Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

by J. D. Mason

  The soft creaking of the screen door snapped her out of her dreamy trance. “You’re insane. You know that, don’t you?”

  Evan came out onto the porch and sat down next to her. He even had the audacity to take her cup of coffee from her. “Didn’t we just go to bed?” he asked, irritably.

  Sue chuckled and ran her hand through the wild salt-and-pepper spikes of hair on his head. “Just because I’m up, doesn’t mean you have to be.”

  He grunted something inaudible, but she decided that he’d said something along the lines of, “I missed ya.”

  “Besides.” She took her cup of coffee back. “I have a ton of work to do today.”

  “You always have a ton of work to do.”

  They had been together for twenty years, married for nine of those years. He’d put on at least twenty pounds since she’d first met him. Sue had put on … a few, which was all she’d ever own up to. His dark hair had turned gray. Sue hid her gray with a chemical compound that always equaled auburn and they were as comfortable together as a well-worn pair of shoes, but she still found him as sexy as the day she’d first laid eyes on him.

  “I have a deadline,” she said, simply.

  “You always have a deadline.”

  “What time will you be home tonight?” she asked, feeling surprisingly aroused.

  He looked at her. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  She smiled devilishly. “Handcuffs, blindfolds, and,” she shrugged, “maybe some honey.”

  He cocked one thick, dark brow. “Honey too?”

  “Unless you prefer whipped cream.”

  “No, honey’s good. I like honey. It’s sticky.”

  “I know, baby.”

  Evan placed a heavy hand on her thigh. “So … I could go in late.”

  “So … you could.”

  The two of them looked at each other, and suddenly bolted up from the swing, and raced each other inside and upstairs to the bedroom.

  “I don’t think we have any handcuffs, sweetie,” he said, letting her pass him on the stairs.

  “Socks!” she said, excitedly. “We can use socks!”

  * * *

  The sound of Desi Green’s voice coming from that small recording was more haunting to Sue now than when she’d sat across from the woman in Manhattan. It filled Sue’s office, the house, the block, and it reverberated off of her soul. Sue had expected Desi Green to be a walking heartache, wounded, a living, breathing tragedy, and a sad and lonely woman worth more than twenty million bucks. The reality was vastly different. Desi had had some heartbreaking years. She’d suffered more than most people, but the woman Sue had come to know was nobody’s victim. And she wore that money of hers like the queen wore the crown jewels, as if it were her birthright.

  * * *

  “People think that if you’re scared long enough, that all you are is scared, and that’s all you’ll ever be. And if you’re not careful, you’ll prove them right,” Desi said, in her soft, Southern accent. “But eventually you get sick and tired of being afraid all the time. Fear is heavy, like carrying bricks around your neck all the time. That’s not how I want to live the rest of my life. I’ve lost too much of it to waste it. Every day counts for me. Every minute. Every second.”

  “So you’re not afraid anymore, Desi?”

  Desi smiled. “Pay attention, Sue. I said no.”

  In 1985, eighteen-year-old Desdimona Green shot and killed millionaire Julian Gatewood in the living room of her mother’s house. The young woman was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for his murder. Six months after her release, she inherited twenty million dollars from her mother’s estate, money left to her by the man her daughter murdered.

  Sue pushed away from her keyboard, and stared at the words she’d typed on the screen, reading them over and over again, half a dozen times before finally typing her next, and most profound sentence. Why did Desi kill Julian Gatewood?

  In all the years since Julian’s death, no one had ever asked Desi that question. Sue hadn’t asked it either because as much as she wanted to know the answer, Sue was terrified of it.

  Sue stared long and hard at that question she’d typed on the screen, knowing that it was the only one that ever really mattered. It had been consuming Sue ever since she came across the saga of Desi Green.

  “Are you going to tell me, Desi?” she murmured reflectively to herself.

  Sue’s phone buzzed next to her indicating that she had a text. It was from Desi.

