Born To Be Wild

by Catherine Coulter

  She drove slowly, even stopping once to take in the sand dunes that glowed golden beneath the afternoon sun.

  When she turned onto Central Boulevard and stopped for her first red light, the first person she saw was Chief of Police Jack Wolf, a big man with a hard face and intense blue eyes that were too smart and seemed to see too much. He was walking purposefully, dressed in dark gray slacks, white shirt, no tie, and a dark brown leather jacket. He appeared deep in thought. And then, for no good reason, he looked up at the convertible, and saw her. He did a little double take, as if he couldn’t believe who it was. His hard face seemed to turn to stone. He did not look like a happy man, definitely not ready to do handsprings at the sight of her. Well, big surprise there, not after he’d tossed her in jail before she’d left three years before. She gave him a sweet smile and a jaunty little wave, but she wasn’t about to stop and have a nice little tête-à-tête with him.

  Some things never changed, she thought, as she continued down Central Boulevard, past a good dozen downtown stores she’d known since she was a child, having arrived in Goddard Bay with her family at the age of five. She breathed in the clear, sharp bay air, glad she’d rented a convertible, and made a note to check out the new boutiques. The town seemed to be thriving with the growing tourist trade.

  She waved at Peter Perlman, owner of Pete’s Paint Store, who yelled a greeting at her and grinned his head off. His place was gossip central in town, so by nightfall everyone in Goddard Bay would know Mary Lisa Beverly was back.

  She wondered as she drove toward her parents’ house on Riverview Drive how her mother and sisters would greet her.

  MARY Lisa walked the neat flagstone path to the front door, looking around her as she walked, as if checking out a set for a shoot. Nothing had changed. Her mother had always loved flowers, and they were still everywhere, bursting with wild color in the late spring, the scents of the roses mixing with the scent of the jasmine on the light breeze. At the entry, beside the beautifully stenciled glass doors, Mary Lisa touched her finger to the doorbell and wondered what role she would be called upon to play in this upcoming scene with her mother. The return of the prodigal daughter? No, that would require her mother to show a bit of joy at the sight of her. Well, who knew? It had been three years. Her father had visited her perhaps a dozen times in L.A., even helped her through the experience of buying her first house, in Malibu. But her mother had never come, not that she’d wanted her to. And she hadn’t asked her father. She hadn’t wanted him to have to make excuses.

  So why did I come back here? Fact is, New York’s lovely this time of year. So is London. So is Grapevine, Texas. People don’t change, they simply become more so. And the problem with being gone for three years is that you forget the bone-deep hurt waiting for you until it’s too late.

  It was too late. She rang the doorbell again, and heard soft footfalls approaching.

  The door opened. Her mother saw her daughter standing there, her hair windblown, big sunglasses covering half her face, the handle of the wheeled carry-on in her hand. There was a moment of silence, of bland scrutiny, and then, “Well, it’s nice that you’ve come back, dear.”

  Not promising. Mary Lisa made no move to embrace the elegant woman who stood in front of her, the woman who was her mother. She wasn’t stupid. She took off her sunglasses and slipped them into the bulging side of her hobo bag, which weighed five pounds on a light day, and gave her mother a big smile. “Would you be interested in some Tupperware, ma’am?”

  “Sorry, dear,” her mother said without pause, “all our storage containers are glass.”

  “That was a good line, Mother.”

  “Where do you think you got that mouth of yours?”

  Hey, maybe we’ve got some softening here. At least some recognition. “How are you doing?”

  Her mother looked at Mary Lisa’s single carry-on and stepped back. “Do come in, dear, we can’t have you standing there.” Her mother turned away from her and walked toward the living room. She called out from the doorway, “Betty, would you please bring some tea and two cups? We have an unexpected visitor with a carry-on.”

  Unexpected visitor? Well, that was better than an unwelcome visitor, or maybe it was a euphemism. The living room looked the same as it had three years ago, with one new addition, a side chair with dark green satin upholstery that looked vaguely Regency, another jewel set in her mother’s beautiful living room with the rest of her nineteenth-century English antiques. Mary Lisa sat down in it across from her mother. For the first time she saw faint lines of dissatisfaction around her mouth. What did her mother have to be unhappy about?

