A Secret Life

by Barbara Dunlop

  “I know they’re happy to see you. It’s me that might be the problem.”

  He slanted her a look of frustration as he shut off the key. “They’re friendly people, Joan.”

  “But I’m an uninvited guest.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  He opened the driver’s door. “Let’s go.”

  Joan took a deep breath. If Anthony’s family seemed at all uncomfortable, she’d go to a hotel. In fact, she’d suggested that to Anthony already. But he’d said his mother would be offended and might never speak to him again if they dared even suggest hotel rooms.

  She stepped gingerly onto the concrete driveway and glanced around.

  They were in an older, but very well-maintained family neighborhood. The lawns were lush, the hedges trimmed, and the driveways wound through generous sized lots to multi-story houses of brick and stone.

  The Verduns’ house had a wide, front porch, with square pillars supporting the roof and double front doors, bracketed with sidelight windows. A rustic, willow furniture grouping on the porch looked like an inviting spot to spend a cool, fall evening.

  She followed Anthony up the semicircular stairs, wondering how much he’d told them about her. Did they know she was a client? Did they think she was a friend?

  As they stepped onto the porch, the double doors burst open. “Anthony!” A sixtyish woman burst through the entrance and pulled him into a warm hug.

  “Hey, Mom.” Anthony responded by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her slightly off the ground.

  Then he put her down, kept one arm around her and gestured to Joan. “This is Joan Bateman.”

  “Joan!” The short-haired, rounded woman rushed forward again, this time wrapping Joan in an enveloping hug that lasted about five seconds too long for Joan’s comfort zone.

  The woman finally released her. “Such a delight to meet you.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, too,” said Joan, with a backward step.

  Anthony immediately swooped in and put a hand on the small of her back. “Watch the stairs behind you.”

  Joan stilled. “Right.”

  She focused on Anthony’s mother. “I hope this isn’t an imposition.”

  The woman smiled broadly and waved away her concern. “Nonsense. We’re thrilled to have you.” She smoothed her mint-green cotton blouse over her khaki shorts. “I’m Anna. Anthony’s father, Oscar, is in back in the yard. The—”

  “Anthony!” Another body burst through the doors. A younger woman in denim shorts, flip-flop sandals and a blue-and-white striped tank top launched herself into Anthony’s arms.

  Joan surreptitiously braced herself on the railing, just in case she was next.

  “This is Nadine,” said Anna. “She’s Anthony’s brother Brett’s wife.”

  The lithe and tanned Nadine pulled away from Anthony and tucked her long, dark hair behind her ears. She turned and stuck out her hand to Joan. “You must be Joan.”

  Joan breathed a sigh of relief as she shook the woman’s hand. “Yes. Joan Bateman.”

  Just then, a man who looked remarkably like Anthony appeared. “About time you showed up,” he boomed to Anthony with a hearty, backslapping handshake.

  “And this is Brett,” said Anna.

  Nadine took in Joan’s expression, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “I was new once, too. Don’t let them intimidate you.”

  “Thanks,” said Joan, wondering how far it was to the nearest hotel.

  “Let’s not stand around our here on the porch,” said Anna, ushering them toward the door with expansive arm gestures. “Dad’s got the grill going.”

  Joan followed Anthony and his slightly larger brother.

  “Carlos is playing a gig in Amarillo,” said Anna as they made their way through a gold-and-tan-colored foyer, cluttered with shoes, tennis rackets and a guitar leaning up against the wall.

  The living room looked well used, with worn, overstuffed leather furniture, a massive stone fireplace, plants on every conceivable surface, and magazines piled haphazardly from the floor to a crowded bookcase. Obviously, Anna hadn’t been expecting company this weekend.

  They cut through the kitchen. High-ceilinged, and done in the same muted gold and earth tones, it seemed more organized than the other rooms.

  There was a hint of freshly baked cookies in the air, and appliances of every description covered the granite counters. Two wine racks were cut into the stone of a feature wall. Wrought-iron chairs were lined up beside a breakfast bar, and Joan could easily picture family members chatting with Anna while she cooked.

  “David’s family should be here soon,” sang Anna as she opened French doors leading to a huge cedar deck. It was obvious the family spent a lot of time outside.

  “David is the youngest,” Nadine offered. “He has three little kids, and his wife, Leila, hasn’t slept through the night in years.”

  “Do you have any children?” asked Joan.

  Nadine shook her head. “I teach third grade. So far, I haven’t had the desire to go 24/7 with the little mites.”

  Joan smiled. Her own experiences with children were few and far between. She hadn’t decided about them one way or the other. Not that she was in a position to become a mother anytime soon.

  “Joan?” called Anna from the other side of the deck. “This is Oscar, Anthony’s father.”

  A big, burly man, wearing a Kiss The Cook apron and brandishing a spatula, descended on Joan.

  Her mind barely had time to register panic before she was enveloped in a hug. She tensed for a second, but then realized his arms were gentle, his voice soft and teasing, and his scent a pleasant mixture of tangy spices.

  “Welcome to Texas,” he rumbled against her.

  “Thank you,” she managed as he pulled away.

