Ladies' Night

by Andrews, Mary Kay

  “For now, your mom’s going to stay with Aunt Kendra,” Wyatt said finally. “And then she’s going to find a new place to live. And you’ll have a new room. Okay? Is that cool with you?”

  “I guess,” Bo said. He kicked the table leg rhythmically. “But it would be cooler if Mom and me could just live with you. Like we did before.” He took another handful of potato chips and shoved them into his mouth and chewed furiously.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Wyatt thought. Callie was really pulling out all the stops. He should have seen this coming.

  Wyatt heard the meat sizzling on the cast-iron grill pan. Smoke rose from the stove. He jumped up and flipped the burgers, his mind working furiously to find a way to be honest with the child. Finally, he sat down and reached across the table and took his son’s hand in his.

  “Look at me, Bo,” he said calmly. “Mom and I both love you. More than anything. And that will never change. But she and I, we’re probably not ever going to live together again. Not because I hate her, but because we don’t love each other the way married people should love each other. I’m sad about that, and I know you’re sad about it, too. But that’s just the way it has to be. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Bo said. “Can Sweetie have a hamburger, too?”

  “Afraid not,” Wyatt said. “Now, go wash your hands and tell Granddad dinner is ready.”

  * * *

  Their Friday-night routine seldom varied. Nelson took himself off to bed around nine, and then Wyatt and Bo either watched a movie or played video games, until one or both of them fell asleep. Right now, Bo was sprawled on the floor, scraping the last bit of ice cream from the carton as he watched The Bad News Bears—the old Walter Matthau version—for maybe the tenth time since the start of summer. Sweetie was curled up on the floor beside him, her snout resting in his lap.

  It had started drizzling shortly after dinner. Now the rain fell steadily, beating a noisy tattoo on the trailer’s metal roof and siding.

  Wyatt had texted Grace earlier in the afternoon, proposing that they meet somewhere, but discarded that idea after realizing how anxious Bo was about his parents’ marital status.

  After dinner, he’d managed a furtive phone call while Bo and Nelson did the dishes. “Hey,” he’d said, his voice low. “I don’t think I can get away tonight after all. Bo is having some issues, and I think I’d better stick close to home.”

  “Everything okay?” Grace asked. “Your dad’s not sick again, is he?”

  “Nothing like that,” Wyatt said. He knew he should tell Grace what was going on with Callie, but something held him back. All he knew was that he was tired of the tug-of-war. Callie was the past. And Grace was his future. He and Bo deserved a happy future, didn’t they?

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Wyatt promised. He glanced back toward the kitchen to make sure he couldn’t be overheard. “I’ve got some stuff to tell you. Maybe we could have another sunset viewing at that condo?”

  Grace laughed throatily. “I think that could probably be arranged.”

  * * *

  He must have dozed off sometime between the end of The Bad News Bears and the beginning of Field of Dreams. Somebody was banging on the trailer’s aluminum storm door. Wyatt jumped up, startled by the noise, but Bo, always a heavy sleeper, didn’t move. Sweetie, on the other hand, went on instant alert, running toward the door and barking.

  “Wyatt? It’s me.”

  He cursed softly. His midnight caller was Callie. “Shush, Sweetie,” Wyatt grumbled. He flipped on the porch light and opened the door.

  * * *

  She was barefoot and rain-soaked, dressed in a low-cut tank top and shorts so tight he could clearly see the outline of her panties. She’d been crying again. And this time, she’d brought baggage. Literally. A large wheeled suitcase rested on the porch, and next to it sat a plastic laundry basket heaped with her belongings.

  “Can I come in?” She didn’t wait for an answer, picking up the basket of clothes and stepping inside, out of the rain. He hesitated, then grabbed the suitcase, too.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing at the luggage.

  “My stuff. Can you at least get me a towel so I can dry off before you start yelling at me?”

  As she walked past him toward the bathroom, Wyatt detected the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. She took her time in the bathroom. He heard water running, and then the sound of a hair-dryer. He waited outside the bathroom door, arms folded across his chest, gathering resolve.

