“The Stud’s a Dud! Former Baird-to-be Bares All,” I read aloud.
Claire grinned, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That’s a good one.”
While on a weekend spa getaway, Kate Hearst spilled the sauce to an eagle-eared pedicurist. “She said he used to be able to have sex multiple times a day. A real stallion in the sack,” Gianna Giacomo of Long Island told our investigative reporter. “She said his sex drive had gone completely dead after their partying college years. He duped her. They hadn’t, you know, in years. The baby mama can have him, she laughed. Get used to celebacy!” Gianna also disclosed Kate had already found a new lover and was more than elated to be moving on.”
I glanced at the publication name and rolled my eyes. “Good grief. I haven’t seen this rag since back in Sweetwater. Zack’s granny used to buy it.”
“It was towards the back, too. I’m running out of new things to pin,” she said, sighing. “Fun while it lasted. You know, I hate to say it, but I am glad for that lady, Kate. Live, child. Imagine going through all that with a super-hot guy who ends up having the libido of a grandpa.”
I chewed my food slowly, pushing it from one cheek to the other. “Probably a fake story, Claire.” It had to be. Daniel being abstinent couldn’t be possible. Could it? My cell phone buzzed and I answered it. “Hey, Ari. Yes. Okay, I’ll come over now. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.” As I grabbed my bag, I looked up at Claire. “Just take it all down. Please.” Helplessly, I left work behind.
I thought about Daniel a lot.
Tristan had attached to him deeply. Any artwork he brought home was Daniel in his back garden I hadn’t seen before, or Jeeves riding a T-Rex with a spatula in hand. We were having some issues at school as well. Tristan did not accept that Daniel was gone. I didn’t want to scare him by telling the truth—I couldn’t conjure Daniel if I wanted to. He’d disappeared. Days after the case, it was published in a financial paper that he’d gone on hiatus from his company. The gossip items in the burn book indicating as the waitress had—he’d been bagged, the doing of his own father. I’d sent Solomon the balance of his legal fees. He returned it. It was no small amount and he said it had been settled on my behalf. I could guess by whom, and he confirmed it. Christmas morning was a tough one. Tristan searched under the tree for something from a name that wasn’t there.
Tristan and Chen ran towards me, across the frosted grass, their winter hats in hands. One boy with floppy hair the color of a Werther’s Original and a slightly smaller one with an onyx buzz, flying on land without a care. Chen would be his Violet, I hoped. He’d need a friend like that with all we faced. I pushed the thought away and I opened my arms wide for the joy.
On New Year’s Day I ran into Violet in the lobby. I wanted to spend my birthday with only Tristan so we’d bundled up for the snow and had Del Posto. Vi had big plans—dressed to the nines, accompanied by Hunt. He visited infrequently, appearing at Violet’s door unannounced. He’d stay with her a night or weekend. Violet complained, but I got the feeling the spontaneity kept her hooked.
“Where are you two headed?” I asked, not knowing he’d arrived.
Violet looked up at Hunt, then sympathetically at me. “We’re headed to a party at a gallery. It took me a while to convince this one to go out.” Hunt looked at me neutrally, his thick tawny brows resting over deep set eyes. Violet was dazzling in a shimmery high neck dress, a clear vinyl coat, and pointy heels with metallic studs on them. She’d stuck a few flowers in her pulled back hair. Hunt was dressed in nearly the same ensemble he’d worn when we met, with the addition of sturdy boots and an old thick Army green coat.
“At least you’re dressed for the weather,” I said, charitably critiquing the disparity in their wardrobes.
“I got my coat, back,” he said abstractly, as if it was the highlight of his outfit. It had one nearly detached gold star on the right pocket. Violet would be highly irritated with any other man for wearing it. Perhaps there was more between them than spontaneity.
I smiled to her about my joke, but she only looked uncomfortable. “We’ll see you later Bree. Happy birthday, again. And happy new year.” Hunt frowned, but Vi pulled him forward.
Something popped into my head. Something I had to ask her. I held Tristan’s hand beside mine. I turned around, watching her legs swish under the skirt. “That was my coat, wasn’t it?” I called out to her, my voice echoing in the hall. “I was wearing it when you found me. When I was on the streets.”
