by Jane Graves
Then she looked around the room. Her mother was beaming. Uncle Burt was giving her a thumbs-up. Aunt Bev looked positively ill. Regina’s mouth hung open in shock. Grandpa Henry was eating a handful of Cheez Doodles, but nothing ever got his attention.
The words just wouldn’t come out of Heather’s mouth. All she could do was stand there in a daze, staring at her family staring back at her. Like sounds muffled underwater that she could barely make out, she heard Tony telling her mother thanks for the offer of cheesecake and coffee, but they were going to decline.
“But you must be hungry,” her mother said. “They couldn’t have fed you anything decent on the plane.”
“Barbara,” Aunt Sylvia said with a raised eyebrow. “They want to be alone.”
Tony gave Aunt Sylvia a confirming smile and wink, and she tittered like a Japanese schoolgirl. Regina’s jaw fell the rest of the way to the floor. Heather’s mother smiled like a woman with visions of baby booties dancing in her head.
Say it, Heather told herself. Tell them the truth. Tell them he’s not really your husband, that he just played one in Vegas.
But then Tony was hustling her out the door, and her tongue was still in a knot, and it wasn’t until they got inside his car and the doors were closed that she found her voice again.
“What the hell was that?” she said. “I thought you wanted me to tell them the truth!”
“I thought about it, and I realized there’s no need. At least not right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here’s the plan,” Tony said. “We can wait until after Regina’s wedding. By then the heat will be off. We can tell everyone it just didn’t work out. By then our annulment will be official, but as far as everyone else will know, we just got a quiet divorce. You can even tell them you’re the one calling it quits.”
“What in the world is that going to accomplish?”
“You said it yourself. You don’t want to stand up at the front of that church with everybody pitying you. This way, you don’t have to. If we wait a month, it means this was a real marriage. We meant to do it. Telling them after a month that we really aren’t compatible is way better than telling them we barely remember getting married in the first place.”
Heather drew back. “Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Come on, Heather. Do you really want to go back in there now and say, ‘He got drunk and married me, and now he wants out’?”
“No, but—”
“Do you really want to tell your mother how blasted you had to get to do something this nuts?”
“No, but—”
“If we wait a month, you can give that nasty cousin of yours a big smile and a wink and say, ‘Our marriage might not have worked out, but it sure was fun while it lasted.’” He grinned. “See? Big difference.”
“Yes, but—”
“Then it’s settled. Staying married for a month really isn’t that big a—”
“Tony!”
He stopped short. “What?”
“Did you ever stop to think that your brilliant plan just might have a tiny flaw?”
“Flaw?”
Heather’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse and answered it. “Mom? We just left. What’s up?” She listened for a moment. “Uh . . . yeah. Okay. I’ll get back to you on that.” A pause. “Yes. I’ll call you later. I promise.”
She hung up the phone, her hand falling limply to her lap.
“What was that?”
Heather turned slowly to face him. “My mother wants your address.”
“My address? Why would she want my—” He stopped short, his eyes widening. “Does she think we’re going to be living together?”
“Of course she does! We’re married! Are you telling me that didn’t even dawn on you?”
“Oh,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I’m guessing that’s the flaw?”
“I was all set to tell them the truth, and now everything’s a big, fat mess all over again. How could you do this?”
“But your mother will never know we’re not living together.”
“Oh, yes, she will.”
“No. If your parents come by your place and wonder where I am, you can just tell them I ran an errand or something. They’ll never know the truth.”
“Nope. I’m pretty sure they’ll know you’re not living with me.”
“How?”
“How?” Heather said, her voice escalating. “Because I’m living with them!”
He drew back. “You still live with your parents?”
“I don’t still live with them! My apartment lease was up. I want to buy a condo, but I haven’t found one yet. In the meantime, I’m staying with them.” She reached for the door handle.
“Wait a minute,” Tony said, grabbing her arm. “Where are you going?”
“To tell them the truth like I should have done in the first place. Of course, after your Oscar-winning performance in the role of my loving husband, I’m really going to look like a fool.”
“No. You don’t have to tell them.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Will you take it easy?”
“Will you stop saying that? The last time I took it easy, I ended up married!”
“Here’s plan B. I have a spare bedroom. Just stay with me until after Regina’s wedding.”
She stared at him dumbly. “What did you say?”
“As soon as I close the deal tomorrow, I’ll be at the bar most of the time. We’ll barely even see each other. If anyone comes by, we can pretend to be happy newlyweds.” He shrugged. “Problem solved.”
“Problem solved? Me living with a man I don’t know for a month solves the problem?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Is there anything that’s a big deal for you?”
“Buying the bar. That was a big deal. You helped me with that, and now I’m helping you with this.”
“You caused this!”
He grinned. “Which is all the more reason I should help you with it.”
She held up her palm. “Look, I know in your own convoluted way, you’re just trying to be nice, but I can’t live with you for a month. That would be weird.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you mean ‘weird’ in the nicest way possible.”
