Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 01 - Wendy and the Lost Boys

by Barbara Silkstone

  Hook clenched his jaw and the pupils of his gray eyes became the size of BBs. “I want her exclusive attention or not at all.”

  I’d show him who was in control. I motioned Hook to follow us. “Marni’s laptop is in my car. She can give you a virtual tour of a couple of properties.”

  “I don’t do virtual. That’s for lookers. I’m a buyer.” He followed us to my Jag.

  Marni grabbed her computer and jacket from the front seat. “I’ll go with Mr. Hook in his limo if he doesn’t mind.” She twisted the corners of her mouth in a suck-up smile.

  Pulling her aside, I whispered in her ear, “What are you doing? Call me if he gives you any trouble.” I had an uneasy feeling.

  “What about you? ‘Hook said. “My money not good enough?”

  Ignoring his remark, I waved them off. “Cheers!”

  ***

  Ten days and twenty mansions later, there were no offers from Hook. Things were going circular, and he was taking gobs of Marni’s time. She was at the front desk setting up viewing appointments when Hook slithered into my office.

  “So, why did you shuffle me off to an underling?” he asked.

  “Marni’s a good agent. She needs this sale.”

  “And you don’t? Did your ex leave you with a secret fortune?”

  “Who told you I was divorced?” My skin felt crawly.

  “You’re a workaholic with one ex in your closet and no kids.”

  Marni-big-mouth must have given him the skinny on me. I needed to have a serious talk with that girl about discretion.

  I was used to new-rich, high fliers who thought everything came with a price tag. Hook was shopping in the wrong store if he was looking at me. I couldn’t afford to tell him exactly what I thought of him. Besides it wouldn’t have made a dent in his brain. There are some things money can’t buy; one is class.

  “Are you really in the market for a house, or are you just trolling?”

  Hook stood up like he’d been zapped with a cattle prod. “I don’t need to troll. I can have any woman I want.” He narrowed his snake eyes at me. “I’m taking Marni to see my yacht this afternoon. Want to play chaperone?”

  I was in no rush to complicate my life again, and certainly not with another wheeler-dealer. But now I knew what Hook’s little game was, I couldn’t resist baiting him. It would be fun to taunt this predator with my unavailability and goad him into buying a property from Marni – which would bring money into Darlin Realty.

  Stepping over his crass remarks like a pile of warm dog poop, I said, “I’ll be there. Where are you moored?”

  “At the Million Mile Marina near Key Biscayne. Just ask for the Predator.”

  “That figures.”

  He managed a half-sneer as he turned and walked away.

  I called Kit. “Want to tour a super-yacht?” I wasn’t going without protection.

  Chapter Three

  The Predator was naked aggression disguised as four decks of white-on-white luxury but with armaments only the rich and paranoid could afford. It looked like a giant, white dagger. Its porthole-dotted hull was sleek and shiny; its angles provided perfect protection from pirate attacks.

  White-clad crew members lined up to welcome us on board. They fell over themselves in anticipating our needs. Marni smiled as though she’d found nirvana. Kit tripped over himself ogling the cute young stewards.

  It was clear our host was a swashbuckling entrepreneur with a roving eye and a laser-like focus on high living. Hook strutted around the ship pointing out the luxuries and the systems in place to secure them. “There are no standard staterooms on this baby. I had the walls taken out and made four gigantic luxury suites. The master is two-thousand square feet with a rotating bed.”

  I fought off the creepy feeling that Hook’s lecherous remarks were aimed at me.

  The master suite was three stories tall with teak floors and lots of chrome. A private elevator that would have been more comfortable if we’d been one person less carried us up to the main deck. Hook stepped aside and beckoned us into a room that glittered like Irish crystal. I was tempted to pretend to tip him.

  “This is the grand salon… ready for a party,” he announced. The room was painfully bright with infinity mirrors and ultra modern furniture.

  “Look down. That’s an Olympic-size swimming pool with a glass bottom, and below that is the formal dining room. We can look up from our lobster soufflé and watch bikinis splash about.”

