My Lucky Groom

territory. Red-light district, baby.”
    Ventura’s face fell. Here she was, a new girl in a new town, and she’d booked herself into a brothel.
    Mary studied her a beat, taking pity. “Hey, don’t look so down. You know what they say, When God closes a door, he opens a disco .”
    “Window.”
    “What?”
    “The expression is… Never mind.”
    “I really did mean to allude to a party.”
    “I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”
    “My landlady’s looking for a new tenant.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “As serious as a makeover.” She studied Ventura with determination. “It’s the perfect opportunity, for you and me both.”
    “What’s in this for you?”
    “If we don’t find another girl by Monday, my rent doubles.”
    Ventura eyed her skeptically. “Where exactly is this place of yours?”
    “On Capitol Hill. You’ll love it. It’s just Nanette, who’s a little weird.”
    “Nanette?”
    Mary shot her a big, bright grin. “You’ll see.”

    The front door opened, and a flamboyant woman in her sixties greeted Mary warmly, then glanced at Ventura. Her red hair was spun up high in something akin to a beehive, and her brightly colored, polka-dot dress fit tightly over a curvaceous figure. She blinked behind long false lashes.
    “Hello! What’s this? A new makeover project?”
    Mary protectively wrapped an arm around Ventura’s shoulder and tugged her inside. Ventura nearly stumbled, dragging her suitcase behind her. “This is Ventura, our new boarder.”
    Nanette studied Ventura from head to toe, then back up again. “So you’re a lucky girl, ha?”
    Ventura was surprised Nanette knew the meaning of her name. Most folks just equated it with the song “Ventura Highway . ” Ventura forced what she hoped was a pleasant expression. “Not yet, but I’m trying.”
    “And we’re going to help her,” Mary said eagerly, shutting the door behind her.
    “Hmm, yes. I see what you mean.” Nanette narrowed her eyes. “Might help if we start with the hair.”
    Ventura swallowed hard, affronted. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she told them both.
    “Nonsense!” Nanette proclaimed with a wave of her hand. “Improving ourselves is always a good idea.” She winked at Mary, sharing some private understanding, then turned her gaze back on Ventura. “Don’t you worry one bit, dear. We’ll do everything in our power to help. It certainly worked with the last girl.”
    “Last girl?”
    “My roommate before,” Mary explained. “She moved out to get married.”
    “That was after we helped her turn her life around.”
    “And her wardrobe,” Mary inserted.
    Hoo boy, just what have I gotten myself into? Ventura wondered. Her gaze traveled toward the door. There was still time to make her escape. But where would she go? Hotels in the city were expensive, and she barely had enough in savings for a security deposit and her first month’s rent. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could try it for the first month, then bolt if things got creepy.
    “Why don’t you take her to the basement, Mary? I’m sure Ventura’s tired and would like to settle in.”
    Basement? Ventura stared around the cluttered living room decorated with heavy swags of velvet curtains, old stuffed furniture, and hurricane lamps that looked like they came from another century. Except these were electric. Ventura wondered briefly if there’d be a single lightbulb dangling from a string in the chamber below. Maybe above a solitary chair in the center of the room. The kind used for interrogating people. Or worse, for making over their hair.
    “Come on,” Mary urged, hoisting Ventura’s heavy bag to help her. “Let me show you your new digs.”
    Ventura followed her down the dark staircase with trepidation. At least the neighborhood seemed nice, and the townhouse looked neat enough from the outside, with its red brick façade and beveled bay windows leading to a turret on top. But down here in the dungeon, there didn’t appear to be a hint of natural light anywhere.
    Mary flipped on a light, illuminating the small space. Ventura was relieved to see it wasn’t nearly as horrid as she’d imagined. They’d entered a small efficiency kitchen with a checkerboard floor and a tiny Formica-topped table with chairs. Through a doorway into the main room, she found two neatly arranged twin beds separated from a living area by a large Oriental screen. Ventura spied blinking neon colors and walked toward the