Chapter 11
MARLY HOPED THAT Frick and Frack were deaf as posts, but she had a bad feeling that their hearing was just fine. How she had managed to forget their existence and boink the governor while they stood just outside the treatment room, she didn’t know.
They wore little ear thingies that undoubtedly connected them to some kind of radio, and she just prayed that they were listening to loud, obnoxious Security Detail Rap or something.
She’d forced Jack to sit in the chair and she’d wet his hair, then made some minor snips and shaved his neck. After all, they had to at least make it look as though she’d done his hair and not him.
Then she’d walked him to the front door of the salon after carefully checking to see that her skirt wasn’t caught in her panties or anything. She even shook his hand and asked him if he’d like to make another appointment while his eyes danced privately for her.
“Well, I’d love to, Marly. You do such a good job.”
“Thank you, Governor. We do try to make our clientele happy.” She felt her color rising as his mouth twitched.
“Keeps us coming back for more.”
She cleared her throat and avoided his gaze.
“So,” he said, “why don’t I call you—with my schedule, it can be hard to keep a regular time. Er—is there another number where I can reach you?”
He was asking for her home number again. Ridiculous, maybe, but she just didn’t want to give it to him. She told herself that it was because she didn’t feel like having Jimmy and Rocket listening in on her private line. But it probably had more to do with not wanting to stare at her home phone, waiting for the man to call. After all, he was Florida’s number-one ladies’ man. He’d probably be up for one more bout of sex and then he’d be off, sniffing after another skirt.
She needed to look at this situation in perspective; view it as exactly what it was, no more, no less. The governor was scratching his bohemian itch, no matter what he said about his great-great-grandfather and her being The One.
It’s better to be an itch than a bitch, right?
Marly said, “Oh, you can just call me here at the salon. I’m always around.” She handed him a business card, ignoring Shirlie’s pointed stare and slap to her forehead.
The corners of Jack’s mouth turned down for a moment, before he righted them for the public’s benefit. Because the public, in the form of every single person in After Hours, was eating this up.
God, at least they don’t know what we just did back there. Marly thanked the stars. She wore no makeup that he could have smudged, and she had done the skirt check and her top wasn’t on inside out.
“Right,” Jack said. “So I’ll have my people get in touch and we’ll arrange to fly you to Tallahassee next time. Say, in about a week?”
Behind her, Shirlie gave an excited squeak.
“Great. That—that will be just fine. Thank you, Governor.”
“Call me Jack,” he said, and flashed her one of those irresistible, panty-melting grins. But behind it his eyes were serious, and they reflected something she couldn’t quite read…was it hurt?
“Thank you, Jack.” She raised her hand and waggled her fingers at him.
“Thank you, darlin’.” Jimmy opened the door for him, and Jack stepped through, followed by Rocket, who ripped his eyes with difficulty from Shirlie’s twin attractions.
“Frick, Frack, it was sheer pleasure to see you again.”
Curiously, they ignored her. Go figure. Marly turned, only to find that the eyes of everyone in the salon slid away from hers. What was up with that?
Nicky swooped down on her and dragged her into the back. “Cutie pie, come with Uncle Nicky.”
“What? Why?”
He poked his tongue into his cheek and failed miserably at not grinning. “Because you need some emergency repairs, doll.”
“I do?”
He winced and nodded. “I don’t know what you and the Jackrabbit were doing back there, but the back of your head looks like someone scrubbed it with a Brillo pad.”
Horrified, she put a hand to her braid, only to find that her hair wasn’t so braided. It was pure, crazy fuzz starting about three inches above her nape.
“And I don’t even want to ask what that red mark on your back is, but if I had to make a guess…”
If she’d ripped off her face and thrown it into a pan of sizzling oil, it couldn’t be hotter. “Don’t guess. Okay? Just don’t.” She moaned. “Everyone out there saw my hair, didn’t they?”
