by Abby Drake
“It’s rather urgent,” Elinor said. “There’s been a change in directives that will affect our next meeting.” She was both amused and impressed by her ciphered message.
There was a pause, then the admin said, “One moment, please.”
She felt a flutter of anticipation, the kind she’d felt the first time he’d undone her pearl buttons and fucked her in his dining room.
Would he take her call? Would he dismiss senators or congressmen or whoever was in his office “occupying” him?
A lump of trepidation found its way into her throat. What if he was with another woman?
She laughed. Remy barely had time for her. He’d never have time for a harem.
Still, Elinor clutched the phone more tightly than necessary.
“Elinor?” She heard Remy’s voice, just as another voice came from the doorway of the music room.
“Mom?” It was Jonas.
Elinor smiled at her son and quickly flipped the phone shut. “Hello, dear,” she said, standing and dropping the phone into her purse. “I was confirming floral arrangements for the party. The details can be such a bore.”
“Mom,” he said, “we need to talk.”
“I swear Betts asked me to handle the flowers because she thinks I have your dad’s talent for that kind of thing.”
“Mom…”
And then her phone rang in her purse. Remy, of course, would be calling back. She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Not now, honey,” she said, striding across the room toward the terrace, hoping she’d get outside before the damn phone stopped ringing.
“Is this Elinor Young?” It was a male’s voice, but not Remy’s.
“Yes,” she replied. Perspiration had formed on her upper lip; she tried to steady her voice. It must be Remy’s driver on the other end of the line.
“Do you have the cash?”
The late-day sun radiated off the water lily pond that served as a centerpiece for the topiaries. Elinor was blinded, paralyzed. Finally, she blinked. “What?”
“The cash. The half million. Do you have it?”
Her throat felt as if Mac was standing on it, wearing the big boots that he wore when he planted trees in the garden. “I will,” she said. “By Friday.”
“Good,” he said, then hung up without leaving instructions.
Elinor shut off the phone, dropped onto a chaise, and stared helplessly, hopelessly at the trees.
“Mom?” came Jonas’s voice again. “Please, Mom. We really do need to talk.”
Eighteen
“It’s a bloody size sixteen,” Alice wailed into the phone at Poppy. Neal wasn’t home again, so Alice had poured a generous glass of wine and decided to rehearse the role that Poppy had convinced her to play tomorrow. It would be more fun than making dinner for one. But despite the slight menopausal spread of her hips, the dress hung on her frame like a discount-store window drape. “I know I’m bigger than the rest of you, but I’m a ten, Poppy. Not a sixteen.”
Poppy sighed. “I bet Yolanda can help. She’s domestic, isn’t she?”
“Just because she cleans her own house and cooks her own meals I don’t think that automatically means she knows how to sew.”
“I bet she does,” Poppy repeated. “Let’s bring it over to her place.”
“I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.” Alice didn’t ask if Duane was home. Long ago, the women had stopped asking about each other’s husbands. They’d learned life was less dramatic that way, Elinor’s current situation serving as a clear case in point.
Poppy changed from the demure summer suit she’d worn to the Lord Winslow into chocolate-colored jeans, high-heeled sandals, and a clingy turquoise top. If she had to go to Yolanda’s, she might as well look as good as she could.
“Well,” said Duane, “don’t you look like a hottie.”
Poppy responded with a tiny smile, because she knew how well the jeans hugged her round little ass.
“Come here,” Duane said. “I want to have my way with you.” He had that twinkle in his eye that she hadn’t seen for a while, not since he’d started taking pictures after dark. Was it because he, indeed, was Elinor’s lover and/or blackmailer and the danger totally turned him on?
“I’d love to, but Alice is picking me up. We’re on a mission for poor Elinor. There’s an engagement party in Washington this weekend and she’s frantic right now.” He didn’t seem to wince when she mentioned Elinor’s name.
“There’s an engagement party and we’re not invited?”
“It’s only for Washington people, Duane. You know how they are.” Well, of course he didn’t, but that didn’t matter.
