Madam Mom

by Lynda Rees

  “It isn’t juicy. Was he cute?” Gran frowned disappointment.

  “Yeah, good looking.” She paused for a deep breath. “I can’t believe I did this.” It tickled her the way the old gal wiggled erect in her seat. “When we landed, I dragged him into a ladies room stall and had my way with him. Sex—accommodating and available—all there was to it.” Embarrassment blushed at her actions and at Gran calling her on them.

  “So he didn’t argue or fight. Right?” Gran waved a finger in the air.

  Tisha shook her head. “He apparently willingly enjoyed it.” She blinked and shrugged.

  “What the hell? No harm, no foul. I say you’re both winners. I’m surprised you had it in you for a quickie in the John. It’s what I’d do.” Gran let out a belly chuckle. “Blame it on my genes.” She went into a full giggle.

  The old gal’s mouth opened, never ceasing to amaze.

  “When do you see him again?” Gran’s tone sounded serious.

  “I’ve no intention of seeing him again.” She rested her hands in her lap.

  “But you were attracted to him. You must find a way to see him again. Any man capable of inciting you to perform illicit sex in public is worth contacting, I say. What’s this dude’s name?” Cocking her curly head, clearly not joking, Tisha wished she had been.

  “Sam Finch. I have his business card, but won’t call him.”

  “Sam Finch—why does he sound familiar?” Gran cocked her head as though studying the name. “I believe your Sam is Daniel’s son. I understand he manages their New York office, and they say he’s quite the looker. You go girl.” She grinned.

  Blood drain from her head and her ears buzzed. “No way. Tell me it’s not true. He’s not my new attorney. I don’t want to face him after the way I acted. What can I do? I could call Daniel and have him assign another attorney.” A sensation akin to panic gripped her, grasping at straws. What a chicken—she’d acted disorderly and destined for embarrassment. Sam already decided her, a spoiled, rich-bitch heiress, even before meeting her. No logical way around it, she’d have to put her big girl panties on and cowgirl up.

  “Darling, don’t worry. You’re a grown woman with needs and urges. You acted on emotion, and no one got hurt. Consenting adults accepted and gave pleasure. If he sees it otherwise, he’s a moron. I doubt seriously a complete moron enticed you physically or otherwise.” Her finger wagged Tisha’s way.

  “Act professionally like a lady. Let things fall as they may. If he has brains in his pretty head, he’ll get to know you. Stop worrying about with Sam Finch.” She patted Tisha’s hands before turning to their meal, acting as though settled.

  Lola Di’Amani acted satisfied. “I’ve dreamed of you with a devoted husband, surrounded by spirited children. Don’t live the solitary existence Roberta and I have. We experienced deep, enduring love, even if it resulted in lasting agony of loss. At least we loved. Even at my advanced age, I treasure memories of good times and lovers as gifts time bestowed.”

  “Gran, it’s unfair. Even as a child I felt shunned. I felt unworthy, like a partial person. I went away at college on my own.”

  “Really? I hadn’t realized it. Your mother would’ve been livid had she known. It probably had more to do with us—your family, than you. You were an innocent child, and children are cruel.”

  “Yes, they can. I suppose you’re right. But I still don’t understand it. I wasn’t popular, far from it. I felt like an outcast, a pariah of sorts. Kids, at best, acted curiosity about me. Bullied, I don’t have friends in my hometown. I lost contact with the few people I considered buddies growing up. I want nothing to do with my old life here. My friends live in New York and Paris. You’re the only thing important to me in Kentucky.” Over her past, surprisingly the admission didn’t cause tears.

  “Once removed from here, no longer bound by shackles of family reputation, you’ve flourished and built a life becoming the person you were meant to be. I’m proud of you. Roberta was also.”

  “Thank you, Gran. Yes, I know. Mom told me often.” Obviously Gran had been a corker most of her life. Dad’s mysterious death must’ve complicated things, causing speculation, the family reputation Gran referred to.

