The man beamed as he nodded.“Excellent choice, sir.”Philippe had a feeling theman would have declared his selection“excellent”even if he had chosensomething out of chewing gum.“And how much tile will you be requiring?”
Philippe shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.“J.D., you’reon.”He gave every indication of retreating.
“That’s what I like to see,”the salesman declared.“A husband who lets his wifemake the decisions. I’m sure you’ve done your homework, little lady.” Philippe stopped retreating. He didn’t have to be his mother’s son to know thatJ.D. had to find that tone offensive. He slanted a glance toward her, waiting tosee her reaction.
“I have,”she replied gamely, giving no indication that she would have enjoyedgiving the man a swift kick for his patronizing manner.“And I’m not his wife,I’m his contractor.”
The clerk seemed taken aback for a moment, but then, to his credit, he rallied.
“Even better.” She was tempted to ask him why just to hear his answer. But that would beargumentative and she just wanted to move on, for Zabelle’s sake. So instead,she put out her hand.
“Let me have your card,”she requested easily.“We’re not quite ready to orderyet. I need to take some measurements first and then I’ll get back to you.” It was obvious that the man felt once they were out the door, he stood a goodchance of losing the sale.“We could have one of our men come by, doublecheckthe numbers—”
“Won’t be necessary,”Janice assured him with a wide smile. Taking Philippe’sarm, she hustled him out of the store and into the parking lot.
Bemused, Philippe looked at her as the door closed behind them.“Correct me ifI’m wrong, but I thought you already had the measurements.”
So he did pay attention, she thought. She inclined her head.“I do.”
“Then why all that double-talk back there?”Although he had a feeling he alreadyhad the answer. She led the way to her truck, intent on a quick getaway in case the salesmandecided to follow them out to the parking lot out to make one last pitch.“Ididn’t like his attitude.”
He struggled to keep his mouth from curving.“Is attitude that important?” “It is in my line of work.”She unlocked the truck from her side. The doubleclick indicated that his side was open, too.“Don’t worry, I saw who themanufacturer was. We can order that tile from any one of the stores I deal withon a regular basis,”she promised. About to get in, she saw that he was stillstanding outside the passenger side. She took a guess.“You want to drive?”
That wasn’t why he waited. He was watching the way a sunbeam was glinting in herhair, turning it a light shade of gold.
“No.” She thought he was just embarrassed because he was behaving so predictably.
Rounding the hood, she came to his side.
“Go ahead,”she urged, holding out the keys to him.“We’re not going that far.”
The next store was only a few yards away.
After a moment’s hesitation, he took the keys from her and crossed to thedriver’s side. Getting in, he asked,“Where’s your favorite place to ordertile?” There were a couple of places she liked to frequent. Both were more than fair inprice and reliability. Because there was so much competition, she liked to sendbusiness their way whenever possible.
She chose the one closest to where they were.“Orlando’s. It’s about a mile upthe road.”
“Good.”Putting the key in the ignition, he started up the truck.“We’ll gothere.”
She smiled to herself, shaking her head as she buckled up.“You just want to getthis over with.”
“Not that I don’t find the company pleasing,”he qualified,“but yes, I do.” Well, the man certainly didn’t believe in beating around the bush. And she couldsympathize with deadlines and the need to get a project done by a specifiedtime; when she’d worked for her father’s company and dealt with majorbusinesses, there’d been penalties for going over the allotted time.
She wondered if that applied to his work as well.“Make a left out of the lot,” she instructed, pointing to the open road.
“Yes, ma’am.” In the end, they went with the tile he’d first selected. But not before shemanaged to get him to look at a few other pieces. She convinced him to getsomething slightly different for each of the three bathrooms. And just beforethey left the store, he’d wound up picking out the material for the kitchencounter: an impressive slab of granite known as blue pearl. It was almost blackwith veins of glimmering blue throughout.
“Damn,”he murmured, a little stunned as he automatically got in behind thewheel more than an hour later.“I had no idea that there were that manydifferent kinds of tile.”She laughed and he caught himself thinking that it wasa very peaceful yet arousing sound.“What?”
