Her heart skipped a beat. “You have intentions?”
George didn’t answer.
“Why?” she said, voice fearful.
“Why what?” he wondered.
“Why do you have feelings for me?” Jackie asked. “Why are you so kind to me? What have I done to deserve it?”
With Robert, the answer had been clear. When they had met, Jackie was a young, gorgeous woman amazed at his opulent lifestyle. She had made him feel like a man. With George . . . George had always had more going for him than Robert had. He could have had his pick of women, one much younger than she was now. Why was he interested in her?
“I’m sorry this is confusing for you,” George finally said. “It is not my intent. I have always enjoyed your company, Jacqueline, and I made it quite clear to Robert that if he ever left you, I would snatch you up. Of course, I had meant that in quite another way,” he said, somber. “Please do not think that I am happy with the turn of events.”
Jackie stayed silent, hugging a pillow to her chest.
“The affections have been here for years,” George said. “I apologize if it seems as though I am not respecting Robert, but he loved you and he loved me. This is not like he is still here, Jacqueline, and I am trying to speak with you behind closed doors.”
Jackie thought back to all those times they had been on double dates. George would make jokes and while his date smiled politely, Jackie would be the one laughing out loud. Once in a while, her blue eyes had met his dark ones for a moment too long. She’d avert hers in confusion, certainly misreading his intent.
“You mean you’ve always had a thing for me?” she asked, kicking at the bed with her stocking feet.
“Not a thing, Jacqueline,” George complained. “Please do not be base. I have admired and respected you for years. That’s all.”
A tear rolled down Jackie’s cheek.
The first time Jackie realized her feelings for Robert might be fiscal, not physical, was the first time Jackie introduced him to one of her artist friends. Kimi had graduated with her from the Art Institute and had become a successful sculptor. A beautiful girl adorned with facial piercings, Kimi was someone always experimenting with things like colored extensions and dreadlocks, even well into their “adult” years. She had missed Jackie’s wedding due to a fellowship in South Africa, so Jackie was excited for her and Robert to finally meet. At least Jackie had thought she was excited, but on the way to the restaurant, she and Robert had fought, something they rarely did.
The fight had started because Robert insisted on showing up to dinner in a three-piece suit, his typical style of dress. Jackie had begged him to consider the audience—cool Kimi and whatever exotic lover she’d attached herself to this time. She didn’t want him to look so . . . well, old.
“Jacqueline, there is nothing wrong with wearing a suit to a nice dinner,” Robert said, smoothing his hairline in the rearview mirror. “Only the little people don’t take the time to bother with good grooming.”
“The little people,” Jackie echoed. “Wow, Robert. You certainly can be a judgmental asshole, can’t you?”
Jackie rolled down the window, letting the breeze blow back her hair. For about the billionth time, Jackie was grateful that Robert still believed she was an orphan. When Jackie was a child, her father had stumbled around in the same grimy pair of Levis and the same light blue, button-up shirt every day. When the stains got too bad, Jackie would steal his clothes and run them through the wash, her father yelling, “Where’d my pants go?”
Good grooming was one thing, but that didn’t mean dressing for a cocktail party at all times. So, instead of feeling proud to introduce Robert to her friend, Jackie felt shame as she walked into the casual restaurant with a husband old enough to be her father and dressed like a board member of the New York Stock Exchange.
Surrounded by loud music, plentiful tapas, and waiters fluent in Portuguese, Robert seemed even more formal and out of place. Of course he was pleasant to Kimi and Jumar—a luscious Egyptian archaeologist—but since the two smelled like weed and sported especially wide pupils, Robert seemed amused by the experience rather than a part of it.
“Let’s get them a big bottle of water,” Robert whispered to Jackie, behind his manicured hand, “to wet down that dry mouth.” Instead of making her laugh, this irritated her even more. The fact was, Jackie had dived into every outing Robert had ever taken her to, no matter what she thought of his friends.
