“Speaking from experience, are you?”
Chris’s request that she keep a low profile resounded in her mind. She stifled the go-fuck-yourself response that was about to leap from her lips.
“Do you have a minute?” Bill asked.
“Obviously, if I’m here.” Karen followed him into his office and lowered herself into an armchair across from Bill, who’d parked himself behind his desk. She could tell already this was not going to be an oh-woe-are-we chitchat about the loss of the firm’s fearless leader.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Bill said.
Is that the best he could do? Asshole.
“Thanks. We had our whole lives ahead of us. I’m at a loss for . . .” Karen looked for a box of tissues. Even that was absent. She feigned a tear and used the back of her hand, pretending to wipe it away.
“A future, perhaps?” Bill paused. “We all have lost something today. Mike was a friend, our colleague, our boss.”
Karen nodded. If that’s all he had to say, she was ready to get the hell out of there. Since no one else was working, why should she? Though she hated to give in to Kassie’s suggestion she take time off. She wrapped her hands around the chair’s arms and started to rise.
“I’m not finished.”
Karen let out an audible sigh, slouching her rear back down in the seat. What else, moron?
“You’ll learn about this formally in due course, but both Kassie and Chris gave me the authority to tell the staff. And since you’re part of the staff, you should know as well. Better from me than from one of your coworkers.”
Spare me the drama. Karen stared at Bill, waving her palms to the ceiling as if to say, “Cut the crap.”
“It’s impossible to know whether Mike had any sense, any premonition, that his time was approaching. But perhaps he did. Nevertheless, among other things, Mike left a succession plan for the company, including assigning ownership rights.”
Karen’s back felt as though a straightening rod had been inserted. She squared her feet.
“To be fair, I’ll tell you exactly what I told the rest of the team this morning.”
Karen twiddled her thumbs and fixed her gaze on a crystal paperweight on Bill’s desk. She imagined what the effect would be if she heaved it at him.
He continued, unharmed. “With Mike’s death, Kassandra O’Callaghan—Mrs. Ricci—rises in ranks to hold majority ownership in Ricci and Son.”
Big woo.
“Technically,” Bill said, “that makes Kassie the boss around here.”
Her thumb twiddling continued, in reverse. That’s what he thinks. I’ll get my fair share, and my son will get the rest.
As though he read her mind, he said, “Mike provided Chris a minority stake in the firm, as he did for me. To be clear, the three owners in the firm are me, Chris, and Kassie in ascending order. Which means, until Kassie directs otherwise, I will continue managing operations, and Chris will—”
“I know what Chris does around here. I know what he’s entitled to. So you can stop with your MBA mumbo jumbo. Mike’s succession plan isn’t worth shit. I have rights too.”
“With all due respect, Karen, in the eyes of the law you have no rights. No ownership rights, and frankly, no spousal rights.”
She leapt to her feet. “We’ll see about that.”
“Before you storm out of here, you should know Mike didn’t cast you aside completely. Kassie will be the one to tell you the particulars of what Mike has left for you. I have authority to tell you, though, your job here is still secure if you mind your p’s and q’s. In the end it’ll be up to Kassie. So you might think before you say or do anything you might regret.”
“Like shredding tickets?” She smirked, turned her back on him, and climbed the stairs to the solitude of Mike’s office.
“Those days are over,” Karen heard him say.
As she entered Mike’s office, Karen waved her arms as if she were stifling an errant smoke alarm. With her physical presence recognized, the automatic recessed lights gradually took her hint.
She threw herself facedown on the couch they’d had sex on more than once and almost shed a tear for the loss of a man who was supposed to save her because she’d saved him. But all she could think of was what Bill had said.
Pulling herself upright, she wrapped her arms around a throw pillow and rocked back and forth.
“That bastard. I might not have spousal rights or ownership rights, but by golly, Chris has rights to more. A lot more.” She paced the office and took the opportunity to use Mike’s private bathroom. “All of this will be Chris’s one day, not Kassie’s, if I have anything to do with it.”
