Bethany had continued to give herself a pep talk on the drive back to Falls Church, reminding herself that she had managed to rise above poverty to become a successful actress and journalist. It had taken focus and determination to leave Parkers Corners, a town with fewer than six hundred residents, for Charlottesville, Virginia—a city with a population of more than forty thousand. She’d been called country, white trash, trailer trash and the derogatory honkey. But she had sucked it up and survived to graduate with honors. Most times she attributed the hostility and rejection to envy and jealousy. She had what men wanted and what women didn’t have. But most of all she’d had an overabundance of confidence, something she’d lost when she married Damon.
“It feels good to know that someone wants to protect me,” Bethany said after a prolonged silence.
“Not someone, Beth. Me.”
Going on tiptoe, she pressed light kisses at the corner of Damon’s mouth. “What do you say we go to bed—together?”
Damon’s eyes darkened until all traces of blue disappeared. “I’d like that.”
Chapter Eight
Deanna sat at the computer, designing the invitation for her dinner party. She’d wanted engraved invitations, but when she’d called the printer he told her she would have a six-week wait. The problem was she didn’t have six but only four weeks. She had to allow for a two-week turnaround for the return of phone calls and/or response cards. Her cell phone buzzed and she tapped the speaker feature when she saw the name on the display.
“Thanks for getting back to me, Esther.”
“What’s up, Dee?”
“Do you have time to do thirty invitations for me?”
“How soon do you need them?”
“Two weeks,” she told the calligrapher.
“Done. Just email me everything and I’ll have them back to you in a week. I just hired an assistant who does Asian calligraphy, so whenever you want an Asian theme I’ll give her the job.”
Deanna removed her reading glasses. “You’ve just given me an idea.”
“Talk to me, girl.”
She smiled although Esther couldn’t see her. “Maybe I’ll use an Asian theme for the dinner. I’ll buy silk fans for the ladies and splits of champagne with personalized labels with their names in English and Chinese for the men.”
“That’s a nice touch, Dee. I’ll have Carley do something with red and gold that will look nice. Do you want to see a sample before we complete the job?”
“No. I want to be surprised.”
“Don’t you mean shocked?”
“If it’s shocked as in good, then so be it.”
“You’re my homegirl, Deanna. You know I’ll always hook you up, because if it hadn’t been for you steering business my way I would’ve closed up a long time ago.”
“What do they say about it takes a village? If we don’t help out one another, then none of us will survive.”
“You do more than help,” Esther said, her voice filling with emotion. “You’re always looking out for other folks.”
“Cast your bread upon the water—”
“Don’t you dare go to church on me, Deanna Tyson,” Esther warned.
Deanna laughed. Esther’s father had been a preacher and she had been required to read the Bible every day. Even at forty she could quote chapter and verse. “When was the last time you went to church?”
“I’m not going to answer that because it might tend to incriminate me. Send me what you want and I’ll have it back to you in a week.”
Putting on her glasses, Deanna saved what she’d typed. Then she went online and downloaded the files to Esther. “You know your name is on the list.”
“Can I bring my partner?”
“Of course.”
She ended the call, her head filled with ideas now that she’d decided to change from a traditional theme to one with an Asian flare. That meant the menu would also change. There was a restaurant along Woodley Road that served Chinese, Japanese and Thai dishes. Deanna would also order the ubiquitious American hors d’oeuvres and entrées from her favorite caterer and wine and liquors from a wholesale distributor.
The phone buzzed again and she picked it up. “Tyson Planners, Deanna speaking.”
“Hi, Deanna. This is Bethany Paxton. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was the hot mess in the bathroom at the museum.”
“I remember you, Bethany. How are you?”
“I’m well. In fact, I’m real good. Thanks to you and your friend—”
“Marisol. Her name is Marisol Rivera-McDonald.”
“Is she married to Bryce McDonald?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I thought I saw him at your table when I came back from the bathroom. I’m calling because I would like to treat you to lunch or dinner to thank you for helping me to get my head together. And I’d also like your opinion about a party.”
Deanna stared at the calendar she had put up on a board over the desk with her computer. “Are you available today?”
“Do you mean now?”
“No, not right now. How about one-thirty? If that’s too late for you because you have to pick up your children—”
“My housekeeper picks up my children,” Bethany interrupted. “One-thirty is fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“Where do you live?”
“Falls Church. Where do you live, Deanna?”
“Alexandria.”
“I love Alexandria. Why don’t you pick the restaurant and I’ll meet you there at one-thirty. And don’t forget it’s my treat. Oh—do you think it’s possible for Marisol to join us?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to call her and see,” Deanna said. She knew Marisol wasn’t really into Bethany, but would call and feel her out. “Your number came up on my ID, so I’ll call you back after I talk to Marisol and make the reservation.”
“You’re a doll, Deanna. I’ll wait for your call.”
Deanna wanted to tell Bethany she was the Barbie doll. All made up and coiffed for her Ken. And she had to admit that Damon Paxton was the perfect male counterpart to his wife, with his tanned face, patrician features, tall, slender physique and expertly barbered hair. Although middle-aged, Damon was still an extremely attractive man. And from what Spencer had implied, he was quite the ladies’ man.
