Читать книгу: «Undying Laughter»
Undying Laughter
Kelsey Roberts
For the one person who has kept me sane for almost fifteen years–Bob, I love you with all my heart.
I would gratefully like to acknowledge the assistance of Pat Harding, Kay Manning and Carol Keane of Charleston, South Carolina: my crack research team.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Destiny Talbott—She has nothing to laugh about. She’s being wooed by a stalker.
Wesley Porter—The chivalrous white knight. He is charming, if a bit peculiar.
David Crane—As Destiny’s agent, he controls her career, but at what cost?
Gina Alverez—She was at the center of the limelight before she was forced into Destiny’s shadow.
Walter Sommerfield—The patron who controls the purse strings. He’s being controlled by a ghost.
Carl Talbott—Destiny’s father. He’s annoying, when he’s sober enough to care.
Rose Porter—The manipulative mother. She knows what’s best.
Shelby Hunnicutt—Destiny’s rock. She understands the torment Destiny is suffering at the hands of the stalker.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Prologue
“He’s out there!”
Destiny Talbott’s violet eyes fixed on her friend’s concerned reflection in the mirror. Gina’s slender form seemed to heave under the weight of her urgent, shallow breathing.
A placating sigh escaped over full, rosy lips. “For God’s sake, Gina, don’t start that!” Destiny was mildly annoyed as she watched Gina anxiously twist her long-fingered hands into a knot of deep brown skin. Spinning, Destiny turned the chair in order to face the taller woman.
“That man gives me the creeps,” Gina persisted. “There’s something evil in the way he just sits there, staring at you. You’re blinded by the lights, but I’ve watched him while you’re up on stage. I tell you, he’s freaky!”
Standing, Destiny tugged off the protective cloth she wore when applying stage makeup and tossed it onto the dressing table. Bottles clinked and swayed but none toppled. “Your imagination is getting the better of you,” she said with more conviction than she actually felt. Ignoring Gina’s grunt of disagreement, Destiny bent forward at the waist, then began to feverishly brush volume into her mane of silky blond hair.
“Five minutes, Ms. Talbott!” a male voice shouted from the other side of the door.
“You got it!” she yelled back.
Gina reached out and placed a tentative hand on Destiny’s forearm. “Think, girl.” The tone of the voice was almost pleading, and at strict odds with the harsh Brooklyn accent. “I’m sure he’s the one who’s been sending you the flowers and...the notes.”
A shiver danced along her spine, but Destiny managed to keep her expression bland. “I think you’re overreacting. And anyway, he doesn’t look like the type.” Of that she was only mildly confident.
When Gina had first noticed the man, Destiny had made a point of checking him out. While she secretly admitted he looked out of place in the rowdy, younger crowd she tended to attract, he didn’t impress her as being threatening. And the notes were nothing if not threatening.
“We’re ready, Ms. Talbott!”
Sucking in one deep breath, Destiny took one final glance in the brightly lighted mirror. Giving Gina’s hand a light squeeze, she moved toward the door.
The muffled sound of the crowd caused a familiar and immediate reaction. Adrenaline rushed through her small frame, and her heart pounded against her ribs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Miami Comedy Club is proud to present Destiny Talbott!”
The roar as she stepped onto the stage was nearly deafening in its intensity. The wooden floor beneath her feet vibrated in sync with the applause. Clasping the microphone in one professionally manicured hand, Destiny gave a warm smile that produced yet another outburst of hearty appreciation.
“Hi, folks,” she began as she walked back and forth on the planked floor, speaking into the bright void created by the harsh spotlights. “I always start by explaining my name. Only two hippies would dare name their child something as ridiculous as Destiny. My folks were definitely confused back then. My father was a Jehovah’s Witness and my mother was an atheist. So...” She paused. “I spent my childhood knocking on doors for no reason. I’m originally from D.C—” A smattering of applause indicated there were a few residents of the nation’s capital in her audience. “Washington is the home of our judicial system. In fact, we Americans are so hung up on compassionate justice that before we execute someone by lethal injection, we swab their arm with alcohol.” Destiny waited for the rumble of laughter to die down before continuing. “I’m getting my mail forwarded here, and what do you know but I got an invitation telling me my high school reunion is scheduled for this spring. This basically means that four hundred or so people have about six months to lose fifty pounds and make something of themselves.” Smiling, Destiny pulled the microphone fractionally closer to her glossed lips. Wrapping herself in the ensuing laughter, she continued her routine....
