Lovers and Liars

by Brenda Joyce

  Now he was exhausted, numb, with these intermittent moments of aching. It was time to start over, really start over. That meant separating from Mary. He wanted to get his things out of here as soon as possible. Maybe before she got home. He couldn’t handle a scene with her, not today, not when he was feeling so low.

  God, had he ever been a fool.

  It had been a fantasy for him to think he could have anything more than an affair with a woman like Belinda.

  A woman like Belinda.

  Independent, strong to the point of selfishness.

  A sudden realization of just how selfish she was arrested him in his tracks. Had she ever given anything to him, other than her body, her nymphomaniacal passion?

  The answer was an overwhelming no.

  Vince paused, a pile of shirts in hand, wondering what this realization meant. How could he have fallen so deeply for a woman so cold and uncaring? She had used him.

  A flash of anger sparked.

  And made him feel alive again, like a man.

  The phone rang, and he was shocked to hear the voice of Abe Glassman’s secretary. She left a message that Abe had called and would Mary please call back. Vince hung up. What in hell was that all about? Why would Abe Glassman be calling Mary?

  He packed, thinking about Belinda, trying to see her as she really was for the first time, instead of worshiping the ground at her feet. The picture wasn’t pretty. Mostly he kept remembering her selfishness. And the way she had led him around by the nose.

  Making him feel insecure, jealous, bestowing her favors like a queen throwing crumbs to a beggar—Jesus!

  He had a sudden perspective, one he didn’t like. She had made him feel like less than a man.

  Anger vied with the sense of loss and hurt.

  Out of her life.

  The thought rose up to choke him.

  He hated the bitch.

  He was in the bathroom, throwing his toiletries into a paper bag when he heard a car door slam. He tensed. Bracing. Mary called his name. She appeared in the doorway, looking pale, disheveled, terrible. “Oh, Vince!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.

  He hated this. He disengaged her and saw that she was crying. He felt like a shit. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he said.

  “It was awful, Vince, a nightmare. I spent the whole night there, in jail …” She stopped.

  Vince sighed. He threw his cologne in the bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  He hesitated, and her eyes went to the bathroom cabinet, now empty of every single item that belonged to him. “Vince?”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s over, Mary. I’m sorry. I’m moving out.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Moving out.” He walked past her into their bedroom.

  “How could you!” she shrieked. “How could you do this to me when I need you!”

  “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. Our marriage is a sham—and you know it. You don’t love me.” He didn’t add that he didn’t love her either.

  “You motherfucker! You’re kicking me when I’m already down!”

  He slammed his suitcase closed.

  “You’re moving in with her. With that cunt. Aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “She talked you into this. To get back at me. Oh, goddamn it!” She sank on the bed.

  “Mary, get yourself together. You’ve got Beth. You’ve been cheating on me. You’ve got your mother—and money. You’ll do okay. And Belinda and I are through. We broke up. I’m moving in with one of the guys from the crew. It’s for the best—for both of us.”

  He picked up the suitcase, unable to do more than glance at her briefly. “Vince,” she moaned.

  Suddenly he remembered, and he looked at her directly for the first time. “Abe Glassman called.”

  “What did he want?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Why in hell is he calling you?”

  Mary paled. “It’s something to do with the shooting, I think. I mean, why else would he call me?”

  Satisfied, Vince started for the door.

  She followed him. “Vince, don’t do this. Please!”

  He ignored her.

  “Is it really over between you and Belinda?” she demanded tearfully.

  “Yes,” he said, and he walked out without even looking back.

  Never had he felt so lonely in his whole damn life.

  90

  “Are you going out?”

  Belinda was sitting on the bed in a short red silk robe, rolling up a stocking and attaching it to a black garter. “Hi, Nancy. Yeah.”

  “Your arm shouldn’t be out of that sling yet.”

  “It’s only for tonight. And I feel fine, pretty much.”

  “Belinda—don’t go!”

  Belinda looked up. Between her tone and her eyes, Belinda knew that somehow her mother was aware that she was dating Ford tonight. She stood and rebelted her robe. “It’s just a date.” Liar.

  “With him.”

  “Yes.”

  Mother and daughter stared, unsmiling, at each other.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Nancy said harshly, for the first time in her life full of certainty and conviction. “He’s going to hurt you, Belinda. He’s a user. Worse—he’s a liar.”

  Every hair on Belinda’s body bristled—in defense of Jack. “What happened between you and Jack happened seventeen years ago,” she snapped. “Not only was he just a boy—the past is dead, and I’m not you. And as far as I’m concerned, your affair has nothing to do with me.”

  “You’re going out with the man who destroyed your mother’s life, and you don’t think it has anything to do with you?” Nancy cried.

  “I’m sorry that you fell in love with him, Mom,” Belinda said. “So he broke your heart. Well, you know what? You’re not the only one who’s had a broken heart—we’ve all been hurt.”

  “He’ll break your heart, Belinda. He’ll use you and then he’ll walk away, just the way he did with me.”