“Do you have a food preference?” she asked before Bethany hung up.
“I love seafood.”
“How about red meat?”
“I only eat red meat twice a week, so if I eat it today, then I’m good.”
“I’m anemic, so I have to have red meat at least four times a week. There’s Morton’s of Chicago in downtown D.C. They also serve lobster and grilled fish.”
“It sounds good.”
Deanna hung up and hit speed dial for Marisol. Judging from her slurred response, she figured she had awoken the interior designer. “Do you want me to call you back?”
“No,” Marisol said alertly. “I was watching a movie and had dozed off. What’s up?”
She told Marisol about Bethany’s call. “She wants you to come along. I thought Morton’s would be a good place to eat.”
“I don’t know what it is about this chick, Dee, but something about her is not sitting right with me. Maybe I have some sangre de la bruja like mi abuela, but I don’t know about Bethany Paxton.”
Deanna shuddered when a cold shiver swept over her body. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about witch’s blood and spells.”
“You don’t like it because you know they exist.”
“Can we go back to the subject? Are you coming?”
“Why not? It’s not as if I was doing anything but catching up on watching the movies I’ve missed.”
“Where’s Bryce?”
“He’s in Denver.”
“What’s or should I ask who’s there?”
“Some millionaire looking to unseat the incumbent governor. Bryce says the man’s delusional if he believes he can defeat that sta
te’s most popular governor in more than half a century, but if he wants to pay Bryce the big bucks as a consultant then who is he to tell him he’s wrong?”
“Bryce is right.”
“Where are we meeting?” Marisol asked.
“Morton’s on Connecticut.”
“Isn’t that close to the Mayflower?”
“It’s a block from the hotel.”
“I think I’m going to take a taxi and leave my car here. Can you drop me off when we’re finished?”
“I can come and pick you up if you want.”
“That’s not necessary. What time are we meeting Miss Bethany?”
Deanna rolled her eyes upward. When she’d first met Marisol it had taken her a while to get used to her sarcasm, but under her friend’s tough girl exterior beat a heart of gold. “One-thirty. I’ll see you later, chica.”
“¡Adiós!”
Chapter Nine
It was a very different Bethany Paxton who smiled at the two women who had literally saved her reputation two weeks before. Her gaze swept over Deanna, who looked incredibly chic in a black wool gabardine pantsuit, white silk blouse and Prada pumps. The single strand of pearls around her long, graceful neck matched the studs in her ears.
Marisol was equally conservatively dressed in a navy wool pencil skirt, white turtleneck and red bolero jacket. Sheer navy hose and matching suede pumps pulled her winning look together. She’d replaced the large diamond studs she usually wore with pearls.
Bethany had changed twice before deciding on a pair of charcoal-gray slacks, a cashmere twinset in a robin’s-egg-blue and a pair of Gucci slip-ons. A plain gold wedding band and small gold hoops completed what she considered her on-air professional look—a look she’d perfected when she was a news reporter.
Bethany hugged and affected air kisses when Marisol and Deanna stood up. “Thanks again for meeting me.”
Deanna stared at the narrow blue velvet headband holding Bethany’s flaxen hair off her face. “You’re looking well.” The color of her twinset accentuated the color of her eyes, which at first appeared dark blue but were actually violet.
“You do look a lot better than you did the last time we saw you,” Marisol quipped flippantly.
Bethany’s smile did not falter. “Thankfully I feel a lot better than I did the last time you saw me.”
“Ladies, your table is ready.”
Deanna turned and nodded to the hostess. “Thank you.”
She led the way into the dining room, the others following. The lunch crowd was thinning out and they were given a table in a corner that provided a modicum of privacy. They studied the menu, deciding what they wanted to eat. All had opted for sparkling water in lieu of a cocktail.
Bethany raised her goblet in a toast. “To the ladies who helped me to see what I can be.”
Deanna touched her glass to Bethany’s, but Marisol was slower in acknowledging the toast. “Here, here,” they chorused in unison.
Marisol took a sip, set down her glass and then leaned forward. “If you don’t mind my asking, what was up with the waterworks at the museum?”
Bethany touched her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “I don’t mind you asking. You probably know that I’m not Damon’s first wife.” Deanna and Marisol nodded. “He has a daughter from his first marriage, and she wakes up every morning to make my life a living hell. I won’t go into detail about what she’s done and said to me, but the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back was when I made a pot of chili for my son and daughter, who’d been pestering me for a week to make it for them. That was the night of the fundraiser.
“When I served it to my children they claimed they couldn’t eat it because it was too salty. When I tasted it I realized someone must have dumped at least a cup of salt into the pot.”
“Did you ask your stepdaughter?” Deanna asked.
Bethany rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. “You know I did, but she denied it, saying I must have done it to get her into trouble with her father. Damon usually defends her, but if she does anything to Connor or Abby, then he’s on her like white on rice.”
Marisol shook her head. “Did you tell Damon?”