* * *
HE WATCHED HER, pure hatred glistening in his eyes. Lifting his glass to his mouth, he listened as the audience responded to her. They were fools, all of them. Couldn’t they see what she really was? A user...and a whore. He saw through all her polish and glitter. When she smiled it made him want to stand and scream. Instead, he took a long swallow of his Scotch, enjoying the painful warmth as it slid down his constricted throat. He would be patient. Everything was planned.
As his eyes followed her movements across the stage, he played it all out in his mind. She’d beg, he knew that. Clearly he envisioned her huge eyes wide open and filled with the fearful certainty of her impending death. He’d make sure she suffered first.
Another response from the audience jarred him back to the present. Fixing his eyes on her, he was careful not to reveal any emotion. The sheer hose encasing her legs shimmered in the lights. He would wait until the time was right.
* * *
“YOU’VE BEEN GREAT! Thanks!” Destiny bounced off the stage as the audience chanted her name.
“You were hot tonight!” David Crane, her manager, said as he handed her a towel.
“Thanks!” she said and took the glass of water thrust in her direction. “This was my best show yet!”
“You say that every night,” David countered as his hand went to the small of her back, leading her in the direction of her dressing room.
“Tonight was...I don’t know, I just felt a certain electricity from the audience. It was a rush!”
Pushing open the door for her, David nudged her inside the small dressing room. The scent she had grown to detest brought on a sudden paralysis. It was the heavy, sweet aroma of gardenias. A chill, fierce and overpowering, settled on her like a heavy blanket.
“Blast it!” David bellowed.
She stood frozen just inside the door. David pushed past her and went over to the offensive pot of blossoms. Slowly he pulled the small white rectangle from among the flowers and tore into the envelope.
Chapter One
The flight from Miami to Charleston went smoothly, except for Destiny’s lingering anxiety over the gifts she’d received the previous evening.
“Hopefully, he’ll stay in Miami,” she said to Gina as they sat in the back seat of a cab.
Gina frowned. “Don’t bet on it. He’s managed to make all your club dates for the past six months.”
A shiver racked her small frame, but she said nothing. Gina, her personal assistant, had already suggested that she cancel this last engagement just to be on the safe side.
“Maybe he’s tired of hearing the same material over and over,” she said, forcing some lightness into her tone. “Maybe that detective David hired will figure out who he is.”
Destiny felt the corners of her mouth turn down. The detective had missed their last meeting, so she had little faith that the rumpled detective had come up with anything substantial.
“Forget my fervent fan,” Destiny told her friend. “Let’s focus on something more upbeat, like the possibility of the network picking up my pilot.”
Gina sighed and leaned her head against the back of the seat. “I could get used to L.A.,” she said wistfully. Her hand automatically moved to her right leg, rubbing the carefully hidden scar Destiny knew ran the full length of her thigh. “The weather out there will do my leg some good. Might even take up roller blading.”
Destiny laughed. “I think your doctor would nix that idea.”
She watched as Gina’s expression grew sad. “From graceful model to limping lump, all in one night.”
Destiny said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing she hadn’t said time and time again during the four years since the accident.
“That’s Fort Sumpter,” the driver announced as they wove their way over the uneven streets of Charleston.
“Maybe we’ll take a day and sightsee,” Destiny suggested.
“You never sightsee,” Gina countered. “You’re always too busy working on perfecting your routine.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Wrong.”
“Right,” Gina huffed. “And I like David.”
Rolling her eyes, Destiny wasn’t in the right frame of mind to rehash the long-standing rivalry between the duo. David and Gina were her friends as well as her employees. Besides which, Gina, she had learned, didn’t like too many people. She was Destiny’s exact opposite. And a definite thorn in David’s side. Sometimes she had the distinct impression that Gina went out of her way to make David’s job harder. This trip was a perfect example. David had arranged for them to stay in one of the swankiest hotels in downtown Charleston. Gina had made arrangements for them to rent two of the villa units at the beach outside the city. Of course, it left Destiny in the uncomfortable position of choosing between the two. It was a no-win situation, and she was currently on David’s list because she’d chosen the beach over the city.
