The Way of the Guilty

by Jennifer Stanley

  “I like it downright toasty.” Angela handed Cooper an Italian hero from Subway and winked. “That’s right, darlin’. I’ve got the fire department on standby, just in case things get too hot.”

  As Angela and Emilio unwrapped their subs and bantered companionably, Cooper ate her lunch in a state of mute irritation.

  I’ll show them! I’m going to buy something at that Pajama Party that’ll make Nathan weak in the knees. I’m going to tell him I love him and that I’m ready to spend the night in his arms. She tore open a bag of Sun Chips and bit down on one savagely. Nothing is going to get in my way this time!

  “Why are you wearin’ pajamas to the table? You sick?” Grammy scrutinized Cooper from top to bottom. “’Cause if you are, you need to turn right around and go back to your apartment. I’m goin’ to the P. Buckley Moss Museum tomorrow and I wanna do some real damage at Golden Corral’s breakfast buffet beforehand.”

  “I feel fine, Grammy.” Cooper squeezed her grandmother’s shoulders affectionately. “I’m going to a party with Ashley tonight and I’m supposed to dress like this.”

  “You’re a little old for sleepover parties, ain’t you? Unless you’re havin’ one with Nathan,” she cackled.

  Not Grammy, too! Cooper lifted her eyes to the ceiling in appeal.

  Cooper’s mother entered the kitchen and peeked into the oven. “Leave her be, Mama. She’s a lady and ladies don’t kiss and tell.”

  Grammy snorted, but mercifully remained silent. Cooper expected one of her grandmother’s long-winded lectures on how to procure a marriage proposal from Nathan, but for the moment Grammy was more interested in Maggie’s pot roast than Cooper’s love life.

  “You look cozy,” Earl commented to Cooper as he took his seat at the head of the table. “I saw your latest birdhouse in the garage. What are you doin’ with that one?”

  “Donating it to Hope Street’s winter bazaar. The church is raising money for a youth mission trip to Mexico,” Cooper replied.

  “Can they send your daddy and me to Mexico?” Maggie laughed. “Seems like we haven’t been out of the state of Virginia since man walked on the moon.”

  “Don’t stick around on my account,” Grammy remarked huffily. “I know my way around the coffeepot and the can opener. What else does a woman my age need?”

  Maggie smiled indulgently at Grammy. “We all know how independent you are, dear. It’s more about our empty piggy bank than us frettin’ over you. After all, Cooper would look after everything if we went away, wouldn’t you, honey?”

  Cooper nodded—her mouth full of scalloped potatoes. She glanced at her father, who looked especially tired. As the head groundskeeper for one of Richmond’s private schools, he performed physical labor that men half his age would find fatiguing. And her mother baked gourmet cookies for a dozen sandwich shops in the West End of Richmond, waking up at four in the morning in order to produce three varieties of her famous Magnolia’s Marvels.

  They’ve worked all their lives, Cooper thought. They really deserve a special vacation.

  “He can retire in three years,” Maggie had told Cooper one Saturday as she’d packed plastic baggies of fresh-baked cookies. “But we’ve put aside every spare penny in case Grammy develops a need for special medical care. We’re not gonna have her rot away in some nursing home. She’s gonna leave this earth with dignity—from her own bed—if it costs us the roof over our heads.”

  Fortunately, Grammy was still perfectly healthy and spry. Sharp-tongued and witty, the matriarch of the Lee clan spent her time caring for stray animals, hovering in the kitchen in hopes of receiving rejects from Maggie’s cookie production, watching reality shows, and nagging her granddaughters about her desire to become a great-grandmother before meeting her Maker.

  Cooper glanced at her grandmother, who was shoveling pot roast into her mouth as though it were her last meal, and then flicked her gaze to her mother, who was assessing her husband from the corner of her eye. Cooper was about to suggest to her father that he should get checked out by a physician and had just opened her mouth to speak when her first syllable was cut short by the blast of Ashley’s horn.

  “Ain’t she even gonna come in and say hello to her family?” Grammy shot a cross look at Maggie. “You raised her better than that!”

