Midnight Madness

by Kendall, Karen

  “You looked good, Betty Jo. You’re a damn Fine woman.” He chuckled at the ancient joke, and she dimpled, smacking him in the arm.

  “Think you’re clever, don’t you, old man?”

  “I do,” he said. “Married you, didn’t I?”

  Ma giggled like a girl and poured herself some more wine, while Marly wondered what planet they were all on.

  In the kitchen, she heard the scrabbling of claws on the laminate counter, a strangled yowl and a thump. She got up and stuck her head in to find Fuzzy, glaring at her and swishing his tail back and forth.

  The plastic butter dish lay overturned on the floor next to him, and he was shaking his left front paw in disgust.

  “Landed in the margarine, did you, Fuzz?” She grinned. “Serves you right for hopping up there.”

  He hissed at her and then licked at his paw.

  “Tell you what, dude. We’ll make a deal. I’ll bring you a piece of ham, but you aren’t eating it on my bed.”

  “Young lady,” called Ma’s voice. “Now, don’t you think you’ve got some ’splainin’ to do?”

  Chapter 19

  JACK SAT EXHAUSTED and under siege himself, wondering how Marly was faring in Fort Myers. His public image was taking a serious beating, and Ms. Turlington had been tireless in her pursuit of him with some sort of protein/vitamin shake, which even her crocodile tears couldn’t make him drink.

  In between bourbons, his father tossed out words like “irresponsible” and “outrageous” and “just plain stupid.” Finally, Jack started pouring him doubles to shut him up.

  His mother was the only one who asked about Marly. She and Martinez used words like “damage control” and “recovery strategy.” Lyons and his PR man pontificated about planting stories with the press and “limited exclusives.”

  Finally, Jack had had enough. “All of this is beside the point because—”

  An aide came hurtling through the double doors with a videotape. “You will want to see this, sirs and madam. Right away.”

  They turned on the plasma television in the room and loaded the tape. They watched it in silence, all the way to the end. “This is Roshana Rifkin, reporting live from Fort Myers for Six at Six—your source for the news of the hour.”

  “Jayzus Christ!” Jack’s father growled from his leather wing chair. “You dug the grave, but this hillbilly woman’s pushed you in and shoveled dirt over the body!”

  “Hillbilly?” Senior was talking about his future mother-in-law. “She seems like a nice enough woman. She’s just defending her daughter.”

  “Oh, come on! You can’t get involved with a family like that. Get a grip, Jack.”

  “With a family like what? Didn’t you tell me that your great-grandfather was a boot-black?”

  Senior succumbed to a coughing fit and crawled back into his bourbon.

  His mother rolled her eyes. But she said, “You need to call Carol, Jack. You do owe her an explanation.”

  “Not only should you call her,” Martinez advised, “you should be seen on a very high profile, romantic date with her. At a five-star restaurant. I’ll leak it to the press, and you’d better go shopping for a ring right away.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jack blinked rapidly at him. “You know, Martinez, I value your advice on my professional life. But I never asked for it regarding my personal life.”

  “Excuse me for pointing this out, sir, but right now your professional and personal lives are one and the same.”

  “Well, we need to change that, then, don’t we?”

  “I’m not sure it’s possible, sir.”

  Jack walked over to the man and glared down at him. “Martinez, I have given up years of my life for Florida politics and for this family, but I draw the line at marrying the wrong woman for them. But let’s say I was willing to do that. You think it would be damage control to give Carol an engagement ring now?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Well, then all that hair spray has gotten to your brain. “You’re crazy. If I did that, the media shit-storm would double, because it would appear to validate that I’d been cheating on Carol! And it would also make Marly look like some two-bit piece of tail I was messing around with.”

  Martinez’s bland, calculating look said it all. Jack wanted to hit him, knock him sprawling on his ass. But he restrained himself.

  “Which she is not. I intend to marry her. Understand, Martinez? So why don’t you guys figure how to spin that.”

