Good Luck

by Whitney Gaskell

  “Why is that weird? That’s how it always happens. When you’re least expecting it, Prince Charming comes along and sweeps you off your feet,” Hayden said.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Prince Charming? I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any such man. In fact, I think fairy tales are socially irresponsible. Last year I went to Disney World with Maisie and the twins, and you should have seen the princess crap they were selling. They had a parade where all the princesses were on floats, dressed up as brides and standing next to their princes. As though that should be every little girl’s fantasy. I can’t believe this is what we’re selling our daughters. It’s nauseating,” I ranted.

  “So instead, parents should read little girls stories about a princess who falls in love with a handsome prince, and then have the prince mutter something about not wanting to get serious, get back on his white horse, and ride off as fast as he can?” Hayden asked.

  “Why not? At least we wouldn’t be brainwashing them into thinking that the perfect man will come along and be the answer to all their problems.”

  “I take it things aren’t going all that well between you and Drew after all,” Hayden commented.

  I sighed. “No, that’s not it. Drew’s great. He’s thoughtful and funny, and I’m happy when I’m with him.”

  Ever since that first weekend, Drew had made a point of calling every day. When I reported this to Mal, he got a smug expression on his face and said, “Told you so.” I’d rolled my eyes, but secretly I preferred Mal when he was being smug and sarcastic. It made it easier to resist the physical attraction. The last thing I needed right now was to develop a crush on a gigolo. Not, I quickly reminded myself, that Mal had done anything to encourage me. Either he had his hands full with his current conquests or, somewhat less flattering, he found me too repulsive to pursue.

  “Sounds awful,” Hayden said dryly.

  I continued, ignoring her. “I just feel like I can’t trust it, that I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. That one day Drew will suddenly announce that he’s really a woman living in a man’s body and has decided to have a sex-change operation.”

  “Or that one day you’ll walk in to find him having sex with another woman on your bed?” Hayden asked.

  I was silent for a minute, listening to the rhythmic roar of the water as it lapped toward the shore. “I guess. Elliott left me with some baggage.”

  “Elliott was baggage,” Hayden said firmly. “And just because you fell for one guy who turned out to be an asshole doesn’t mean that every man you date from now on will be one.”

  “But how do you tell the difference? I like Drew. He seems to like me. I want to think that he’s a good guy. But…” My voice trailed off, and I shrugged, remembering yet again Peter Graham’s warning to be careful whom I trusted. “I don’t know absolutely for sure that he is. I don’t know if I’m capable of judging that.”

  “I have the opposite problem. I tend to delude myself into thinking that even the assholes are Prince Charmings. Look at Craig. I knew he was married and cheating on his wife with me. And yet I convinced myself that he was an amazing guy who’d just made the mistake of marrying the wrong woman.” Hayden rolled her eyes. “It’s hard to believe I was really that stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid. You’re just…optimistic,” I said.

  “Yeah. I really need to work on that,” Hayden said. “Being naturally pessimistic would save me so much trouble.” She picked up a piece of driftwood from the sand, shook it off, held it out to Harper Lee, who eagerly sniffed at it, and then threw it. “Go on, girl! Go get it!”

  Harper Lee stared after the piece of driftwood and then looked up at Hayden. Perplexed, she sat down and panted.

  “You’re confusing her,” I said.

  “She doesn’t like to play fetch?”

  “I think she finds it beneath her.”

  “Good girl, Harper Lee,” Hayden praised, leaning over to pet the dog’s head. “Don’t ever take orders from anyone.”

  “Please stop corrupting my dog. What’s up with you and Ian?” I asked, as we resumed our walk. “It seems like things are going well with you two.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking about breaking it off,” Hayden said.

  “Really? But you seem so happy together.”

  Hayden turned to grin at me. “I thought you just said you didn’t believe in true love,” she said.

  The sand was softer at this part of the beach, sinking beneath our feet and then making a sucking sound when we pulled our feet back up.

  “I didn’t say I don’t believe in love,” I corrected her. “I just don’t believe in the Prince Charming myth.”

  “Well, whichever way you phrase it, I don’t think Ian’s a good long-term prospect. He’s a great guy, and we’re having fun, but he’s just so…”

  “Young?” I suggested.

  “Poor,” Hayden corrected me.

  “Hayden!”

  “It’s true. And I don’t see bartending making him rich anytime soon.”

  “But that shouldn’t matter,” I protested.

  “So says the woman with thirty-four million dollars,” Hayden countered.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. I’d never known Hayden to be so mercenary. In fact, I’d assumed that coming from a wealthy family made it unnecessary.

  “I’m not saying money doesn’t matter,” I said. “But if you love someone, isn’t that more important than a fat bank balance?”

  “Jesus, Lucy, I didn’t know you were such a romantic. Especially with all of that fairy-tale bashing,” Hayden said with a laugh. “Look, all I’m saying is this: It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is to fall in love with a poor one. And think of how much easier the relationship will be if you don’t have to worry about where the next month’s rent is coming from. Did you know that money is the number-one issue married couples fight about?”