  Finally, she emerged, her face pink from heat, hair fluffed, dressed only in his worn terrycloth bathrobe. “You don’t mind, right?” Callie asked. “Just until my stuff dries out, okay?”

  “You can have the bathrobe,” he said, keeping his voice low, “but then you have to leave.”

  “And go where?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair. “My baby sister kicked me out. You believe that? It’s midnight and we’re in the middle of a monsoon, and she kicks me out. So for tonight, anyway, you’re stuck with me. And I hate to ask, but do you have anything to eat? I didn’t get dinner.”

  He took her by the arm and steered her toward the kitchen. “I’ll fix you a sandwich. Keep your voice down,” he warned. “Bo’s asleep on the living room floor. I don’t want him waking up and asking why you’re here.”

  She yanked her arm from his grip and followed him into the kitchen. “We’re still married, technically. So why shouldn’t I be here?” She looked around the room and frowned. “Unless your new girlfriend is having a sleepover?”

  Wyatt took a package of lunch meat from the fridge, along with a jar of mustard. He slapped the meat between two slices of bread, which he slathered with the yellow mustard, then slid the sandwich in front of her.

  He decided not to allow Callie to bait him. “What are you doing here, Callie? What did you do to make Kendra kick you out?”

  “Nothing!” she said, biting into the sandwich. “Kendra’s just a bitch, okay? She resents me. Always has. She was always on your side after we split. And she hated Luke, of course.”

  She’d knotted the bathrobe loosely around her waist, and it gapped widely at the neck, giving him a too-generous view of her cleavage and a provacative expanse of her bare legs.

  The truth was beginning to dawn on him. “Luke came over there tonight, didn’t he? That’s why Kendra kicked you out. Right?”

  “I didn’t invite him,” she said indignantly. “He just showed up. He promised to get my car back for me. So I let him in, but then he started with the same old bullshit, and I called him on it. We were not fighting. It was a discussion. But all of a sudden, Kendra goes bat-shit crazy and starts threatening to call the cops on both of us.”

  “The two of you’d been drinking, right? And don’t try to deny it, because you smell like a brewery,” Wyatt said.

  “What are you, my parole officer? Yes, we had a few beers,” Callie said. “But I am not drunk. And anyway, what kind of sister throws somebody out in the middle of a tornado? Kendra wouldn’t even listen to me. She literally grabbed my suitcase and pitched it out her window. And she lives on the second floor. I was barely able to grab the basket with the rest of my stuff before she locked me out in the rain.”

  Callie took another bite of her sandwich, and then another, chewing calmly. “God, I’m hungry. I bet I could eat another sandwich.” She looked down at Sweetie, who was crouched on the floor, her liquid brown eyes focused on her.

  “Is this the girlfriend’s dog?” She tore off a bit of bread and tossed it to the little dog, who caught it in midair. “She’s kind of cute, isn’t she? What’s her name?”

  “We’re not discussing the dog. And I’m not fixing you another sandwich,” Wyatt said. “You can’t stay here tonight, Callie.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re kicking me out? Where do you expect me to go at this hour? And don’t suggest a motel. You might as well know. I’m flat broke.”

  “Dammit, Callie!” Wyatt whispered hoarsely. “I’m
not going to let you manipulate me like this. I just sent your child-support check.”

  “And Bo needed new sneakers. And he’s outgrown all his clothes,” Callie said. “What is the big deal? It’s just one night, okay? I’ll sleep on the sofa. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I will know. More importantly, Bo will know. You’ve already managed to get him freaked out about where he’s going to live now that you and Luke are broken up. I don’t want him any more confused than he already is.”

  But it was too late. They heard light footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of the bathroom door being opened, and then a toilet flushing. A moment later, the sleepy-eyed child rounded the hallway into the kitchen.

  “Mom?” he said softly.

  She held out her arms and the boy dutifully allowed himself to be folded into an embrace. “Hey, Bo-man,” Callie said, hugging him tight. “Are you surprised to see me?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no,” Bo said, yawning widely. “I thought you were at Aunt Kendra’s house.”

  Callie made a face. “Your Aunt Kendra is a big doo-doo head,” she said, laughing as though it were all a joke. “So I came over here to see what you and your dad were up to.”

