Some Like Them Rich

by Shirley Hailstock

  “I see. Where do you want to go for this leisurely meal?”

  “Word has it that you never miss a Wynton Marsalis concert.”

  Jack again, I thought. Just how much had my friend told Don? But the thought of seeing Wynton Marsalis brought back my memory. I knew he was on the bill this summer, but since I’d come to the Vineyard my attention had been in a different direction.

  “He’s performing tonight. Would you like to go with me?”

  I hesitated. He sat back. “No strings. Just two friends enjoying a concert together,” he said.

  I smiled, genuinely. “I’d like that.”

  “Good. I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll have dinner first.”

  He stood up. I was disappointed he didn’t go back to nibbling my breasts. But after a while I thought of my own plan for tonight. Just two friends enjoying a concert and having a stress-free night.

  Well, Don Randall, I’m not finished with surprises yet.

  Chapter 18

  There was no turning back now, I thought when I saw Amber come down the stairs. She was all in red. My eyes took a slow trip from her spike-heeled sandals to the clip she had in her hair. Tonight was supposed to be stress free. But I was overloading already. I had to force my thoughts away from her and me removing all that red before my hard-on lifted any farther.

  “Hello, are you my date for the evening?” she asked. Her voice was deep and sexy, forcing me to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I was anything she wanted me to be.

  “Where are we eating?”

  I didn’t answer immediately, since it took a while for my brain to remember how to talk. “At the Port. ““That’s on the other side of the island.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “Almost. We got there one night later than our reservation and couldn’t be seated. We ate in the bar.”

  The Vineyard didn’t have that many restaurants. It wasn’t plausible that I would find one Amber hadn’t been to, considering the number of dates she’d been on. Yet I felt a little put off that she had been here with someone else.

  “Well, tonight we eat in the dining room.” I knew it was in bad taste, but I’d checked the reservations at the hotel to make sure that Amber’s gentlemen callers were eating there. I didn’t expect her to see anyone she’d met on the island, but just in case, I asked for a private table and I knew exactly where it was located.

  “Shall we go?” she said. “We don’t want to be late for the concert.”

  The waiter, whom I knew, seated us at the table I’d requested. We were shaded by a large open-woven screen that allowed privacy, but we could still see through it. The candlelight would keep us from being identified.

  “You know, I don’t know very much about you,” I said after we’d placed our drink order.

  “You mean the real me?”

  “We have a truce,” I said. “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes, the real you.”

  “I can say the same about you.”

  I nodded. We’d been to bed together more than once. I knew every aspect of her body. I knew her secret, her reason for being on the Vineyard. But I didn’t know if she had sisters or brothers, where she was born, what she really wanted out of life. Apart from the superficial scheme to find a rich husband, who was Amberlina Nash?

  As to my bio, it was written, told to everyone on the island who asked. But it wasn’t the real me. And while Amber might give me some insight into her life, I was bound to keep mine hidden.

  “What would you like to know?” she asked, jarring me out of my thoughts.

  “Parents?”

  “Yes,” she said and laughed.

  The waiter brought our drinks, a virgin piña colada for Amber. Bourbon for me.

  “My parents live in Florida.”

  “Were you born there?”

  “I’m pure Brooklyn. They were born in Indiana. When they were in their forties, they tired of the pace of the city and decided to return to the place of their birth. I’d graduated from college and taken a job. I loved the city and decided to remain there. Two years after moving, however, my father got an offer from Disney and they moved to Florida. He works as an engineer. “She laughed as if her father was in the room. “To hear him tell it, he makes the park run, keeps the rides safe, designs new ones. My mother is a fabric designer.”

  “And you write for a greeting card company.”

  She nodded. “The card company is in New Jersey. I go there several times a year for meetings, but mainly I work at home. With computers, teleconferencing, and the Internet, I can work anywhere in the world.”

  “Is that what you want to do with your life, write greeting cards?”

  “It’s a living. But I’ve thought of trying my hand at writing a novel.”

  “But …” I prompted.

  “But it’s hard to write a whole book. I start and then they go nowhere or I lose interest in the story.”

  “You were writing on the beach. Anything productive?”

  “As a matter of fact,” she smiled shyly, “it appears that something is coming together.”

  “You like it?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you willing to tell me what it’s about?”

  She shifted in her seat as if she were getting comfortable. “It’s about a woman who’s trapped in a lifestyle she’s trying to get out of, but her family and friends keep telling her she’s doing the wrong thing.”

  “How does it end? Does she go her own way or succumb to the pressure?”

  “Well, I haven’t exactly worked all the details out yet, but I believe she’s going to tell them this is her life and she’ll live it her way.”

  “Bravo,” I said. “Good for you.”

  “Me? It’s not me.”

  “Isn’t your life paralleling the character’s?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Linda is nothing like me.”

  “I thought writers always drew on personal experience in order to write characters.”

