As a general rule, Jackie detested cruelty of any sort. But furs . . . old ones . . . she was a sucker for them.
At the sound of her high heels, George leaped up from his desk and bustled to the center of the room. Jackie briefly admired how his hair was now a dark black in spite of his age. It was pushed back, gelled into perfect uniformity. There was a hint of a five o’clock shadow and his upper lip still had that slight smirk that used to always make her smile, even if he hadn’t said a word.
“Darling,” Jackie cried, swishing her way into George’s outstretched arms. He squeezed her a little too long, a little too tight. She felt him choke back a sob. “George, dear,” Jackie said, her voice muffled against his lapel, “I truly hope you’re not crying. On my mink.”
Standing in this stately room, surrounded by brown leather, bookshelves, and that familiar dish of butterscotch candies on the middle of George’s writing desk, she might as well have gone back in time. It was as though Paris had never happened and George had just finished reading her the will. That day, as the last “bequeath” left his mouth, George had burst into unabashed tears.
“A heart attack?” George had sobbed. “He was the healthiest man I know. He could lap me!” And Jackie had started crying right along with him. The two friends drank scotch late into the evening, turning the pity party into fun memories about Robert and the life and friendship they’d shared.
Now she pulled back and looked into George’s handsome face. Sure enough, those dark eyes were swimming with tears. “George, you stop that,” she ordered, feeling her eyes get wet. “We’re not doing this again. If you want to drink scotch with me, you just have to ask.”
“I apologize.” George swiped at his eyes, then patted his pockets and found her a clean handkerchief. “You are absolutely right.”
Jackie dabbed the starched material to her face. A feathered pattern from her mascara stained the white surface. “All right,” she sniffed. “Now, you better say something nice to me.”
“Jacqueline, my dear,” George said, “you look beautiful.”
“And so do you,” Jackie scolded, really looking at him. When she’d left, George had been a bit portly, but now he looked sleek in dark slacks and a fitted gray sweater. “It looks like you need a woman to make you a sandwich. Just look at you, you’re wasting away.”
George beamed and spun around like Fred Astaire, hair falling across his forehead like in a moment from some classic film. “Ta-dum!”
Jackie giggled, reaching her arm out and grabbing his sleeve. This stopped him from another ridiculous spin. Voice deep and serious, she said, “Liposuction?”
George laughed. “Certainly not, my dear Jacqueline,” he said, gently kissing her hand. “Diet and exercise. I spend an hour on my treadmill every day. Sometimes two.”
“Hmm. Did the treadmill turn your hair back to black?” she teased. “Wasn’t it a little . . . shall we say . . . saltier the last time I saw you?”
From under those dark eyebrows, George gave her an injured look and Jackie giggled. She wandered over to that hard leather sofa that she’d sat on so many times before and flopped down.
“Candy?” he offered. George knew she loved anything sweet.
Jackie held out her hand and let her fingers waggle. Her diamonds glistened in rainbow patterns across his hardwood floor. George threw her a golden-wrapped toffee and she flinched as it hit her in the face. “George, have you gotten clumsy in your old age?”
“Oh no, my darling,” George promised, unwrapping another. “My aim is legendary. Arrows to the heart, all over town, you know.”
“So you were trying to hit me in the face?” Jackie teased.
George rewarded her with a smirk.
“I believe it,” Jackie said, shaking her head. “You’ve always been dangerous.”
That day she had first met Robert, George had almost swept her away.
It had all happened at the Taste of Chicago festival, some fifteen years back. She’d been dragged to the summer festival by Cheryl, Doris, and Doug. That crew had looked like tourists in their khakis and T-shirts. Jackie, fresh out of her stint at the Art Institute, was inappropriately attired in a low-cut, black lace dress and ballet style leather shoes.
