by C. S. Lakin
And now what? A public hearing. The thought of a trial sent another stabbing pain to his gut. He could just see his mother reading the “Daily O” with her morning coffee—with his name plastered all over the front page. There would be hell to pay.
Dick parked the car and climbed the steps to the small clapboard house trimmed with green shutters and bordered by a postage-stamp-sized lawn. It looked like every other house on the block. He heard his older daughter yell, “Daddy’s home!”
He cringed. Millie stood stiffly at the far end of the foyer, watching Sally and Debby bounce around him, hemming him in.
“Hi, Daddy. You’ll never guess—we’re doing Swan Lake and I’m going to audition for the lead. Can you believe it?” Sally was fourteen and frighteningly skinny. Dick blamed her anorexia on Millie. Just looking at his obese wife was enough to frighten anyone off food. He had a little paunch himself, but, hey, that was normal for a man in his thirties. But Millie—since college she must have gained sixty pounds.
Their younger daughter, Debby, was like Millie—withdrawn and overweight. She grabbed Dick by the hand and pulled him into the kitchen.
“I made you a chocolate cake, Daddy. Come on.”
“Not tonight, angel, I can’t eat a thing.”
Debby pouted. Like her mother, she equated love with eating.
“Now don’t cry, angel. I promise I’ll have some in the morning. Shouldn’t you girls be off to bed? It’s late. School tomorrow.”
They kissed him goodnight and Millie followed them upstairs. As she passed Dick she asked, “How’d it go?” He avoided her suspicious gaze.
“Just fine.” He waved her away. “Get ready for bed. I’ll be up in awhile.”
He watched his wife trudge up the stairs. Living in rainy Washington wreaked havoc with her hair, keeping it frizzy and unkempt. As always, she wore her matching sweat pants and sweatshirt. A real joke, since the only sweat his wife ever raised was when she lifted her fork to her mouth. However, she never failed to mention how hard she slaved all day at the store, how she was too exhausted to fix a proper dinner. If he had macaroni and frozen peas one more time he would throw up. Oh, to have enough money to eat out every night. Now, Penny, she had some class. If only she didn’t have this thing about clothes. Already this week he shelled out over a hundred on some little “outfit” she just had to have.
He poured himself a double scotch and sat on the couch in his den. He thought of the room as his sanctum sanctorum—an expression he heard once in a movie. In fact, he patterned the den after a movie he’d seen, with pine-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves—though he hardly read anything unless it pertained to his political aspirations. Plaques testifying to his civic endeavors adorned the walls. Yet, he had to admit his career was small potatoes. He knew he had the makings of State Senator, and here he was in this dumpy end of town with a dumpy wife. His life, his marriage, everything made him feel claustrophobic these days. And unappreciated.
Dick picked up the TV remote and punched in the local access channel to watch the rest of the council meeting. Then he remembered the subpoena in his pocket. He pulled out the envelope and ripped it open. He didn’t see Millie hovering by the door.
“What’s that?” she asked.
He quickly pocketed the envelope. “Nothing you need to worry about.” He scanned her face. “Why are you giving me that look?”
“I’m just worried about your blood pressure.”
Dick sipped his drink and forced a smile. “Thank you for caring. I’m fine.”
Millie walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, guess what? We got an invitation to a college reunion. It’s been fifteen years. Can you believe it?”
“I thought we already got that thing and threw it in the garbage. Who do you give a hoot about after all those years? Who wants to stand around and drink and see how fat and old everyone’s gotten?”
Dick noticed Millie wince at another reference to her weight. He knew it irked her, but when was she ever going to take her diet seriously?
“This is different.” Millie handed him a white and gold envelope. “It’s a private invite. For the weekend before the reunion. From Lila.”
He didn’t get it.
“Lila Carmichael. The Thespian Society? Remember?”
