by Francis Ray
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. A bemused smile on her face, Claire went to answer.
“John agreed to be the Man of Bliss,” Brooke told her as soon as Claire opened the door.
The women squealed and only pulled apart when Lorraine drove up. They both ran to the car to tell her the great news.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Brooke said.
“Yes,” Lorraine said, her eyes overly bright. “I’ve been with Thomas, and I just purchased two more cases for Bliss.”
“We’re on a roll!” Brooke declared. “Things couldn’t be better.”
Claire grinned.
Lorraine promptly burst into tears.
CHAPTER NINE
“I never imagined it would come to this.”
Claire and Brooke exchanged helpless looks as Lorraine sat between them on the sofa. After her outburst she’d told them everything. “If you want to drop out or cut back on your time we’d understand,” Claire offered, putting a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“Sure,” Brooke chimed in. “You could be a silent partner.”
Tears rolled down Lorraine’s cheeks. “I don’t want to be a silent partner. This was my idea.”
“Then tell Hamilton to get a grip and run your life the way you want,” Brooke said, obviously still irritated at men in general.
“If only he could be as understanding as Thomas.” Lorraine cried harder.
Claire shot an annoyed look at Brooke. “Lorraine, you’re in an unenviable situation. As difficult as it is, you have to decide what you want the most … to make Hamilton happy or stay with Bliss. We can’t tell you what to do.”
Brooke opened her mouth, but closed it when Claire shook her head. “Whatever decision you make, we’re behind you.”
“You’d still be a part of Bliss,” Brooke assured, following Claire’s lead. “Like Claire said, we’re behind you.”
“I’ve always put Hamilton and the children first. He’s never had to doubt my love or faith in him.” Lorraine straightened. “Perhaps he needs a little reminder. Let’s see how he likes it when I’m not there for him to pick up his clothes from the cleaners, pack his suitcase or prepare his favorite meals.”
“I like it already.” Brooke grinned.
Claire’s expression brightened. “I recall Mama going on strike when Daddy was popping off about how he could take care of himself. In less than a week he was singing her praises and helping around the house.”
Lorraine dried her tears. “Hamilton won’t capitulate so easily. But I’m not giving in either.” She came to her feet. “We better get going or we’ll be late for the appointment to sign the lease and then meet the contractor.”
* * *
An hour later they signed the lease on the property. Thomas gave them the key and a bottle of chilled vintage champagne.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you.” He shook hands with Claire and Brooke, and hugged Lorraine.
“Thank you again, Thomas,” Lorraine said, slowly straightening. “Your support means so very much.”
“I want to see you happy, Lorraine.”
“She will be,” Brooke said, casually drawing Lorraine away from Thomas and heading to the door with the bottle of champagne. “See you later.”
The three women left Thomas’s office, then drove in their separate cars to Bliss to meet the contractor. Brooke popped the trunk of her car and removed a wicker basket.
“What’s that for?” Claire asked as they started down the street toward the shop.
Brooke smiled. “You’ll see.”
Standing in front of the glass-front store Lorraine removed the key from her purse, then looked at the other women. “I think we should do this together.” Claire’s hand and Brooke’s hand settled on Lorraine’s as she turned the key and opened the door. They walked in together.
“We did it,” Claire said, turning around in a circle. “We did it!”
“We certainly did, and I think this calls for a celebration.” Setting the picnic hamper on the counter, Brooke removed a bottle of Cristal and three glasses. “Randolph’s favorite, but it’s good stuff. We’ll save Thomas’s for the opening night.”
Claire took her glass. “What do we drink to?”
“Success, what else?” Brooke said, filling their glasses.
Lorraine lifted her glass. “To the success of Bliss.”
Repeating the toast, the women clinked glasses and drank.
Claire took another sip of the golden liquid, decided it wasn’t half bad and finished it off. “I could get used to this.”
Brooke recorked the bottle. “Randolph might have been a rat, but he knew how to live. I miss that.”
“Not for long,” Claire said. “Bliss is going to be the place for the discriminating buyer for bath and body products for herself and her home. The Web site is almost finished. I’ll upload the pictures of John as soon as you take them and have them developed.”
“Me?” Brooke’s eyes widened in alarm.
“You’re the PR person, you know what will entice a woman.” Claire wrinkled her nose. “Besides, we can’t afford to pay a professional photographer. You can use my thirty-five-millimeter.”
“I have a digital,” Lorraine piped up. “It was a Christmas present from Hamilton. He’ll help, whether he wants to or not.”
The door opened and a slender man dressed in a chambray shirt and jeans entered. “Hello, ladies, I’m Ralph Hendrix, the painter.”
The young man’s gaze briefly touched Lorraine and Claire before it settled on Brooke and stayed. Smiling she walked toward him, her hand out, her smile dazzling.
Lorraine and Claire hung back and watched Brooke do her thing.
* * *
The table wasn’t set.
Hamilton frowned, then anger began to build. He had known this would happen. With a quick twist of his wrist he checked the time. Seven-fifteen. He turned and saw the note propped against the coffee machine.