  Tom Billings, the sheriff who arrested me, is dead.

  Sue immediately dialed Desi’s number to try and get more information, but got her voice mail instead. A few minutes later, she got another text from Desi.

  He shot himself in the head. I shouldn’t be feeling what I’m feeling.

  Set Me Free

  Desi was back in Texas, sitting next to Lonnie on her porch, looking across to the lake in front of her house.

  “You know how many times I wished that man dead?” Desi had never admitted that out loud to anyone. But after her arrest, she had wanted Billings to die. “I prayed for him to be struck by lightning, or run over by a train.”

  “But now?”

  “Killing himself, that was on his terms, Lonnie. He chose to do that, and he chose how he was going to do it.”

  “You got a beef with that?”

  “How many people choose?” she asked, introspectively. “At the first sign of trouble, he opted out. He’s a coward.”

  “The Billingses of the world are bullies. They can dish it out, but they can’t take it.”

  “First Mary, and now him.” Desi shook her head.

  “I see a pattern emerging,” Lonnie said, sarcastically.

  “I never expected any of this.” Desi said solemnly.

  “What, Des?” Lonnie asked, irritably. “People die. Mary was old. Billings was a bitch.”

  “Mary died taking her confessions with her. Billings died with nobody knowing what he did to me. Nobody knows what either one of them did.”

  Lonnie looked at her. “You know.”

  “Yeah, but I’m the only one. Neither one of them made any grand speeches about how they wronged Desi Green. Nothing’s changed. Mary Travis still walks on water, and Billings isn’t the man everybody thought he was, but he still was the best sheriff Blink, Texas had ever seen.”

  “Is that what they’re saying about it?”

  “He’s still the hometown hero,” she said, sadly.

  “Not to everybody, Des,” Lonnie said.

  “If even one person still thinks he is after all this, Lonnie, then that’s one person too many.”

  Lonnie had been running her resources ragged trying and dig up dirt on Billings and Fleming, and for what? So, she exposed them as kidnappers and pedophiles? She hadn’t been able to expose their involvement in Desi’s trial and conviction.

  “It’ll all come to light when that book is published,” Lonnie started to explain, sounding almost as if she’d read Desi’s mind. “I’ve cracked the egg, Des. You’re the one who has to pull it apart and expose the middle.”

  “I’ll sound like I’m lying.”

  Lonnie shook her head, leaned forward in her chair, and covered Desi’s hand with hers. “Open your eyes, girl. That’s why I’m doing all this. When people see them for the kind of fools they really are, then they’ll read what you say in that book differently. All of a sudden, you won’t be the liar, Desi. People will give what you say credence, and they won’t be so quick to discount your version of what happened because the reputations of men like these have been brought to light.”

  “I almost believe you.”

  “I believe what I’m saying. It’s like building blocks. Without these secrets coming into the forefront, then it would be just your word against theirs. And your word would be crap next to theirs. But now.” Lonnie smiled. “Desi, Billings isn’t everybody’s hero anymore. Fleming’s reputation is about to go down the drain, and even Gatewood is going to feel th
e sting of what’s coming his way.”

  “He’s not old, Lonnie, and he’s not weak like Billings and maybe even Fleming. Jordan won’t put a bullet through his head to get out of this. He’ll retaliate. We bring a stick to this fight, he’ll come back with a bigger stick.”

  “How can you say that?” Lonnie looked perplexed. “Knowing what you know, how in the world can you sit here with a straight face and tell me that?”

  “Because I know him. I know him, Lonnie, you don’t. He will not go down without a fight, and honestly, his mean ass will probably win.”

  Lonnie looked at Desi and thought that she was a fool. If she believed that Jordan Gatewood could come through all this victorious and unscathed, after everything Desi knew, then she was a fool.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Lonnie,” Desi blurted out. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “No,” Lonnie wanted to tell her. “You don’t know him like I do.” But for now, she kept her mouth shut. For now, it was best.