  Cooper noticed that her younger sister had been avoiding Grammy lately. Ashley wasn’t trying to be rude, but she already put so much pressure on herself over becoming pregnant that she couldn’t bear to hear anyone else raise the subject. Unfortunately, Grammy brought up the topic whenever she had the chance.

  “We’re probably running late is all,” Cooper said hastily, covering for her sister. On impulse, she kissed her grandmother on the cheek and was warmed by the approval in her father’s smile. “Maybe I can start selling birdhouses, Daddy. Send you two on a vacation.”

  “And go for days without seein’ your pretty face? Now what fun would that be?” Earl stacked his fork with butter beans. “Better get a move on. If your sister lays on that horn again, Grammy might run out there and give her what for.”

  “Run?” Grammy laughed. She loved to be teased by her son. “You know I only pick up my pace when they’re givin’ away samples of chocolate at Costco.”

  Cooper put on a long wool coat, buttoned it up to the neck, and exited the toasty house. Stepping into the dark night, she hunched her shoulders against the brisk winter wind and trotted over to Ashley’s Lexus. As soon as she opened the door, she was assaulted by the heady floral scent of her sister’s perfume. Ashley was dressed in a knee-length fur coat and brown leather boots with sharp heels.

  “Is this real?” Cooper asked and placed a hesitant hand on her sister’s coat. “No wonder you didn’t want Grammy to see you! She would’ve had your head on a platter.”

  “It’s faux sable, actually, and it still costs almost as much as the real thing. Isn’t that ridiculous? I should get a huge discount for being so humane. And you know why I didn’t come inside.” Ashley accelerated on the empty road leading through the rural county where Cooper and the rest of the Lees lived. Watching the stark trees pass outside her window, Cooper suddenly longed to be back in her tiny apartment, laid out on her sofa beneath a thick afghan while Masterpiece Theater treated her to a Jane Austen remake.

  “I know what you’re thinking over there,” Ashley stated as though she were truly clairvoyant. “You’re already figuring on not having fun. Just because these women are married with kids does not mean they’re boring. And even though they have plenty of money in their wallets, they’re not necessarily shallow. So don’t feel intimidated by how they look.”

  “We can’t look too different, anyhow,” Cooper reasoned. “Since we’re all wearing pajamas.”

  Ashley was too busy maneuvering the onramp to the interstate to answer right away. “What did you say?” she asked after merging directly into the center lane; she then proceeded to zip by a dozen cars while fiddling with her radio buttons. Ashley had always been a dangerously oblivious driver. “Who’s in pajamas?”

  Cooper unbuttoned her coat in order to reveal her pink flannel top. “I am, for one thing! Aren’t you?”

  At first, Ashley looked horrified and then she began to laugh. The sound of her laughter overshadowed the music coming from the car’s speakers as well as the chiding honk delivered by the truck in the next lane. Ashley had been drifting again. “Oh, Coop!” she said after controlling herself. “You’ve already made this a night to remember! The girls are gonna love you.”

  Suddenly, Cooper reached over and yanked up the hem of her sister’s coat, revealing a white skirt embroidered with black flowers and a pair of tights. “Uh-oh. I totally misunderstood.” She gulped. “Turn around, Ashley. I need to change.”

  “Not a chance. We’re late as it is and Georgia was adamant about people getting there before the show starts.”

  Visualizing Chippendale dancers, a fog machine, and strobe lights, Cooper groaned, but when they entered Georgia Ferguson�
��s Spanish villa-style mansion fifteen minutes later, she was not surrounded by half-naked men, but by boisterous and cheerful women holding champagne glasses. To Cooper’s relief, they were dressed quite casually in pressed khakis and cotton blouses or simple skirts and sweater sets. Their jewelry, shoes, and handbags were expensive and elegant, yet understated, and they welcomed Cooper warmly. Twice, Georgia offered to take her coat, which Cooper had thus far refused to unbutton.

  “My sister’s embarrassed because she thought she was supposed to wear pajamas tonight,” Ashley explained, pulling apart Cooper’s coat in order to allow her friend a glimpse of her sister’s ensemble.