  “Like I said, I’m not you. I’m not saying I trust Jack, but I’m not you and my relationship with him is not an instant replay of yours.”

  “I know that man!”

  “You think you know him!”

  “You think you know him?” Nancy was incredulous and aghast. “Oh, Belinda, stop it now, before it’s too late!”

  “Look, Mom, I know Jack, all right. I know he’s a superstud, I know he’s got an ego, so I’m prepared. Okay? I’m a big girl. I’ve played this game before. I can handle it. I can handle him.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  Belinda stared at her mother.

  “You’re a woman,” Nancy said. “You can’t handle him.”

  The uneasiness that had begun with their conversation prickled and poked at her. “I’m going to be late. Do you want to have a drink with us? He’ll be here any minute.”

  “Think about what I’ve said, Belinda. I’m your mother. I love you. I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “I can protect myself,” Belida said stubbornly.

  Her mother left.

  I am not my mother, Belinda thought grimly.

  Jack Ford is not going to use me.

  He is not going to break my heart, because I am prepared.

  91

  Of course she looked wildly sensual and stunning.

  As they walked in, heads turned, and Jack was well aware of the fact that as she preceded him, she was the one precipitating the admiring interest, both male and female. That admiration quickly changed to curious recognition as the glances then settled on him. He found himself amused—and a little bemused.

  Belinda was wearing a red leather bustier and skirt. The bustier laced up the front, and she had left an enticing one-inch gap. It was hard not to keep looking at what was revealed of her breasts. The skirt zipped at an angle up the back. It was hard not to look at her perfect round buttocks when she walked in front of him. The outfit was more than
provocative. It clung to her strong curves like a wetsuit. If she wasn’t dressing for him, then for who?

  Jack was pleased.

  Maybe a bit more so than he should have been.

  Jack had half expected her to be out when he came by to pick her up, but not only had she been there she had been dressed and ready to go. She was quiet during the drive, so he found a jazz station and they zipped into town in silence. He knew she was still fighting him. And maybe herself.

  Not that it mattered.

  The host seated them with a flourish, at a table with great views.

  “So tell me,” Jack said lightly, though his eyes were fierce, “why did you leave like that in Aspen?”

  “The coward’s way out, of course.”

  “You, lady, don’t strike me as a coward.”

  “Usually I’m not.”

  He smiled. “You know what? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  “You can take it any way you like.”

  “I’d like to take you any way I’d like—and every way.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  He was sheepish. “I couldn’t resist.”

  She smiled.

  “Belinda,” Jack said, very serious now, “I want to know why I make you afraid.”

  She sighed. “Come on, Jack. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that yourself. The old hit-and-run. You know it’s easier than facing a stranger on the other pillow in the morning.”

  “It’s different with us, and you know it. We are certainly not strangers.”

  “No? What are we, Jack? Friends? Lovers? C’mon, Jack! Don’t, just don’t, use your lines on me.”

  He closed his hand around his water glass and studied it. She wanted the slightest chance to fight. He had to be careful. This was not in the game plan, not the way to get what he wanted. When he looked up she was studying her menu.

  Jack intended to break her down. This was going to be a great evening. It had to be. It was time to take control and turn on the charm. And so what if it just happened to be easier because what he said was also the truth? “I don’t use lines on you, Belinda, not when I’m being serious.”

  She glanced at him.

  “I wouldn’t insult you or your intelligence that way.”

  “Thank you.”

  He reached out and clasped her hand with his. “Belinda, come on. Please relax, loosen up just a little.”

  “So you can seduce me and feel macho?” But she was softening; he could feel it and see it.

  “Well, I won’t deny I want to make wild love to you … kiss you all over. Your mouth, your hair, your breasts, your ni—”

  “Jack. That couple is listening to every word.”

  He dropped his voice. “—navel.” He grinned. “You already know that. I couldn’t care less about the other part.”

  “No? You deny that your male ego is at stake here?”

  “Ah, so we’re back to egos now.”

  She closed her eyes and smiled.

  “Do you have an ego fixation, Belinda?”

  She looked at him. “What do you think?”

  A long silence reigned. “I think,” Jack said slowly, “I think it’s time my ego got some stroking.”

  She fought a smile. And she didn’t say no either.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he said after they had ordered drinks, a merlot for her, a Perrier for him.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. How old are you?”

  “Too old for you,” she said.

  He smiled. “Twenty-eight?”

  “Dead on. What, no flattery?”

  “You’re too smart and too poised to be twenty-one. And a twenty-year old couldn’t write what you’ve written.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, what about family? I want to know your life’s story,” Jack said. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise. With guilt?

  “My mother and father live in New York,” Belinda replied.

  “So you were born in New York?”

  She nodded.

  “Any brothers, sisters?”

  “No, just me. That’s a big disappointment to my father, believe me.”

  “With a daughter like you, why would he want another child?”

  She smiled wryly.

  “He must be very proud of you,” Jack said. “You must be very close.”