Her laughter had entered her eyes.“You didn’t even begin to scratch thesurface,”she told him.
Philippe looked at her, a little stunned, wondering if that applied to her aswell.
Chapter 7
The noise didn’t register until after the fact.
Somewhere, a door had closed. Someone was in the house. The next moment, hedidn’t have to speculate if it was one of his brothers.
One other person had the key to his house and it was that voice he heard now.
Low and full-bodied like brandy being poured over ice, it filled the air,preceding her and coming at him without so much as a greeting or a preamble.
“And what is this I hear about you having the house remodeled?” He glanced up from his computer to see her standing in his doorway. Lily Moreauwas given to dramatic entrances, even with her own family. By all accounts, shewas a dramatic woman. From the top of her deep black hair, shot through withcaptivating streaks of gray, to the tips of her toes, polished, manicured andencased in the Italian designer shoes she favored, Lily Moreau, renowned artist,woman of passion and world traveler was the very personification of drama.
His smile was automatic. She was probably the most trying, infuriating woman inthe world—she was at least in the top five—but he loved her dearly.“Hello,Mother, how are you?”
She took possession of the room and moved around like a force of nature,searching for a place to touch down, however briefly. Swirls of turquoise, ather wrists, ears and neck and along her torso, marked her path. Turquoise wasone of her two favorite colors.
“Confused,”she responded, pivoting to face him on the three-inch heels thatrendered her five-foot-five.“My firstborn, the most stable child of the litter,has ventured into my territory without so much as a single request for input.”
She flounced down on the sofa, clouds of turquoise floating about her still trimhips and softly coming to rest in a circle around her.“I’d say I was more thanconfused. I’d say I was hurt.”
Accustomed to these performances whenever his mother was in town, Philippehardly looked away from his monitor and the equation that troubled him.“Noreason to be hurt, Mother. And as for your‘territory,’since when have you beenmoonlighting as a handyman?”
“Handyman?”Frowning, Lily moved forward on the sofa.“I thought you were havingthe house redone.”Although she strongly maintained that of the three of them,Philippe had inherited her artistic bent, he had always been determined to buryit. By now his flair was so far from the surface, it would have taken a crane tobe resurrected. She liked being consulted on matters, liked being in the thickof things. Color schemes, textures, room dynamics, these all came under herpurview.
“Not quite.”He had a strong hunch he knew where his mother had gotten herinformation. Georges had been the one to let J.D. in the other day when she haddragged him off to those damn stores.“Tell Georges to get his facts straight.”
“It wasn’t Georges,”she informed him, on her feet again and moving about. Shestopped to finger a plant she had given him the last time she’d visited. It wastwo steps removed from death. On an errand of mercy, she walked into the hall,her destination the kitchen.“It was Alain.”
“Tell Alain to get his facts strai
ght next time,”he called after her. Philippe didn’t bother asking how his other brother had gotten into this. Heimagined it was like the old fashioned game of telephone, where Georges hadtaken his own interpretation of the events and told them to Alain who then puthis own spin on it before telling their mother. He was actually surprised theydidn’t have him buying a villa in the south ofFrance or some equally improbablescenario.
She was back with a cup full of water. Lily poured it slowly into the pot, thentried to arrange the drooping, drying leaves.“And the facts are?” Philippe glanced at his mother. He should have known that she would want in onthis. She was the one he should have sent with J.D., not gotten roped intotraipsing around after the woman from store to store, selecting things that heldlittle to no interest for him. All he’d wanted was to have a cracked sinkreplaced.
But to say anything on that subject would get him sucked into a conversation hedidn’t want.“That you don’t come by enough for me to see you with a scowl onyour face.”
“Scowl?”The plant was completely forgotten. Lily reached for her purse and thecompact mirror inside.“I’m scowling? I can’t scowl, I’ll get wrinkles before mybig show.”Mirror opened, she reviewed her appearance from several differentangles, then decided that she was fine. Not twenty-two-year-old fine, but finenonetheless.
