"Can't wait," Jamie said. "You, a cheap motel room and a dusty field in Sacramento. What more could a woman want?"
After they were finished with work for the day, Conor, Kevin and Brian met Catherine at her new home. The roared up in Conor's black Ram truck, Catherine smiling at the fact that she'd never seen him drive anywhere stealthily.
The men emerged from the truck, each of them carrying a bag with the tools of his trade. Conor had a metal clipboard in his hand and he waved it at Catherine. She got out of her car and hugged each of the men in turn, thinking how nice it was that everyone in the clan was so comfortable with showing affection.
"We're ready to go," Conor said. "Kevin's going to check the electrical, Brian will look at the plumbing, heating and air conditioning, and I'll get up on the roof and do a water test."
"Oh, Conor, do you really have to do that?"
"Yeah, it's a mistake not to," he said. "A leaky roof can cause more damage than almost any other fault. I'll be surprised if this one leaks, but I'd feel like a fool if I didn't test it and you were putting out buckets during our first storm."
"If you're sure," Catherine said. "I just don't want any of you to risk injury."
"We risk injury every day," Kevin said. "We're tradesmen." He struck a heroic pose, throwing out his chest for a moment before Brian gave him a hard jab in the belly.
Conor took his extension ladder from the truck bed, and hefted it over to the side of the house.
As he got it into position and started to raise it, Catherine said, "I'll go into the house and show Kevin and Brian around. I can't stand to watch you climb that high."
"This isn't very high," Conor said, but Catherine had disappeared by the time he'd finished his sentence.
It took about two hours for the men to check every system thoroughly. Kevin wanted a couple of ground-fault interrupter outlets put into the kitchen, and Brian advised replacing an old section of galvanized pipe with copper. Conor couldn't find a thing that needed fixing, and he'd looked as hard as he knew how.
"The few little things we found will cost under $500 to fix," Conor said. "You can try to negotiate for the seller to pay for them, or we can do the repairs for you. Materials will be about $100."
"I'd be happy to have you do the work," Catherine said, "but only if I pay your normal rate."
"That's not how we do it," Brian said, his strong jaw sticking out just the way Ryan's did when she was being inflexible. "Materials only."
"All right," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "I'll ask my real estate agent to recommend someone."
"She's as hard-headed as we are," Kevin said, laughing. "She'd hire a guy off the street before she'd let us work for free."
"Just like Jamie," Brian said, shaking his head.
"Where do you think Jamie got it?" Conor asked. "She's a chip off the young, beautiful block.
Catherine bumped him with her shoulder and laughed. "I think it's lovely that you all help each other out, but you've all got skills that you use for each other's benefit. All I have is money, so it's only fair that I pay for what I receive."
Conor put an arm around her shoulders. "She does have a lot of money," he agreed. "It's only right that you two should help her lighten her load."
"Now it's your turn," Catherine said, turning to Conor. "I'd love to put an office in the house, and I'd like for you to help me plan it and get it done."
Conor put his hands over his eyes, crying, "No, no, not me!"
"Yes, you," Catherine said, poking him in the chest. "I need you to help lighten my load, too."
He let out an aggrieved sigh. "When do you want me?"
"How about tomorrow? I'm going to be here to have a termite inspection at around noon."
"That's good for me. I'm gonna go to Sacramento to see Ryan play, but I think I'll go over on Sunday."
"Great. That's when I'm going, too. See you tomorrow … anytime after one o'clock."
"Should I bring you lunch?" he asked.
"No, I never eat lunch," she said. "But feel free to bring something for yourself."
"He's always got a snack stashed somewhere," Brian said. "He and Ryan eat more than any two of the rest of us."
"Good metabolism," Conor said. "Although if I worked a desk job, I probably couldn't get through the front door."
At around six o'clock that afternoon, Jamie reached her lover on the bus. "We sold 3,000 shares at one fifty."
"Wow, we've gotta put $675,000 in our margin account. That's a lotta dough."
