He had a chauffeur, but he’d forced his mother to stop buying theater tickets? Carter wished he’d brought a bad-tempered dog so it could growl at the louse.
Louise gave a little wave as they departed. Carter would have sworn she looked uncomfortable. Guilty. He wondered what Roger had told her and where they were really going.
Shortly afterward, Buffy popped in from the hall. She’d changed into a gold slip of a dress that bared one shoulder. It made a fellow hope for a strong wind to dislodge the strap. Better yet, it should be removed inch by inch with his tongue.
“You look great,” he said.
She smiled shyly. “Thanks. After those women at the pool today, I’m a little self-conscious. They’re younger and slimmer and way bigger on top.”
She was embarrassed about her figure? “Buffy,” Carter said. “You’re my ideal woman. Remember that.”
A sigh ran through her. “Oh, Carter. If only you...”
He never heard the rest of the thought, because the doorbell rang. The distant sound of a vacuum cleaner informed him that the housekeeper probably couldn’t hear it, so he went to answer.
Outside stood the red-haired woman who’d been at the pool earlier. She wore a clingy gown that swirled with shades of purple. “Hi! I’m Charisse. Is Roger ready?”
“He took his mother to dinner.”
“He what?”
Buffy appeared at Carter’s side. “Can I help you?”
“We’re supposed to go to a party at Brandon Brinn’s estate,” she wailed. “Roger promised to take me! He has to take me. How would it look if I went by myself?”
“Brandon Brinn? Really?” Buffy turned to Carter. “He owns two cable TV networks. People would sell their toenails for an invitation to his house. I can’t believe Roger would miss this.”
“I doubt he plans to. Maybe he’ll meet you there,” he told Charisse. “Why don’t Buffy and I ride over with you so you won’t be alone?”
“Thank you!” A smile broke across her picture-perfect face.
“Glad to,” he said.
Buffy hurried to fetch her purse while Carter arranged for Sarah to baby-sit Allie. The housekeeper seemed genuinely pleased to do it.
They were heading for a Hollywood party stuffed with celebrities, he mused as he slid into Charisse’s luxury sedan. The folks back home would enjoy hearing how they acted in person.
Better yet, he might get a clue to the scheme Roger was hatching.
*
Buffy wished Carter had sat in the back instead of cramming himself into the center seat between her and Charisse. Not that she was worried about his comfort. It was the way Charisse’s thigh kept bumping his that bothered her.
Buffy didn’t suspect him of flirting, but he was gallant by nature. And he’d told her himself that he had a weakness for sophisticated women.
She refused to be jealous. Not only did she have no right to any expectations about him, she respected Carter as the soul of honesty and all those virtues she couldn’t recall right now. Weren’t there seven holy virtues, like there were seven deadly sins? Someone had mentioned them on a talk show once. Well, if so, he had eight of them.
Buffy’s thoughts shifted to the evening ahead. During her marriage to Roger, they’d attended a number of promotional, charity and fashion-related events. Private parties hosted by entertainment moguls, however, were new to her.
There would be big-name guests, the glitterati who’d long inhabited her dreams. The idea of mingling with them left her short of breath, like a little girl on Christmas morning who’d played too long with her new trampoline.
She intended to study the rising stars and behind-the-scenes talent, to learn their tastes so she could win them as clients for her future dress shop. Maybe not too far in the future, if she wrung a decent settlement from Roger.
Yet despite her star-struck eagerness, she wasn’t nearly as excited about opening a boutique on Rodeo Drive as she used to be. Visions of the empty store next to Gigi’s kept flashing across her brain, along with the faces of the eager customers she’d met in Texas. How frustrating! She couldn’t build a life in Nowhere Junction without Carter. And unless he got struck by lightning, he wasn’t likely to fall in love with her in the few days before they went to court.
“I’d do anything for my little girl, even make a fool of myself in church.” Tears stung at the memory of his words. She blinked them ruthlessly aside.