“Wait!” she called out suddenly.
The cabby brought the car to a screeching halt.
“What?” the driver and Gina said in unison.
“There’s The Rose Tattoo,” she said, pointing to the historic building with the wooden sign in front. “Let’s stop in.”
“What about our luggage?” the ever-practical Gina noted.
“You go on to the beach, then come back,” Destiny instructed as she opened her door. “Take as long as you need. I’d love to get a feel for the place.”
“You can do that tomorrow.” Gina was still grumbling when Destiny closed the door and walked across the black-and-white-checkered tiles leading up to the front door.
Her hand closed on the brass handle and she gave a tug. Nothing. She tugged again as her eyes found the hours listed on a rectangular sign in the window.
“Great,” she grumbled, checking her watch, then squinting against the early-morning sunlight. Destiny was about to turn back toward the street in search of a cab when a deep, sexy voice stopped her dead.
“It’s you,” he said as he pulled open the door.
She had to concentrate hard to keep her mouth from dropping open in an appreciative response to this gorgeous man. “Must be sunstroke,” she said under her breath before flashing him her brightest smile.
His stomach knotted as if an elephant had kicked him—hard. She was even more beautiful than the photograph hanging above the bar. On more than one occasion, he had cynically remarked that the picture had to have been retouched. It wasn’t possible for any living creature to be that beautiful, that perfect. He was wrong.
“Destiny Talbott,” she said as she offered him her dainty hand.
Her skin was warm and soft, a perfect complement to the deep tan that naturally heightened the unusual shade of her eyes. And the way the sun shimmered off those long tresses of pale blond hair—he swallowed as he reluctantly dropped her hand.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, a teasing look in her eyes.
The fraction of a second it took him to recall his own name seemed to amuse her all the more.
“Wesley Porter,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he ushered her inside the empty restaurant.
His palms were actually moist by the time they reached the bar, where his books were stacked high next to a mug of long-forgotten coffee.
“We weren’t expecting you until this afternoon,” he said.
Sliding onto one of the bar stools, Wesley battled to keep his eyes off the incredibly shapely legs peeking out from beneath her skirt.
“Spur-of-the-moment,” she explained. “When I saw the place, I just couldn’t resist taking a sneak peek.”
He felt one of his brows arch high on his forehead. “Do you always act on your impulses?”
She smiled again. “Is that a question? Or a really bad come-on line?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, studying the backs of his hands. “I guess it’s all this scholarly pursuit. I tend to ask questions a lot.”
“A bar-owning student?” Destiny asked after glancing at his textbooks.
“My mother owns the place. I’m just helping out while I study for my boards.”
“Rose,” she said, nodding. “David’s mentioned her.”
“David?”
“My manager,” she said as she boldly slid off the stool, went behind the bar and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Wes wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that she seemed so at home in a strange environment, or that he’d been so enthralled with her legs that he hadn’t even thought to offer her the most basic of hospitalities.
“This is great,” she said, hugging the mug in both hands. “I should have been entitled to a refund from the airlines for that stuff they foisted off on Gina and me this morning.”
“Gina?”
“My personal assistant,” she said as she came back and took the seat next to his. He smelled the faint scent of her perfume, and the words “utterly feminine” floated through his thoughts as he watched her felinelike movements. No wonder she was a popular performer, he thought. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t have to tell the first joke. He’d probably pay good money just to watch her walk down the street.
“So,” she began with a wicked light in her violet eyes, “do you just ask questions, or do you occasionally talk all on your own?”
“Depends,” he returned, feeling the corners of his mouth respond to her ever-present smile. “I guess I’ve had my nose in these books for so long that I’m sort of out of practice.”
“You?” she scoffed.
His head fell slightly to one side and he regarded her for a protracted second. “Meaning?”