Dick almost spilled his glass. “Let me see that!” He pulled the card out and read it. He grinned. The very famous, very rich, Lila Carmichael. “Why didn’t I think of her before? This is at her house—that mansion she keeps in the San Juans. I don’t believe it.”
“Hon, why would she invite us to her home after all these years? She didn’t even graduate with us. We never stayed in touch. Maybe this is some kind of a joke.”
“What’s wrong with you? You two were best friends in school. We all were. We helped launch her career in Thespians. Now look at her. The richest, most successful woman in show biz today. If it wasn’t for us, she’d have stayed a fat homely nothing.”
Millie winced again. “I don’t think I want to go.”
What timing. What a perfect opportunity to get out of town and let things cool off. And when I tell them down at city hall. Lila Carmichael!
Dick took a good look at his weak, pathetic wife. “Too bad, Mil. We’re going.”
Chapter 5
Sausalito, California
Davis Gregory stared out the window of his spacious Sausalito office, watching boats sail in and out of the marina. He was sure he had the best view around; he could even see Coit Tower and the Bay Bridge over in the city. It was a sunny, crisp day—unusually warm for January—but, hey, that was the way his luck went. He and Cynthia had been hoping the weather would clear for their engagement party at the country club that evening. All the important people in Marin County would be there, giving him more opportunities to pitch more projects. Although Cynthia would kill him if he brought up business. Well, he would just have to be discreet, wouldn’t he?
He turned at the sound of Roger McFarland’s voice. His foreman peeked into the office.
“Hey, Davis, what’s the word on the Ignacio mall? Is it a go or not? What do I do about the delivery schedule?”
“Come in, Rog.” Davis opened a mahogany cupboard and poured two shots of whiskey. He handed one to his friend. “Rog, do you believe I’m finally getting married?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He pulled off his cap and downed his drink. “Good stuff. Thanks boss. So, where are we?”
“I just got off the phone with the agent. Escrow finally closed.” Davis sighed. “I really sweated this one out.”
“It’d be a shame to have to quit after putting in all those sewers, gutters, the works.”
“Tell me about it.”
Roger lowered his voice and slid a black leather chair closer to Davis. “So how’d you pull it off—between you and me. I warned you about jumping the gun—slipping the guys at public works a few bills.”
“Aw, come on, everybody does it. You know that.” He ran a hand through his hair and realized it needed cutting. “That wasn’t the problem. How was I supposed to know my principal investor was going to skip town with his company payroll? I had to stall until I could round up some new investors; I couldn’t let the job go idle.”
“So who did you end up signing with?”
“Here’s the surprise—a corporation out of Los Angeles. No one I ever heard of. But, they’re big. And they just called out of the blue.”
“You’re one lucky dog.”
“Yea, well, don’t let any of this reach Cynthia’s ears. She doesn’t understand what a slippery business real estate is. She didn’t grow up like I did, watching the way my father wheeled and dealed.” And turned dreams into floodgates of money.
Roger narrowed his eyes. “He taught you well.”
Davis laughed. “Yeah, and I fought him the whole way.” He put his feet up on his cherrywood desk and leaned back. And sometimes I wish I had fought him harder.
Fifteen years—pouri
ng over blueprints, filing permits, building one useless shopping center after another. What kind of legacy was that? Sure, he had plenty of cash and all the toys to go with it, but how many dressy parties can you stand, with all that meaningless chit-chat of high society? Boring, boring. Gone were the days of reckless impulses, drunken binges, and spontaneous vacations. What was so thrilling about closing a real estate deal?
Being on a dark stage, under bright lights with an enthralled audience soaking in your every word, your every move—now that was a thrill. So what if it was just a college crowd in a dumpy theatre? Acting on stage had been more exhilarating than anything he experienced in his “exciting” world of construction.
Davis let out a long breath. He always tried to keep up a cheerful appearance at these social gatherings—for Cynthia’s sake—knowing how much she needed to mingle and make friends. He knew he shouldn’t complain; he wanted Cyn to be happy, more than anything else. But, well, it bothered him, nevertheless.