He patted the sofa cushion next to him. “Five minutes,” he said, then added, “please?”
Saying no might get her in trouble. Poppy checked her watch. She supposed five minutes would satisfy his unex pected need. Besides, if he really was involved in this muddle, Poppy didn’t want him to think they were onto him and give him time to come up with a lie.
And, she supposed, a little sex wouldn’t hurt Poppy, either, in case Manny showed up at Yolanda’s. There was something about Manny’s eyes, his smile, and his shiny gold badge…
When Poppy was a girl, Momma had told her it was always wise to masturbate before a date. She hadn’t, of course, used that word. But she’d given Poppy a pretty little pink dildo, and told her to use it in her “special place” so she wouldn’t be tempted to give in to her she-devil and let the boy do things she’d regret.
Duane wasn’t a pink dildo, and Manny wasn’t a teenager, but if Poppy had learned anything in life, it was that Momma usually was right.
All things considered, she should unzip her jeans, go to her husband, and let him have his way so Yolanda’s brother would not.
But Poppy was Poppy, and if there was one thing she was no good at, it was pretending to love when she was no longer sure she did. She’d learned that with husbands number one and number two.
“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile. “But we’re already late.”
“You’re being blackmailed,” Jonas said. “Don’t lie, I saw the note.”
Elinor blinked again. “What?” Her thoughts reeled. She couldn’t gather a response.
“I read the note. About the panties.”
Well, she could have died right there on the chaise; in fact, dying would have been preferable to having this discussion with her grown-up son.
Instead of dying, Elinor laughed. Would Jonas dare challenge her if she laughed?
“You saw the note?” Ha ha. “Do you mean the note with the words cut out of a magazine?” Ha ha some more, this time enhanced by a fine shake of her head.
“Mother, this isn’t funny. I saw the note in your purse. I went in there to get the keys to the garage so I could put away the canoe. And there it was, big as life.”
“And you thought I was being blackmailed? That I’d lost my panties in a Dumpster in Manhattan?” Ha ha again. “Really, Jonas, that’s rather crude.” She wanted to stand up. She wanted to make a sweeping, grand departure from the terrace, as if everything was fine, as if he was such a jokester and his accusation was absurd. But despite the laughter, Elinor had become numb, so she stayed planted right there on the chaise.
“Aunt CJ said as much.”
Elinor closed her eyes, wishing she’d stop feeling as if her airway was being cut off. “It’s a joke, Jonas. If you must know, Alice and Poppy played a trick on me. We were shopping in the city and I picked out a lovely pair of La Perlas for Lucinda’s lingerie shower. I’m sure one of her friends will be planning one. Anyway, Alice and Poppy accused me of buying them for myself, if you must know.”
She paused a brief second, hating that the lies came so easily, that being deceived had become Jonas’s birthright. “For some ridiculous reason, the girls thought it would be a hoot to send me a blackmail note.” She had no idea if the story made sense.
“The panties are for Lucinda?”
Elinor nodded. �
�Two hundred and ten dollars. A very nice style.”
“May…may I see them?”
Her senses shot back into her limbs. She bolted up from the chaise. “Jonas!” she said with a hearty laugh. “Are you challenging me?”
He moved next to her. He was taller than Elinor, as tall as Malcolm. “No, Mom. But…”
She waved her hand. “But, nothing. For one thing, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t show them to you. They’re in Washington. At the town house.” She knew she should have felt guilty, but she was too…oh, God, she was too freaking exhausted.
“I can’t imagine what CJ is thinking or why, but she’s mistaken. Now please, honey,” she said, softening her voice and straightening the collar of his Hugo Boss linen shirt, “let’s forget this nonsense and have an early dinner. Shall we go out for Italian?”
