Couture Love

by Fields, MJ

  I fight the urge to dive across the seat and hug her. She’s been alone way too long. Then I give up, throw my arms around her, and hug her tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

  * * *

  Getting out of the car, Angela looks at me. “I know I don’t have to remind you that this is a—”

  “Professional event.”

  She smiles and nods. “And as much fun as we’ve had these past couple days—”

  “We’re not to walk through the back gate smiling like two overworked, undersexed women whose minds have been blown for two days straight?”

  She puts her sunglasses on to hide her eyes, which are glowing.

  “And as much as I want to tear those glasses off you, take a picture, and send it to Natasha so she sees you’re making good on your promise to live while she’s gone—”

  “You’d better rethink that.”

  “I know, you’re my boss and that would probably be a career killer?”

  “We’re two single women who need to stay focused. Today could be a game changer.”

  I know she’s worried about her position as the leader of de la Porte fashion US division, but the truth is that it would be nothing without her. I wish she would realize that.

  “My loyalty is to you, not the damn board.”

  “To us, Autumn.”

  “To us.”

  As soon as we walk into the back courtyard, the tension is evident. Gone are the days of Jean de la Porte and the family-friendly atmosphere provided by Angela’s extensive planning and preparing. Everyone is worried about the company’s future, including the board members who immediately surround Angela as we step onto the patio.

  Over the past several months, she has acted as a middleman to the normally unreliable board and Jean’s attorney, who doesn’t return their calls or emails.

  As we stand in the middle of them, the board of directors, who each make more money than even Angela does, I know things are going to get ugly.

  I could have faked sick and stayed in bed all day with Eric, but my loyalty to Angela is a given. I have to be here to support her, knowing most of them probably wish to replace her with one of their spoiled little bastards.

  I watch her smile as I knew she would, always classy and professional, and answer the questions coming at her rapid fire.

  “I know that Jean requested a time of mourning and restructure be allotted. I know that he held seventy-one percent of the company’s shares. And I know his last will and testament has to be dealt with in France and the United States. There’s a lot to deal with, and being patient is—”

  “Angela, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Burns, the oldest of the members, snaps at her.

  “Daddy.” A sweet little girl pulls on his slacks. “Come potato sack with me.”

  “Go find your mother,” he snaps at her.

  My face falls in anticipation of the hurt she must feel. When she looks unaffected, my heart hurts even more for her since this seems to be the norm.

  He looks back at Angela. “Come on; give us something, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Really, my God, we’ve waited long enough.” Fuller chews at his plump fingers.

  With her professional smile in place, she tells him, “It’s really not within my control.”

  “She’s full of shit,” Cartwright huffs at Lowell.

  God, I hate that man.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. Please excuse me.” She glances at me, and I know we’re walking away.

  I reach over and squeeze her hand. “We need drinks.”

  “We need two.”

  A waiter passing by stops and offers us champagne, and then we both walk away with a glass in each hand.

  Angela nods toward a seating area across the pool. “Should we hide over there?”

  “Hells yes.”

  As soon as we sit, away from the ears of the board and no nosey cab driver around to eavesdrop, I begin firing off questions.

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Tall, with dark, wavy hair. Very attractive.” She takes a sip of her drink.

  “What’s he do?”

  She laughs. “I have no clue.”

  “What do you mean you have no clue?”

  “We’re just enjoying each other’s company, Autumn, honestly.”

  “Between the sheets, huh?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? That’s all I get?” I grumble and flop back against the cushioned lounge chair. “Another mystery man. I just can’t with you.”

  She takes another drink and smiles. The woman knows how to keep a damn secret, which in every other instance is great, but I want details.

  “So, tell me about the headboard banger.”

  I tell her about the stars, the beach, the amazing sex. I tell her he wants to see me tonight and watch as she assesses me. I know she worries about me after my divorce. Even though I didn’t tell her details, she knew I was devastated, and when I asked her to keep me busy, she did.

  Then I lie and tell her that I sent him to voicemail today. I don’t want her to worry about me. I want her to enjoy herself.

  “You just said it was the most amazing night of your life and you sent him to voicemail?” She shakes her head at me.

  “He needs to work for it, Ang. I’m worth it.”

  She holds my hand. “I know you are, but has he even gotten the chance to yet?”

  She’s throwing back all the advice I’ve given her about dating, things I’ve learned while healing. “Now the student is teaching the teacher.”

  “I spent two and a half days being schooled myself.”

  “I think you’re falling in love.” I laugh.

  “I think I’m being present.”

  We both try to relax, but it’s hard to watch these people fake their way through a function specifically set up for them to enjoy their families and avoid them at every cost.

  “I think we could sneak out and no one would even know.”

  I nod in agreement. “Should we go get drunk?”

  She looks at me. “No. I think you should call the man who has you acting giddy back and enjoy the night, instead of sitting around here and wishing you were.”

  “And the same goes for you?”

  She nods. “Indeed, it does.”

  Before the cab even arrives, I snap Eric.

  AutumnsSeason:

  - You free?

