Wife-in-Law

by Haywood Smith

  True to form, Waffle House offered quick service with Kat’s coffee, three eggs over medium, double order of bacon, raisin toast, and hash browns. Fifteen minutes and fifteen thousand calories later, we headed for the Lenox-Phipps shopping district in Buckhead. (None of those pricey designer boutiques between East Andrews and Paces Ferry.)

  First, I took her to Nordstrom, where her personal shopper measured Kat’s petite frame every which way. (I’d promised the woman a huge tip, so she was really sucking up to Kat.)

  “We’re looking for cruise wear,” I told her. “Nothing too trendy”—translation: no “maternity” tops or balloon minidresses—“or loud prints. Just good, classic lines that show off her figure discreetly, in colors that work with her eyes and hair. We’ll jazz them up with a few …” How could I describe it? Aha. “‘Free spirit’ accessories.”

  “But no Republican matron stuff,” Kat chimed in.

  “I know exactly what you’re looking for,” the shopper said. “I can pull it all together by three. And I’ll have alterations here to do whatever needs doing, available day after tomorrow.”

  I frowned. “We’re flying out day after tomorrow. But we’re willing to pay extra to get it done by tomorrow.”

  The woman didn’t miss a beat, dollar signs sparkling in her eyes. “I can call in some extra seamstresses, so we’ll have the alterations finished by close of business tomorrow.”

  I tell you, money does the trick. “Perfect.”

  Kat leaned close and whispered, “Lord knows what they’ll charge me fer those seamstresses.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be worth it to have your clothes fit right.” I sent the shopper to work while we went to Saks, Macy’s and Neiman’s and repeated the process. Then we headed to the salon, where Adrien put some rich, believable red lowlights into Kat’s hair, then did a deep conditioning treatment. Last, he gave her a blunt cut about six inches below her shoulders, then styled it smooth and wavy with a huge curling iron. The result was shiny, glamorous, and beautiful.

  Proud of the results, Adrien unplugged the huge curling iron, then handed it to Kat, along with a big bag full of enormous selfclinging rollers. “These are for you. A bon voyage gift.”

  Good. I’d sent him so much business, he was overdue a lagniappe.

  Staring at her newly gorgeous hair in the mirror, Kat had another session with her reflection, then kissed Adrien and paid the bill, including a hundred-dollar tip!

  Then we had to hurry to see what the personal shoppers had found for Kat. Back at Nordstrom, the clothes were all hanging in a huge bridal dressing room, along with a minibuffet, complete with champagne and two glasses. “Ooooh. Very nice things. Let’s see how they look on you.”

  “Okay,” she said, but frowned at the outfit I was putting together.

  I took her arm and whispered so the shopper and the alterations lady couldn’t hear, “I know it’s going to feel awkward wearing more form-fitting clothes, but I promise, you’ll look like a lady, not a tart. You’ll feel safer, more confident, once you’ve gotten used to your new look.”

  Kat exhaled heavily. “All right. Bring it on.”

  I loved many of the clothes the shopper had picked out, but Kat balked at a lot of them. Meanwhile, the seamstress hovered, pinning the clothes so Kat could see what they’d look like, tailored to her petite frame.

  I was beginning to worry if we could get this done in a day, so I shifted tactics. “You need to rest a minute,” I told Kat. “Come eat something.” I got her some chicken salad and smoked salmon on toast with sour cream, then poured a flute of champagne and set it on the little table between the two upholstered chairs.

  Kat started eating, then washed it down with champagne—just enough to take the edge off her stubbornness, so we could come to a compromise and buy a lot of what she needed for the cruise.

  Then we moved on to the other stores.

  By nine o’clock that night when everything closed, we’d decided on a very nice wardrobe for home and cruise.

  “Are you gonna do my makeup tomorrow?” she asked as we merged onto I-400 north.

  “Sure. But I want you to start learning to do it for yourself,” I answered, navigating the heavy traffic.

  Kat shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to put that poky mascara brush so near my eyes.”

  I chuckled. “Well, you can’t get smashed every day just for that. Trust me, it’ll be a lot easier when you do it yourself.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, “but I cain’t guarantee anything.” She yawned, long and wide. “What’re we doin’ tomorrow?”

