Make Me Over_ Getting Real - Leslie Kelly [39]
“Y OU READY TO GO , Professor?” Drew heard as he stood by the front door, ready to go on another of these ridiculous “outings” Saturday night. This time, he was escorting a small group of the women—Tiffany, Sukie and Robin—to the ballet.
So far, none of the outings had been one-on-one. Which suited him fine. At least, until Sunday evening when he was supposed to escort Tori to the local country club for a holiday dance. Then, if disaster struck and two of the girls came down with mysterious ailments, leaving just him and Tori, he wouldn’t complain a bit. Because in spite of the agony of being alone with her while unable to make love to her, he missed her too damn much to stay away from her.
She hadn’t shown up for her private reading lesson yesterday or today. After Thursday’s interlude in his bedroom, he hadn’t been entirely surprised. The only time they’d talked was very briefly before the other women had arrived for their current events class, when he’d told her about his call to Luther.
Tori had been relieved to hear her brother hadn’t sounded bandaged, drugged or in pain. Not that Drew had engaged him in a conversation or anything. He’d simply asked for the man, gotten him on the line, then offered him a subscription to Ladies’ Home Journal.
Tori’s brother had hung up so fast, Drew’s ear had stung.
“Professor?”
“I’m ready,” he said as he watched the three women descend the stairs.
They were all dressed appropriately—courtesy of Evelyn, the hair, makeup and clothing instructor. Still, in this case, the clothes definitely didn’t make the women. With these three, he had to wonder what the evening had in store. They’d probably be lucky not to land in jail, though, that was less likely since Ginny wouldn’t be along to flash anyone. And Teresa wouldn’t be there to gyrate against any light poles.
“So this ballet, it’s called The Nutcracker?” Tiffany asked.
Drew nodded, already dreading the evening ahead. He hated the ballet. Really, truly hated it. But he hadn’t been given much choice. Apparently all the instructors were going on public outings with the students, who’d been narrowed down to six yesterday morning.
One interesting thing to note—he and all the other instructors appeared to be completely in agreement on which women were doing the best with their “makeovers.” The women Drew had ranked the highest had all advanced into the next round of play. They were falling faster now. By Monday, there would be four, and Wednesday would reveal the final two. These little “tests” and the women’s performance in their daily classes would determine the winner in this Pygmalion game.
He had no doubt who would win. Tori was thriving, practically glowing with energy and light. Her speech was beautiful, her manners graceful. Sure, she had a few rough spots, but she, more than anyone, had made the most dramatic change in the past two weeks.
He tried to remain impartial and had to admit that Robin had done pretty well, too. And Sukie had tried awfully hard. As for the rest? Well, he doubted any of them would be around come Tuesday.
It was just his bad luck he’d drawn the ballet outing. He’d have much preferred taking the women to a ball game or even a singles’ club…a place where they could get their kicks making plays for other men for a change.
Because he was getting damned tired of it.
“Drew?” Tiffany prompted. “We’re going to see something called The Nutcracker?”
“Exactly.”
“And it’s a Christmas story?” Sukie asked.
This time Robin answered. “Haven’t you two ever heard of The Nutcracker?”
“Is it anything like the Terminator? Because, I really liked those movies, I think they’d make great dancing shows,” Tiffany said.
Drew closed his eyes. God give me strength. “No, Tiffany, it’s nothing like the Terminator.”
“Well, who’s the nutcracker? Is she a superhero or something? Or a cop? Does she really crack the nuts of the guys on stage, or is it just pretend, like WWE wrestling?”
“I’ll explain it on the way,” he murmured, shaking his head in tired resignation as he led the ladies out to the waiting car.
He