See You in September : The Refuge Series Book One

by Debbie Zello

  He was grinning as he placed it on his nightstand where he could see it before he went to sleep and then again, first thing when he woke up. Yes, he was a sap, but when you’re in love, as a rule, you tend to do sappy things.

  “Are you still naked? I’m going to have a claim for sexual harassment. It’s against the law for me to have to look at this,” she said, gesturing up and down with her hand. “All day.”

  “Some might argue it’s not a bad eye full, you know. It could be worse, with a potbelly and boobs to match. And you’re in my bedroom. And if that’s coffee you have in your hand, I might just kiss you. Where will we be then?”

  “It is coffee and if you kiss me, I’ll knee you in that…thing,” she said gesturing again. “And it won’t be pretty anymore.”

  “You just called my thing pretty. It’s manly, huge, scary, or demanding, but never and I repeat never, pretty.”

  “Just get dressed before I knock you out!” she said, handing him the coffee and leaving.

  Dressed, he went to the kitchen for more coffee. As he poured it, he thought of Cheri’s orgasmic blend and smiled. “What is that hamster thing on your nightstand?” Naomi asked.

  “A present from a friend.”

  “A kinky friend?”

  “No, why?”

  “You know what they do with hamsters, right?” she said raising her eyebrow.

  “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,” he said honestly.

  “Google it. When you’re sitting down,” she said handing him a stack of mail. “This is what’s left after I threw out all of the junk. There’s nothing earth shattering if you want to wait until the weekend to go through it. You have a meeting on Friday with the new crew and actors for the Yukon thing. And next Monday with the script writer.”

  “Fuck! I still haven’t read that. I guess I know what my weekend is going to be,” he said.

  “You were supposed to read that while you were gone. What happened?”

  “I was preoccupied with something,” he said, smiling at his memories.

  “Something or someone? By the look on your face, I’m going with the latter. Who is she?”

  “Her name is Cheri. She owns the cottage next door to the one I rented.”

  “You’re the only person I know that would own a big, mother effing house on the beach, and rents a tiny one next door. What kind of hamster-lover does that?”

  “Call me strange, but not to my face,” he said, with a chuckle.

  “So is she an actor or what?”

  “Nope! She’s a real woman, smart and talented,” he said with a far off dreamy look on his face.

  “Oh…My…God…you love her, Gareth! When is she moving in?”

  “She’s an East Coast girl. She owns a home and has a great job. That won’t happen.”

  “So you’re going to let some forty states separate you? There has to be some other way, Gareth?”

  “Sometimes things are what they are, Naomi. Will you call the real-estate for me and rent the cottage for the month of September next year?”

  “Why? You can stay with her or use that monstrosity that’s already there, right?”

  “I want the cottage. We had the whole beach to ourselves. If I don’t rent it, someone else might.”

  Cheri finished the first week back. Saturday morning, she hung the plastic framed windows over the real windows and secured them. She shut off the water to the outdoor shower and drained it.

  Sunday, she insulated the sides of the foundation, and put the slats of wood against it nailing it back in its winter place. The last thing was changing out the screen door for the glass one. By the time she went to bed, her back, legs, and arms were killing her.

  It was a good thing Monday was very busy, with two closings and several appointments in-between. That didn’t give her much time to think about seeing David the next day.

  Unfortunately, Tuesday came far too quickly anyway. She decided to dress entirely in black, a small homage to her dead marriage. She arrived at the courthouse and parked. As she approached the steps, she looked up to see David standing near the door. He had the audacity to smile. Cheri did not.

  “You look beautiful, darling. Not that you didn’t always look so, but today you’re glowing. Please tell me it’s because of me,” David said trying to take her hand.

  “Not a chance, David. We shouldn’t be talking and you know it. The other side could argue that you were coaching me,” Cheri said, vituperatively. “Naturally, I would love that.”

  “Now, now my lovely. Can’t we put things behind us?” he asked.

  “I have, David. I never think of you. In my mind, the David I knew died that day. I don’t know who you are nor do I have any interest in finding out. You’re making me relive it, and for that, I actually hate you. Happy now?” she said pushing past him to the door.

  Cheri took a seat in the hall. She had no interest as to what the charges against him were, nor did she care what happened to him. She would go in, tell the truth, and leave. It only took a few minutes before she was called in.

  Cheri’s heels clicked on the wooden floor all the way to the witness chair. She turned to face the judge. “Good morning, Your Honor.” It always did well to acknowledge the judge.

  “Good morning, Miss Gates,” he replied. She didn’t correct him as she knew she was going to state her name in a minute.

  “Will you please state your full name, address and occupation for the reporter?” David’s counsel said. Cheri complied, dropping David’s name from hers. She noted his eyebrow raise when she spoke. Then she was sworn in and seated.

  David’s attorney stood and said, “Good morning Miss Winslow. I’m John North and I’m very pleased to meet you.” Cheri waited for a question, as this was not a social gathering. “Do you know the defendant, Mr. Gates?”

  David gave her his “gotcha smile” the bastard. She had just told him she didn’t know him. “I know Mr. Gates.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I was married to him and we were partners in our practice,” she said in an even voice.