Fifteen minutes later, Charisse whipped her car into the circular driveway of an estate in the hills above Sunset Boulevard. The mansion rising majestically before them might have belonged to an English lord, with dark beams crisscrossing its stone walls and a turret rising to the full two-story height. Uniformed valets opened the doors and Buffy found herself handed out into the glare of spotlights. Charisse spoke to a man with a guest list. He nodded in recognition without glancing at the names, which meant he must have memorized them.
How classy. But a guest list wouldn’t be necessary in Nowhere Junction, People just knew each other. And invited everybody, too.
“I’m thrilled you two came.” The redhead linked arms with Buffy and Carter as they mounted the broad steps. “Can you imagine me arriving all by my lonesome?”
“Thanks for inviting us,” Carter replied. “Can’t wait to see who-all’s here.”
Why was he looking forward to a boring evening with a bunch of people he didn’t know, even if some of them might be famous? Carter wasn’t the starry-eyed type. And without scriptwriters, she’d heard that actors had little to say.
Zeppa was more interesting than most of them, Buffy suspected. And she doubted there was a celebrity chef as creative as Finella.
They entered an enormous foyer, its floor faced with marble and its walls with suggestive paintings, some bordering on pornographic. From there opened a series of vast rooms decorated in ornate Italian style. Waiters circulated with trays of hors d’oeuvres, and Buffy spotted several buffet tables and bars. Somewhere, a band was playing a rumba or a samba or some other Latin rhythm.
As they moved deeper into the house, she saw that the guests wore a range of styles from sloppy cut-offs to formal attire. Wishing she had a cell phone and dared snap pictures, Buffy mentally cataloged the fabrics, cuts and colors, reckoning which could be adapted or improved upon to suit the budgets and tastes of her future customers. Except, which future customers would those be?
As she plucked a crab-stuffed mushroom from a passing tray, she wondered how the folks in Nowhere Junction would react to this scene. Finella would pick the oddest ingredients from the buffet and combine them. As for Horace Popsworthy, he’d bluster about the low-cut dresses and, with his eyes bulging, propose a law banning them. As for Zeppa, she’d give an earful to a pregnant lady who appeared to be sipping champagne. Buffy hoped it was nonalcoholic.
Slipping through the crowd and keeping her attention on the costumes, Buffy arrived at a long porch that overlooked the formal gardens. In the moonlight, a huge marble fountain sparkled, and guests filled their glasses with champagne from its pool.
It wasn’t a very practical way to distribute a bubbly liquid, she reflected. If Brandon Brinn wanted to impress people, he ought to impress them with his taste, not his waste.
Buffy saw their host near the fountain, wearing a rust-colored silk suit that might be one of Roger’s designs. And there was Roger himself, wearing a similar suit in turquoise, talking to Brandon. What were they discussing so intently?
Buffy swung around to ask Carter’s opinion. To her left stood a well-known network executive with a rock ’n’ roll diva on his arm. A few steps away, a classic actress who had starred in one of Buffy’s favorite films was loudly discussing investments with a man in a three-piece suit.
This was the kind of scene she’d dreamed of while growing up not too far away, living in a dump of an apartment with a magical view of a movie billboard. Gazing at those beautiful faces, she’d yearned to hear their voices in person and to luxuriate in their au
ras.
Now all she could do was wonder where Carter had gone. She’d assumed he was following. Apparently, he’d gone his own way.
Buffy headed toward an adjacent chamber to search for him. On the threshold, she stopped.
Across the room, Carter stood next to Charisse, who was gesturing animatedly. His body framed the redhead’s and his gaze was fixed on her face.
Buffy’s jaw tightened. She didn’t think Carter was the type to jump from woman to woman, yet it hurt to see those two together.
She was about to go investigate when the music stopped. Over a speaker, the voice of Brandon Brinn said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve invited you here because I have an important announcement to make.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Buffy wondered if this had something to do with Roger.