Snatching it up he read it once, then twice, not believing what he was seeing.
Since you didn’t know what time you were coming home and you’re leaving in the morning I decided to spend the night at Claire’s. Your suit is in your closet. You’ll have to pack yourself. I’m sure you won’t mind. Love, Lorraine. P.S. Have a safe trip.
Tossing the note aside, he flipped through the phone book, then dialed. He paced as the phone rang for a fourth, then a fifth time.
“Hello,” answered a voice filled with laughter.
“May I speak with Lorraine?”
“Who is calling please?”
“Her husband,” he snapped, his hand clenching on the cordless phone. There was a brief silence then Lorraine picked up.
“Hamilton, is everything all right?”
How could it be when she wasn’t home? “I want you to come home.”
“Are you ill?” she asked, her voice sounding strange.
He hadn’t meant to frighten her, but panic had seized him as soon as he read her note. “You should be at home.”
“Hamilton, I never complained once when you had to work late or go out of town on business. You, of all people, should understand what it takes to get a business running.”
“You’re my wife.” She was his life.
“I’m also a person who wants to achieve something on her own,” she said quietly. “Besides, I thought you wouldn’t mind my not being there.”
“That’s idiotic. Come home this instant.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because we’re celebrating the signing of the lease with a bottle of Cristal.”
“You’ve been drinking?” he gasped. Lorraine never had more than a glass of wine.
She giggled. “We all have.”
“I knew this was a mistake. I’m coming to get you and bring you home.”
“No.”
He was heading for the garage when that single word stopped him in hi
s tracks. “What did you say?”
“No. Hamilton, you had your chance. Now it’s my turn. I never dragged you home from a business meeting.”
“That’s not a business meeting.”
“It’s a celebration, and I know you’ve had plenty of them when you’ve closed a big deal,” she told him, her voice becoming less mellow and more sharp with each sentence. “If you don’t want to give me the same support I gave you, then that’s your decision. I love you, but I’m not coming home. Have a good trip, and don’t forget to take your sinus medication.”
The line went dead and Hamilton stared at the phone. She’d hung up on him. His dependable, steady-as-a-rock and unflappable wife of thirty-eight years had hung up on him.
What was he going to do?
* * *
“You want me to call a cab?” Claire asked, seeing the misery on her friend’s face. Perhaps the price for Lorraine’s independence was a bit high.
“No,” she said, leaning her head back on the sofa. “I won’t heel because Hamilton thinks I should. I was there for him. He has to learn to be there for me.”
Claire came to her feet. She hurt for her friend and had no idea how to help except to be there for her. Her experience with men was too limited to attempt to give advice. “Brooke, put the Cristal away and let’s all go for a walk on the beach to clear our head. Then we can get back to work.”
“I think I liked you better before you became a general,” Brooke said, but she unfolded her legs from beneath her on the other end of the sofa, then pulled Lorraine up beside her. “Come on, Lorraine, and I know the perfect spot to scream out your frustration and anger and no one will think about calling the cops.”
Looping arms, the women left through the French doors and walked down to the beach.
* * *
Two hours later Lorraine was as miserable as ever.
The women were sitting around a card table labeling soap. The trash can by Lorraine had a growing number of discarded tissues inside. Just then Lorraine plucked another one, and tried to stem the moisture from her eyes.
Claire had said she wasn’t going to give advice. At the time she had meant it, but the more she saw of Lorraine’s misery and remembered the wonderful marriage she had, the more she wondered if Lorraine’s decision had been the best one. She stayed out of people’s business because she didn’t want to be involved. She’d always been shy and unsure of herself. Losing herself with an inanimate computer had been the best choice for her.
But with the birth of Bliss that would no longer be possible. She’d have to learn to reach out and help people. She might not know much about relationships, but she knew not talking wasn’t going to solve anything.
“Lorraine, I’d give anything to have what you have with Hamilton.”
Lorraine looked up at her and tears spilled unheeded down her cheeks.
Going to the bedroom, Claire returned with her purse and car keys. She pulled Lorraine to her feet. “You and Hamilton can be at odds when he’s in town, but not when he’s about to go out of town on a trip tomorrow.”
“I don’t want him to think he’s won.”
“Do you want to live with the possibility that something could happen to either of you and your last conversation was in anger?” Claire asked quietly.
Lorraine flinched and tucked her head. “No.”
“Where’re you two going?” Brooke asked, coming from the kitchen with a glass of Evian.
“Lorraine is going home. I’m driving her car,” Claire answered. “You’re up to following me in your car and bringing me back.”
“Takes more than a couple of glasses of Cristal to do me in.” Brooke set the glass on a coaster and grabbed her own purse.
Claire wished the same could be said of Lorraine. Claire had a feeling that she’d drank more because of the problems with her husband. “Lorraine, I’ve admired you from the first time I saw you. Surely you can think of another way of showing Hamilton your independence without making yourself miserable, and possibly driving a wedge between you two. You love him.”
