Double Trouble

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Double Trouble Page 33

by Deborah Cooke


  I shrugged. “Twenty years, give or take.”

  He leaned closer, his expression puckish. “I hate to break it to you, darling, but your natural color might be grey.”

  I laughed, because he was probably right and he grinned at me in the mirror. Then he pushed my hair around more aggressively. “All right then, we’re going to make some highlights, subtle ones in reddish hues to draw attention to the face.” He patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll get your ponytail, but you’ll look stunning with your hair up or down.” Then he snapped his fingers and called for his girls to gather around.

  “A pedicure and manicure, too,” Beverly said with a smooth authority that had the staff bobbing their heads. At my expression of surprise, she smiled. “Don’t worry, Maralys. This is my treat. I find a certain appeal in spending part of my divorce settlement from Robert on you.”

  * * *

  We actually did lunch, which was a first for me, but in the rosy glow of having been fully pampered at the spa, anything less would have been unthinkable. It was a late lunch, given our efforts of the morning. I really liked my hair. It did swing and the color was something I could never have achieved on my own. Not quite natural, not boring, yet not outrageous either.

  I looked expensive. Got to love that.

  We zipped down to visit Meg, to check on her progress in the Great Dress Hunt. She was smiling. “I just left you a message, because it’s here and it’s wonderful, like some kind of cosmic justice Maralys it’s the most perfect thing for you, no one else could possibly wear it the way you do and check the color! Your hair will go perfectly with it now, I was a bit worried because the dress has a certain attitude and it could have so not worked, but obviously this was meant to be.”

  Beverly looked momentarily alarmed by this soliloquy.

  “She breathes through her pores,” I explained when Meg disappeared into the back. “She’s been doing it for years. You’ll get used to it.”

  Beverly began to nod, then her eyes nearly fell out of her head. I turned to look and gasped myself.

  “It’s fantastic!” I lunged at the dress, marveling at its details. It was a flamenco dress, probably the real thing judging by its ruffles and frills. It was literally the hue of flames and quite possibly had been worn on stage. Surely there was no other reason for it to be orange, red and hot pink.

  It was hard to look straight at the dress.

  One look and I was smitten. I wanted this one.

  “Try it on, try it on. I hope it fits, Maralys, because it’s just so you and the only reason I took it on was because it made me think of you. It was worn by a dancer who passed away and her daughter brought it in, such sentimental value, they want a fortune for it but look at the workmanship! It’s lined, the seams are French-finished and look at the handwork in the hem…”

  I was peeling off clothes in the middle of the shop, which wasn’t as outrageous as it sounds. The place is so packed with clothing racks that it’s hard to see two feet away, let alone glimpse anything from outside the store. Both Beverly and Meg had seen everything I have, and I wanted to get that dress on my back ASAP.

  It gaped through the bust - surprise - but Meg was busy pinning and tucking before I could even comment on that. She said the darts were divine intervention because they were exactly where they needed to be for her to make them deeper and adjust the dress for me. The length wasn’t an issue, as it so often was, as the dress had a train. It perhaps had less train on me than on its original owner, but who was to know?

  I did a fakey little flamenco dance, liking the feel of the dress very much. It was heavy in the back, which made you sway your hips in a very seductive way, but was cut high to show leg up to the knee in front. The back of the bodice dove to almost the cleft of my bum, what there was of the bodice hugging my curves. Meg would make it fit like a second skin.

  It was glamor, writ large.

  Beverly alone appeared skeptical. “Where in the name of God would you wear such a dress?”

  “I’m having a party. You should come.” I gave her the Readers’ Digest condensed version of the sad saga of Neil and the disappearing money, and my resulting joust with the IRS.

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered the dress. She walked around me, considering. “It does suit you. But you’ll need some kind of support and a bra won’t do.”

  “What about those cups that kind of stick on your skin?” Meg suggested.

  “I’ll swing loose.” I lifted my arms over my head and wiggled, letting my breasts rock.

  Beverly gave me a stern look. “I thought you wanted my advice.”

  “I do.”

  “Hookers swing loose. Sixteen-year-olds swing loose. You are neither. You will show no nipples, which in that dress means you need support. You also will refrain from wearing castanets.”

  It was galling to think that she’d seen through me as far as that. I’d thought the castanets would be a surprise. “If I’d known you were going to be such a spoilsport…”

  “No jewelry. It will just clutter the look.”

  “I’d thought something gold…”

  “No. Simplicity is the key with such a dress.” Beverly pursed her lips. “The shoes will make or break it,” she concluded. “They must be the perfect height and the perfect shade of red. When is this party?”

  “Next Friday.”

  “Then we don’t have much time. We have to shop for shoes and we have to do so immediately.”

  I grinned at her. “Now, we’re speaking the same language.”

  * * *

  It was six when Beverly dropped me off at the loft. We had indeed found the right shoes, after much searching, and they had even been in the markdown bin. Meg had given us a snippet of fabric from the bodice dart that was doomed to get bigger. I had a newfound and healthy respect for Beverly’s shopping abilities by the time she returned me home. I was bagged, too.