  “Are you gonna spend the night?” He shot his father a hopeful look. “Please, Dad? Mom can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “Absolutely not!” Callie said. “If anybody gets to sleep on the sofa, it’s me.” She tousled her son’s hair and looked defiantly at Wyatt. “Right, Dad?”

  Bo’s eyes were pleading. “Okay?”

  Wyatt knew when he’d been beaten. “Fine,” he said brusquely. “Come on, Bo,” he said, holding out his hand for his son. “You’re going to bed. I’ll get your mom a pillow and a blanket. But this is just for tonight. Tomorrow, she’s going to find a new place to live.” He glared at his wife. “Right, Mom?”

  Callie smiled weakly. “Right.”

  58

  Grace pulled alongside Camryn’s car in the Publix shopping center Saturday morning. She hopped into Camryn’s car, and moments later the two of them were heading west toward Gulf Vista.

  “Nice car,” Grace said. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and lightly stroked the Jaguar’s sleek leather upholstery.

  “It was an anniversary gift from Dexter,” Camryn said. “The man does love to buy nice things. Of course, mostly it’s to show all his friends how much money he makes and what a big man he is.”

  “Are you sure your friend is okay with doing this?” Grace asked as they approached the Gulf Vista security gate. “She’s not worried Ben might find out?”

  “Marissa?” Camryn laughed. “She and LaDarion think your ex is a stuck-up prick. I guess Ben sicced the homeowner’s association on them because of Peaches’s barking.”

  “Ben hated that dog,” Grace said. “It barked a lot. Like, if anybody walked by their house. Or if it was home alone. Which it was, a lot. Plus, your friend and her husband did throw some pretty wild parties. Last year they hired MC Hammer to play at their Fourth of July barbecue. Do you know how many times we heard “Can’t Touch This?” Over and over and over…”

  “MC Hammer?” Camryn snickered. “Seriously? I did not even know that dude was still alive. How did he survive the nineties?”

  “I don’t know, but I can assure you, he did,” Grace said.

  There were three cars ahead of them at the visitor’s gate to the subdivision. Grace’s pulse skipped wildly as they pulled beneath the security shack’s portico. “Here goes,” Camryn said, under her breath. Grace pulled on a pair of oversized sunglasses.

  The Jaguar’s driver’s-side window rolled down, and the uniformed security guard stepped forward. Grace sucked in her breath and looked away. It was Sheldon, the same guard who’d turned her away the last time she’d attempted to breach the gate at Gulf Vista.

  “Morning, ma’am,” Sheldon said, leaning in to look at the Jaguar’s occupants.

  “Good morning,” Camryn said. “We’re guests of Marissa and LaDarion Banks?”

  Sheldon scanned a sheet of paper on his clipboard, running his finger down the lines of type.

  “Ms. Nobles?” he asked, peering into the car’s interior. Grace held her breath.

  “That’s correct,” Camryn said.

  The guard handed her a guest pass. “Leave that on your dashboard, if you would please, ma’am,” he said, and waved her through.

  * * *

  “Nice digs,” Camryn said admiringly, as they rolled slowly past the house on Sand Dollar Lane. “What did this place set you back, a million, million and a half?”

  “I’m not sure,” Grace admitted. “Ben handled all that. This was one of the model homes. He cut a deal with the developer, and then cut more deals with the contractors who put in the landscaping and the pool and the media room. A lot of the extras, we got at cost, or less, in return for advertising and editorial mention on Gracenotes.”

  “And you walked away from all that.”

  “‘Ran away’ would be a more accurate way to describe my departure,” Grace said.

  “And now you’re living above a bar on Cortez,” Camryn said. “Girlfriend, that is a big change, and I’m not just talking about zip codes.”

  “Want to know something?” Grace gestured out the window, at the velvety green lawns and lush beds of blooming tropical flowers and palm trees, behind which loomed glimpses of red barrel-tile roofs and white stucco homes. “None of this seems real to me. I lived in this neighborhood for two years. I went to parties, gave parties here, but I haven’t heard from a single person since the night I put Ben’s car in the pool.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Camryn said. “You broke the rules. Acted ugly, made a mess. Got the law involved.” She flipped up her own sunglasses, and grinned. “Welcome to the real world, Grace Davenport.”