“You’re wearing that?” Cheryl asked, as the group walked up to Jackie’s brownstone. She had been waiting for them on the cement stoop. “You’ll die. It’s supposed to be really hot.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jackie had said, hopping up and doing a little pirouette. But two hours into the hundred-degree heat, she had to admit Cheryl had been right. She was sweating profusely and the black lace was sticking to all the wrong places. Plus, festival people and men who must have been out on parole keep leering at her.
“This is a disaster,” she’d muttered, tugging at her dress.
“But so fun,” Doris had squealed, shoving a piece of fried dough into her mouth and squeezing Doug’s arm. The couple had been having a wonderful time, gluttonizing their way through every food stand in the park. Cheryl had been enjoying herself, too. Halfway through the Italian section, she had started making out with a bartender who had been pouring them endless cups of Chianti.
“I don’t know,” Jackie said. “Do you want to go back?” But Doris had already turned to another vendor.
After bumping into yet another kid with a greasy face and hands smeared with blue cotton candy, Jackie ditched her friends and sneaked down to Lake Michigan. She was desperate to get away from the heady scent of diversity. At the water, she struck pay dirt. She stumbled in on an impromptu gathering of the Yacht Club.
The first time she saw Robert, he was on the upper deck of a yacht, carefree in a white linen shirt and leaning back in a chair in that way Jackie’s mother had taught her not to. When Robert first saw Jackie, he had actually put up two hands—one to silence his friends and the other to shield his eyes from the sun. After a long moment, he’d beckoned to her, watch glinting. Jackie had blushed and preened. Then, like any self-respecting twenty-two-year-old, had gotten on board with the group of well-dressed men.
Just as Jackie climbed up the steps, thinking the situation couldn’t get any better, the best-looking man she had ever seen came up from below the deck. He was holding a bottle of champagne and stopped to gape at her. “Who is this beauty?” he demanded.
“Hello,” she said, turning her eyes to George.
“Welcome to my little tugboat.” His eyes were dark and amused, already sporting fine lines at the corners. He was at least fifteen years older than she.
As though reading her mind, George said, “Just so you know, I’m too young to be hanging out with these geriatrics.” The announcement was just loud enough for the other men on the yacht to hear. “It’s a good thing you showed up.”
The men burst out laughing. “He was in college when you were in diapers, sweetie,” one of them said.
Jackie tossed her blond hair. “You don’t look so young yourself,” she told the man.
“See?” George said, setting down the champagne and putting a hand over his heart. “I swear I’m not as decrepit as this crew. I’m just a hungry lawyer, vying for their commission.”
“Oh yeah?” one of the men shouted. The man was looking at them through binoculars and Jackie had the feeling his gaze was running up and down her legs. “Commission for what?”
“Estate planning,” George cracked.
The men shouted and started pelting ice in their direction. Ducking, George grabbed Jackie’s hand and swept her over to the other side of the yacht. After expertly pouring her a drink, George got her to talk. She told him about graduating from the Art Institute, her hope for the future, and whether or not she was talented at what she did (yes). George told her about his law practice, the time he’d spent in law school, and his success at making partner at his office in the Gold Coast. Soon, they had moved on to general interests and George was explaining sailing terms to her and making promises to take her out on the water.
Just as Jackie had almost
fallen in love, leaning forward just enough to let this handsome, older man know it was okay to kiss her, another girl showed up. She was wearing a gold lamé bikini, and her fake breasts jutted out like the prow of a ship. Stomping over to George, the girl grabbed him by the ear and dragged him away from Jackie. She pushed him into a sun chair and practically straddled him, shooting rude looks at Jackie over her shoulder.
Mortified, Jackie turned to the water. Staring out, she clutched her drink and mentally recapped the false promises George had just made. Sailboat rides, dinner by the river, trips to Tiffany . . . The lavish attention had made her feel exotic and interesting; now she just felt ridiculous standing there in her tight black dress.
Setting down her empty glass on the rail, Jackie wondered where her friends were and whether or not the climb down the yacht’s ladder would be possible in her half-drunken state. Letting out a little sigh, she decided to try. Turning around, she was startled to find Robert standing behind her. His hand was reaching toward her, as though to tap her on the arm. She jumped.
