by Bridy McAvoy
Young Widows Club
By: Bridy McAvoy
ISBN: 978-0-908325-29-0
All rights reserved
Copyright © Mar 2016, Bridy McAvoy
Cover Art Copyright © Mar 2016, Brightling Spur
Bluewood Publishing Ltd
Christchurch, 8441, New Zealand
www.bluewoodpublishing.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Bluewood Publishing Ltd.
Dedication
To everyone who helped me write this. Especially my husband who encouraged me to explore my fantasies in print.
Part I
Angie looked up from her book. At first the insistent ringing hadn’t registered as the sound of the telephone. Since the funeral four weeks earlier, her phone hadn’t rung—at least, not during the daytime. She grimaced and rose to her feet, stretching the kink from sitting too long in the basket-weave chair in the sunroom on the back of the house, and walked over to the handset she’d left lying on the kitchen table.
“Angela Dickson, hello.”
“Oh, hi, Angela. I’m glad I caught you. How are things? How are you?”
Angie sighed. Cassie, her husband’s boss’s secretary sounded her usual bright self and she bit her lip, not really wanting any reminder of her husband. Tears welled behind her eyelids, and she blinked in annoyance to remove them.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“Oh good. Look, I’m sorry to ring you but I’ve got a message from Robert for you.”
Angie could picture the twenty-three year old blonde sitting behind her desk with her megawatt smile and her polished nails, and contrasted it with her own somewhat ratty sweats. Once more she closed her eyes briefly to get the uncharitable image out of her head. She realized Cassie had kept talking.
“Sorry, Cassie. I didn’t catch that.”
“That’s fine. Don’t worry, it has to be hard for you. The office is still reeling, you know. Terrible, and we know how bad it must be for you…”
She frowned, but this time continued to listen.
“Robert would like you and the other three widows to meet him tonight. He has some important news for all four of you, and rather than drag you all into town, since he lives over the road, he’d like all four of you to pop over at seven tonight. Is that okay?”
Angie couldn’t think of an excuse and sighed again. “Okay.”
“Good. Now, Pattie’s already agreed and I’ve yet to call Becky and Trish. I’ll call back if there’s an issue. Okay? Bye.”
The phone went dead in her hand and Angie stared at it. At least the woman hadn’t told her to have a nice day. That would have been too much. Mind you, living next door to the three women who also lost their husbands in the same plane crash, and just over the road from the man who’d been the boss of all four of them, wasn’t a great help in burying the grief. She had to admit the four women were helping each other to get over their loss.
She looked at the framed picture of Darrell and her from their wedding three years earlier, and tried to choke off a sob. “Damn you. Why did you have to leave me alone?”
Her shout echoed around the otherwise empty house and the frustration was too much. It hadn’t been his fault. Indeed, they still didn’t know why the small company jet had gone down shortly after take-off, killing the crew as well as the four passengers. This time the tears did flow. After a moment she forced herself to calm down and headed for the stairs to decide what to wear.
* * * *
The afternoon had been filled with phone calls to and fro between the four neighbors as the widows debated what to wear for the meeting with their late husbands’ boss. They’d all agreed the time for widow’s weeds was past, but none of them wanted to glam up. At the same time, none of them wanted to go as they were—three in sweats and Becky in a tee and shorts—highly inappropriate for a meeting with their husbands’ boss. He’d been friendly but distant while they lived there with their husbands. He seemed even more distant since the devastating accident.
They all decided on dark clothes, with three of them opting for navy tops and skirts and Becky choosing a black dress, none of which were short, but met some level of dress code. Nor were they mourning clothes, or widow’s weeds. They’d agreed on stylish without being overtly sexual. Since Angie’s house faced Robert’s, they all decided to meet there and grab a coffee first. Now it was seven and time for the meeting. They had an inkling about the reason for the meeting—the company benefits package had been quite generous. All four were aware the company lawyers had been all over the contracts like insects since the accident.
The small gated community had been quiet anyway, even before the death of the four men. Since then it had become almost hallowed ground. Even the lawn guy had been quiet, coming only once a week rather than twice as before. The poor guy hadn’t known what to say to the four of them, just like everyone else, and they’d initially drawn together for support. As the days had passed, they’d each become more and more introspective, drawing apart again.
“Ready?”
The other three nodded, all of them looking pale from too little sleep, and Angie knew they all had the same general worries—mainly money, and how they would support themselves.
Angie opened the front door and one by one they filed through, giving her hand a comforting squeeze as each one passed her. As the youngest, the others had tended to rally around her a bit, but at times she’d felt she was the strongest, not the weakest.