Nineteen
“The morons chose to pay the fine rather than follow the bylaws,” Ray Williams said as he sipped CJ’s best Bordeaux. She’d asked him to dinner because she’d wanted some balance: as environmental manager of the lake association and architect of the Mount Kasteel Town Hall, Ray had turned the term down-to-earth into a science. He offered a refreshing change from Elinor’s world, and maybe later CJ would get to have sex. It was never as tantalizing as it had been with Malcolm, or as satisfying as it had been with Cooper, but it would be sex, and it would be nice—a safe, familiar distraction.
“That’s awful,” she said, toying with the rim of her glass. Ray was referring to the Santoris, the new lakefront residents who’d built a five-million-dollar getaway, then decided the tall pines blocked their view of the water. They’d lopped off the branches halfway to the tops, then left the tops intact. The results resembled the tail of a French poodle, and Ray was justifiably upset.
“They claim the bylaws stipulate the trees can’t be cut down. They say they didn’t cut them down, that they only trimmed them in the middle.” He had two matching furrows in his forehead, which might have been a result of having been married too long to Naomi, a woman who was more interested in archeology than in her husband and son. Naomi lived in Egypt these days: the last Kevin had heard from his mother she’d been with a group who’d found another king’s tomb, which Ray had proclaimed was just what the world needed.
“Ray,” CJ said abruptly. “I’m going away for a couple of days. Do you think Kevin would like to dog-sit?”
Ray winced. “Hey. I wasn’t finished talking about the Santoris.” He smiled.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m preoccupied tonight.”
“You’re going away. Somewhere fun?”
He wouldn’t ask for details, because details did not define their relationship. It was good, of course, because CJ could hardly tell him she was going to her sister’s to sit by the phone and wait for a blackmailer to call.
“No,” she said. “Family business.” She didn’t say she’d only be across town, that she’d decided not to subject Elinor’s gleaming hardwood floors to an eighty-pound, yellow Lab. Besides, Luna loved spending time with Kevin. They had equal parts of high energy.
“Upsetting business?”
CJ shook her had. “Jonas’s engagement party is Saturday night. Elinor is becoming a madwoman.”
Ray laughed. He knew Elinor, of course. They had been lake kids together—Elinor, CJ, Ray, and a half dozen others. Summer kids whose parents converged there each June and stayed until school reopened in September. Ray once told CJ that the year Elinor and CJ were twelve and he was thirteen, Elinor asked him to show her his penis because she’d never seen one and she said it was “time” that she did. Naturally, it was erect because he was an adolescent and they’d been swimming and Elinor was wearing a bathing suit that was not a bikini but showed her young curves.
She’d inspected his penis without touching it. Then she slid down her straps, showed him her breasts, and asked what he thought.
He’d said they looked like the anthills in the town picnic grove with tight little raisins stuck on the tops. He asked if her sister’s looked just like hers.
Elinor had yanked up her top and told him to drop dead.
Ray had told CJ the story not long after she’d left Cooper and moved into the cottage, back when laughter had been essential and so hard to come by, back when they shared their first bottle of wine and she admitted to Ray that she was such a failure compared to her sister.
So he had made her laugh, because he was a good friend.
CJ supposed Elinor’s action was indicative of the pragmatic, bold streak she would later fully develop. It hadn’t occurred to her that Elinor might have simply been curious about sex. As for CJ, she’d never been so, well, sensually inclined.
Had she?
“Ray,” CJ asked now, “did you and Elinor ever have sex?” The question popped out unexpectedly.
Ray nearly sprayed a mouthful of Bordeaux onto the couch. “What?” he laughed, wiping his mouth. “What a question!” He stood up, meandered to the sound system, and became suddenly interested in the CDs on the rack.
It was odd that he hadn’t said no. It was more odd that CJ suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“Never mind,” she said. “I was just thinking of the story you told me about when we were kids, when Elinor showed you her breasts. I don’t know why I asked that. How ludicrous of me.”
He was a tall, thin man, who looked even thinner when he stood sideways, as he stood now, perusing the CDs as if they were rare works of art. “It was over a while ago.”
CJ winced. “What?”
