And it was time he did not have nor could he afford.
“Or, you can let Gabrielle sleep in the bed she made for herself,” Merry suggested and Layne’s eyes moved back to him.
“She’s my kids’ mother.”
“I dig that, brother but –”
“She’s my kids’ mother, Garrett.”
Merry closed his mouth and nodded.
Then he opened it and asked quietly, “You and Roc gonna be able to –?”
Layne interrupted him. “We’re fine.”
“Big man –”
“We’re fine, Merry,” Layne repeated firmly.
Merry closed his mouth and nodded again but he didn’t hide the fact that he was far from convinced.
Then he sucked back his cappuccino in one gulp and slammed his mug on the table.
“Got your back, whenever you need it,” he said, standing and wiping foam from his mouth.
“I know,” Layne replied.
“Later,” Merry said on a low, short wave, turned, lifted a chin to Mimi and went out the door.
Then Layne made the decision that, even though he wanted to pay a visit to Stew at work, try a direct approach, if he wanted to keep his sons in oatmeal, he needed to rack up billable hours. And nothing racked up billable hours like a woman who had money to burn and nothing but time on her hands and she used that time to convince herself that her faithful husband was being unfaithful and no matter what Layne said to her to assure her, she wouldn’t believe it.
So Layne headed to Indy to watch a man eat a club sandwich on his own while reading the paper. He broke the tedium of this only slightly by taking photos of that man eating his club sandwich and reading the paper. Then he headed back to the office to run off some invoices and print out the digital photos he took to add to the already fat file at the same time again wishing he had a receptionist.
Now he was moving through his bedroom because it was time to pick up Rocky for the game.
He was making his way through the open room at the top of the stairs when his cell rang. He yanked it from his back pocket and looked at his display that said “Raquel Calling”. They’d traded numbers and made plans while at Mimi’s the day before.
He flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. “Layne.”
“Hey,” Rocky replied.
“Hey,” Layne repeated as he walked down the stairs.
“Listen, I have a situation,” she told him.
He stopped by the fridge and gave her his full attention.
“What situation?”
“See…” she hesitated, “today hasn’t been the greatest. I don’t know if I can make the game.”
Shit. She was backing out. This could mean cold feet and they’d passed the point where she could have cold feet.
“Roc –”
She cut him off, explaining quickly, “Okay, so, I had to leave your place early because I needed to get my car to the mechanics before school. Nothing is wrong, it just needed a service and Jarrod usually deals with that and he… well, we… anyway, it’s been too long, it’s four months out on that so I had to do it.” She took a breath and went on. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow so they gave me a loaner, which was cool, but that broke down, if you can believe that. A loaner from a mechanic breaking down.” She took another breath and continued. “Anyway, Dad had to come get me, which he did, then I had some errands to run, which Dad took me to do. But, you know Dad, he lives for football and he’s been the Bulldog’s biggest fan for the last four decades. He’s tailgating with Ernie and Spike tonight and I got a call from The Brendel. I’m on their waiting list and they had someone move out and I got moved up so I have a viewing, like, right now. Dad dropped me off and the girl who is showing me the apartment said she’d take me back to Merry’s. But she just called and said she’s going to be late and I can’t miss this viewing because if I do someone else might snatch up the apartment –”
“Rocky –”
“And I gotta get off –”
“Roc –”
“Merry’s couch or my back is going to –”
“Sweetcheeks, shut up a second,” he cut in, she went silent likely because he figured she was still not a big fan of him calling her sweetcheeks and why he did. “I’ll come get you.”
“But, she’s supposed to be here any minute and she’s not here yet and, if I want it, I have to deal with the application and–”
“Rocky, I’ll come get you.”
“Layne, if you do, you might miss kickoff and I haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Then I’ll buy you a hotdog at the game.”
She fell silent and he moved through the kitchen, snatching his keys from the counter as he headed toward the garage.
“You got the code for the gate?”
“Three-two-three-seven,” she replied.
“Unit?”
“Unit E, apartment three.”
“See you in five,” he said, having moved through the utility room and entered the garage.
He was about to take the phone from his ear when he heard her call, “Layne?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” she whispered and then he heard the disconnect.
He flipped his phone closed thinking he liked hearing Rocky’s quiet voice saying thanks.
He folded himself into his Suburban thinking he was glad she left early that morning because she had to do something and not because she was escaping.
And he pulled out of his garage, down his drive and headed toward The Brendel thinking about The Brendel.
The Brendel was an apartment complex across the road and down the street from Layne’s development. He could walk there nearly as fast as he could drive there. Unlike the middle to upper-middle class housing that surrounded it, it was a luxury apartment complex. Rents were high because the apartments were sweet. So sweet, Layne had seen them on the internet when he was looking for a place prior to moving home and he’d considered it. But the waiting list was seven to twelve months long, taking into consideration when tenants moved out, which wasn’t often, and he didn’t have that long to wait. It was easier to find and close on a house than get into The Brendel.