  Twelve

  Eric

  Shelby, screaming Shelby, has a soft side in the middle of all those rough edges.

  After she shared with me the shit she was going through, I cornered Father. He just puffed out his chest like he always does and tried to act like he would figure it out.

  I called bullshit and told him, “I will figure it out.”

  Yep, I’m caving, but not for him. For my fifteen-year-old sister who just hit the same wall of realization I hit years ago. I only hope that it isn’t dealt with the way I dealt with it.

  It’s a sick feeling in your stomach when you think about a person, who you suddenly want to protect from falling, falls anyway.

  “I feel like a fraud,” Shelby scoffs as she sits down next to me at one of the tables far away from all the pomp and circumstance that is de la Porte’s annual Labor Day party.

  “Well, at least you don’t look like an Addams,” I joke, although it’s not really a joke. She looked like Wednesday Addams had joined a biker gang, and Daniel didn’t even give her the attention she was seeking.

  “I’d rather look like Wednesday than a freaking picnic tablecloth,” she grumbles.

  I can’t help laughing.

  The five of us are props to his public image. We’re all dressed alike. The girls, Shelby, Daisy, and even Danielle, are wearing blue and white gingham dresses. Matching patterns but different styles. We males, myself, Daniel Jr. and baby Donavan, are in navy pants and white shirts.

  “You look like a tool.”

  “Can’t argue that.”

  “
So do they.” She points at Suzy who is in a white sundress and Father in his white suit and blue shirt.

  I nod. “Picture perfect family.”

  “You realize we’re the only ones whose names don’t begin with a D?” she asks.

  “Never thought much about that.”

  “How could you not?” she huffs.

  “I was too busy listening to the bickering of wives three and four when wife four named Danielle. Wife three felt it was immature for copying her having named sibling two Daniel.”

  “I liked Becki best,” she says, lying back in the chaise lounge.

  “Are you kidding me? All you did was give her hell and yell at her.”

  She looks at me and rolls her eyes. It makes me laugh.

  “Dad’s right; you’re an idiot.”

  I have no idea why that makes me laugh harder, but it does.

  She looks down and shakes her head. “You know why I yelled all the time?”

  “Same reason you dressed like an Addams when you showed up today.”

  “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she sighs exaggeratedly.

  I hold my hand over my chest. “A compliment?”

  “Well, all my friends think you are.”

  “They have good taste.” I wink.

  “Gross.”

  “So, if I’m wrong, tell me why you yelled all the time.”

  I hear giggles right before I’m jumped from behind by Daisy and Daniel Jr.

  I swing Daisy around and tickle her as she laughs out, “She had ear infections, silly.”

  “Yeah, don’t you remember the Frankenstein ears?” Daniel asks while giving me a noogie.

  I give him a look of warning to be nice, which used to be so Shelby wouldn’t scream. Then I look at Shelby. “I must have missed it.”

  “That’s the summer you moved into the pool house.” She narrows her eyes. “And that’s why I liked Becki best. Neither Mom nor Dad could figure it out. Chronic ear infections.”

  Daniel jumps down and yells, “Daisy, come on, potato sack races.”

  As they run off, I look at Shelby. “Sorry I didn’t notice, Shells.”

  “Well, I hope you start noticing again.”

  “I’ll do the best I can if …” I stop.

  “If what?” She crosses her arms.

  “You help me kick everyone’s asses in the sack race.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “And watch your mouth, Shells. A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t sound like a damn biker.”

  “Keeps the boys away.”

  “Well then, fuck it, keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

  ~~~

  After Shells and I jointly decide to each take one of the twins as partners to give the others a chance—girls against boys—we line up to do our duty as Cartwrights at the annual ass kiss picnic. Her name for it, not mine. We end up paired against each other, and Daniel is wound tighter than usual.

  “Let’s beat ’em, Eric.”

  “Or maybe we kick their butts till the finish line then let them win.”

  “No way.” He laughs. When I don’t reciprocate, he looks up at me. “Why would you let them win?”

  “Because, Daniel, that’s what gentlemen do.”

  “If he likes a girl, but not our sisters,” he argues.

  I like that he gets that, that he should treat a woman with respect. He certainly didn’t get it from Father. I’m glad Becki married a good man when they were young enough to feel its impact. Just like Shelby, she was always my favorite stepmother as well. She’s also the reason I plan to become a therapist. But I don’t plan to limit myself to private practice. I have bigger plans.

  “When someone needs a win, it’s nice to give them one if you can. Shells needs a win today, little man.”

  “Fine, whatever,” he huffs.

  “And they don’t know we gave it to them.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “You’re word.”

  Daniel sighs. “Fiiiinnnne.”

  And I give him a noogie, just like Father used to give me.

  ~~~

  Watching Shelby smile while playing with the rest of the Cartwright tribe pleases me, because they’re actually getting along for once.

  “Did you drug them?”

  I look over to my father who is now standing beside me.

  Turning back to the bartender, I tell him, “Make it a double.”

  “Make that two, Kipper.” Father smiles at him.