He shrugged. “The thing with Elinor. The affair, whatever you call it. It was over a while ago, CJ. It has nothing to do with you and me.”
Alice set her glass of wine in the refrigerator. No sense traversing the back roads to New Falls with alcohol on her breath. The police had become so unfriendly about that.
She closed the refrigerator door and decided to change out of the polyester before driving to Yolanda’s. Even worse than sniffing for alcohol, the cops might be inclined to wonder why a woman who resembled a housekeeper was driving an Esplanade.
As she moved through the kitchen, Neal suddenly appeared in her path.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.” She might have added “again,” but she thought that might have sounded unfriendly.
“Imagine that,” he said. “Your husband is home two nights in a row.” He wasn’t a bad guy. He was soft-spoken with her, though he wasn’t that way in the boardroom, which was why they could afford to live in Mount Kasteel and half-support their grown children. His once dirty-blonde hair had washed into gray, but now most of that had washed away, too.
Still, she could have done worse. Neal was rock solid: a good husband, a good dad, a good provider. He still had gentle hazel eyes and clear skin without age lines, and he still wore only white shirts with pinstripes—blue, black, deep green, or maroon—and still wore his tie tac with the Sigma Pi logo, though he was no longer active in his college fraternity alumni association because he didn’t have time.
All in all, Neal was a lot like Alice’s father, who’d been gone for a dozen years, but whose gentle memory still brought her to quick tears.
“Nice dress,” Neal commented. “But it’s a little big, don’t you think?”
Alice brushed back thoughts of her father and rolled her eyes. “I’m doing Poppy a favor. Don’t ask what it is.” She hoped she sounded carefree. “I’m going to change, then go out. Sorry. I won’t be gone long.”
He nodded, but he followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom. She hoped he wouldn’t prod her for details.
“They can’t reschedule the dinner,” he said as Alice went into her dressing room. “For Thursday night. Can you please find another solution for Kiley Kate?”
“What about Emmie? She’d love to go to the dinner with you.” Emmie was Neal’s older sister, a New Age priestess who now was a certified Ayurveda consultant and spent a lot of time standing on her head. Neither Alice nor Neal would suggest that Emmie take
Alice’s place in Orlando, because she wasn’t a responsible candidate for a chaperone. Too much marijuana in her twenties; too much meditation in her thirties. Alice had never pointed out that their daughter, Felicity, was a great deal like Emmie. Alice, after all, secretly envied their independence and their feral natures and the fact that neither had ever played follow the leader the way she had with Elinor, the way Melissa did with her husband.
He laughed. “Tang Industries might specialize in resort spas, but the only health thing that concerns them is the state of their bottom line.”
“They’re capitalists.”
“Emmie’s not.”
“No kidding.” She stepped out of the housekeeper’s dress, unashamed to expose her middle-aged, slightly tattered body in front of her husband. She’d never been embarrassed, insecure, or ashamed of anything in front of Neal. More than once, she’d wondered why. Did it mean she wasn’t ga-ga, head-over-heels in love with him? That she’d never felt the need to be perfect for him?
She’d married him, mostly, because Elinor had married Malcolm. She’d had Melissa because Elinor had Janice; Felicity, after Elinor had Jonas. One child would have been sufficient for Alice, but, as always, Elinor had set the pace for her life.
“If Elinor jumped off a bridge, would you?” her mother had asked on more than one occasion.
Well, of course the answer was yes, probably, though Alice never admitted it.
Pulling on a long, plum-colored, cotton skirt and matching tee, Alice slipped into ballet slippers of the same shade. “I’m sorry, Neal, but it’s presumptuous of them to expect everyone to be available at the drop of a hat.”
If he pushed her a little she might have acquiesced, might have decided to beg Melissa to go to Orlando in her place. But Neal apparently was done pushing, because he only said, “Never mind, then,” and departed the room, leaving Alice to wonder if she took him for granted, and if she’d regret it one day.
Twenty
Elinor must have thought it was pretty funny when CJ had told her she was seeing Ray.