I did not call him a demented leprechaun whose every choice is utterly unpredictable. He would have been insulted and that I can do without.
“Not as bold as you’d have everyone believe, are you, daughter mine? You too are all talk.” My father smiled for the world at large - most of which was watching with open interest - then chuckled to himself.
Dr. Moss shook her head and retreated to her office, my father bounced into the corridor.
“Mary Elizabeth, it must be love,” he murmured as we rode the elevator back to the lobby. “I cannot remember the last time I saw you shocked twice in an hour. I can’t wait to meet this man.”
“You’re wrong,” I told him and it had about as much effect as I expected.
In fact, he began to whistle.
“You’re wrong, Dad. You are so wrong.”
My father ignored me. And even if (if! IF!) I found myself in a relationship with a man with a dimple, my father would not be happy at all. No sirree. That would be an ugly little encounter, which was all the more reason to make sure it didn’t happen.
There was that sick feeling again. In fact, I was ready to barf a Twinkie - despite the fact that I hadn’t eaten one.
I tried to change the subject. “I take it this means that you had good news from the doctor?
“She says I shall live to be a hundred.”
“And what’s the good news?”
“Cheek and more cheek,” he charged, but there was no mistaking his relief.
And yes, okay, it relieved me too, even if he wasn’t keen to let me in on the details. Having him around is a habit. “So, what else have you got going this week? Any more appointments?”
“One.” My father’s chest puffed with pride.
“Hot date?”
“I’m going fishing with the boys on Sunday.” He walked a little quicker in anticipation. “You see, one daughter did the right thing and gave me grandchildren to spoil. You might take a lesson there, Mary Elizabeth.”
“Or I might not.”
He chuckled. “Talk to your new man. Maybe he wants children.”
“Oh, that’s encouraging. The opinion of a nonexistent person outweighs mine, just because the fictional person is a man. Hello, Dad, welcome to the twenty-first century.”
“Some things, Mary Elizabeth, never change.”
There was nothing I could say to that.
But I was going to talk to James. In fact, I was going to hunt him down right now and make sure my dad’s interests were defended.
My father adored his grandsons and there nothing, nothing, that was going to stand in the way of his right to see them. Not even my sister’s abandoning them. I had to get to James’ office and straighten this out between us toute de suite.
God bless Marcia for screwing up my day. Hey, maybe I’d be able to get some sleep this afternoon before working my night shift.
A woman can dream, can’t she?
My father just about bounced up the steps to the house, but I declined a cup of tea, and headed back downtown to the offices of Coxwell & Coxwell.
And no, it wasn’t just a mercy mission executed unselfishly. It wasn’t even a rationalization. Daylight is dangerous stuff. Handle with extreme care. Maybe James wouldn’t look good at all. Maybe that dimple would be in remission. Maybe seeing him in his lawyerly digs doing lawyerly things would make me hate him on principle, just as I had for so long.
It was worth a shot.
Even if the very prospect of seeing him again made me break a light sweat o’ the palms. I even said a small prayer - first time in a long time - that my dad wasn’t right.
* * *
Subject: no good loving
Dear Aunt Mary -
My SO and I used to have a great sex life - now nada. I’m worried that he’s going to shopping elsewhere.
What should I do?
Chaste and hating it
–-
Subject: re: no good loving
Dear Chaste -
Variety is the spice of good sex. The thrill of discovery is gone so you need to add another thrill instead.
There are lots to choose from. Do it in an elevator. Swap fantasies and act them out. Be playful. Be indulgent. Don’t be daunted by the occasional failure. And be sensible - adding new partners, for example, should include condoms and blood tests.
Sadly, you don’t get a lifetime of great sex for free. You have to work at sexual fulfillment, even with your soul mate and significant other.
A rotten job, but someone has to do it. ;-D
Enjoy!
Aunt Mary
***
Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!
Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:
http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com
The man did his best to help with my mission to find him unattractive. James glanced up when I was shown into his office, his expression quickly turning frosty.
That was not a change for the better. In fact, he looked royally pissed off even before he saw me, and my appearance did zip to improve the view.
So far, so good.
James’ brow was furrowed and he was wearing his reading glasses. He had been scowling at a document and nearly flattened me with his cutting glance.
“Well, this is an event.” He didn’t take off his glasses, which I assumed was a more upscale way of saying ‘don’t let the door hit you in the ass’.
“Yeah, not my usual territory.” I took the seat opposite his desk, mostly because he looked as if he’d rather I didn’t.
James sighed with such forbearance that I couldn’t miss it, then nodded minutely at his hovering secretary. She hesitated before she left, a subtle combination of clues to let me know that me - and my kind, whatever that was - were unwelcome here.
You’d think she’d have seen enough streetwise disreputables around this place.
I wondered what that prim and proper miss would have done if I had lunged across the mahogany acreage of James’ desk. Attacked him. Or kissed him, depending on my mood.
There is something wicked in me, just as my father maintains, something that prods me to challenge people’s expectations.
The problem was that this particular array of expectations prodded me to be gracious, to outgrace their obvious expectation of vulgarity. Dull, dull, dull. Suspicious people are zero fun.