Lorraine sniffed. “But does he love me enough to accept the new direction my life has taken?”
Closing the front door, Claire took Lorraine to her car and put her in the passenger seat. “You’ll never know hiding at my house. If I’ve learned anything it’s that hiding from life is a mistake.”
* * *
Hamilton didn’t know what to say.
“Good evening, Hamilton,” Claire said. “We finished earlier than we anticipated.”
Hamilton stared at Lorraine, her face set, standing between Claire and another woman he didn’t know. He stepped back from the doorway. “Come in.”
“I don’t believe you’ve met Brooke Dunlap, former marketing manager for Middleton,” Claire said, finally releasing Lorraine’s arm.
The third partner. Beautiful, but he didn’t like the way she was dressed with her midriff showing. Perhaps she was the bad influence on Lorraine. Claire had always impressed him as quiet and a homebody. “Ms. Dunlap.”
“Mr. Averhart,” Brooke said, studying him just as closely as he was studying her.
“Good night, Lorraine. We’ll see you in the morning,” Claire said, then to him, “Have a good trip, Hamilton.”
“Thank you. Goodnight.”
Wordlessly, Lorraine started up the stairs. She knew it drove him crazy when she gave him the silent treatment.
“Haven’t you anything to say?”
“I’m home. Doesn’t that say enough?”
It said something, but he wasn’t sure what. He followed her into their bedroom and saw the mess he’d made of packing his clothes. Lorraine had always packed for him. He fully expected her to stop and straighten it out, but she walked past without glancing at the suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed.
Feeling as if his life was spiraling out of control, Hamilton sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the closed bathroom door. His forte was bringing sanity to chaos, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of what to do or say to make his marriage the way it was before Lorraine got the ludicrous notion to go into business for herself.
He ran his hand distractedly over his head. It certainly wasn’t the money. Her parents might have judged a person by the number of zeroes or the lack thereof, in a person’s checking account, but Lorraine had never done so. She’d been happy eating the cheap, greasy hamburgers he could barely afford while they were students at Baylor University in Waco. Later when they’d married, there had been a lot of spaghetti, beans, and macaroni. She’d laughed once and commented that she ought to write a cookbook for young couples on a budget.
Money wasn’t the reason, but what was? The only answer that kept coming back to him was that she was growing tired of him. Their life was no longer enough to keep her happy. Just the idea made his world tilt.
The door opened and she came out wearing a long V-neck silk nightgown that clung to her firm breasts before slanting over her flat stomach, then molded over her rounded hips. His body hardened. He’d wanted her the moment he’d first seen her. Didn’t she realize how much he loved and needed her?
Passing within arm’s length of him, her perfume reached out and punched him in the gut. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers up over her bare shoulder. “Good night, Hamilton.”
He wanted to go to her—pull her into his arms, kiss her, love her—but he wasn’t sure of her reaction. He’d fully expected her to give up her plan to open a shop once she saw that it was putting a strain on their marriage.
She was home, but that was all that could be said.
“Hamilton, could you cut off the overhead light, please?” she asked.
He was across the room in no time and flicked off the switch. “You feel all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
He didn’t think, he just went to her. Lorraine was never sick. He rested his hand on her forehead. “Should I get you something?”
She turned over on her ba
ck and stared up at him. “Yes. You.”
“Lorraine.” Her name tumbled from his lips as he pulled her to him, his mouth finding hers. There was a faint taste of the wine she’d drank, but there was also the much sweeter taste of Lorraine.
His hand swept up the curve of her waist to her breast. His hand closed gently over the soft mound. They moaned together. He moved over her and found her wet and hot. There was a sweet desperation in their lovemaking this time … as if both were aware of the trouble in their marriage and afraid.
Afterwards, he pulled her close and listened to the reassuring sounds of her breathing as she slept. His arms tightened possessively.
He still had time to get her to change her mind and come home. He just had to be smarter.
Nothing was taking his wife away from him.
CHAPTER TEN
Inviting a man to lunch shouldn’t be so difficult.
Her hands bracketing the telephone on the kitchen counter, Claire stared at it as if she’d never seen one before. In the past half hour since she’d come up with the idea of asking Gray to lunch Saturday, she’d been staring at the phone a lot. She might be relatively decisive in trying to tell Lorraine what to do, but not when it came to her own life.
A little lunch to thank him for all he’d done for Bliss was all she had in mind. The idea seemed a good one earlier; now it had her worried. Gray was used to the best money could buy. Perhaps a simple lunch at her house tomorrow wouldn’t appeal to him. Perhaps he already had plans.
Claire closed her eyes and leaned her head against the glass-front cabinet. She was doing it again. Running from life. Opening her eyes, she picked up the phone and dialed before she had a chance to let doubts stop her again. She’d memorized the number from all the times she’d tried to call him.
“Gray Livingston’s office. May I help you?”
Claire’s hand clamped and unclamped on the receiver. She’d forgotten one important fact. She’d never gotten past his secretary in the past. “I, er…”