Tessa called the number on her file. The female voice on the answering machine was starchy and abrupt. Well, maybe the market wasn’t doing too well the day she recorded it, Tessa reasoned. Margaret would be a perfect match for Alistair. Although she didn’t have firsthand knowledge, she just knew that his penis reacted in direct relation to the Dow.
With hardly a twinge of guilt, Tessa left a glowing and flattering description of him on Margaret’s machine, a lot of which centered around his bank account, adding, “If you think this fascinating gentleman would interest you, Margaret, please call Synchronicity and leave a message, and we’ll give him your number.”
There. She blew out a breath and fished in her purse for a cigarette before she remembered she’d flushed them all down the toilet this morning. It was the third pack she’d wasted that way. Alistair would have pointed out that she could have used the money to invest in a cigarette company.
Now she had to find some unsuspecting fellow female to offer as a tidbit to Eric, the catch and release king. Out of the mouths of innocent children came truths she might otherwise never have known. He was good at deception. She’d even been starting to trust him before Simon summed up his track record. Hell, she was even liking him a lot.
Poring over the files, she finally located a photo of Sylvia Delecroix.
Lithe blonde, good teeth and hair, smart business suit. Banking specialist, whatever that was. Clara had noted with her usual optimism that Sylvia was intelligent, attractive and sophisticated.
Tessa dialed the number on Sylvia’s file, and in a sugary voice that almost gave her diabetes, she extolled Eric’s virtues. To her eternal shame, she made him sound like a cross between George Clooney and Superman. She didn’t add that he thought women were disposable—what was wrong with her head, what else would a garbage man think? —Or that he wasn’t about to use his precious sperm to produce progeny. Sylvia wouldn’t care about that anyway, she didn’t sound the motherly type. She might have something to say about Eric’s ugly old van, though. They’d deal with that when the time came.
When Tessa hung up, she symbolically washed her hands with scented soap in the bathroom and then sucked hard on a toothpick, squinting her eyes at the imaginary smoke she blew out in invisible puffs.
All she had to do now was wait for a call from poor Sylvia, and with the bio she’d created for Eric, that call was inevitable. Then Tessa would call Eric with the good news. She made a bet with herself that she’d hear from Sylvia before noon, God help the sad woman. This must be what it felt like to slaughter lambs, and what was lung cancer in the face of that? She was just about to lock the office and race out for a new pack of cigarettes when the door opened and Clara walked in.
Tessa immediately gave Clara a guilty hug and sent up a prayer of thanks for delaying the cigarette run. “Clara, honey, how are you?”
She looked like hell. The short white hair, usually softly waved and puffy, hadn’t been washed or set. Her eyeliner was on crooked, her mascara smudged. She gave Tessa a wan smile.
“Not my best, dollink.”
No kidding. And if Clara were anyone else, Tessa would have found her boring, because every sentence in the next half hour began or ended with Bernard. Bernard this, Bernard that, Bernard the next thing until Tessa wanted to gag.
“Bernard’s moving out of the house,” Clara confided while Tessa was trying to give her a rundown on which clients were seeing which. “He’s starting divorce proceedings, he’s asking for a ridiculous amount of money from me.”
“That’s bullsh—” Tessa caught herself. “That’s a load of crap. What does your lawyer say?” Tessa had relied totally on her lawyer, Sheldon Winesapp, during her own divorce.
“What men think they can get and what they do get are two very different things, Clara,” she quoted. “The law does protect women more now than it did years ago.”
Like when Maria divorced Walter, for instance. Tessa’s mother had sworn for years that she got cheated on the settlement. Tessa couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if those two got married again and divorced for the second time. Lord, they’d both be in care facilities arguing about who got the dining room set long after Tessa sold it to pay for their maintenance.
“I’m going to see a lawyer, but I need to talk with you first, Tessa.” Clara paused dramatically. “I’ve decided I have to sell Synchronicity. And I want you to buy it. You’re the only one I’d trust with my baby.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Always look a gift horse in the mouth
Openmouthed, Tessa stared at her employer. “Sell? But you love Synchronicity. Don’t do anything hasty, Clara. You’ll change your mind once this is all over with.”
Tears shone in Clara’s eyes, but she shook her head. “My mind is made up.” She put a hand on her ample bosom. “My heart is broken. I just can’t believe in romance anymore. Promise me you’ll treat this as a confidence, because if Bernard knows I’m even thinking of selling, he’ll insist on even more money in the divorce settlement. And Synchronicity is mine, not Bernard’s. You and I can come to a private agreement, honorable, a handshake between friends.”
Clara’s tears spilled over and she dabbed at them with a lace-edged handkerchief. “This is so hard for me, I wouldn’t sell to just anyone, Tessa, but for you, dollink, I’ll give you Synchronicity at a special price, just because you’re you and I love you. And no one needs to know.”
