by Liz Madrid
“I never said you didn’t,” I say, chuckling. “It’s not like you’d be hurting for dates anyway.”
“You’re right, I wasn’t,” he says, the dimples appearing as he grins, “just as I’m sure you weren’t hurting for dates yourself.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t,” I say, though I omit that part where I never see them past the second date, or past the moment they ask, so how is Blythe doing these days?
Besides, the less Heath knows about my lack of a love life after Andrew, the better. In fact, the less he knows about me, the better. It’s not like we’re still stuck in a plane and forced to share our deepest darkest secrets, though as he reaches for my hand along the side of the table, I have to remind myself that this is all part of the charade — the smiles, the hand-holding, the illusion that we are getting along.
“Do you think we’ll run into Ethan and Blythe today?” I ask, pulling my hand away as I take another sip of my mimosa. At the rate I’m going, I’m going to need another one soon. I don’t know why I’m nervous, but I am.
“Ethan should be on the polo grounds practicing right now, though he’ll make the afternoon tea with the tournament sponsors at two,” he says. “Blythe should be there, too.”
I nod and smile, but I don’t say anything.
“Are you nervous?” Heath asks.
“Should I be?” I ask, sipping my drink till the glass is empty. “I think I need another one.”
“And another one it shall be,” he says, flagging the waitress with a glance as she leaves the table after delivering their orders.
We finish breakfast an hour later, sated, and in my case, happier than when I first left Tyler’s house, thanks to the two mimosas I’ve had. When we walk along State Street, I tell Heath how it didn’t look like this when Blythe and I first visited with our parents so many years ago.
“But that was a long time ago, and everything’s changed since then,” I say as I pause in front of a shop window, my gaze falling on a wide-brimmed hat. It reminds me of the hats that I’ve seen women wear to polo matches. Before I can say anything, Heath pulls me towards the shop entrance but I draw away, protesting. “Alicia got me everything I needed for this trip, Heath. I don’t need any more.”
Heath shakes his head. “Alicia got you what she thought you needed, Billie. This time, you’re getting what you want.”
When I still hesitate, he gives me the saddest face he can muster, “Don’t kill my buzz, Billie, please.”
“But you didn’t even drink!” I laugh as I allow him to pull me into the shop. Twenty minutes later, I emerge wearing a Panama hat that was next to the wide-brimmed floppy hat from the window display, which he also bought, sitting now in its own box. He’s also bought me, despite my protests, a lovely white cotton dress with lace cut-outs and matching beige sandals with chunky heels. California chic, he tells me, and perfect for divot stomping during half-time.
I decide then that if Heath wants to buy anything for me, I’m not going to stop him, not when he clearly has better fashion taste than I do. I can’t help but feel giddy as we walk along State Street, one that makes me think I might have a medical condition because my heart feels like it’s bursting with childlike glee. It feels strange but I tell myself to stop analyzing everything for once, and just let go.
Besides, I can always blame it on the mimosas.
* * *
By the time we arrive at the country club two hours later, the afternoon tea has begun in a large white tent and the press is in full attendance. Heath is not driving this time. Instead, we’re being driven by the aforementioned Wally and Fred, who work for his company, Ettinger Holdings. They flew in from New York with Tyler in a private charter and from here on, Heath tells me, they’ll be close by.
For the tea party, Heath is wearing a light button down shirt, white trousers and a navy blue jacket. He looks like he just walked out of a fashion catalog and if not that, then Martha’s Vineyard or the south of France, and he actually blushes when I tell him so. I’m wearing the white dress and the beige sandals that he bought me earlier that morning, and I’m struck by how beautiful it makes me feel, not only because it really is a beautiful ensemble complete with matching gold jewelry and a wide-brimmed floppy hat, but because someone picked it all out for me.
“Isabel Marrant,” he whispers in my ear as we walk past the press line, the clicks of the camera shutters filling the air.
“Who?”
“Who you’re wearing,” he says. “Isabel Marrant.”
And sure enough, as we reach the end of the press line, someone shouts, “Who are you wearing?”
So I beam, and say, “Isabel Marrant,” like I know what the heck I’m talking about, and when they ask me to turn around, I twirl.
Most of the tournament sponsors have their own presentation tables along the sides, and the players of the various teams are posing for pictures and mingling with the VIP guests. Prince Harry isn’t there because he’s due to arrive only on the day of the tournament and already, I hear that tickets to enter the club grounds are going for $400 apiece, while it’s $4,000 each to be in the VIP. On the field, there’s also a game going on between two local teams, which seems like the perfect backdrop for a tea party.
Kheiron Industries is one of the main sponsors though they don’t have their own booth. The presence of two of their board members is more than enough representation, and already, people are coming towards us, greeting Heath before looking at me, almost curiously, and saying something like, Isn’t that Blythe?
But as I scan the tent looking for Blythe, the first person I see is Tyler, standing next to another woman and four men in a semi-circle in the middle of the tent, engaged in friendly discussion. I frown when I see Harris standing at the far end, remembering how he said he’d be here for the tournament, not before that.
