It's Only Love

by Mel Curtis

  Trent shook his head. Cora had broken enough rules already. Probably some laws, too. For sure, his heart.

  Trent immediately recalled the thought. It couldn’t be love. It was over. There’d be no lovesick, drunken binges, like Archie. And the Reverend could go on with a stick up his ass.

  Jack kept on blathering. “It wouldn’t bother me either if you continued to fuck Cora. She’s really tal – ”

  Trent’s fist landed on Jack’s cheek, sending the man reeling sideways in his chair. His eyes rolled back. And he shut up.

  “Holy seven hells,” Evan said, coming in closer to assess the damage. “You must really love her.”

  “If anyone asks, tell them he passed out and hit his head on the desk.” Trent headed for the door. He had a team to coach and a woman to forget.

  ~*~

  Luck had screwed Cora over good this time.

  She ignored the call for an emergency meeting at the Dooley Foundation. She was too busy for lectures, too busy for sad faces, too hurt for hugs.

  She’d tried being nice. She’d tried making friends and dating. But the truth was, the only thing she’d ever been good at was being a bitch and watching out for herself.

  It hurt too much to care for someone and then have them dump you. No wonder her parents acted like fools every time their hearts were broken. But that wouldn’t be Cora. Thank God, she didn’t know how to love somebody.

  Amber left a voicemail: Let’s talk.

  Daddy’s lawyer sent an email: We need to meet.

  Blue direct-messaged her Twitter account: Come over later.

  Gemma tracked Cora down at a day spa, stomping into the massage room with her army boots and combat attitude. “If you don’t start answering your phone, I’m going to turn off your service.”

  Cora dismissed the masseuse, gathered the sheet around her, and sat up. “That’s a great idea. I’ve decided to quit anyway. I’m selling my condo and moving to Paris.” The admission should have made her feel excited. “You have skills as a life coach. You can take some of my clients.”

  “You can’t leave. I don’t know shit yet.” Gemma scowled. “And what about Brutus?”

  “You take him.” Brutus barked from his carrier in the corner. His protest pulled on Cora’s heartstrings. “Just not…Just not yet.”

  Gemma made a strangled noise. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

  “Why? You and Mimi can continue being besties.”

  “She’s not my best friend.”

  That cut through Cora’s fog. She wasn’t aware Gemma had friends.

  “You’re my best friend, you stupid bitch.” Gemma stomped her foot. “When you leave, I’ll have to be nice to everyone. You don’t know how hard that is. People whine about the stupidest things – they can’t get a decent espresso, they were seen at a designer outlet, the water temperature on their bidet is too cold. People don’t realize how lucky they are.” She poked Cora’s shoulder. “You don’t realize how lucky you are. You have Coach Parker. And you know how to help people.”

  Cora laughed, but the sound was as hollow as her heart.

  “I’d hug you and tell you not to go, but I’m starting to sound pathetic.” Gemma frowned. “Besides, you’re naked under that sheet and that’s too weird for me.”

  Cora leapt off the table and hugged her. “Don’t ever change, bitch.”

  “Ditto.”

  ~*~

  Her siblings tracked Cora down to her favorite shoe store.

  Cora had already tried all the new fall fashions, and was moving on to the clearance items from the summer season. She had yet to work up any enthusiasm to buy. Not that she cared about the three million dollars a year a shoe purchase would cost her. She just couldn’t see where she’d wear any of the shoes. Had she lost her fashion sense along with her heart?

  Not that she’d been in love. She’d practice dated. This numb feeling that she couldn’t shake in the region of her heart was only practice heartbreak.

  Amber paled at the shoe boxes that circled Cora. Some stacks were higher than her knees. She exchanged a panicked glance with Blue.

  “It’s not too late.” Blue grabbed Cora’s arm and hustled her out of the store, much to the sales clerk’s dismay.

  Amber followed with Brutus and Cora’s purse. She waited to start her lecture until they were settled in a rear booth at the Gilded Bean. “You have to meet your sales quota.”