  While Desi was still pondering Tom Billings’s suicide, Lonnie was reeling over her weekend in Mexico with Jordan and trying to make herself forget about that thing he’d said.

  He’d said he loved her.

  “That’s not part of this equation, Jordan,” she started to laugh.

  He smiled. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Lonnie.”

  She started to push up off of him, but he held her in place.

  “I don’t know what to do with that,” she said.

  “Just take it. I’m not asking for it back. It’s something that’s been building and I had to get it off my chest.”

  “What are you thinking about?” Desi asked her. “I can tell something’s churning inside that head of yours.”

  Lonnie shook her head. “Nothing. Just the fact that Jordan Gatewood was trying to change the rules of their game.”

  No Woman, No Cry

  “It’s such a beautiful day,” Olivia said, strolling around the lake on her property with her son.

  It was a good day. A clear day. Olivia was present and aware and she enjoyed it fully.

  “How about I take you to Strom’s tonight for dinner?” Jordan asked, knowing that Strom’s was his mother’s favorite restaurant.

  Olivia squeezed his arm, and gazed admiringly at him. “That would be lovely, Jordan. You know I haven’t been there in a very long time.”

  “I know. And I’d love it if you’d accompany me.”

  “Yes, Mr. Gatewood. It would be my pleasure. I feel as if we haven’t spoken in such a long time,” Olivia said, earnestly.

  “We speak every day, Mother,” he gently explained.

  A dark expression of confusion shadowed her face. “You know what I mean. How have you been, son?”

  “I’ve been fine, Mother.”

  “Tell me you’re not working too hard. How’s Claire and when are the two of you going to make me some grandbabies?”

  He chuckled. “We’re working on it, Mother.” It was a half truth. Claire wasn’t on birth control. She hadn’t been on any for years, and they hadn’t even had so much as an “almost” pregnancy.

  She scoffed at him. “Work harder,” she commanded. “No offense, son, but you’re not getting any younger.”

  “No, I’m certainly not getting any younger, Mother,” he said, introspectively. Jordan had a daughter from his first marriage, Dawn, living in California with her mother, and attending UCLA where she was studying to become a doctor. Dawn was twenty-two, twenty-three years old by now. He’d broken her mother’s heart, and she’d taken the baby and left him. It was one of those things that Olivia didn’t always seem to remember, and one that he didn’t see the need to remind her of now.

  “Well, that wife of yours is surely young enough.” Claire had just turned thirty-one. “She should be churning out children left and right, unless something’s wrong with her.”

  He laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with Claire.”

  Olivia’s tone turned serious. “Then it’s you,” she said, sincerely. “Tell me it’s not you, Jordan, but if it is,” she hurried to add, “if it is, then these doctors today can work miracles, son. I can ask—”

  “Mother,” he interjected quickly. Talking to his mother about matters of sperm was downright uncomfortable. “I’m fine.”

  Olivia stopped walking. “Julian wanted so many grandchildren,” she said sadly. A serene expression washed over her face. “He said he wanted a house full of them, laughing and playing, until they got on his nerves so bad that he could call up you or your sister to ‘Come and get these damn kids!’” she mimicked him. “But I know,” she said sadly, gazing out at the sunset. “I know you’d probably have had to get a restraining order to keep him away from his grandchildren.”

  The fact that she could still talk about his father with so much love for him, after what he’d done, amazed Jordan. For years he’d kept Ida Green set up in that house, in that small-ass town. For years he’d lied to Jordan’s mother, telling her he was away on business, when in fact, he was an hour outside of town, laid up with that woman playing house.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” his mother looked at him and smiled. “I can see it in your face. You’re wondering how I could love him after everything that happened.”

  “You know me too well,” he smiled back.

  “It wasn’t always like that, son. You only remember the bad parts because you were so young, and you’re still angry with him.”

  “You should still be angry too, Mother.”