She checked the time, gave Mike’s leather desk chair a twirl, and keyed in her phone’s password. Charlie answered on the second ring.
“I’ve heard. I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“He’s screwed me in more ways than one.”
“Who?”
“Mike. Not only did he die before I was Mrs. Ricci, but it sounds like he left Kassie the business.”
“Makes sense. Thirty years must count for something. It does with Sarah and me.”
“Really? You think so? What about donating a kidney? Doesn’t that count?”
“Sure, but you weren’t married. And just because someone gives you an organ doesn’t mean you have to provide them with diddly squat if and when you die.”
Karen heard Charlie’s words but wasn’t listening. She went on, “And since they’re still legally married, Bill of all people says she gets the house, his retirement, his money, et cetera, et cetera. I end up with shit. Shit for luck.”
“Bill may be right. But still, he may have left something for you. It’s too early to tell. You know, Mike was no prick.”
“Speaking of pricks. They know about us.”
“I know.”
Charlie told her that Chris had called Sarah early that morning to tell her about Mike, and while Chris was spreading the sad news, he hinted at what little he knew about their rendezvous on Monday.
“Oh my God, what did she say?” Karen held her forehead in her hand.
“What could she say? We’ve been married longer than Kassie and Mike. I’m no angel. Sarah knows that. She’s lived with my foibles forever.”
“And she’s okay with that?”
“We’re adults, KC. She knows I’m not going anywhere. She’s pissed because it’s you. But to her, you’re just one more notch on my belt.”
“One notch?”
“Okay, more than one. So what? Life goes on, Karen. History repeats itself. Deal with it.”
She wanted to argue with him. Didn’t she mean anything to him? What was he going to do to help her . . . and Chris . . . get their slices of Mike’s enormous money pie? Before Mike succumbed, Charlie had promised to help her legally once she and Mike were married. She needed him now. There was no later.
Charlie blew her off, telling her to slow down and take each day at a time. He and Sarah would fly out for the funeral. They could talk more then. “Ciao, babe,” he said.
Karen spun the chair around to face the credenza decorated with photographic memories of Mike’s life. Only one picture interested her. She picked it up and touched the faces. Mike’s, Sarah’s, her own. The glass cracked as it landed in the circular file.
She was done at Ricci and Son. At least for that day. She grabbed her keys and headed for Mike’s house. Who knew what treasures she’d uncover there? She’d show the whole lot of them what a low profile looked like.
46
Under Lock and Key
Karen inserted her key into Mike’s front door lock. No dice. She double-checked her key ring to be sure she’d chosen the right key. She tried again. Shit. She jiggled the doorknob as if doing so would magically open the door. Though she’d never entered the house through the back porch, she walked around the house to give it a shot. Maybe her key would work there. No such luck. She sighed. The only other entry point would be
the garage, except she never learned the automatic door opener code, so that was out of the question.
She scratched her head and tried the front door one more time. The hum of a car’s engine caused her to turn to check it out. What’s the bitch doing here? There went her plans to rummage through the house to see what gems she might discover.
Expecting to make her heist quick, Karen had parked her car smack dab in the middle of the long driveway, forcing Kassie to pull in behind her. Maybe Karen could distract her. Tell her the lock was broken. Send her off to fetch a locksmith, giving her time to check for an unlatched first-floor window.
Conceding that climbing through a window wasn’t the best plan, by the time she reached Kassie, who had one leg out of her car door, Karen changed her strategy. If she didn’t have free range to scour Mike’s house, she could at least retrieve her belongings before Kassie tossed her things in the trash. She wouldn’t put it past her. To make this happen, though, she’d have to swallow the venom Kassie had spewed toward her earlier that day. Slut? I’ll give her that. But stupid I am not. Watch this.
“Oh, Kassie. Thank goodness you’re here. I can’t get in the house.” Karen waved her key ring at Kassie.
“Why are you here?”
