Chris found a corkscrew in the desk and poured the chardonnay in wine glasses also provided by the hotel.
“To us,” he said. “May today be the first day of the rest of our lives. Together.”
“To us.”
Kassie sliced the brie and fed Chris, followed by a kiss.
“Reminds me of Meg Ryan in French Kiss.”
“Hope not. We have plans for the night.” Chris laughed.
“Hold that thought.” Kassie went inside to find her purse. “Time for a selfie.” She returned with her iPhone and the envelope the clerk had given her.
She sat on Chris’s lap, took a picture and a sip of her wine. “It’s not Italian, but it’ll do.” She giggled and settled in her chair.
Kassie delicately unsealed the envelope, planning to add it to her cherished souvenir box at home. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed as she read it to herself.
“What’s French for oh, crap?” She covered her mouth.
She handed the letter to Chris. He read it aloud.
Kassie, Sorry to intrude on your vacation, but your timing couldn’t be better. I need you to swing by the Paris office. Since you’re in town, Mimi wants to bounce an idea off you. She’s expecting you Tuesday at 10. I know I can count on you. Merci et bonne chance, Tom.
“Maybe we should’ve stayed in Venice,” Chris said.
2
Mommy Dearest
The crowds in Boston that July weren’t as insane as they were in Paris. But the sports mania was, and the craziness would last more than one day or one month. On that Friday the thirteenth, the Red Sox entered the weekend with a ten-day winning streak. They were in position for a winning season if they could hold off the Yankees, who everyone knew sucked.
With Patriots training camp opening in two weeks, proverbial paranoid purveyors of any and all things related to Boston sports were already down in the mouth coming to grips with Julian Edelman’s four-game suspension and the continual undercurrent of a Brady-Belichik-Kraft feud lingering from a disappointing end to last season. Nevertheless, the mid-80s, low-humidity weather kept the mood of Beantown sports fans pumped.
Karen could care less about the Boston sports world. She had her own competition to contend with. Nor did she care she’d be late for work that morning. She was the boss’s girlfriend, and he was the reason she was running behind her usual morning schedule.
“Get in here, doll face,” Mike shouted from the bedroom as she stepped out of the shower and the glass door clanged shut. She knew what that meant. Wasn’t last night enough?
With her frosted blonde hair dripping down her shoulders and onto the carpet, Karen stood next to the waterbed, wrapped in one of the yellow waffle towels she’d bought with his Nordstrom card, refusing to use any of the plush white towels his soon-to-be ex-wife had left in the hall linen closet. She wanted nothing associated with Kassie O’Callaghan to touch her skin, except for Michael Ricci, of course.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“I am ready.” Mike raised his eyebrows and drew back the new six-hundred-thread-count blue Egyptian cotton sheets, also from Nordstrom, displaying just how ready he was.
“We’ll be late.” She dropped her cover and stroked her fingers over the two-inch scar below her naval, reminding him not for the first time what she did for love.
It was nearly ten fifteen when Karen pulled into her son’s reserved space in the Ricci and Son parking lot in her shiny new silver Lexus hybrid sedan. She’d sold her two-year-old Ford F-150 the year before she relocated to Boston from Elephant Butte, New Mexico, leaving part of her past behind before donating another part of herself to Mike.
“New son. New city. New wheels.” Karen had rationalized the expense to Chris when she had him drive her to the dealer to pick up the car.
“But a Lexus? A little over the top for a receptionist’s salary, don’t you think, Karen?”
“Karen? When will you start calling me Mom or Mother? Either would work,” she said, attempting to divert his attention away from the topic of money.
“What about Mrs. Ricci? Would that satisfy you?” Chris said.
“You’re kidding, right? Even after I marry your father, you still won’t—”
“For over forty years Sarah’s been my mother. She still is.”
“And what about Kassie? You call her stepmother?”
“I don’t call her anything. Haven’t called her in months.”
“I’d say that’s a good thing.”
