by Elaine Fox
—Bitsy
The mere mention of Aunt Edna was enough to infuse him with guilt. He hadn’t been to see her in two weeks, and while she seemed to have a great deal of trouble keeping things straight sometimes—like who his sister was, that Sutter was himself and not his father, that she, Edna, was not sixteen anymore—she always seemed to know exactly how long it had been since Sutter had come to call.
He met his sister Lizzy in the foyer as he entered Sunrise Hills—a name that always made him wonder if they’d considered Sunset Hills first before realizing that was a bit bleak.
She rolled her eyes as she approached. “I wouldn’t even think about it today, Sutter, unless you’ve got several hours to listen to all of Mum and Da’s failings. I spent the better part of this morning trying to convince her I wasn’t actually Mum only to be told that I’d always been a spineless pillock and not to get shirty with her.”
Sutter chuckled. “Ah, the fiesty mood.”
Lizzy sighed and ran her hands over her pulled-back hair. She always wore her dark blond, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a black barrette, perhaps so that the large, unusual earrings she wore would show to best advantage. She was a jewelry designer who taught art at the University of Virginia, and was always wearing something she or one of her students had made.
“The exhausting mood,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Markham wants to speak with you about the fees. Apparently they’re going up again.”
Sutter removed his suitcoat and draped it over his arm. The day had gotten hot, and the air conditioner could not keep up with the sun in the atrium foyer. “That’s not a problem.”
“I know it’s not.” She gave him a warm smile. “And I think you’re an absolute prince never to complain about footing the whole bill here. Mrs. Markham did say there was an opening for a semiprivate room if we wanted to move her, but I told her you probably wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Absolutely not. Can you imagine Aunt Edna with a roommate? She already steals the attendants’ keys at every opportunity. Imagine what she’d knock off from a roommate.”
Lizzy shook her head. “She likes the sound of them. You’d think they’d let us give her a set of her own, if it would make her happy. I think it makes her feel as if she might just be able to hop out into the car at any moment.”
“Yes, and the next thing you know she’d be doing just that.”
Lizzy sighed again. “I know. And starkers at that, no doubt. Yes, I’m sure this is the best place for her…It’s just, well it’s the principle of the thing. I mean, really, for this price we could all be living in Trump Tower with a private nurse for her.”
He smiled at her gently. “Now Lizzy, we’ve talked about this. When she was with me she nearly burned the house down in the middle of the day, with the nurse in the next room. She needs to be here, as you well know. And you need your privacy. How is Noel?”
“He’s fine. He’s in Atlanta this week for a show.”
“Good on him,” Sutter said. “His paintings have gotten a lot of exposure lately.”
“That they have. Oh, by the way, do you think you could help me out sometime with a project I’ve got up your way?” she asked.
“Certainly, what is it?”
She glanced at her watch. “Bugger, no time now. I’ve got to fly. I’ll ring you!”
She gave him a quick kiss and was gone.
Sutter made his way down the hallway to Aunt Edna’s room. Before he even got in the door he could hear her waffling on about something over the voices of other people.
He knocked once and entered.
“You bloody wanker,” Aunt Edna pronounced, pointing a gnarled finger at the television screen. “You came home arse over elbow last night and got all rumpy pumpy with Brittany, now, didn’t you?”
“Language, Auntie,” Sutter said, suppressing a smile. Aunt Edna had always taken her soap operas seriously, but on the “bad days” she seemed to believe the characters were actually in the room with her.
Aunt Edna glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. Her steel-gray hair was wild, with several locks wound haphazardly around pink plastic curlers and the rest standing up straight all over her head. Her lined face was devoid of makeup.
“Well, stone the crows,” she said, glaring at him. “It’s my no good brother, Edgar, after two long weeks. Been too busy abusing your timid little wife to come visit? She was just here, you know, telling me all about your nasty ways. He’s about as classy as you are, Lance,” she added, addressing the television. “Always was, too. Even back as a little boy when he killed my kitten, Tuffy.”
