“Molly,” Carter said urgently, “this is a golden opportunity. You don't get many of these in life, and you can't let it slide. This isn't about being nice, it's about winning! It's about getting what you deserve.”
“What do you think I deserve?”
“Compensation for your pain and suffering. More than you can get by selling that ring.”
“And what about Jake?”
Carter smiled slightly, but his eyes were sharp. “If he was careless enough to put you in a position where you can win at his expense, then he deserves to lose, doesn't he?”
Just then the front door opened, and Elaine swept into the room. She stood facing them, breathing hard. She was holding an enormous bunch of red roses wrapped in white tissue paper, but she did not look happy.
“This is a catastrophe!” she exclaimed. She dropped the bouquet onto the table. “He's here!”
“Who?” Carter asked. “Who's here?”
“That man. He's come to mock me and ruin my plans.”
“Oh, you mean Tom,” Molly said.
Elaine exhaled impatiently. “No. Would the two of you please focus on the issue at hand? I'm talking about that bald-headed swindler. Rama Guru! He arrived on the boat with Ingrid and the group from French Vogue.”
“I thought you said that he doesn't go to work with her,” Molly said.
“He doesn't,” Elaine said. She sat balefully down in an armchair, crossing her legs and tapping one foot on the sisal rug. “But he's here this time, and that can only mean one thing. Someone warned him about my intentions.”
“He had a vision of danger while he was meditating,” Carter said. “He saw you waving a Tiffany's box at Ingrid, luring her away from the Light…”
“Oh, Carter, be quiet,” Elaine said. “I'm trying to think. The reunion is supposed to take place tomorrow at sunset. I found a secluded spot with a wonderful view, and the Gold Bay staff is going to have dinner waiting there. It's all arranged, and Michael is in his room writing poetry at this very moment.”
“Michael writes poetry?” Carter asked curiously. “He doesn't look like the type.”
“He isn't the type,” Elaine said. “I told him to do it. I gave him a rhyming dictionary and bookmarked the pages for ‘devotion,’ ‘love,’ and ‘passion.’ It would have been perfect, but now I'll have to find a way to separate Ingrid from that accursed guru, which won't be easy. He'll be watching her like a hawk. How utterly inconvenient.”
“I know how you did it before,” Carter said with a glance at Molly.
“Oh, no,” Molly said. “Not again.” She had ended up spending an hour walking the beach with Ingrid's guru the last time Elaine needed someone to divert him. She had kept his attention by telling him that she was having problems with her boyfriend, Dwayne, who she thought might love her only for her body and not her mind. Rama Guru had been a very sympathetic audience, and had spent the time asking increasingly detailed questions about her sex life. It had been more than enough for one lifetime.
“You won't need to distract him for more than a few minutes,” Elaine said. “The meeting place is very remote, and if we can sneak Ingrid away without him seeing, he won't know where she's gone.”
“What makes you think Ingrid will sneak anywhere with you?” Carter asked. “I don't think she likes you very much, actually.”
Elaine gave him a chilly look. “I beg your pardon. The poor girl is very confused right now.”
“I can't do it, anyway,” Molly said. “We don't have the Sandra outfit.”
“That's true,” Elaine said, frowning. “Drat. I wonder…if I have my housekeeper rush the Sandra box to the post office…international overnight would get it to Antigua by tomorrow, and the Gold Bay shuttle could pick it up…”
“You're forgetting about the wig,” Molly said.
“The wig!” Elaine looked at Carter. “You still have the wig, don't you?”
Carter looked dubious. “Well, technically yes, but…”
“The wig that now belongs to Carter's cat,” Molly said indignantly. “Remember? I'm not sharing a wig with a cat.”
“We'll have it sent, anyway,” Elaine said. “We'll only use it as a last resort. I'm sure that we can find a new one before tomorrow evening.”
“Where?” Molly asked.
