Pretty Woman

by Fern Michaels

  “Really. She is generous,” Heather said snidely. Kent squelched her with one look.

  Kent waited while Heather paid the bill. He felt no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. Outside, he pecked her lightly on the cheek before he walked right and she walked left.

  As he walked to the office, Kent looked down at his watch. If he was any judge of character, Heather would be in his office in less than thirty-five minutes.

  Kent was flirting outrageously with a walk-in, a customer who was looking for a house in the historic district. He knew immediately that she was a snowbird and he turned on his Southern charm. The woman was tall, shapely, and as much of a flirt as he was. He had her elbow in the palm of his hand and was ushering her toward his office just as Heather breezed through the door, a thick envelope in hand. She took in the scene before her, calculated the woman’s age, her designer clothing, the fine webbing at the corners of her eyes, and smiled. She held up the envelope for him to see before she tossed it in the air. Kent caught it deftly. He offered up a megawatt grin that lit up the dreary room, then blew her a kiss.

  Heather stomped from the office, a murderous look on her face that didn’t bode well for the unsuspecting snowbird.

  Rosie woke to the sound of the alarm. Buddy hopped on the bed, his energy knowing no bounds as he flip-flopped to the top, then to the bottom. Clearly, he wanted to go out. His mistress obliged by dutifully trotting down the hall, down the steps, and opening the back door for him. She was surprised to see Luna Mae in the kitchen with coffee made. She was sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, reading the paper, and drinking her coffee. Rosie grimaced. No one got up at five-thirty in the morning unless they had to. She let Buddy back in, poured herself coffee, and carried it upstairs.

  What to wear? Everything she owned seemed to belong to the gray family. Drab. Almost like prison garb. Not that she had much to choose from. She yanked a pair of light cotton sweatpants off the shelf and a tank top that was now loose on her frame. She pulled on thick cotton socks and her heavy-duty sneakers. Then she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

  She wanted to be sitting on the back steps, coffee in hand, when Jack arrived to go running. Buddy was chomping at the bit. The poor thing needed more strenuous exercise than the meandering walking they did every night after dinner.

  “I’m nervous, Luna Mae. What if I wimp out and can’t do the run?” she fretted as she was filling her cup for the second time.

  “If you drink any more of that coffee, you will wimp out because you’ll have to go to the bathroom. How’s that going to look?”

  “Do you have to be right all of the time, Luna Mae? Can’t you be wrong once in a while? Just once,” Rosie grumbled.

  “No point in being wrong. Did I tell you Skip’s old friend asked me to marry him this weekend? I told him I’d think about it.”

  Rosie’s heart stopped, or at least she thought it did, at her housekeeper’s words. “You told me you hated men. You said you were never going to get hitched. You said you couldn’t be disloyal to Skip’s memory.”

  “That was then. This is now. Racing is in my blood. Skip’s dead. I’m alive. End of story.”

  “Tell me you’re making this all up to get a rise out of me. Luna Mae, I’m talking to you.”

  “I think your trainer is here. You better get a move on. Send Buddy back if you wimp out, and I’ll come and get you.”

  “Like hell. We will pick up this conversation when I get back. I mean it, Luna Mae.”

  Luna Mae’s face took on a dreamy look. “I knew Dale Earnhardt you know. I cried when he died.”

  Rosie wondered if she was supposed to know who Dale Earnhardt was. She shrugged as she trotted out the kitchen door, Buddy at her side, to join Jack, who was running in place, a huge grin on his face.

  “Morning, Rosie! You ready to set the world on fire?”

  Rosie grimaced. “I’m the smoldering type,” she quipped.God, did I just say that? From the look on Jack’s face, he looked like he was wondering the same thing.

  “I’m ready as soon as I do a few warm-up stretches. Buddy’s ready, too.”

  Ninety minutes later, Rosie limped up the driveway. Buddy raced ahead but kept coming back every few seconds to offer moral support. When she finally came to a dead stop, Buddy raced back and nudged her forward. She groaned as she staggered into the house.