  “I think that’s a fabulous idea!” a woman wearing tight jeans and a lime-green turtleneck exclaimed. “I wish you had thought of that, Georgia! We could all be as comfy as this pretty thing is. Aren’t you clever!” She beamed at Cooper. “Instead, we’re all tossing back the booze and waiting for this show to start—about as comfortable as turtles lying on their backs in the middle of the desert!”

  Another woman agreed with the metaphor. “Yes, what is the evening’s entertainment, Georgia?”

  “Wait and see,” Georgia replied with a wink.

  Suddenly, music began to pump through the speakers in the spacious living room. Cooper recognized the strains of Madonna’s latest dance song and tagged along behind a handful of women as they made their way to a row of folding chairs. A young woman dressed in black pants and a black blouse snapped her fingers in time to the music as she ushered stragglers to their seats.

  “Thank you for coming to my first Pajama Party!” Georgia beamed at her friends once they were all settled. “As married women, we sometimes need to shake things up a bit. It is our duty to please our husbands and for them to please us. So, in the name of marital bliss, I invite you to bring a little sizzle and a bit of ooh-la-la home to your hubby tonight. All purchases are private and will be conducted on a discreet, one-to-one basis in my kitchen. This is Lola.” Georgia gestured at the woman in black. “She’s provided you all with order forms and pens. You’ll find them under your seats. Simply check off the items you’d like to buy as they are modeled for you. Now, is everyone armed with bubbly? Good, because this is no place for the timid!”

  A glass of champagne was shoved in Cooper’s hand. She took a grateful sip and, finally letting go of her coat, draped it over the back of her chair. The lights dimmed, the music was turned up a notch higher, and three voluptuous girls in their early twenties strutted into the room, wearing fishnet stockings and sexy silk nighties that fell to mid-thigh.

  “Oh, my! I like the peach one!” A woman slid on a pair of reading glasses and uncapped her pen. “Would you look at that? They come in plus sizes, too. How nice! I can order one for my sister-in-law.”

  The models did a brief twirl and then handed some of the ladies in the audience packets of panties to examine.

  “Edible underwear!” One of the partygoers giggled. “Chocolate, strawberries and cream, vanilla caramel, and mocha. Charlie loves coffee. Should I try one?”

  “Go for it, Dolores!” another woman coaxed her. “You heard what Georgia said. It’s our duty!” Both women laughed raucously.

  The models returned wearing lacy bras and matching briefs. The women around Cooper muttered in approval over the ample coverage provided by the boycut briefs. “I thought this would be all about thongs and strapless bras. I could actually wear that outfit and not look too fat,” declared a woman Cooper believed was surely a size zero.

  Pens scribbled on order pads. Cooper glanced shyly at the models and gulped her champagne, accepting a second glass from a tray that seemed to magically appear by her elbow just as she finished her first drink. The models were busily handing out black and red boxes labeled Dirty Girl, Lover Girl, and Naughty Girl. Each box contained a minuscule pair of panties, breath mints, a toothbrush, a condom, flavored body oil, a perfume sample, and two energy pills. The Lover Girl box also included a red feather and the Naughty Girl package came with a silk blindfold.

  Cooper handed the boxes to her sister. “Are you getting any of these things?” she asked her while trying to get a clear view of the order pad on her lap.

  Ashley shook her head. “I’m not feeling inspired yet, are you?”

  “Inspired? I am totally weirded out right now.” Cooper guzzled more champagne. “I don’t think I need edible underwear,” she whispered, shifting uncomfortably as the models returned wearing thongs and push-up bras beneath sheer robes tied by a row of silk ribbons. “It’s a timing thing for me—about how I’m feeling, not how I look. I want it to be just right and none of these . . . items are going to affect that.” She gestured at her blank order pad.

  Ashley scowled. “We’re here for me, remember? You don’t have to buy anything.” She examined the Dirty Girl box and passed it to the next woman. “I’m just looking for a little inspiration, so sit back, enjoy the show, and tell me if you see something that will turn Lincoln into putty.”

