Here, Have a Husband

by Heather Gean

  Chapter 4

  “So what’s the status?” Liz asked. Her call had sent my cell phone into vibrating and ringing hysterics at the painfully early seven o’clock. Stumbling around the room and fumbling through my purse had only added to the headache I’d received compliments of the previous night. I had responded only in mumbles, but no matter the hour Liz was full-speed. “Do we like this Ashley fellow?”

  I collapsed back into the enormous mound of blankets and pillows with the phone pressed against my ear. “I don’t know if you like him,” I replied. “He’s all right, I guess.”

  “All right?” I held the phone a few inches away from my head because she was either being especially loud or my auditory perception was dangerously skewed. “I figured Mr. Ashley Schroeder would get a better evaluation than that! You can’t be expected to marry a guy who’s just all right.”

  I sank further into the expensive linens. I’d begun to think maybe the government hadn’t screwed up. Maybe they’d found my perfect match; perhaps I was just all right too. Self-doubt could really sneak up on me sometimes. “Maybe there’s more to him.” It sounded like something Sasha would’ve said.

  “Well, babe, for your sake I hope so. I was just calling to check up on you. You sound like you had a late night.” I groaned in response. “Before I let you go, has anything worth telling happened since you’ve been gone?”

  “The flip-flops you made me wear almost got me kidnapped and thrown into a hearse.”

  “What?” she shrieked. I winced and held the phone away again.

  “His name is Van. He’s…” Mysterious? Not the man I’m going to marry? “…interesting. It’s a long story I’ll tell you some other time. Too much to drink last night.”

  Liz laughed a little. “Rainy, a few months ago before we graduated college, excessive drinking was considered an intramural sport. Now, it’s more commonly referred to as alcoholism. Gotta go. Don’t forget to call me when you fall madly in love with Ashley Schroeder!” After a promise to Liz and a goodbye, I dropped my phone over the edge of the bed with a sigh.

  I hoped that call to Liz would be occurring sooner than later.

  Coffee… I needed coffee.

  Once I was freshly showered and decently dressed, the thick aroma of coffee taunted me down the stairs. It was then that I discovered how different the Schroeder mansion was at eight in the morning than it was as I’d arrived to it yesterday in the late afternoon. Housekeepers and maids rushed about, each of them with a direct purpose. From above, the scene resembled an ant farm. Nothing about the great room and foyer at the base of the stairs was quiet.

  A woman, whose face I couldn’t see for a huge stack of linens, nearly toppled me straight into the large, nude, crouching man statue in the great room. I latched onto his ankle to keep my balance, but that only warranted a glare from the woman tending to him with a feather duster. Her eyes stared accusingly at me out from the folds of her doughy face. I apologized, though I couldn’t understand how I was the one receiving the stare of disapproval when she was the one tickling the sculpted man’s inner thighs with a feather duster. I began to wonder how many housekeepers were on staff to maintain the household, considering I’d seen at least six in the past two minutes. While the great room was bustling, it seemed no place in the Schroeder house was livelier at that time of the morning than the kitchen. However, it wasn’t the oversized kitchen staff that earned it that description; it was the small pack of women hovering near the coffee pot. I would’ve recognized that gremlin laughter anywhere.

  “Rainy!” Monica Radella exclaimed. I blinked off a wince from the loudness of her voice and forced a smile. The last thing that woman needed was caffeine. “I knew the coffee would bring you down here. That’s also the quickest way to lure Ashley to the kitchen in the morning.”

  Two blonde women stood adjacent to Monica, each of them smiling directly at me. Then there was a fourth counterpart sipping from her teacup, examining me with eyes so intense I knew she had to have been on her fifth cup. Monica wasted no time with her speedy introductions. The two blondes were Natasha Corthum and Brynn Hart, the authors of a popular online journal and widely circulated magazine for women. The wide-eyed, all-business woman belonged to a modeling agency and had so many names that I forgot them all by the time Monica had spat them out. I had a suspicion these women had more in mind than just a brief run-in at the coffee pot.