"Oh, no we don't," Jamie said. "It's already down to one twenty five. We only have to put in $562,500.
"Only you could say 'only' when you're speaking of half a million dollars," Ryan said. "Hey, you're breaking up. Good job on the sale. See you later."
Jamie knocked on the door of room 215 at the Comfort Inn in Sacramento at 11:00 p.m. As soon as the door opened, she put her hands on Ryan's waist and asked in sing-song fashion, "Guess how much our margin is?"
"I don't know," Ryan asked excitedly. "How much?"
"$405,000," Jamie cried.
"Jesus! You mean the stock dropped all the way to ninety?"
Momentarily stunned, the blonde asked, "How do you do that so fast?"
"Uhm … math … me … you know the drill," the dark beauty said. "That's off the hook, babe. We're making money hand over fist."
"When should we buy? Soon?"
"Nah. Let's let it ride for a while. I think it'll continue to drop for a while."
"Well, you've been a damn fine prognosticator so far. 3Com closed at eighty-one today. We made over $30 a share by selling when we did."
"Not too shabby," Ryan said.
"I'm really excited about this," Jamie said. "We should celebrate."
"Okay," the taller woman said. "Let's drink some fine imaginary champagne and eat some of the best caviar that money can't buy-all paid for with our sham profits."
"Our profits might be fake, but the fun is real," the blonde beamed. "Now strip me and take me to bed, in that order."
They lay in bed, their bodies entwined. Jamie's head was on Ryan's breast and she was nearly asleep from listening to the slow, steady beat of her heart. "What would you do with the money if it were real?" Jamie idly asked.
"Oh … I don't know. Probably invest most of it. Give as much to my grandparents as they'd take … which isn't much. Help pay for my cousins to go to university." She chuckled, making Jamie's head bounce. "Hire someone to impersonate me when I have to take my language proficiency test for grad school."
"Mia could hook you up."
"I've been looking around school. It's hard to find a woman who's as tall as I am. I've had my eyes peeled."
Jamie turned her head and kissed Ryan's breast. "Why won't you send your grandparents money now? We've got a lot more real money than imaginary money."
Ryan's shoulders shifted. "Dunno. Still doesn't seem like mine, I guess. Don't think it ever will."
"I hate that," Jamie said. "I thought we'd agree that we'd work on putting together a foundation to give most of our money away."
"We will," Ryan said. "But that's different than giving money to my family."
"How?"
"I don't know," she mumbled. "It just is."
"It doesn't make any difference to your grandparents or your cousins. If they need some help …"
"I know, I know. I'll ask my aunt if she can think of a way to slip my grandparents some cash without their going wild."
"Who'll be the harder sell?"
"Usually my granny, but I think my grandfather might have a harder time with accepting money-especially from one of his grandchildren. He never made a good living, but he wouldn't take any assistance-not even used clothes from St. Vincent de Paul. Poor Aunt Moira had to wear Aunt Maeve's clothes, after my mother had worn them. I don't think she had one new piece of clothing until both Aunt Maeve and my mother had moved to America."
"Write to her, honey. If we can make them a little more comfortable w
e just have to find a way."
Ryan shifted her hips and sank lower onto the bed. "'Kay. I've gotta do what I promised and start writing to Cate more regularly. I've really let that drop."
"You can't do everything, honey. You have written a couple of times, haven't you?"
"Yeah. But she doesn't tell me anything. I don't think she trusts me."
"Really?"
"Yeah. But she doesn't trust Aisling, either, so I'm not surprised. I've just gotta work harder at gaining her trust." She let out a breath. "One more item on my to-do list." She lay down and turned onto her side, wrapping an arm around Jamie. "G'night."
Jamie kissed her, then turned onto her side. Nice move. You have a night alone and you spend it making her feel bad for more things she doesn't think she's doing well.