  “Going to Ulta to get you your own makeup,” I said, “then picking up the clothes and packing. No time to waste; we have too much to do.”

  “Works for me,” Kat said.

  We didn’t get a lot of sleep in the next two days, but despite the usual travel glitches, we made it to our flight on time, passports in hand, and boarded our seats in first class. Greg had always been too cheap to fly any of us first class, so I really enjoyed getting the royal treatment and having all that leg room.

  Once we were airborne, Kat and I talked about what we were going to have done at the Bali spa, but neither of us brought up what we planned to do with the escorts on the cruise, which suited me fine. Assuming they were willing to offer extracurricular activities, which was assuming a lot.

  I’d been happily single and celibate for a long time, and I didn’t want to end up a headline on the National Enquirer: SIXTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN CONCEIVES ON COUGAR CRUISE AND GIVES BIRTH TO TRIPLETS. Or worse still: SIXTY-YEAR-OLD WOMAN CONCEIVES TRIPLETS AND GETS FATAL SEXUAL DISEASE ON COUGAR CRUISE. FATHER JUMPS SHIP. So I planned to bask in the escorts’ attention, but leave it at that.

  As for Kat, I didn’t know and didn’t want to. Some things are best kept discreet.

  Once we settled into our flight, Kat and I were both so worn out from getting ready that we slept most of the way to L.A., then ate in the secure area while we waited for our flight to Hawaii. Once we were settled in the ministateroom on the megajet, we both conked out a fourth of the way to Hawaii and didn’t wake up till the flight attendant announced we were approaching Honolulu.

  Stiff, cranky, and jet-lagged, Kat and I spoke in monosyllables till we collected our stuff, then waited to disembark. Her mascara smeared, Kat looked like a raccoon with its finger stuck in an outlet, so I took her straw hat and sunglasses from her carry-on, then handed them to her, with, “Put these on till we can find a place to clean you up.”

  Kat jammed the hat on her head, then glared at me as she put on the sunglasses. “There. Do I look socially acceptable enough to be seen in your presence?”

  “Whoa.” I retreated, palms up. “I am doing this for you, not me. I just want you to look your best when you go aboard.”

  Kat sniffed. “Well, okay.”

  The flight attendant came to our door. “Thank you for flying Jumbo Airlines,” she said. “You may now exit the aircraft.”

  We took the stairway to the tarmac, where we were greeted by hula girls who gave us real, live leis. The air was perfect, clear and about seventy-eight, with a soft sea breeze. I breathed it in deeply and felt revived, but still crabby.

  “Mrs. Callison?” a ground attendant said as she pulled an electric cart up beside us.

  “Yes,” Kat and I both responded at the same time, then laughed.

  The attendant’s cheeks colored. “If you’ll hop on, I can take you ladies to meet your cruise’s representative.” She checked her clipboard. “That’s Ultimate Cruises?”

  “Yes,” we answered in unison, again. Love that VIP treatment.

  The attendant smiled as we got onto the cart. “You’re going to love it. It’s my very favorite cruise line in the world. Only three hundred passengers, but five-star, all the way.”

  She drove us inside then down the corridors, then through the security doors to the greeting area, where a tall, dark, and handsome man in a black uniform and cap was holdin
g up a sign with the ship’s name, then ours.

  “Aloha, ladies,” the driver greeted in a smoky accent I couldn’t place. “Please follow me.” He took us to the limousine parked at the curb, its windows open to the breeze, and a silver wine bucket chilling champagne between the two facing rear seats. The driver handled our luggage, then took us to the ship, where we were welcomed like long-lost relatives.

  I worried that our ship was so much smaller than the megaliners moored beside it, but when the handsome steward opened the doors to our suite, all that went out the window.

  “Kat, look!” A gorgeous living room offered a huge flat-screen TV across from a soft leather sectional, and a small dining table sat in front of the glass doors to the balcony. On either side of that, two spacious master suites provided every convenience we could possibly want, including huge soaker tubs.