  I had already decided to introduce her to Krystal, though the two might change the face of the world forever if they shopped together.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Beverly. I never expected you to help me so much.”

  “You needed it,” she said wryly, and we both laughed.

  “You’ll come Friday?”

  “I’ll be delighted to. Here?”

  I looked at the sleek leather interior of her car as I nodded. “Maybe you should take a cab.”

  “I will.”

  “And bring a friend, if you like. There’s lots of room.”

  She sobered then and sighed. “I don’t think there’s much possibility of that, Maralys.”

  “Then maybe you’ll meet someone here.”

  Her smile was thin. “I doubt you know any old men.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  She studied me. “ Yes, I might be. You seem to be a woman with a full store of surprises.” She tilted her head. “Thank you, Maralys.”

  “For what?”

  “For a day so busy and so interesting that I forgot all about needing a little encouragement in the middle of the afternoon.”

  She looked so careworn that I reached out and touched her hand. “How is it going?”

  “Oh, it’s appalling. You sit with strangers and they expect you to confess all your secrets and urges.” She shuddered. “I was raised to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. I find it quite distasteful to know as much as I do about these people. There are people I have known for decades without knowing a tenth of what I have learned about these troubled souls.”

  “Does it help?”

  “I don’t know.” She was impatient with the thought. “I suppose that they are right, in that you cannot solve a problem that you haven’t faced. They are right that you must understand why you drink to stop drinking. And they respect that none of this is easily done.”

  “Maybe some kind of private counseling would be easier.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. But I’m not certain that it would be very effective. I can’t help thinking that
my urge to keep sordid matters private while presenting a good face to the world is a part of this, and a part that I need to address. This compels me to a kind of honesty, which not easy and not pretty and not even entirely welcome. I think, though, that it’s healthy.” She shrugged and smiled. “In my good moments, at least.”

  “And in the dark ones?”

  “I wonder why the hell I bother. The problem, of course, is that I have always drunk when I felt isolated or lonely. My life right now, in the midst of this divorce, is being played almost entirely in that key.”

  “You miss Robert?” I was incredulous and she must have heard it, because she smiled again.

  “I miss the sound of others around me. I miss knowing that I could go downstairs and talk to someone else, even though I know that I never did. Condos, although neat solutions, are often chilly.” She sighed. “And I miss the habits of Robert. It has been years since I loved him, but he was familiar and there is comfort in familiarity. It is frightening to face the world alone at my age, no less because the world has become obsessed with youth and wealth.” Beverly toyed with the stick shift. “I lack one and, if Robert has his way, will soon lack the other as well.”

  “I thought he wanted the divorce.”

  “Oh, he does. He also wants the money.” She shook her head. “It’s very ugly, Maralys, and not worth discussing further. Essentially, Robert’s pride is at stake and he is determined to not let it go cheaply, regardless of the cost to me.” She glanced up. “He has retired as a judge, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “He’s astute enough to see the writing on the wall. He’s a great tactical thinker, is Robert.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Robert is what used to be known as a hanging judge - his supporting vote comes from the conservative right. These are not people who will be particularly compassionate that he was cuckolded, or that he is divorced, when next they go to the polls. He has retired, rather than face them, though his official reason is to rebuild the practice of Coxwell & Coxwell in James’ absence.”

  She looked suddenly so tired and defeated that I felt like a jerk for not inviting her up sooner. “Do you want to come up for a cup of tea or something?”

  Beverly smiled, my question restoring her gracious mask. “No, thank you, Maralys. But I will see you on Friday. And I may call you on an afternoon when I feel a weakness, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’d like that.” I smiled at her and she smiled back.

  “One day at a time,” she said, then smiled once again. “Thank you for this one. Now, please remember, no castanets.” She winked as I got out of the car.

  “How about finger cymbals? Belly dancers have some really cute ones.”

  She smiled and waved, revving the Jag as she drove away. I stood on the pavement and watched her go, feeling tremendously sympathetic to her. I could have become someone like Beverly Coxwell, my shields so secured into place that it would take a nuclear blast to get them down.

  Well, she was in for a surprise. I have some big guns at my disposal. Whether or not James and I worked things out, I was going to reach out to Beverly - even if she nipped at my fingers once in a while.

  I figured I was the only one with the credentials to understand.

  * * *

  I managed to wait until 9:32 on Monday morning before calling James at his new job. The receptionist had a bit of fun hunting him down as it was his first day and he probably wasn’t on the roster yet. I tapped my toes.

  “James Coxwell,” he said crisply and I jumped even though I’d known he’d answer eventually.

  “Hey sailor. Thought I’d congratulate you on your new job.”

  “Maralys!” There was warmth and pleasure in his tone, enough to soothe my fretting.

  I interrupted him before he could continue. “Look, I wanted you to know something. I respect you to make the best decisions here but you need to have all the facts.”

  “Such as?”