  “When you married him and entered the practice with him did you know him to be an honorable man?” he said.

  The double bastard was still smiling. She thought how she could best form her answer. “Yes, Mr. North. I was deceived into believing that he was an honorable man. Unfortunately, that didn’t prove true in my case,” she said watching David’s smile disappear.

  “Miss Winslow, what you are referring to has to do with your divorce and not your business dealings with your husband. Is that not correct?”

  “An honorable man is honorable in all things, Mr. North. What he did to me personally, in our marriage, has everything to do with how he conducted himself in his business. Would you trust a man who cheats on his wife with your business?” she said smiling at David.

  “I’m not here to answer your questions, Miss Winslow. Were you ever aware of any discrepancies in your client’s accounts?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever take any money from your client’s accounts?”

  “Absolutely not. I had nothing to do with disbursements. Every check was signed by David and counter-signed by the office manager.”

  “So if I showed you checks that have your signature on them, what would you say to that?” he said smugly. Cheri’s eyes shot to David who sat there glaring at her.

  “I would say that they are forgeries.” Mr. North took out of a folder several pages.

  Looking up from them he said,” May I approach the witness?”

  “You may,” the judge said. Cheri’s blood ran cold. No lawyer worth his salt ever asked a question of a witness that he didn’t already know the answer to. He handed her the papers that she immediately looked at. Six checks of varying amounts of money. Cheri quickly tallied them to around five-hundred thousand dollars. All of them with her signature on them.

  “Has that refreshed your memory, Miss Winslow?”

 
“No, it certainly has not. As I said, I have never signed a check. Never!” she said, emphatically.

  “Are those signatures yours?” he asked.

  “No. They are a forgery.”

  “Maybe you simply forgot you signed them. Got busy and then it slipped your mind.”

  “I don’t know how many ways you want me to say this, but let me be perfectly clear. I did not, ever, sign any checks. I had nothing to do with clients’ accounts. I never took any money, period!” she said seething.

  “Were you present at the purchases of both your main house and your beach house?” he said, continuing his questioning.

  “Yes.”

  “And how were those houses paid for, Miss Winslow?”

  “I’m not sure. David handled all of our finances throughout our marriage.”

  “You were at the closings. Didn’t you read what you were signing?” he asked. Great, now she felt even more stupid than she had ever felt. She didn’t read anything.

  “I refer back to my answer to your third question, Mr. North. I thought him to be an honorable man. He had read everything and I signed it, unread.”

  “Is that a wise thing to do?”

  “When you’re in love, Mr. North, there are a whole lot of things you do that are unwise. One is marrying a man who cheats. The second is to sign papers you haven’t read, and the third would be to trust him to not screw you over. I am guilty of being a terrible judge of character and nothing more,” she said defeated.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cheri asked Piper to cancel all of her afternoon appointments. She went for a long walk, trying to work off the rage, but in the end, it was still there. She got home, opened a bottle of wine, and didn’t stop drinking it until it was empty, figuring that might help. She was in deep shit. Covered in it. Deep, steaming, smelly, sticky, shit.

  Gareth read the script over the weekend. His friend Jess was right; it was a great story and would make a wonderful movie. He decided to throw his weight behind it as soon as his Canadian shoot was over.

  He and Tucker had managed to bring the running time of his movie down to one-hundred-sixty-two minutes and he was satisfied with that. Anything around one-eighty was the kiss of death for a movie unless it was an epic, like Titanic or Gone With The Wind.

  Films are geared to the bladders of its watchers. Most people can sit for three hours without needing to go use the restroom. If a picture is longer than that and they have to leave it, they are very upset at having to miss ten minutes or so. The movie gets terrible reviews because of it. Make a good film and keep it under the time of death and you’ll have a winner at the box office. “I think that’s it, Tucker. You did it again!” Gareth said, glad it was over.

  “I’m glad you’re happy with it. I’ll run the credits, clean everything up a bit, and get it over to the studio for the rest.”

  “Thanks. I have a few days and then I’m off to Manitoba and Saskatchewan for six to eight weeks. God, I hate the cold. What was I thinking doing a sled-dog romance?”

  “Beats me. Except you can’t film that in the summer. So you’re stuck with a winter filming.”

  “Seems so. Do you have plans for the evening? I’ve done nothing but work since I got back. I’m thinking there won’t be much to do in the snow up north. So, I’d better get in some entertainment this week.”

  “I’m thinking The Hideout. I want to avoid the usual at Winston’s. A little less drama is in order.”

  “Sounds good. Around nine?” Tucker asked.

  “That’s good.”

  The best thing about The Hideout was you didn’t have to be dressed like a model to get in. And you didn’t have to come covered in them either. Some of the trendy clubs won’t let a single guy in unless he’s Leonardo. You have to show up with a passel of beautiful women to even be considered for entrance.

  Then there are the clubs that you need to have tickets for in advance, unless you’re Lindsey. While Gareth and Tucker could hold their own in the looks department, actors were far more recognizable than directors and editors. An actor looking to be discovered might know who Gareth is but the guy at the door won’t.

