Kip Bledsoe’s email had indicated that my mortgage papers were preapproved and that the seller of the apartment building had accepted my offer. I hadn’t wanted Hudson to know the buyer was me, because I knew that would send signals I didn’t want to send—signals of separation, of compartmentalizing my life, and of wanting to cut ties to him. That was the most troubling thing about this decision. I had never thought I’d be in a place where choosing one man meant I was saying good-bye to the other. But when two trains leave the station, whether or not they’re moving at the same speed, unless they’re kept separate, there’s a point at which they’ll intersect. And if I wasn’t careful, that intersection would amount to a train wreck.
There was another reason I was going to Hudson’s house and it was purely selfish. If Detective Henning was looking for me, he wouldn’t look for me there. And if he asked Tex where I was, Tex wouldn’t expect me to be there either. He’d expect me to honor the terms of our agreement like he was. In an unexpected way, it was Hudson, the formerly accused bad boy, whose house provided the safe, security I needed, not the officer of the law.
I parked my car on the street opposite Hudson’s house. It was a modest white ranch that he’d inherited from his grandmother. She raised him and his sister before his sister married and moved to California. I climbed out of the car and approached the front door, not sure what kind of reception I’d get when he answered.
SEVENTEEN
Hudson opened the door before I had a chance to knock. “Hey, Lady,” he said in his deep baritone drawl.
“Hey, Hudson.” As we stood there, face to face, I knew my decision. It was as inconvenient as everything else in my life, but I knew. The clouds gathered overhead, and a clap of thunder sounded, followed by a flash of lightning. Pellets of rain started, first one, then two, then a downpour that plastered the oil baroness’s ivory felt hat to my head.
Emotions overwhelmed me. Sadness, guilt, grief. I felt hot tears running down my cheeks but didn’t know if Hudson could tell I was crying or if he thought I’d gotten caught in the downpour.
“Let’s get you out of the rain,” he said. He reached out for my arm and guided me into the hallway. The water that had accumulated on my blazer dripped onto the oriental carpet runner. I thrust my hands deep into the pockets and tried to figure out how to ask what I came here to ask without saying what I knew I had to say. Not yet. I wasn’t ready yet.
“Can I get you some coffee? Tea?” he asked.
“Coffee,” I said. I followed him into his kitchen. Packing boxes, some sealed, some open, sat in his dining room. I turned my head and noticed the paintings that used to hang in the hallway were now sitting on the shag carpet. When I turned back to Hudson, it was with unasked questions.
Hudson handed me a cup of coffee. “I already know why you’re here, Madison. You’re torturing yourself, and that speaks volumes. You say you haven’t made a choice, but it’s written all over your face. In a way, I’ve known all along.”
“No,” I said. I put my hand on his forearm. “That’s not why I’m here.”
A spark of hope appeared in his eyes, and he shifted his body toward me and put his other arm around my waist. I felt my body tense up. Hudson’s hands dropped from me and he took a step back.
“Don’t play games with me. That’s all I ever asked. If you have any respect for me, then be honest and say what you came here to say.”
I kept my hands wrapped around the warm coffee mug. “I’m the anonymous buyer,” I said quietly.
Hudson stared at me. I tried to read the look on his face but couldn’t. The words hung in the air until I couldn’t stand the silence. “I should never have sold my old apartment building to you in first place and I suspect you bought it because you knew I’d regret letting it go. I asked the realtor to make an anonymous bid on the property for me because I was afraid of what you might read into my actions, but that doesn’t feel right either. It’s me, you know? And it’s you. I wanted to be honest and tell you the truth.”
“You’re talking about the apartment building on Gaston,” Hudson said slowly. This time I could read the expression on his face, and it wasn’t relief.
“Yes. I need a property for the local design competition—”
“VIP, yes, I know all about it.”
“Well, I was supposed to collaborate on an entry with Jane, but that didn’t work out like I expected.”
“That’s right. You and she were close. I heard the news about her death last night. You must be taking it hard.”
It was the one thing I didn’t need to hear, because it made me feel like a fraud. The weight of pretending had left me spent, and I knew Hudson well enough to know he wouldn’t judge me. I looked him directly in the eye. “Jane and I had a falling out the morning she was killed. I was there. I found her body. She sent me a nasty email that said in no uncertain terms she wanted nothing to do with me. We might have been friends for a short period of time, but by the time she was murdered, we weren’t.”
Hudson dropped into the chair. “What was in this email?”
“She pointed out my personality flaws. How I’m self-centered, I’ve embarrassed her in public, I think the world revolves around me…” Hudson’s eyebrows went up. “What?” I asked.
“Well, you are a little self-centered.” He smiled. “Look at this thing with me and Tex. All you have to do is make a decision and everybody moves on. But you didn’t do that. You asked for six months, and we both gave it to you—not because it made sense, but because it’s what you said you wanted. And now look at where we’re at. You’re in my living room, and you’re decorating Tex’s house.”
“I agreed to decorate his house before any of this,” I said. “It would have been unprofessional for me to back out of the job.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Madison.”