  “You’re sitting in the same spot you were in when I left you, ninety minutes ago,” Rosie gasped. “What’s wrong with you, Luna Mae?”

  “More to the point, what’s wrong with you? I’ll go upstairs and turn on the shower. If I were you, I’d go in with my clothes on and worry about it later. Do you want me to rub you down with some liniment?”

  “That smelly stuff you rub on your knees? No thank you. Yes, to the shower. Oh, God, I don’t know if I can make it up the steps. I did it, though. I ran the whole five miles. What’s for breakfast?”

  “One egg, one croissant, and a dish of strawberries,” Luna Mae responded.

  Rosie sighed. “There is a God. I knew it. How about two eggs?”

  “One egg. Do not try to bribe me just because I’m in a dreamy good mood.”

  “Shut up, Luna Mae. Walk behind me in case I fall backward.”

  Buddy barked shrilly, his signal that they should all move forward.

  “I hate Jack’s guts. He kept goading me. I wish you could have heard him. He was merciless. When he told me I could stop I wanted to kiss him.”

  Luna Mae clucked her tongue. “You’ve been wanting to kiss that man from the minute he walked in here. He’s a pretty good catch in my opinion.”

  “Shut up, Luna Mae.”

  Luna Mae laughed all the way to the top of the stairs. “He really is a good catch. I think he likes you, too. If you’d stop being so standoffish, he might give you a tumble. You know, Rosie, all men are not like your husband. There are some wonderful, caring men out there who could make you happy if you’d give them half a chance. I wish you’d be a little more friendly. Just a little.”

  “Shut up, Luna Mae. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to mix business with pleasure? Jack Silver is my trainer. I am his client. End of story.”

  Luna Mae turned on the water in the shower and shoved Rosie in, clothes, sneakers, and all.

  Nothing in all the world felt as good as the hot water pounding her body. Not even Christmas morning. It felt better than eating two wedges of double-chocolate thunder cake.

  And to think she had to do this all over again tomorrow morning.

  9

  Kent walked through the house on the Savannah River trying to figure out if it was even remotely possible for him to own it someday. Heather said it had been in the family for a couple of hundred years. Her father and his father before him had been meticulous about keeping it up. On the open market, it would probably sell for 3 or 4 million dollars. The commission would be staggering. Still, to own it, to live in it, would make him a force to be reckoned with. He could cohabit with Heather. For a while. Cohabit didn’t necessarily mean marriage.

  As a sexual companion, Heather had no equal. She was up foranything —the more experimental, the better she liked it. She was also capable of tiring him out. Something he hadn’t thought possible.

  On their arrival, she’d banished the servants to their respective cottages, locked the doors, stripped down, and they’d stayed stripped down until an hour ago, when they got dressed to head back to town. Double-digit sex in two days was mind-boggling. In a way, he couldn’t wait to get back to town. Pure and simple, he was exhausted by all the bedroom gymnastics. He’d never thought he’d want to return to the Days Inn and just hang out, but it was what he craved.

  Kent threw his overnight bag, which he hadn’t even opened, into the silver Buick that had materialized just as they were ready to leave for the river house. It was plush, several steps up from the Ford, but it wasn’t his Porsche. Damn, now he had to think about Rosalie and Jack Silver. They were up to something, and, whatever it w
as, it wasn’t going to be good for him.

  He knew he needed to keep his wits about him. In his gut he knew she was holding the winning lottery ticket. She was just waiting, biding her time, thinking when they were divorced, she’d claim it. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. If he had to, he was prepared to contest the divorce.

  There had to be a way to find out for certain if there was a ticket or not. He groaned at the thought of trying to break into the house or making unexpected visits to throw Rosalie off her stride. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was rattling Rosalie. He wondered just how much he could suck up when it came to his overweight wife. As much as he had to, he decided. Just as he was sure he could keep Heather on a short leash.