Philippe caught the magic word.“Another big show?” “Always another big show,”she declared with gusto. It was what she thrived on,that and the men in her life.“If I can’t paint, I’ll just lie down and they canthrow dirt over me.”She tossed her head, dark ends flirting with the tops ofher shoulders.“I’ll be as good as dead.”
She certainly had a way of phrasing things, he thought.“They throw enough dirtover you, you will be.”One of the first things he’d ever learned about hismother was that, barring some crisis, there was nothing she liked to talk aboutmore than her paintings, so he gave her a gentle nudge in that direction.“So,where and when is this big show?”
“Three weeks from Saturday at the Sunset Galleries on Lido Isle.”She recitedthe information as if it had been prerecorded. And then she gave him a deep,penetrating look.“You’ll be there?”
Turning in his chair so that he faced her instead of the computer, he grinned.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
She took hold of his hands as if that was all she needed to discern whether ornot he was telling her the truth. Fingers wound tightly around his palms.
“No, really, you’ll be there?”She nodded absently toward the screen.“You knowhow you get when you get involved in your work.”
“I’ll be there,”he promised, wiping any trace of a smile from either his voiceor his face.
Lily sighed, as if getting him to agree had been an ordeal.“Good. I want you tomeet him.” “Him?”Philippe eyed his mother warily.“There’s another him?”He should haveknown there would be. It had been, what, five months since the last one had beensent packing? That was a long dry spell for his mother.
“Yes,”Lily replied joyously. She’d moved on to the rear of the room to gaze outat the backyard it faced. All three houses shared it as if it was one large yardinstead of the culmination of three.“You need a gazebo, Philippe,”she decidedand then, glancing back at him, she waved her hand.“Get that look off yourface, I know what you’re thinking.”
He made it a point to be as laid-back as she was dramatic.“I sincerely doubtthat.”
She was not his mother for nothing.“You’re thinking, here we go again.”
He laughed, impressed.“Very good. I guess I’m getting too predictable.” She didn’t waste words on defending her past choices. She was a woman who hadalways believed in moving forward.“This time, it’s different.”
And where had he heard that before? Philippe mused. He went back to focusing onhis work, uttering a tolerant,“Of course it is.” “It is,”she insisted, crossing to his desk and presenting herself behind hismonitor so that he was forced to look at her. She clasped her hands together andresembled a schoolgirl in the throes of her first major crush.“Kyle iseverything I’ve been looking for in a man. Funny, smart, youthful and vigorous—”
Philippe shot his hand up in the air to halt the flow of words.“If that worddoesn’t apply to the way he polishes your silverware, Mother, I really don’twant to hear about it.”
Lily rolled her eyes.“Oh Philippe, you know what your trouble is?”
Yes, he had a mother who had never grown up.“I’m sure you’ll tell me,”hereplied patiently.
She took his chin in her hand, lowering her face to his.“You’re not at all likeyour father.” Moving his chair back, he eyed his mother.“I thought that was a good thing. Youleft my father because he gambled away the floor from under your feet,”hereminded her.
She refused to dwell on the bad. It was one of her attributes.“But first heswept me off those feet, Philippe. He had this zest for life—”
“Otherwise known asTexas hold‘em.” “Oh Philippe,”she sighed mightily,“you were born old.” He didn’t see it as a failing. If anything, it kept him from making his mother’smistakes and leading with his heart instead of his head.“One of us had to beand someone had to be there for the boys.”
The hurricane stopped moving. Lily’s expression turned serious.“Was having meas a mother so terrible?” He wouldn’t allow his mind to stray to the hundred and one shortcomings hismother possessed. The bottom line was that she meant well in her own way and shedid love them. Of that he was certain. So he smiled at her and said,“You hadyour moments.”
“I had my hours, Philippe, my days,”she corrected majestically.“And I alwaysloved all you boys to distraction.”Long, slender fingers touched his cheek theway she did when he was small and needed her comforting.“I still do.”