“Enjoy your car.” He’d left rubber and Karen with her hands on her hips in front of the car dealer.
With conversations like that swirling in her mind, Karen was relieved Chris was in San Francisco on vacation. Not only could she take his parking spot, but she’d also have the opportunity to host Sarah and Charlie Gaines for the weekend without having to listen to Sarah and Chris reminisce about his childhood.
“Remember how I’d leave work early three times a week to take you to swimming lessons?” Sarah would say.
“Not sure it helped straighten out my back,” Chris would laugh.
“Or how every six months I’d have to buy you a new pair of Nikes to keep up with your growth spurts?”
“They were way too expensive for kids’ shoes,” Chris would recall.
“You should’ve seen him, Karen. He shot up like a rocket.”
During Sarah and Charlie’s previous visits from Chicago, she’d clench her fists as Sarah rubbed her nose in the close mother-son connection she wished she had with Chris.
Yes, I should’ve seen him. I should’ve never given him away, bitch.
That weekend would be the first time Chris’s biological parents would host his adoptive parents at Mike’s house. On their other trips, Mr. and Mrs. Gaines stayed in one of the fancy hotels on Boston’s waterfront, giving them convenient access to Chris, who still lived in Charlestown in the furnished apartment he’d rented when he moved there from San Francisco the year before.
Karen looked forward to her role as hostess. It would be good practice for her to be the lady of the Ricci household, soon to be her household once she and Mike were married, and he removed Kassie from the deed. Every chance she got, Karen suggested he sell the house and buy something for the two of them. Maybe one of the fancy townhomes popping up in the suburbs with lavish swimming pools, club houses with entertainment centers, and libraries of all things. They had maintenance crews that handled everything. She had no interest in tending to the garden and all the flower beds Kassie had planted and nurtured over the years.
Karen had raised the issue with Mike as recently as the night before. “This house is paid off, right? Why don’t you sell and invest in a love nest for us?”
“Not so easy. Kassie owns half. I’d either have to buy her out or sell and give her half. I have no interest in taking on another mortgage at my age. I hope to retire someday, ya know.”
Karen wouldn’t be discouraged. She had no intention of giving up. Baby steps. First the towels, then the house. By the time Karen was finished, any memory of Kassie would be erased from the brain of her husband and her son. Anything she could do to eliminate Kassie from their lives was priority one.
Without his knowing it, at least Chris was doing his part. Thank goodness he’d ended that ridiculous affair he’d had with her. What the heck was he thinking? She was old enough to be his mother. Well, not quite. Sister maybe. When she ranted about Kassie the night before, Mike reminded her Kassie was only ten years older than Chris.
“I thought you liked her?” Mike said. “If she hadn’t reached out to you on my behalf last year, you wouldn’t be here in Boston with me today.”
“But I’d still have my kidney.” For effect, she touched her scar through her jeans, reminding him she was his lifesaver.
“And I’m eternally grateful to you for that. As I would think you would be to Kassie for reuniting you with your son. You should be thankful he was attracted to an older woman. If he were with someone
younger, you could be a grandmother. Try that thought on for size.”
“Well, there’s still that possibility now that he’s free of her.”
With that thought, Karen’s stomach growled. She needed coffee bad. Mike’s sexual appetite left her zero time for breakfast before she left the house. Now at the office, she could hear laughter and the microwave timer pinging in the kitchen, where some staff members were getting their second or third refill of the morning. When she walked in, you’d swear crickets made more noise.
“Good morning, everybody. Sorry I was late. Something came up with Mike.” Karen grinned as she forced her eyes to twinkle.
No one laughed as all but Bill scattered to their desks.
Bill broke the silence. “Some calls came in, Karen. I left messages on your desk.”
“Anything critical?”
“Chris’s father called.”
“What? Mike?” Karen squinted, confused.
“No, Charlie Gaines called. He asked for you.”
“Mr. Mahoney, when will you accept that Mike is Chris’s father? Ricci and Son. Get it?”