  Monica poured an extra cup, but instead of passing it to me used it as bait. “Won’t you join us out on the terrace?” A con artist grin spread across her face. Why couldn’t she just flat out say “I don’t care if this will ruin your morning as long as I keep my high-paying job?” It couldn’t have made me like her any less.

  Accepting her offer led me to follow the herd through the dining room that echoed our footsteps and out a set of ornate glass doors. The sunlight aggravated my hangover, but the weather in New York was overall pleasant. The concept of stepping outside in the summer and not drowning in humidity appealed to me. A stone walkway led us a few levels down a lushly vegetated terrace to a gazebo complete with a marble table. I didn’t receive my cup of coffee until I’d sat in one of the four matching chairs.

  “So, Rainy, how are you enjoying your stay here in New York?” Monica asked.

  “It’s been… interesting.” Monica and the blondes laughed at my response while the beady-eyed woman continued to stare expressionlessly at me. I took that opportunity to take a long drink of my coffee. It was bitter with minimal cream and sugar, but I tasted artificial sweetener. It reminded me of Monica.

  “Natasha and I are going to be the first and only magazine with the inside scoop on you and your engagement to Ashley Schroeder. As a matter of fact, your publicity release will be handed over to the editors as soon as we’re done here,” Brynn said. Hers was the most unthreatening tone at the table.

  “We’re expecting it to be a huge draw in this month’s edition,” Natasha added. She paused to take a sip of her coffee, leaving a lipstick stain on the cup as she did so. “Complete with a few photos for some eye candy. You’re really a doll.” I smiled modestly in return to her enthusiastic grin.

  “That’s where I come in.” The modeling agency representative had raspy voice; it would only be minutes before she lit up a cigarette. She slid a crisp, white business card across the table to me. The name on it simply read Kat. “I’ve already scheduled an appointment with Mr. Schroeder’s secretary for the two of you to come down to the studio for some shots. You’ll need to give me your measurements and sizes for clothing purposes.” I tried to block out my anxiety about the photo shoot and publicity release by staring at the mounds of jet-black hair atop Kat’s head. I mentally dubbed her the mad hatter; she’d have to be mad as a hatter to think I’d be comfortable with doing a photo shoot.

  “Is there any way I could approve my publicity release before it goes out?”

  Monica gazed uncertainly at me. “Rainy, I’ve been in this business for a long time. Trust me when I tell you that your reputation is in the best of hands.” I smiled. These ladies made me feel absolutely insane.

  Natasha changed the subject. “Rainy, I would love to schedule an interview with you sometime. I predict after this first release our readers will accept you as an instant celebrity. People are going to want to know what’s underneath the surface of the future Mrs. Ashley Schroeder.” The way Natasha pitched the idea to me made me sound like a fascinating subject. However, I knew that just beneath my outward appearance was a thick layer of uncertainty, infected with anxiety, and oozing with restlessness. The less the press knew of that, the better.

  “With your press release upon us, I figure now is the best time to fill you in on some of the guidelines that come with being in the public eye,” Monica said. When she began her spiel I forced down another gulp of that disgusting coffee. “First of all, be conscious of your outward appearance. Wear underwear in public places. Don’t pick your teeth or your nose or any other bodily crevice. For Chr
ist’s sake don’t curse. And always, always remember that the press does not believe in innocent until proven guilty.”

  I tried not to smile, thinking she couldn’t be serious but knowing she was. “I think I’ve got it covered.” With a lull in the conversation, I figured it was the perfect time to take my leave. “I’ve got a few errands to run this morning so I should get going, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Monica never missed a beat. “Errands? Well you should’ve left those with the secretary, silly!” She was trying to foil my escape plan.

  I laughed a little. “I can do my own errands. I’m a simple kind of Southern girl that way.”

  “It wouldn’t be any trouble. Why don’t you text them to her right now?” Monica insisted. She passed me her mobile device without hesitation. “Her number is programmed in under Secretary, A. Schroeder.”