He brought his attention around to Rog. “You are coming to the party tonight?”
Roger stood. “Hey, thanks for reminding me. I better get home and shower. It’ll take me awhile to dig up some appropriate clothes.”
“Eight o’clock sharp.”
Roger threw an arm around Davis’s shoulder. “Oh, I’ll be there—can’t turn down free food, free booze, beautiful women . . .”
After Roger left, Davis called in his secretary. He chastised himself for his melancholy. Surely, he had a lot to be happy about. Not only was he about to marry the woman of his dreams, but she was unbelievably rich—richer by far than his family—and classy, too. She practically worshipped him. How bad was that?
Helen came into his office and handed him his mail.
“Helen, would you be a darling and call the cleaners to see if my suit’s ready?” He flashed her a smile and she blushed. Davis knew she had it big for him. But what the hell, most women did. And what did a smile buy him? Undying loyalty.
“Excited about tonight?” she asked.
“Nervous as all hell. I better get going.”
The phone rang in the outer office. Davis answered it at his desk. “Mount Tam Realty, Davis Gregory.”
“Darling—you’re answering the phone now? What did you do, fire Helen?”
Davis laughed. “Where are you?” He winked at Helen as she waited at the door. Another blush.
“Downstairs.”
“Oh, I guess I’m out of here. Close up for me, Helen, would you?”
He grabbed his coat and the mail and went down the elevator. A black limousine waited at the curb, and standing beside the open door next to a well-dressed chauffeur was his petite and attractive bride-to-be. A stunning pale blue evening gown clung to her curves, and her ash brown hair was swept up in a bun, adorned with pearls.
“What are you staring at?” Cynthia chuckled. “Get in.”
Davis gathered her in his arms and kissed her as they stood on the sidewalk. Pulling back, he touched her face. So young, almost a child. Her skin was a soft pink, without a blemish. She never needed to wear makeup. Helen teased them about being the classic California couple, complete with their matching tans and blond hair. The truth was, Davis felt like a teenager himself—a perpetual teenager when around Cynthia.
“You have got to be the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls you’re about to marry.”
“You’re the only one, darling. But it’s not like you had to twist my arm to say it. The way you look, no one will ever think I’m marrying you for your money.”
Cynthia slugged his arm. “Wise guy. The way I look at it, I’ve snagged Marin County’s most wanted bachelor. Get in. Let’s celebrate.”
She slid into the cool interior of the limo. “I picked up your suit. You can dress in here.” She pulled him into the back seat and reached over to close the door. His black tux hung on the side hook.
Cynthia started unbuttoning his shirt with her long, manicured nails. “Don’t worry about the driver. He’s being paid to ignore us.” She giggled.
The driver eased the car into traffic. Davis shed his jacket as Cynthia opened up the bar and reached for a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.
“Take a look at this,” he said, pulling a white and gold envelope out of his pocket. “It came today.”
Cynthia set the champagne glasses on the drop-down tray. Davis handed her the envelope.
“What is it? Looks like an invitation.”
“Now, isn’t this a kick? I’m invited to a private college reunion at Lila Carmichael’s.”
“The Lila Carmichael?”
“Remember,” Davis said, sipping the champagne as the limo merged into freeway traffic, “I told you I went to school with Hollywood’s hottest star. You should have seen her back then: shy and self-conscious, a total nerd. Talented, but nothing like she is now. I actually played her leading man in my senior year.”
“Hon, you’re not thinking of going, are you? I mean . . . she’s so vulgar.” As Davis pulled off his shirt, Cynthia picked up her glass and took a small sip. “I can’t even watch her show. Can’t we just stay home that weekend?”
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun. You can meet the gang I went to school with, and we can see her spread up in the San Juans.”