She bowed her head with a groan of frustration. For all her protesting, if she went back in there now, she really was going to look pitiful. She pictured Regina’s snarky face. Imagined tears rolling down her mother’s cheeks. Saw the horribly geeky blind dates lining up at her door from now through eternity.
She had to deal with this sooner or later. But with her head still pounding and her mind muddled from lack of sleep, later sounded much better than sooner.
“I don’t even know you,” Heather said.
“We got to know each other pretty well last night.”
“Hey, there’ll be no more of that, so don’t even think—”
“Roommates. That’s all we’ll be.” He started the car.
“Wait a minute. I haven’t said yes.”
“But you haven’t said no.”
“Tony—”
“What’s the matter?” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Are you afraid to live with me?”
She blinked. “Afraid?”
“You don’t trust yourself. That’s the problem. For all this talk about no more ‘getting to know each other,’ you’re afraid you can’t keep your hands off me.”
She started to bite back, only to see a sly smile inching its way across his mouth. She sagged with resignation. “You never quit, do you?”
“Look, Heather. I went to Vegas and ended up with twenty thousand dollars. All you got was a hell of a hangover and a husband you didn’t ask for. Letting you live with me until the heat dies down is the least I can do.”
This man scrambled her brain until she couldn’t think straight to save her life. She felt as if she were sinking in quicksand, and ev
ery effort she made to grab on to something to pull herself out only made her sink that much deeper.
But when she glanced back at the house, she had the feeling Tony was right. A real wedding that didn’t work out sounded a whole lot better than a drunken mistake. And the truth was that she’d loved the look of amazement on Regina’s face when Tony kissed her. That was petty and small and ill-advised in every way, but still it made Heather feel good right down to her toenails.
“Okay,” she said. “Sure. Why not? If I was crazy enough to marry you, why shouldn’t I be crazy enough to move in with you?”
“Exactly,” Tony said, as if he’d missed the sarcasm, which of course he hadn’t. “What about your stuff?”
“I don’t want to go back in there now. I’ll do it tomorrow. I have all the stuff I need for now in the suitcase I took to Vegas. Most of my stuff is in storage until I find a new place to live, so I have just a few things to get, anyway.”
As Tony pulled away from the curb, Heather told herself everything was going to be all right. In a month, Regina’s wedding would be over, they’d have their annulment, and they could tell everyone they were parting amicably.
Our marriage might not have worked out, but it sure was fun while it lasted.
With the right voice inflection, she could sell that. She could make herself out to be everything she wasn’t: a hot single girl who’d had a whirlwind romance, lived it up, and was now moving on to her next adventure. For once in her life, that was who she wanted to be, not poor, plain, pitiful Heather who couldn’t get a man to save her life.
Chapter 7
As they pulled into Tony’s apartment complex, Heather let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d felt uptight all the way there, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. What if he lived in a slum? What if criminals lived next door? What if she was going to be living someplace she wouldn’t even think of going after dark, or maybe even in the daytime?
But this seemed okay. Red brick. Black shutters. Recent paint. Grounds well-kept. Late-model cars in the parking lot. It was nice. She could stay here. She could do this. Then she followed Tony into his apartment.
How had a tornado trashed only his place without destroying the rest of the apartment complex?
Newspapers were strewn on the sofa. A pair of tattered jeans and a shirt were thrown over the back of a dining room chair. Bills and ad circulars were scattered across the dining room table. A big plastic bowl sat on the coffee table, empty except for a few popcorn kernels in the bottom. An overflowing laundry basket sat on the floor beside the sofa, and she had no idea if its contents were clean or dirty. Possibly both.
The fireplace was nice, with a raised hearth and a mantel inset with emerald green tile, but it looked as if it had never been used except as a place to stack old issues of Hot Rod and Sports Illustrated. The walls were empty. Nothing decorative. Nothing homey. No pictures, no photographs, no nothing.
And the kitchen. She couldn’t see all of it from the living room, but she saw the trash can. The overflowing trash can. A little shiver of ick slithered down her spine.
The only pristine thing she saw was a plasma TV the size of a Times Square billboard, which completed the picture to make Tony’s apartment every cliché of bachelorhood all rolled into one. Heather knew there had to be a decent apartment beneath all the mess, but it would take somebody with a hell of an imagination to see it, and she’d never been all that imaginative.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” she told him.
“Watch it. I know sarcasm when I hear it.” Tony wheeled his suitcase against a wall and smacked down the handle. “I like the ‘lived in’ look.”
“Is that what this is?”
“I should have known. You’re a neat freak, aren’t you?”
“There’s nothing freaky about being neat.”
“Other women who come here don’t seem to mind.”
“Well, there’s a fetish I’ve never heard of. You sleep with blind women.”
“They’re not looking at the décor,” he said with a smile. “They’re too busy looking at me.”
Egomaniac.