  “Holding a grudge won’t change anything. And besides, I’m getting too old to bear the weight of regret.” Olivia frowned. “Lord knows I’ve born more than enough. But sometimes, I give into it, the anger. Sometimes I hate Julian Gatewood as much as one human being can hate another, but never enough. Never completely.”

  “I needed him, Jordan,” she said somberly, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Mother,” he said, starting to interrupt. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want her to punish herself like this over a man who didn’t deserve her love.

  “I know you don’t understand, but I miss him, terribly.”

  “It’s getting dark.” He tugged gently on her elbow. “Let’s go back to the house.”

  “You don’t like hearing me say things like that.” She looked at Jordan. “Do you?”

  He was quiet for a moment, considering the best way to answer her question. “He didn’t treat you right. That’s what I don’t like.”

  She shrugged and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe I didn’t treat him so right either.”

  “Did you have a man on the side somewhere that we don’t know about?” he asked flippantly.

  “You’re a grown man now, son. You’re old enough to understand the complexities of relationships between men and women. Your father and I weren’t a perfect couple, but we did love each other, Jordan.”

  He smiled politely. “Of course you did, Mother.”

  “But.” She hesitated. “You don’t believe he loved me. Do you?”

  He turned to her and pressed her hand between both of his. “I believe that it’s absolutely impossible for any man in his right mind not to love you.”

  Olivia stared suspiciously at him. “Your father was very much in his right mind, Jordan. Julian loved me in his way. And,” sadness filled her eyes, “he loved her too.”

  Jordan’s frustration shone through. “Julian was a fool and he made a big deal out of a woman that was no big deal.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. He didn’t make a fuss over her. Not like a man of his position should’ve.”

  His mother was talking nonsense, and he quickly concluded that she was losing her grasp on reality again. “He left her a fortune, Mother. I’d say he took pretty damn good care of her.”

  “He took more than he gave,” she said, suddenly sounding bitter.

  He studied her. “From her, or you?”

 
Olivia looked thoughtful for a moment. “Both,” she said, introspectively. “We both sacrificed, and we both lost so much because we loved him. In his own way, he loved both of us, and if he could be condemned for anything, it was for being greedy, wanting to have his cake and eat it too. And—we let him.”

  “Ida Green can rot in hell for all I care, Mother.”

  “If she rots in hell then so will I,” she said, with sadness filling her eyes.

  Jordan stared warmly at his mother, and put his arm around her shoulder. “Julian was a fool,” he said, resentfully.

  She patted her son’s hand. “We are all fools, son.”

  * * *

  Olivia wore her favorite blue dress and the diamond teardrop earrings Julian had given her for their ten-year anniversary. Olivia hadn’t been out of the house in such a long time and tonight, she was being escorted by one of the most handsome men in Dallas, her son.

  The fine-looking man waiting for Olivia at the bottom of the stairs took her breath away in his dark suit and crisp white shirt. He looked so much like the man who sired him sometimes that it made her ache inside. Olivia always believed that it made his father ache sometimes too.

  He looked up at her and smiled. “Hello gorgeous,” he said as if he meant it.

  Olivia paused. He was such a mean and angry man. He had gone out of his way to try and hide his anger from her, but she was his mother. Of course she knew it was there—always. He hadn’t always been that way. They’d turned him into the man he was now. Olivia and Julian had created the monster that was Jordan and they had been responsible for who he had become.

  Overwhelming guilt threatened to swallow her whole at that moment. “I’m sorry, Jordan,” Olivia finally said with all of the sincerity she could muster.

  He looked confused. “Mother?”

  She loved him. Olivia loved her son now, more than ever. And she forgave him for the things he’d done, and for the things he would do in the future.

  She pulled a warm and appreciative smile from someplace deep down inside her. “I’m starving,” she said, reaching for his arm. “If I don’t get some food in me soon, I’m liable to take a bite out of this big, strong arm of yours.” She squeezed him.