  Martinez exchanged an aghast look with Lyons.

  “Jesus, Jack!” His father struggled up out of his wing chair, sloshing bourbon onto his knee. “You can’t throw away your political future by getting hitched to a hairdresser.”

  “John!” said Mrs. Hammersmith.

  “Watch yourself, Senator,” Jack warned. “I think you’re afraid I’m throwing away your own vicarious thrills. My life is not a spectator sport for your amusement—or anyone else’s.”

  “Excuse me.” Lyons had been quiet during most of the verbal brawl, but now he spoke up. “Jack, we…didn’t know you felt this way. We just assumed, er, that you weren’t serious about the girl.”

  Jack leveled an ominous gaze on his aide. “Well, I am.”

  Lyons squirmed. “Uh, yes, sir. But we already sent a statement to the associated press, along with a photo of you and Carol. The one from her birthday party.”

  “You what?” Jack’s jaw worked. “Exactly who the hell is ‘we’? And when is press time?”

  “Press time’s not relevant in this case, I’m afraid. The information’s probably been uploaded to the Internet.”

  Jack rushed him, fists clenched, and the poor guy squeaked, ducking his head. “Who is we?” Jack thundered.

  “M-me, M-Martinez and S-S-Senator Ha—”

  “You’re fired. All of you.”

  His dad roared, “You need Hilliard’s campaign contribution, boy! And you can’t fire me—I’m your father.”

  “Wanna bet?” Jack stalked out of the room to call Marly and then Carol and straighten out this ungodly mess.

  JACK BEGS FORGIVENESS! Rumor Has It That The Governor Is Shopping For A Ring.

  Marly stared at the image on her father’s desktop computer screen, unable to process what it was telling her. Jack grinned back at her, his arm around Carol Hilliard’s waist in an expression of casual intimacy. The woman was breathtaking, groomed to within an inch of her life, looking like a life-size, lickable, chocolate covered fashion doll.

  Marly wished that she could pop Carol’s head off and watch it roll across the floor. She wished she could toss it into Fuzzy’s food bowl or even into the toilet.

  But Jack…she didn’t know what was bad enough to do to that treacherous, lying son of a bitch. Because the date on the photograph was barely more than a week ago! Right after she’d seen him, and he’d spouted a lot of promises and reassurances and announcements about how she was The One.

  She was The One, all right. The One stupid enough to start to believe him. The One who’d guarded a secret hope that he was telling the truth. The One who’d protested his macho assumption that she’d just let herself be swept down the aisle—but covertly admired his cock-sureness.

  She’d asked him to send her home to her parents, and he’d quickly done it…probably with a huge sense of relief. It got her out of the way, of course, while he figured out how to salvage his political future. She’d been an idiot.

  Now he’d probably call and blame the AP photo and statement somehow on his handlers, his PR team. He’d claim no knowledge of their actions and beg—but not too hard—for her forgiveness. And when she told him where to go, he’d accept it on the surface with sad grace, while internally whooping that he was off the hook.

  Then would come the television interview with a devoted Carol, in front of the entire state. He would apologize to her and the people, claiming that he’d had a last moment of bachelor panic before asking her to be his wife. The people would understand and applaud hi
s honesty. They’d admire Carol for standing by her man. And they’d elect the charismatic Jack for a second term…because he was so human, underneath his fairy tale existence. Ugh!

  Marly shot back from the computer and ran into the guest bathroom, where she promptly threw up. Then, without thinking, she washed her face with her mother’s orange and pineapple soaps and dried it with the show towels.

  She fled from there into the guest room and curled up in the center of the bed, dried-eyed but aching. She lay in a fetal position, next to Fuzzy, who looked at her warily but didn’t hiss—to her amazement. Fuzzy had been in the process of licking his nether regions, and he continued with that, keeping one eye on her.

  “Why?” she whispered to the cat. “Why did he have to see my photo? Why did he lie? Why did he use me like that?”

  Fuzzy twitched an ear and spat some hair off his small tongue.