  “I know you wanted me to establish myself as a life coach so you can take maternity leave, but I can’t do it. I bought a one-way ticket to Paris this morning. I meet with a realtor tomorrow and then I’m gone.” Aloysha was still interested in apprenticing her. Life would go on.

  Cora would probably have to take on a part-time job to make ends meet. And there was the small problem of her uninspired, nearly empty fashion portfolio, but she had every reason to smile. It wasn’t every girl who was finally pursuing a dream in Paris.

  “I will not accept your resignation,” Amber said adamantly. “Worst case, you can open a Paris office.”

  Cora wouldn’t admit the idea intrigued. “It’s time for a reality check.” Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. “I’m a bitch, not a life coach. Quit carrying me.”

  “Carrying you? You’ve been picking up our slack,” Blue protested.

  “Gemma says the requests for you as a coach outnumber the requests for us two-to-one,” Amber added.

  A teenage girl walked in wearing a pink Flash T-shirt.

  Cora’s heart panged. No more Trent. No more game film nights. No more Ren drenched in Old Spice. “Every client you’ve given me is worse off than before.”

  “Not Winnie Tiegler,” Blue said. “She gushed about how attentive her husband has been since you took her shopping and suggested she romance her husband. And she landed that movie role.”

  “Mimi agreed to read a script for a new sitcom,” Amber added. “And Evan says you help keep the team upbeat and focused.”

  “What about Jack? Or Cal? What about Viv?” What about Trent? Not that she’d been coaching Trent, but –

  “Your impact on them has yet to be seen. The really tough cases don’t show results as quickly.” Blue sipped his coffee. “In a few more weeks, you’ll have met your sales quota. You’ll be free to go to Paris or to stay here with us.”

  Somewhere during the past few months, Paris had lost its appeal as a goal. Now it seemed her only a safe haven. She’d leave this pain in her heart in the States.

  A man about Cora’s age pushed through the front door of the café carrying a Guilded Bean apron. He looked vaguely familiar. When he saw Cora and Amber, he stopped at their table. “Did you have a new job for me?”

  Amber slouched and waved him off. “Not now, Henry. We’re busy.”

  “Sure, sure. Whatever.” He saluted and headed to the back of the café.

  He saluted.

  The hand-delivered letter from Daddy. Amber’s annoyance that the delivery man saluted them from the sidewalk. A different kind of emptiness took over Cora’s heart. “You set me up.” Her own siblings. “Was this some kind of twisted lesson you thought I needed to learn?” If she hadn’t been trapped in the booth by Amber, she’d have walked out and tried to book an earlier flight to Paris. “How dare you!”

  “How dare we try to make you see something through a different perspective?” Blue’s features turned grim. “Isn’t that what you did to me this summer? I remember you bragging about it to Viv a few weeks ago.”

  “So there are no other kids? This was all a ruse? If you were trying to make me happier, you failed.” She was miserable.

  “Hear us out,” Amber said. “There are other heirs. And we won’t be told more until you meet your sales quota.”

  “That’s the reason you’ve been helping me?” Not because they’d formed a closer bond last spring. “Not because you finally like me or you want to get pregnant.”

  “We’ve been helping you because we love you,” Amber said solemnly. “And I didn’t
lie about my infertility.”

  “Please,” Cora resisted rolling her eyes, refusing to be swayed. “I’m such a bitch. No one’s ever loved me. Not you or Mom or Dad.” Her voice cracked and she blinked back tears. She’d held herself together since Trent told her to leave by telling herself he never could have loved her anyway. It was the only thought that had kept her sane.

  “I thought we’d agreed to forget about the past.” Amber captured Cora’s hand. “We may not have loved each other when we were kids, but Blue and I love you. It’s why we came up with this idea. We thought you’d take the news better if it seemed to come from Dad.”

  “There’d be less doubt.” Blue cleared his throat. “We thought you’d need time to process it before you met one. You know you’ve never been good at sharing Dad and – ”

  “And that was when there were three of us,” Amber pointed out.