“Back up,” Destiny answered. “What exactly are you studying for?”
“Psychiatric boards.”
“You’re a shrink?”
“In training.”
“Lord,” she mumbled just before bringing the mug to her bow-shaped lips.
“I’ll take that to mean you aren’t fond of my profession?”
Her initial response was a small shrug of her shoulders. “Not my call,” she told him. “I just think there’s something perverse about delving into people’s private lives.”
He smiled at her. “This from a woman whose private life manages to grace the tabloids on occasion?”
“Point,” she conceded. “You read the tabloids?”
“Only when I’m standing in the checkout line at the store.”
“That’s what everybody says. Except that those rags have higher circulation numbers than the New York Times.”
A shrink, she thought to herself. Too bad. The first nice-looking doctor she ever meets turns out to be a psychiatrist. Heaven knew the very last thing she needed in her life was analysis.
Whoa! her brain screamed. This man wasn’t exactly “in her life.”
“Can I see the rest of the place?” she asked, wondering why she felt such an overwhelming sense of regret. It hardly made sense. She would be in Charleston all of six weeks. Then, hopefully, she’d be off to Los Angeles and her own television show.
“Sure thing,” Wesley answered, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and producing a ring full of keys. “Follow me.”
Hopping off her stool and depositing her empty mug on the polished bar, Destiny silently admired the physique of the man ahead of her. His shoulders were broad beneath the preppy polo shirt. His waist and hips were trim, though he didn’t impress her as the type to spend hours working out. He did, however, impress her as one heck of a sexy man.
With the exception of David, her world was filled with overweight, cigar-chewing club owners. This dark-haired intellectual man, with bedroom blue eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses, was refreshing. He had jump-started her hormones in ways she had long ago suppressed.
Wesley led her through an immaculately clean kitchen and out the back door. The aroma of wisteria competed with the less-than-pleasant odors coming from the Dumpster.
“It’s very deceptive from the street,” she said, quickening her step to keep pace with his long strides.
“Charleston Single Houses were built on these long, narrow lots in order to capture the breeze coming off the water. Think of it as eighteenth-century air-conditioning.”
“Good line.” She laughed. “Can I steal it for my routine?”
“Absolutely.”
Following him along the stone path, Destiny was immediately impressed by the condition of the long, rectangular sign hanging over the double doors. She was also vainly impressed by the large photograph of herself plastered above the door. After all this time, the words Appearing Nightly still gave Destiny a thrill.
The thrill faded quickly when she caught sight of the large box near the front door.
“Not again,” she groaned.
“Not again what?” Wesley asked her, genuine concern in his deep voice.
“I hope you have a girlfriend, Dr. Porter,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“Why?”
“Because,” she began as they reached the package covered by bright green floral wrap, “she’ll think you’re wonderful. But if I were you, I’d lose the card first.”
Wesley had begun to reach inside the paper when Destiny automatically grabbed for his hand. His skin was heated beneath her palm, momentarily distracting her.
“Don’t bother,” she said.
But apparently this man had a mind of his own. Destiny’s hand fell away as he gently removed the envelope and pulled the card from inside.
His brows drew together as he read what she knew was the neatly typed message: SOME DIE LAUGHING.
Chapter Two
“What the hell does this mean?” Wesley demanded, waving the small card in his hand.
“It means I have an admirer with an even sicker sense of humor than my own,” she answered, trying to make light of the situation. “If I ever find out who has been sending these to me, I’ll refer them to you for professional help.”
It was obvious from the ominous expression in his blue eyes that Dr. Porter shared Gina’s concern over the succession of notes.
“How long has this been going on?”
Averting her eyes from the potted blossoms, Destiny answered, “About three months.”
“Have you contacted the authorities?”
She met his gaze. “Do you have any idea how many cities I’ve been in during that time?”
Wesley shook his head.
“My manager did hire a private detective,” she began, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. “He proved himself completely inept, to the point of not even bothering to show up last night. Instead, I received a crumpled bill from his office, along with a poorly typed memo indicating that Greg Miller, private investigator, hadn’t uncovered squat.”
“Then maybe you should hire someone here.”