  “There are a million other girls in Florida. Beach bodies, supermodels, exotic babes. Why me?”

  The cat swiped a paw over his nose and twitched his tail.

  “Why?” she whispered again. “And oh, God. Why was I stupid enough to let him get past my defenses? Why did I have to go and fall in love with him?”

  Fuzzy blinked. Then, as if he could sense her distress, he licked her arm soothingly.

  Marly went ahead and let the tears flow. “I never knew you could be nice,” she sobbed. “Nobody is what they seem these days.”

  It was about half an hour later that the phone began to ring again, and with her parents’ okay, she unplugged it completely. She didn’t want to talk to reporters, Jack or his handlers. They could all take a flying leap.

  She shut off her cell phone and the lights in her room and just lay there in the dark with Fuzzy. They had a new understanding: if she didn’t roll on him, then he wouldn’t bite her. Their relationship had come a long way because of the ham.

  JACK FLEW TO MIAMI immediately. On his way to Carol’s courtesy of Mike, he cursed for the thirtieth time and clicked his cell phone shut.

  There were two possibilities for why Marly and her parents weren’t answering the phone. One, they were dodging reporters. Two, they’d seen the photo and Internet headlines and were dodging him.

  He supposed she could have come back to Miami by now, flying a regular carrier. He didn’t know, and it was driving him crazy.

  Jack soon faced Carol and a sea of French Provincial furniture in her Coral Gables condo. She looked cool and calm as always, as poised as a model.

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said. “You’re a very special girl, Carol, but I don’t think I can give you what you want. I can’t give you my heart. I love you dearly as a friend, but I’m not in love with you.”

  “Do me a favor, darling. Spare me the canned lines, all right?”

  He looked away from her steady, brown-eyed gaze. “I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t know what to say. I wish I could be in love with you, Carol. You’re perfect in every way…except that you’re like a sister to me.”

  “Well, I’m guessing that you’re like a brother to me, after all, because I’m really not devastated. But I do have an overpowering urge to lower your bare butt into a pit of snapping turtles!”

  Startled, Jack laughed.

  “What in the hell were you thinking when you allowed your people to send that photo to the press?”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “I mean, I didn’t allow them. They just did it—after talking with my father. When I found out, I fired them, but the damage is done.”

  Irritation crossed her lovely face. “Your father and my father. Those two old coots should get married. They’re impossible. The only reason I was going along with the whole thing is that I haven’t found anyone better than you, Jack.”

  He winced. “Thank you…I think. But you will. There is a man out there who will make your toes curl. And it’s not me. I know that.”

  She flushed. “Well, what do you want to do to clear up the misunderstanding?”

  He told her. “I think we need to give a press conference, Carol. You and me, nobody else. And the word has to come from you. You are not in love with me. You know everyone thinks we make a cute couple, but it’s not in the cards because I’m like a brother to you. That way I don’t look like a heel for ‘dumping’ you or ‘cheating’ on you, and you look like a goddess, gorgeous and confident enough to turn down Jack Hammersmith. You’ll probably have sheikhs and princes calling you after this interview airs.”

  “Actually—” she stuck her chin out “—I already do.”

  It was the first visible sign that he’d hurt her feelings, and he felt like a jerk. “Jeez, Carol. I’m impressed.”

  To his relief, she went back to being the ten-year old girl he’d buried in the sand and dunked in the ocean. “Don’t be. The sheikh in question is short and bald and already has three wives.”

  Jack grinned. “And I’m betting your father doesn’t want camels or sheep grazing his polo fields?”

  “Correct. You were the more attractive option. But as I told him, I don’t need to be married to the governor. I think I’ll have a president instead.”

  “You’d have no problem, Carol,” he said, and meant it.

  She smiled. “I know.”

  JACK’S NEXT STOP was at After Hours, just in case Marly was there. Mike pulled the limo up outside the spa, and Jack straightened his tie, took a deep breath and walked in. “Is Marly here?” he asked Shirlie.

