The Bachelor's Dare. Shirley Jump
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She smiled nicely, then added, “but Lester and I are planning on winning it. We want to go to Florida, don’t you know.” She grinned until all her dentures showed. “And we don’t plan on losing.”
Mark smiled right back at her. “Neither do I.”
Her smile dropped away, she yanked her hand away and went back to her knitting. Click, clack, click, clack. Row after row of pink stitches. Probably making a noose for anyone who tried to outlast her and Lester.
A very unladylike curse sounded from behind him. Mark turned and saw Claire. “I’m twenty-one,” she said.
“Honey, you couldn’t pass for it,” Mark quipped. But in reality, she could. Her straight blond hair was up in a ponytail, a youthful style fitting her smooth, unlined skin. She had bright, almost emerald eyes, and a generous mouth he’d never seen without red lipstick. From ten feet away, it screamed “Kiss Me.” That is, it did to every man but Mark, who had never been her favorite male Homo sapiens.
She was one of the tallest women he knew, lean and athletic, and given to tight, bright-pink jeans and iridescent tanks that never seemed to extend past her belly button. God bless clothing designers who didn’t account for long torsos. Catching a glimpse of the creamy skin above her waistband could become his favorite pastime. She’d finished off the outfit with boots sporting three-inch heels. There was a name for shoes like that, but he wasn’t going to say it in public.
Claire didn’t seem to appreciate his lusty appraisal. In fact, she gave him a most irritated look. “I’m not talking about my age. I meant my place in line. I’ll never get on there now.”
He blew on his finger like a gunfighter who’d knocked out the competition. “Gee, that was an easy bet to win.”
Mark had always wondered what a glower looked like. He knew now—and it wasn’t pretty.
“It’s not over yet,” she said. “Some of these people might be here to keep the others company.” She dropped her large suitcase to the floor and plopped down beside it.
“Who are you? Ginger? Taking along a year’s worth of clothes for a three-hour tour?”
“I’d rather come over-prepared than find out two days into this that I don’t have any deodorant. I might be here for days.”
Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear. “If you want to outlast Lester and his girl here, it might be weeks. She’s got a lot of knitting to do.”
A faint smile appeared on Claire’s face. “I’m prepared.” She arched an eyebrow at his small gym bag. “Are you?”
“I travel light.”
“Then travel out of here and give me your place in line.”
“Claire, darling, you almost sound desperate.”
A flicker of something—fear, worry—flashed in her eyes, but in an instant, she was all Claire again. “No, just determined.” She fidgeted for a few seconds. Then she dug in her handbag and pulled out a bag of Hershey Kisses. She unwrapped two and popped one in her mouth. She offered the bag to him.
He shook his head. “A little early in the morning for a sugar high.”
“It’s never too early, or too late, for chocolate.” She popped in the second, chewed, swallowed. “Give me your place in line. I need that RV.”
“So do I,” Mark said. “Now, move over, twenty-one, and give the big boys some room.”
She crossed her arms over her knees. “I don’t think so.”
He crossed his over his chest. “I figured as much.”
They sat there like two store mannequins for the better part of an hour. A few other people hiked into the mall, suitcases and duffel bags in hand. All but two young boys turned away once they ran a count on those ahead of them. The boys settled down beside Claire and got into a mock sparring match.
At 5:00 a.m., a thin, wiry woman who looked like a steel rail came out from the mall offices, stood before the group and clapped her hands. “Okay, group, let’s begin!” She had a long, pinched face and black hair cut short enough for Mark to see her ears. He could imagine her as a gym teacher somewhere, shouting tortuous instructions with exuberance.
Lester continued hock-hocking away. His wife gave him a jab in the side. He jerked awake, blinking and looking around as though he had no idea where he was or why his wife had done that. “Is it time, Millie?”
“Shush.” Millie tucked her knitting needles into an I Love Bingo canvas bag. “Pay attention to the lady, Lester.”
Millie probably cut Lester’s meat into little pieces before dinner. She seemed the type.
“I’m Nancy Lewis, the community development coordinator for the Mercy Mall. We may be small, but we’re growing,” she said cheerily, using the trademark sign-off for the mall. Nancy smiled perkily and paced along the line. “I’d like to welcome you to the Survive and Drive contest! Only twenty of you will get the chance to win this fantastic motor home.” She ran her hand along the hull with the reverence of one of Bob Barker’s girls. “It’s a very expensive vehicle—an eighty-five-thousand-dollar value. It has a fully-equipped kitchen with gorgeous wood cabinets, a lounge chair, sofa, queen bed and dinette. We’ve added a couple of fold-up stools to provide additional seating. There are three televisions, one up front, one in the living area, and one in the bedroom. The shower comes with a power massage head and a skylight. Power windows, power locks and deluxe stereo system.” She slipped her hand along the side in a swoosh finale. “Anyone would be thrilled to take this motoring up to the Catskills or down the coast of Florida.”
Millie gave Lester another jab; he’d started to doze again. Claire, however, was paying close attention. Her gaze flicked between the RV and the woman, her muscles tensed, ready to spring should the number of contestants get stretched to twenty-one.
“I’d like to thank Deluxe Motor Homes for donating this magnificent RV. They’re celebrating their fiftieth anniversary in business here in Mercy by giving away one of their newest models. Let’s give a big thanks to Don Nash, the CEO of Deluxe.”
From the front of the vehicle came Don himself, a slight man in a tailored suit. Deluxe Motor Homes was one of the biggest employers in town and did a brisk business creating custom RVs for country singers and retirees. Mark supposed this contest promotion was a drop in their marketing budget bucket.
Led by Nancy’s wild bring-back-Tinkerbell-from-the-dead claps, the crowd applauded Don’s generous donation.
“Now.” Nancy clapped her hands together again. Mark wondered if her palms were starting to smart. “Let’s play who’s who among the competition before we board.” She pointed to the first person in line. “Why don’t you start?”
Mark craned his neck around Millie and Lester’s lawn chairs. A thin African-American woman wearing business clothes sat primly on one of the mall benches someone had dragged over by the RV. “I’m Adele Williams.”
“And…” Nancy prompted, waving her hand in a circular motion. “What do you do?”
“I’m a loan officer for Lawford First National.”
“Probably could have bought her own RV,” muttered Millie. She pulled out her knitting again. It seemed to be the thing she did when she was frustrated. Click, clack, click, clack.
Nancy went down the line and unearthed a few people Mark knew, a few he didn’t. There was John Madison, a guy he’d played football with. John was married and had two kids, a fact he gleefully shared, complete with photos. “They want to go to Disney World,” he said. “Two little kids, dreaming of Mickey.” He glanced around but no one expressed an iota of empathy.
There was Renee Angelo, a girl who’d been a class behind Mark. She told Nancy she wanted the RV so her grandmother could “retire in style.” Again, not an ounce of pathos from the