  “I love you.” I spoke fiercely, not wanting to be distracted from what I had to say. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anybody, which is pretty scary stuff, but I know that this isn’t easy.”

  “Maralys…”

  “I want you to know that. And I want you to understand that I’m trusting you here. You might remember that I stink at trusting people and not drag it all out too long.”

  He laughed under his breath. “Thank you, Maralys. That means a lot to me.”

  I was a bit shocked that he didn’t reply in kind, even though he was at work. “Well, it should. I don’t go around falling in love with just anybody, you know.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  No one said anything then. I could hear him breathing and my heart pounding. Well. This was working out wonderfully. “See you Friday? I’m having this party and I think you should come.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. We’ll all be there, Maralys.”

  Now that was more than I needed to know. Someone spoke to James and he excused himself, probably a relief to both of us, and I was left holding the receiver, vastly dissatisfied with the result of my bold foray into the land of sweet confessions.

  So much for that.

  Look Ma, I’m getting stronger by the minute.

  * * *

  Now, you know that I could have hooked up with James and probably elbowed my way into his life. I thought of it a thousand times that week. I could have seized control of the situation and made it come out my way.

  But see, that was the point. I had to trust him or lose it all, even if trusting him might mean I lost it all anyhow. So, I schmoozed my client and picked up the check and rushed it to the bank like it might melt if I held it in my hands too long. Then I made a visit to my friendly IRS dude, who really is a pretty reasonable guy, and paid the last payment.

  That was a good feeling. Mr. Morelli printed out my receipt and smiled as he pushed it across the desk, weaseling it between all the pictures of the grinning Morelli familia. “You should be proud of yourself, Ms. O’Reilly. Not many people would have the stick-to-itiveness to see this through to the end. You’ve made a remarkable achievement.”

  “Thanks. You know, I’m having a party Friday night to celebrate. You should come.”

  “Oh no. That’s a private affair.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be having it, if you hadn’t helped me work out a payment plan. You’ve got to come. Bring Mrs. Morelli and all the little Morelli’s. Please.”

  He looked at me and smiled a little. He was as proud as could be of his kids and I had a feeling that inviting them kind of turned the tide. “All right. Maybe we will. Thank you.”

  And I walked out of the IRS offices for the last time with my head held high. Ha.

  * * *

  I was dressed but still getting the mirror ball just right when the elevator buzzer rang from below. I assumed it was the caterers again and to tell the truth wasn’t in that prime of a mood. I was going to enjoy my party or die trying but was starting to think that the latter was more likely. It buzzed twice more while I stumbled down off the ladder in my spikes.

  “What?” I shouted down the shaft. “Haven’t you figured out how it works yet?”

  “That would be a trick, seeing as I’ve never been here before.”

  It was my sister.

  Marcia came up the elevator, oozing attitude, though I was glad to see that she was alone. She wore jeans and a tailored Lauren jacket, not exactly party-wear but elegant stuff.

  “You’re too early,” I said, turning back to the mirror ball. “Come back in an hour.”

  “That’s what I was hoping. I wanted to talk to you alone.”

  I turned and looked at her. “That’s a joke, right?”

  Marcia shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

  “Come to gloat?”

  She smiled. “No. You should be the one gloating. This is an incredible place.” She wandered into my cave, not touching anything, just eating it up wit
h her greedy gaze.

  “I wouldn’t have thought it would be your style.”

  Marcia looked back at me from some twenty paces away and almost smiled. It was like looking in a mirror, well almost, except I had the fab dress this time. And a better haircut.

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” she said enigmatically. She poked in her purse and came up with a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “You’ll get over it.” She lit up and her smile broadened at my evident shock that she had defied my request. She blew the smoke at the ceiling.

  “It’s not like you to be rude,” I said with caution.

  Marcia was hostile. “You mean it’s not like me to not bend to everybody’s expectation.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you? Look at you! You do what you like, you say what you like, you live how you like and no one ever dares to question you about it. No one ever had any expectations of you…”

  “Right! They assumed I’d be dead in a ditch, or in jail, before I reached twenty years of age.”

  She poked her cigarette through the air at me. “Wrong. They knew that if they challenged you, you’d gnaw their faces off. Mom and Dad respected you. Maybe they were even afraid of you a bit, but me…” Marcia exhaled smoke again and her words turned bitter. “I was supposed to fulfill every dream they’d ever had.”

  I blinked. I’d never thought of it that way.

  Marcia sighed. “You always slipped under the wire, Maralys. I never knew how you did it, but was I ever jealous of you.” She took a deep drag and glared at me, smoke wreathing her features. “I hated you for years. I fucking hated you.”

  I moseyed over and stole a butt from the pack. “Ever said that word before?”

  “No.” She touched her cigarette to mine, lighting mine and we both took a drag. “I mean, fuck, no.”

  We looked at each other and started to laugh. “I’ll call Dad and he’ll wash your mouth out with soap,” I teased, but Marcia shook her head.

  “No, you won’t. You never ratted on anybody. You never did what you were supposed to do. You just defied them all and they washed their hands of you.”

 

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