The minute Robert excused himself to go to the bathroom and was out of sight, Kimi had clapped her hands in reverence. “Brilliant. You found a patron,” she said. “Now, you focus on your art.”
“Kimi,” Jackie scolded, ducking her head.
The other artist gave her a knowing smile. Years later, Jackie realized she had never denied the statement.
“Jacqueline?” George said now. “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she said, staring across the room at the wooden box. “I care for you, George. But I don’t want to care for you because of what you give me. I’m poor, I’m desperate, and I’m lonely. That’s not a good combination in a woman.”
George chuckled loud and long. “Jacqueline, anyone who takes one look at you can see that’s not true.”
“Maybe they should look a little further,” Jackie suggested. Once again, she wrapped the cord around her finger. She watched as the skin turned a bright purple.
“Then I will take you at face value,” George finally said. “I do not want for you to love me for anything other than me.”
“Love,” Jackie repeated. Her voice was weak. “Who said anything about love?”
“Good night, Jacqueline,” he said. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”
Jackie bit her lip and set down the receiver, hating herself. She was already looking forward to his call.
Chapter Twenty-nine
CHERYL WAS OUT RUNNING ERRANDS WHEN HER PHONE LIT UP. Easing her car around the corner, she pressed the button on her earpiece. “This is Cheryl.”
“Was there any particular reason you called me at two in the morning?” The voice was warm, masculine.
Andy.
“Hit the wrong button,” she lied, her body in an immediate fervor.
“Interesting . . .” he said. Cheryl cringed, tightly clutching the steering wheel. “Do you want me to stop by?” he asked. “I imagine you must. I’ve just finished dinner with a client, so if you had something you wanted to talk to me about . . .”
“Why would you imagine I must?” Cheryl demanded. It had been so long since they’d spoken that she’d forgotten just how infuriating he was.
“Well, you called me at two in the morning.” There was a smile in Andy’s voice. “You must have had something you wanted to get off your chest.”
Cheryl checked her reflection, desperately wiping at the mascara melted around her eyes and trying to remember where she was in her waxing cycle. She took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know why you’re even asking if you can stop by. Last time you just did.”
“I think you made it clear that wasn’t the correct approach.”
Cheryl almost ran a red light. Desperately, she tried to slow her heart rate and remind herself she was behind the wheel of a powerful vehicle. Without proper handling, it could kill her and everyone around her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she practically shouted. “But I really did just . . .”
“Dial the wrong number?” Andy said. “Well, nice to hear from you. Oh and thanks for calling to thank me for dinner, by the way,” he finished. “I appreciated that.”
Andy hung up. Furiously, she hit the callback number. He picked up on the third ring. “This is Andy.”
“The woman does not call the man to thank him for an evening out,” Cheryl spat. “The man calls the woman to thank her for going out. So thank you for not calling me.”
Cheryl careened into her driveway, slammed the car door, and stomped inside, switching on the lights in the kitchen. The room
was empty, clean and sparkling. Just the way she’d left it. She stomped into the living room, threw her phone on the sofa, and then flipped on the fake fire, wishing she could throw Andy over the logs.
I imagine you must.
What an ass!!!
Cheryl paced the living room angrily, picking up her phone a thousand times, almost calling him back just to tell him what a complete and utter bother he really was. Suddenly, she saw the reflection of headlights bounce across her living room walls. Heart in her throat, Cheryl looked toward the window. The 4Runner was parked in her driveway and Andy was barreling up the walk. Immediately, Cheryl opened the door and put her hands on her hips.
“You are really unbelievable!” she told him.
He pulled off his leather gloves and gently threw them in her general direction. She let them land in the snow by her feet. “You worked with me for how many weeks and never bothered to find out if I was married?” he demanded.
She sneaked a glance at his finger. Bare.
“You think you don’t even have to call me if you want to go on a date?” Cheryl shouted back.
“Just because we have dinner you think it was a date?” Andy stooped down to grab his gloves, brushing past her into the house.
