Arthur chuckled. “And she bought it?”
“She’s not the brightest bulb on the tree, and I couldn’t very well tell her I was butt-ugly broke, now could I? Especially with me courting a soon-to-be heiress.” Conrad went to the sideboard and poured two tumblers of whiskey. He handed one to Arthur as he sat down.
“Well, spill it. Tell me what’s going on,” Arthur said.
“I went to the grocery store and asked around about Thelma without trying to act too conspicuous. Me having any interest in her at all is cause for some suspicion. Seems the woman loves the Beach Boys. I borrowed a CD from one of the clerks who also happens to appreciate their warbling, and I memorized the songs, thank God for simple lyrics, then took Thelma on a picnic. We drove around singing things about having good vibrations. Guess that’s better than bad vibration. Christ almighty, the woman has no taste.”
“So, what’s the next step?”
“Just made reservations for dinner. The country club. Going to take Thelma there tonight. Impress the hell out of her. Bet she’s never been to any place better than Slim’s. I told Lemond to seat us toward the back. God knows what she’ll wear. Last night the style of her clothes wasn’t too bad, but the quality was right out of Wal-Mart.”
He brushed a crease from his Perry Ellis slacks. “She had a good time, and that’s all that matters.”
Arthur tossed back his drink and stood. “Bring her flowers. Women are suckers for that shit.”
“I’ll make a stop at the grocery. Need to return that CD to the clerk. I drove into Memphis and picked up a few Beach Boy CDs of my own. Got to get with the program if I’m going to make this work.”
Arthur nodded. “Get the flowers at the grocery. Sure as hell don’t need florist quality for Thelma McAllister.”
Conrad checked his watch. “I better get moving. Don’t want to be late.” He let out a sigh. “Why couldn’t a sexy babe with big tits and a nice ass and taste for decent music and clothes inherit two million bucks?”
“All you have to do is tough it out for a year, get your finances totally mixed together, and you’re an instant millionaire.” Arthur pointed to the window. “When are you going to sell the Ferrari?”
Conrad raked his hair. “I’m working on it, okay. Selling a car like this and getting a Ford or another piece of crap takes some getting used to.”
“So do hunger pains.”
“The Ferrari impresses Thelma.”
“Who are you kidding; it impresses you. If you want Thelma to think you’ve changed, you need to do something different or she’ll smell a rat, and if she doesn’t, the O’Fallons sure as hell will, and you know how they feel about Thelma. If they suspect you’re conning her, you’re dead meat.”
Arthur put his glass on the sideboard. “Sell the car, simplify, do things you don’t normally do. That’s the only way she’s going to believe that the old Conrad no longer exists and the new improved version is in love with her. Sell the damn car.”
He left, and Conrad watched the Audi disappear down the driveway. An Audi for Christ’s sake, how could Arthur appreciate a Ferrari?
Conrad considered switching clothes to something stylish before he picked up Thelma. What a waste. She’d dress in some old rag and look perfectly pitiful as always. He didn’t need to impress her. He just had to convince her he was madly in love with her and do it damn quick before those handwriting experts finished up.
He closed the door behind him and slid into the Ferrari, cranked over the engine and listened to the rich hum of the perfect motor. He revved it just a bit in idle while running his hand over the Italian leather seats. Sell it? He felt ill at the thought. Maybe he could get a loan, use it as collateral. He couldn’t imagine selling.
He selected BB King on the CD player and put the car in gear. A few minutes to enjoy some decent Blues between his house and the O’Fallons’. He drove slowly, appreciating the moment before picking up Thelma. Then the assault of Beach Boys and all things tacky would commence and last the whole damn evening.
He stopped at the grocery and five minutes later reluctantly pulled into the O’Fallons’ driveway. He slapped a fake smile on his face that he hoped didn’t look too contrived and went to the front door. With a little luck that Effie woman wouldn’t be around. She was a little too smart, a little too skeptical, a little too urban.