Sutter sighed. Not the Tuffy story again. Lizzy had been right, it was going to be a long visit.
Megan stood by the ice cream section in the grocery store, transfixed by a pint of Ben & Jerry’s called “Chubby Hubby.” She used to buy that for Ray, pleased that it was one of his favorite flavors. And yet she’d hated being married. Hated being a “wife,” or maybe it was just being called a “wife.” It was almost embarrassing. As if she’d signed up to become a cliché and was supposed to be proud of it.
Since her divorce, however, she wondered if she’d just minded being Ray’s wife. Maybe the cliché was having a husband who ate too much and drank too much and eventually cheated on her. She’d come to the conclusion that monogamy wasn’t natural, but maybe it was just marriage. The sense of overwhelming responsibility to the titles and obligations, to the expectations of every other person in the world who had engaged in that institution.
What had bothered her most about Ray’s infidelity had been not so much the sex, but the lying. The fact that he’d created such an elaborate façade to hide the affair had been the most hurtful thing of all. He’d made up an entire second job, complete with a wretched boss and unsafe working conditions. One night he’d come home with scratch marks on his back and had invented a “sorting machine” that had gone berserk when his back was turned. She’d thought it sounded odd, had advised him to look into OSHA requirements. Ray, of course, had never followed up.
The reasons why became obvious soon after, but until then she’d been too engrossed in her job to really care. When the truth came out she remembered being aghast at the web of lies he’d constructed. Not to mention the utter oblivion on her part that had made it all work.
Divorcing him had been easy after that. She’d even marveled at the fact that she felt no jealousy, not one whit. It was all indignation.
She thought about Sutter Foley, about that unholy kiss in the park on Saturday. That had nothing to do with marriage or commitment, or even understanding. It was only about the heat in her blood and the hunger in her hands for him.
That was the way it should be, she thought. She wanted him, plain and simple. What’s more, she was pretty sure he wanted her, even though he resisted it, there at the end.
She opened the freezer door and plucked out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. She didn’t need a Chubby Hubby. She needed some kind of chocolate decadence. She needed her appetite sated, her craving satisfied, her needs provided for.
She pushed her cart up to the checkout counter where there were three checkers open, each with only a couple of people in line. It was nice that she could shop during the off hours like this, even though it was because she had no clients or appointments, had no money coming in and was on the brink of total financial devastation. Still, she could look on the bright side of the situation; she could avoid weekend crowds at the store.
Unloading her groceries onto the conveyor belt her eye was caught by one of the tabloid papers on display. “Sutter’s Sumptuous Digs” was the headline, with the tagline “Is the handsome Brit hooking up with American royalty?” Beneath these was a picture of Sutter Foley and a woman named Briana Ellis, who was, it had to be admitted, stunning. Maybe not beautiful in the modern sense, but classically gorgeous, with dark hair pulled demurely back from a strong-featured face with dark eyes and sparkling diamond earrings that looked huge and expensive even r
eproduced in black and white on cheap tabloid newsprint.
No chirpy-looking Ashley Judd wannabe for Sutter Foley, she thought. He went straight for old-world beauty.
“Ma’am?”
Megan looked up.
“Paper or plastic?” the checkout woman asked.
“Oh, paper, please.” She plucked the tabloid out of the rack and opened it to the article on Sutter. True to form, the actual prose was short and sensationalistic, speculating that Sutter, in an effort to fit in with American “high society”—whatever that might be—was most likely going to marry Briana Ellis, of the Boston Ellises, who was reputed to be worth several hundred million dollars. That, in addition to Sutter’s billions—the National Tattler actually speculated he had billions, she noted—would create such enormous wealth that they and any children they had would become the next American dynasty, á la the Kennedys.