  The two friends met at the door and simply walked in. It took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the dark. It’s called the Hideout because it looks from the outside like a beach shack and on the inside; it’s so dark you can’t see but two feet in front of you.

  Gareth is partial to the place because the women who frequent it are more likely happy on a volleyball court as anywhere else. They were more athletes than starlets. It was refreshing.

  The two men found an empty booth, ordered their drinks, and settled in. The music was soft and in the background. Because they had work to do, they hadn’t really discussed their lives in the last week or so. “When are you going to tell me about this woman you met?” Tucker asked.

  “Cheri is great. Really great. She had no clue who I was or what I did. She made fun of my house saying it made up for being hung like a hamster. She’s smart, gorgeous, and sexy,” Gareth said, with a sigh that thankfully Tucker didn’t hear. He would have ridden him hard if he had.

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  “Next September. I’m renting the same cottage again. We have plans to be there together.”

  “Is this serious? Are we talking white dress and gold rings?” Tucker said honing in on the important question.

  “It could be, except for the fact that she lives in Massachusetts and I live in California. I’m good, but not that good!”

  “If there’s a will there’s a way. What about her moving here?”

  “She’s an attorney with a practice. If she came here, she’d have to pass the California bar and start all over again. Let’s face it; out here, it’s all about connections. I can help her with that, but…I don’t know if she is even interested in being with me.”

  Cheri was lying on the couch facing the fireplace. She had opened a second bottle of wine. She had a very good buzz going on. She had taken out a project to work on a few days ago, an old wooden picture frame that she had found in her weekly pick at the town garage.

  The frame had a photo in it of a man that was a cross between Harrison Ford and Kevin Costner. She studied him for a few minutes before asking, “What’s your name, sir?” Naturally, there was no answer.

  “What did you say? You don’t have one. Fine, I’ll call you Mr. World. How’s that? It’s settled, Mr. World. I have a few questions, Mr. World. How do you defend yourself against something that you clearly know you didn’t do, when all of the evidence is to the contrary? Well?” She tapped her finger against her glass.

  “So you don’t know either. How do I get mixed up in these things? I give to charities. I do pro-bono work. I keep to myself out here on the beach not bothering anyone. I need more wine. Want some, Mr. World? No?” She poured another glass.

  “I met a wonderful man. His name is Gareth. You’d like him, Mr. World. He has the most amazing butt I’ve ever seen. What’s that you say? I know I haven’t seen many. His was spectacular. It was connected to this strong, muscular back and that was joined to shoulders to die for. His arms could fold me into them and hold me, peacefully.

  “His chest and stomach looked like the marble statues in museums, except even better. I teased him about being hung like a hamster but that was before I saw the real thing. Does it sound nasty to say it is more like a horse? Horses must have big ones, right? You look like you should know that answer, Mr. World. Now out with it? Fine, I’ve never had a man be so quiet. Your wife must love you! HA HA HA, I’m funny!

  “Anyway he left to go back to his life and left me here to enjoy mine. I should tell you about my ex, David. I haven’t figured out yet how he did it, but he has checks that I signed. I’m in big trouble over that. That Marshall is going to come back and this time he’ll have a paper joining me to the suit against David. He wants to take me down with him. What’s that? I’m stupid. You got that right. With a capital S.

/>   “I should start to save boxes from work. I’ll need to pack. I won’t be living here much longer. I’m going to lose my cottage over there, the white one. Gareth used to tease me about that.” The tears began to roll down her face again.

  She said very quietly, “I wish he were here. Not to save me or bail me out. Just to hold me in those arms and kiss me. I wonder how cold the water is…if I could swim out far enough…I could be something’s dinner…”

  Cheri woke with a start, sitting up quickly. Her alarm was blaring out Dream On by Arrowsmith, right at the screaming part. Her head spun. She was sure someone had shit in her mouth and left it there. Her brain was several sizes too large for her skull and was currently pulsing. Her vision was blurred probably because her eyes were only open a slit as the sun was shining through the window. Her eyes fell on the picture frame as she said, “I blame you for all of this!”

  Gareth left for the Canadian shoot ready for whatever came his way. He stepped off the plane and directly into winter. Renting an SUV for the duration of the shoot, he drove the seventy-miles to the location in the small town of Gods River.

  Gods River was in the Manto Sipi Cree Nation. They would be staying at the Gods River Lodge, which was well known for having the best fly-fishing in the entire area. The lodge was rustic, with fish trophies mounted on every wall. The rooms were neat and at this time of year, empty. Taking over everything for the shoot was a welcome intrusion.

  The cast and crew met for the first time in the dining room for a welcome dinner. Gareth, being the director of the project, also assumed the direction of the evening. “Welcome everyone to what I’m sure will be a coldly stimulating experience. I’ve assigned room six as our make-up room and seven as wardrobe. Breakfast is at 5 AM. Be on the set by 8 AM. Those of you who have had the displeasure of working with me before will attest to the fact that I do dock you for holding us up. If I can be here, so can you.