Thelma opened the door before he hit the bell. “Conrad!” She beamed, her eyes a bit wistful, a blush in her cheeks. Well, hot damn, she was falling for him. He knew it would happen just like he knew what tie went with what pants, what wine to serve with what cheese and what music set the scene for a successful seduction. All of these would come in handy in the very near future. He was one damn good con artist.
“Hello, my dear.” He handed her the flowers wrapped in cellophane. It was the first bunch on the rack. He’d grabbed them, paid and run without even looking. He eyed her dress that resembled second-rate sofa upholstery. Cheap flowers for a cheap broad, he thought, but said, “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady. I thought of you when I saw them.” Hell, that much was true enough.
She took the flowers, a smile nearly covering her face now. Well, she didn’t have bad teeth, least that was in her favor.
She stood aside so he could enter, and she self-consciously brushed at her dress. “I intended to go into Memphis to get something new for tonight, but Bonnie was fussy and Ryan and Effie aren’t that comfortable with her yet and Rory was helping fix an engine that was busted. He’s got Bonnie down at the docks now. I think the racket from those tugs puts her right to sleep. She’s an O’Fallon sure enough.”
Like he cared about some sniveling baby. But he smiled and nodded all the same and followed Thelma into the kitchen, where he leaned against the doorjamb. “Rory should bring the tug over to the dry dock and let my boys take a look-see. I have some great guys working for me.”
She bit at her lip, her smile slipping a notch. “Ah, sure.” She pulled a vase from the cabinet and filled it with water. “That’s . . . that’s a great idea. I’ll remind Rory. It probably just slipped his mind.”
That was odd. “We’ve been doing business together for years.”
“Of course you have.” She smiled sweetly, but it didn’t look sincere. Not Thelma at all. She took the flowers from the cellophane and one-by-one put them in the vase, the scraggly bouquet of lilies and daisies and carnations with some green stuff suddenly not looking as forlorn as before. She stood back, admiring the bouquet. “Thank you, Conrad. They’re so beautiful. I’ve never had flowers from a man before.”
Her voice was low, eyes misty. He couldn’t remember a woman ever taking that much time with flowers he’d bought before or so thoroughly appreciating them, even the hellaciously expensive flowers he got from the florists in Memphis. Thelma was one easy dame to get around. He mentally salivated. A little slick talk, some other romantic crap, a few more bunches of cheap flowers and the million was as good as his.
“Shall we go?” He assumed a gallant, sophisticated pose and held out his arm for her to take. Glowing, she slid her arm through his, and they headed down the hall toward the front door. “I thought we could stop by my place for a drink before we have dinner.” He made himself gaze lovingly at her. “If that suits you, of course.”
She seemed slightly bewildered and stopped in the middle of the hallway. “You want to take me to Hastings House?”
The evening shadows trailed long across the wood floor; the old clock clicked off the seconds. Good God, how many more did he have to endure before this night was over?
“I’d be honored, Conrad. Your home is one of the finest examples of antebellum architecture in the Memphis area. Designed by the Robert Mills, the same man who designed the Washington Monument.”
If she’d smacked him upside the head with a dead skunk, he couldn’t have been more surprised. “How’d you know that?” He opened the door, and they walked down the steps to his car.
“Once when I was nine I got lost in
the woods and wound up at your place. I thought it was a castle out of a fairy tale. I was crying, and your dad dried my tears and brought me into the kitchen and gave me a cookie. Chocolate chip.”
Conrad laughed, a real laugh this time as he thought of his father. “Dad loved his chocolate chip cookies. He didn’t share with just anyone, you know.” Conrad slid in the driver’s side and fired the engine.
“Then he took me home in his car. It was blue and big and smelled of leather and cigars. Your dad was a wonderful man, and I think I fell in love with your house right then and there. When I got older I did a little research about it.”
“Well, it’s no castle, but I sure like it well enough. I like it a lot as a matter of fact.” He turned down the road, and BB King sang “The Thrill Is Gone.” Amen to that, Conrad thought as he caught another glimpse of Thelma and her dress.