Violet stopped, bringing Hunt to a halt. She turned her head over her shoulder and answered, “Yes.”
With their hands still joined together, Hunt turned back to me as well, his mouth a straight line. “The center of the Earth is hot, darlin’” he said, in indecipherable forecast. Violet shrugged, and he tugged her hand to go. I went home and after putting Tristan to bed, read my journal entry from the night I’d met Daniel. Then I ripped it out and burned it in the sink.
I met with Jill the next day for lunch. I dressed my best, my most Jill-like in a fitted long sleeve knit dress and thick black tights with knee boots. I got a manicure, too. I wanted my friend back. I arrived early, but she was already seated at the table. She opted for small talk and launched right in to catching me up on her social calendar but somehow we landed on Zack. She wasn’t going to purr and curl up on my chair arm without scratching. She and Zack had formed a Sith-like alliance during the weeks of the case, talking almost daily. After commenting she always knew he was a bit weak under the bad-assery, she wasn’t surprised he’d “come crawling back to his old-steady so soon.”
“He’s dating Chen’s mom, Annie. Besides, he’s practically my brother. He used to call it the ‘friend-zone’, but we have a great relationship in that zone. Why, did he say differently to you?”
“If he had, I wouldn’t break his confidence, Bree,” she said chastely, holding their bond right over my head, in case I’d missed. “I’m not that kind of friend. But no, he didn’t.”
“You should tell me if he has. You’re making me feel like you think I’m leading him on.” I lifted one eyebrow.
She quirked her lip up. “Like I said, I wouldn’t break his confidence, so know what I’m saying is observation, Bree. Zack isn’t in love with you. I mean, he is, but he isn’t. He falls in love with every woman he dates for three months. Then, they break up because he’s a controlling baby. He shows up at your house to lick his wounds with the gang, makes you feel bad about being a mother, then takes off on his little motorbike.” I was quiet. I realized I had to let Jill get out her scratches—for everyone. She sat back in her cafe chair, drawing a long silky lock of rose gold hair behind her shoulder. “I told you. You’re not as smart as you think.”
“So to recap, you’re still angry with me and Zack’s still using me as a stand-in love interest. What else, I have webbed feet?” I kidded, halfheartedly.
She met my gaze, her aqua eyes leveling with me. “He loves you. He loves his idea of you. That’s who he wants you to be. How you were back when Violet introduced us.”
“How did you see me back then?”
“Square. Submissive. The store Piggly-Wiggly comes to mind,” she teased. I gave her a dry look and she continued. “Smart. Sweet. Pretty.”
My eyes connected with the Jill I knew, the one with a heart, and she smiled. I reached my hand across the table. She grabbed it; she didn’t hate me. A piece fell back in place.
“You’ve never given me a real compliment before.” I laughed, dabbing an eye.
“Is that necessary? You had confirmed rakes suing you because you won’t sleep with them.”
“One confirmed rake.” She had her theories.
“One more than the rest of us have had,” she quipped then took my hands in hers. “But you won. We won. Whatever you said up there when you took him apart was perfection. People told me how he looked. Like someone crashed his jet into a kinder-care. I wish I’d been there to see it,” she said, squeezing my hand before sitting b
ack. “The word is out. Baird is done. He’ll be eating truffled caviar off Brazilian model asses for life in that fucking jet, don’t get me wrong, but Kate is gone. Hanging on to some other British guy about three rungs down from Daddy Bairdbucks. His dad is pissed, too. Took off back to England right after the trial. Then, his mom, and this stays between you and me, do not publicize you know this, my sources are only good as long as I don’t play the telephone game with this juice, his mom is filing for divorce. Not “Honey I want to retire with the pool boy to Ibiza, so you take the lake house” divorced. She is getting armed. Making calls, reaching out to Earls, Counts, and all the other teacup holders. Houses and lordly titles, I mean, how do they even begin to split that up? Then, BarclayBaird. The whole fucking company is based on them. And she owns the larger percent! Whatever unholy union they have going on. I mean Christ on a cracker watching those two walk in the courtroom gave me the willies. I grew up privileged—our country club doesn’t let women inside after 5:00 p.m. without a coif and pearls. But those two—wow. His dad’s eyes are like that final flush of a clean potty before the blue tab runs out completely. Get some color contacts, you’re freaking out the kiddies.”