  “I’m sorry if I played a part in your torment. It’s partly my fault. Roberta worried constantly, and we did everything in our power to make up for it. We tried to compensate by ensuring you knew you are loved, worthy of love, and could do or be anything you wanted. We hoped to instill strength and resourcefulness in you, and we did. I hope you realize the depth of your own power. Now you need it most. I’m not sure how it will play out. An inevitable shit storm is about to hit.”

  “Don’t worry, Gran. I’ll figure out how to manage Mom’s estate. You’re my priority.”

  “Darling, I fear your priorities have been misplaced.” She patted Tisha’s hand with a cool and damp palm.

  Tisha snickered. “We’re a pair, Gran. What’s going to become of us?”

  “We’re going to grow old, having sex with lusty men making us laugh enjoying life.” Lola waved her hands gaily.

  Gran’s antics never got old. Tisha’s laughter put a smile on Lola’s face. Her way with words and an eye for gentlemen skillfully sidetracked Tisha’s sulking.

  “I don’t recall you having a special beau in your life. You’ve always been alone. No one ever mentioned my grandfather.”

  “Not in the picture. She didn’t know him.”

  Was pain in Gran’s eyes?

  “The McClain women have led solitary lives. Maybe I’m meant to live alone like you and Mom. It’s why I stayed distant with my French lover and chose a married man in Simon. My faulty judgment drives me to destructive relationships pushing toward a lonely, spinster destiny. I’m sad and scared without Mom to lean on.”

  “It’s a crock of poppycock. There’s nothing wrong with you. The McClain curse is a myth. Get out of your head, girl, and live life to the fullest. No one promised tomorrow, only today.” Lola studied her granddaughter.

  “It’s possible in grief I sought out a diverse type in Sam.”

  “You’ll never know unless you give him a shot.” Lola’s brow rose.

  No longer scared, the revelation gave her hope. She didn’t have to decide now. “I’ll think about it.” Maybe she’d call Sam after the funeral.

  “Do it, Tisha.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Sam sat across Daniel’s desk at the law office. “Now you’ve studied the McClain file, what do you think?” Daniel tented his hands together.

  “My first impression, the spoiled, rich brat heiress used to slacking responsibility most likely lacked morals.” Sam winced.

  “You’ve had time for more than a first impression by now.” Daniel eyed him curiously.

  “I met Tisha McClain at airport security in New York. I had no idea who she was. She was tearful. I spoke to her. She became rude and obnoxious.” He spoke brutally honest as always.

  Daniel treated him with the same respect. “It’s not a good start.” Daniel sounded disapproving.

  “I can’t stand seeing a woman cry. I butted in where I wasn’t wanted and asked if I could help. She rejected me bluntly.” Sam grinned. Tisha, a firecracker when the angry glint replaced shimmering tears, inclined to reject compassion and resentful of intrusion. Her emotions raw, she acted vulnerable. Better lash out than let frazzled nerves fester. He admired her sass and cheek.

  “Your sisters used tears to get what they wanted from you.” Daniel laughed.

  “I figured I’d never see the woman again. No big deal. I boarded the plane. She was seated across from me. She apologized for her behavior. I believe her initial gut reaction was out of character for her. I don’t think she’s naturally offensive. She acted nice, and understandably sad, overwhelmed with grief.” Sam worried about the intriguing woman, wishing he could reach out to her on a personal level. It would never do. His business relationship required discretion and composure. His sentiments for Tisha McClain were one-side
d. Any move toward her could cause a rift in the family business impacting the bottom line. He needed to tread lightly or suffer dire consequences.

  “She has a right to her sadness. A couple hours before you met her, I’d informed Ms. McClain of her mom’s death. It was a terrible shock. I gather from Roberta they were close. Tisha must be shattered.” Daniel’s tone sounded worried.

  Sam felt the scowl take his face. He personally felt the woman’s pain. “I agree. I didn’t know who she was. She introduced herself, and I gave her my card. She pocketed it without reading. I doubt she caught the connection either. The McClain name sounded familiar, but it didn’t sink in until I got home and picked up her file again.” Sam willingly shared with Daniel about their irreverent encounter. No need for Dad to hear about his sexual interlude with a client. Sam didn’t want Daniel thinking less of Tisha.