  She eyed him as if he were a cockroach, every blond curl on her head vibrating with hostility. “If she were, I don’t know why I’d tell you.”

  Ouch.

  Shirlie snapped her gum. “Even if you are hung like a bull—”

  Jack choked.

  “—which I’m not saying you are, because the camera does add ten pounds, right? Anyway, it’s not worth it. She doesn’t need a pig like you in her life.”

  The bleached-blond guy—what was his name, Nicky?—skipped up from his abandoned client, put his hands on his hips and looked Jack over from head to toe in a disgusted way. “Governor,” he declared, “you are a slut.”

  “Hey! Can you guys give me a chance to explain? I need to talk to Marly.”

  “Explain what? How you can’t keep your zipper up? Sweetie, if you were gay…”

  Jack blanched at the thought.

  “If you were gay, I wouldn’t do you with somebody else’s equipment. Not even if you wore black leather chaps, which are the biggest turn-on in the world. That is how low you are.”

  “Are you finished?” Jack asked.

  “No. I wouldn’t put you out on the curb with the recycling.” And Nicky stamped his foot, spun around and marched away. “Now I’m finished!” he called over his shoulder.

  Jesus Christ. Nobody in this place was going to help him, that much was obvious. “Marly!” Jack yelled at the top of his lungs. “Marly, you have to listen to me!”

  A little red-headed vixen in a white lab coat came out from the back, next. Arms folded across her chest, she glared at him. “You know, Governor, I was a place kicker for my college football team. How’d you like me to make a field goal with your testicles?”

  Jack gaped at her. “You know what? You people are crazy. I haven’t done anything wrong. My aides sent out the photo and statement without consulting me.” He looked beyond her at a big, strapping Latino guy who was headed his way. Uh-oh. Jack locked his knees and curled his hands into loose fists.

  “May I help you, sir?” asked the man, aiming a cold, black-eyed stare in his direction.

  “I need to see Marly. Is she here?”

  “No. Can I give her a message for you, Governor?” There was just a trace of menace in the guy’s voice.

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “I do not. I do know that she doesn’t want any contact with you, however. So let me show you to the door.”

  The damned door was in plain sight right behind him, so Jack took
this as a veiled offer to toss him out on his gubernatorial ass.

  “You’re Alejandro, right?”

  The guy nodded.

  “And you’re Peggy.” He addressed the little redhead.

  She just narrowed her eyes on him.

  “Look, just tell her…tell her to watch the news tonight, okay? It’s very important.”

  Jack looked at each hostile face and wondered if they’d get the message to her. He hoped so. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter 20

  AT APPROXIMATELY 5:55 p.m., a polite knocking commenced on Dad and Ma’s door in Fort Myers. Oh, no, Marly thought. The reporters have started up again. There were only a few of them left on the street, and they were no longer in the driveway or on the porch, thank God, since Dad had called local law enforcement to threaten them with trespass charges.

  She ignored the knocking, and so did her parents. Ma looked up briefly from her soap digest magazine, and Dad grumbled behind the newspaper, but neither made a move toward the door.

  But whoever was there wasn’t giving up. The knocking became a pounding, and the pounding finally morphed into outright battering.

  “Jiminy Christmas!” Dad exclaimed. “If they dent our door, I’ll send those vultures a bill.” He struggled to get up, but Marly said, “I’ll deal with it.”

  She stalked to the door, not caring if she was covered in cat hairs or had sheet marks on her face. She threw it open, prepared to rip the offending reporter a new butt hole, only to stop and stare. “Miss Turlington?”

  The governor’s personal assistant stood there, holding up one of her hideous shoes—the object she’d been using to pound on the door. “Miss Fine,” she said stiffly, straightening her pearls and manufacturing a tortured smile. She bent, set her loafer down and stuck her suntan-panty-hose-covered foot back into it. “May I come in?”

  “Um. Of course.” Bemused, Marly opened the screen door and stood aside to let her pass.