Nicky glanced up at the ceiling. Then he glanced at the painted floor. Finally he slid his eyes toward hers. “Um, yeah.”
“Don’t you dare say a word. Just please, please, fix it.”
“The Fab Four are schnockered. They probably won’t remember,” he offered. “And my client didn’t have her glasses on, so she may not have noticed. But Shirlie definitely wants to know all about the gubernatorial goods, so to speak.”
“Just shoot me, Nicky. Just put me out of my misery, okay?”
JACK KISSED HIS MOTHER on the cheek and admired her new sapphire earrings, an anniversary gift from his father the senator. “Mom, you look gorgeous. Where’s Senior?”
“He’s already on the verandah, puffing on a Cohiba. Darling, if I ever decide to take up cigars, he and I will be inseparable.”
Mom was slim and stunning this evening, in a sleeveless royal-blue sheath that most women her age wouldn’t have dared to wear. Her dark hair lay in a smooth shoulder-length bob, a sapphire ring sparkled on her right hand and her wit was as dry as ever. “So what did you get Carol for her birthday?” she asked, gesturing at the box under his arm.
“Uh…Turls got it. I’m not really sure what it is.”
His mother shook her head at him. “But I’m sure the card is signed, ‘All my love, Jack.’”
His mouth twisted and he shrugged.
“Don’t you dare let them push you into it.” Jeanne’s voice was low, and she immediately turned toward another guest with her characteristic charm.
He knew exactly what she meant, cryptic as her words may have been. He moved farther into the capacious foyer of Henry Hilliard’s stark-white, modern home on Star Island and shook the man’s hand.
“Henry! How ya been? Looking good, my man.”
The real estate baron slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Thank you, Jack. I’ve never been better.” He eyed the wrapped box under his guest’s arm. “A little big for an engagement ring, isn’t it?”
“Ha, ha! Well, sir, I’m still trying to get up the nerve to ask you to marry me.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Now that would send my daughter right over the edge.” He slapped Jack between the shoulder blades just a little too hard. “She’s in there somewhere, surrounded by admirers. Go find her, son.”
Jack aimed a brilliant smile at Hilliard and got the hell away from him. The subtext of their conversation wasn’t hard to figure out. If he’d been born into another culture and country, he’d be expected to offer a couple dozen camels for Carol’s hand. Maybe throw in a few goats to seal the deal.
Truth to tell, he had meant to ask her to marry him by now. But that was before they’d slept together, and before he’d met Marly.
Jack stared at Carol, the statuesque blond goddess draped in demure, brown silk in the formal living room. She was gorgeous, a brown-eyed Grace Kelly. And she’d been like a sister to him since he was ten years old.
As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned and raised an eyebrow. He crossed the room to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Carol.”
“Thank you, Jack.” She glanced at a slim gold watch on her wrist. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss your party.” He extended the gift-wrapped box to her and watched her face carefully as she took it.
She rewarded him with a bland, delighted smile. “What’s this?”
I don’t have a flipping clue, honey. Jack shrugged and g
rinned. “It’s a surprise.”
“I just love surprises,” she said.
No, you don’t. You wanted something very specific from me for your birthday. But…I can’t do it.
“Get yourself a drink, Jack.” She signaled to a waiter in a tuxedo shirt and black bow tie. The boy came right over and offered a tray full of champagne flutes.
Jack took one even though he didn’t feel like it. The last time he’d had champagne, he’d been in the limo with Marly. Naked. Sucking on her silver-painted toes, among other things.
“So, you ready to hit the campaign trail again?” Carol’s eyes were beautifully made up with a gingery eyeliner and dark brown mascara. Her skin was flawless. Diamonds glowed in her perfect earlobes. Camera-ready Carol.
As if on cue, a photographer wandering through the party took a candid of them, both wearing switched-on smiles.