Then, as if this wasn’t speculation enough, it went on to say with galling authority that Briana Ellis, beautiful and wealthy as she was, was not the love of Sutter Foley’s life. She was only a runner-up to his first wife, Elizabeth Powell, from whom he was divorced and with whom he was still in love. They were also in very close touch, according to their unimpeachable “source.”
In addition to two full pages of surprisingly low-quality pictures of the house, they detailed the interior as having an indoor pool, racquetball court, and movie theater. They said that despite its modest exterior it also housed seventeen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, two kitchens, a swimming pool, gymnasium, and four hot tubs.
Megan could not be sure, of course, but if that house had all of those things, ninety percent of it had to be underground. It simply wasn’t big enough, and while the inside seemed wonderful to her, it still felt like a charming historic house, not one that had been refurbished so beyond its modest beginnings that it had its own movie theater.
She skimmed the article for the “source” and found one line that began with “according to Foley’s gardener,” and it all clicked into place. The groundskeeper had adopted the dog; the dog was left behind by an employee who’d been fired; the firing had been so sudden and adamant that Sutter was fairly certain the employee would not return for the dog.
Obviously the caretaker had supplied the photos and story to the Tattler and had been fired for it.
Sutter Foley did take his privacy seriously. Not that anyone wouldn’t be upset to have this sort of thing made up and aired without his knowledge.
That is, she assumed it had been made up. As far as she knew, every word of it was true. And the fact that he’d kissed her, Megan Rose, small-town veterinarian, in the park on Saturday would not even rate a footnote to a story like this.
“Ma’am?”
She looked back up at the checker, who’d finished scanning her items.
“Are you buying the magazine?”
“Oh. Uh, yes.” She handed her the tabloid and the woman glanced at it as she swiped it across the reader.
“Reading about Sutter Foley?” the checker guessed, with a knowing smile.
“Yes, actually. Interesting guy.” She pulled her check card out of her purse. “Do you really think he’s got billions? I mean, no offense to Fredericksburg or anything, but billions…you’d think he’d be living in Paris or something.”
The checker shook her head and handed the magazine back to her. “I’d be living in California myself. Where it’s sunny all the time without all this humidity. My hair looks like steel wool in this weather.”
“Hm.” Megan flipped through the pages of the tabloid again.
“Tell you one thing, though,” the checker added, “I’d like to see inside that house he’s got, I would. I always knew he lived nearby but I never knew it was right there on Washington Avenue. That’s one of the houses right across the street from Kenmore, ain’t it?”
Megan hesitated. “Is it?”
“I think it is. I saw him once, you know.” She put the last bag in Megan’s cart and totaled the order. “Forty-seven, seventeen.”
Megan swiped the card and wrote the total in the check register.
“He was better looking than that picture even,” the checker said. “Younger than you’d think, too. But you’re right. He seemed like the kinda guy who’d want to live in New York City or LA, someplace like that.”
“Maybe he wants to stay anonymous.”
The checker snorted. “More chance a that in a big place. No, I think it’s more likely he wants to be a big fish in a small pond.”
Megan punched her PIN into the machine, glancing at the woman’s name tag. “Billions, Hazel, it says in here he has billions. Any pond would be small for him.”
“Might be you’re right.” She handed Megan her receipt. “All I know is whenever I tell someone I live in Fredericksburg, all I get is, ‘Where Sutter Foley lives?’”
Megan laughed.
“I mean it. And this where George Washington grew up and all.” She shook her head. “Imagine being more famous than George Washington.”
“I can’t. It sure wouldn’t be what I’d want,” she said, “but to each his own, I guess.”
“I’d take the money,” the checker said, nodding as if at least that decision was easy. “The devil can take the fame.”
Megan agreed, thanked her, and left, thinking as she walked to the car about George Washington and Sutter Foley, and wondering if Sutter Foley could say he never told a lie either…
“What is this here?” Sutter asked Arnetta, pointing to the 7:00 P.M. timeslot on the daily schedule, which was followed by the letters “SPCA.”