  “Darlin’, this was one of the nicest weekends I’ve had all year,” Heather said. “We have to do it again, real soon. I just love it out here by the river. Daddy keeps saying we need to use this place more, or he’s going to sell it. He’s just so busy with the dealership, and he’s going to be opening another one soon. Mama hates it here. She says the moss hanging from the angel oaks is ugly, and it depresses her. She doesn’t like the river smell. And, can you believe this, she doesn’t like this gorgeous, green moss. It looks just like an emerald carpet to me. Drinking juleps on the verandah is my idea of a perfect end to a wonderful day out here. Do you love it as much as I do, Kent?”

  “Definitely. You should tell your daddy to give you the property, then you could move out here.”

  Heather was wearing a pair of skimpy white shorts and a bright red tank top with no bra. He could see her nipples straining against the flimsy material. Any minute now, if she didn’t move, he was going to slam her against the car and take her right here, out in the open. She moved.

  “Oh, darlin’, didn’t I tell you? The houseis in my name. Daddy deeded it over to me when I turned eighteen. Mama insisted. It can’t be sold, though. Daddy wants it to stay in the family. We would all have to agree if one of us wanted to sell it. I don’t think Daddy even cares anymore. He hasn’t been out here for years.”

  “Really,” was all Kent could think of to say.

  “I’m ready if you are, darlin’.”

  Kent climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The Buick was a nice car, but it wasn’t his Porsche. A Buick was a family car. He belonged behind the wheel of a candy apple red Porsche, not a family car.

  At the end of the driveway, Heather ordered him to stop the car. “I always like to look back. To me this is the most beautiful spot on earth. I grew up here. My fondest memories are of this river house.”

  Kent had no idea Heather was so sentimental. He watched as tears rolled down her cheeks. For one wild moment he actually felt protective of her. He was stunned at what he was feeling.

  He tried to see the river house through Heather’s eyes. The long and stately row of angel oaks lining the winding driveway created a beautiful, lacy umbrella where the sun made dancing patterns on the cobblestones. At the last bend in the driveway he could see the stately old river mansion with the massive white pillars. Diamond-shaped windows, some of them stained glass, winked in the bright sunlight, casting hundreds of miniature rainbows. He sniffed, savoring the river smell mixed with the heady scent of the confederate jasmine. He nodded. For some unexplained reason, he reached across for Heather’s hand. He squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled through her tears.

  Heather’s voice was a whisper when she turned around in her seat. “Can you picture little children running through the moss and making little hidey-holes in the trees to leave notes for each other? Can you see a swing on the tree in the front lawn hanging between the moss? I used to have one. I would always try to swing high enough to reach for the moss, but I was too little. Then the swing broke and was never replaced.”

  Kids,Kent thought. Kids meant babies first. That meant he would be a father and at some point in time a grandfather.Jesus. A wild look crossed Kent’s face. He floored the gas pedal and shot out onto the country road, leaving a trail of dust and gravel behind.

  Monday morning turned into one of the nicest days of late summer, in Kent Bliss’s opinion. So nice, in fact, he decided to walk to work. His arms swinging, humming under his breath, he walked the short distance, stopping for coffee at a Krispy Kreme. He eyed the sugary confections and at the last second bought two blackberry jelly donuts with frosting on top. He could do with something sweet for a change. He was still trying to figure out how he’d dropped eight pounds while eating mostly fast food. Stress, he decided, living on the edge and not knowing from one day to the next what was going to happen.

  Donuts and coffee in hand, he opened the door to the realty office ten minutes later to see the receptionist trying to signal him. For what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe the man wearing a vibrant Hawaiian shirt standing in the waiting room. Perhaps a referral. He set his purchases down on a table next to a stack ofPeople magazines.

  Kent was about to walk over to the man when he saw the receptionist shaking her head, her eyes wide and anxious. He mouthed the word, “what,” but he was too late. The Hawaiian shirt advanced, his hand outstretched. “Kent Bliss?”

  Kent grasped the man’s hand, and said, “Yes, and you are?”

  “The guy who’s serving you these divorce papers. Have a nice day now.” Kent looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand. He felt like a fool.

  There was a squeaky whine in the receptionist’s voice when she said, “I tried to warn you.”