Cheryl pulled the door shut behind them, hands shaking. Andy turned, his woodsy scent filling the room, the fire flickering behind him.
“We have to get something straight,” Andy told her, voice low. Pulling off his shoes, he threw them toward the door and started moving toward her. “There’s really very little about you that I like.”
Cheryl gulped. Andy was dangerously close. She backed up until she was pinned against the door. Deliberately, Andy reached forward, placing his hand just above her left shoulder. She could not move without their bodies colliding. Her chest heaved.
“So, why don’t you tell me,” he whispered, green eyes penetrating hers. “Why did you call me last night?”
“I don’t . . .” He moved forward, lips parted. “I think you should . . .” Cheryl could barely speak.
Slowly, Andy lowered his hand, gently touching her hair and tracing his fingers over her lips. “Yeah?” he challenged. “What did you want to talk to me about that was so urgent?” He pressed his body forward so that it was lightly touching hers. Cheryl’s knees actually buckled.
“This,” she admitted breathlessly.
Andy pinned her against the door and grabbed her face in his hands. His mouth crushed hers with a hot intensity, and then slowly, deliberately, ran his tongue over her lower lip. Gently, he took it in his teeth. “Oh . . .” she begged, straining toward him.
Finally, Andy kissed her. Pushing her up against the wall, Andy plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. Cheryl’s body ached as she buried her mouth in his, finally becoming part of this man she had yearned for. Tasting his minty breath, she melted into the warmth of his kiss. His hands were everywhere, running up and over the back of her skirt, around the tiny curve of her waistline, and up and under the softness of her shirt. His touch was firm and possessive, searing her skin as he cupped her breasts, sliding his hands back down and behind, holding her up against him. Roughly, Andy lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him, and quickly, he carried her into the living room. Her foot knocked into a lamp and it crashed to the ground with a tiny spark. Andy pushed her onto the rug by the fire, hand gently cradling her head. Andy lifted her skirt and expertly stroked her body, while unbuckling his pants with one hand.
“You sure about this?” he asked, voice hoarse. Cheryl took advantage of the moment of hesitation and flipped him over, desperately trying to push herself onto him. He chuckled. “Oh no.”
Deftly, Andy grabbed her arms and guided her back to the ground. She gazed up at him, longing for his touch. Andy took his time; kissing her neck, slowly tasting every inch of her body. Then Andy held her gaze, letting the desire build between them with every excruciating second.
“Please . . . ” she begged.
Cheryl didn’t have to ask a second time.
Chapter Thirty
DORIS WAS SITTING AT THE KITCHEN TABLE BY SEVEN A.M., getting ready for her “date” with Gabe. She had set up a display of makeup and a light-up mirror, and was heating up curlers that may have been from the seventies.
“He’s not picking you up ’til ten,” Jackie groaned, shuffling past her to the fridge. “What on earth are you doing?” Although it was nice to see Doris taking an interest in her own appearance, this was a little ridiculous.
Jackie opened the fridge and selected a vial of face lotion from her stash in the meat drawer. She needed something for her eyes. She’d been up half the night, crying. At least seven times she’d almost opened the damn box from Robert, then finally put it away, his gift still a mystery.
“Why do you keep that in the fridge?” Doris wondered, watching the pearly liquid shimmer against Jackie’s skin.
“Cools on contact. That reduces pore size, encourages collagen productivity and tone enhancement. Would you like to try?”
“No, I . . .” Doris hesitated, glanced at the blue tube.
“Oh, just put it on,” Jackie said, squeezing out a pearly dollop.
Dutifully, Doris removed her glasses and let the lotion be massaged into her face. She peered into the mirror. Her face brightened.
“Wow,” Doris said. “My face looks shinier. Younger.”
“The magic of the French face cream,” Jackie said. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found the coffee press, filled it with water, and put it on the stove.
“It smells like roses,” Doris said, touching her face with her hand, and then sniffing it.