“And waste more money?” she scoffed. “No, thanks. I’m sure whoever is sending these things will eventually get the hint. Or,” she added as she leaned closer, “the florists will run out of gardenias, and he’ll be out of luck.”
“This note doesn’t give me the impression that we’re dealing with an admirer,” Wesley told her. “It’s too threatening. Too indicative that he is not overly fond of you.”
Destiny rolled her eyes. “Fond?” she repeated with a throaty laugh. “Live dangerously, Dr. Porter. This bozo obviously hates me. But that’s okay, I hate gardenias. So I guess he and I are running about even.”
She watched as deep lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“Lighten up, Doctor. I’m not saying I’m thrilled by his persistence, but he’s hardly overtly threatening. He hasn’t come near me.”
“Why are you so convinced it’s a man?”
“Gina’s picked him out of the audience. Wait until tomorrow night. If he comes, which he always does, I’ll have Gina point him out to you.”
“Did your assistant have a vision, or is there something in particular about this man that makes you believe he’s your morbid admirer?”
“Can we get out of the sun?” she asked, not really interested in discussing the matter any further. Lord knew, it was a topic both Gina and David had beaten into the ground during the past several months.
“Sorry,” she heard him mumble as he slipped a key into the ornate lock and opened the door.
It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior, even after he’d flipped a switch to turn on dim, period chandeliers.
“Wow,” she said as she admired the long, rectangular room. Tables were arranged with wide aisles leading up to a small, but certainly sufficient, stage. The lighting she saw at the base of the stage was fine upon inspection. All in all, The Rose Tattoo promised to be a fairly decent engagement. “When David told me I’d be playing in an outbuilding, I sure wasn’t expecting anything like this.”
“That’s because my oldest boy and his wife did the renovations.”
Destiny twirled around at the sound of the female voice echoing through the room. A woman she placed somewhere in her early fifties sashayed toward them. Her outfit was outrageous—animal-print, skintight pants, a form-fitting blouse and bleached hair that nearly touched the ceiling. Garish clothing aside, Destiny was drawn to the woman’s warm, welcoming smile.
“I’m Rose Porter,” she said, extending her hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
She turned to Wesley and said, “I saw the flowers outside. Your idea?”
Wesley shook his head. “I’m afraid they came with Miss Talbott,” he answered dryly.
“Maybe we should make it a practice to send all our performers a little something,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Maybe an Elvis tape.”
Destiny watched as Wesley tried to hide a cringe behind square-tipped fingers. “We’ll think about it.”
“Anything you need,” Rose began, “just let us know.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Destiny answered. Especially if I get to catch the occasional glimpse of Dr. Porter while I’m here.
* * *
“I‘VE CALLED THE STATION house,” Gina was saying, her words running together in an agitated string.
Destiny had barely time to deposit her purse on the rattan sofa before her friend had launched into a long, involved explanation for her failure to show up at The Rose Tattoo. Destiny had stayed through dinner, at Rose’s insistence. Unfortunately, Dr. Porter had disappeared before the lunch crush.
“I can call Western Union and make an immediate cash transfer. I think they said five hundred dollars for the bond.”
“Don’t bother,” Destiny said with a sad sigh.
Gina’s faced wrinkled in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“He can spend the night in jail. God knows he’s done it often enough before.”
She walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged around until she found a diet soda, then lifted one of the leaded glasses from a neatly arranged tray. Each ice cube made a pleasant sound as she dropped it into the glass. She retrieved the bottle of soda and poured herself a generous portion.
Gina stood a few feet away, her hands resting on her nonexistent hips. Destiny never ceased to be amazed by the slenderness of the woman. She often remarked that even during the throes of PMS, Gina never managed to balloon above a size three. The fact that she was five-eight in her stocking feet mattered little, or that she still carried herself like the famous cover model she had once been.
“C’mon Destiny, Carl’s your father. And your mother was really adamant when she called.”