“How do you know all this?”
“One of my old modeling friends is sleeping with whatever their speaker of the house guy is called over there. His wife is Baird’s mom’s cousin. She called me after the trial, and we’ve been in touch since. After the trial, notice? I was kryptonite until I won against that fucker. Everyone was waiting to see where the cards fell. Revenge is sweet, dear Bree. Oh so sweet. August will make out like a bandit with the company falling apart. He’ll do well in the sell-off. Great options with that last promotion. I can’t warn him though because he keeps secrets like a second grader.”
“I won’t say anything.” She twisted her lips and arched a brow. I widened my eyes. “I promise.”
She took her napkin of the plate, finally laying it her lap, then with the same hand took a sip of her goblet filled with water and sliced lemon. Then set it down.
“He’s dating Solomon now. He won’t admit, the big weirdo. Everyone knows since the case, anyway. I wish he would just come out of the fucking closet already. It’s not his fault. I know that. It’s my dad’s. Our dad’s, which just feels strange to say. They haven’t talked in years. Meanwhile I’m in the middle. But thank God, August makes me look good by comparison. Not like that, not because he’s gay, but because he managed to tick off my father more than I ever could.”
“Isn’t that the reason they don’t talk? Because your dad kind of condemned it.”
She puckered her lips and twisted them a hint. “They don’t talk because my dad is gay, Bree. Our dad is also gay, also living very contentedly in a blue and white chintz closet of WASPiness. Our mother holds the door for him. August and I heard it all through high school, it was the kind of smack kids heard their parents say at home with no flies on the wall. Then at the next fundraiser they’d kiss my parents on both cheeks and talk about how they were all looking forward to the regatta.”
“I had no idea there was that much drama attached to it.”
“Coming from you I take that as a compliment, dear Bree. August knew he was gay by high school. So he figured, I’m gay why don’t I be brave and then dad will be brave and we’ll all go to the pride parade after our Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving? He decided to do it Thanksgiving, mind you, when everyone would be there to clap them both into the open. He was expecting tears, surprise, then hugs and I-love-you-no-matter-whats. He thought, in his heart, seriously, he thought this is what our dad was waiting for. A moment. An ally to stand with him in all his glory and be out.”
I cupped a hand over my eyes. I knew August. My goodness, that’s exactly what he would have done.
“He outed them both. My dad froze with his arm around my mom. My grandfather, who really is the last King patriarch, lost it. We watched our parents deny it perfectly. Granddaddy was satisfied. August was sent to a therapist, then summer camp in the desert. August hasn’t even said the word ‘gay’ since that day.” She glazed over my troubled look, coaching me.
“Tons of people are hiding in plain sight for tons of different reasons. Look at Ian. I swear he would have asked me out two years ago if I was from Poughkeepsie with double Ds or if I had a Yale MBA. He didn’t have a type in between. I flatter myself and think it’s because I’m so beautiful he was intimidated, but that’s a farce. My reputation was too scandalous for the intellectual nerds, and I was too upper crust for his family back home. I am neither of those things. But what do you know? Turns out I’m the perfect girl.”
She smiled showing me her mouth full of tall white teeth then slowly held out her left hand, which had been resting on her lap since she’d arrived. It was a beautiful stone surrounded by tiny stones glinting on her ring finger.
I gasped, and looked up at her. “Don’t hug me. And don’t squeal. I don’t want to make a scene.”
“Ice for the ice queen,” I said, happy for them both. “It’s okay. I get it. Besides you’ve slept in my bed. I’ve had my share of physical contact.”
“Yes, apparently we were screwing all that time. Can you believe that?”
“No. I can’t. Let’s not go there. I don’t even know how he got all those ridiculous lies.”
“Oh. I do. It was that witch Kate.”
“What?”