  I decided to point out the obvious. “But you haven’t fallen in love with a rich man.”

  Hayden smiled enigmatically. “I haven’t fallen in love with a poor one either. Ian and I are just having fun. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” I said. I nudged a clump of dried seaweed out of my way with one foot. “Nothing at all.”

  When Drew called, I was curled up on one of the white linen sofas in the pool house, paging through a copy of Vogue that Hayden had left behind. I’d been trying to reread Mrs. Dalloway earlier, but I couldn’t seem to get into it. In fact, with all of the going out I’d been doing lately, I barely had time to read. The piles of books I’d bought at Barnes & Noble on the day I met Drew were stacked in a corner of the pool house, spines still uncracked. I’d resolved not to feel guilty about that. I’d spent most of my life with my nose stuck firmly in a book. It was about time I lived a little, even if that meant less time for reading.

  “I have to go to a cocktail party for the Young Lawyers’ Association after work. Can you live without me for a night?” Drew asked.

  “If I must.”

  “What will you do?”

  “The usual. Sex. Drugs. Rock ’n’ roll,” I said.

  “Good, good. That all sounds very wholesome.”

  “I think Hayden wants to go over to the Drum Roll,” I said. “Ian’s working tonight.”

  “Is that Mal guy going to be there?” Drew asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, surprised. “Why?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “You hardly know him.”

  “I know of him,” Drew said, with a snort. “He has a reputation around the club.”

  “What sort of reputation?” I asked, although I had a feeling that I already knew.

  “Let’s just say that he entertains quite a few of the wives,” Drew said delicately.

  “You mean he’s having affairs with them,” I said slowly.

  “No. I mean he’s screwing them.”

  “What’s
the difference?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Money,” Drew said, this time much more to the point. “Apparently it changes hands. At least, that’s the rumor.”

  I’d already guessed this about Mal, but hearing it confirmed was unsettling. My mouth suddenly tasted bitter, as though I’d taken a bite from a rotten apple.

  “Oh,” I said. And then, for some reason feeling as if I should rise to Mal’s defense, I continued, “But you don’t know that for sure?”

  “No,” Drew admitted. “But even so, I still don’t like the guy. I’m not a big fan of adulterers.”

  “Can you be an adulterer if you’re not married?” I asked. “Wouldn’t the cheating wife be the adulterer, and he’s just the accomplice?”

  “I don’t know,” Drew said, suddenly impatient with the conversation. “Does it matter? Either way, it’s not cool.”

  “No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

  “What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Drew asked.

  “Well, speaking of Mal—I have a tennis lesson this afternoon,” I said. “It’s a makeup from yesterday’s lesson, which got rained out.”

  Drew made a harrumphing noise.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Can’t you find another tennis instructor? Someone who doesn’t have a reputation of sleeping with his clients?” Drew asked.

  I laughed. “Don’t worry. I think I’m safe. I’m not Mal’s type.”

  “That’s true. You’re not old and rich,” Drew joked.

  I swallowed. I still hadn’t told Drew about the lottery money. Or my real last name. Or why I had run away to Palm Beach. At first, I hadn’t known him well enough to trust him. But now that I did know him—and thought I could trust him—I still hesitated. I knew Drew wasn’t after me for my money—after all, he had no idea just how much money I had—and I doubted he’d believe Matt Forrester’s ridiculous fabricated allegations. Or, at least, I hoped he wouldn’t believe them. But he might mind—and mind very much—that I’d been lying to him all this time. That was the problem with lies: They were hard to keep up but even harder to come clean about.

  Mal served the ball, and I returned it with a sharply angled cross-court shot that he had to run for—and missed! I was so delighted, I held my racquet up over my head in triumph, as though I’d just scored the winning shot in the finals of the Wimbledon championship.

  “Did you see that?” I crowed.

  “I did! It was a fantastic shot,” Mal called back.

  “You gave me an easy serve,” I said graciously. I’d seen Mal play competitively a few days earlier and knew he was capable of a fast, spinning serve that I’d never have a prayer of touching, let alone returning. I had assumed Mal was a good player—he was a pro, after all—but even so, I’d been surprised by the grace and skill with which he played. He’d easily beat his opponent, who I later found out was twenty years old and played on his college’s tennis team.

  “It was still an excellent return,” Mal praised me. “Your form was perfect. Did you feel the difference when you followed through on your swing?”

  I nodded. “I really did!”

  Mal glanced at his watch. “We’d better stop here. I have somewhere I have to be.”

  “Really?” I frowned. “I was hoping we could hit for a little longer. I need to work on my backhand.”

  “We’ll tackle it at your lesson on Friday.”

  “Okay.” We walked over to the table that was off to the side of the court, shaded by a jasmine-covered pergola. I zipped my racquet into its padded bag, while Mal poured us each a paper cup of water from the cooler. Mal tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he drank. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but otherwise he gave no sign that he’d been out in the sun for the past hour. I, on the other hand, was sweating like a pig. My white shirt stuck to my back, and beads of sweat trickled down my neck and cascaded into my cleavage.