  “Three in three years.” Blue’s words were heavy with significance. “We’re in our twenties. Imagine how many – ”

  “I don’t want to know,” Cora repeated. “I wasn’t exactly the best kid in the world and I’m sure some of the crap I pulled affected those other kids. I don’t want to feel shittier about my life than I already do.” Apologizing for slights she hadn’t known she’d caused. “If they knew about me when I was younger, they wouldn’t want to meet me today.”

  Brutus poked his head out of her bag. He’d been found in a dumpster in Santa Monica, thrown away like trash. Blue had made her adopt him to make her more caring. Now she was loving too much and it hurt. It hurt like it had when she was little, and Daddy ignored her to pay attention to Portia. Or when Lucia told her stylist that Cora would never be beautiful.

  She liked it better when she’d had fuck-buddies and bitches for friends, and didn’t give a shit about strangers who might be related to her and cast aside. Would they be like Brutus, who’d been abandoned? She’d saved him. But no one was coming to save Cora. She was saving herself by leaving. “Daddy never loved us.”

  The pair shook their heads, surprising her.

  “Dad loved us. He believed in us.” Blue took her other hand. “And we believe in you. We’d never ask you to do something we didn’t think you were ready for.”

  “Dad wouldn’t have made his reveal of other children conditional on your success,” Amber said. “If he didn’t love and believe in you.”

  “I wanted him to believe I could be a fashion designer.” As usual, Daddy had other plans. “I wanted to move to Paris.” Venom, gone from her verbal repertoire these past few minutes, returned. Because sometime since the reading of the will, Cora’s desire to go into fashion had paled and with it her talent to design. Just last night she’d tried to sketch summer blouses. They’d looked like winter wool jackets.

  “Wanted? Past tense?” Blue said softly. “If you stick with this another few weeks, you’ll meet your quota.”

  “With that money, you can do whatever you want.” Amber squeezed her hand. “But we hope you’ll stay with family. With us.”

  For two seconds, Cora considered it. She liked the mental aspect of being a life coach, of staying one step ahead of her clients. But then she remembered the fear when Cal confronted her – she’d handled that all wrong – and the expression on Trent’s face when he’d learned she’d manipulated Jack. “No. I messed up big time. I’m not going to be welcome at the Flash anymore. I’m a bitch. I’ve slept around. It’s best I go to Paris, because I’m never going to be good enough here.”

  “Good enough for who?” Blue demanded with an older brother’s righteousness.

  She and Amber exchanged glances. Her sister knew.

  ~*~

  The realtor picked up Trent and Archie at their hotel. Randy was off by himself looking at apartments.

  Blond, tan, pretty, Betsy Lucas was everything a man would find pleasantly distracting in a woman. “I have several listings to show you.” Her bare ring finger and her knowing smile marked her as available, but it was a plain expression, unlayered. Not Cora’s cut-the-bullshit and do-you-want-me multi-faceted smile.

  Trent missed that smile. But he didn’t miss all the baggage that went along with it.

  “This is a classic Beverly Hills bungalow,” Betsy said as she led Trent up the short front walk. The landscaping was tidy. Small bushes. Bright little red flowers. “Great for a bachelor or a small family.”

  It felt more like a home for someone’s grandmother. Cramped. Crowded. And not just outside.

  “No room for my in-laws,” Archie said. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Our starting lineup wouldn’t fit in the living room.” Trent dutifully followed his father and the realtor through the rest of the house.

  “Two bedrooms and one bath may seem small, but with your schedule, you probably won’t be home much. And when you’re in town, there are so many great restaurants, you won’t want to cook or have your wife cook.” Betsy was aiming to please, but missing the mark.

  Why not just say Trent was single and pathetic? And his father was marrying a woman who probably didn’t know how to cook?

  The master bedroom was small and dark. No pink. No racy, how-to sex book on the bed.

  “I can tell this one isn’t right for either of you.” Betsy read them well, and moved on. “Let’s see something else.”