“I’ll bet she was.” Destiny smiled, easily imagining her mother’s response to her former husband’s latest predicament. In spite of the divorce that had taken place more than twenty years earlier, Chief Judge Mona Talbott still monitored the activities of her parasitic ex-husband. “My mother will survive.” Destiny took a long swallow of her soda, allowing it to slide smoothly down her throat while pushing the memories of Dr. Porter to the back of her mind. Silently she told herself that her reaction to the man was simply the result of too many months on the road and not enough dates. Still, she just couldn’t seem to rid the image of his dark hair and light eyes from her brain.
Gina’s pretty face was a collage of concern and frustration as she watched Destiny refill the glass. “More flowers?”
“Uh-huh,” Destiny grumbled into the glass.
“That’s it!” Gina bellowed, raising her arms and allowing them to slap loudly against her thighs. Destiny found herself sneaking a peek at the lower portion of the ragged scar marring the brown-skinned woman’s otherwise perfect leg.
“Girl, you’d better call someone. How about the police?”
Massaging the tension in her neck, Destiny offered a wan smile. “And tell them what? I’m Destiny Talbott and I’d like to report a delivery of flowers. I don’t want my name and face plastered on the cover of every grocery-store rag. Not now. Not when I’m this close.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger in front of her eyes, barely allowing light to pass between the small opening they formed. “I’d be labeled a paranoid crazy.”
“Get serious, Destiny. You can’t just ignore all the threats and stuff. Your buddy David isn’t capable of handling this situation. It’s gotten way out of hand, and you can’t keep pretending that it isn’t happening.”
“I’m giving it my best shot.”
“Fine. Do what you want. You will, anyway.” Gina pointed a long, tapered finger at Destiny, shaking it for emphasis every now and then. “I don’t mean to criticize your original patron saint, but David seems to worship the paycheck he gets from Sommerfield, not to mention—”
“Leave it alone, Gina.”
Destiny’s body tensed. What if? No! her brain screamed. It couldn’t be David. It had to be a crazy person, and she wasn’t about to let some lunatic exploit her—not now.
“Fine,” her friend responded, clearly hurt. “And what about your father?”
“We’ll wire the money in the morning. A night in jail will be good for him.”
“What am I supposed to tell your mother? She’s depending on you to take care of this.”
“And I will. Only it will be tomorrow instead of the moment her majesty issues the order.”
Destiny brushed past Gina, no longer interested in the conversation. Her whole body ached with the need to relax.
The second story of the villa sported an impressive master suite. The room must have been twenty-five by twenty-five, with adjoining dressing areas and a bathroom large enough to accommodate a family of six with room to spare.
Kicking off her shoes, Destiny pulled her dress over her head as she walked to the bath. The marble floor was refreshingly cool against her feet. The room smelled of exotic tropical fruits. She considered taking a long, hot bath, but opted instead for a long soak in the hot tub out on the patio. Letting pulsating streams of hot water rush over her body was a surefire way to wash away any lingering traces of her anxiety.
Removing the rest of her clothes, Destiny discarded them carelessly in a pile. As she stood completely naked, she ignored the pang of guilt trying to weave its way into her consciousness. Leaving her father in jail wasn’t as easy a decision as she’d let on. In spite of everything, he was her father and she loved him.
Taking a few hairpins off the vanity, she secured the knot at the nape of her neck and willed herself not to think about her father’s all-too-familiar plight.
“Blast you, Carl!” she whispered to her reflection.
Grabbing the soft white terry robe from a hook on the back of the bathroom door, Destiny sat on the edge of the bed to wait until she no longer heard Gina moving about in the rooms below. She was tired, too tired for another well-intended confrontational scene with her friend.
It wasn’t long before she padded down the stairs, through the streaks of shadows and light from the moon sneaking in between the blinds. Carefully she opened the French doors that led to the tiled patio. “So far, so good,” she whispered, her voice drowned out by the gentle rustling of the wind through the oleander bushes and the distant crash of waves from the Atlantic.
Dropping the robe, Destiny stepped down into the circular tub. Heat from the water rose in a swirl of steam before floating off on the breeze. The powerful jets forced ribbons of bubbles over her body, kneading her tense muscles like a patient lover. Closing her eyes, Destiny sank lower, allowing the swirling streams of water to work their magic. It was like being drugged, lulled into a sense of blissful relaxation.
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