remington Steele anymore?
“Sometimes it makes me sad and a little resentful, but then I see all I’ve gained and I’m thrilled to
be Ilsa Blaine. Ilsa Blaine has a whole future ahead of her that Ilsa Lund never had. But she also
has a whole new set of problems that Ilsa Lund never had to deal with, and it’s a little daunting
sometimes.
“Such as?”
She took a last drag and crushed out the cigarette. “My husband is unhappy. And I want to make it
better, but I’m not sure how.”
“What if you can’t fix it? What if he doesn’t know what is wrong?” He had a little bit of
desperation in his voice.
“I have to try. I think I might already know, but he won’t talk to me long enough for me to find
out.”
Remington was quiet and took a couple of drinks while he thought. “What would you tell your
husband?”
“For starters, I would tell him that we are working far too hard. We’ve only had one short weekend
in Catalina since our honeymoon. And let me tell you, his allergy to work is legendary. I’ve never
seen him put so much time into the business. We haven’t sneaked away even once this month to go
see a movie in the middle of the day. I think we both need a vacation--and a lot less time in the
office. But if anyone ever tells him I admitted that last part, I will deny it completely.”
He smiled a little at that. “Where do you want to go?”
“I’d leave that up to him. He’s seen so much more of the world than I have that he’s pretty good at
picking places to go.”
“What else would you tell him?”
“That I understand how hard it is to reconcile the person he used to be with the one he is now. I
don’t expect him to become yet another person entirely just because he’s my husband. There’s a
reason he stole my heart, and it’s not because he’s always walked the straight and narrow. I don’t
want a domesticated husband anymore than I want to be a domesticated housewife.”
“Your husband is a lucky man.”
“I’m the lucky one. Out of the dozens of women he’s known, he picked me. He brings out the
best part of me and I love that.”
“I could say the same about my wife.”
“That’s a nice thing to hear.” She stepped down from the bar stool and laid money on the counter
for the drinks. “If you love your wife anywhere nearly as much as I love my husband, I imagine
she’ll understand better than you think about the things that are troubling you. And if she doesn’t,
she’s going to try anyway. Good luck, Mr. Blaine.” She kissed his cheek and adroitly slipped a key
into his pocket before walking out the casino door.
Bemused by the whole scenario, Remington nursed the rest of his drink for an hour before he rose
from the bar, leaving his cigarettes with “Ilsa’s” on the countertop. He fished for a toothpick out of
his coat pocket and came up with a key instead. He shook his head at her audacity and headed for
the florist.
Laura paced in her small room, hoping she’d made the right moves. Sometimes she could see right
through Remington, but at other times he was as opaque as the La Brea Tar Pits. This was one of
those times she struggled. The knock on her door brought a smile to her face.
Remington had a rose in his hand and gave it to her. “May I come in?” She opened the door wide.
“I am grateful for your conversation downstairs. I--“
“You what?”
He captured her face in his hands and turned out the lights. “For tonight, there isn’t anyone but
us.” In the darkness, clothes rustled and frantic kisses were exchanged along with moans of
pleasure. When he breathed a name in her ear, it wasn’t “Ilsa.” She smiled and lost herself in the
moment.
Remington woke the next morning from the first decent night’s sleep he’d had in days, and it took
him a few minutes to recognize the hotel room. He stumbled into the bathroom, frowning when he
didn’t see Laura. None of her things were there, and he found only a note left propped against the
alarm clock.
Dear Mr. Blaine,
I hope you find yourself in Las Vegas. It’s obvious how much you love your wife, and it would be
a shame if you didn’t give the two of you a chance to work things out. If she loves you anywhere
nearly as much as I love my husband, she’ll be waiting for you when you get home.
Sincerely,
Ilsa
P.S. Last night … last night will stay in my memory.
The Porsche might have had wings as it zipped across the desert in record time. During the trip he
had plenty of time to think through the things Laura had told him. By the time he hit LA traffic, his
head was clear once again. He opened the door to the penthouse to find Laura asleep on the sofa.
Setting his keys on the island, he crossed to her. She must have sensed him standing there because
her eyes drifted open and her mouth curved up.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a drowsy voice. She’d left the hotel after he’d fallen asleep, and the
Rabbit wasn’t anywhere nearly as fast as the Porsche. The sun was easing over the horizon by the
time she’d pulled the Rabbit into the garage.
“More than okay, love. I’m sorry.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and took her hand.
Her other hand came up to cup his cheek and caress it with her thumb. “It’s all right. I love you.”
She sat up then and blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Did you find whom you were looking for?”
“I did. Funny, though, he wasn’t interested in staying lost for very long. A very nice lady talked to
him for a while and helped him think through a few things. Last time I checked, he went home to
his wife.”
“What about you? You’ve been edgy for a few days.”
He looked at her with a smile. “I think I need a vacation, Laura. I’m not the workaholic you are,
and spending this much time at the agency is affecting my ability to be irresponsible. How does
Venice sound?”
“Venice? As in Venice, Italy? Can we ride the gondolas?”
“Do you honestly think I’d miss out on taking in the most romantic part of that city with you?”
“When do we leave?”
“Is tomorrow soon enough, Mrs. Steele?”
“Since we’ve cleared our schedules for the next two weeks, I think we can make it work. We can
always get called away for a major case that takes us overseas.”
“Nonsense. It’s your agency, Laura. I do think I need to educate you on how this ‘owning your
own business’ thing works. Really, aren’t you supposed to be able to pick and choose what you
want to do? And by that, I mean telling the staff that today is our six-month anniversary, and we’re
going away to celebrate in style.”
It was her first real smile in two weeks. “That sounds wonderful, Mr. Steele.”
* * * * *
It wouldn’t be the only time Richard and Ilsa helped each other work through their marital problems,
but they didn’t always need to meet in Las Vegas. Sometimes the bar at the end of the block
worked just fine.
24 March 2009
Steele Holting On
Steele Holting On
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