“Oh, come on, Hudson. Tex doesn’t know what he wants. That’s why he hired me.”
Hudson’s demeanor shifted from calm to thin on patience. “No, Madison, you’re the one who doesn’t know what you want,” he said. The words stung.
The coffee had cooled, and the scent of freshly brewed dark roast invigorated me. I took a sip and set the cup back down. “I am self-centered, aren’t I?”
He smiled. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s part of what makes you unique. But I’d have to be blind not to see it.”
“We’ve been together for a year and you never said anything about it.”
“We haven’t been that together.”
I thought about that for a moment. “No, I guess we haven’t.”
Hudson’s ornery black cat, Mortiboy, came into the kitchen and froze when he saw me. He stood still for a few seconds, and then resumed his path toward his bowl. Mortiboy and I had a history too, and I didn’t think he’d ever forgive me for accidentally trapping him in my closet three years ago.
While Mortiboy crunched his food, Hudson and I lapsed into silence. I drank more coffee. Hudson refilled his mug. They were the comfortable, lived in moments that I’d experienced when we were together in Palm Springs, the ones that made me feel like we’d been a couple forever. But today, an awkward weight hung over the moment, and it wasn’t one hundred percent because of me.
“Why all the boxes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
Hudson stared at the brown shipping containers stacked against the back wall. The outline of a star, tattooed on his neck, peeked above the collar of his long sleeved gray T-shirt. He appeared to be lost, trying to select the right words, and it was then that I knew he’d been grappling with his own sense of self in the middle of my drama. Hudson had left me once before. I’d been foolish not to suspect we’d find ourselves at this same intersection.
“My whole life, I made a living from what I could build with my hands,” he said. “I paid cash for everything so I wouldn’t go into debt. I don’t even
have a credit card. I know what people said about me, so I stayed away from places where they talked.”
“That’s your past, Hudson. That’s all over.”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The thing is, I can’t do that forever. There’s going to come a point where I can’t do contract work or construction or repair broken furniture. That time isn’t yet, but it’s soon.”
“You’re moving to California, aren’t you?”
Hudson dropped back into the chair opposite me. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and I wondered if he was thinking about everything that had led us here.
Twenty some years ago, Hudson had played Good Samaritan, only to find himself in the middle of a murder investigation. Lack of concrete evidence left him uncharged for the crime, but rumors around town closed a lot of doors in his face. When the dust settled two decades later and the truth came out, we all thought we’d move on. Enter a husband/wife team from Hollywood who negotiated with Hudson to buy the rights to his story.
“You know how I’ve been making trips from Palm Springs to Hollywood to meet with some studios about the pillow stalkings?”
“I knew you were, but you haven’t mentioned it for a while. I thought maybe the deal fell through.”
“The movie is in pre-production. Pretty soon the second unit director and his team are going to be in Dallas filming.”
“They’re filming here? Not on a backlot or in Vancouver? I heard all those movies were shot in Canada.”
“The director went to school in Austin and he wants some local flavor. Establishing shots, location, etc.” He studied his coffee mug for a moment. “Madison, this is my chance to change my life. To start over and be the person I could have been if things had been different back when I was twenty.”
“You are that person, Hudson. Life didn’t happen like you wanted, but you’re still you. You’ve always been. You can move to California, but don’t let that movie define you. You made a life for yourself by using your talent. Don’t ignore that. Sure, you’re getting older,” I said. One side of his mouth turned up. “Oh, heck, we all are.” Now I got a full-on smile. “But don’t say you can’t do what you do. You can. Start your own company. Train kids on woodworking and furniture restoration. Teach them your techniques. Be their mentor. That movie—that’s not your legacy.”
Hudson stared at his coffee mug, his thumb rubbing back and forth over a small, long-since smoothed over chip along the rim. His brows were pulled together, and I sensed he was wrestling with something difficult.
“Madison, there’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. I kept my eyes on his face. He looked up at me. “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, but maybe I was wrong.”
“What is it?”
“I sold the apartment building. Your apartment building. About a year ago, when I stayed behind in Palm Springs. I called a local realtor and asked him to find a buyer fast. My brother-in-law needed money to infuse into his development and that was the easiest way to get a lump sum.”
“I don’t understand. That was a year ago and there’s a For Sale sign on it now. The realtor couldn’t find a buyer?”
“The property sold before the listing went public. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“But I put a bid on the property yesterday. The main reason I came here was to let you know so it wouldn’t seem like I was doing it behind your back or avoiding you.”
“Maybe the new owner changed his mind.” Hudson shrugged. “I have to be honest. I thought he would have torn the place down by now.”
“Who?”
“Sterling Webster. He’s the guy who bought it from me.”
EIGHTEEN
“Sterling Webster owns my apartment building?” I asked. I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been played. Everywhere I turned, it was Sterling, Sterling, Sterling.
“You know Sterling?” Hudson asked.