But she liked his house, and that was a real stroke of luck. He had the feeling she’d jump at the chance to live in it, and he needed all the luck he could get with only nine days to convince Thelma to marry him. An added bonus was that the house wouldn’t be part of the divorce since it was in his name before marriage, unlike her inheritance that would come along after they were married. Joint property! But nine days ...
He squirmed, considering the amount of time he had.
“Are you okay?”
“Terrific.” He hit the CD player and changed the music. “BB’s great but not as good as the Beach Boys.” He touched her hand. A little forward, but he didn’t have time to take it nice and slow. “We need our Beach Boys, right?” He squeezed her hand just a tad.
She looked at their hands together, her surprise giving way to delight. Go, Conrad!
“You didn’t need to change the music for me.”
“Hey, the Boys are great.” His insides cringed as he joined in the song about some dumb girl who had too much fun and then her daddy took her T-Bird away. It’s a Ford for God’s sake, get over it. What a stupid song, hardly a match for BB.
They pulled into the circular drive of Hastings House, and Thelma gazed around, a little breathless, a lot in awe. He knew the feeling, had it damn near every time he came up the drive. The stately white columns, wood shutters, big front door and the deep red bricks made right here on the property always captured his attention.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful home.” She got out of the car.
“It’s been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1970 and was featured in Southern Living two years ago.” He skipped up the stairs. “Come on. I’ll give you the five-cent tour. You can see if anything’s changed in the kitchen since you were here last.” He opened the front door for her, but she didn’t move.
“Do you mind if I see the grounds first? Grant’s army was quartered here, wasn’t it?”
“A fact most Southerners would like to forget,” he said on a laugh until she started around the house to the back.
Oh, damn! The backyard looked like a freaking jungle. He couldn’t afford to have the gardeners do more than cut the grass there. He caught up with Thelma and stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying for a nonchalant air. “I’m having the back redone, but the landscaper hasn’t gotten to it yet.”
She stood in the middle of the grass area, and he pointed beyond the overgrowth. “It drops off to the creek. In the spring you can hear it flowing.”
“I remember crossing it when I was lost. There used to be a footbridge.” She went over to where weed and trees took over. “What’s this?” She pointed to a rusted half barrel perched on a garbage can caddy hidden in the brush.
Great, the place was looking more derelict by the minute. “Just some old piece of junk that got shoved back here by the workmen.”
She pushed aside the weeds and grinned. “I knew it. It’s a grill.”
She tugged on the handle, working it free, then strong-armed it out into the grass, getting a smudge on her dress. Dear Lord, he was dating Martha Stewart. “I think it was my dad’s.”
“It’s a little rusty here and there, but it’s a real beauty.” She studied it as if it were some long-lost artifact just unearthed.
“I don’t know if I’d jump right to beauty.” He eyed the steel drum cut m half and welded onto the cart. “My mother nearly fainted when Dad brought this thing home.” He nodded toward the house. “I just bought a really fine stainless steel outdoor grill from Williams Sonoma that I bet you’d like, and sometime we—”
“Don’t know any William Sonoma on the Landing. This here is a real Memphis grill. Holes and grating across the bottom to hold the coals and let the ash drop through and the air circulate. This is a classic beauty. Bet your dad had Ben Slides make it for him. Ben was the best.”
She stood back and admired the piece of shit. “The O’Fallons have one, but it’s not this nice.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell them I said that.”
Other women he’d dated thought the Ferrari or a particular tie he’d picked out in New York or something like that was great, not a damn rusted grill. What kind of woman got excited over a grill? He gave her a quick look. Thelma obviously liked to eat. Way too plump for his taste, but maybe he could use this whole mess to his advantage. Impress the little woman . . . who wasn’t all that little.
Now was as good a time as any to make another move. “You know, I was thinking about building a big brick patio out here in a month or so.” After I get my hands on your money and can hire a contractor. “This grill would be the perfect addition, a remembrance of my dad and the barbecues we used to have out here.”