They walked across the road in silence and Pattie, the first in the line, rang Robert Beckman’s doorbell. It took a few seconds for the middle-aged man to answer the door but his smile was welcoming as he ushered them inside, and then through to the dining room, guiding them to sit, two on each side. His place at the head of the table had a pile of official-looking paperwork but Angie was too far away to see it. The company lawyer’s banner was prominent on the top sheet, though.
“Drink, ladies?”
They all shook their heads, but he produced a tray of glasses and a bottle of white wine anyway. Ignoring their responses, he poured a glass for each of them and distributed them before taking his seat and smiling, almost wistfully, at them. After a moment of staring at them he picked up the paperwork and, shuffling it nervously, cleared his throat.
“Well, ladies. Our lawyers have been over all the details and I can tell you you’re all going to be very wealthy young women. I know you’d much rather have your husbands than the money but the money will take care of your needs for some considerable time into the future.”
Angie let out the breath she’d been holding and glanced at the other three, all of whom seemed to be wearing the same expression as she knew her own face carried.
“However, there is a snag.” Robert put the paperwork down and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “There is no easy way of saying this, but I had a long meeting over breakfast with Jake Forster, of Forster, Higgins and Brown, the company solicitors, and he has confirmed something we suspected.” He paused for breath and continued to stare at the four of them.
Angie just knew this wouldn’t be good news—it couldn’t be, not the way he built up to it.
“The insurer providing the company life insurance cover has refused to pay out in the case of your husbands, insofar as they are concerned, the accident occurred during, and I quote,
‘unauthorized use of company property’.”
“What?” Angie thought her shout was first, but afterwards she wasn’t sure. All four of them barked out a one word question at almost the same time.
“The life insurance company won’t pay out on the policy under the company name because the trip was a jaunt to a golf game rather than company business.”
“That’s ridiculous. You sanctioned the trip. How can they? How dare they?” Pattie had risen to her feet, glaring down at Robert who had the grace to look embarrassed about it.
He held his hands up in front of himself, partly in a placating gesture, partly in a gesture of defense. “It’s not me making the decision. It’s some faceless claims adjuster in a featureless office in Minnesota. The company is not, and I repeat, not going to take this lying down. I’ve instructed Jake to take immediate legal action on this.”
Pattie sank back into her seat, not pleased but not shouting any more, and this time Becky spoke up.
“So how long is that going to take?”
“Two…three years, possibly longer. In the meantime, the company is launching a class action suit against the company we lease the plane from and the manufacturer. I’ve got the paperwork here, and I’ll need your signatures on that.” Robert sat back and, picking up his wine glass, sipped at its contents then licked his lips. “Listen, all of you. I’m just as mad as you are. I’m doing everything I can about this. I’m on your side. Either the life insurance pays out, or the law suit pays off, or both. Either of them nets you a seven figure sum each, but not yet.”
Angie knew what was uppermost in her own mind, and guessed that was true for the others too. “And in the meantime? What are we supposed to do for money?”
He closed his eyes briefly, unconsciously mimicking her own actions on the phone to his secretary this morning.
“There’s not a lot I can do. Our lawyers have strictly forbidden me from using company funds to subsidize you for the intervening period. In fact, we had a board meeting this afternoon, and they overruled my plan to do so, insisting the company stops paying your husbands’ salaries, with immediate effect. They have also instructed me to stop subsidizing the rent of all four houses as of today.”
“You bastard!” Pattie was on her feet again, reaching for her wine glass, the intent to throw its contents in his face obvious to all of them. Trish sat on the same side as Pattie—the only blonde among the three of them—and restrained her friend, taking the glass from her hand and gently guiding her back into her seat.
Robert lifted his briefcase to the table and Angie watched as he flicked open the top, removed four envelopes from it and, after checking the names on each one, handed them out.
Angie opened hers to find a personal check made out to her for the same amount as a month of her husband’s salary.
“I’m sorry, ladies. I can’t do more than that for you, but I thought that would help and you’d know for sure this isn’t of my doing.”
Angie tucked the check into her purse and looked at him. When she caught his eye she nodded her thanks, noticing the other three women, even Pattie, doing the same.
“You have some paperwork for us to sign?”
They spent twenty minutes going over the legal claims forms and signing them, then said their goodbyes and headed back to Angie’s.
“Drinks?”
“Sure!”
Within an hour they were well into their third bottle of white and Becky headed across the garden to her adjoining house to fetch another couple of bottles.
* * * *
Three days later a knock on her door startled Angie from her doze in front of the TV. Stifling a yawn, she made her way to the door and, opening it, found the other three widows standing there. Pattie had been crying, her eyes puffy and her makeup smudged. The other two didn’t look much better.
“What’s the matter?”
She stood aside to let them in and the three women trooped through and stood in a group in front of the pair of couches that dominated Angie’s family room.
“Come on, sit down. Spill. What’s got you all so upset?”