On Friday night, the senior softball players went to a bar close to their hotel to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Coach Roberts gave them permission to go, and told them they could stay out as late as they wanted. The girls met in the lobby, and were just about to leave when they saw the coach reading Sports Illustrated while sitting in a chair near the door.
"Have a nice time, ladies," he said, not looking up.
"Thanks, Coach," Jackie said. "We'll have one for you."
"No curfew, right?" she asked.
"Right. I'm gonna sit right here and make out the lineup card for tomorrow. I have a hard time remembering names, so I'll probably just put down the first people I see as they come home."
"Eleven o'clock?" Ryan asked, smirking at the man.
"That's a lovely time," he said. "One of my favorites."
"We'll be here," she said. "Sober."
"That's one of my second favorite things," he said, taking in a deep breath as though he could smell it. "Ahh … sobriety."
"Are we gonna have to walk a straight line?" Ryan asked.
He looked at her for the first time. "Ryan! You make it sound like I supervise you. You're adults."
"Yeah, right," she said, turning and giving him a little wave from over her shoulder.
Coach Roberts looked at Jamie, who was smiling at him. "I'm misunderstood."
"I don't know how you do it, but they understand you better when you try to confuse 'em."
"That's my secret," he said, winking at her. "I shoulda worked for the government."
Jim Evans stood at the window of his suite, looking down at the revelers streaming in and out of the hotel. "There must be a big St. Patrick's Day party here," he said to Kayla.
"I saw signs in the lobby when I came in. It's some ancient order of something or other."
He turned, a small smile forming when he saw that she was wearing nothing but a tiny white T-shirt and bright green bikinis. "Are you Irish?"
"Yeah, a little," she said. "My mother was some mix of English, Irish and Scottish."
"You look Irish," he said, regarding her thoughtfully. "With your red hair and fair skin. Green's a very good color for you."
"For my ass?" she asked, turning and wiggling it.
"For all of you," he said. "But it looks awfully good on your ass. Of course, everything does."
She went to him and put an arm around his waist, and they stood together for a few minutes, observing the traffic and the people near the hotel.
"Looks like fun," he finally said. "Do you want to go out? I'm sure we could find someplace close that wouldn't be filled with kids."
Smiling to herself, she thought of how often he seemed to forget she was a lot closer in age to the kids than she was to him. "No, it's only fun to go out on St. Paddy's Day if you're with a group of friends." Her arm dropped and she moved away, going to sit on the sofa. She picked up the remote and started channel-surfing. "PBS has Great Performances. Les Troyens from Milan. Want that?"
He sat down next to her. "Sure. I'm always up for opera." He relaxed against the sofa. "Have you ever seen Les Troyens performed?"
"No," she said, not elaborating.
"Well, do you want to watch? What would you watch if I weren't home?"
"I wouldn't watch TV," she said without hesitation. "When you're gone, I'm either on my computer or talking on the phone. Well, I might have the TV on," she amended. "But only for background noise. I put on MTV or VH1 … if either of them actually has music on … which isn't very often."
"What do you do on your computer?" he asked.
She glanced at him out of the side of her eyes. "Why the interest?"
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Why are you interested in what I do when you're not home?"
He frowned at her, wounded. "You're my lover. Shouldn't I be interested in what you do?"
"Sure. You should be. But you usually aren't." She didn't blink, staring right back into his eyes as he looked at her for a few seconds. "What? You look surprised."
"I am. Don't you think I care about you?"
She put her hand on his thigh, gently stroking him. "Sure you do. But …" She trailed off and looked away.
"What? Come on, tell me."
She could tell he was getting upset, but she knew she couldn't turn back now. "You care about me like I care about you."
He stood up, releasing her hand and letting it fall to the cushion. "What in the hell does that mean?"
Her first instinct was to calm him down and distract him. The easiest way to do that was to kiss him and tug him into the bedroom. It was so easy that she'd never even had to think of another trick. But she didn't want to have sex; she felt like being honest for a change. "We use each other, Jim. We always have. That can't come as a surprise."