“No. I think that’s what she wanted me to do. I had the housekeeper take the kids out to a restaurant, but the look of disappointment on their faces haunted me until I finally went into the bathroom and lost it.”
Deanna gave Bethany a long, penetrating stare. “Why isn’t she living with her mother?”
“She doesn’t want to live with her.”
“Why?” Marisol and Deanna asked in unison.
Bethany closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were shimmering with moisture. “Her mother has remarried and moved to Idaho. She didn’t want to go with her.”
“Damn,” Marisol drawled. “That’s a long way from here. She probably didn’t want to leave her friends.”
“She doesn’t have any friends,” Bethany said. “I know it sounds strange, but at fifteen she should have at least one friend.”
Leaning back in her chair, Deanna crossed her arms under breasts. “She doesn’t want to live with her mother, she disrespects you and disrupts your entire household. It sounds as if the girl needs to be in therapy.”
Bethany nodded in agreement. “When I told Damon that, he said she’s just going through a phase. And I told him I wasn’t allowed to go through a phase. Either I did as my parents said or I knew which road to take to get out of town.”
“My mother used to say it was either her way or the highway,” Deanna intoned.
“I hear you,” Marisol crooned. “Mami would say, ‘I brought you into this world, please don’t make me take you out.’” Conversation halted when the waiter set plates of salad at each place setting.
“What do you do during the day, Bethany?” Deanna asked after she’d swallowed a forkful of radicchio and red-leaf lettuce delicately seasoned with vinaigrette.
“I’m a stay-at-home mom.”
Marisol gave her an incredulous look. “Why do you say that as if you just won the lottery?”
Bethany frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” Marisol had answered her with a question. “You’re a young woman who went to college in order to have a career. You marry a man, push out a couple of kids and then sit down and watch soaps and game shows.”
Bethany sat up straight. “Don’t knock the soaps, Marisol. I had a recurring role in one for a couple of years that paid the bills and served as a stepping-stone to a career as a television journalist.”
Marisol glared at the superficial woman whose life was a disaster because she didn’t know how to get out of her own way. “Why aren’t you working as a journalist?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I have children.”
“Didn’t you say you have a housekeeper?” Bethany nodded. “Is she part-time?”
Marisol held up a hand. “I think I can answer that for Ms. Paxton. Her housekeeper is not only full-time, but probably live-in. Right or wrong, Beth?”
Bethany flushed a becoming pink shade. “You’re right.”
Marisol flipped back a curl that had fallen over her forehead with a toss of her head. “Herein lies your problem. You’re a thirtysomething woman trying to be something you’re not. And that is the socialite wife of a wealthy man. You’re a wife, but that’s all. You talk about your husband, children and stepdaughter, but not about Bethany. Why aren’t you on the board of some nonprofit organization? Why aren’t you on the PTA or volunteering as class mom at your children’s school? Do you even get up in time to see your kids off to school?”
“You don’t like me, do you, Marisol?”
It was Marisol’s turn for her face to darken as she compressed her lips tightly. “I don’t know you enough not to like you. What I don’t like is you making excuses as to why your life is so screwed up.”
“I didn’t say my life was screwed
up,” Bethany retorted.
“You think not?” Marisol questioned. “You’re bored, Beth. Bored and frustrated because you thought marrying Damon was the answer to all your dreams. But you didn’t count on becoming a stepmother. I saw those women sitting at your table when I came to tell Damon what had happened to you. If they live to a hundred and you to a hundred and one they will never accept you.”
“Is that what happened when you married Bryce McDonald?” Bethany spat out.
Marisol wagged at finger at Bethany. “No, puta. Don’t even go there. I’m not going to lie and say that some of Bryce’s family didn’t like the fact that he’d fallen in love and married a Latina, but the difference is I didn’t give a shit. And because I didn’t, they tried everything to win me over. Some I forgave. Others I’ll never forgive. I know who I am. More importantly, I like who I am. Bryce may have been born into money, but I don’t need his money because I make enough to buy what I need and also what I want. That’s the difference between you and me.” She punctuated the pronouns, pointing a finger at Bethany, then tapping her own chest.
Deanna patted Bethany’s arm. “Marisol’s right. You need to get involved in something that doesn’t include Damon, your kids or your stepdaughter. I’ve never watched soap operas, so I can’t judge your acting ability. But I do remember seeing you reporting the news. You were professional and memorable. Why don’t you volunteer to supervise interns at one of the local networks? I’m certain they would love to have you.”
Bethany’s expression brightened. “That’s a good idea.”
Marisol gave Bethany a facetious grin. “It’s a wonderful idea, but only if you follow through.”
Reaching into her handbag, Bethany took out her cell phone. “I still have a contact at the station. To show you I’m serious I’ll call him now.” She asked for the man who’d been her mentor at the station, but he no longer worked there. “Do you know how I can get in touch with him?” she asked the woman in human resources. “This is Bethany…Collins. I used to work there.” She reached into her bag for a pen. It took less than three minutes to get the information she needed to contact her former mentor.
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