“I know that.” She dropped her hand to her side. The movement was accompanied by the sound ofgold bracelets greeting one another.“I’m a passionate woman, Philippe. I needpassion for my art. I use passion,”she insisted.
This was a conversation they’d had before. Several times.“I know that, too,Mother.”
She kissed his cheek, then rubbed away the streak of vivid red from his skin.
Any minor disagreement that might have arisen was terminated before it had achance to form.“Is there a reason for this handiwork you’re having done?” “Yes,”he replied simply,“the bathroom sink is cracked.”
“Oh.”She looked exceptionally disappointed.“I was hoping that it was beingdone because you were finally settling down.”
Philippe addressed the phrase in its strictest sense.“I’m the most settled outof the three of us,”he reminded her. The drama returned as Lily sighed and resumed her restless patrol of the smallconverted bedroom.“With a woman, Philippe, settling down with a woman.”Sheretraced her steps and presented herself before him again.“Have you been seeinganyone?”
“Only you when I’m lucky.”
Lily closed her eyes and sighed.“Use that charm on someone else, Philippe.
Someone who matters.” Momentarily surrendering, he rose to his feet. He just wasn’t going to get anywork done with his mother here, bombarding him with questions. He might as wellenjoy this visit.
“You always matter, Mother. Want some coffee?”he suggested.
She looked as if she was going to say yes, then surprised him by shaking herhead. “I don’t want to take you away from what you’re doing.”She took exactly onestep toward the threshold before she continued talking.“Just wanted to inviteyou to the show and to see if you had any women stashed here.”The expression onher face told him that she hoped he’d do better on her next unexpected visit.
“Your father always had women stashed here and there.”
There wasn’t very much he remembered about his parents’union when it had beenofficial, although his mother had taken his father back for a short time betweenher second and third husbands. But they hadn’t been married then.“Before yougot engaged?”
Lily moved a stray hair from her cheek.“No, after w
e were married. Aftergambling and family, women were your father’s primary addiction.”She said itmatter-offactly, as if it had no impact on her whatsoever. Lily might have beena cauldron of emotion, but she was never judgmental.
Philippe blew out a breath.“Not much of a prize,”he commented.
But his mother’s eyes were shining like two bright jewels.“Vigorous, Philippe.
He, too, was very vigorous.” It was going to take him days to get the image she’d planted out of his head,Philippe thought. If he were still at a young and impressionable age, that justmight have scarred him for life.
But then, if his mother’s actual lifestyle hadn’t done it while he was growingup, he sincerely doubted that anything at this stage possibly could. Flamboyant,eccentric and completely unorthodox were all terms that were synonymous with thename Lily Moreau and he’d survived his childhood to become a relativelywell-adjusted, successful man. If his house was a little empty at times, well,everyone paid some kind of price in life. Being alone was his.
Besides, it was a great deal more preferable than constantly making the wrongchoices.
His mother still hovered over him.“I worry about you most of all, Philippe.”
That was the last thing he wanted. For her to worry or, worse, to do somethingabout that worry.
He had only one response for that.“Don’t.”
She sniffed, taking offense.“I may not be Norman Rockwell’s idea of the perfectmother, but I’m still a mother.” He knew she meant well. Philippe softened.“Norman Rockwell’s been gone for along time, I don’t think you need to worry about him. And I appreciate theconcern, Mother, but I am a grown man. We march to different drummers. Youtaught me that, remember?”
“Yes, but sometimes the music is the same.”She pressed full lips together,thinking. And then her eyes widened the way they did when she’d been struck byan idea she liked.“Kyle has a sister—”
For a second, the name escaped him.“Kyle?”
“Yes, the reason for the smile on my face. You’re not paying attention,Philippe,”she admonished with a trace of impatience. His mother’s boyfriend’s sister. Oh God. That was all he needed, to be coupledwith a woman old enough to be his mother. That little tidbit would finally sendhim into therapy.
[The Sons of Lily Moreau 01] - Remodeling the Bachelor Page 7