  “Give us a minute.” Archie took hold of Trent’s arm, keeping him in the bedroom. “We have our first game tomorrow and your head’s not on straight. Why are we looking at homes?”

  “We need a place to live.” Trent couldn’t stand his hotel room anymore.

  “We’ve got a game to prep for.” When Trent turned to go, his father tugged him back. “Look, if you and Cora are having problems, I can talk to her. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

  It was the first time his father positively acknowledged Trent’s help.

  “I know I fell apart when your mother died. She was everything to me.” Archie thrust his hands in his pants pockets. “I was a bad father before that and it only got worse. And then…” Archie attempted one of his mischievous grins, not quite succeeding. “And then when I stopped smoking and stopped drinking, you stopped paying attention to me. Which is why…sometimes…I pretend…”

  Trent didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

  “Gentlemen?” Betsy called.

  “In a minute,” Archie hollered. He swore, and then lowered his voice. “I could tell right away that Cora was a ball-buster. She saw right through my drunk act after Jack’s party.” When Trent sputtered, Archie raised a hand. “I was really drunk when I thought Mary Sue Ellen was dumping me. Believe me, I paid for that the next day.”

  “Oh, boys.” Betsy’s footfalls sounded in the hall.

  “A moment of privacy, please,” Archie shouted. He turned back to Trent. “Cora saw through me, but she didn’t look down on me for it. She saw through your Reverend act and she seemed to like you anyway. A woman like that, who can see the heart of people, she can take a man far.”

  “I’m not looking to hire her,” Trent said through gritted teeth. “She tarnished the Reverend’s image. How can I protect you without that?”

  Archie opened his mouth to say something. Closed it again. And then said, “Why do you feel the need to protect me?”

  “Because I made Mom a promise,” Trent said gruffly. “And now, everything I’ve worked for is at risk.”

  “God bless your mother.” Archie swiped a hand over his face. “But son, what are you working for if not love? A reputation? You care too much about what people think and how much it matters. Nobody here cares about that. They care about what you actually do.”

  His father knew nothing of the way the world worked.

  “You think an interview in Female & Lucky helps the Reverend’s image more so than you having dated a woman who’s been around the block a time or two?” Archie shook his head. “You’re hopeless.” He headed toward the front of the house. “I’m going to call a cab, go
back to the hotel, and call Mary Sue Ellen. I need a reminder of what true love really is, not what I sacrificed to get it.”

  Trent didn’t think he’d ever known what true love really was.

  He continued on alone with Betsy. The second house was a larger property in Westwood. The lawn was a bit grander, edged with palms. The architecture Mission-style. True California living. His father would complain it wasn’t on the beach.

  “The living room is larger,” Betsy pointed out. “Great for entertaining.”

  “The kitchen isn’t right.” It was white. No color whatsoever, not even a splash of pink.

  “If you cook, this is a five-star kitchen.”

  Did Cora cook?

  He didn’t care. Cora was all wrong for him. She’d slept with a photographer, a famous movie producer, Jack, and God knew who else. She’d win every round of Hollywood’s six degrees of separation.

  The master bedroom (also not pink) opened to a private patio with a small fountain. “I’m not a reflective guy.” He turned away and walked out. He had to stop thinking about Cora. Tomorrow was their first game. The team could occupy every corner of his brain if he let it. Just not his heart. He didn’t need a heart to coach successfully.

  Betsy drove him farther up the hill, where the views were spectacular and the prices stupendous. “You might like this more.”

  She was a patient woman. A hard worker. A good woman who’d probably stand by her one and only.

  But she wasn’t Cora.

  The view from the rear of the house overlooked the valley. Smog may have rimmed Los Angeles, but you could see a blue strip of ocean in the distance. The living room was huge – larger than Evan’s. The bathrooms were the size of small bedrooms. The master suite had the best views in the house. You could lie in bed on Sunday mornings, drink coffee while looking toward the sea, and make slow love while the sun set.