“At the concierge desk,” Elaine said firmly. “The Gold Bay staff is famous for their ability to accommodate unusual requests. Last year they brought in a tiger for the Maharajah of Marabai. I don't know why he wanted it, but they found him one in less than twelve hours. And then he needed to have its claws painted with Revlon's Jungle Red. If they can do all of that, I don't think a platinum wig will be much of a challenge.”
CHAPTER 29
Jake arrived back at Gold Bay at one A.M. on Friday morning. The villa was dark, and he made his way to his room without seeing anyone other than Cora's butler, who had waited up for him.
He woke at nine, then showered, shaved, and dressed with more care than usual, expecting to see Molly at breakfast. She wasn't there, though, and Cora said that she had eaten early and left the villa.
He pretended not to care, but he was disappointed. He had been waiting for the weekend, using thoughts of Gold Bay as a talisman to ward off the stress at work. Now that he had returned, though, he knew that sun and surf were not what he had been wanting. Atlas's offer and the resulting chaos had demanded all of his energy and attention, and although he hadn't been able to afford a single distraction, Molly had never been far from his thoughts. He caught himself picturing her face when he should have been paying attention to a meeting. When he tried to read the weekly reports, he found his mind drifting away, remembering Sunday night. When he spoke to the television cameras, and delivered his relentless pep talk to the Berenger shareholders, he wondered if she might be watching.
He spent the morning and part of the afternoon wandering restlessly around the villa, reading the newspapers and watching birds swoop over the terrace. He kept one eye on the driveway, waiting for Molly to return, but she didn't.
Finally, frustrated, he went to find his mother in the greenhouse, where she was repotting one of her beloved orchids.
“Molly? I told you, she's gone down to the resort,” Cora said, tucking fuzzy green moss around the newly settled plant. “She's helping her friends with some kind of scheme, and I don't think she'll be back before dark. I get the impression that she has plans tomorrow, also.”
“What? But I'm leaving on Sunday morning,” Jake said. “I have to fly to New York.”
“Do you? Well, say hello to Tom for me.”
She seemed to have missed his point. “I had to rearrange my whole damn schedule to come back here! And now I'm hardly going to see Molly at all.”
Cora gave the orchid a generous misting of water. “You might catch her at breakfast tomorrow,” she said. “If you get up early.”
“I don't want to just ‘catch her at breakfast,'” Jake said, annoyed. “I've been waiting all week to see her.”
His mother looked up from the flower. “Have you? My goodness, I had no idea. I'm sure that Molly didn't, either, since you didn't bother to call.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. He sensed a female conspiracy. “I was busy,” he said. “You might not have noticed, but there have been problems lately.”
“I know that, my dear,” Cora said, suddenly serious. “And I made sure to explain to Molly that you are very distracted and under terrible stress, and that she shouldn't judge you by your actions right now. She's being very good about it, but her confidence is a little fragile, and not hearing from you after Sunday night was—”
“Hold it,” Jake said sharply. “How do you know about Sunday night? Molly told you?”
“Molly doesn't confide in me,” Cora said. “You left your belt in her room. I saw the maid bringing it out on Monday morning and drew my own conclusions, which you've just confirmed.”
He looked at her, half amused and half exasperated. “This is why I usually
stay in Miami on the weekends,” he said. “I'm too old to have my mother monitoring my sex life. Do you have a point to make, or are you just reminding me that you always know everything?”
“I do have a point,” Cora said. “I'm concerned about this, Jake. Molly has done well so far, but I'm worried about her ability to handle this situation with the necessary amount of sophistication. Especially if you start indulging yourself at her expense.”
“What?” Jake exclaimed. “Wait a minute, you think I seduced her? No, no. That's not how it was, believe me. She—”
“Stop,” Cora said. “I don't always know everything, and I don't want to. You were the one who was so concerned about Amanda falling in love with you that you rejected her as a candidate for this PR plan. What makes you think that Molly isn't vulnerable? What makes you think that she won't also be wounded when this fake engagement ends and you tell her thanks and good-bye?”
“Molly's not in love with me,” Jake said, shocked by the very idea.
“Oh?” Cora said.