  He pointed to a smaller upper deck. “There’s the golf course simulator and driving range. I never use it. And over here is the drive-in theater. The screen is hidden in the flooring. Of course, no cars.” He laughed.

  “No back seats? How do you have sex?” Kit asked.

  Hook shot him a bewildered look.

  We followed up the spiral staircase onto the helideck.

  Hook flipped his hand toward a helicopter sitting like a giant earth-bound cloud. “That’s the Shark. And here comes the pilot.”

  A young woman, barely five feet and surely less than one hundred pounds, walked toward us, her long golden curls bouncing, and extended her hand. “Welcome to the Predator. I’m Jaxbee, first mate and chopper pilot. Nice to have you on board.”

  Hook smiled at her. I wondered if they had a thing going on. Otherwise how could this kid come by such an important job?

  He continued, “I’m getting ready to take the ship on her maiden voyage, a world cruise. It costs almost a half-million dollars to fill the tank.”

  “How impressive,” Kit said rolling his eyes. Jaxbee smirked.

  Hook puffed up his chest like a rooster about to crow. “This tricked-out ship is designed to stay at sea for months.”

  “Really? The port cities of the world will rejoice,” Kit cracked. Jaxbee smiled again.

  Ignoring Kit, Hook continued, “We have huge walk-in refrigerators, fuel capacity of 200,000 gallons, reverse osmosis for converting salt water into fresh, it’s bombproof, has a state-of-the-art cloaking device, and a safe room for the guests and crew to hide from pirates.”

  “Well bite my tush!” Kit said.

  Hook paraded us into the engine room like a bunch of kindergarten kids on a tour. Pointing to monster-sized motors, he said, “With these 36,000 horsepower engines the Predator can outrun anything on the high seas.”

  I stood on tiptoe and whispered in Kit’s ear, “I think he’s about to have an orgasm.”

  “One of the best tricks we have is a contraption called an LRAD or Long Range Acoustic Device. It vibrates at decibels high enough to do permanent ear damage and cause vision problems. We just aim it at the pirates and knock their eyeballs out.”

  “What about your own eyeballs?” Kit asked.

  “We put plugs in our ears.”

  “What are the earplugs made of?”

  Hook turned on Kit. His expression reminded me of a lion about to pounce on a lamb. I elbowed Kit as a warning.

  “Marni, join me in the salon. I’d like to show you my antiquities,” Hook said.

  “Bet they’re between his legs,” Kit whispered.

  Jaxbee appeared to have heard him as she covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

  The three of us walked to the stern and watched the crew go about their work. They were a fine collection of young studs. My buddy had an expression of complete bliss on his face as he watched the boys in white do their thing.

  Jaxbee smiled at him. “The crewmen are all school dropouts of one sort or another. Not the brightest stars, not overly brave, but they’re sweet and they take directions well.”

  “Perfect,” Kit said with a smile.

  “So the ship is new?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Four years from concept to completion. We’re getting ready to take her on her maiden voyage.”

  “No offense but it’s kind of overkill with all the contraptions,” I said.

  “Hook is sure we’re in for a financial rapture and that all the good billionaires will take to their super-yach
ts and live at sea while the rest of us drown.”

  Although I smiled as if she made a joke, I wondered if that was her reason for being onboard.

  “Must be a comforting feeling to know you’re impervious to pirate attacks. The way things are going these days,” I said.

  Jaxbee looked over her shoulder and then back at me. “Except for the damn swim platform.”

  “Swim platform?”

  “On Deck 2, there’s a Water Sports Marina with a swim platform. When that’s down, we’re vulnerable. Hook wouldn’t listen to me or the security experts when we were in the design stage.”

  “Another phallic thingie?” Kit asked.

  Jaxbee shrugged. “It’s for the mini-submarine, tender, and the water toys. I probably shouldn’t have shared that information, but you two don’t look like pirates.”

  “The only thing I’ve ever pirated is nail-art,” Kit said. “What’s a tender?”

  “It’s a small boat about thirty-feet long. We use it to run to shore. It tends to our needs. We call our tender Nibs.”