  “Anthony gives you any trouble, you come to me,” he winked.

  “Anthony’s given me plenty of trouble,” she joked under her breath, feeling relieved by his jovial manner.

  Oscar waved the spatula in Anthony’s direction. “You behave yourself.”

  Anthony held up his hands. “Whatever she told you, it wasn’t me.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Oscar turned back to Joan. “How do you like your burgers?”

  “However you’re cooking them will be fine.”

  He ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.” Then he called back to Anthony. “Don’t you let this one get away.”

  Joan kept the smile pasted on her face, but didn’t dare look at Anthony.

  “Can I get you a drink?” asked Nadine.

  “Please,” said Joan without a second’s hesitation.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Strong.” Joan wasn’t feeling choosy at the moment.

  “David!” cried Anna, bustling toward the kitchen door. “You made it.”

  The deck was instantly a whirl of toddlers.

  “They drove down from Oklahoma City,” said Nadine. “Come on. The margarita machine is this way.”

  “It looks a little crowded around here,” Joan said to Nadine. If David and his family were staying over, Anna was going to have a houseful. “Have we come at a bad time?”

  “What? No. We’re all here to see you.”

  Nadine led Joan over to an electric drink machine that was churning a lime-green mixture in a glass cylinder.

  “They came all that way to see Anthony?” asked Joan. Now that was a loyal family.

  Nadine handed her a plastic cup of margarita mixture. “Not Anthony. You. Anna called to tell us y’all were coming, so we dropped everything.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Joan, giving her head a little shake.

  “We love your books. Well, we love Anthony, too. But we really love your books.”

  “You’ve read Bayou Betrayal?”

  “We’ve read them all. Of course. We thought they were written by a man.”

  It took a second for the words to sink in
. “You’ve read them all?”

  Nadine lifted her own drink to her lips, nodding. “Sure did. Me and everybody else.”

  “You mean to tell me your family reads all of Anthony’s clients’ books?” He’d told her he had a supportive family, but that was way beyond the call of duty.

  Nadine grinned and shook her head. “We didn’t know you were Anthony’s client.”

  Now that was even stranger. “Then why?”

  “Because they’re great stories. You do realize you’ll have to sign about sixty copies before we’ll let you out of here, don’t you?”

  “I’ll sign anything you want.” Joan glanced around the deck in astonishment. These people had all read her books?

  “Loved Black Nights on Water.”

  Joan smiled at Nadine with genuine pleasure. “It was a fast write. I loved playing around with the Joe McIntosh character.”

  “He was hot,” Nadine agreed. “Saw you on Charlie Long last night. You’re a natural.”

  Joan’s smile faltered. “I’m not crazy about the publicity.” She didn’t mention the situation with her family. Judging by what she’d seen of the Verduns so far, Nadine probably wouldn’t understand.

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “I don’t think I’ll do any more of it.”

  “No way. Really?”

  Joan nodded. “I just want to write books.” Though even that was up in the air at the moment.

  “But you could be famous.”

  Joan chuckled and took a deep drink of the icy margarita. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would. So, what was he like?”

  “Anthony?”

  Nadine snorted. “Charlie Long.”

  “Oh. Really nice. Surprisingly nice.”

  “Did you get an autograph?”

  “Never thought of it.”

  “Hi, y’all.” A soft-spoken young woman, about five feet two, with a toddler on her hip, joined the conversation.

  “Joan, this is Leila, David’s wife.”

  “I guessed that by the little one,” said Joan, reaching out to shake Leila’s hand. She hardly looked strong enough to carry the child.

  “Margarita?” asked Nadine.

  “You bet.” The toddler squirmed and whined, and Leila put him down. “Watch him near the edge,” she called to a man who had to be David.

  She smiled hesitantly at Joan. “David told me not to ask you this.”

  Joan tensed. Had they heard she’d fired Anthony? “What?” she asked slowly.

  Nadine handed Leila a margarita, and Leila took a large swig.

  “Anthony just sold my first book.”

  “He did?”

  “A suspense novel.”

  “Congratulations!” Joan was delighted to share in such happy news. She remembered her first sale vividly. The first one was Brian’s, of course. But the second one, the one she’d done all on her own, had been a momentous occasion. Anthony had taken her out to lunch, since she couldn’t tell anyone else about it.

  For the first time, she felt a tinge of sadness at the memory.

  Leila was nodding, her eyes focused on her orange plastic glass as she ran a fingertip around the rim. “I’m not supposed to…” She glanced furtively back at her husband. “Would you read it? And maybe give me a quote? Only if you like it. Only if you…” She clamped her mouth closed.

  “Of course I will,” said Joan. “But I don’t know how a quote would help you.”

  “We’d put it on the cover.”

  “But I’m…nobody special.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Joan took another drink. “Really. You guys. You’re embarrassing me.”

  She felt an arm across her back. Even with all the hugging in this family, she instinctively knew it was Anthony.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “We’re getting her drunk,” said Nadine.

  He nodded toward Joan’s margarita. “You be careful of those.”

  Joan took a defiant swig. “It’s a good day to get drunk.”