“You have no idea what you're talking about. You said yourself that she doesn't confide in you.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake. My dear, listen. I've become very fond of Molly, and I don't want to see you break her heart.”
“Her heart,” Jake repeated.
Cora shook her head. “The differences between men and women will never fail to amaze me,” she said. “No matter how long I live.”
“Are you trying to tell me to stay away from Molly?” A suspicion came to him. “Are you the reason she's avoiding me? Did you arrange—”
“No, of course not,” Cora said impatiently. “Molly's avoiding you because you didn't call her, and she doesn't know what to think about you. I said that her confidence was fragile. And I'm certainly not telling you to stay away from her. I'd prefer the opposite, but it's your life, and I'm not going to meddle in it.”
“Since when?” Jake asked dryly.
“Accidental passion is fine, and sometimes these things just happen. But if you do continue this involvement, don't do it thoughtlessly. Pay attention. Make sure you know what you're doing, and why.”
She was right, and Jake knew it. “I should apologize for not calling.”
“That would be a good idea, dear.”
“I'll go down to the resort and find her. Which cottage are her friends in?”
“Five,” Cora said, and hesitated. “Jake, I really don't mean to meddle in your affairs. It's just that this one is important, and I would hate to have it ruined by carelessness or foolish mistakes.”
“I understand,” Jake said. She had justifiably reminded him of something that he should never have overlooked. “Point made. I need to handle this situation more carefully. It would be stupid to give Molly an entirely new reason to feel vengeful.”
Cora sighed. “That's not what I meant,” she said. “But it's a start, I suppose.”
“Magnifique! So sexy! Eeengrid, bebe, turn zees way, now be like ze kitty cat and show me ze claws. Miaou!”
Ingrid Anderson twisted sideways and crooked her fingers at the photographer, a wiry man in tight jeans. She was wearing stiletto heels, a leopard-print bikini, and a diamond choker. Her hair was wildly teased, and her eyes had been painted with black kohl. Next to her, a well-oiled male model in a loincloth embraced a stuffed giraffe and pouted sulkily at the camera.
“It's a very artistic shoot,” Elaine said to Molly. “French Vogue is so avant-garde. That's Pascal Thibault behind the camera…the man is a genius.”
“Uh-huh,” Molly said. The genius in question was now making growling noises and wiggling his hips at Ingrid, who didn't seem to think that any of this was odd.
The photo shoot was taking place on the pool terrace, half of which had been cordoned off for the afternoon. They had just arrived at the scene, and they were standing behind the bulk of the crowd of spectators. It was late afternoon, and the shoot would be over as soon as the light faded. Elaine's plan was to swoop in as the Vogue group dispersed, using Molly to distract Rama Guru while she approached Ingrid.
To that end, Molly was experiencing an episode of fashion déjà vu. Luckily or unluckily, depending on your perspective, the old wig had arrived by helicopter that morning, along with the rest of the Sandra gear. It did look slightly the worse for wear—the hair was matted, and the nylon cap was crushed, as if a heavy weight had been sitting on top of it for several weeks.
“He sleeps on it,” Carter explained as Molly looked askance at the blond tangle. “That's all. There's been no improper activity.”
Elaine had managed to return the wig to a reasonable state, and had sprayed it generously with Chanel No. 5 to drown out the faint odor of cat that still lingered after two washings. Molly was now wearing it, along with a pink stretch minidress, the pink platforms, and all of the old padding. The blue contacts had gone missing, and so Molly was using her own clear contacts, with Elaine's sunglasses to conceal her eyes, just in case Rama Guru remembered what color they had been.
“Where is he?” Elaine muttered, scanning the area. “He must be here somewhere…if he suspects anything, he would never let her—aha!”
She had spotted him standing off to the side, inside the roped-off area, but out of the central buzz of activity.
“Perfect,” Elaine said. “They'll be finishing up at any moment, and then there will be enough hubbub for me to pull Ingrid aside, provided that he isn't looking. Molly, dear, go now and start talking to him. Try to lure him away. Carter is waiting just beyond those trees, and I'll send him back to rescue you when Ingrid and I are safely away.”