Tessa’s head was swimming. She hurt for Clara, but wouldn’t it be illegal to buy the business and not let Bernard know? There was something called disclosure, she remembered that. But this was Bastard Bernard they were talking about here, she reminded herself. Serve him right to get screwed. And a selfish, greedy little part of her was already thinking of how it would be to be her own boss. She could make this place zing, install a computer, start an astrology link, advertise on the Net. And she had her own divorce settlement just sitting there in the bank. Didn’t Alistair say it ought to be working for her?
But the last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of Clara at a time when she was down.
“Did you have a figure in mind?”
Clara named one. Tessa gulped. It wasn’t exactly a gift. In fact, her entire savings would barely meet it. There might just be enough left over for a computer, if she got a deal on one.
“It’s an established business,” Clara said.
And it was one Tessa could get really good at, she just knew it. It was hard not to write a check right then, but she forced herself to say, “I never make major decisions on the spur of the moment, Clara.” Marrying Gordon on the spur of the moment had at least taught her that much. “Can I think about it for, say, a week or so?”
Clara didn’t look happy about it, but she finally agreed. “But keep it our little secret, promise me, Tessa.”
Tessa promised, knowing that her nose was growing.
Clara left. Tessa instantly snatched up the phone and called lawyer Sheldon Winesapp in Calgary. She’d dated him twice, and although he wasn’t the man for her, they’d parted on good terms because she hadn’t had to dump him, she’d moved to Vancouver instead. When he came on the line, she didn’t waste time.
“Sheldon, is it illegal to sell a business and not tell your husband? I mean when he’s a total sleaze-ball and planning on divorcing you because he’s screwing everything that holds still long enough? And the business doesn’t belong to him anyway?”
Fortunately Sheldon had experience listening to her when she was excited. “Hi, Tessa, long time no see. Is there a separation agreement? Are lawyers involved?”
“Not yet. Maybe on his side, I’m not sure, but for sure not on hers.”
“Transactions don’t count before a triggering event.”
“What’s a triggering event?”
“An order for divorce, a separation agreement signed by both parties.”
“So there’s nothing wrong with her selling me the business and not telling him? Nothing could happen to me if
I bought it?”
“Not a thing. There might be a slight problem for the wife if the other lawyer finds out after the triggering event and no funds have been disclosed, but beforehand, nada. And you’re in the clear regardless.”
Tessa felt like jumping up and down and squealing with joy. Instead, she thanked Sheldon, realizing too late that she’d been way too effusive.
“I’m missing you, Tess. I’ll be in Vancouver for a trial in a couple weeks,” he said. “Maybe you could show me the sights?”
“Absolutely.” Hell and damnation, he was a good lawyer, but he was also a twenty-four-carat bore.
And the sights he wanted to see were covered by her underwear. Well, she’d worry about Sheldon later.
She got off the phone and glanced at her watch. It wasn’t even noon yet, and already she’d been dumped by a millionaire, hit on by her last lawyer, and she was going to buy a business. And oh yeah, she’d betrayed a fellow female by lining her up with Eric.
When you’re hot, you’re hot.
By noon on Monday, Eric was wearing down. He hadn’t slept much since he heard the news about Nicols’s death, so he’d come to work extra early.
He’d spent the weekend teaching the boys football, hanging out with Karen and his sisters, and then going to bed and wondering how long it would be before the cops came calling to accuse him of murdering Jimmy Nicols. His rational mind told him that was ridiculous, but in the middle of the night, reason wasn’t his strong point. Lots of innocent guys went to jail.
He spent the morning doing paperwork in his office and listening to Henry and his mother holler at each other in Cantonese. He’d hired Gladys three days a week, but she volunteered the other two. It was a good thing he loved the van the way he did.
He’d been going to tell them about Jimmy dying. Henry and Gladys knew his family probably better than he did. But this morning he hadn’t been able to face the feeding frenzy that would follow, so he put it off.
They’d want to know every detail, and they’d go over it and over it, and Eric had already had enough of that with his sisters.
Just before noon, the smell of something deliciously pungent and Asian lured him into the kitchen, where Henry was slumped over the table, a bowl of food in one hand, chopsticks in the other.
“Hey, boss, how’s it going?” Henry’s eyes disappeared into his chubby cheeks when he smiled. “Want some lunch? Mom brought fresh wonton. You see Vince yet?”
Eric spooned wontons into a bowl and added broth.
“Nope. What’s up with Vince?” Klavinski was a good driver; he’d worked for Eric for three years now. He just wasn’t very smart, but that was an employee problem Eric encountered a lot. After all, how many brilliant little kids dreamed of driving garbage trucks when they grew up?
“Ahh, some weirdo punched him. Vince says customer filled the drop-off bin with rocks covered over with tree limbs, truck couldn’t move it. Vince told him take some out; guy went ballistic. That’s what Vince says.”
Eric knew there was probably more to the story. Vince was six-two and built like a tank, with a temper that spilled over without much provocation. “So what did Vince do then?”
“Hit him back. Busted some teeth. Guy’s suing us. Good thing we took out that insurance you bitched about.”
Eric nodded and spooned in wonton. Henry had fought him over the insurance, and not for the first time, Henry had been right. The premiums were astronomical, but it looked like they’d be worth it.