  “They do somewhat, but they can also take qualities from people they know or have met. After all, the author doesn’t have to be a bitch to write a bitchy character.”

  “I see.” Maybe she didn’t see that the character Linda was her. I admired her for taking her future in her hands and deciding what it should be, but I was disappointed that she believed a rich husband was the answer to future happiness.

  If I kept pursuing this conversation it would lead to an argument. So I decided to change the subject.

  “What about sisters, brothers?”

  “One of each.”

  “Married, single?”

  “Both married and living in Florida.”

  “They’re younger than you.”

  She nodded. “There’s only a year between each of us, but both of them married right out of college.”

  “What happened to you? I can’t believe you’ve had no offers.”

  “Why is that? You think the way I look makes men fall at my feet?” she teased.

  Using myself as a model, that’s exactly what I’d done. “I didn’t mean it that way. You are beautiful, but you know that. You’re also warm and giving and in my opinion you have a good heart.”

  “Why thank you, kind sir.” She deflected the compliment with humor.

  “I mean it,” I told her.

  “What about you, parents?”

  “Yes,” I answered, sitting back and giving her the same answer she’d given me. “Where do they live?”

  “They travel a lot, but their main address is Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”

  “Is that where you were born?”

  “I was born in France.”

  “Let me guess, Paris?”

  “Bingo. “She was close. “It wasn’t exactly in Paris. We were staying in a small village outside of Paris.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Like you, right after college. I traveled a lot, seeing the world, do
ing dangerous things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Racing cars, flying planes …”

  “You can fly?” She looked suitably impressed.

  “Well, what I was flying couldn’t exactly be called an airplane. It was held together by duct tape and hope.”

  “Sounds exciting.” She leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hand. “What else did you do?”

  “Once I joined a traveling circus.”

  “As what?”

  “I wasn’t the clown, if you were thinking that.”

  “I was,” she admitted.

  “I was a rigger.”

  “What does a rigger do?”

  “Just what it sounds like. I put up the tent, checked all the lines, that sort of thing. Once I was a stand-in for the horseback rider.”

  “You mean the woman who wears a tutu and tights and does tricks on horseback?”

  “Noooo,” I said, elongating the word. “I mean the guy who wears tights and does tricks on horseback.”

  We both laughed. I felt relaxed. I loved talking to her like this. When we weren’t at each other, weren’t trying to convince each other, even silently, that what we were doing was all right, we actually liked each other.

  “How long were you with the circus?” she asked, still laughing. She was probably trying to imagine me in tights, but she had no real idea how ridiculous I looked.

  “About six months.”

  “What made you do such a thing?”

  “Mainly to piss off my father.”

  “One of those phases?”

  “He wanted me to come into the business and I wanted to—” I stopped, realizing my mistake. “Well, I wanted to do something else.”

  “What is the family business?”

  The appearance of our waiter with dinner saved me from having to answer that question. By the time his elaborate machinations in setting and presenting the plates were done, Amber was enthralled in her dinner.

  “This looks wonderful,” she said, taking a forkful of her prime rib. “Hmm,” she said.

  Mine was just as delicious. We finished the meal discussing the Vineyard and the concert. I dodged a bullet that time. I hadn’t come this close to violating the agreement between me and my father since my first week on the Vineyard. Amber was astute and quick to pick up on a lie. If the waiter hadn’t come at that moment, she’d have seen right through me. And I couldn’t have her doing that just yet.

  The concert hall’s lights went down and an offstage voice introduced Wynton Marsalis. Normally the bubbles in my blood would be for the smooth performer. Tonight I was jittery due to the man in the seat next to me. Don hadn’t done anything special. It was a normal date, dinner and a concert. I’d been on many of them before. Yet I was having a much better time with Don than I’d had with any of the other men I’d been out with.

  With him I could be real. He’d told me that. Tonight was proof. I wasn’t on guard. I didn’t have to watch what I said or pretend to be anything other than who I was.

  I shifted in my seat. Don looked at me and I smiled. Then he took my hand and pulled it into his. It brought back my plan for tonight. He’d said there were no strings attached, but I had puppet-master in mind.

  Marsalis’s music should have taken me away. It always had in the past, but tonight I could only concentrate on the feel of the hand in mine, the touch of Don’s fingers, the softness of his skin and its contrast to mine. My hand wasn’t just being held. The gesture was reassuring. I felt safe, protected, loved. Gently I squeezed his fingers. He glanced my way and I felt as shy as a thirteen-year-old experiencing her first crush.

  The anticipation of wanting him overruled anything happening on the stage. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go to the beach, run naked in the surf and make love on the sand until the sun rose to turn our brown bodies golden.

  Yet I sat there, cocooned in an aura of happiness, contentment, and longing. The concert ended and we joined the throngs of people exiting the concert hall. The night was perfect when we left, soft and velvety. Music drummed in my head and sang in my blood as Don’s arm wrapped around me and we strolled toward the hotel.

