“I don’t know. I just don’t know,” Grace answered back.
She’d sent Nick out to the car for her bag, thankful that at the last minute she’d remembered to pack a couple of cookbooks. She wasn’t sure she had the presence of mind to remember anything but her name right now. And even that was fuzzy.
She figured she’d start with some salted herring and a rich meat soup called solyanka for the first course. For a main dish, she’d chosen golubtsy—cabbage leaves stuffed with ground beef, rice and vegetables—easy to make but very tasty. And she’d decided to finish it off with a simple Ukranian honey cake.
An hour later, she was so engrossed in cooking she didn’t even hear Tina clatter into the kitchen on her stilts.
“What are you doing?” Tina said.
Grace flung the cup of dried beans she was measuring in the air, and they rained down on the granite countertop like black hail. “Jesus. You scared me.”
“Nervous type, huh?”
“Just a little.”
The young woman chewed a long, red nail. “You don’t look like Nick’s kind of girl.”
“So I’ve heard.” Grace collected the spilled beans and swept them into the garbage disposal.
“Where’dja meet him?”
“Caligula.”
“Ah. Eighties night.” Tina nodded, as if that explained everything.
Grace put a hand on her hip. “Did you want something?”
“Nope.”
Tina examined her cleavage and pulled a bra strap out from beneath the tank top, adjusting the slider before letting it snap back into place.
She was pretty, in a little-girl-in-the-big-wide-world kind of way. Nice skin, clear blue eyes. What was a pretty young woman like her doing with a pig like Skobelov?
Grace shook her head and turned back to the beans.
Tina slid onto a chair at the table, a massive golden oak affair with six chunky chairs. She straightened a leg and wiggled her ankle. “My dogs are barking. You mind if I take off my shoes?”
“Be my guest. I don’t know how you can walk in those things.”
“It sucks. But Viktor likes them. So do the men at the club.”
“The club?”
“The Cat’s Meow. I’m a dancer.”
Aha. That explained it.
After a while, Grace said, “So how did you get into that line of work?”
Tina shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. I was in my senior year of high school when I met this guy who ran a club. He said I had a good look, and I could make a lot of money. Way more than working at the mall or waitressing or something. So I started dancing on the weekends, and I eventually just quit school. I mean, what was the point? I figure I can always get my GED when my boobs start to sag.”
Grace looked down at her own chest. She wanted to say, “That’ll come sooner than you think,” but she knew it was futile. The road to thirty was a long, slow, bumpy ride, and then after that it was nothing but freeway. You sped toward middle age doing ninety, stopping only for more and more frequent bathroom breaks.
“So what do you do?” Tina said.
“I’m a mother.” Grace’s tone was defensive, she knew, born from years of comments like “Oh, well. That’s okay.” Or, “Don’t worry, you can always have a career when the children get a little older.” People tended to look at stay-at-home mothers as if their heads were freakishly large or they were covered in boils.
Since when was being a mother such an easy job?
It wasn’t. It was a lot like being a wilderness survival guide. She’d like to see those tight-ass executives sticking their hands in the toilet to remove a Barbie head, or reading Goodnight Moon seventeen times in a steam-filled bathroom with a coughing infant.
She sighed. “I’m a mother,” she said again, this time without all the venom.
“Cool,” said Tina. And she looked as if she actually meant it.
Grace could have hugged her.
She whisked a few eggs in a bowl and slowly added some flour, blending it to form a sticky dough. She turned the dough out onto a floured board and began to knead.
“You need some help?” Tina said.
“You can cut up that cabbage if you want.”
Tina jumped up from the table and came over to the counter. “Where are the knives?”
“You don’t know? I thought you lived here.”
“I do, but, Viktor has a girl come in to cook a couple of nights a week. The rest of the time we eat at the club. I don’t really cook.”
“That’s a shame. It can be very relaxing.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. Here, I’ll show you.”
For the next hour, Grace showed Tina how to chop vegetables, roll out dough and measure spices by using the palm of her hand. And as they cooked, the two met on that age-old common ground. Busting on their men.
“You should have seen him with that car,” Grace said. “Every Sunday without fail, out in the garage rubbing it with a diaper. He imported his car wax from Australia.”
Tina snorted. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Nope. He wouldn’t even touch the thing without wearing a pair of white gloves. He looked like Mary Poppins.”
“Yeah, well I got a good one about him.” She jerked her head toward the television room.
“What’s that?”
“He never misses an episode of The Golden Girls.”
“You’re kidding. The Golden Girls?”
“Yep. I think he has the hots for Bea Arthur.” Tina chopped quietly for a moment. “I don’t sleep with him, you know.”
“It’s really none of my business.”
“He just keeps me around for show. Likes people to think we’re a couple. But he’s into weird stuff, ya know?”
“I got that impression.”
Tina shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.”
Grace was suddenly queasy. “Is there any wine around here?”
Tina put her hands on her hips. “You know, you’ve got nice boobs. I have a shirt that would look great on you.”