  It was.

  She was suddenly happy to be here. Anthony’s house was a great place to hide out emotionally for a while. Her parents were far away. Indigo was far away. Anthony was still her agent for a couple more days. And his family liked her books.

  That was a very nice thing to hear.

  She held her glass out to Nadine. “Can I have another?”

  Nadine took the glass with a grin.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Anthony.

  “I’m a big girl,” said Joan, with a toss of her hair. A few strands caught on his face, and he brushed them away, smoothing a hand over her scalp.

  “And you can take care of yourself,” he mumbled.

  It was probably a dig, but she chose to ignore it. “Absolutely.”

  ANTHONY’S BROTHER Brett eased himself down in the next lawn chair, parked his beer on the grass and settled his second, loaded burger on a paper plate in his lap.

  “So, what’s the deal?” he asked Anthony now that they had a moment alone.

  “The deal?” Anthony took a sip of his own beer. He’d gone with a Bud Light. He figured Joan was drinking enough for both of them.

  “You’ve been Jules Burrell’s agent all these years, and you didn’t say anything?”

  Anthony slanted his brother a look of disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Hey, we’re family.”

  “So I should risk getting disbarred to share gossip?”

  It was Brett’s turn to shrug. “I’m just saying, you could have hinted.”

  Anthony snorted.

  “She’s a woman,” said Brett.

  “She is,” Anthony agreed.

  “A hot woman.”

  Anthony didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you think?”

  Anthony’s gaze strayed to where Joan was laughing with Nadine. Not that he hadn’t been watching her most of the evening anyway. “I’m not blind.”

  “And you brought her here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That means something’s going on between you.”

  “No. That means things are uncomfortable for her in Indigo right now.”

  “You could have taken her anywhere.”

  Anthony slanted his brother an enigmatic grin. “I knew you’d want to meet her.”

  “What a load of crap.”

  “You want the truth?”

  “No. I just want to gossip about your sex life.”

  “We’re not having a sex life.”

  “Sucks to be you.”

  Brett didn’t know the half of it.

  “She seems to like Nadine,” said Brett, taking a bite of his burger.

  “That’s because Nadine keeps feeding her margaritas. Do you think your wife could slow it down a little?”

  Brett licked a smear of mayonnaise from his thumb. “It could work in your favor.”

  “You sleep with drunken women, do you?”

  “Only Nadine.”

  “She’s your wife.”

  “What? You think I sleep with other women?”

  “My point is, it’s hardly the same thing.”

  “And my point is, some guys need more of an advantage than others.”

  “You looking for a fight?”

  Brett chuckled and leaned back in his lawn chair. “Don’t take your frustrations out on me, bro.”

  “I don’t have any frustrations,” said Anthony. And he didn’t, expect for a nagging, unrequited lust, a possible murderer on the loose and the impending loss of his favorite client.

  He downed a healthy swig of his beer.

  On the flight over, he’d started having ridiculous thoughts about winning Joan back. After going through an extensive list of agents in his mind, he realized none of them were good enough for her. Not that he was good enough. But he wanted her anyway.

  He considered telling Brett the truth. Brett knew women better than Anthony did, and he might hav
e some useful advice for winning Joan back. But the feeling lasted only a split second. Close families were wonderful, but gossip was a natural hazard.

  “What?” asked Brett, peering intently at Anthony.

  Anthony took another drink. “Nothing.”

  Brett glanced at Joan, then back at Anthony. “Something’s going on here.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Then why are you two a whole yard apart?”

  “Because she’s talking to your wife.”

  Brett set his plate down on the grass. “Listen, Anthony—”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “You were there for me with Nadine.”

  Anthony drank again. “Joan’s not Nadine. She’s a client.”

  “She’s more than a client.”

  Anthony glared at his brother. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Yeah. You do. You just don’t want me to talk about it to anyone else.”

  That was true enough. And Brett couldn’t be trusted to keep anything from Nadine. And given that Nadine was quickly becoming Joan’s best friend, Anthony was keeping his mouth firmly shut.

  “You had a fight with her,” Brett stated.

  “She didn’t want to do the Charlie Long show.” There. That wasn’t exactly giving away a state secret.

  “And you thought she should.”

  Anthony snorted. “Of course I thought she should. Only a fool would pass up an opportunity like that.”

  “And Joan’s a fool.”

  “Joan’s not a fool.” She might be misguided, but she was a brilliant woman.

  “So why did you force her to do it your way?”

  “I didn’t force her.”

  “But she did, and she’s mad.”

  “She had a choice.”

  Brett shook his head. “Anthony, Anthony.”

  “Don’t get condescending on me.”

  Brett stretched his legs out again, gesturing with his beer can. “I’m going to give you a piece of advice based on my five years of marital experience.”

  “Do tell.”

  “It’s your fault. Whatever happened, whatever went sideways, whatever went wrong, it’s all your fault. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. And she’s my client, not my wife.”

  “She’s a woman. Apologize, and get on with it.”

  Apologize to Joan? Lie, and tell her she was right to squander publicity opportunities? Tell her she could make a successful career by hiding from her fans?