As he sees us make our way from the main doors, Harris meets us halfway, pumping Heath’s fist happily before smiling for the cameras, while still shaking Heath’s hand. There is no sign of the tenuous conversation he and Heath had back in Saint Lucia, nor his animosity towards me when he gives me a kiss on each cheek.
“My dear, you look amazing!” he says, holding me at arms length to admire me.
“Thank you, Harris,” I say, pushing away the memory of him calling me a pathetic copy of Blythe.
“May I talk with you in private?” Harris asks and though I hesitate, I nod and we take a few steps away from Heath who is instantly surrounded by business acquaintances.
“I would like to apologize for the things I said in Saint Lucia,” Harris begins. “I know you heard what I said, Billie. Pam told me you were standing by the trellis for some time before she got there.”
I avoid his gaze, and though I know I’m probably acting like a petulant child, I actually don’t know what to do.
“But whether you were standing there or not, I was out of line to say what I said. I was very angry at Heath and Ethan, for yet another fight between them, another argument that I felt I needed to put a stop to. And because of that, I let my anger get the best of me.” His grandfather tone is back again and I look up at him, though I still don’t say anything.
“I promised their father that I’d keep an eye on them, even though they’re all adults. But they’ve always been rivals since they were little boys, not that Edgar didn’t encourage it,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not right, this thing that’s going on between them, Billie, not right at all. And between Ethan showing up at my doorstep with those letters that he stole from his mother, and then Heath with his news of the embezzlement — well, you can only imagine my state of mind. I may be Ethan’s godfather, Billie, but all of them — Ethan, Jessie, and Heath — they’re like my own kids, Daniel and Sylvia. She’s Pam’s mother, and she says hello, by the way.”
“Tell her hello for me, too.”
He exhales and rests one hand over his chest. “Even if you can’t forgive me, Billie, please know that my apology is sincere. That
’s all I can do on my end, but I will understand if you cant-”
“I forgive you, Harris. Even the best among us make mistakes,” I say with a smile. Of course I’m going to forgive him. Charade or not, the last thing I want is a resentful Harris Colman.
“Thank you, my dear,” he says, pulling me towards him in another one of his grandfatherly hugs. “Heath is very lucky to have you, Billie. That boy sure needs a bit of sunshine in his life and you’re it. After their father died, it was a hell of a time for him, what with corporate matters and all. He hasn’t had a break since, running two companies at the same time.”
“He makes it look easy.”
“He tries though sometimes it makes me wonder if the strain is too much for him,” Harris says, glancing over at Heath who is in conversation with two older men. “And I truly hope this charge of embezzlement against Blythe is nothing but a huge mistake, a misunderstanding. Maybe an oversight on Ethan’s part, even. Polo is like a demanding lover, and thank God he’s got his own taking care of his schedule and everything else, or he wouldn’t be able to get back his old ranking as one of the world’s top players.”
“It must be tough.”
“I’ve launched my own investigation into this whole mess though I’ve yet to see the findings,” he says. “I truly hope that Heath is just wrong.”
“Will you tell the board?”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather step down and let Heath or Tyler make the announcement to the board members themselves, and even file the charges against whoever is responsible. I have to admit, Billie, I’m too old for this. All I want is a cushy retirement and a life without the usual intrigue that goes behind the scenes in the corporate world. It’s much more brutal than soap operas on TV,” he says. “However, it does have its perks — like this tea party, for example, where I get to see you. I hope you go out there during half-time and stomp some divots.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, smiling.
A publicist wearing a name tag identifying her as an employee of Kheiron Industries tells Harris that the press is waiting for him, and within minutes, Harris is whisked away.
“Did you know that Walt Disney was such a fan of polo that he had a cage built on a soundstage so he and other players could practice hitting balls into the goal?” Heath asks me the moment Harris is gone. His hand is pressed along the small of my back as he guides me across the tent.
“No, I had no idea,” I say as a member of the wait staff offers us glasses of chilled rosé wine.
“What did Harris want to talk about?”
“He apologized for calling me a pathetic copy of Blythe,” I reply and Heath stares at me, surprised. “Pam told him I was by the trellis all that time, so he knew I heard him.”
“And?”
I shrug. “I forgave him. At least he apologized. So many others probably wouldn’t have bothered.”
Heath reaches for my hand and holds it, completing our charade as a couple as I take a long sip of my wine — two gulps that almost empty the glass.
“Are you nervous?” Heath asks.
“Not anymore,” I say, hoping he can’t tell I’m lying. Of course, I’m nervous. I’m petrified. “Are you?”
“No,” he says, and why should he? He’s used to this crowd.
“I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people in one place,” I say as I take another sip. I’ve never actually had rosé wine before and right now, it just might be a new favorite.
“Like you,” Heath says, smiling. “You’re beautiful, Billie.”
“Thanks to you and Isabella Marrant,” I say, chuckling. “I really had a lot of fun during breakfast, and as far as that shopping trip is concerned, I’ll add it to the tab.”
If there’s one way to make Heath’s dimples disappear, what I said does it. His smile fades and he frowns, and he’s about to say something when a photographer shows up in front of us and asks to take pictures for the country club website. Heath pulls me next to him and grins at the camera while I do the same.