  In that moment, looking around at the magnificent, light-filled living room with its precious old furniture, Mary Lisa saw herself as a girl, carefully polishing all those chairs, the two sofas, the precious marquetry table. She remembered stained fingers and criticism.

  Mary Lisa said, “It’s been a long time, Mom, too long. I don’t have to go back until Sunday. I thought I’d come for a visit, see how everyone was doing.”

  “Everyone is fine. But of course you saw your father two months ago.” Her mother frowned when Betty walked into the living room, carrying a tray holding more than the tea and two cups she’d ordered.

  Betty Harmon said, “Oh, Mary Lisa, hello! It is so good to see you again. Mrs. Abrams heard your voice, said you loved her spice cake, and she was so happy that she had a bit left, just for you.”

  Betty stood beaming at Mary Lisa in the face of her mother’s silence.

  Mary Lisa was on her feet in an instant. She hugged Betty and leaned back to look down at all five feet two inches of her. “How wonderful to see you. Those dimples, how I always envied you those dimples.” Her mother was waiting to lambaste her; Mary Lisa knew the signs. Even after three years of not having an occasion to even think about it, she threw herself into the breach as if she’d never been gone. She continued talking, nonsense really, while Betty poured tea, smiling and laughing, never took a breath while Betty sliced her a piece of spice cake, and finally turned to ask her mother if she’d like a slice. Her mother said, “That’s quite enough, Mary Lisa. Betty, no cake for me. Now, Mary Lisa will be staying until Sunday, so if you would make certain her room is ready…” She raised a brow to her daughter. “This means three nights?”

  Mary Lisa nodded, wishing she could simply get up, grab her suitcase and her slice of spice cake, and march back out the front door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Betty turned and left the living room, seemingly oblivious of the displeasure in Mrs. Beverly’s voice, but Mary Lisa knew she wasn’t. Deaf or blind, you could still feel the freeze.

  “Mrs. Abrams insists on making the spice cake for your father. No one else eats it. No one else likes it.”

  “Good, that means I get to finish it off before Dad gets home.”

  Kathleen Beverly was as tall as her daughter, and her black hair was cut in a bob and untouched by gray due to her hairdresser’s diligence. She looked her daughter up and down. “I’m surprised you’re eating that. I understand the camera adds ten pounds.”

  “That’s true. Aren’t I lucky I have Dad’s genes?” She knew that even with a good dose of his genes, she still had to watch what she ate, and exercise like mad, but she didn’t feel like conceding the point. “He’s eaten everything in sight for as long as I can remember and never gains an ounce.”

  Her mother nodded, not looking all that happy about it. Mary Lisa didn’t blame her.

  She gave her mother a sunny smile. “He told me once that he and I were aliens and that I’d surely bless him when I grew up. He was right, I do. Is Kelly engaged yet to her Prince Charming? She e-mailed me about him.”

  TWELVE

  Her mother started to say something, but suddenly held it back, with an expression not unlike a soap actor’s before a commercial break. What was this about? Mary Lisa prodded a bit. “She was excited, said he was rich and handsome, and not a sleaze like the guys down in L.A. She ended it
with ‘I might marry him, who knows?’”

  Mary Lisa had said enough. She knew a minefield when she saw one. Had Prince Charming’s crown lost its luster? Had he belched at dinner? Or worse, said something distressingly common in her mother’s hearing?

  Her mother sipped her tea, shrugged indifferently.

  “Kelly called it off, two days ago.”

  “Goodness, why?”

  “I believe she called him a controlling jerk.”

  “That’s a surprise. She sure was high on him last week. What happened?”

  “Who knows? Sometimes a girl’s blinders come off before it’s too late.”

  “Who is this jerk? Is he local? She never told me his name.”

  “John Goddard.”

  “John Goddard. Hmmm. I think I remember him, at least I remember his name. I was pretty young when he left to go back east to college, right?”