At least the guy Vince hit wasn’t related to him by marriage. Eric wondered if the policy extended to hitting ex-brother-in-laws in bars and having them die a few days later.
“I’ll talk to Vince, we’re maybe gonna have to let him go.”
Henry shook his head. “Cut him some slack, boss, he told Ma his wife took off with a telephone man. Vince is all cut up over it. Ma’s counseling him. Don’t worry, when the insurance people call, I’ll handle it.”
“Better you than me.” It was, too. Henry would query them on every single tiny detail, not once but millions of times, until they simply wore down and paid the claim. The adjustor would probably quit and apply for mental disability, but that was the insurance company’s problem. Henry was good at his job. He was born to be obstreperous.
“Where’s Gladys?”
“Watching Young and Restless. She’ll be here in a minute.”
Five years ago, Eric had bought the lot he’d been leasing up till then, as well as an adjoining property. He’d had this spacious office built and hired an assistant for Henry, who’d been complaining, legitimately, that there was too much work for one guy.
That first assistant lasted three days, the next three one day each. Henry claimed total innocence when it came to why no one could work with him. The applicants told Eric that Henry was controlling, manipulative, nosy, bossy, and impossible to work with. One complained that he ate all day and as a result, she’d gained seven pounds.
Henry Wong was all the things they said. He was also totally reliable, smart as hell, loyal to a fault. He knew everything there was to know about the junk business and had set up the entire computer system single-handed. He was the only one who really understood it, so that made him impossible to replace. Eric had put Henry in charge of finding his own assistant, which was how Gladys came on board. Eric simply hired his mother.
At sixty-four, Gladys Wong was as tiny as her son was large. Part of the time, they fought like wild dogs, screaming at each other and slamming doors. But in between wars, they ran the office like a finely tuned machine and brought in new contracts in a steady stream due to their connections with the Chinese community. The Wong’s were a major pain in the ass, and Eric was grateful for and to them.
“Boss,” Gladys hollered as he was finishing his food. “Anna’s on the phone.”
Eric went into his office and took the call, wondering if the cops had been around again. They hadn’t, which was a relief.
“I just checked your natal chart, and Saturn’s still messing around with it,” Anna reported. “That’s what this thing with Jimmy is, Saturn’s causing every unresolved issue in your life to surface. I was thinking a deep tissue cleansing would help. I’ve got a friend who sells herbal stuff and does coffee colonics.”
“Coffee colonics?” He knew what a colon was, and it didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out what adding ics to the end might involve. But—coffee?
“Since when did people stop drinking the stuff and start putting it up their butt?”
“It’s very effective, Eric. Don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it.”
He thought of telling Anna that he really didn’t think pouring coffee up his nether regions was going to make a whole lot of difference to the unresolved issues in his life, but he knew that would bring on a lecture about the ignorance of the general populace when it came to alternative healing. So he just thanked her and got off the phone, shaking his head and wondering if she’d managed to talk poor old Bruno into having one of these colonic things. One could only pray that Bruno was tough when it came to resisting Anna and her idiotic ideas.
He was getting a headache. He needed to get the hell out of the office for a while, and he liked driving his own garbage trucks. The grass roots of his business was garbage. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty, so he found a work order and a truck and got behind the wheel.
It was comforting to take the unit to the site and load up. By the time he’d made the slow trek through rush hour traffic out to the dump and back, he was feeling pretty good. He turned the stereo to a Western station and sang along with someone who didn’t want to live if she didn’t love him, which was a little extreme, Eric figured.
And just like that, Tessa walked into his head uninvited, long black curls tousled as if she’d just gotten out of bed, brown eyes sleepy and heavy lidded as they’d been when she’d had too much wine last Thursday. Too bad she couldn’t just stay drunk all the time. She was a great drunk. Sobe
r was another story.
And with Tessa on his mind, his good mood went south. He swore and tried to shove her back into limbo where she damned well belonged, but she was as stubborn in imagination as she was in reality.
At last, he gave up and grudgingly let her stay. And damn it to hell, she started taking her clothes off. At least she wasn’t cutting him down with that mouth of hers, but her breasts were doing a good enough job of making him uncomfortable even without the audio turned on.
The thing that surprised him was the sexual impact the image held. There he was, in bright June sunshine on the Oak Street Bridge, having desperately horny thoughts about a woman he really wished would join the Peace Corps and move to Africa.
He got back to the office, and the day took another turn, right in synch with his fantasies.
“Lady called for you,” Gladys reported. “Never called before, this a new one, huh?” Gladys shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Here’s the name and number. Said for you to call back soon as possible.”
Gladys handed him a yellow reminder slip that read, Tessa McBride, 439-9934, and he cursed himself for giving Synchronicity his business number. The cell had just seemed too intimate that day.
“This Tessa your new squeeze, boss?” Gladys prided herself on her slang. “You getting smarter, dumping Nema was good idea, she bad news, Nema.”
“What makes you think I got rid of Nema?”
Gladys’s unlined face, round as the moon, split into a grin. “She not been around wearing that black raincoat for over a week now, she history. She had bad chi, that one.”
MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild) Page 10