Molly edged her way through the crowd, earning her own share of curious looks. When she drew near to where Rama Guru was standing, she exclaimed loudly, “Oh, my goodness! Mr. Guru, can it really be you?”
He turned and saw her. A gleaming white smile spread over his tanned face, and he held out his hands in a gesture of welcome. “Sandra. Namaste.”
Molly stepped over the ropes, letting the minidress hike up higher on her thighs. “I just can't believe it,” she said. “What an amazing coincidence that you and I would both be back at Gold Bay right now.”
Rama Guru's eyes moved over her. “Coincidence?” he said. “Oh, no, my child. There is no such thing as coincidence. Our karma has brought us together again. This moment was meant to be.” He glanced around, frowning slightly. “And your friend, Mrs. Newberg…is she here, too?”
“I don't know where she is,” Molly said truthfully. “But I really, really, need to talk to you. Could we go somewhere more private?”
He hesitated, glancing over at the photo shoot. Pascal the photographer was shouting something in French, and Ingrid was now holding the giraffe. Rama Guru frowned, but he didn't move. Molly had assumed that Elaine was just being paranoid when she insisted that someone had warned him to stay close to Ingrid, but now it did seem as if he suspected something.
“I need to talk to you about Dwayne,” Molly persisted. “He doesn't love me. I think he's just using me…for sex. And not the normal kind, either.”
Rama Guru's eyes widened. “Tell me more,” he said. “So that I may cleanse your soul of this pain.”
“First I tie him up,” Molly said improvising. “Then I go to the kitchen and bring back a huge jar of marshmallow fluff, and a spatula…and then…”
Rama Guru's attention was now riveted on her. His mouth opened slightly. “And? Yes?”
“I'd rather discuss this in private,” Molly said firmly.
It was the closest thing to frustration that she had ever seen on his normally serene face. “Perhaps,” he muttered. “Perhaps…Ah. Yes. Come with me.”
He led her toward one of the poolside cabanas, now being used as prop storage for the photo shoot. Molly had a moment of uncertainty, wondering if this was a bit too private, but it seemed safe enough. There were plenty of people around, and if a problem developed, she could always yell.
The cabana was made of heavy canvas, closed
on three sides but open toward the pool. It normally contained only a few lounge chairs covered in white terry cloth, but that day it also held a rolling rack of bikinis on hangers and several large stuffed animals that had not made the final cut. Molly saw a three-foot tiger, and thought of the Maharajah of Marabai.
“Here, my child,” said Rama Guru, clearing a space for her on one of the padded lounge chairs. “Sit here, and I will listen.”
Molly sat, wondering how long she was going to have to keep this up. Outside, the music had stopped, and it sounded as if the shoot had ended.
Rama Guru was watching her eagerly, and she sighed, trying to think. It was hot, and she was feeling distracted. “I'm sorry,” she said. “This is…so difficult for me.”
“You come back from the kitchen,” he prompted.
“Right,” she said. “And then Dwayne…uh…he says…”
“What are you wearing, Sandra?” he interrupted.
“What?” Molly asked, confused.
“During this abnormal activity. What do you wear?”
Molly's mouth opened slightly with outrage. She was becoming very glad that she had agreed to help get Ingrid away from this letch. “I don't wear much,” she said. “Obviously. Marshmallow fluff is extremely sticky.”
He looked surprised, and she realized that her tone had been too sharp. “My child,” he said reproachfully, “clinging to your pain will only prevent you from finding the Way to the Light.”
“I know,” Molly said. “And I haven't even told you yet about the leather gloves, and…the eggplant, and…and the turtle.”
“Turtle?” Rama Guru echoed. He finally looked disturbed, which was a relief to Molly. “Oh, Sandra,” he said. “You are deeply in need of my help. I will need to guide you through an Insight Meditation, to awaken the Spirit within you.”
“What do I have to do?” Molly asked.
“Nothing, my child. Just sit quietly and close your eyes.”
Man Trouble Page 24