  I choked back a sigh and typed a ridiculous list of “errands” to Ashley’s secretary. Meanwhile, the conversation around me went straight into celebrity wedding planners. I tried to ignore the mad tea party raging around me as I added a plea beside the last item on the list: Send someone to rescue me from the mad tea party on the terrace asap. I signed the message LC, which I realized could have easily stood for Lewis Carroll considering my choice of allusion, though I didn’t expect the secretary to think she was receiving a to-do list from him. For peace of mind I amended the signature to read LR Clarke.

  “Are you attached to your hair?” Kat’s question poured into my ears like a handful of gravel. I blinked indignantly before realizing it was meant in seriousness. I returned Monica’s mobile device to the table.

  “Well, um, yes, my hair is attached.”

  “To being blonde, I mean,” Kat added. “You should go darker. I know this stylist, Reece, he’s a god.” With hair such as hers, her opinion in that area was to be disregarded.

  Natasha giggled. “I don’t know if I’d do that! Blonde is very in for summer. Besides, she’s too pale to go brown.” I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but I was on her side when it came to keeping my natural hair color. “And it’s sort of strawberry. It’s got character.”

  “Consider laying off the carbs until then,” Kat said as she eyed me. “The cameras are not kind.” And neither was she.

  How much longer could this impromptu meeting last? The coffee should be almost gone. All besides mine, which now not only tasted horrible but was lukewarm. You’d think the Schroeder mansion would have better coffee.

  “Rainy, forgive me for asking, but how long do you think it will be before you and Ashley consummate the relationship?” Natasha asked. My stomach dropped straight to the floor. I eventually mustered up nervous laughter. The things these women said had me pinned between embarrassment and self-conscious anxiety. “Do you two have a preferred position yet?”

  “Forgive her,” Brynn added, “but she’s over our sex columns. They’re extremely popular.” Luckily, only a few sentences into Natasha and Brynn’s female orgasm informational, someone interrupted our party.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Van called from further up the terrace. The boy had impeccable timing.

  “Hello, Van,” Monica returned. Her eyes indicated that she still hadn’t forgiven him for the airport incident the previous morning. I glanced over my shoulder to see him coming down the walkway. His clunky shoes slapped against the stones. His hair poked in every direction from underneath his cap, and his T-shirt was wrinkled. However, I’d never been more excited to see anyone in my life.

  “Sorry to break up the fun, but Ashley wants Rainy up at the office. I figured since I was in the neighborhood I’d give her a ride.” He raised his eyebrows innocently at me.

  Monica remained tight-lipped when she spoke. “This isn’t going to become a repeat of yesterday, is it?” Guilt crept up on me again at mention of the incident. Van’s shoulders dropped, and his hands found their ways into the pockets of his jeans.

  “It will not.”

  The short silence was my ticket out. “Well, ladies, thanks for the coffee. It was really nice to meet you, and I’ll get those sizes to Ashley’s secretary.” My words sped as quickly as I did up the walkway.

  “Consider e-mailing me the dirty details!” Natasha added before I could scamper out of earshot. I gave her a smile and a wave before reaching the glass doors.

  Once inside I heaved a sigh that was intensified by the empty dining room. Van was right on my heels. “Thank you so much,” I breathed. “You have no idea what kind of torture that was.”

  “I have a pretty good idea. Spare me the dirty details,” he said with a chuckle as I sighed again.

  “Using Ashley was a nice lie.”

  “It wasn’t. He actually does want me to bring you to the office. Maybe he’ll recruit you for shuffling papers or something.” He opened the door for me to enter the kitchen. It was quieter than earlier but still smelled of coffee. He paused at the coffee pot once inside, pouring himself a Styrofoam cupful. “You want some?”

  “No,” I replied with a visible grimace.

  “You don’t like coffee? I can’t see Ashley’s dearly betrothed not liking coffee.”

  “I love coffee, but that is disgusting.” He half-smiled as he returned the pot to the top-of-the-line Schroeder coffee-maker. He retrieved a plastic lid from the stack beside that of Styrofoam cups and took a sip.