“Just find Blythe and get her out of Santa Barbara, Billie, and before you know it, this charade will be over and you won’t even owe me a dime,” Heath mutters as he smiles for the photographer, who’s now joined by two press photographers.
Ten minutes later, and I’ve emptied my second glass of rosé to distract me from saying anything more stupid than what I had just said, and holding a third one, though this one I’m determined to be just for show. I normally don’t drink but then, there’s nothing normal about where I am and what I’m here to do. I’ve somehow found myself being photographed more times in ten minutes than I’ve ever been photographed in my whole life, and I wonder if this is how celebrities feel like — bored, yet having to smile till their cheeks hurt and pretending to look like they’re having fun.
I’m actually relieved when Heath has to leave my side, pulled to one corner along with Tyler and Harris by the corporate publicist for interviews with Business Wire, Washington Post, and a Santa Barbara society magazine.
I make my way outside where I have full view of the polo match going on. I watch the players on their horses chase after a wooden ball with mallets, thinking that it truly is the sport of kings, just as I’ve read. Man and horse seem like one as they go chasing after a ball that travels between the horses’ hooves from one end of the field to another. And all that time, they make it look so effortless. I see two female players and I can’t help but smile. Though I know nothing about the game, they seem as good as their male counterparts.
I retrieve my phone from my purse and before I can second guess myself, I dial Blythe’s new phone number. I wonder if I can hear her phone ring in the crowd, that is, if she’s here. But if it is ringing, I don’t hear anything above the many conversations that fill the air, and the sound of hooves in the distance.
Her voicemail comes on the line and I hear her cheerful greeting though this time I don’t leave a message. I hang up and slip the phone back into my purse, turning my attention back to the polo match. I can imagine how I look in my white ensemble, wide-brimmed hat and big sunglasses, a glass of wine in my hand. It’s far from the woman who’d be sitting on the front porch of her shop in Nevada City right now, probably sipping a glass of lemonade and wearing a shapeless paisley dress and flip-flops.
“Babe, you made it! I’m so glad you’re feeling so much better!” a voice behind me exclaims as I feel an arm go around my shoulders, pulling me towards a man who is not Heath, doesn’t sound like him, nor touches me like he does.
And neither does he kiss like Heath.
19
Show And Tell
By the time I exclaim that he’s made a mistake, it’s too late. Ethan has pulled me right up to him and our lips meet in a crushing kiss before I push him away — and right into an angry Heath, who grabs Ethan by his upper arms and pushes him away from me. As Ethan stares at Heath and then at me, his expression changes from utter surprise to shock, and then anger.
“What do you think you’re doing, Ethan?” Heath demands though I can see how both men regain their composure as quickly as it had dissolved seconds earlier. They know where they are, and already people are watching. Still, I can tell how Heath is barely keeping it together.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Ethan asks.
Standing facing each other, the brothers are like night and day. They both have the same nose and lips, but it’s their eyes that make them different. Ethan is blonde with sky-blue eyes while Heath’s ocean blue-gray eyes are set against a thick head of dark hair.
“She’s my guest,” Heath replies, pulling me next to him, his arm holding me possessively around my waist as Ethan stares at me, his gaze going from my face all the way down to my feet. It’s like he’s seen a ghost, and he shakes his head in wonderment.
“Shit, you look just like Blythe, it’s uncanny,” he says. “I could have sworn-”
“Now where are the letters?” Heath asks, his voice almost growling.
Ethan turns to face him, as if snapped from a trance. “That’s no longer your concern,” he says.
“It is my concern,” Heath says. “Those letters belongs to Mother.”
“Let’s just say she loaned them to me, Heath,” Ethan says. “Who’s to say she didn’t anyway? Are you honestly going to ask her, hoping she’ll remember?”
“I don’t need to ask her, Ethan, because she was lucid enough to tell me that you stole them from her safe after she was kind enough to give you her engagement ring to give to Blythe – the same one that once belonged to Gran.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched. “Let’s just say she was careless, shall we?”
“She wasn’t careless, and you know it, not when there are cameras installed in the house,” Heath says through gritted teeth. “Now where are they?”
A photographer asks to take our picture and like seasoned pros, Heath and Ethan sandwich me between them, and smile as the photographer clicks the camera shutter. As soon as he’s gone, both brothers separate and glare at each other again.
“I’ll give them to you,” Ethan says, a smirk on his face, “for a price. You’re a business man, after all, so this you’ll understand.”
“And what, should I dare ask, is your price, Ethan?”
“Her shares — every single share she gave to you, or rather, sold to you in a buy-sell agreement after you declared her legally incapable of handling her affairs,” Ethan says, chuckling drily.
Heath laughs, an amused laugh as he shakes his head. His hand still grips my waist like a vice and I down the rest of my rosé and hand it to a passing waiter. I’m stuck in a show and though I should really leave, I can’t. It won’t look good to Heath and besides, Heath never told me he declared his mother legally incapable of handling her own affairs. Why did he leave that out during our talk on the plane?
“If you bothered to look at her living trust, Ethan, you’ll see that she appointed me her trustee,” Heath says. “It’s my responsibility to ensure that her interests are protected.”