“Remember that guy she was photographed with in the paper? His name is Cezar Salazar. The most expensive private investigator in the country. He’s from D.C., naturally. He was CIA then was fired on suspicion of selling state secrets. Kate hired him and brought him here on her tab. After the case, an ex from a million years ago who owns the Palace hotel called and said he was glad you beat Daniel, go America, blah blah, and that his house manager told him that Daniel’s girlfriend was cheating anyway with some guy living in their penthouse since at least a month before the trial. Except Cezar was her spy not her boyfriend. She was jealous of you and Tristan so she hired a P.I. to dig up trash. Daniel gobble it up, of course. My phone was a switchboard for rubberneckers at the time, so I told him call me back with hard evidence. He did and had Cezar’s name and background and everything. It is amazing how people gravitate to roast their marshmallows on their neighbor’s burning house. They even bring extra marshmallows for you.”
“Sounds like you’re enjoying the s’mores,” I commented, choking down Kate’s treachery and inwardly impressed at the accuracy of Jill’s statement.
“I am and they’re delicious. I haven’t gained an inch of remorse, either. My image will come back. It’s already on its way. But Baird? There was no solution for that. It could have dragged on forever, him being in our lives. He may be gone already. There hasn’t been one sighting of him in the city since. We’re free and he’s vanished, the life-sucker. That bastard has finally fallen back into the abyss that incubated him.”
My face fell a little. “Don’t say that.” I chastised softly, thinking of Fiona. “The incubated part.”
“Confusion,” she replied, waving her hand. “That’s all you have to say after I bring you rare gifts of gossip and myrrh? You are…defending him?”
“No. I just. I don’t know. Keep talking,” I shook my head and shut my eyes briefly. “How are things going at the agency?”
She flipped her hair and withdrew her hand, sitting back in her seat. She straightened her posture. “Well, I have lots of spare time since he practically put me in semi-retirement. Ian and I are flying to Boston then to St Barth’s for a week right after lunch, it’s so slow. I’m booking about half my talent at half the rate I used to get. So things are peachy. Now tell me how in frozen snowman balls are you not at least dropping one swear word about that bastard?” she asked.
“Because he is an…asshole, and other things. He will also always be Tristan’s father. Tristan lived with him. He is obsessed with him. He thinks he is the coolest most awesome person on the planet. No matter how I explain it, he thinks Danie
l doesn’t want to see him. It’s tearing him up.”
The mention of Tristan softened her a bit. “Oy.”
“Yes. It’s an oy. It’s not like I can dance around my house celebrating,” I said, glancing at the waiter bent at the table next to us. I leaned in and she mirrored me. “And also because he didn’t lose exactly, Jill. He gave me the win. And I saw him a few times at the park. The things he said, he’s not.…he’s not a one-dimensional Bad Man with a six-shooter. He’s just human, like us.”
Her mouth twisted with disgust as she leaned away from the privacy of our huddle. She raised her hand, clamping her fingers together as if pinching closed an invisible mouth. “I’m going to shut you down right there. First, I don’t want to hear anything that’s going to upset me today. Like you even considering he’s not one hundred percent horrible. Second, you are still subconsciously thinking about his dick, aren’t you? Six-shooter? He screwed your brain loose. Don’t be a fool. A win is a win. This city knows that. I know that. Why don’t you?”
“Because Tristan didn’t win,” I explained, still leaning forward. I took a sip of my own water and set it down. “In my eyes, I guess I see the whole thing as a tragedy.”
She rejoined our huddle to say, “Isn’t that what we knew all along?” giving me a knowing look. She sat back. “Bree, people love you right now. You turned this thing around. Only the truly misogynistic doubt you still. Embrace being on the right side of the headline.”
“I’d rather not be a headline at all,” I replied.
She pouted her lips, her eyes fleetingly commiserative. “Not everyone is made for the glam life. Before I forget, that envelope is yours. The test we did came in a while back. I opened it already. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Thanks,” I said, sardonically, smiling. She’d indicated a crinkled white envelope that lay between us on the table when I arrived.
“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “But you were right. Sorry for sending it behind your back. That DNA place turned out to be quackery. It linked him with some Spanish nutcase from the Antarctic or wherever. Three thousand dollars down the drain.”
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 32