“Darling, you look beautiful tonight,” he said with an Italian accent in his deep voice.
“Thank you. Rupert, I want you to meet my daughter, Ruth. Honey, this is Rupert.”
Larissa flinched. No one called her Ruth anymore. She hadn’t been called that for the past seven years and it sounded strange and stilted. She’d brought a new name to her new surroundings almost a year before and she liked it a hell of a lot better.
Rupert pulled out chair for Doreen and then seated Larissa. “I’ve heard a lot about you and your rebellious streak. I was expecting someone who looked like Doreen. You are just as lovely, in a much different way.”
“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting someone like you either,” Larissa said.
“My hair turned silver early in life. Your mother and I are the same age. She just didn’t age and I did,” he said.
“I think your hair is beautiful. It’s all right to tell a man he has beautiful hair, isn’t it? Or is that a social blunder?” Larissa asked.
“A charmer. That she gets from you.” Rupert smiled at Doreen.
“She has always been painfully honest,” Doreen said.
“I can live with that. So are you coming to Italy to live with us?” Rupert asked.
“No, sir. I own and operate a beer joint in Mingus, Texas. It’s home.”
“We’ll have lots of convincing to do, won’t we?” Rupert looked at Doreen and winked.
“Once she sets her mind, she doesn’t budge,” Doreen answered.
“And you run a pub?” Rupert asked.
“No, I run a plain old American beer joint. You ever watch American films?” Larissa asked.
Rupert nodded. “When I have time.”
“Ever see Roadhouse?”
He rubbed his goatee. “With that actor who died last year? And the one who looks like a worn out old cowboy? Yes, I did see that film. I rather liked it except where the old fellow died.”
“Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliot. Picture the bar that they were working at in that small town. Now make it less fancy and strip it of all the paint,” she said.
Rupert looked across the table at her in amazement.
“What?” Doreen looked from one to the other.
“I’ll rent the movie and we’ll watch it tonight after supper in our room. Neither of us could ever describe it,” he said.
“Is it bad? I don’t want to see it if she’s living in squalor.”
Larissa reached across the table and patted Doreen’s hand. “Watch it, Mother. You’ll see what a Honky Tonk is and it’s a damn good movie.”
The waitress brought the wine list and menus. Rupert ordered the wine for all of them and prime rib for himself. Doreen decided on a small rib-eye steak. Larissa was tempted to ask the waitress if they had red beans and okra but it was a special night so she ordered chicken kiev.
Rupert handed the waitress his menu and asked Larissa, “So tell me how you came to live in a small Texas town and why you own a Honky Tonk when you could live anywhere and you wouldn’t have to work at anything? Being a barmaid has to be hard work and time consuming.”
“It is and I love it. How did I get there? I pulled down a map, shut my eyes, turned around three times, and stuck a pin in Mingus, Texas. I’d been searching for myself for seven years. I found what I was looking for in Mingus,” Larissa answered.
Rupert touched Doreen’s hand. “She is a rebel, my love.”
“I can tell by the look on your face that you’ve found your Mingus, Texas.” Larissa touched Doreen’s other hand.
Doreen smiled. “I have. If your mud makes you this happy, then who am I to argue?”
It was a good night. The food was good. The view was spectacular. The company was wonderful. But Larissa was glad to be back in her room when it was over. Glad to be able to stretch out on the king-sized bed and think about a man out there named Lawrence Morleo who had no idea he had a daughter.
But when she went to sleep it wasn’t her biological father who haunted her dreams but a dark-haired cowboy with his shirt blowing in the wind.
Chapter 13
Larissa drew the curtains back in her hotel room and looked out over Dallas. Lightning zigzagged through the sky. Thunder followed closely on its heels, adding the drumbeat to the tinkling cymbals that the rain produced.
“Nature’s country music,” she mumbled. She missed the Honky Tonk. Luther would have opened the doors five minutes ago and Sharlene would have everything shining behind the bar. That girl was one of those miracles sent to the Honky Tonk by angels. Well, maybe not real angels. Larissa doubted if the heavenly kind would send someone with Sharlene’s bent toward cussing but maybe from honky tonk angels. Her middle name was organization. Her bubbly personality and quick wit made all the regulars love her.