  “You and Tisha McClain will get along fine. We will see her at the funeral, and she’s scheduled to meet with the team Thursday. I expect you to devote whatever time necessary to her while you’re here. She’s comfortable turning over her legal needs to you, as you return to New York. It assumes she intends to return. Lola, her grandmother lives here. Tisha may decide to stay near Lola. If it’s the case, I’ll continue as her attorney. We’ll wait and see how it shakes out. Let me warn you, son, keep it professional.” Daniel’s employed the stern look he’d used on rowdy teen Sam beginning to date.

  “Whatever works best for her—I can’t figure out whether she’s a rich heiress with a tendency toward crime or irresponsible and pampered with no clue what’s going on around her? It doesn’t affect handling of her business, though it’d be easier dealing with her, if I knew.”

  “She may prove a strange mixture of those things. Time will tell. Your thoughts about her estate?” Daniel took it back to the business.

  “No worries, Dad. We’ll manage a successful, professional relationship. I have gone over and over the files. There’s simply too much income for Roberta’s real estate.” Sam appeared as perplexed as he felt.

  Daniel smiled the way he had at Sam as a small child learning a complex task. “Don’t discount two art galleries, an antique shop, and a bakery.”

  “The numbers still don’t add up. Profits appear way above what they should be. I uncovered no reasonable explanation.”

  Daniel sounded impressed. “Yes, I agree, you’re on the spot. More is at play than what we’re unaware of. I knew it but didn’t try resolving it. It isn’t our place to form accusations or dig into this. Our job entails caring for and protecting rights and funds of our client. We keep our mouths shut about unaccounted for funds, no matter how suspicious.” Daniel reminded Sam of his fiduciary responsibility.

  “I understand. So, Dad, you knew Roberta well, as a longtime client. What did you think of her personally?” Duty-bound they agreed to steadfastly support their client. The illusion of wrongdoing bothered Sam, though it rooted in intent to support a facade of propriety protecting Tisha from reality she faced. Curiously, it registered unnatural on Daniel’s face. Sam knew Daniel had only befriended and served Roberta in business—nothing improper.

  “Roberta, a brilliant business woman, lived on the edge. Sharp and decisive, elegant with grace and style, she carried herself with a regal air commanding respect. I admired her and liked her. She didn’t maintain many close friends, but had a couple business partners. She adored her mom and daughter, and I would’ve done anything necessary to see to their comfort and safety. Roberta has a shady past from when the mob held power in Newport as a gambling mecca. Prostitution, illegal gambling and booze, even during Prohibition, ran rampant. Roberta’s husband refused to cooperate, and they gunned him down on the street. Never proven, but someone in power wanted him out of the picture. Afterward Roberta cooperated and hung onto her clubs. The FBI stepped in and put heat on organized crime in the seventies. Strip joints phased out as law became enforced widely. Roberta sold out. A few years later she a politician working with the FBI set her up. Arrested and convicted for pandering, operating a brothel out of a local motel, Roberta received a six-year prison sentence. I got her out in two with good behavior. Young Tisha may not remember or be aware of what happened.”

  “I’m curious how Tisha might be like her mom.” Sam eyed his dad transfixed and perplexed. Roberta’s involvement in ungainly affairs didn’t surprise him. His father having helped craft a normal appearance for her seedy life, registered depth of responsibility Sam assumed taking on the McClain business. It stunned him.

  Daniel nodded then furrowed his brow with worry-filled eyes. “It’s a valid concern, along with how much she knows about her family history. Son, this is dangerous territory. To my knowledge, there’s nothing illegal going on now, but I can’t be certain. I’m fine with you involved professionally. Your intrigue of the woman could put you in a risky situation. Don’t pursue a personal relationship with Ms. McClain. She’s not a damsel in distress for you to save, son. Keep a professional distance and maintain deniability.”