  “That’s right. It’s a pity he turned out to be unsatisfactory since his family is one of the families in the area. They own a good deal of property and business interests in and around Goddard Bay. At first your father and I were very pleased, but apparently he didn’t suit her.” She looked toward the fireplace and frowned.

  Mary Lisa wondered why Kelly had really changed her mind. Most girls, and especially Kelly, could tell whether a guy was a jerk pretty fast-it wasn’t usually a sudden epiphany.

  Maybe this John Goddard was a selfish lover, that would certainly be a deal breaker, even qualify him as a jerk.

  She said, “Kelly’s young and pretty, there’ll be lots of men who come her way.”

  “Yes, of course. After Jared, we thought-well, never mind that. It’s water under the bridge.”

  “What bridge? Who’s Jared?”

  Her mother flapped her hands. “Oh, all right. Jared Hennessey was a mistake, nothing more, over quickly. He’s gone, moved out of town. She’s quite over him. I think Kelly’s grown to be as beautiful as Monica. Maybe even more so. She has her degree in communications from Oregon State University, an excellent field, and she could do anything she wants to do. She could be an actress like you if she wanted to, so many people have told her that after they’ve watched you on TV. But I don’t think she would be happy in Los Angeles-it’s so plastic and cheap and they expect the women to be whores to get anywhere.”

  Mary Lisa absorbed the multiple blows without a whimper. It had been three years and yet it seemed like yesterday. Nothing ever changed-sad, but true. But the difference now was that she had thicker skin. She said easily, “I believe the whore part had some truth to it in the bad old days, for both men and women actually.”

  “How pathetic.” Her mother picked up her teacup and looked over the rim at her middle daughter, one corner of her mouth curled up in a hint of a smile. “Aren’t you going to ask about Monica?”

  “How is Monica doing?”

  “She getting ready to run for the Oregon House of Representatives.”

  I’ve fallen into the Twilight Zone. “Monica, a politician? Her degree is in art history. She’s hardly even voted.”

  “So what? She’s gorgeous, bright, and knows how to get what she wants. The incumbent’s weak, too old for the energy it takes to get things done, and has broken his promises too many times now.” That sounded memorized, like she was spouting the party line.

  “There are-what, sixty state representatives, if I remember my civics class?”

  Her mother nodded. “Yes, two-year terms. They meet on the second Monday in January in odd years. The sessions usually last about six months, but she’ll be serving on interim committees after that to study issues scheduled to come up in the next legislative session. She wouldn’t have to spend all her time in Salem.”

  Mary Lisa agreed with her mother. Monica would make an excellent politician. It wasn’t any calling for public service, it was the draw of power and notoriety that would be attracting her sister. Monica had always wanted to be standing in the spotlight, center stage, more than Mary Lisa. Now that she considered it, Monica and politics were a perfect fit. “She’ll be good. She’s ambitious and focused and she’s tough.”

  “The Board of County Commissioners certainly think she’s a strong candidate. They’re saying she could be a state senator by the time she’s thirty-five. I’m glad to see you’re over your snit with her, Mary Lisa.”

  Mary Lisa cocked her head slightly to one side and put on her best poker face. “What snit would that be, Mother?”

  “Your resentment of your sister ever since she married Mark Bridges. It’s time you got over it and moved on.”

  What was she to say to that? Of course there was some truth to it. She remembered what an infatuated twit she’d been, ready to leave L.A. and her brand-new role as Sunday Cavendish on Born to Be Wild, forget all about an acting career for the dubious privilege of becoming Mark Bridges’s wife, move back to Goddard Bay and-what? Thank the good Lord that noodle-brained, rudderless Mary Lisa Beverly no longer existed. She seemed like a stranger from another lifetime. Mark Bridges was as handsome as Brad Pitt playing Achilles but without the rough edges. No, he was as smooth as a rock in a creek bed, and, unfortunately, faithless as a French ally. Had she really been that stupid, that recently? Yes, she had, but that was before she became a bonafide grown-up, even if she did have some goo left in her otherwise solid center. Mary Lisa smiled, a joyous, full-bodied smile, and sat forward a little. “Between us, Mother, let me tell you that I send endless thanks heavenward that Monica took Mark away from me. Imagine if I’d married him before he betrayed me.” She actually shuddered.