  The helicopter was in my line of sight beyond Jaxbee. “How did you happen to become a chopper pilot?”

  “When I was a kid I thought pixie dust helped you fly. I sprinkled some glitter on my head and leaped from a big oak tree in the park. After that, I realized lessons were a smarter way to go.”

  The three of us laughed.

  “I wish I had your guts. When I was eighteen I crash-landed a Cessna. My flight instructor told me I didn’t have what it takes. I never tried to fly again.”

  “I could teach you to fly the chopper. It’s more difficult than a plane, but a lot more fun. A couple of weeks and you’d be flitting around like a dragonfly.”

  “Warn me so I can duck,” Kit said.

  A thirty-something man with a Hugh Grant haircut, slight build, and a military bearing approached with a scowl on his face. “Jaxbee, we’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I left my pager in my room. This is Dale, the ship’s quartermaster.”

  Not the politest quartermaster or human I’d ever met. He barely nodded exposing a tattoo of a spider on the right side of his neck. His eyes were the color of ice and just as warm. “We’re waiting for you in the chartroom.” He turned and left without so much as a nice meeting you.

  Jaxbee glared at the back of Dale’s head.

  Marni and Hook joined us at the rail. She clung to his arm as though they were entering a gala.

  “I’m taking a leave of absence,” she said. “Hook and I are sailing the Predator for a few weeks. I’m sure you won’t mind.” She gave me the cat-ate-the-canary look. It knocked the wind out of me.

  “Marni, come here. I want to chat with you in private.”

  She unscrewed her arm from Hook’s and sauntered toward me, her nose in the air and a defiant look in her dark eyes.

  “Marni, you just met this guy. Why don’t you take a day to think this over? He’ll still be here. Let’s call your mom and ask her advice.” I was concerned. If she were my kid sister I’d lock her up in a convent.

  “My mother chose to move into a retirement village in a third world country. On what planet is her advice useful?”

  “If this is about his money, you’re making a big mistake. You have nothing in common with Hook. He could take you out in the middle of the ocean and dump you overboard.”

  “I know what I’m doing. I really like Hook… and his money. So butt out.”

  “You’re coming across as a gold-digger.”

  “What’s your point?”

  I was stunned. Kit and I returned to Miami without her. She was a grown woman, but I felt responsible for her. Contacting her mom was out of the question. I was Marni’s boss, not her nanny.

  My former sales agent called the following month to flaunt her acquisitions. Hook was making a show of indulging her in an orgy of spending. They had acquired enough possessions to host their own reality television show, including a mansion in the Hamptons… not Miami.

  “Hookie bought me a black Ferrari. It’s so cute,” she said.

  I wished her well and hung up.

  The following month I got a call. “We’re getting married!” Marni trilled.

  I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “Please come for the ceremony. Say you will.”

  I was Dr. Frankenstein and my creation was calling.

  Chapter Four

  I guessed Marni felt secure in her new position as fiancée to Daddy Warbucks. She rarely called in the weeks after announcing her engagement. Hearing no news, I began to think perhaps the engagement might have been called off.

  A month after her announcement, I received an embossed, white-on-white, satin-finished, gold-edged invitation. The wedding was set for early June at their new mansion in the Hamptons. Never underestimate the power of financially fueled love.

  I was coloring with Treanna, my little sister. Matched by Big Brothers and Big Sisters, she had blossomed during our weekly play dates. Now close to her sixth birthday, Treanna had a spirited personality and a wicked sense of humor. She had big black gumdrop eyes and creamy cocoa skin. She wore her hair in tiny braids with a dozen pink baby barrettes. We were giggling over the magenta crayon. It was her favorite, and I loved teasing her about it.

  “If I were a crayon what color would I be?” she asked.

  I kissed her cheek… you would be magenta, the prettiest color in the box.

  “Would my mommy be in the crayon box?”

  “She would. She would be the color of love. Silver?”

  “Blue,” she said. She looked up at me with her big dark eyes. “My mommy takes drugs. They make her forget about me. Please don’t ever forget me.”