“Oh, I know Sterling.” I said. At his confused expression, I explained. “I mean, I don’t know Sterling, but I know of Sterling. I know of his type. House flippers.” I paused for a moment. “I can’t believe my apartment building is just sitting there waiting for him to knock down.”
“Technically it’s not your apartment building.”
“It was my building.” Anger bubbled up inside me. I felt cheated by Hudson, but rationally I knew he didn’t owe me anything. I’d sold him the building and from that point on he could do with it whatever he wanted. I just never expected he’d do whatever he did without telling me first.
“Well, like it or not, it seems as though I’m destined to do business with Sterling Webster,” I said. It didn’t matter if Kip had kept my name out of the offer. Sterling had known of my interest (and desperation) from the minute he’d shown up impersonating Kip.
I stood up. “I should be going.”
Hudson stood too. He put his hand out and caught my forearm and, with a slight tug, pulled me toward him. There were a hundred small reasons that made me want to give in and be close to him, and one very big reason I resisted. My reaction told him what I wasn’t yet willing to admit out loud.
We stood like that for a moment, Hudson’s hand on my forearm and me maintaining the distance between us. “I don’t think I can give you what you want,” I said softly.
He smiled a bittersweet smile and hung his head a little lower. When he looked up, his amber eyes, flecked with gold under naturally thick black lashes, studied me. He said, “I don’t think I can give you what you need.”
“Goodbye, Hudson,” I said. I put my own hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers and then turned around and left before the tears fell from my eyes.
I drove away from Hudson’s house wondering if it was the last time I’d ever be there. There was no way out of my personal life drama without hurting one of two people who I cared about. Correction: one of the three people I cared about. Because in addition to Tex and Hudson, I cared about myself.
Which is why I pushed all thoughts of men from my mind and drove across town to Great American Hero for lunch. The sandwich shop had been a Dallas favorite since opening in 1974 and seemed to hold valuable the same love of the past that I did. I ordered a solid white albacore tuna hero and ate in a booth by the patio of plants. Less than a minute after I finished, the phone rang. I thought about ignoring it until I saw the caller was Hudson.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hey,” he said. There was a pregnant pause, and then he spoke again. “Listen. You know how I said everything isn’t about you?”
“Look, Hudson, I get it. I’m self-centered. Maybe I’m just not cut out for a relationship, okay? We don’t have to do this.”
“Madison!” he said sharply. “Listen to me. Two minutes after you left, somebody came looking for you. Detective Henning.”
Pin prickles ran up my spine. “Why would he look for me at your place? Everybody who knows me knows we’re on a break.”
“Well, somebody tipped him off and I can guess who. It’s probably the same person who wasn’t all that happy to find me at your house two nights ago.”
“Tex wouldn’t.”
“He would. It’s a code of cops. If Detective Henning needed to find you and couldn’t, he’d shake whatever trees he needed to shake to get the info, and Captain Allen isn’t going to risk his job for that.”
I didn’t like what Hudson insinuated, but I had no evidence he was wrong. “What did Henning want?”
“He didn’t say, but Lady, I got a bad feeling he didn’t just want to talk.” He was silent again. “Madison, are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I knew if I asked Hudson for help he’d give it, but that felt borderline manipulative and dependent, two things I didn’t want to be. “Thank you for calling,” I said and hung up.
Whatever Detective Henning wan
ted, he would have to wait. I didn’t have any new information, and his need to keep checking up on me felt like a net was tightening regardless of the fact that I’d done nothing wrong.
I needed to work. Uninterrupted. This whole birthday thing had created a ticking time bomb and I needed a shelter where I could avoid being hit by the wreckage. I needed a safe zone where nobody could get to me, where I wouldn’t be distracted by decisions and police investigations and computer viruses and vicarious friends and men.
Especially men.
And, oddly, I realized there was one place I could go where nobody would think to look for me. Jane Strong’s business office.
Posh Pit was located in a small, converted post-war house in a part of town called Vickery Place. Sandwiched between houses that could accommodate a family, the small structure looked more like a dollhouse than an actual home. At less than a thousand square feet, with a low-pitched roof and prefab windows, it made more sense as an office than anything else.
Jane had converted the dining room to a desk for Vonda and used the living room for client meetings and design work. Her kitchen was outfitted with a juice bar and espresso machine, and her counter was lined with clear jars of colorful candies. The entire interior was done in shades of blue, red, and white, yellow, and black using a color blocked Mondrian-inspired aesthetic to give a cohesive feel. What not many of her clients knew was that, to save money, she lived out of the bedroom in the back instead of renting a separate property.
From the very first time I stepped foot inside Jane’s office, I’d been taken by her overall color palette. Small spaces can easily be made to look even smaller by overcrowding walls and attempting to define open floorplans with varying paint colors and furniture choices. Jane’s choice to decorate everything in primary colors unified the space. All the furniture, mismatched pieces from yard sales and thrift stores, had been painted with a high gloss white. Even the street-facing view reflected the theme with blue siding, shiny white trim, and red window boxes.
LOVER COME HACK Page 12