*
At their first meeting, Carter had considered Buffy a scatterbrain. She was, he now conceded, a Nobel laureate compared to this goofy redhead, who couldn’t string five words together without breaking off to coo over someone’s hair or choice of escort. She’d introduced him to a couple of people in passing, none of whom had impressed him. One man had scanned Carter’s casual clothing and asked if he was a writer. When Carter said no, that he was an auto mechanic, the man laughed as if it were a big joke.
“Nobody’s an auto mechanic,” he’d snorted.
“Who fixes your car?” had been the obvious question.
“It’s a hybrid. I think that means it fixes itself.”
Charisse had nodded solemnly. “That’s right.”
Carter hoped they married and produced many small hybrids, all considerably smarter than their parents.
After that nonsensical discussion, he’d have gone off on his own, but he couldn’t risk parting with Charisse yet. Sifting through her chatter, he’d gleaned a precious tidbit— Roger was launching a production company. Carter needed to find out more, including who was putting up the money.
While he was trying to pry information out of her, Louise sailed toward them, her face creased with exasperation. “That son of mine gave me the slip. Have you seen him?”
“I’m afraid not.” Anything further Carter might have said was drowned out by an amplified male voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make....”
The man stopped, then said, apparently to someone near him, “But we agreed...” The sound clicked off, then on. “I guess I’m a little premature. All I can tell you is we’re celebrating a major production deal. It’ll be a package of style-oriented reality shows and bio-pics about famous figures from the fashion field. Sorry, folks, but you’ll have to read the details in the trades, uh—” another pause “—next week. Meanwhile, enjoy yourselves. Magicians and acrobats will be on deck in just a minute.”
“Oh, pooh!” Charisse said. “Roger promised that Brandon would mention our company.”
Louise’s eyes narrowed. “What company?”
“Charger Productions,” she said. “See, it’s a combination of my name and Roger’s.” In case they didn’t get it, she added, “Charisse and Roger equals Charger.”
“Are you his next wife?” Louise asked.
“Don’t be silly. He’s too old for me.” The red-haired woman broke off to smile at a Latin pop star, who bowed courteously.
Carter couldn’t let her stop now. “Who’s chairman of the board of Charger Productions?”
“I am,” Charisse said. “It’s on the incorporation papers.”
“How about the chief executive officer?”
“C’est moi,” she admitted.
“And chief financial officer?”
“That’s me, too.”
“Do you know anything about finance beyond balancing a checkbook?” Louise demanded.
“Nobody uses a checkbook these days,” Charisse said. “And why would you have to balance it?”
Louise smacked herself in the forehead.
“Why is Roger putting your name on all the executive positions if you aren’t going to fill them?” Carter asked.
She waved a head dismissively. “It’s a technicality. He promised to help me transition from modeling to acting if I’d do him this one little bitty favor.”
“You’re the front,” Louise growled.
The young woman bristled. “What do you mean, front?”
“She means, he’s putting up the money under your name,” Carter said.
“What’s wrong with that? He said that production companies headed by women are hot right now.” Charisse plucked a shred of lint off her blue bodice. “Roger has this wonderful network deal lined up. Don’t you think he’s brilliant?”
“He’s brilliant, all right,” said the mother of the biggest louse in Hollywood.
Carter needed another detail. “Where are Charger’s headquarters?”
“In Newport Beach. That’s in Orange County, south of L.A.,” Charisse said.
Pieces went ching-ching-ching into place in Carter’s mind. At last he knew how, what and where. That was enough information to enable him, or Boyce Fringo, to follow the not-very-well-hidden money trail.
Three cherries meant Carter had hit the jackpot. As for Roger Arden, he’d drawn three lemons. He just didn’t know it yet.
*
“Charisse promised not to tell Roger what we learned.” Carter’s face shone with excitement as he paced around Buffy’s bedroom. “We assured her he must be saving it as a birthday surprise for his mother.”
“When’s her birthday?”
“Who knows? Charisse didn’t ask.”