"I thought we'd had this out before," he said, looking very perturbed.
"We've skirted around it before, but it's time to discuss the future. I'm going to have to find a new job soon."
"What? Why?"
She sighed. "We've talked about this. I can't go back to the firm. Everyone knows about our affair. I'll never have credibility in the San Francisco legal community again. I think I have to stay here."
"Here? As in Washington?"
"Yeah. I don't think anyone will hold our affair against me." She laughed bitterly. "It might even help me."
"So this is a done deal? You're definitely not going back to San Francisco with me?"
"With you?" Now she was surprised. "What are you asking?"
His eyes grew a little wide. "Uhm … just that I thought we'd work together and live together. I'd love to have you as my deputy."
"Oh. Right." She shook her head. "No thanks. I've got ten years to make a name for myself while I'm still young. Then, when I get older, people will stop looking at me like a piece of ass and start paying attention to what I know. I can't spend my prime time riding your coattails."
He stumbled a little as he grasped for a chair and sat down heavily. "Is that all I am to you? A vehicle?"
She glared at him. "Why are you playing the victim here? You know just what you wanted when you started flirting with me. You wanted a young woman who was naïve enough to sleep with you and be discrete about it. You had a plan."
His glare matched hers. "And you didn't?"
Kayla was silent for a minute. She turned her head, gazing at a picture on the wall, then she swept her crimson hair from the side of her face and lay her cheek against the back of the sofa. "Not at first," she said quietly. "I hadn't been at the firm very long, and I hadn't heard much gossip. I was … really flattered that I got to work with you when I was a new associate. I thought they'd picked me because they thought I had a lot of potential." She turned her head and stared at Jim for a few seconds. "You asked for me, didn't you?"
"Uhm … I don't recall. I uhm … might have mentioned-"
She cut him off. "Spare me. I'm sure your list consisted of Melanie Angelos and me. You lucked out. She's gay."
Jim turned away from her, striding over to the window, where he let his head rest against the cool glass. He didn't say a word, so she continued.
"I was so dumb." She let out a short, wry laugh
. "I honestly thought that you and I had something special. I knew you were married, of course, but I assumed that you'd divorce your wife so we could be together." She sniffled, and wiped a few tears from her cheek. "I'll never forget the day I was having lunch with a couple of people who'd been at the firm for a few years. One of the guys started teasing me about keeping my distance from you. That's when I found out that I wasn't the first-and that I wouldn't be the last."
He turned and leaned against the window, staring at her in stunned silence. Finally he asked, "Why didn't you tell me to fuck off?"
"It wasn't that easy," she said. "I knew word would get out. And once people knew, it didn't matter if I'd slept with you once or a thousand times. So, I swallowed my pride and decided to get what I could out of the relationship. And, to be honest, I think we've both come out of it pretty well. You wanted me because of how I looked, and you got a bonus because I also know what I'm doing and I've helped you. I got the bonus of coming to Washington with you."
"Do you care about me or not?" Jim demanded.
He looked like he might cry, and she had no stomach for that. She spoke sharply, trying to make him angry so he'd stop whining. "I care about you just as much as you care about me. Do you want to get married? Have children?" She paused for a second and said with added emphasis, "Be faithful?"
Jim paled and moved to an upholstered chair, where he sat quietly for a moment. When he looked up, she was next to him.
She sat on the arm of his chair and touched his chin, lifting it so they could see each other's eyes. "Is that what you want?"
He shook his head. "No. I don't want to get married again, and I certainly don't want to have more children." He cocked his head and asked, "Is that what you want? You've never mentioned anything like that before."
She dropped her hand. "I want it if I can have it," she said. "If I can't, then I want a kick-ass career. I can't have either with you, and there's no use getting sentimental over it."
"Jesus, you sound so … hard."
Kayla got up and returned to the sofa. Looking at him for a long time, her eyes burning with intensity, she finally said, "You'd like it better if I threatened to hang myself, wouldn't you."
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