“There’s stuff in there that belongs to me.” Karen stayed close behind Kassie as she headed up the driveway. “I want my things. Are you moving back?”
Kassie said nothing as she unlocked the door without a hitch.
“Why didn’t my key work?” Karen chirped as she followed Kassie into the foyer. “It’s worked before.”
“Let’s get your things.” Kassie ignored Karen’s questions, instead asking her if she needed a bag to carry her stuff and instructing her, as if she were a child, to wait in the hallway.
Karen grunted but did as she was told. She heard a kitchen cabinet slam, assuming it was the tall cabinet Mike shoved bags of all makes and models into—the cabinet Karen steered clear of for fear he’d suggest she organize the mess for him.
Kassie returned with a handful of brown paper shopping bags and gave her a nod to climb the stairs. Once in the bedroom, Karen emptied two bureau drawers and grabbed an armful of clothes hanging in what had been—and would be again, she surmised—Kassie’s closet. Watch her tell me to leave the hangers. She moved to the bathroom and tossed brushes and toiletries into the bag. Watch her accuse me of stealing her cosmetics and lotions. Just because I bought a few of her favorite things. It’s a free country.
“Hope you’re happy now.” Karen turned on the waterworks, tears streaking her makeup.
Her strategy appeared to break through Kassie’s icy exterior. She handed Karen a tissue and rubbed her shoulder. “There’s no joy in this house today, Karen. I would’ve preferred you and Mike shared a future together than what has occurred. If that’s what you wanted . . .”
“Despite what you may think of me, I loved Mike and wanted to live the rest of my life with him.” Karen sniffled for good measure. “In this house. Now I’m not even welcome here.”
Kassie sat on the edge of the waterbed. Silent.
“This isn’t fair.” If tears wouldn’t work, she’d appeal to Kassie’s better angels, if she had any. The least Karen could do was walk out of the house with some idea of what provisions Mike had made for her. She stepped up her game a notch. “None of this is fair. I’m the mother of Mike’s son, and Mike and I were going to marry soon, really soon.”
Still no reaction.
She went for the jugular. “And then he had to go and die—”
Kassie stood. “Listen, could you give me a hand here, please?” She invited Karen to help her choose the most flattering suit in which to bury Mike.
Not what Karen was going for, but she’d bite. She sucked up her crocodile tears. Kassie pulled out a suit and shirt and laid them gently across the bed, as if Mike were stuffed in them already. At long last they agreed on something—his dark blue suit and white shirt.
“The suit will match his eyes,” Karen said.
“His eyes will be closed.”
Oops. The word stupid rattled in Karen’s head.
Kassie seemed to let Karen’s gaffe slide, turning their attention to choosing the right tie. Karen slid a red silk tie off the rack of fifty or more. Kassie favored a mauve one. How ugly could she get? Karen scrunched her nose. Kassie must’ve gotten the message, ceding to Karen’s preference.
“Cufflinks. While I pick out cufflinks, Karen, why don’t you find his wingtips?”
Shoes? She gets to select jewelry, and I get shoes? Again, Karen did as she was asked, keeping an eagle eye on Kassie as she removed a small brown box from Mike’s top drawer and unlocked it with a key ring Karen recognized as Mike’s. After touching several small items, Kassie picked something she must’ve found suitable.
“These are the ones. I gave these to Mike when he launched the company. From Tiffany’s.” Kassie held them in the palm of her hand for Karen to view.
“Gold?”
“Yes, an M and an R.”
Almost on the verge of hyperventilating, Karen realized her bad timing had cost her dearly. If she’d found that box before Kassie arrived, she could’ve carried it right out of the house.
“You’re going to bury gold with him? Don’t they tell you not to do that?”
“Actually, he’s my husband, and technically, my cufflinks. They’ll let me do almost anything I want.” Kassie returned the jewelry box to where she’d found it. She slid open the bottom drawer of the armoire, lifted out what looked like a gray metal lockbox, and placed it on the bed now crowded with clothes.