He grabbed her suitcase. “Come on. I’ll show you to the Presidential Suite.”
He led her to his spare bedroom. Boxes were scattered everywhere. A beat-up dresser sat along one wall, and an orange plaid sofa the size of the Titanic sat along another. A neon Budweiser sign leaned against the sofa, its cord lying in a tangled heap. It looked as if a dorm room had exploded.
“Well,” Heather said, “this is nice.”
He shoved a few boxes aside. “I use this room for storage.”
She looked into one of the boxes. It was full of Sports Illustrated annual swimsuit editions. “Yeah, you sure wouldn’t want to throw those away.”
“I tried once,” Tony said with a sad shake of his head, “but then I pictured all those beautiful women facedown in a Dumpster, and I just couldn’t do it.”
Heather started to suggest that maybe paper women wouldn’t care, only to realize there was a more pressing issue. “You didn’t tell me there was no bed.”
“This is a sofa bed.”
He nudged a few more boxes aside and opened it up to reveal a mattress that was a twisted-up orthopedic nightmare.
“Wow,” Tony said. “I don’t remember it being quite this . . . squashed. Maybe you’d better take my bed.”
“No. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me luxury.”
“Are you sure?”
She was. Sleeping in Tony’s bed while he slept in here would make this already strange experience even stranger. “Yes. I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”
He grabbed some sheets, pillows, and a blanket out of the closet and tossed them onto the bed. Heather winced at the thought of the dust they’d undoubtedly collected at the top of that closet, but as tired as she was right now, she could probably fall asleep in a filthy chair at the bus station.
Just then, Tony’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “Excuse me,” he said to Heather. “Gotta take this.”
He slipped out the door, leaving her alone to survey the hideous sofa bed and the boxes full of mostly naked women and the depressingly bare walls. She could certainly straighten things up a little, but no matter what she did, she was still going to feel as if she were living in a cross between a frat house and a homeless shelter.
Then she peeked into the adjoining bathroom to discover that the bedroom was the least of her problems. Without constant cleaning and proper ventilation, Texas humidity could make a bathroom a moldy mess in a hurry. And in the case of this bathroom, it had.
Just as she was searching under the sink for cleaning products, her cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse.
Alison.
Heather debated only a moment before letting the call ring through to her voice mail. Alison might be her best friend, but she dreaded telling her about what had happened in Vegas and about her living arrangements now. She could only imagine the barrage of questions, everything from What does he look like naked? and Is he as good in bed as everyone says he is? and worst of all: You actually want to divorce him? Are you nuts?
Tomorrow. She’d deal with it tomorrow. Tonight she had more pressing things to worry about.
She headed for the living room, intending to ask Tony if he had a can of Ajax and an industrial-strength sponge. If that offended him, so be it. She simply could not spend the next month using a bathroom that looked like a science experiment.
As she circled around the doorway and came into the living room, she saw him flopped on the sofa, still talking on the phone. Even in the midst of his chaotic apartment, with his shoes kicked off and his shirt rumpled and his feet on the coffee table, he still looked incredibly handsome.
Stop staring at him. He’s not really your husband. And would you really want him to be?
She started to duck back into her bedroom, where she’d wait until he was off the phone, only to have him hold up a finger, asking her to wai
t.
Then he turned away, lowering his voice, but still she could hear what he was saying. “Take it easy, sweetheart,” he said. “Of course you have a right to be upset.” A pause. “Why, sure! I can be over there in twenty minutes . . . yeah, I know. You really could have used that thirty million.”
Finally Tony hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket. “I have to step out for a little while,” he said, reaching for his shoes.
“Is there a problem?” Heather asked.
“You might say I have a friend in need.”
“A friend?”
“Rona. Every once in a while she needs a shoulder to cry on. She isn’t very good in a crisis.”
“A crisis? What’s going on?”
“Well, usually it’s something like getting dumped by her boyfriend. Or getting fired. Or having a fight with her roommate. Or getting a bad haircut.” He slipped on his shoes and tied the laces. “This time she missed the big jackpot in the lottery by four numbers.”
“That’s a crisis?” Heather said. “Half the city missed it by four numbers.”
“Yeah, but see, she had this flash of what the winning numbers were, but then her sister called, and by the time she went to buy her tickets, she couldn’t remember what those numbers were.”
“If she couldn’t remember them, how did she know that they were the winning ones?”
“Now, Heather. You’re being logical. That’ll get you nowhere with Rona. In situations like this, logic only makes her cry.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re going to console a woman who’s crying because she thinks she got cheated out of a multimillion-dollar jackpot?”
“Yep.”
Heather stared at him dumbly. She knew Tony’s motives weren’t exactly like other people’s, but that seemed weird even for him.
Then she understood.
“Let me guess,” she said. “This woman who was almost the multimillionaire. She’s really hot.”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“And eventually her crying stops and the sex begins?”
When he finished tying his shoes and rose from the sofa without responding, she knew she’d hit the nail on the head.