“Oh, that’s your meeting with the SPCAboard.” She smiled brightly at him, obviously pleased to have remembered this one.
“But I’m not on the SPCA board,” he said, wishing he could crumple up this damn schedule and throw it into the trash without causing this giant giraffelike human being to cry. She even had oddly huge, long-lashed eyes like a giraffe.
“Yes you are!” She spoke excitedly. “Lizzy signed you up. She said you’d be excited. Or, wait a minute, she said you’d be ‘chuffed to bits.’” Arnetta laughed, coloring. “I had to ask what it meant. I’m not very good at English accents.”
“On the contrary,” he said between clenched teeth, “the impression was uncanny.” He turned back to his office. He was going to kill Lizzy. String her up and throttle her. “Get Lizzy on the phone for me, would you?” he called back to Arnetta, slamming the door behind him.
A moment later the intercom buzzed. “Lizzy on line one,” Arnetta chirped.
He grabbed the receiver. “What the devil is this SPCA thing? And is this the reason you bullied me into hiring that incompetent out there, so you could trick me into participating in your bleeding heart causes?”
“Lovely to hear from you, Sutter,” Lizzy replied, unperturbed as she always was by Sutter’s temper. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’m serious, Lizzy. I’m going to sack her if this is how it’s going to be.” He picked up a pen and tapped it irritably against the edge of the desk.
“Relax,” she said, drawing the word out. “I asked Arnetta to put it on your schedule because I can’t be there tonight. You’re just filling in for me. And I did ask, if you’ll recall. I asked if you could help me out once in a while with a project I had up there.”
“Yes, but you didn’t mention the project.” He closed his eyes. “Or what kind of help you required or when. I would rather you inform me instead of ambushing me with it through Arnetta.”
“Fine. I’ll note that for the future.” She sighed. “It’s just a planning meeting, Sutter, and I thought you’d be a big help. They’re trying to find ways to cut costs and increase donations. It’s just the kind of thing you’d be good at.”
“Bollocks, Lizzy, you know I don’t even like animals. What on earth makes you think I’d be good at it?”
She clearly tried to repress a laugh, but did not succeed. “Well, you do have a dog now, Sutter. Surely that indicates
some kind of change of heart.”
Sutter leaned forward and put his head in one hand, elbow on the desk. “That’s it. I’m sacking Arnetta. I’m doing it tonight and I’m telling her it’s your fault. Not only have you made her an instrument with which to control me, you’ve gotten yourself a spy. I only wish the woman would get my own business as straight.”
“This is your business. Come on, Sutter, admit it,” his sister said, laughing outwardly now. “You and I are not so different. I may be the bleeding heart of the family but you’ve got your own soft side. Why else would you take in strays like Arnetta and that poor little pooch?”
“Because of you,” he said to the sister who drove him crazy with arguments just such as this. Then he thought of Megan and made a disturbing connection. “And women just like you, dammit.”
Seven
Megan opened the door to Penelope’s Mercedes sedan and slid onto the leather seat. Economics in the writing implement business must be much better than those in the veterinarian business, she thought, hearing the quality whump of the car door as she closed it.
“Okay! Where is this shindig?” she asked, gazing up through the sunroof at the summer’s early evening sky.
The day had been warm and humid but that made the evening perfect. She wore a sundress and sandals, hoping to make a nice impression on the board. Though she hated having to consider it, and barely even admitted it to herself, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was too much like her father.
“It’s at the library. There’s a room in the basement they let us use for meetings.” Penelope shook her hair back from her face as they gained speed and a warm breeze billowed through the sunroof. She looked at Megan. “Don’t you look nice.”
“So do you.” Megan noted another casual but gorgeous outfit on her new friend. “Where do you shop? You’ve always got the prettiest things.”
“I’ll show you sometime.” She smiled enigmatically. “So, you’ll get to meet the sister of a friend of yours tonight.”