Karen edged her way next to Kassie and watched her fumble with the keys. She tried one, and then another. The box opened, and Karen’s jaw and eyebrows moved in opposite directions.
“Old habits die hard,” Kassie mumbled as if Karen wasn’t within earshot. Without an ounce of surprise in her demeanor, Kassie counted the hundred-dollar bills. By Karen’s guesstimate, there must’ve been eight to ten thousand dollars in there. In a flash, Kassie peeled off a bunch and handed them to Karen.
“Here, Mike would want you to have this.” Kassie put the rest of the cash back in the box, locked it, and shoved it under her armpit. “Now let’s go. I think you’re about done here.”
But Karen wasn’t.
Damn it. Why hadn’t she let her fingers do a little walking through his personal space before now? Karen followed Kassie’s lead, scooping up an armful of clothes and heading downstairs. Kassie helped Karen out to her car.
“I stopped by the office earlier.” Karen attempted to change the focus from the dead to the living. “Bill was the only one there.”
“How’d that go?”
“Apparently you were right this morning. You’re the boss now.” Karen knew how to be a suck-up like the best of them when the situation warranted.
“Imagine that.”
“Um, Kassie, thanks for the money. But that’s not all, is it? Can’t be all. Bill mentioned Mike may have left something for me. And that you know the details.”
Kassie put her hand on Karen’s unwelcoming shoulder again. “Karen, I just gave you a thousand dollars. We just picked out the clothes Mike will be buried in. Now’s not the time to count chickens.” She paused. “After the funeral service, Karen. I’ll be here. Come see me.”
47
Déjà Vu All Over Again
There was no doubt in Kassie’s mind that Mike wouldn’t have taken issue with her appropriating the home office when she moved back in the house on Saturday. She could’ve just as easily justified giving Chris her office when he moved in next month, but some things are better left unchanged. Otherwise, the saying “déjà vu all over again” would be meaningless. As such, she’d maintain her digs. Chris could have Mike’s.
She sat in the desk chair she’d bought many moons ago, breathed in a lingering vanilla scent, plucked a latent cat hair off the desk lamp, and touched the photo of Topher she’d left behind. How could her life c
ome full circle in such a short period of time? So much had changed over the last year, especially over the last week, yet here she was, back where she’d started nearly thirty years ago.
Just four days before, Kassie woke up in Paris with an itch to scratch, and her pomegranate rash wasn’t the culprit.
Ambition. Ambition clawed her soul again that day. In her younger years, her passion was motherhood. An unceasing desire to have a child, be a good mother—to provide love, security, and happiness to a child in ways she’d rarely experienced. When Mike severed that hope along with their marriage, her dream lingered, remaining a secret wish tucked deep in her heart.
With almost nowhere else to turn, Kassie devoted excessive time and attention to her career. Her male colleagues labeled her ambitious, not as a compliment. Behind their backs, she gave them the finger and climbed the ladder anyway, almost but not quite to the tippy top.
Then came Christopher Gaines, and her emotions got the better of her. She spent untold hours daydreaming of waking up each morning with Chris. Once when Annie teased her about her obsession with him, she explained to her, in much too graphic detail, how if Annie spent just one night with him, she too would daydream her life away. The downside to all this lovey-doveyness was that she took her eye off the proverbial ball at work, applying most of her energy to hiding her love affair with Chris and, of course, at the same time, confronting her mother’s chronic illness and ultimate death.
Last year, just as she was about to break free of Mike, he turned the tables on her. He disrupted her divorce plans—not just by getting sick but by revealing long-held secrets of his past, including the straw that broke it all, his vasectomy. At the time, she was convinced her life had hit bottom, reached a new low. Until Karen introduced her to Charlie and Sarah Gaines, and she realized she’d had a five-year affair with her husband’s son.
She’d accept being called adulteress, even cougar. But stepmother to her lover? Call her inconsolable. If only Chris wasn’t Mike’s son. Oh, if only.
What’s Not True: A Novel Page 26