Not including the three bedroom, duplex townhomes, each unit and each of the three apartments in the units were different and all the layouts unusual, built with an eye to quality and style. They were appointed with top-of-the line everything, appliances, carpeting, washers and dryers, bathroom fixtures. There was a full gym onsite with a clubhouse and an outdoor pool that had an expansive cooldeck and an abundance of lounge chairs. The landscaping was effusive and colorful. The complex was gated, they had twenty-four hour onsite security and each apartment had its own private entrance and alarm. Rents for a two bedroom unit were double the highest rents found elsewhere in the ‘burg. The Brendel was the hot home destination for trendy, high income twenty- and thirty-somethings and double-income-no-kids couples.
It was also where Harrison Rutledge lived. Harrison Rutledge who had a cop’s salary, an ex-wife, a kid and a child support payment that meant his wife had gotten herself a very good attorney when she dumped his ass. Therefore, his apartment alone tagged him as a dirty cop on the take which was a stupid mistake, something, Layne had found, Rutledge was not averse to making. And it was that something that made Layne go in too fast, too hard and get ambushed doing it. He’d thought Rutledge was a fool, he’d gotten cocky and he’d paid for that mistake by getting drilled with three bullets.
He stopped at the gate and punched in the code, his mind moving to wondering how Rocky circumvented the waiting list. It was likely she greased some palms. Viewing an apartment at The Brendel after being on the waiting list for two months or less was a minor miracle.
With the help of well-situated and attractive signage, Layne found unit E and saw a sporty BMW parked in the three undercover parking spots allocated to apartment three which was up a flight of steps around the corner from the ground floor entrance to apartment two.
&n
bsp; He parked, got out, slammed the door, beeped his locks, walked to the unit and up the steps.
He barely knocked before the door was thrown open and a woman with sleek blonde hair and more perfectly applied makeup even than Rocky’s, wearing a stylish and obviously expensive business dress stood in the door. Her head jerked when she saw Layne then she did a head-to-toe and her face changed.
“Hi, you must be Mrs. Astley’s friend,” she greeted, putting a slight emphasis on the word “Mrs.” as she leaned in giving a much stronger emphasis on the fact, with that one move and after having taken one look at him and having no clue who he was, she was coming onto him.
“Yep,” Layne replied, moving into her before she moved out of his way, effectively forcing her out of his way. Then he walked into the apartment without saying another word and making it clear he was there for Rocky.
He did this because she was too young for him and Layne had passed the point where he wasted time training the women he took to bed. He also did this because she appeared to have less body fat than he did and he liked the women he took to bed to be women with women’s bodies. He didn’t fuck bags of bones. Hard and pointy didn’t feel good, soft and round was a fuckuva lot better. He knew men who liked that, he just wasn’t one of them. He also did this because he didn’t like aggressive women. There were ways for a woman to tell you she was interested without her making the first move. To Layne, a woman who made the first move was struck off instantly, even if he was attracted to her. He made the moves. And lastly, he did this because her slight emphasis on the word “Mrs.” was offensive. Her knowing Rocky for all of five minutes and him for all of one second, she didn’t get to remind him of Rocky’s marital status.
He stopped and looked around thinking instantly that the apartment was the shit. White walls, two story ceilings and floor to ceiling, full-wall windows in the compact but inviting living room that also had a classy gas fireplace. He could see his development from the windows and there was a balcony running the length of the living room that you could get to through double doors with highly-designed, shiny silver handles, doors that were set seamlessly into the windows. A staircase with a closed railing in stucco white. A deep, long state-of-the art kitchen tucked under the top floor, stainless steel appliances, shining black granite countertops and cool as shit lighting. A breakfast nook around the corner by the kitchen set in a semi-circle of windows extending out from the apartment like an enclosed balcony over which was a complicated, modern, multi-light chandelier.
“You like?” the blonde asked from close beside him but he caught movement at the top of the stairs, he looked up and saw Rocky walking down.
He didn’t respond to the blonde but grinned at Rocky. “Hey sweetcheeks.”
She looked down at her feet, a small smile on her face, and shook her head while replying, “Hey Layne.”
“Upstairs pass inspection?” he asked, moving to the foot of the stairs where he stopped and so did she.
She tilted her head back, her eyes slid over his shoulder to tag the blonde’s location then back to him where she leaned in and whispered low, “I like it.”
He leaned in too and whispered back, “So get it.”
Her eyes slid back to his shoulder but not to place the blonde in the room. She was thinking.
“I don’t know,” she said.
How could she not know? The place was the shit.
Then again, it wasn’t a six-bedroom mansion skirting a manmade lake.
He turned to the blonde. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Of course,” she smiled and started to move toward the kitchen where she could easily still hear. The place was the shit but it wasn’t exactly huge.
“No.” He stopped her with one word and her head snapped to look at him. He jerked his head to the door. “A minute.”
She looked at the door then at him then her face set in a way that made her less attractive than she very obviously thought she was but she nodded and headed to the door.