  “Where are you off to?” I asked.

  “An appointment,” Mal said enigmatically.

  It was pretty clear he didn’t want to go into any more detail. Which, of course, just inflamed my curiosity. Was this an assignation with one of the country-club wives? Maybe the gorgeous brunette I’d seen him out to dinner with?

  “What sort of appointment?”

  Mal looked at me, his face inscrutable. “The private sort,” he said.

  “Ohhhh,” I said knowingly. “A hot date, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And who’s the lucky lady?” I pressed on.

  “You don’t think it’s a bit ironic for someone leading a secret life to pry into someone else’s private business?”

  I flushed. “I’m not leading a secret life.”

  “What’s your last name again?”

  “Well…it’s not a secret to you.”

  “If I hadn’t recognized you, would you have told me?” Mal countered.

  “No,” I conceded.

  Mal nodded, as though he’d proven his point.

  “But, wait, why won’t you tell me what you’re up to?”

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll disapprove?” I asked.

  Mal frowned. “What?”

  “I’m not a prude, you know. It’s not something I would do personally, but I’m sure you have your reasons,” I said.

  This was an outright lie. It horrified me that Mal was sleeping around with the married ladies of the Rushes Country Club, especially if he was doing so for financial gain. But for some reason that I couldn’t put my finger on, I wanted him to admit it to me.

  But Mal continued to look puzzled. “What? No, never mind, don’t tell me.” He crumpled up his paper cup and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I don’t have time.”

  “So, fine, don’t tell me,” I said, irritation rising. “But you don’t have to pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Maybe you should get out of the heat. Have some water. Rehydrate. Regain your sanity,” Mal suggested. His lips twitched up in a half smile. “Bye, Lucy.” And then he turned and walked off.

  I glowered at his departing back. Matters did not improve when a curvy redhead—whose very long and very shapely legs were shown off to great advantage by a short white pleated tennis skirt—stopped Mal by practically throwing herself in his path. She looked like she was in her early thirties, which probably meant she was really a decade older. The money that flowed around this club went a long way toward buying the services of dermatologists, nutritionists, personal trainers, and plastic surgeons.

  “Ma-al,” I heard her squeal. “I’ve been looking every where for you. I want you to look at my swing.”

  She twirled her tennis racquet in one hand, but from her flirty tone and the slight tilt of her head, it was clear that she was interested in Mal for something other than his tennis expertise. My eyes narrowed with dislike. The rich thought they could buy anything and anyone. Then I remembered: I was rich. Maybe even more so than the redhead, although in a town like Palm Beach, where most of the residents were millionaires, it was impossible to know for sure.

  But I’m not like her, I reassured myself. I don’t use my money to buy people.

  Although wasn’t that exactly what Maisie seemed to think I was doing when I sent her that check? No, I thought, pushing away this unwanted thought. If she did think that, she was wrong. That money was meant as a gift, no strings attached. And if Maisie couldn’t accept it in the spirit with which it was given, that wasn’t my fault.

  The redhead was now wantonly stroking Mal’s arm. She’d lowered her voice, so I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, but it wasn’t hard to figure out the meaning. I found myself wishing I was a better tennis player so I could launch a few balls in their direction, hopefully beaning each of them on the head.

  “I’m sorry, Liza, I can’t work with you right now,” Mal said, extricating himself from her clutches. “There’s somewhere I have to be. Why do
n’t you check my schedule in the pro shop? They’ll set up a lesson for you.”

  If I hadn’t known what he was up to, I would have enjoyed the look, first of surprise, then anger, that flashed across the redhead’s pretty face as Mal moved on down the path. But then her gaze shifted to me and I started, realizing she had just caught me staring at her.

  “Oops,” I said under my breath, as the redhead shot me a filthy look and stalked off toward the back courts. I shook my head ruefully. Mal certainly seemed to be leaving a string of broken hearts behind him.

  “How was your lesson?” Hayden asked when I got home. She was in the kitchen, eating Cheez-Its straight from the box. Marta, our new housekeeper, was there too, wiping down the counters. She was short and comfortably plump and didn’t seem to speak a word of English. She smiled her greeting, and I smiled back.

  “Why do you look so grumpy?” Hayden asked.

  “I’m not. I’m smiling.”

  “You’re smiling in a grumpy way.”

  “It’s nothing, really.” I opened the refrigerator door and rummaged around for a bottle of water. Water bottle in hand, I closed the door with unnecessary force. “It’s just Mal—well, it’s more something Drew said about Mal.”

  “What’s that?”

  I told her what Drew said about the rumors swirling around Mal. “And that fits with my original gigolo theory. Remember that woman I saw him out to dinner with weeks ago? She was older, very attractive…” I trailed off and circled a hand in the air.

  Hayden shook her head. “I asked Ian about that. He thought it was hilarious. He said that Mal’s not at all the type to run around after married women, rich or otherwise.”

  “Really? Hmmm,” I said, considering this. Ian and Mal were close friends. Surely Ian would know if Mal was sleeping his way through the Rushes. “Unless Mal doesn’t want Ian to know about it.”