  “Wow,” Kat said as we looked into her bathroom. “Like they say, you git what you pay for.”

  I couldn’t wait to eat something wonderful, then try out my big, soft bed. “I’m gonna order in, then take a nap,” I told Kat. “I’m still jet-lagged.”

  Kat rubbed her hands together. “Not me. I’m gonna scrub up, then do my face and hair, then check out this little floating paradise.”

  “Have fun.” I waved her off, dialing room service. “Hello?” I decided to test them. “I’d like to order a broiled lobster tail and some grilled asparagus. And some iced, decaffienated green tea with agave nectar.”

  He didn’t bat an eyelash. “Very good, madam. May I suggest a nice rosé with that?”

  “No, thanks. Just the decaf green tea and agave.”

  “We’ll have that up in … thirty minutes.”

  Just enough time for me to take a long, hot soak to rehydrate myself after that long flight.

  While I was doing that, I heard the luggage arrive. There was a quiet lull, then the steward asked through the bathroom door, “Mrs. Callison, would you like for us to unpack for you?”

  Man, this was the life. “Yes, thank you.” Then I went back to soaking and washed my hair. Guilty, I wondered how I was ever going to be grateful when I went back to my ordinary life on Eden Lake Court.

  As it turned out, I discovered one very important thing very quickly on that cruise: I do not do nothing well.

  Three days into the cruise, Kat came into my bathroom while I was getting ready for dinner. Standing behind my right shoulder, she frowned at our reflections in the mirror. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You don’t seem happy.”

  “I’m happy,” I said, not sounding convincing even to myself. How could I explain without hurting her feelings? I looked up at her image. “This is all fabulous, a dream. But I’m so used to working …” I shifted my gaze to the cosmetics I used to disguise my shortcomings. “I want to slow down and relax, really I do, but I don‘t know how.” I turned to face her. “I really appreciate your bringing me, but I don’t know how to do this.”

  Kat brightened. “You want work? I’ll give you work.” She pointed at me. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

  What was she up to?

  When she got back, she was carrying a dark blue velvet drawstring bag with my name embroidered on the front in gold. “I was gonna wait till we finished the cruise, but now works better.”

  She faced me squarely. “What would you say to being my partner?”

  Taken aback, I hastened to clarify, “What exactly do you mean by partner? ’Cause if you’ve decided to switch to women after Greg, I sure wouldn’t blame you, but I’m not—”

  Kat burst out laughing. “Lord no. I don’t want you to sleep with me. I just want you to help me keep up with all this money stuff, and my house, and all. And go with me on trips, because you’re my best friend.”

  Boy, was that a relief. “Honey, I’d be happy to help you with that for nothing.”

  Kat grasped my upper arm, handing me the velvet bag. “You cain’t live on nothin’, so I intend to pay you, and pay you well. Yer worth every penny.” She nodded at the bag. “Go on. Open it.”

  I did, and found a business checkbook with my name on it, D.B.A. Krazy Kat, with a balance of $100,000.

  Smug, Kat pointed to it. “I am now a limited-liability corporation, and you are CEO. This is your operatin’ account. Use it to set up an office where Greg’s used to be. Get all the equipment we need. If you need more money, just let me know. I already got a good CPA. You can pick our assistant.”

  “But Kat,” I worried aloud, “what if we don’t work well together? We’re so different. I don’t want this to come between us.”

  “It won’t,” she said, “I trust you completely, and I need yer organization skills and yer honesty to help me keep track of all my money, so I won’t git scammed by some Birdie (!) Madoff. To keep my money insured, I’ve got accounts from Lawrenceville to Switzerland.”

  She definitely needed someone to look after her interests. But still … “What if I make a mistake,” I said, “or do something you don’t like?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we git to it,” Kat said. “We’ll talk it out. If you want to quit, there’s a golden parachute, and we can go back to bein’ just friends, but I sure hope that doesn’t happen.”

  “I just—”

  Kat’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sayin’ you don’t want to work with me?”

  “No, no,” I backpedaled. “I’d love to work for you. I’m just afraid you wouldn’t like it—or me—if I did.”