  “This isn’t Monica’s coffee. I’m pretty sure she laces hers with cocaine or something so I hope you didn’t drink it.” I laughed, and he removed another cup from the stack to fill up. Once the lid was snapped on top, he passed it off to me. “Come on. Car’s outside.”

  I followed him, carefully attempting to take a few sips from my cup while walking. It was damn good coffee as a matter of fact, which was exactly what I needed. “What sort of vehicle are we going in today? An ambulance? A hippie van?”

  “Actually it’s the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile.” He glanced over his shoulder at me with a grin.

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m kidding. It’s a just a regular car,” he replied as he opened another door for me. We walked through the great room, past the naked man sculpture and two housemaids arguing in what sounded to me like German. Van said something to them in the same language and provoked laughter from the pair as we passed by. They responded and waved him off before we could get through the foyer.

  “You speak German?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Van was an effortless surprise.

  We ventured out the front door. This time the vehicle he jangled the keys to was not a hearse but simply an old, blue car that looked to be a seventies model. There was nothing suspicious about it, not even fuzzy dice or dashboard ornaments. The interior smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and old spice. I slid comfortably into the passenger seat and hoped this successful outing would relieve me of some of the guilt I felt about the airport.

  Once down the massive driveway and through the mechanical gates, Van pulled onto the highway. The windows were down, leaving my hair to whip in the breeze. His radio was tuned to an AM station playing classic rock. One of his elbows rested over the edge of the door, leaving his fingers crooked over the top of the car. That was the arm with the tattoos inked onto it, positioned in a way that I couldn’t make them out. I finally returned my eyes to the road, wondering why they hadn’t been there all along.

  “How did the rest of your evening go last night?” Van asked.

  I thought back to the old women, dinner, and dancing. It was all a bit fuzzy. “It was all right. How about yours?”

  “Not bad. I’m used to those things. You just have to learn how to take them.”

  “I took it a few shots at a time. Not the best idea I’ve made. I talk more than I should when I’m drunk.”

  Van chortled. “So does Ashley.” Funny, because Ashley hadn’t tripped over his conversation topics as I had. He hadn’t let anything slip. Then again, I couldn’t remember Ashley drinking more than half a glass of wine all evening. “I liked your so
ng. I figured it was your request.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I guess it was a first in the Schroeder house?”

  “It wasn’t, actually. Penelope went through a grunge phase a few years ago. She played Nirvana until I thought my ears would bleed.” At mention of her name I felt the same annoying tug in my chest I’d felt the night before. I shifted in my seat. I wondered how long the two had been involved, or if they were, and how to go about finding out. I guzzled more coffee and placed the warm cup between my thighs. Absently, I swirled my finger in circles around the lid.

  “You’ve known her for a while then?”

  Van nodded without looking my way. “I have. We’re close.” Close didn’t mean together, but it didn’t mean just friends either. I gave a short sigh. What did it matter?

  “So what about you and Ashley? How long have you two been friends?”

  “All his life. I’ve got a few years on him.” I figured that put Van at about twenty-five or six, though he had a boyish charm.

  “Your families were close?”

  “You could say that.” I found that admirable. I’d graduated high school with the same bunch of kids I’d started preschool with, but I had only talked to a handful since. The friendship between Ashley and Van must’ve been something special to have survived so long.

  Van reached over and turned up the volume on the radio. “Do you like classic rock? Somehow I’d pegged you as an alternative or indie chick.”

  “I like it all.”

  “Ashley likes the mainstream stuff.” He fidgeted with the dials. “I guess you could say I like everything under the collective ‘rock’ category.” I smiled back at him. While the majority of my music collection was as Van had guessed, I enjoyed the classics all the same. I settled back into my seat as the conversation came to a comfortable close alongside the loud guitar solos.

  Within half an hour we were stuck in traffic on a New York City street. Tall office buildings loomed in either direction. After placing my then empty cup of coffee in the cup holder that wasn’t crammed full of change, I tilted my head out the window. The smell of car exhaust hit me in the face. “What’s taking so long?” I asked