Jackie settled at the table and watched as Doris picked up a pair of tweezers and attempted to pluck her eyebrows. This was a task that could take hours. Doris’s eyebrows were thick, perfectly in fashion back in the day when Brooke Shields was all the rage. Jackie considered mentioning a good wax, but decided to save her breath. Instead, she went in for another sensitive topic.
“Doris, did you tell Mandy?” Jackie asked.
Doris’s face fell. She set down the tweezers and blinked. “Tell Mandy what?”
“That you’re going on a date with a man that’s not her father,” Jackie said. If Gabe showed up here without Doris saying anything to Mandy, the poor kid might have a heart attack.
“It’s not a date,” Doris insisted, picking the tweezers back up.
“Because he’s gay,” Jackie drawled. “But do you know that?”
Doris pursed her lips in annoyance. “He is not gay.”
“Well, seriously. Don’t give him any money.” Jackie sighed. “Remember how you like to throw him those bills.”
“Jackie, you’re being rude.”
Jackie nodded. Sometimes the best remedy for failing at your own life was to interfere with someone else’s. “I’m just saying,” Jackie said. “If he’s picking you up you should tell her . . .”
“Mandy will be at school.”
“Mandy is standing right here,” a voice said from behind them. The two women jumped.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Doris said.
“You’re going on a date?”
Doris threw her hand over her mouth, actually turning pale.
“Oh settle down,” Jackie said, then turned toward Mandy. “No, it’s not a date. The man is gay.”
“Not gay,” Doris said, through her fingers.
“And he works for The Whole Package,” Jackie said, voice dismissive. The trick was downplaying the situation. She didn’t want Mandy to freak. “He’s our employee.”
“Huh . . .” Mandy’s face was working. It was clear she was still deciding whether or not to be entertained or upset.
“He’s just taking your mother shopping,” Jackie said, hopping to her feet and ruffling the teen’s red hair. “And he’s gay.”
“Well, that’s good,” Mandy said. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a box of cereal. “Maybe he’ll come in and sweep her shitty war
drobe.”
“Mandy,” Jackie and Doris exclaimed at the same time.
Mandy laughed, slamming around for a bowl. “I’m joking.”
“That was not kind.” Jackie stared her down. “I have about had it with the lack of respect in this household. Do you want me to change my schedule?”
Mandy cringed and studied the floor.
“No, don’t,” Doris was oblivious. “I’ll be back by the time Mandy gets home from practice. And yes, Mandy, maybe we will throw away some of my . . . old stuff.”
Doris turned back to the mirror, tugging on her bangs. Jackie waggled a finger at the teen. Mandy slunk on down the hallway, her Rice Krispies crackling away.
“Doris, you have to teach your child some manners. You’re doing her a disservice, letting her say whatever she wants,” Jackie said, walking over and putting her arms around Doris’s shoulders. In the makeup mirror, their reflections stared back at them, shimmery-skinned. Jackie laughed. “We look like we’re made of tinfoil.”
“I like it.” Doris smiled, leaning forward and finding an eye-shadow brush. Carefully, she applied brown shadow to the creases over her eyelids, then swiped on the tiniest amount of mascara. After applying a light lipstick and a touch of blush, she spun away from the mirror, arms out.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Tempting,” Jackie said. Then she said seriously, “Take it slow, honey. You don’t know what Gabe wants from you.”
“Jackie, have a little faith in people. Not everyone’s out to get something,” Doris said. “And if somebody needs something bad enough to try and trick me, they probably need it pretty bad. I really don’t have a problem sharing.”
Jackie blushed and looked at the table. It was as though Doris could see right through her.
GABE BROUGHT DORIS a bouquet of violets and even opened her car door. She put her hands to her chest and looked around nervously, feeling like she must be on some sort of a prank show.
“These are really for me?” Doris asked, leaning down and smelling the fragrant purple buds. “Thank you.”
The Whole Package Page 24