Was he ready for the grueling campaign? Jack grimaced. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The Carol he’d known at age ten had been skinny and sun-kissed with flyaway hair, a few freckles. She’d been fun. She could trounce him at tennis then and still could—if she hadn’t turned into the kind of woman who would let him win just to save his ego. While Jack appreciated the thought, he didn’t respect it. His ego was big enough without needing to win every game of tennis he played, thank you very much.
His ego was also big enough to handle Carol faking an orgasm the two times they’d slept together. She was a damn good actress emotionally—he’d give her that. But her body had told him another story, told him that she’d never let go for a second and had choreographed the whole thing.
She’d probably be extremely surprised that he’d faked his orgasm the second time. It was either that or lose his stiffie altogether. And though his ego was big, that was the one thing he didn’t think he could handle.
So he’d tensed up and gasped like a landed fish, given a heartfelt groan and told her how amazing she was. Then he’d snatched off the condom and flushed it before she’d even left the bed.
His willie had wilted in peace without her discovering the truth: that her mechanical, preplanned seduction had failed miserably. And no matter how beautiful she was, he just didn’t want to go there again.
As for marriage…Jack knew plenty of political couples who got together and stayed together for practical reasons. They made good roommates, didn’t bother each other much, and threw great parties. They each traveled all the time campaigning, and created a highly successful, shiny business model.
As far as he could see, his parents’ marriage had become that sort of union, though he didn’t think it had started off that way. Somewhere along the line, though, Senator John had bonded with cigars, bourbon and golf while Jeanne had bonded with the kids. Senator John had done deals and written legislation while Jeanne had done diapers and helped write homework assignments. They cohabited.
It was a very civilized marriage, all in all. Nothing dramatic or tragic about it. But Jack just didn’t think he wanted a similar arrangement. He wanted passion and abandon, shared laughter and shared meals.
He didn’t have to be a rebel like his brother Tim—where was Tim tonight?—but he wanted a marriage that was more than a business arrangement.
The irony was that he was one hundred percent sure that Carol had seduced him in order to get things moving toward the altar. But her performance had had the opposite effect entirely. If he’d never slept with her he might be an engaged man right now. He might not have been free when he’d seen Marly’s photo in Shore magazine.
“You don’t sound so enthused about your reelection campaign, John-boy.” Carol put his hand on her arm.
John-boy? Where the hell had that come from? Jack grimaced, hating the fact that she called him John. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Relentless pressure, travel, public relations.”
“I’m sure it gets lonely, too. You need someone to keep you company during the whole circus.” She smiled sympathetically.
He gave her a noncommittal nod. “That’s a lot to ask of someone, you know.”
She raised her glass to her lips. “Well, the someone would have to care a lot about you and be strong enough to take on the load. Share it with you. And, like you, she’d have to look good while doing it. Make things seem effortless.”
“Mmm.” Jack resisted the temptation to drain his own glass and then go and bang his head against one of her father’s stark-white walls. Major campaign contributor was Henry Hilliard. Huge. A guy didn’t trifle with the man’s daughter, or a guy might just have to find a couple of million elsewhere.
“Do you know who’s the perfect, gracious, political wife? Laura Bush.”
Jack had to agree with that. “Yes. She’s beautiful, warm and unflappable in any social situation.”
Carol nodded. “This is so funny, but the other day at the club a woman told me that I look just like a younger, blond, brown-eyed version of her. That was one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever been paid.”
“You do, Carol. Of course, you’re sexier.” And he flashed a smile at her.
She dimpled, pleased. “Your father told me I looked like a delicious éclair.”
Jack choked on a sip of champagne. “Did he?” Was that before or after he pinched your lovely chocolate bottom?
“He’s got your charm, John, but none of your finesse.”
Well, that tells me all I need to know, doesn’t it? The before or after doesn’t matter so much.
“Where is the old ja—uh, gent?” Jack asked, refusing to glower. “I should pay my respects.” Or lack of them, as the case may be. His father had no business putting his hands on any part of Carol, especially when he was urging his elder son to marry her. The old goat.