  She turned the corner and pulled into the driveway of a house that dwarfed all the other houses in the subdivision. A wrought-iron gate with curlicued flourishes identified the mansion as Villa Marissa. Camryn opened her window, leaned out, and looked up at the small security camera mounted on the stucco gatepost. “Marissa? It’s Camryn. Open sesame!”

  The gates swung open noiselessly, and they followed the driveway around to the front of the mansion, an enormous, vaguely Tuscan villa, where a petite woman with long jet-black hair and a complexion the shade of caffe latte waited in a gleaming black golf cart.

  “Ladies!” Marissa Banks beamed. She was dressed in a sleeveless hot-pink Nike tank top and matching pink golf shorts, along with pink and white golf cleats. She clapped her hands excitedly. “Welcome to my house.”

  “Marissa, this is my friend Grace, but I think you’ve probably already met, right?”

  Grace reached out and shook the other woman’s hand. “Thanks so much for doing this. You’re really sure you want to get involved in my drama?”

  “Of course,” Marissa said. “You can only get your nails and hair done so many times in one week. I’m dying of boredom. This is going to be fun. Like old times, right, Cammie? Remember that time we snuck onto the grounds at Doral so you could try to interview Tiger Woods?”

  “And you distracted the security guards with a phony wardrobe malfunction? How could I ever forget that?” Camryn asked, shaking her head at the memory. “Does LeDarion know you’ve flashed boob to half the men in South Florida, just to get exclusive interviews?”

  “How do you think we met in the first place?” Marissa laughed. “Of course, he thinks he’s the only one who ever got a sneak peek. And we’re gonna keep it that way, right?”

  “Just between us girls,” Camryn said. She glanced at Grace. “Are you ready?”

  Grace let out a long, shaky breath. “As ready as I’m gonna be. I want this over with. Marissa, are you sure the coast is clear? Ben has a standing golf game at the club Saturday mornings, but you just never know…”

  “I’ve been watching the place since eight. He left about eight thirty, and his little girlfriend left maybe fift
een minutes after that.” Marissa rolled her eyes. “What a skank! You know she sunbathes nude most of the time, right? Every pool guy and maintenance man in the neighborhood has had a look at her goodies.”

  “Let’s do it,” Camryn said.

  * * *

  After Marissa dropped them off in the golf cart, promising to return as soon as they texted her, Grace and Camryn walked briskly to the rear of the house, where Grace unlocked the kitchen door.

  “Wowsers,” Camryn said, eyeing the gleaming expanse of black granite countertops, the stainless steel commercial stove, and the glass-front refrigerator. “This kitchen is immaculate. She’s a pretty good housekeeper.”

  Grace glared.

  “For a skank, that is,” Camryn added.

  “Oh, please. J’Aimee doesn’t know how to cook,” Grace said. “They probably eat at the club every night—or order out for pizza or Chinese.”

  She went into the dining room and pulled open the top drawer of the mahogany Empire buffet, pausing to run an appreciative finger over her sterling flatware. “Looks like it’s all here,” she said, after doing a quick count. Grace trotted out to the laundry room and came back with a king-sized pillowcase, into which she unceremoniously dumped all the silver.

  “Let’s stack everything by the back door,” Camryn said, holding up a heavily decorated silver teapot. “That’s what professional burglars do. So they can make a quick getaway.”

  “We’re not burglars,” Grace said sharply. She took the teapot from Camryn’s hand and set it back on the top of the buffet. “I’m not taking anything that isn’t mine. The tea service was Ben’s grandmother’s. The flatware is mine.”

  When she’d loaded in all the silver, Camryn placed it in the kitchen, near the door.

  Grace walked quickly up the back staircase with Camryn following close behind. “How many bedrooms?” Camryn asked.

  “Um, six, but we only had furniture in three of them,” Grace said. She breezed down the second floor hallway toward the master wing, while Camryn opened every door they passed to gaze inside.