  “That’s hogwash. You are officially hired.” Kat reached into the bag and pulled out a folded printout from an online bank famous for their high-yield savings accounts. “Job pays in advance, three hundred thousand a year.”

  Stunned, I opened the printout and saw the notation of the initial deposit in just that amount, at five percent interest.

  “Now let’s go to dinner,” Kat said. “I’m starvin’.”

  I started to put on my pink linen blazer, but she stopped me. “Now that you are my CEO, I think you need to dress up a little more. We’re eatin’ with the captain tonight, so I’d like to see you in somethin’ sparkly.”

  I’d created a monster!

  She went to my closet and came back with an elegant tuxedo jacket demurely studded with fake diamonds beside the lapels and on the cuffs. I’d bought it years ago at the Icing in St. Louis. “Now, this is more like it.” Kat handed it to me, then produced a necklace box. “Here. You can borrow this.” She watched me open it to reveal a necklace of diamond teardrops that would do a rani proud.

  Holy crow! Had she lost her mind and gone Elizabeth Taylor on me?

  “And don’t look at me like that,” she warned. “Those are real zircons, and necklaces like this are all the rage. I looked last night at supper.”

  Whew.

  Maybe the other passengers were wearing zircons too. You never know.

  “Okay, boss.”

  “I am not yer boss,” Kat corrected. “We’re business partners.”

  “Okay, partner.” I changed into a black silk camisole that matched my slacks, then put on the necklace and jacket. “You’re right,” I told her with amazement. “It doesn’t look tacky.”

  We were the belles of the ball that night. And for the rest of the trip to Bali, I kept myself busy making plans for the new office and thinking up trips to take.

  One week later, on the Pacific, a hundred miles west of Hawaii

  After being spa’d to smithereens in Bali, we were finally on our way back to Hawaii, but I had gotten spoiled, so I treated myself to a massage every day.

  “Mmmm.” Stretched out on the massage table on my stomach, every muscle in my body let go into blissful relaxation—except for the ones at the base of my skull. “Could you please do the neckhead joint?” I asked the Nordic Adonis with magic fingers.

  “Uf course, madam.” He started working the pressure point immediately.

  “Oh, that feels sooooo good,” I murmured.

  His hands shifted to caress my fanny.
“I could make madam feel even better,” he singsonged in his Scandinavian accent. He kissed my shoulder, his hand sliding down my fanny where no man but Greg had gone before.

  Grabbing the sheet, I whirled into a sitting position. “No. Thank you, no.”

  He peered at me, perplexed. “You do not like me?”

  Flustered, I felt myself turning red from my toes to my temples. “You’re very nice. And very sexy. I’m just not—”

  He leaned back, a light dawning in his face. “Oh. You don’t want man. You want—”

  “No, no, no, no,” I sputtered like Woody Allen in one of his first movies that were still funny. “I just want a massage. Nothing more.”

  He leaned in to whisper, “You not nun, are you?” He straightened with a sympathetic smile. “I do nuns. Plenty. Never tell.”

  Like a nun could afford this. I don’t think so.

  “No,” I told him. “I’m not a nun. I just want a massage. No sex.”

  How crazy had the world gotten, that nobody could understand celibacy anymore, much less respect it?

  Then it occurred to me why he suddenly was so aggressive. We were about to get off the ship, and he’d lose his chance to get a tip for “extras.” “Before we leave,” I promised, “I’ll give you a nice tip.”

  Lord, I was paying not to have sex.

  The masseur brightened. “Okay. Massage, no sex, big tip,” he said cheerfully just as Kat walked into my room.

  “What?” she asked in amazement.

  I closed my eyes and let my head drop back. “I was really hoping to avoid this conversation.”

  “Could you please leave us now?” Kat asked him.

  The masseur leered at her. “You want massage wit sex?” he asked her. “I free now.”

  Kat burst out laughing. “No, no massage with sex. No sex.” She waved him away. “Now, go.”

  He picked up his gear. “You change mind, just call for Bjrnstjerne.”

  No wonder I couldn’t ever remember his name.

  I watched him leave, then apologized to Kat. “Sorry you had to hear that.”