“Sorry to scare you,” Robert said, dropping his hand. When Jackie didn’t say anything, he reached up again, removing his designer sunglasses and tucking them into his shirt pocket. His eyes were the same metallic blue as the sky, but there wasn’t anything cold about them. “And sorry about George. His girlfriend gets a little possessive.”
“You’re full of apologies,” Jackie said, trying to sound brave. “Listen, it’s okay. He . . . he said he was here with someone.”
Robert studied her, forehead creased. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’re actually a really good liar,” he said, laughing. “You must have a lot to hide.”
Jackie glared at him, but after a moment her mouth tugged at the corners. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Robert smiled, and then picked up the champagne bottle as though to pour.
Jackie shook her head. “I think I’m going to go,” she said, sneaking another look at George. He was sitting by the girl, doing shots with her and some friends.
“Please. One drink,” Robert said, refilling the glass. “I insist.”
Irritated, Jackie took a long sip. The liquid was fizzy but cold and she shivered. Immediately, Robert grabbed a cable knit sweater from a nearby chair, draping it over her shoulders. Warm from the sun, the feel of the material was soft and heavy. It smelled like laundry soap and lemons.
“Thanks,” Jackie said, surprised.
“You’re welcome,” Robert said. “George would have let you freeze to death. See?” George’s girlfriend was shivering in her skimpy bikini, skin most likely crawling with gooseflesh. “Don’t let your heart break over a rogue like him.”
Jackie turned and faced Robert, really looking at him for the first time. With sandy brown hair and simple features, he wasn’t anything that would have caught her eye at a party but there was something incredibly appealing about him. Maybe it was his kindness . . . or the direct way he’d called her on the lie. Whatever it was, Jackie was suddenly less interested in getting off the yacht and finding her friends.
“Shall we sit?” Robert asked, indicating the bench along the railing.
Jackie nodded. Once they were seated, she didn’t protest when Robert put his arm around her. Snuggling into the crook, Jackie watched the colors of the sun begin to yawn over the horizon. Robert was silent, absently running his thumb over the inside of her wrist. When the sun finally dipped below the buildings and the night fell, Robert lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. They were warm against her skin. Jackie gave a little jump as he flicked his tongue across the sensitive area between her fingertips. Letting her hand drop, Robert winked at her. It was the first of many moments that would win her heart.
George liked to claim that the girl in the gold lamé bikini had ruined his life. “Jackie was in love with me,” he always said, once she and Robert had become a couple. “Why did my date have to show up?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered in the end,” Robert would always say, turning to Jackie and giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m much better looking than George. Right, honey?”
Dutifully, Jackie would nod. Everything between Robert and George was a competition, from the stock market to golf to women. Because of the way the two men joked, Jackie was always very careful to make certain her loyalty to Robert was clear. Neither of them took the conversation seriously though, because as Jackie fell deeper and deeper in love with Robert, she hadn’t given George a second look. Still, as Robert’s best friend, he was always present. In fact, George had taught her how to play golf, appreciate caviar, enjoy the symphony . . .
Sitting on this leather sofa and thinking back over her life, it seemed amazing to Jackie that two strangers who had once met by chance had experienced so much of life together.
“Oh, George,” Jackie said now, shaking her head. “When did we get so old?”
“My dear,” George said, straightening his cuff links, “Nobody in this room is old. If you disagree, please take me to pasture and have me shot.”
After Jackie laughed, George folded his hands into a teepee and looked down at her over his glasses. The dark eyes turned serious. “I’d love to laugh with you but I have to admit . . . I am slightly furious with you for running away the way that you did.”
“It was self-preservation,” Jackie admitted, looking down at the floor. The tips of her black stilettos reflected in the polished wood. “I’m sorry if that hurt you.”
“I lost my two best friends,” George said, glancing at the picture of Robert perched on his desk. “It was . . . difficult.”