  “Of course, Mr. Cartwright.”

  I watch their exchange and realize how much everyone loves him. He fools people, like he fooled me.

  Makes us all idiots.

  Looking at him, I’m filled with disdain.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “Not sure you’re good for it,” I whisper as I smile at the bartender and take my drink.

  “Thanks, Kipper.” He pulls a wad of Benjamins out of his platinum money clip, lays one on the bar, and pushes it toward Kipper. “Buy some flowers for that new bride of yours on your way home.” He winks.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Cartwright.”

  When he walks away, Father peels another hundred off the pile and puts it on the bar in front of me. “I’ve got a few pennies left in me, son.”

  “The ultimate player. You’re pretty fucking proud of that, aren’t you?” I ask before slamming back my drink.

  “When you’re off the tit and realize that, in order to make it in this world, you have to play the game, you’ll understand that yes, I am pretty damn proud of that.” His eyes lock with mine as he takes a drink.

  Not long ago, that would have intimidated me, cooled my temper, but not anymore. Now I glare back at him.

  “Your house of cards is built on bullshit and lies. You keep playing the game and the rest of us will watch it fall.”

  He smirks, the smug bastard. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You’re wrong. I walk around all fucking day putting out fires so everyone under that roof can live the lifestyle you’ve all grown accustomed to.”

  “Here’s a tip from your idiot son. Stop throwing gas on coals and you’ll spend less time putting out fires.”

  “Christ, kid, you haven’t a clue.” He laughs at me.

  “I’m done with you,” I snarl.

  “Then you’re done with them, too.” He nods toward Shelby and the others.

  “I highly fucking doubt that. They’d choose me over you any day, Father.”

  “When this thing is over, you and I can sit and talk about why a twenty-one-year-old boy should tip his toe into manhood before thinking he can jump in and be everything everyone around him needs him to be.”

  “When you’re done thinking you have to be big dog to all these little bitches, maybe you’ll realize what a real man actually is.”

  He laughs and picks his drink back up. “Look around, son, everyone is watching us. I am the big fucking dog.” He points across the yard. “And when I’ve tamed that bitch and put her little ankle biting sidekick on a leash, I’ll be sitting at the top, just like I should be.”

  I look across the way to see who it is now that he’s disrespecting, and fuck if she doesn’t look stunning in a navy sundress and a white, oversized floppy sunhat shielding her skin from the sun. Those fucking eyes, though, they can’t be hidden. My heart drops when I realize the women he’s referring to are Autumn and Angela.

  “Do you even know those women? They could be—”

  “Angela Petrov was Jean’s right-hand. She’s a glorified secretary, his PR at best. Was a stay-at-home mother, hemming dresses, when she came to work at de la Porte. You can guess how she worked her way up the proverbial ladder. If she gave a shit about this company, or any of us who’ve worked our balls off for it, she’d have pushed to take advantage of the press after his death.

  “The little pissant next to her, the lap dog and sometimes ankle bitter, doesn’t even have a real degree from a reputable university. She has an online bachelor’s b
ecause she was busy chasing her husband around the country while he was playing minor league baseball.”

  “A what?” I ask, trying to keep my shock at bay.

  He laughs. “As soon as he made it to the majors, he dumped her on her ass. The change in her, the power she thinks she has now, is disturbing. I can’t wait to see both of them escorted out of Jean’s office and end up in the unemployment line.”

  “You’re an even bigger asshole than I thought you were.” I walk away from him, my ego fucked up.

  Major league baseball player! What the fuck?

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit the search app as I watch her and Angela chatting. I type in Stephen13.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Stephen Greenfield, number 13, was picked up by the New York Mets five and a half years ago after playing minor league baseball since college.

  “Good fucking thing I’m a Yankees fan.”

  Scrolling down farther, I pass by articles about him.

  “He’s on Wikipedia. Of course he is.”

  I type in Stephen Greenfield’s wife, hoping this is wrong, knowing damn well it’s not.

  Hundreds of pictures pop up of Autumn, many with him, looking at his lanky ass like the sun fucking sets on his goddamn size two feet, several feet away from his five-inch dick.

  I scroll down farther and see pictures of her alone, taken by some shitbag minor league paparazzi. In most, she’s crying or … well, eating. In some, she’s doing both. The headlines are brutal, and I snap-shot every one of the sites who posted them, hell-bent on someday ruining them, and the photographers, and the fucking reporters.

  Stephen’s Ex At Ate It Again.

  The photo is of her eating a king-sized Baby Ruth bar.

  The Mets Gain A Star And His Ex Gains Another 30.

  She’s eating another Baby Ruth bar.

  Baby Ruth Should Make A Deal With Autumn Greenfield,

  But She’d Probably Just Chew Up All The Profits.

  She’s eating Baby Ruth ice cream out of the carton while walking down some street in New York City.

  Greenfield’s Ex No Longer Fun Size.

  There’s a picture of her carrying a fun-sized bag of them

  There’s also a photo of a fat baby with her face on it with a Baby Ruth in its hand.