He’d been practically bursting ever since Buffy found him again at the party. She was surprised how ready she’d been to leave the glamorous event and how glad to be alone with him and Allie. The party hadn’t been nearly as much fun as she’d expected.
In the taxi on the way home, Carter had revealed that Roger was hiding his money in a corporation formed under Charisse’s name. The jerk must have figured that, once his court case with Buffy was settled, he could afford to go public. Perhaps he’d meant to cut his mother in on the deal. On the other hand, he might have assumed she wouldn’t read the trade papers once she returned to Cincinnati.
“I hope it means I can keep custody.” She rocked the sleepy baby in her arms.
“It had better. And a lot more.” Carter let out a whoop. “Not a bad night’s work for a country boy.”
Buffy had to admit that she’d misjudged him when she’d suggested he was in over his head. He’d certainly gotten the drop on Roger.
Carter resumed pacing. “I wish it was tomorrow morning already so I could call your lawyer and set the wheels rolling.”
Buffy rested her cheek atop Allie’s fuzzy hair. She didn’t wish it was tomorrow, or any other time in the future. Carter was with her now, and she longed for him to stay that way.
He swiveled toward her. “Hey, I’m forgetting what’s important, aren’t I?”
“What’s that?” Her hopes rose.
“I have a request.” As he hesitated, he seemed more like the Carter of old, the shy one who’d regarded Buffy as if she were too wonderful to touch.
“Ask away.” Her skin quivered as he sat on the bed beside her. She inhaled his masculine fragrance with a deep sense of yearning.
“Would you—I mean, do you think, once all this is resolved...” He cleared his throat.
She was tempted to shake him. Ask me! Ask me anything and I’ll say yes. To move back in with you. To marry you. To live in sin with you. Just say you love me, you wonderful idiot.
“Would you consider moving back to Nowhere Junction?” he asked. “If things go as I expect, you’ll be able to afford your own shop. You’ve made friends there, and it would mean a lot to me.”
“It would?”
“To have Allie nearby,” he said. “I want to be a real father to her. That’s what matters most.”
“And that’s…all?”
“You bet.”
Buffy felt as if tru
cks were smashing into each other along the highways of her heart. Vehicles collided, loads spilled, flames leaped and sirens wailed. All routes were blocked until further notice.
She missed Nowhere Junction, and she couldn’t imagine how much she was going to miss Carter. But how could she bear to let this man shatter her heart, one day at a time?
Still, he’d invited her. Maybe she owed it to Allie. And how could she deny herself the chance to be close to the man she loved, to hold him once in a while and see that warm, lazy smile spread across his face?
If she ran a store in Beverly Hills, all she’d be doing was trying to lure people who wished they could afford to shop somewhere else. Opening a boutique in Nowhere Junction meant filling a genuine need.
Carter was right. His town was the perfect place to raise a little girl. It was perfect for a big one, too, even if it hurt to know that the most precious thing of all, his love, remained elusive.
“Let’s see how things go in court on Wednesday,” she said. “If I don’t have to worry about losing Allie, then, yes, I’ll go back.”
She turned quickly away to nestle the little girl in her crib. She’d rather not have to lie and pretend she was crying tears of happiness.
Chapter Twelve
As it turned out, by Wednesday everything was wrapped up neatly except for a few legal details. On Monday, at Carter’s instigation, Boyce Fringo had filed a court order to obtain the financial records of Charger Productions. He’d also subpoenaed Charisse to testify if necessary.
The material, contradicting the notarized statements Roger had filed in the divorce case, provided an unmistakable picture of deception, perjury and possible fraud. An outraged Louise had threatened to file her own lawsuit against her son.
He’d folded on all fronts, paying his mother and Buffy the money he’d withheld over the past six months, relinquishing his demand for custody and guaranteeing a fair financial deal in the future, more than enough to underwrite his ex-wife’s new store and his mother’s travel plans. All he asked in exchange was their promise not to seek criminal prosecution for fraud.
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