Larissa had been ready for half an hour. She’d paced the floor for fifteen minutes, wishing she had the nerve to call Hank since she was in his town. But she couldn’t reopen that can of worms no matter how much her heart ached for him.
She wondered where he was that rainy night in Dallas. Was he working late in his office? How far was he from her right then? Was he watching the gray clouds drop buckets of water on the town from the window in his corner office? Had they found another small town to buy for their amusement park?
Her cell phone rang.
“Hello.” She picked up her purse and started for the door.
“Larissa, it’s Hank. Do you have time to talk a few minutes?”
She stopped mid-step. She’d been expecting to hear her mother’s voice, not Hank’s. The old adage about thinking about the devil and he will appear came to mind as she sunk into the recliner beside the window.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“I’m here. Why are you calling?” she asked.
“Can we meet and talk?”
“Hell, no!” she said.
“I’ll meet you anywhere. Honky Tonk. Your front porch. The lake. The Dairy Queen in Stephenville. I just want to talk, to explain now that there’s been some time. I need closure if nothing else,” he said.
“I can’t think about that tonight, Hank. I’m about to leave and, honey, you don’t deserve closure,” she said.
“Are you leaving Mingus? Where are you going? Will you have the same cell phone?” His voice sounded frantic.
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t leave Mingus for half the dirt in Texas. I’ve got plans that aren’t a bit of your business and I have to leave now.”
“Is it another man? Have you found someone else?” he pressured.
“Like I said, it’s really none of your business, is it?”
“Can I call again?”
“Give it a week,” she said.
“Okay, one week from today then. Good-bye.”
She flipped the phone shut. Closure? She needed it more than he did but a meet and talk wouldn’t bring her a bit of closure. It would just make her want him more. She shut her eyes and remembered the day at the lake and how his body felt next to hers in the cool lake water. The afterglow when they’d made love and the sweetness of sleeping in his arms, wrapped up in a blanket like they were in a cocoon. She wouldn’t have admitted it to Sharlene for a chunk of the moon but she had begun to wonder if the curse of the Honky Tonk had fallen on her and Hank Wells was the cowboy who would take her away from the beer joint. But most of all she missed her friend, Hank. The man who teased and laughed with her while they baled hay, while they painted her house, and who bickered and argued with her.
She shook her head to clear the memory. Then she carefully tucked an errant strand of black hair back into the French twist that the hotel beautician had styled that afternoon.
She’d think about it for a week and then decide if she could see him. If not, she’d put it off again. It wasn’t as if she were sitting around in her pajamas, eating chocolate, and setting herself up for the boys in the white jackets to come take her away. She had a life in Mingus and at the Honky Tonk even if her heart was shattere
d. And she would go on living her life among her friends. Betty, Linda, and Janice came over several afternoons a week for a cup of coffee and to catch up on the local gossip. Sharlene was fast becoming her best friend at the Honky Tonk. They’d commiserated together when Hank, aka Hayes, left after the meeting with Sharlene calling him every name she could think of and then starting on the creative ones that combined swear words in ways Larissa had never heard before.
“I thought you were Mennonite,” Larissa had said.
“Didn’t you ever hear about the preacher’s daughter being the wildest kid in the whole town? Well, Corn, Oklahoma, got its little ears scorched pretty often when I got mad,” she’d answered.
Larissa laughed at the memory. Sharlene was probably more like Ruby Lee than Daisy, Cathy, or Larissa. Had Hank been Larissa’s knight-in-shining-pickup-truck, would Sharlene have been the last woman to inherit the Honky Tonk?
Well, I’ll be hanged. I’d never thought of giving it to Sharlene until this minute.
Her phone rang again.
She half expected to hear Hank’s voice again since he’d found that she would answer the phone and not let it go to her voice message, which was Jo Dee Messina playing fifteen seconds of “My Give a Damn’s Busted.”