  “Well, you should have tried harder, Eileen,” Kent snarled. He marched back to his office and slammed the stapled papers onto his desk. He realized he’d left his coffee and donuts in the reception area, so he had to go back for them. He shot Eileen a hateful look, pleased at the way she cowered in her chair.

  Damn, I didn’t expect Rosalie to really go through with it.He thought it would take her at least a year to get her ducks in a row, and thenmaybe she’d file. Here she was, a few months later filing for divorce. Rosalie never did anything quickly, she usually had to make a blueprint, study it, revise it, shelve it for a while, then start over because of some minute little detail. This quick filing was suspicious. Either it had something to do with the winning lottery ticket he was convinced she was holding, or it had something to do with Jack Silver.

  Kent bit into one of the jelly donuts.Just what I need, a sugar high. As he chewed and sipped, he perused the document in front of him.Who is Rosalie’s lawyer? He blanched when he saw the name Timothy Donovan. He’d screwed around with enough divorcées to know Donovan was every woman’s dream attorney. Well, he’d just have to get a better lawyer than Donovan. One who was mercilessand greedy.

  It was midafternoon before Kent found time to make inquiries concerning a divorce attorney. He pulled his Rolodex closer and started by calling just about every female he knew who had gone the divorce route. All, with the exception of a woman named Heidi Anders, extolled the virtues of one Timothy Donovan. Heidi’s story was a lot different. She said not only did she lose, she lost big, and her husband’s attorney was a sleazebag named Steven Wiley. “He was so slick, I never knew what hit me,” she complained. She went on to recite a litany of other men who had used the same sleazebag, and all of them had come out winners. “He’s expensive, too,” she said. “When am I going to see you again, Kent?” There was no future with Heidi Anders other than the fact that she smelled good. She’d been working at the perfume counter at Dillard’s since her divorce. Plus, she worked on commission. No expensive gifts coming from that direction, that was for sure.

  “As soon as I get this mess I’m in cleaned up. Keep your chin up, honey. I’ll call you.” Kent drew a big red X through Heidi’s name in the Rolodex. At least he had a starting point. He wondered just what expensive meant. With Heidi it could mean five hundred dollars. Or it could mean five thousand. If he remembered correctly, her husband headed up a twenty-man CPA firm that brought in big bucks. He wondered what she’d done to incur her husband’s wrath. She was certainly beautiful and sh
apely. Like he cared. He snapped the Rolodex shut and yanked out the Savannah phone book.

  Kent looked down at his desk calendar. Maloy would have no complaints. He’d kept his nose to the grindstone and now had four new listings, four outright sales, three pending sales, and four more showings to go to tomorrow. His boss would laugh all the way to the bank. Hell, he himself might even get a giggle or two. Then he thought about the feds and the state and realized he wouldn’t be doing any giggling. Bastards. They took one-third of everything he worked for. One-third of all his commissions would go to them. He’d still be a pauper. He heaved a sigh of relief that Heather had come through with the ten thousand dollars. It would tide him over until he received the commission checks he was due. He’d worry about paying her back later on. He knew how to play that game. Actually, he was an expert at the game. With no equal. He felt proud of himself as he reached for his jacket. It was time to pop into the sleazebag’s office. Why bother with an appointment? People paid more attention when you showed up with an attitude and a cash retainer.

  Kent jotted down the attorney’s address, knowing it wasn’t in the best section of town.Less overhead, he told himself. He didn’t say good-bye to any of the employees. He did straighten his tie and tug at the cuffs of his dress shirt, however.

  Thirty-five minutes later, Kent pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the strip mall in which Steven Wiley practiced law. His offices were almost at the end of the run-down strip, sandwiched in between a Dollar Store and a mom-and-pop candy store.

  Kent stepped out of the car and immediately started to laugh when he stepped on a weed that came halfway up his leg. He looked around. The asphalt was cracked and splintered, the center full of potholes where giant weeds grew like trees. He wondered if he should call Rosalie to tell her what a bonanza this lot could be for her business. He was still laughing to himself when he opened the door to the offices of Wiley and Wiley, Attorneys-at-Law.