  “Are you okay with walking?” he asked. The concert was standing room only and it was a short distance from the hotel.

  “I like to walk,” I told him.

  “What about your shoes?”

  I looked down. My shoes were high-heeled and red. The hotel wasn’t far and I was sure I wouldn’t be pushing it to take the few steps to the entrance.

  “I can handle it,” I said. “We walked here and I was wearing the same shoes.”

  “And beautiful they are,” he said. He looked into my eyes. I thought I’d dive into them. Even in the darkness the need was visible. “I can go and get the car and pick you up,” he offered.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “I love a woman who knows her limits,” he said, humor evident in his voice. “You know when I first saw you, I named you Lady Legs.”

  “You did?”

  “You were getting out of the limousine. One long leg came out of the car. On it was a red high-heeled shoe. I thought your legs must be nine miles long and I couldn’t wait to see the rest of you.”

  “Did I live up to the anticipation?”

  He put his arm around my waist. “Baby, did you.”

  At that point, I turned my body into his and wrapped my arms around his neck. In the middle of the street, I kissed him. His mouth immediately crushed mine. I sensed this was something he’d been wanting to do all night. I knew I’d wanted to do it since the first time I saw him. I turned totally into him, fitting my body into his. His arms hugged me so close air couldn’t pass between us. Like teenagers in the height of hormonal conversion, we stood and kissed, our heads turning like a child’s top from side to side as we positioned and repositioned our mouths.

  “Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” I asked when we’d separated from each other and resumed walking.

  “What?” He directed me to the beach. Several yards away a bonfire was burning and we could hear the sound of laughter and music combined with the night sea and silver moon.

  “You were standing a few yards from the house. Your hand was up shading your eyes and you were staring at me. Your gaze was so intense that for a moment I thought you could see into my mind.”

  “What were you thinking at that moment?”

  I considered not telling him. “I wouldn’t want you to get too big a head,” I said.

  “Ah, now I’m really intrigued. What did you think?”

  “That you were a very attractive man.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “When did you change your mind?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” I said. My feet sank into the sand and I stopped walking. Grabbing hold of his arm, I reach down and removed my shoes. The wind blew gently against my arms. We walked away from the partygoers. Near a small curve in the land stood a sand dune.

  Around the side of it lay a blanket. On it was a glass-covered dish containing fruit and cheese. Next to that stood an ice bucket, a bottle of champagne protruding from its depths.

  I smiled when I saw the setup.

  “When did you do this?” I asked, surprised and pleased that he’d prepared a place for us to spend time together.

  “Earlier tonight,” he said. “Let’s sit down.”

  I dropped my shoes and took a seat. Don sat next to me. I looked at the wine. “Do you trust me with champagne after last night?”

  “I have control of the bottle,” he said. Opening the wine, he poured a portion into the wineglasses that accompanied the setup.

  “What shall we toast?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. Clinking our glasses, we drank.

  “I have a gift for you,” I said.

  “You do.” Don looked surprised, as if no one had ever given him anything. “What is it?”

  Opening my small sequin-covered purse, I pulled out a wrapped box. I ex
tended my hand with the box balanced in the center of my palm. Don looked curious. The package was small, rectangular, a jewelry box, the type that men usually gave to women.

  He pulled the ribbon and untied it. The paper came away and he dropped it on the blanket. I watched with anticipation. Every now and then Don looked at me, expecting a clue to what was inside the box. I smiled but gave nothing away.

  Finally the unadorned red velvet box was free of its trappings.

  “What in this?” he asked.

  “One way to find out,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my face.

  Gingerly he lifted the top.

  “It won’t bite you,” I said.

  “It just that I never expected anything.”

  The top fully extended, he looked inside. “What is this?” he asked, lifting out the three six-inch lengths of gold string that lay on a bed of white velvet.

  I took one and wrapped it around his index finger.

  “Can’t you tell when there are strings attached?”

  “Does this mean what I think it means?”

  “I don’t know. My mind-reading skills aren’t up to par.”

  “Are the strings saying you want to tie me up or tie me in knots?”

  “Hmm.” I smiled. “I hadn’t thought of either, but the tie you up sounds like a winner.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I have my way with you.”

  “You don’t need strings for that.”

  “What would I need?”

  “It isn’t what you need. It’s what you don’t need.”

  “What don’t I need?” The air had turned fiery and we were whispering as if in the aloneness of the beach someone might hear us.

  He slipped one strap down from my dress.

  “This is the first thing you won’t need.” He kissed my shoulder. “And this is the second.” The other strap fell to the side.

  “How many are there?”

  “I’m not sure, but I plan to count every one of them. In slow …” Kiss. “Exquisite …” Kiss. “Fine …” Kiss. “Detail.”

  I could hardly breathe. My heart pounded harder than the surf. The ocean lapped against the shore while my heart hammered as if raging against jutting rocks that stood in the way of an intended goal.