“Your hair is even the same color as the last time I saw you,” James continued, with no improvement in tone. “That’s got to be a first.”
“I only change it once a day.” I smiled sunnily and he watched me, wary. “You lucky beast, you’ve seen me twice in a 24 hour period.”
James did not look as if he felt lucky. He sat down. He templed his fingers so that his fingertips touched his lips and assessed me in silence. He was as well dressed as he had the night before, and only looked slightly tired. A few lines around the eyes, but otherwise good enough to eat. A Ralph Lauren ad in 3-D. Zero dimple action but it mattered less than I’d expected.
Must be the cologne. That stuff shouldn’t be legal. I inhaled and enjoyed. Hugo Boss Number One, unless the ol’ nose was losing it. Yum dee yum.
James studied me, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he would compel all my dirty secrets to come spilling out with just that look.
As if.
“The question is, why?” He spoke softly, probably a deliberate ploy to encourage the ready exchange of confidences. I was tempted, for the barest moment, to confide something, anything.
Maybe it would make him look away.
Or make me feel less like fidgeting.
What? You’re surprised that I have secrets? Come on! Doesn’t everyone? And yes, I had a few that I didn’t want Mr. James Coxwell to know.
The really primo ones.
So I smiled, as coolly as I could - which is pretty damn cool, in case you aren’t sure - and held his gaze unswervingly. The thing was, my Cayman’s theory wasn’t holding up well to my own scrutiny or the cruel light of day, though it h
ad sounded perfectly plausible in the wee hours.
If James had been going, he would have gone. And if he had been the one behind the scheme, then why would Marcia have left? We both have enough Irish scrappiness in us to fight for what’s ours.
If anything, she would have snagged his plane ticket and dragged him along to withdraw goodies from those bank accounts.
But what the hell.
“It’s this Cayman thing,” I said conversationally. Truth was, he looked like an icon of respectability in this mahogany-paneled and book-lined cave. A pillar of the community and all that jazz. But then, weren’t they usually the ones with big nasty secrets?
James blinked, a telling sign that the theory stunk.
I leaned forward and tapped a finger on the desk. In for a penny, in for a pound. Surprising him might yield an information bonus or two. “You’re not going to get away with it. If you think I can’t outsmart you on this, then you’re dead wrong…”
An indulgent smile crossed his lips. “Am I supposed to know what the hell you’re talking about?”
“I’ve figured out your big plan.”
“I’ve planned nothing lately.” He grimaced. “I’m just slugging along, dealing with everyone else’s expectations.”
Fact was, the man looked too tired to have planned lunch, but like a dog with a bone, I wasn’t ready to let this go. I liked this scenario. It appealed to my taste for melodrama and plot twists. I wasn’t going to abandon it without a fight. Doesn’t everyone want to live a Grisham movie? I’ll be Julia Roberts and you be Denzel Washington. Or Tom Cruise. You choose.
“Poor baby,” I tut-tutted. “I suppose I should feel sorry for you and cut you enough slack to make a run for it.”
“A run for it?”
“A great escape to the Caymans, with all the cash and without my sister. Boys in tow. I’ll bet you’ve got a cabana booked on the beach, and a fridge full of fruity drinks.”
He pinched his brow and leaned back in his chair. “God, that sounds good.” He closed his eyes and I briefly saw just how stressed he was.
Before I could feel sorry for him, he abruptly opened his eyes and if I hadn’t known him better, I might have thought there was a twinkle lurking there. It’s official that the man has no sense of humor. “When am I going?”
“You’re the one with the answers. I’m the one with the questions.” I let my tone turn patronizing, because I guessed it would drive him nuts. “I understand that’s not your usual way of operating, so let’s keep the rules straight.”
A whisper of a smile touched his lips. “Okay, shoot.”
“Where’d the money go?”
The smile was banished immediately and he got that hawkish look. “What money?”
“All of the money. The cashed-in 401(k)’s. The windfall from refinancing the house. Your income for the past eight months. Where’d you stash it? I’m sure you stuck some on the cards to make it look good, but where’s the rest?”
He sat forward, eyes snapping. “How the hell do you know about that?”
I shrugged. “Maybe my sister told me.”
“Fat chance. She never knew.” James knew instantly that he had acknowledged something, because he sat back in evident disgust with himself. He spun in his chair and clicked his tongue, choosing his next move with care as he studied me and tried to decide how much I could possibly know.
This was interesting. “If you know about the money, then you know where it went.”
I nodded, feigning confidence in my theory. Worst case, he’d correct me and I’d know the truth. “Numbered bank accounts. Cayman Islands. High profile lawyers. Some of these things belong together.” I snapped my fingers. “Hey, isn’t it time for your annual sojourn to the Caribbean?”
To my astonishment, James laughed.
I stared. I’ve never seen him laugh and this one came right from his gut. He howled. It was not at all encouraging that when he started to compose himself, he glanced at me and started again. He even wiped away a tear. I wondered whether it was my imagination that there was a tinge of desperation to what should have been a merry sound.