She practically skipped from the room, and Grace smiled. It was nice to have someone to talk to. A distraction.
She pulled the Ukranian honey cake out of the oven and put it on a wire rack to cool.
Tina was a good listener. She had a natural curiosity, asking all kinds of questions, and Grace wondered if maybe Tina was feeling unsettled with her life. Maybe wishing she was doing something more than dancing on a pole.
But, hey. At least she had a job. Grace had no idea what she’d be doing for money a couple of months from now. Maybe she’d be wishing for a pole and for anyone interested enough to watch her dance on it.
She hoisted her boobs higher. Maybe she could spend some of her settlement on some implants and get in on the Mammoth Mammary action at the Cat’s Meow.
Tina came back to the kitchen with an armload of clothes, which she dumped on the kitchen table. She picked out an electric-pink wraparound blouse and held it up to Grace as she stirred the pot of solyanka.
“What do you think?” Tina said.
“It looks kind of…revealing for me.”
Tina rolled her eyes. “You gotta advertise, Grace. Believe me, not many women have such a nice rack.” She rooted through the pile and came out with a pair of pink-and-gold leopard-print pants.
“I don’t know…”
“What?”
“Leopard print? It’s not really me.”
“It’s cheetah. And animal patterns are classic. They never go out of style. You know why?”
Grace shook her head.
“Because they make women feel wild. Like they’re hard to handle. Don’t you want to feel wild sometimes?”
“If you only knew.”
Tina rummaged through the pile again, digging out a pair of hot-pink high-heeled stilettos. “I brought shoes, too. It looks like we’re about the same size.”
“Tina, I appreciate the gesture. But—”
Tina snatched the wooden spoon from Grace and shoved the clothes in her arms. “Go on. Go try them on. The bathroom’s that way.”
Sunday, 9:45 p.m.
Little Red
The bathroom looked more like a day spa, complete with massage table, pedicure chair and several stainless-steel gadgets that could have been some sort of weird torture devices.
The room was bigger than her bedroom, with dark marble floors and an entire mirrored wall. The white whirlpool tub on the far side seated four. Or one big, fat Russian.
A double-wide white chaise longue rested in the corner atop a fuzzy white rug, with an overflowing basket of magazines beside it. Vogue. Cosmopolitan. Us. People.
Grace shed her own carefully chosen clothes and folded them neatly before slipping on the pink wraparound. She fastened the buttons, pulling the blouse tightly across her chest.
It was a top not constructed for those who wore a bra.
She removed hers and refastened the shirt, enjoying the newfound freedom. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone without a bra. Probably at the same EarthSavers outing where she hadn’t showered.
She squeezed into the cheetah-print pants, which had apparently been constructed of some miracle space-age fabric able to stretch enough to accommodate her more generous proportions. But there, too, underpants were vestis non grata.
She doffed her panties and stuffed them into the pocket of her folded pants, as she did at the gynecologist’s office. Because, of course, unlike a full-on assault by the parts they covered, her underthings would be an affront to a gynecologist’s delicate sensibilities.
Clothing in place, she slid her feet into Tina’s shoes before turning to face herself in the mirrored wall. For a second she thought there was someone else in the bathroom with her. Then she realized that wild woman in the mirror was her.
She smoothed the blouse over her belly and turned from side to side, marveling at the way Tina’s clothes hugged her curves and the way the high heels shaped her calves. Though she never hesitated to show off her legs, lately she’d taken to wearing loose shirts and baggy jackets to hide the rest of her.
This getup didn’t leave much to the imagination. And, she thought with satisfaction, that was okay. As long as she could stay here in the bathroom.
True, no one would ever mistake her for a model or actress, but she didn’t look too bad. She wondered what Lorraine and Misty and Brenda would think if they saw her in this getup.
It would definitely not get her invited to the Christmas party.
She took one last look at herself and gathered up her clothes. On her way out of the bathroom, she ran into Nick in the hallway.
He gave a low whistle. “Look at you.” He ran a finger over her jawline and down her throat, stopping just before he reached her cleavage. “Smoking clothes, baby.”
She leaned in for a fix of Aramis, coming dangerously close to bursting into flames. “Tina lent them to me.”
“Nice.”
For a split second he morphed into the wolf in the story of Little Red Riding Hood.
My, what big teeth you have.
She backed away slowly. No sudden moves. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Think Mr. Skobelov is ready to eat?”
Nick laughed. It was a low, sexy sound that went straight to her toes. “He’s always ready to eat.”
“Right. Good. Okay.” She tried to ease by, but he stood right in the middle of the hallway, forcing her to brush up against him.
He stuck out an arm and blocked her from passing, brushing his lips against her earlobe. “Let me tell you what I’m hungry for.”
Then he whispered something so sinful, so physically convoluted and deliciously amoral, she couldn’t even repeat it to herself.
She fanned herself with her hand, wondering if the laws of physics would even permit such a suggestion.