Despite being the youngest by all of seven months, Angie found herself in the leadership role she’d give her eye-teeth not to occupy. None of the three answered her, looking at her, stricken, unable to speak.
“Alcohol or coffee? One or the other to loosen your tongues.”
“I’ll get the coffee. I don’t think alcohol would be a good idea at the moment.” Becky jumped back to her feet and rushed through to Angie’s kitchen, leaving her with Pattie and Trish. She turned in expectation to Pattie but it was Trish who spoke up, much to Angie’s surprise.
“I had a conversation with Robert Beckman earlier, and I couldn’t keep it to myself, so I went to Becky. Becky suggested we talk to Pattie and then you, so here we are.”
“So what’s so earth-shattering and got you all so fired up?”
“Robert told me the lawyers have dug deeper into the life insurance question, and they now think we can’t win. They’re going to get away without paying up.”
“Shit!”
The other two women nodded in agreement.
“So now what the fuck are we supposed to do?”
“Well, he says the law suits will pay up. Someone will be found accountable in the NTSB investigation, and when that happens the payout will be almost automatic from the guilty party, but it’ll take anything up to two to three years.”
Angie mentally tallied her investment values and bank accounts. Even adding in her husband’s 401k, there was nowhere near enough to cover her rent payments, let alone leave a balance to live on.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah, I guess we’re all in the same boat.”
Becky had returned, balancing four mugs of coffee on a tray and passed them out. “Let me guess, you can’t live here for that long without an income? None of us can.”
Angie nodded, seeing the others nodding too. None of them had that kind of reserves.
“And, we all got out of the job market when we married, didn’t we? How are we on employment skills? Experience? Prospects?”
Angie shook her head. A degree in art history had seemed like such a great field of study when she graduated high school but, in today’s employment climate, nada.
Pattie leaned forward and stroked her hand. “We’re all in the same boat, honey. That bastard over there knows it, and that’s what makes his proposal so much more invidious.”
“What proposal? Does he want us to whore for him or something?”
The shocked silence at her outburst stretched and stretched. Angie could see the other women sitting there immobile just looking at her, but none of them said anything. The realization dawned on her—her outburst was closer to the truth than it had any right to be. She choked back a sob as her anger erupted.
“He does, doesn’t he?”
“Not exactly.” Trish seemed the calmest and took over the conversation from Pattie. “That bastard, as you so aptly called him, has suggested a deal. He’s hosting a dinner in a private room at the Marriott for some out-of-town business associates on Friday night, and he’d like us to be the hostesses for him.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, we get dolled up—dress, makeup, hair, the works—then go over there and smile and simper to a group of middle-aged businessmen and get paid for it.”
Angie felt her mouth drop open. “Escorts? He wants us to be escorts for him?”
Trish nodded.
“And after…?”
She left the question hanging but Trish answered it anyway. “We come home. That’s it. He promised us no special requests, no extra services, no room invitations. Nothing. In fact, he’s booked a limo to take us and to bring us back straight after dinner—no time for anything else. We’re not waiting tables, just sitting there looking good and making conversation.”
“He has got to be out of his tiny fucking mind!”
Pattie and Becky looked shocked at h
er words. They weren’t used to hearing her use such language and she’d been swearing a lot tonight. Trish continued though, ignoring the interruption.
“He’ll pay each of us two hundred dollars for the evening, limo there, limo back, and free food and wine. To him it’s a good deal, and if we don’t do it then he’ll be hiring some local floozies instead. I honestly think he’s trying to help, even if it’s in a left-field kind of way.”
“Left-field? It’s more than left-field. He’s on a different planet than us.” She’d felt like swearing again but desisted.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Angie realized they were all lost in their own little bubble—probably, like her, thinking about how they could manage with no income, and how much they missed their husbands.
Becky was the first one to snap out of her reverie. “You know what?”
“What?”
“Fuck it! Let’s do it!”
Angie could see the shocked look on the faces of her two friends, and knew it mirrored her own. This time it was Pattie who spoke up.
“Well, as McEnroe would put it, you cannot be serious?”
The fake east coast accent caused all of them to giggle, and defused the tension in the room. Angie breathed a sigh of relief. If Becky hadn’t spoken when she did, she’d have been saying the same thing herself.
Becky took a deep breath and started ticking points off on her fingers. “One, we all want to stay living here, and to do that we need the money, right? Two, Robert might be an insensitive ass but he’s set this up in such a way as to protect us. Three, none of us has been out for an evening since before the crash. Four, we get a superb meal for it, and all we have to do is enjoy ourselves. What’s not to like about that? Let’s do it!”
Angie nodded in agreement, causing Pattie and Trish’s heads to turn her way as her friends stared at her. “What? I agree with Becky. Darrell always said if anything happened to him he didn’t expect me to be a hermit. A nun maybe, but not a hermit.”