“My bad. Chris is a lucky guy. Two fathers and three mothers.”
“Three? Just me and Sarah.”
“Don’t forget Kassie. Stepmother, right?”
“She’s yesterday’s news. Technically, Bill, she’s nothing to him.”
“Time will tell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Karen popped the K-cup into the coffeemaker. She waited for an answer that failed to come. Bill walked out, yet his quip lingered as he left her all alone in the kitchen.
“Damn it.” Karen burned her tongue, rather than holding it. She had no regrets. In a few months, she’d be Mrs. Ricci, the majority owner’s wife. Bill would not be able to deny that. He’d be farther down on the ownership succession totem pole than he was since Chris became a partner last year.
Tough luck, old boy.
Karen grabbed her iPhone and the pink messages off her desk and closeted herself in the conference room to call Charlie. The other messages would have to wait.
“Hey, KC.”
“Don’t call me that, Charlie. You know how much I hate it. It sounds too much like Kassie.”
“I know. That’s why I do it. I love to tease you. Reminds me of old times.”
“You’ll need to keep those memories under wraps this weekend, okay? Promise me that.”
“You got it. Where were you when I called earlier?”
“Taking care of business. Not that it’s any of yours. You still arriving at five?”
“Yes. Sarah can’t wait to see you . . . and Mike. She’s disappointed Chris won’t be there.”
“I bet she is. Maybe next time.” Karen hoped her pissed-off attitude hadn’t traveled through the airwaves. “Boston Coach will meet your flight. Look for a man with a sign.”
“A man? That’s pretty sexist even for you.”
“Whatever. Just get here.”
It was after eleven when Karen finally started her work day. The switchboard buzzed as soon as she sat at her desk.
“Good morning, Ricci and Son. This is Karen Copperman speaking.” Soon to be Karen Ricci. She inspected her nails, making a mental note to leave the office early to get a mani/pedi, then forwarded the call.
She pulled the National Enquirer out of her bag. Pretending to read, she felt hands on her shoulders. Only one person at the office would do that.
“You were great this morning,” Mike whispered in her ear.
“Watch it. No PDA in the workplace, boss. I might have to report you to the authorities.” Karen licked her lips, ensuring the game played on.
“Hate to ask you this.”
“What, here? Upstairs? I’ll get someone to watch the phones.” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had sex in his office.
“You wish. But that’s not it. I need you to run to the house. Amelia’s locked out.”
“Amelia? Who’s Amelia?”
“Teresa’s daughter. Teresa’s not feeling well, so Amelia’s going to clean. She thought she had a key, but then remembered she gave it back to me a while ago.”
“Can’t she come here?” The last thing Karen wanted to do was get involved with the hired help.
“That’d be rude. Listen, take the rest of the day off. Get ready for Charlie and Sarah. Go have a massage, get your hair cut. Whatever floats your boat.” Mike took out his wallet and handed Karen both his AMEX and a Visa card. “Knock yourself out.”
“You think I need a haircut?” She pulled a small compact mirror out of her desk drawer and ran her fingers through her hair. “Really?”
Though happy to get the hell out, Karen lollygagged as she departed from the office. She dropped her coffee cup in the kitchen sink, made a trip to the ladies’ room, and swung by Bill’s office to tell him Mike gave her the afternoon off to get ready for dinner that night. She’d catch Bill and Nancy at the house later.
“See you all Monday,” Karen announced as she strolled out the door. No one returned the sentiment.
She took her time driving to Mike’s house, stopping at every yellow light, and going at least ten miles slower than the speed limit.
Indeed, a car was parked in the driveway when she arrived, but no one was in it, and no one loitered on the front steps. Where the hell is she? Maybe Amelia had a key after all.
“Hello?” Karen called out when she entered the house. No answer. She walked around the first floor, a bit spooked. Standing in the family room, she recognized a squeaking sound coming from outside.