Then he turned on me, dead sober. “If only it was that easy.”
“Everything’s easy for a man in your shoes.”
“Is that right?” He spoke with remarkable calm, a warning if ever there was one. To my surprise, he flicked the document he was reading across the desk to me.
I blinked.
“Read it.”
I did. It was the paperwork for a divorce.
His and Marcia’s divorce.
Oooo, the plot thickens. “So what?” I flung it back on his desk but he didn’t move to touch it. “That’s hardly news.”
“Check the date. And the instigating party.”
I hate when men do stuff like this. When they know something you don’t and make you look like a jerk when you find out. I had a feeling that that was what was going down, but figured I might as well find out the worst.
I looked.
Marcia had made the petition. Good golly me. And her signature was dated eight months ago. Eight months. The ink was apparently still wet on James’ signature, neatly dated this very day.
“That’s more than you need to know,” he said, clearly ready to brush me off like a fly. “Isn’t it time you left?”
I don’t brush off like a fly. “No, it isn’t.” I settled in. “What took her so long?”
“Thank you very much,” James murmured and I blushed.
“That’s not what I meant. She just left yesterday.”
James sighed and spun in his chair. I waited. “We’ve been living under the same roof for years,” he said finally, his voice tired. “Marcia wanted to end it. I thought it would be better for the boys if we held on for a few more years.” He shrugged. Although he spoke dispassionately, he looked like a guy who had had the rug pulled out from under him and didn’t like having fallen on his ass. I tried really hard to not feel sorry for him. “I guess Marcia didn’t agree.”
“Maybe there’s someone else.”
“Maybe.” James didn’t appear to care, but then, I was starting to see that he was as good at hiding his feelings as I am.
“And the money?”
“I think you know enough of my business.” James’ gaze turned steely as he retrieved the document, folded it precisely and placed it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
His expression was grim and formidable, and he held my gaze as if I was the one challenging him. It was done, his marriage was over and his wife was gone, and he looked as if it was no more troubling than having loaded up the dishwasher for the day.
And that made me mad. For better or for worse, my sister had spent eighteen years married to this guy and when she wanted out, he wouldn’t listen, because it wasn’t convenient.
“No. No, I don’t know enough. And I don’t believe you, documentation to the contrary. It doesn’t add up. Where were you yesterday? I may not know much about law, but being a member of the Massachusetts Bar can’t get you anything in California. Where were you, really?”
James assessed me carefully, clearly deciding how much to tell me. He evidently concluded that he’d have to cough up a bit more to get rid of me. “Not officially, but connections can help.”
“Is that supposed to answer my question?”
He sat back, eyes narrowed. “Did you ever meet my brother Zach?”
“No. Wait. Isn’t he the one that Marcia didn’t want alone with the boys?”
James nodded. “That would be Zach, the family black sheep.”
“I thought he went off to Europe or something.” It was coming back to me now. “To be a photographer.”
“He did. But he ran out of money, fiscal responsibility never having been one of his strengths, and came home just long enough to touch us all for a contribution. Matt and Philippa and I only realized that we’d all been hit after Zach was gone.”
“Isn’t that what family is for?”
&nb
sp; “To Zach, at least. He went west and found trouble in record time. But then, that seems to be his gift.”
There was something important here but I was going to have to do the math myself. “Why didn’t Marcia want him near the boys?”
“Zach has a taste for pot,” James said matter-of-factly. “He’s not only a user, but he often deals in a small way. He’s done it for years but has a gift for landing on his feet. He’s unbelievably good at escaping the consequences of what he does. Marcia and I agreed about him not spending time alone with the boys.”
“But California?”
“An unusually close call for Zach. He was busted in a speed trap with a goodly stash. But again, he’s lucky. Turns out that the DA presiding over that jurisdiction was in my graduating class.”
“You went to bat for him.” I was impressed by this, by the way, as I didn’t think James Coxwell did much of anything that wasn’t to his personal advantage. It wasn’t logical to do favors for your blood, it was sentimental. His next words proved my suspicions that he had mixed feelings.
“Against my better judgment.” James sighed and frowned. “I don’t think he’ll change. In fact, one of these days, he’s going to run out of lives. But he is my brother, for better or for worse.”
“The same way that Marcia is your wife, for better or for worse.”
“Not for long now.” James was doubly grim and I couldn’t resist the urge to needle his sanctimonious self. Enough of the ‘surrounded by sinners’ shtick.
“Oh, did my sister hurt your feewings, and weeve a booboo on your heart-ums? Poor Jimmy wimmy. What about her feelings? Maybe you failed her but not being the guy of her dreams, hmm?”
I got a glare for that impertinence. “Marcia broke a covenant.”
I raised my hands skyward. “And the divine vengeance of Coxwell & Coxwell, and the entire legal system of the state of Massachusetts, must be unleashed upon this Jezebel who dared to defy the authority of her man. How dare this witch disagree with the spoken word of her husband?” I leaned back, crossed my legs and wished I had a cigarette. It would have looked so good in this moment. “Give me a break.”
Double Trouble Page 6