Layne waited until she was out of it to turn back to Rocky.
“What’s on your mind?”
She looked up at him and bit her lip. She was thinking still, he could see it behind her eyes, but she was thinking about something else.
“Roc –”
She interrupted him. “Layne, do you know what the rent is on these places?”
“Yeah, I looked into them before moving here. Why?”
She shook her head and then sat down on a stair saying, “I don’t know if I can swing it.”
He stared at her. She was wearing high-heeled boots, jeans and another, warmer-looking, but no less expensive, fancy-ass sweater, this time with a matching woolly scarf wrapped around her neck. She drove a Mercedes. The huge, suede purse she was plopping down on the stair beside her probably cost more than his refrigerator.
“Rocky –”
“I’m a teacher, Layne,” she informed him of something he already knew.
“Yeah, a teacher whose soon-to-be ex is a surgeon who makes six figures.”
“Jarrod makes six figures, I do not make six figures.”
Layne crouched in front of her. “Rocky, he fucked around on you. He’s living with another woman right now. You think this divorce isn’t going to go well for you?”
At his words, she reared back and stared at him, eyes wide.
Then she breathed, “I’m not going to take his money.”
He felt his brows shoot up. “Come again?”
“I’m not taking his money.”
“Rocky –”
She shook her head. “No, no way.”
“Roc –”
She leaned in abruptly, her expression turning sharp. “Fuck that.”
He caught her hand and held it firm before shaking it. “Baby, are you insane?”
“No,” she snapped, tugging her hand in his but he held on tighter.
“Sweetcheeks, a guy like that does what he did to a woman like you, I’m not a member of the club but I’m pretty sure it’s a chick requirement to take him to the cleaners.”
“Layne –”
“You don’t do it, other chicks might vote to throw you out of the club.”
Her face cracked and she smiled, her dimple coming out and, seeing it, Layne wished he’d kept his mouth shut at the same time he felt like he’d scored a touchdown to win the game in the last seconds of the Super Bowl.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to get thrown out of the…” she lifted the only hand she had available to her and made air quotation marks, “chick club.”
“Atta girl,” he whispered as he smiled but her face got serious again and her hand dropped.
“I see what you’re saying, Layne but, seriously, you don’t know… it hasn’t been…” She looked over his shoulder then back at him. “I don’t want anything from him.”
He did not like what her words said, he did not like how they made him feel but he liked it even less that she had reason to same them.
He ignored this, decided on a different strategy and advised, “Rocky, you greased some palms to get moved up the waiting list for this place, you shouldn’t waste that investment.”
Her hand clenched his spasmodically and her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I didn’t grease any palms to get moved up.”
He stared at her then told her, “Not sure that’s against the law, sweetcheeks, but even if it was, I wouldn’t turn you in.”
“I guess it isn’t but I still didn’t do it.”
“Roc, when I was lookin’ into this place, the waiting list was minimum seven months.”
She nodded. “It still is. I’ve been on it for nine.”
He let her hand go and stood, watching her head tilt back to look up at him as he went.
Then he asked, “What?”
She stood too, bringing her body close in front of his. “I’ve been on the waiting list for nine months.”
That meant she’d been intending to leave her husband for nine months.
“You knew he was fucking around on you?” Layne asked.
She shook her head.
“But you been plannin’ on leavin’ him for awhile.”
She nodded her head.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why?” she repeated.
“Yes. Why?”
“Layne, I’m not sure we should –”
“Why?”
“I really don’t want to talk about –”
“Why?”
“Layne!”
He leaned in to get his face close to hers. “Why?” he repeated.
“Why do you want to know?” she shot back, amused Rocky gone, annoyed Rocky in her place.
“Because I do,” he answered.
“Well it really isn’t any of your business.”
“Sorry, sweetcheeks, but we got a long road ahead of us. I’m not gonna stumble onto enough evidence to take Rutledge and whoever is pullin’ his strings down all bound up and wrapped in shiny paper sitting on my island when I walk downstairs to make coffee tomorrow. This means sharing time, sharing space and sharing our lives and it means doin’ it for awhile. While we do it, we actually have to live those lives and your life comes with me pretending to be your man while you’re divorcing another one. He made you a chump, don’t make me one even if what we got is sham.”
Her head jerked back and she took a step up the stairs.
Then she said softly, “I’m not making you a chump.”
“You don’t share, you are. I haven’t been in on your life for awhile, Roc, but you’ve lived in this ‘burg a long time and people know shit. Case in point, my guess would be half the town who are of drinking age know your car was in my drive all night and I can guarantee, due to Tripp thinkin’ you’re one step down from a rock star, that every single kid in your school knows there’s times when he can call you Rocky. But for the last year, I wasn’t a prime recipient for gossip about Raquel Astley so you’re gonna have to fill me in.”
He noticed she’d started to get pissed while he spoke and when he was done, she didn’t hesitate to explain why.
Golden Trail (The 'Burg Series) Page 11