Cynthia frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, loosen up. You know, Lila used to be poor and disadvantaged—just like the people you help with your charities. You mingle with them; what’s the difference? She’s just gotten lucky and made a few million dollars.”
“I don’t mingle with those people. I watch them walk the streets from the comfort of my chauffeured car. I sit in my upscale office in Terra Linda and decide who gets to eat today, who gets shoes for their feet.” She sighed.
“Cyn, we’ve been through this before. You’re doing good work. But, you’re not going to eliminate poverty and hunger in one fell swoop. And there’s nothing wrong with distancing yourself from the masses. You’re a cut above.”
“And Lila?”
“She’s, well, she’s in her own class. But, she’s harmless, believe me.”
Davis caressed her hair. “Listen, I’ve got this big deal sewn up. We have some time before the wedding. We can go up to Vancouver and see the sights. Besides, maybe I can interest Lila in investing in the mall project.”
Cynthia jerked back in mock anger. “Davis, you’re impossible. Always some deal on the horizon. Another opportunity knocking. Can’t we just have some uncluttered, romantic fun?”
“That too.” He held up his glass. “I love you, Cyn. A toast.”
Cynthia lifted her glass to his and gave Davis a smile. He gently kissed her lips and pulled back, taking her in. “To us.”
“To us.” Cynthia clinked her glass against his. “Forever and always.”
Chapter 6
Friday, March 6
Seattle, Washington
“Damn!” Lila muttered under her breath, clutching the sleeve of Peter’s London Fog trench coat. “How do these vultures know every time? I can’t piss without a crowd trailing behind me.” She tiptoed down the plane’s steep steps, clutching her flowing skirts, Peter leading the way.
Swollen, gray clouds hovered over the flooded tarmac. At the chain-link fence, a mob of people screamed and cheered, many waving blow-ups of Lila and banners with her name written in bright colors. Lila pasted on a smile as she pressed through the crowd, pulling away from grabbing hands and prying fingers. Sea-Tac Airport security worked the waves of people back as they whisked Lila whisked inside the terminal and deposited her at the private executive lounge. With the door locked behind her, she fell back onto a plush couch and splayed her legs open. Four gray-suited Japanese businessmen stared at her, then grabbed their cameras and started clicking away. VIP lounges promised good manners and privacy, dammit! She turned her back on them. Outside, the chanting voices subsided.
A uniformed hostess hur
ried over to Lila and Peter. “Ms. Carmichael, such a pleasure to meet you. May I get you something?”
Lila glued her smile back on. “A drink would be appreciated. Screwdriver with Absolut.”
Peter placed his hand over hers. “Lila, sweetie. It’s only nine a.m. A bit early, don’t you think?”
“Make that a double.” She whipped her hand out from under his touch. The hostess moved efficiently toward the bar area. “And see if the limo’s here,” she yelled after her.
“So, Peter, how do you like Seattle so far? It only rains about three hundred friggin’ days out of the year. I don’t know how I ever stood it. Rain depresses the hell out of me. It always reminds me of my lousy childhood.”
“I don’t get it. Then why buy an island retreat up here? Why not Hawaii?”
“ ’Cause I like to be reminded of how far I’ve come and how much I’m willing to do to never go back again.”
Peter tilted forward to listen, but Lila grew sullen and silent. She hardly ever talked of her past. She once told Peter her most vivid childhood memory was of her father pushing her head down during her daily prayers. He begged to hear more, but even that short recount made her physically ill.
Lila tapped her fingers on the side table, watching for the hostess who had disappeared behind the oriental screen. Peter stroked her arm. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Empathy oozed from his eyes.
Lila patted his hand. “No, Sugar. But, thanks anyway. You better stay in the limo where you’ll be safe. The good Reverend Carmichael would take one look at the likes of you and call down the wrath of God. Or even reach for the silver crucifix and a couple of wooden stakes. Besides, knowing how much dear daddy loves me, I won’t be gone more than a few minutes.”