  Her mother’s voice was sharp. “You make it sound inevitable, his betrayal.”

  “I think he’s that kind of man.”

  “That’s your bitterness talking, Mary Lisa, your envy. Mark would never betray Monica. He worships her. Nor was it really betrayal. After all, you weren’t married, and that was the whole point. There were no vows to break. He married Monica; he would never look at another woman now.”

  Mary Lisa grinned. “If he did, Monica would cut off his b-ah, she’d make him sorry he was ever born.”

  Red stained her mother’s cheeks. “Is that the way you talk down in Los Angeles?”

  “Well, it seems to be the way everyone speaks most everywhere unless they’re with their mothers and then they catch themselves. As I did.”

  Her mother swiftly got to her feet, smoothed down her lovely cream linen slacks. “We eat dinner at six. You’ll need time to get yourself together, Mary Lisa. You can go up now.” She nodded and left the living room. Mary Lisa slowly ate some more spice cake. Welcome home, Mary Lisa. She wondered yet again as she climbed the stairs what had brought her here from L.A. Maybe it was some vague sense she’d be safe at home. Well, perhaps her body might be safer here, but not her spirit.

  THIRTEEN

  “He’s a bastard.”

  You said that already, Mary Lisa thought, but she nodded dutifully. She was beginning to wish John Goddard had never been born, much less swum into her sister’s waters. She’d already listened to a five-minute harangue and it showed no signs of winding down. “He’s a dreadful lover, selfish, rolls off and snores like a bull. And all he does is work, work, work. I never saw him and if I called him at his office, he was rude, or had his secretary kiss me off with some excuse about his being in court or meeting with investigators or a defense attorney or some scummy criminal. Always another criminal, no end to them. I heard Mr. Millsom-you remember, Mary Lisa, the lawyer-he said John Goddard didn’t care about right or wrong anyway, just winning, about carving notches on his belt. Mr. Millsom said it’s pure ambition and he’ll do anything, including prosecuting innocent people, to get ahead.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I can’t believe I ever saw anything in him.”

  “He sounds pretty bad, all right. Mother said he was crude and controlling, didn’t like you being independent.”

  “Sure. That goes without saying. He works with lowlifes all day, naturally he’d be
come crude.”

  “You mean other lawyers?”

  “Ha ha. Yes, His Highness expected me to be at his beck and call, as if he thought I’d stay in my apartment until he announced what he wanted to do.”

  “What apartment? I thought you were living here.”

  “Jared and I moved to an apartment. Then I kicked him out. I kept the apartment, but after I broke it off with John two days ago, I decided I’d stay here for a while.”

  “So tell me about Jared.”

  “Jared Hennessey. You never met him. He talked me into eloping with him, but he turned out to be a con who only wanted to get to Daddy’s money. I just saw through him a little late. He’s gone now and I really don’t like to talk about him anymore.”

  “You were married to this guy? I mean, he was your husband?”

  “Yeah, for all of two weeks, then poof, it was over.”

  And no one bothered to tell me, Mary Lisa thought, not even Kelly.

  “He works out too much, Mary Lisa. I’d want to go to a movie or a restaurant, but no, he wanted to work out, or run, claimed it de-stressed him. He thought only about himself.”

  “Jared Hennessey?”

  “No, John Goddard.”

  “Okay. Well, it’s too bad you didn’t notice all this bad stuff-about John Goddard-until after you’d slept with him.”

  To her surprise, Kelly looked down at her Ferragamo-clad feet, then shoved her hands into the pockets of her black slacks. “Yeah, well, I didn’t get pregnant, no thanks to him.”

  Now this was serious. “You mean he refused to wear a condom?”

  Kelly jumped to her feet. “I’m hungry. You sure are skinny, Mary Lisa. Oh yeah, did you know? Mom called Monica, asked her to dinner. With Mark of course. You’re not going to make a scene, are you?”