“Oh, there you are,” Amelia said as she got up from the back porch swing. “You must be Karen.”
“You’re Teresa’s daughter?” Karen hoped Amelia didn’t notice the surprise in her voice.
“I am. You took so long to get here, I thought maybe Mike changed his mind.”
“About what?”
“Oh, nothing. Let’s go inside.” Amelia followed Karen, who tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
Karen stepped aside as Amelia headed for the kitchen.
“Would you join me for a cup of coffee? No time for lunch today,” Amelia said.
Stunned, Karen passed on the offer as she observed Amelia move around the kitchen as if it was her own.
“You don’t live here, do you, Karen? Mike said you don’t. Not until after the divorce.”
“No. Not full time yet.” Karen was at a loss for words. Her brain cells exploded as she tried to figure out how this woman, who looked like Sophia Loren in her prime, was a cleaning lady. Since when were skinny jeans and a red V-neck tee shirt appropriate for scrubbing floors and toilets?
“So, you probably don’t know if there’s anything that needs particular attention?”
“No, the usual, I guess. I assumed you’d know what to do.”
“When Kassie lived here, she’d leave a list. She loved lists.”
“Is that so?”
“Grocery lists. Exercise lists. Instructions for taking care of her cat.”
“Cat? I forgot about the cat.”
“Yes. Topher. What a lovey he was. I miss him, even though he made it harder to clean.”
“Don’t worry, there’ll never be another cat in this house,” Karen murmured.
“What? Oh, never mind. I know how Mike likes things.”
Karen disappeared to the master bedroom to get out of Amelia’s way, but mostly to think. How did this woman know so much about Mike? He’d never mentioned Amelia, but Amelia sure as hell knew about her.
“Excuse me, Karen?”
Karen turned toward the doorway, where Amelia stood holding what appeared to be DVD cases.
“Do you mind if I come in and put these away? I don’t mean to disturb you.”
“No. Come on in. What have you got there?”
“Oh, just his porn,” Amelia winked at her and headed for Mike’s walk-in closet.
“Where did you find those, and how do you know—?”
“Tucke
d in the side of his Pleasure Chair. He used to keep them there. Apparently it’s true—old habits do die hard.”
“I guess.” Karen realized there was much about Mike she had yet to learn, if she was so inclined.
“You know, when I walked in here and saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, I could’ve sworn you were Kassie. Mike was right. There is a strong resemblance. Of course, she’s thinner than you.”
Amelia went back to doing whatever high-and-mighty, hot cleaning ladies do.
Karen did what she had to. She picked up her phone and called her salon. “Hi, it’s Karen Copperman. Can you take me now? What? The works.”
3
Splitting the Difference
Mike looked forward to spending the weekend entertaining the Gaineses. In a way, they’d have their own University of Chicago mini reunion. The four of them had partied hardy there, and it would be easy to pick up where they’d left off. Combined with good food and a steady stream of liquor, there was sure to be lots of laughs and do-you-remember-whens.
But there’d be no sex. At least not in his bedroom. He made sure he’d given Karen a more-than-satisfying poke that morning, hoping it would hold her until next week after the Gaineses were gone. He had no desire to broadcast his huffing, puffing, and middle-aged orgasm to Charlie and Sarah, who’d be sleeping within earshot in the spare bedroom.
Speaking of Karen. More than likely she was at the mall, shopping till her bags weighed more than she did. He’d given her the opportunity and means to enjoy herself. No reason why he shouldn’t enjoy himself as well.
Mike packed up his briefcase, wished his employees a good weekend, and whistled a happy tune on his drive home. Leaving early on a Friday afternoon was not a habit of his. If the team stuck it out until the bitter end of the week, then Mike would as well. Yet, if there were a better excuse for skipping out early than Amelia, he couldn’t think of one. And with Karen off with his credit cards, she’d be occupied and contented as a dog getting a tummy rub for hours.
What’s Not True: A Novel Page 2