“Listen,” she whispered. “I know you want Skobelov to think we’re together. I understand that. But we aren’t. So keep your…your appetite to yourself. Okay?”
She teetered off toward the kitchen in Tina’s high heels, praying her knees would hold her up, at least until she was out of his sight.
Chapter 15.5
Sunday, 9:56 p.m.
Little Red Redux
Did he hear that right?
Pete adjusted the volume on the receiver. He wondered where Nick came up with this stuff. But more importantly, he wondered what Grace was wearing to elicit such a creative proposition.
Damn.
He shouldn’t have let her go in there.
No, that was just Little Petey talking. He wanted Grace. Didn’t want Balboa to have her.
Balboa was the type of guy who always got the girl. And Pete was the kind who pretended he didn’t care. But he did.
Especially with this girl.
She was what his mother would call “well crafted,” both inside and out. Intelligent, funny, beautiful. The kind of woman who didn’t notice men like him.
That was the story of his life. He was the guy all the girls wanted in high school—for a lab partner. The kind all the girls wanted in college—for a buddy.
He suspected his ex-wife had married him because he made her feel safe. He took care of her. Held her arm when they crossed the road. Checked out the house when she heard noises at night. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.
She’d divorced him and married a karate instructor.
He hadn’t even attempted to date since then. The past two years had been consumed with the Skobelov investigation, so there hadn’t been much of a conflict. But now. Now, there was Grace.
He sighed and unfolded the papers he’d found in her purse in the hotel room. Release forms from a pharmaceutical distribution company for a large amount of Viagra to be shipped to an address in Lodi, California. But why would Grace have them?
He didn’t even want to think about it.
His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open.
“Yeah, Lou.”
“Morton’s on the move.”
“Great. Stay with him. Let me know where he ends up.”
“Will do.”
The toilet flushed in Pete’s ear, and Balboa started humming again. Pete rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t wait for this assignment to be over. He’d had about all the dealings with Nick Balboa he could take.
Chapter 16
Sunday, 10:48 p.m.
Fighting Squirrels
“What did I tell you? You look great.” Tina turned Grace around in the kitchen and examined her from every angle. “How do you feel?”
“I have to admit, I feel pretty good. Just like you said. Wild. Sexy.”
“Uh-huh. And the guys couldn’t take their eyes off you at dinner.”
“I’ve got news for you. It wasn’t me they were looking at. It was the girls here.” She hefted her bra-free bosom.
“You. The girls. “What’s the difference?”
Grace sighed. “I don’t want to get attention that way. It’s wrong.”
Tina looked hurt. “You saying what I do is wrong?”
“No. It’s just wrong for me.”
Tina shook her head. “Lots of people judge me, ya know. They think I’m some kind of slut. But I’m not. I’m a dancer. And just because I’m proud of my body and I show it off doesn’t mean I don’t respect myself.”
“I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry, Tina. I’m not judging you. Really. I guess I’m just not comfortable putting myself out there like that.”
“But you said yourself you feel good. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know.”
What was wrong with that? She hadn’t always been so uptight about her body. When she was young—and much closer to perfect—she’d had no qualms about showing a little T and A. But now that she was older, now that her body had gone through perfectly normal changes, she was ashamed of it. Well, that just sucked.
Meanwhile, most men could walk around in a Speedo, with a package that jiggled
like fighting squirrels and a belly like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and wouldn’t think twice about the way they looked.
It just wasn’t fair.
Grace and Tina loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed the pots in silence.
Nick came into the kitchen. “Well, you did it, baby.”
“Did what?”
“Viktor. He loved the food.”
“Yeah, he did,” said Tina. “I haven’t seen him so happy since he stopped having his back waxed.”
“Eew.”
Nick wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Bottom line is you bought us some more time. Good job.”
Tina gave her a questioning look, which she ignored. She had no idea how much the young woman knew about Skobelov’s business, but she sure wasn’t going to be the one to clue her in on anything. The less Tina knew, the better.
Ditto for herself.
Grace peeled Nick off of her. “That’s great. But we’ve got to clean up in here.”
Nick nodded. “Viktor and I are gonna go out for a while. You two girls behave yourselves.”
“Oh, goody,” Tina said. “I want to do Grace’s makeup.”
Grace gave her a smile she hoped looked a little more enthusiastic than she felt. “Can’t wait.”
Sunday, 11:29 p.m.
Tattoo You
Tina’s bedroom was done up in gold brocade and black lacquer, with a king-size bed, her own bathroom and a walk-in closet that would have housed a family of four in New York City.
She hustled Grace into the bathroom, sat her down in front of the mirror and poured her a glass of wine from a bottle she’d retrieved from a little refrigerator near the tub.
“Isn’t this fun?” She picked up a hairbrush and started teasing Grace’s hair. “When I was little, I got this big Barbie head for Christmas that you could put makeup on and fix her hair. I loved that thing.”
“Maybe you’d be a good cosmetologist or a makeup artist.”
A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets Page 30