“Last I saw him, he was outside debating the merits of various cigars with Jorge Martinez.”
Oh, joy. I get to see both Pop and Martinez at the same time! Can the evening get any better?
“Is it true that your father’s added an eight-hundred square foot annex to his home just to house a walk-in humidor and a wine cellar?”
“Yes,” murmured Jack. “Carol, I’ll find you again in a few. I’m going to say hello to the old man.”
“Okay, John. But don’t be a stranger.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he was paroled.
He got another glass of champagne that he didn’t want and moved through the crowd, greeting people he knew and meeting a few whom he didn’t. It took him twenty minutes to get out to the verandah, where his loyalties were challenged immediately.
His father and Martinez were indeed hitting the bourbon and smoking cigars on one end of the porch. And on the other end lounged his little brother Tim, proud black sheep of the family.
Jack adored Timmy, in spite of his tattoos, the diamond stud in his nose and his tendency to rip the sleeves out of every shirt or jacket he owned. Tim wore black motorcycle boots in this heat, and stood with his arm around his drop-dead-gorgeous Brazilian girlfriend, who was wearing five-inch heels and a tiny ensemble that was probably illegal anywhere but Miami. It was a damned good thing that she grew her dark hair so long that it covered her ass, because Jack didn’t think her skirt did the job too well.
He raised his hand in a two-fingered salute to Tim and Maya and then jerked his head toward Senior and Martinez. Without a word, his little bro understood that he’d find them as soon as he’d done his time with the old farts. Tim winked, and Jack headed over toward their father.
“There’s my boy!” Senior’s voice boomed. He clasped his son’s hand briefly and then picked up his bourbon again.
Martinez shot Jack a medium oily grin.
Been talking about me, eh, Jorge? Jack returned it with a tight smile of his own.
“Goddamn, boy, your hair sure looks fine. Martinez tells me you’ve found a little gal in Coral Gables to do it,” Senior said.
This time Jack didn’t bother to rein in his displeasure. He glowered at Martinez. You sonuvabitch. To his father he said, “Yes, she�
�s very talented.”
“I’m sure. Though it might be more convenient if you went to someone in Tallahassee, don’t you think?”
“Not really.” Jack rocked back on his heels. “With my travel schedule, it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of difference.”
“I’m not sure you’re getting my drift, boy.”
“I’m getting your drift.”
“Cigar?”
“No, thanks.”
His father’s eyes were the same as his, only bloodshot, with lines of hard living around them. The creases around Dad’s eyes aimed down, while Jack’s crow’s-feet were laugh lines, aiming up.
“Visiting that salon in Coral Gables could get very expensive,” Senior said.
“You’re the one who taught me that a good haircut is everything in a campaign.”
“Don’t do it, Junior. It’s extraordinarily bad timing.”
Gosh, isn’t everyone just full of advice tonight.
“Doesn’t Carol look stunning?” His father gestured behind him with his cigar, managing to drop ash on the shoulder of his suit.
“Stunning,” Jack agreed amiably, brushing it off for him. “You almost have to pinch…yourself…to make sure she’s real.”
Damn if his father didn’t get bourbon down the wrong pipe. Jack swatted him on the back hard, in an effort to clear his lungs. Then he murmured his excuses and went off to join Tim and Maya. They were the only people here who would probably approve of him getting engaged to Marly Fine. And she’d need reinforcements within his family. Because sooner or later, like his great-great-grandfather before him, Jack was going to marry the woman whose picture had stopped him in his tracks and changed his life.
Chapter 12
SUNDAY AT 9:00 p.m. Marly awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. She opened her eyes and blinked, staring straight into the black, rectangular plastic dish that had held her dinner of grocery store sushi. She’d fallen asleep in front of the television, sprawled over one of her big floor cushions. “Whah?”
Midnight Madness Page 10