Jackie twisted her wedding ring. “Yes. I know.”
The room was silent, save the ticking of the clock on the shelf. An entire minute passed as George shuffled papers on his desk, ran his hand over the back of his head, and cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he finally said. “That is the past. We need to discuss your future. My dear . . .” George looked up and another shadow passed over his handsome face. “It seems we have a problem.”
“Yes, you’ve made it quite clear,” Jackie said, forcing her voice to remain light. “I used all of my money and now will have to scrape by on a pauper’s salary to pay off the debts. I understand.”
“It’s not just that,” George said. Taking off his glasses, he folded them with a quick snap. “The economy crashed and although everyone adjusted accordingly, much was lost. That’s nothing unusual, it’s happened everywhere. The real problem is something a bit more . . . shocking.”
Jackie adjusted her mink, waiting for George to continue. Instead, he unwrapped another piece of butterscotch candy and crunched down. “Okay,” Jackie finally said, once it became clear George was not eager to share the news. “Shock me.”
“We have a tax situation.”
Jackie’s heart froze in her throat. “Pardon?”
George picked up a large file from the top of his desk and opened it. Staring at the pages, he said, “It appears that . . . well . . .”
“Oh, just spit it out,” Jackie cried.
“It appears Robert neglected to pay taxes on several of the properties he acquired in Arizona.” George began flipping through the file in earnest, pulling out document after document and stacking them on the desk. “They were seized after his death and it was not made known to me or his accountant that there was anything wrong in the books. But Jacqueline, Robert owed in excess of a million dollars in property taxes.”
Jackie nodded. The numbers were not new to her. Robert had been a very wealthy man. “But he’s dead. Surely, I don’t have to . . .”
“You do,” George said, dropping the folder onto his desk with a bang.
Jackie put her hand to her mouth and visibly blanched. Immediately, George leaped up and bustled over with a bottle of water, then thought better of that and poured her a scotch. She downed both like medicine.
“Everything will be all right,” George said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
He hesitated for a moment, and then walked back to his desk. “Yes, you were overspending in Paris, but I thought we could retain the majority of the principal. However, the funds are simply not there. We must use the remainder of his estate to pay this debt. Then, the issue is closed.”
“But I only have the remainder of his estate,” Jackie said. “George, the car rental company wouldn’t even let me use my credit cards.”
“Your assets were frozen,” George said. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear. Had I known—”
Jackie held up her hand. George was an excellent lawyer. He would have fixed the problem yesterday had he known it existed. “Carl has to know something,” Jackie said. Carl was the accountant who had worked with Robert for years.
George shook his head. “I spoke with him, formal deposition. He knew nothing about it. He knew the properties had been purchased but he can only work with the information Robert provided him. And in this case . . .”
Falling silent, George took off his glasses and cleaned them with a fresh white hanky. Jackie wondered if George had a hanky in every pocket of his suit.
“Robert was not honest?” she finished for him.
George hesitated. Finally, he nodded. “I’m disappointed in him, Jacqueline. This was not expected.”
Jackie didn’t know which part of the shock was greater—that she was completely bankrupt or that her gentle husband, the man who had promised her the moon, the stars, and at the very least, breakfast every day in bed, had portrayed himself as something he was not. Jackie stared straight ahead, fanning herself with a copy of the Economist.
“Whatever I can do . . .” George finally spoke.
“Oh, just toss me a candy, George,” she said, throwing the magazine onto the table. “Just don’t hit me in the face, this time. I can’t afford the health care.”
DORIS WAS STEAM cleaning the rug, listening to Windham Hill at full volume. She had her cell tucked into her sweater pocket in case Doug called. Ramming the steamer into the edge of the coffee table, Doris tried to get at a particularly difficult-to-reach area of the rug. On a normal day, she would have just moved all the furniture to make her steam efficient, but today was not a normal day. Jackie would be back for lunch at noon.
The Whole Package Page 9