“Hello,” she said.
“The limo is waiting. We will meet you in the lobby,” Doreen said.
She picked up her purse and checked her reflection one more time in the mirror. “I’m on my way.”
Rupert and Doreen waited, arms looped together, not far from the elevator doors. Dashing was the only word Larissa could think to describe him and it sounded so British. He looked too masculine in his black tux to call him gorgeous and handsome just didn’t cut it. Every woman in the place was going to be more jealous of Doreen than they’d ever been when she showed up to affairs with a muscle-bound gigolo on her arm. Rupert’s black tuxedo fit him the way only custom-made can, his bow tie was perfect, his silver hair and goatee trimmed, and his smile genuine. Larissa liked him and hoped that her mother had truly found a place to hang her heart.
Doreen was her normal stunning self. She wore flowing midnight blue silk dress that complimented her red hair and flawless complexion. A long stole was draped over her arms and she carried a tiny little purse splashed with shiny clear stones that picked up the light when she moved.
Larissa gave her the once-over and stopped at her ring finger on the left hand. “What is that? It looks like you peeled up an ice rink.”
“We didn’t want to spring it on you yesterday. We really are engaged. We’ll be married in Italy next month and we’re hoping you can get away for a while. Darling, you look wonderful. I’m glad you didn’t let me talk you into the leopard print dress. Red becomes you. I’m envious,” Doreen said nervously.
“You’d look good in a gunny sack tied at the waist with baling wire,” Larissa said. “And I wouldn’t miss your wedding for anything. But it’ll be a fly-in, fly-out. I’ve got a beer joint to run, remember. I don’t leave for long times. Maybe three days. That’s max. And congratulations to you both.” She hugged them in a three-way embrace.
Doreen beamed.
“Thank you, Ruth,” Rupert said.
“That’s Larissa, please. I never did like that Ruth name.”
“Then Larissa it is,” Rupert said.
The limo waited under an awning so they were able to get inside without getting wet. Lightning still danced around in the sky teasing high buildings and putting artificial lighting to shame. Thunder beat out a rumbling rhythm but the inside of the limo was cozy.
“Anyone want a glass of wine while we ride?” Rupert asked.
Larissa shook her head.
Doreen nodded.
Rupert poured from a bottle of Doreen’s favorite and held the glass out to her. She sipped it and looked up at with adoration in her eyes. “You never forget a single detail, do you?”
“It’s easy to remember the things that make you smile so beautifully,” he said.
With someone that attentive, that handsome, and without a doubt very wealthy, she could see her mother was ready to give up the young men.
“How far is it to the hoo-rah?” she asked.
“Ten minutes if the traffic is good,” Doreen said.
“And what’s the benefit for? The Dallas Cowboy’s Cheerleader’s uniforms?”
“Honest and funny,” Rupert said.
“It’s for the arts. We’re raising money for scholarships to an art school in Dallas. I didn’t ask for particulars. It’s a party,” Doreen said.
So I’m going to a party to raise money for an art scholarship. Ain’t that a hoot? Sharlene will love this story. Headline: Honky Tonk Owner Gets Arty. Wonder if that sounds like I’m marrying a man named Arty? That ought to set the Women’s Club at Janice, Linda, and Betty’s church to wagging their tongues. Arty? Yuck! That sounds like an old man with a bald head and hair in his ears.
The traffic was light and they arrived at a mansion on the outskirts of Dallas by the time Doreen had finished her wine. They were greeted at the door by a man in a black suit who held out a silver tray for the invitation. Doreen produced it from her purse and laid it on top of several others.
Every eye in the place gravitated toward them when they walked into the ballroom. The gorgeous redhead in midnight blue and the dark-haired beauty in shiny red satin acting as bookends for the dashing Rupert.
A woman rushed over to Doreen’s side. “I’m so glad you came, darlin’. You don’t get down here to Texas nearly enough. And who are these pretty people you’ve brought with you? God, don’t tell me this is Ruth. It is, isn’t it? She’s simply gorgeous, Doreen, and she looks exactly like her father. I’d forgotten all about him until this moment. Oh my, I wasn’t supposed to ever mention him, was I?”