  Wire baskets filled with massage oils and scented candles found their way to Cooper’s row along with a serving tray loaded with truffles, bite-sized raspberry mousse cups, and strawberries dipped in white chocolate. Cooper helped herself to several treats, but nearly choked on a strawberry as the models sauntered in wearing latex bodysuits covered by zippers. They carried small riding crops and black boxes stuffed with hot pink tissue.

  The women giggled and shrieked with amused laughter as the contents of the boxes were distributed around the room. When Cooper’s neighbor handed her an object resembling a plastic cucumber, she took one look at the on/off switch and tossed it onto Ashley’s lap as if they were playing hot potato.

  Frowning, Ashley calmly picked up the device and passed it to the woman seated behind her, who squealed in embarrassment. Cooper noticed that the woman, who fanned herself in theatrical astonishment over being given such a toy, managed to turn it on for several seconds before delivering it to her neighbor.

  Amid all this excitement, the models came into the room for their encore wearing flowing nightgowns trimmed in lace. The cream-colored silk combined with the tight, brocade bodices produced an ethereal effect. The models, who had looked little better than prostitutes a few moments ago, were now illuminated with an aura of alluring innocence. Staring at them, resplendent in their shimmery gowns, Cooper was sorely tempted to make a mark on her order sheet, but something held her back.

  “That’s what I want!” Ashley was thrilled. “Something beautiful, captivating, utterly romantic. With white candles, that nightgown and robe, and maybe a gardenia in my hair . . .” She made hasty marks on her paper.

  “Where are you going to get a gardenia in the middle of winter?” Cooper inquired.

  Ashley smiled. “I know an excellent florist. Besides, Lincoln loves that smell, so it’ll be worth the cost. I’ll look like a spring bride. Completely fresh and lovely. He won’t be able to resist me.” She reached over and squeezed Cooper’s hand. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. It turned out to be a success. Cheers!”

  Tapping the rim of her glass against Ashley’s, Cooper realized that she couldn’t recall whether she’d consumed three drinks or four. Her cheeks felt warm and the upbeat music and high-pitched laughter of the women seemed pleasantly boisterous.

  Still, Cooper was glad that Ashley was more interested in placing her order and getting home than mingling with her friends. By the time the models had taken their bows and clothed themselves in jeans and sweatshirts, Ashley had already paid for her purchases and said her good-byes.

  “Everyone was glad you came,” she said to Cooper once they were back in the Lexus. “They all think you’re really pretty. Georgia told me that her little brother’s single and quite a catch—just in case things don’t work out with Nathan—but I told her you were perfectly happy.”

  “Thanks,” Cooper replied, her words slurring slightly. “I am happy.”

  Kneeling beside her bed a half hour later, Cooper folded her hands
together. “Please guide me, Lord,” she prayed. “I believe Nathan is a good and honest man, but after being hurt by another man I loved and trusted in the same way, I’m having a hard time giving myself to Nathan—body and heart. I want to, you know, love him in all ways, but I’m scared. Please take away my fear and replace it with trust. All things are possible through You. Amen.”

  Cooper crawled into bed and closed her eyes. She then opened them again. “Oh! One more thing, Lord. Let Lincoln see my sister with fresh eyes. If he’s avoiding her, please guide him back home . . . before he wanders too far.”

  2

  Trust in the LORD with all your heart

  and lean not on your own understanding;

  in all your ways acknowledge him,

  and he will make your paths straight.

  Do not be wise in your own eyes;

  fear the LORD and shun evil.

  This will bring health to your body

  and nourishment to your bones.

  Proverbs 3:5-8 (NIV)

  Cooper was excited about starting a new Bible study with her friends from Hope Street Church. Except for Nathan, she hadn’t seen any of them since the Christmas Eve candlelight service. Every member had left town in order to visit family. Savannah Knapp, the legally blind folk artist who led their small group, had stayed away even longer in order to conduct a painting workshop for an artist’s colony, so they’d been unable to commence with a fresh study until she returned.

  Feelings of pleasant expectation coursed through Cooper when she finally received a phone call from Quinton Enderly, the successful investment banker and talented amateur pastry chef, announcing that it was his turn to choose the next study. He’d picked Directing Our Passion: Corinthians I and II.