  “Dad, I’m a grown man and can handle myself. Besides, Tisha McClain wants nothing to do with me. If anything, it’s distain she’s experiencing.” Sam patted Daniel on the back and exited the office. “She doesn’t even like me. I’m simply her lackey attorney.” His heart hoped the bravado of his words comforted his father. Tisha drew him to her like a magnet against his better judgment.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dreams left Tisha restless and sleep-deprived after chasing Roberta begging for answers. Roberta’s face streaked with tears. Tisha slipped into Sam’s arms, and they disappeared. Tisha woke more exhausted than she’d gone to bed. Experiencing a drugged sensation, she was unable to comprehend why her dreams mixed Mom with Sam.

  She didn’t have the luxury of waiting. She’d never feel like tackling Mom’s things. That day would never come. Her responsibility, do it and get it over with.

  The jobs need done. Keep emotion out.

  The means to an end so she could resume life in blessed New York, where Roberta’s memories didn’t invade every moment of every day, every inch of space smothering her. She hoped.

  Dad’s large second-floor suite had been closed since he died. Rooms cleaned regularly by the housekeeper. Other than that, no one entered them. Tisha hadn’t been inside since Dad’s funeral. The door wasn’t locked.

  Fond memories of happy times fluttered through her mind, quickly replaced by gloomy ones. She vaguely recalled his funeral, and must’ve been in a daze too young to understand the impact. A deep, gut-wrenching pain severely cut to the bone then flooded back with the memory of Mom saying Dad had gone to heaven. She hadn’t breathed listening to those words, her young eyes engulfed with tears, old enough to understand Dad would never cradle her in his arms again.

  Beyond raw sadness, she now appreciated memories of good times. Oddly time flowed like water over scraggly rocks, smoothing rough edges away leaving in its path precious, less painful, tender, and enduring memories. Treasuring the few remarkable remaining recollections of Dad, she marked items of furniture and possessions, indicating what to sell, leave with the house, box for storage, or ship to her apartment.

  Praying she entered Mom’s suite. She doubted healing power would work. Grasping reality better than as a child, agony in her heart created a tremendous, excruciating blow she wasn’t sure she could weather.

  Uncle Jason’s small suite located in back of the house. Delaying the worst, she handled his belongings first. She made a note to ask Gran to go through his things too, in case she wanted some of his possessions. Jason had worked with Mom and Dad before dying of cancer at Tisha’s age of twelve. Afterward, Uncle Vinnie assumed more responsibility becoming a big help to Mom.

  As a child, it never occurred to her to question things. A child’s concern centered on her own bubble, not seeing past immediate needs and space clueless of the world existing outside her sphere. The rest simply doesn’t exist in Tisha’s ignorant, child-like bubble all those years. Time it burst. She
needed to don Roberta’s elegant stilettos and manage their lives. No delaying it further.

  Mom’s large suite occupied the front of the house across from Dad’s. Fascinated with her domain, amazing things filled the space. Mom’s unique scent took prominence. The room could have been a fifties or sixties glamorous movie set befitting a starlet like Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly.

  An enormous, round bed crowned by a blue-velvet tufted, moon-shaped headboard, ruled from the circular alcove created by the house’s flanking tower. Elegant royal-blue velvet covered it and a matching tufted, moon shaped headboard topped it.

  Ornate French doors opened to an elaborate dressing room. Elegant gowns, designer suits, silk slacks and shirts lined the racks. Cashmere sweaters, stockings, silky and lacy undies stacked neatly inside cedar drawers lining walls. Shelf after shelf of Jimmy Choo®, Gucci®, Coach®, Acne®, Alexander McQueen®, and Chloe® flats, heels and boots surrounded the floor along the walls. Beyond a glass and steel door opened the fur safe, a temperature controlled room of racks holding sable, mink, fox, and chinchilla coats and jackets. Matching hats and fur-lined gloves resided on narrow shelving above patiently awaiting Mom’s return.

  Tisha laughed talking to the walls. “Nothing changed about your love for fur and shoes.”

  Opening the door on the far side revealed a sleek, sunken, two-person jet tub. A family could occupy the walk-in shower surrounded by clear, circular glass-block containing water spray. Multiple jets at several levels and angles provided an exotic shower experience.

  “This bathroom designed for lovers had been enjoyed, no doubt, by her parents.” The little girl in her, giggled. Shamefully it had been many years since a couple had enjoyed it together.