“It’s all right. Ruth and I’ve had a talk about her father. This is Rupert Jovani, my fiancé, and this is my daughter, Ruth, all grown up now. And this is Martha, our resident artist tonight,” Doreen said.
“Good Lord. I can’t believe you turned into such a lovely woman. Last time I saw you, you were a long-legged kid that I didn’t think would ever grow into those teeth and eyes. I’m one of your mother’s dear friends. Come on in and enjoy yourselves. Eat, drink, visit, and then get ready to write a big healthy check to support my cause.” Martha laughed and she made her way across the room to another couple who’d just arrived.
“Is she your age?” Larissa whispered.
“Two years younger,” Doreen answered.
Larissa took another look at the woman. She was almost as wide as she was tall and her hair was black and worn long and straight. The flowing pant set was decorated with glistening rhinestones but the whole picture was one of a grandmother playing dress up more than a socialite giving a high-dollar charity party.
“She paints world renowned oils that are too expensive for me to own,” Doreen said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Too expensive for you?” Larissa looked again.
“Don’t ever judge a book by the cover. It’ll fool you every time. She may look like a dowdy fish wife but she’s got a reputation in the art world,” Doreen whispered.
“So where’s her son that you wanted me to meet and is he built like her?” Larissa asked.
“She doesn’t have children. Says her career doesn’t allow snotty noses and colic. She’s donated one of the paintings for a silent auction tonight. It’s displayed over there behind that bunch of people. It’s my other friend’s son I wanted you to meet. She has a career,” Doreen explained.
“Is the painting too expensive for you?” Larissa looked at Rupert.
“Nothing is too expensive for me if Doreen wants it,” he said.
Doreen snuggled up close to him. “If you buy that horrid thing, it’s hanging in your study. I don’t like it.”
“There’s the real answer, then,” Rupert said. “So I’m off the hook and my checkbook can stop worrying.”
“I like this man,
Mother. Let’s keep him.”
“Oh, I plan on it. And now we circulate,” Doreen said.
Larissa headed toward the display. A big man left after writing a bid in the book standing on a podium to one side of the painting. It reminded Larissa of the stand they’d had at the funeral home for guests to sign at her grandparents’ and her Nanny’s funerals. When she took the big man’s place and looked at the painting, it made perfect sense. The canvas looked as if someone had died and sprayed bright red blood all over it. The only thing left to do was bury the tacky looking mess and everyone who witnessed the death of the ugly thing could sign the book.
She looked at the bids and sucked air. She looked up at the canvas and couldn’t see anything but chaos in the work. Lopsided splotches of color that resembled a piecework quilt made by a dyslexic manic depressive who finished it and then drizzled a pint of blood on it. She tilted her head to one side and squinted. Maybe it was a jig-saw puzzle put together all wrong. She turned to other side and squeezed her eyes shut tighter until everything was one big blur. Now it made perfect sense. It was a page from a kindergartner’s coloring book and he’d had a McDonald’s Happy Meal for dinner while he was coloring it. The ketchup packet got caught between his lunch pail and the desk and squirted irregular lines all over the page. Larissa could almost make out the form of one of those new kids’ toys called a transformer if she shut one eye completely.
A blond-haired man with wire rimmed glasses who’d taken up residence beside her said, “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Are you looking at the painting?” Larissa had been so engrossed in trying to figure out how that could be art she hadn’t even realized anyone was still around.
He nodded.
“Well, I suppose you could call it exciting. There’s lots of color.”
His eyes glassed over as if he were a Puritan who’d been transported ahead in time straight into a bar with pole dancing girls. “Yes, the color is fabulous. The light is perfect. I can picture it above my sofa in my loft apartment. I’ve put a bid on it. Would you like to see it in a place of honor when it’s mine? By the way, I’m Thomas Whitfield, the third. Most folks call me Whit.”
My Give a Damn's Busted Page 17