  Belinda seemed to choke on her water. “You’ve got to be kidding. His daughter, a writer … give me a break! He can’t understand how I could spend my time making up stories. And Abe is close to only one thing—power.”

  Jack stared, absorbing everything, the quick outbreak of defiance and the bitterness. “That’s ridiculous,” he said quietly. “Being able to write is a great talent—you’re a big talent, Belinda.”

  “Tell that to Abe.”

  “I don’t see how your father could not respect what you do. Everybody knows that it all starts with the writers.”

  “Abe is … different. His trip is power. Whether it’s owning a studio or a refinery, all his assets are just means to an end.”

  “That’s not a very flattering assessment of your own father.”

  She looked him in the eye. “No, it’s not. But I don’t owe him anything—not one damn thing.”

  “You don’t get along with him,” Jack said, with increased stirrings of guilt.

  “No, and I never have and never will. Not as long as he sees me only as a broodmare to get him an heir for his empire.” She grimaced. “He wants me to get married. Have babies. Preferably male babies. Soon. I’m over the hill,” she explained.

  Outwardly Jack smiled. She was being amusing. Inwardly every nerve went on alert. Glassman wanted her to get married.

  Glassman wanted a grandson—an heir.

  How would he feel when his grandson’s last name was Ford?

  92

  He couldn’t fucking believe it.

  What they said was true—you couldn’t get decent hired help these days.

  Abe could not believe the colossal fuck-up.

  He could not believe Will Hayward was still alive.

  “I want this taken care of,” he snarled into the phone. “Not today, not tomorrow, but yesterday! You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want that stupid bastard nailed—now.” Abe hung up. He did not feel the slightest degree of guilt. Not the slightest degree.

  Hayward’s days were numbered.

  They’d been numbered from the moment he had dared to cross Abe.

  93

  “Damn Vince!” Mary screamed. “Damn him! I don’t want a divorce! Damn him!”

  Beth hugged her and tried to rock her, but Mary lunged away to pace rapidly around Beth’s bedroom. “How could he? Now? When I’m so fucking down?”

  “I don’t know, honey, but give it up.”

  “What?” Mary turned on her.

  “Give it up. You don’t love him. Let him go—it’s for the best.”

  “You’re right about one thing,” Mary said vehemently. “I don’t love him—I hate him. I want to kill him!” She sat back down. “Wait till my mother finds out,” she moaned. Her mother would tell her she was too fat to hold a man, to save her marriage. She’d tell her that she failed at everything—so what did she expect. All because of a few pounds! Fuck her mother. She hated her mother even more than she hated Vince.

  Her mother had called earlier. “Mary, have you called Paul Socorro?” she had asked tightly.

  Mary had belligerently said nothing.

  “Mary? Have you called Paul?”

  “No, Mom,” she said rigidly.

  “Do you know how many of my friends have called up, asking about you? It’s embarrassing! What a terrible incident. Mary, are you listening? You cannot go on like this.”

  Mary’s grip on the phone grew tighter.

  “I’ve reached your father. Not personally, but I left an urgent message. He should be calling. Call Paul Socorro. Why don’t
—”

  Mary had hung up.

  Now Mary wished she had a line. “Do you have any toot left?” She was horribly depressed.

  “No. Mary, you’ve been doing an awful lot lately,” Beth said cautiously.

  Mary knew it was true. Deep down she was worried because she knew she had a habit, and she wanted to break it. And she had to face it—she also wanted to lose fifteen pounds. Because her mother was right. She hated facing what she had known all along—her life was a shambles and she was a shambles, all because she was such a fat slob.

  “Are you okay?” Beth asked worriedly.

  Mary didn’t answer her either, and the phone rang again. She just looked at it. When Beth moved to answer it, she said, “Don’t. It’s my mother.”

  Calmly Beth picked up the receiver, spoke, listened, then handed it to Mary. “It’s Abe Glassman.”

  Mary felt a tingle of something close to anticipation. But she knew that was impossible. She was angry at that horny old goat—wasn’t she? He had used her and lied to her. But she had a flashing image of the two of them entwined, Abe’s big, thick prick deep inside, thrusting deeper and deeper, and her groin started a slow swell.

  “Hello?”

  “Mary, this is Abe. How’re you doing?”

  Mary took a breath. She knew exactly where she would like to be right now. Under him. “Fine, Abe.”

  “You’re not still pissed, are you, about our little misunderstanding?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said truthfully.

  “Good. I want to see you. Can you come down to my office tomorrow morning—say, at nine?”

  Mary was thrown off balance. When he had said he wanted to see her, her whole body had surged in anticipation. But his office? “Well, yes …”

  “See you at nine.” Click.

  Mary hung up the phone. Thinking.

  “What did he want?” Beth asked petulantly.

  “I don’t know.”

  94

  When they got back Jack was finally gone.

  Finally!

  They had watched two movies, a B-grade sci-fi flick and Clint Eastwood in Firefox. Then they had gone out for pizza. Now they had the apartment to themselves. Rick produced a joint and lit it.