  I hugged her. She smelled of cookies and baby powder. “I promise I’ll never leave you.”

  My cell phone rang as I was un-hugging Treanna. It was the bride-to-be.

  “Please come a few days early. I want to show you the house. I never thought I would like the Hamptons, but it’s… good,” Marni said.

  “It’s going to take you days to show me your house?”

  “Well, it’s kind of big. Besides I want to be sure you’re really coming. You’re responsible for my meeting Hook. I love you for it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll come two days early. I can’t get away longer than that.”

  Two weeks later, I was following Marni around her twenty-three-room fortress, oohing and aahing. New money needs an audience.

  Our first stop was the library. It seemed as long as a football field. Our voices echoed from its empty shelves. “Can you imagine they used to keep a pool table and a trampoline in this gorgeous room?” Marni exclaimed. She touched the walnut walls and ran her hand along the top of the brocade chair by the entrance. “Some people have no class.”

  We returned to the hall, walking on oriental rugs that cushioned our steps. Marni stopped at a set of heavy mahogany doors and lowered her voice. “This is Hook’s antiquities room. He’s a serious collector. We can’t go in there. It’s wired to go off if a flea walks in.” I followed her lead and tiptoed past the doors.

  Hans, an ancient German who doubled as their houseboy and gardener, entered the lobby carrying my suitcase.

  “Let’s get you settled into your princess room,” Marni said. She led me up a Gone with the Wind staircase, down a hall, and into another wing of the house with Hans tailing us.

  When we entered my room, I was overwhelmed to say the least. It was designed for a girlie girl not a grown woman. Treanna would love it. The centerpiece of the princess room was a pink, canopied bed with oodles of pillows and fluff. The polished wood floor had been hand-painted with trellises and rose buds. White organdy curtains floated on the breeze and settled gently on the window seat.

  “I hope you like it!” she chirped. “We want you to visit us a lot.”

  What did that mean? I shuddered. Why were they so eager to fit me into their lives?

  I heard the sound of a large mot
or and peeked out the window. Marni clambered over me. “They’re here!” ran from the room calling over her shoulder, “Follow me! The books are here!”

  Now what? I trailed along losing her at the staircases. Which one led to the front door?

  When I finally found her, she was directing a team of men lowering a loading ramp onto the bricked entryway.

  “It’s the books for the library!”

  The van doors were open. I could see hundreds of packing boxes. As the men unloaded the first batch I caught glimpses of labels on the cartons. “Classics – Pastels – Pinks,” “Trash Reads – Upper Shelves,” “World Travels – Green –Lower Shelves.”

  Marni hugged me, jumping up and down. “This is so much fun! The decorators will be here in a few minutes. I’m dying for you to meet them. They’re so precious.”

  Feeling more than a little confused, I sat on the front steps next to a five-foot-tall marble gryphon to better watch the action and wait for the arrival of the precious decorators.

  Hans helped the movers lay drop cloths from the truck to the library. The men began the parade of the books. They reminded me of a team of ants lugging goodies into an anthill. Halfway through the unloading, I heard the sound of an old-fashioned car horn. A banana-yellow roadster circa 1920s was tooling up the drive.

  Two middle-aged men with sandy-blonde hair waved to Marni. They leaned into the back seat in perfect synchronization each pulling out a huge notebook. Exiting the vintage vehicle, they looked as if they had stepped off the cover of an old copy of The New Yorker.

  “This is Raymond,” Marni said. The taller of the two men presented his hand. He wore a coral-colored sport coat and tan slacks. He had bright blue eyes and a pencil-thin mustache.

  “And this is Rolan.”

  The shorter man was almost a clone of his larger partner, except he was wearing a tweed jacket in blends of coral and tan; it complemented his partner’s outfit. His eyes were a lighter shade of blue and he had no lip fuzz. Marni was right. They were precious.

  “Darling,” Raymond said to Marni, “These are all the books we ordered for you.” He turned to Rolan, “How many pounds? Check the invoice.”