She faced Conrad, her eyes bright. Ta-da, score one for the old Gold Digger.
“That’s a terrific idea, Conrad. And add a picnic table. Barbecue and picnic tables just seem to go together, don’t you agree?”
He hated picnic tables. Hiking his leg up was so ... dog-like. He faked an astounded look. “Well, that’s just what I was thinking. And maybe put in a horseshoe court.” The guys at the country club would get a big hoot out of that. Horseshoes? Him? What a joke!
She pointed into the overgrowth. “And you can clear out this brush that blocks the creek and get those torches that keep the bugs away. It’ll be lovely.”
“I can build a stone path through the trees, maybe add a gazebo.”
She spread her arms wide. She looked as if she’d just discovered gold. He was so good at this con shit he scared himself. In nine days she’d be his, no problem.
“Why don’t we do it now? We can build it ourselves. I hate to see you lose half the summer because your land-scaper is too busy.”
Breath left his lungs in one long whoosh. He coughed. “E-excuse me?”
“I’ll help you build the patio. Your father would love that you’re building something onto the house, making it yours. We can start tonight by drawing up some plans to scale. We don’t have to go to the country club, I don’t mind. We’ll work here. I love working on projects.”
“Tonight?” Work? Projects? He hated both.
“We’ll take some measurements of the house and decide how big the patio should be. A curved outline would be nice to follow the flow oi the house around the kitchen and library and garden room and soften the angles.”
“What happened to dinner? Aren’t you hungry?” He gave her a warm smile and hoped his eyes twinkled.
“Do you have something in your freezer? We can cook on your daddy’s grill as we work.”
So much for twinkling eyes. Was he losing his touch? What the hell just happened? Work! He hated all forms of work. Grill? He had no idea how to grill.
She continued, “It’ll be a little celebration for finding it.” She studied the ground. “I bet there’s some hickory around here. Can’t have a proper grilling without hickory. Tomorrow we can drive into Memphis and go to Lowes and—”
“Who’s this Lowes person?”
“Home improvement store and . . .” She laughed and nudged him. “You’re so funny. You’re just putting me on, Conrad. What a tease. Everyone kno
ws Lowes.”
Wanna bet!
“They have a selection of how-to books that can tell us exactly what to do.”
A thrill a minute.
“Then we can go to the brick yard tomorrow and order the sand and pavers we need. The color should complement the colors of the house. I know we can’t match, so we should go with something that blends but is different and—”
“Hold on a minute. Do you know how much work it is to build a brick patio? You have to dig out the dirt, put down polyurethane, then rock and sand and pack it down, then lay out the bricks. We won’t be done ‘til Christmas. I’m an engineer. I know what’s involved.”
She gave him a strange look. “You’re an engineer? Conrad, I’m so impressed. You know exactly how to do this. It’s going to be a wonderful patio.”
Christ Almighty! What the hell had he done? Conrad Hastings didn’t build things. He golfed at the club, dined at fine restaurants, went to the theater, screwed lovely women. But one look at Thelma told him she was really, really into this project, and pleasing her and impressing the hell out of her, even with his engineering degree and his hard work, was all that mattered at the moment.
Back-tracking was out of the question; she could get suspicious. Shit-fire! This was not part of his plan. Dinner at the club was his plan, not grilling out on a piece of rust. But, like Arthur said, he had to change.
Okay, he could do this. He forced a grin. Damn, he was doing a lot of that lately. “I have steaks in the freezer, and we can defrost them in the microwave. We can throw potatoes wrapped in foil into the hot coals. A salad and a bottle of wine would be nice.” Lots and lots of wine.
Her eyes danced. “That sounds wonderful.”
He pulled in a deep breath because he couldn’t believe he was going to say the next words. “Building the patio ourselves is a great idea, Thelma. Something we can work on together.” He gave her a little wink to seal the deal while his words made him light-headed and dizzy. This was how he reacted in anticipation of great sex, not back-breaking work.
Til There Was U Page 8
