First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03]

by Karen Kendall

  Viv kicked off the dead polyester garden and reached a toe out cautiously for the burnt orange carpet. She hadn't thought to pack slippers, and there was no avoiding the contact unless she pulled the pillowcases over her feet. She thought about it, but dismissed the idea when it occurred to her that she didn't want her face to touch the naked pillow, either.

  She pressed down into the spongy, musty petroleum product with her foot, revolted to discover that it was faintly damp. She was not at the Stanhope, that was for sure.

  Viv put her other foot down into the sea of orange and scuttled for the bathroom before anything could jump up out of the rug and attack.

  She missed her happy hounds and their bulk around her at night. She missed the city noises; it was unholy quiet here. You could actually hear insects chirruping outside, and a breeze blowing through the trees, even coyotes baying in the far distance.

  Where the hell was a nice, noisy bus when you wanted one? Some honking to relax to? Car alarms and rude comments yelled across the street?

  Once in the bathroom, she took a swipe at her tangled mop of dark hair and checked out the deep circles under her eyes. Very attractive. J.B. must have been salivating. Viv peed and then, for lack of anything better to do, rebrushed her teeth. She ran her tongue over the smooth enamel surfaces, feeling vaguely like a night creature, polishing her fangs for nefarious purposesmaybe to take a bite out of J.B. for being so rude.

  She sighed and tiptoed over the carpet again to the bed, stopping first for her laptop. She might as well check e-mail.

  A pending client had made a decision to retain her services and was notifying her that she'd mail a check.

  Another client wanted to go ahead with the restraining order they'd prepared against her estranged husband.

  Mrs. Bonana wanted some reassurance.

  And speak of the devil! Or think of her, anyway. Mummy had finally responded.

  Subject: Your Odd Request

  From: AShelton

  To: vshelton@kleinschmidtbelker

  Vivien Anthea,

  I must say that I find myself quite taken aback at your suggestion that I frolic with unknown children twice a week! Does this woman not employ a housekeeper? Does she possess no relatives? Don't scandalize me by telling me she has no nanny!

  As you know, my health is delicate, and children positively swarm with germs. It's not that I don't adore them, lovethey are delightful, particularly little girls. But perhaps I can take them to tea one day instead, along with their nanny?

  A few butter cookies, some chocolate-dipped strawberries, perhaps a raspberry tart or a fresh scone! Delicacies such as these go a long way toward making a child feel special, abominable father or not. And they could wear lovely little pastel dresses!

  I think this is a much better solution, don't you? Provide me with this Susan's telephone number, and I'll give her a ring. Oh, must fly! I have an appointment at the hairdresser's.

  xoxoxox. Toodles, Mummy

  "Oh, perfect," Viv said wrathfully. "Sure, Mum. Taking them to high tea will solve all of their problems!"

  Fingers flying over the keyboard, she wrote,

  Subject: Re: Your Odd Request From: vshelton@kleinschmidtbelker To: AShelton

  Mummy, it's very kind of you to offer to take the girls to high tea, and I do hope it's not too great an inconvenience for you. I'm sure they have some pretty dresses to wear for the occasion.

  However, Susan's greatly reduced circumstances do not allow for a nanny or a housekeeper, and her parents are elderly. She is currently trying to scrimp and save enough money to be able to purchase a car, since hers was repossessed.

  My suggestion that you spend a couple of days a week with the girls was only made because I thought you could all help each other out. I worry that you may get lonely sometimes, Mum. And Susan and so many women like her are in desperate circumstances.

  Which leads me to bring up a fabulous idea! What if you were to found the Anna Shelton Day-Care Facility at my chapter of Displaced Home-makers? I could match you, 33 to your 66, of the cost. And Gerald would be thrilled at another tax write-off, the old skinflint.

  So think about making both your CPA and your daughter happy at the same time! Think about the relief you could provide to hundreds of women while they receive job training. Let me know.

  In the meantime, I've taken a brief trip to Texas: Julia's gotten it into her head to marry a man from Fredericksburg. Why, I don't know.

  xoxoxo, Viv

  Shaking her head at her mother, Viv snapped out the light again and fell upon the bed face-first. What was she doing here? Anglin would cheerfully run her over, and Julia refused to sign a prenup. She should have just stayed in Manhattan.

  So why don't you set him straight ? Julia's voice echoed in her head.

  I think it's a little late for that . She turned her thoughts back to Julia and her impulsive decision to get married. Even if Roman wasn't the creep Syd suspected him of being, things could go wrong. People fell out of love every day. They hurt each other. And in revenge they went after the other party's money.

  Julia had forbidden her to talk to Roman about a prenup, and Viv would honor her wishes. But still she searched for a way to protect her friend. Under Texas law, the property that a spouse came into the marriage with stayed his or hers, unless there was extensive commingling of funds. That was all well and good, but with Roman expanding a business and Marv getting on in years, and the possibility of childrenthings got complicated.

  What if Marv the Motor Inn Mogul passed on and Julia inherited a huge chunk of change after the marriage? Forty hotels or so? Roman would be entitled to half the revenues from the chain, plus half of any increased value of the real estate, from the day Julia inherited. And things got more complicated if the properties were mortgaged, which they almost certainly were for tax purposes.

  Roman having a claim on this wasn't acceptable. She had to do something.

  Viv lifted her head and stared at the impossibly ugly headboard of her borrowed bed. Some factory run amok had drilled "designs" in the quality parti-cleboard and then wrapped it in vinyl faux wood-grain.

  Disgusted, Viv punched the fiberfill pillow against the headboard and came to an unpleasant conclusion.

  She couldn't talk to Roman, but she could talk to Roman's attorney .

  Well, as long as he didn't forcibly evict her from his office she could talk to him. But surely he'd be willing to discuss something of an important business nature, pertaining to his client. The man was a professional.

  And perhaps maybe she'd get the chance to tell him what had really happened in New York.

  Viv rolled over and stared at the lumpy, textured popcorn ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that it was now 3:37 a.m. and her body showed no signs of wanting to fall back asleep. She might as well work on the problem of world peace, because counting sheepeven for cheapwasn't going to do her any good.

  J.B.'s mocking face swam into focus. Did she really want to explain her behavior to him? As she'd told Julia earlier, what was the point? Rolling over and exposing your soft, white underbelly was a stupid moveespecially stupid to show it to a man who wore steel-toed boots and showed every sign of wanting to kick her.

  Let him think I'm a ball-busting bitch. I don't give a damn.

  She was awakened by some cheerful asshole whistling "The Yellow Rose of Texas"all the way down the brown hallway. Viv had slept a total of about an hour, and resentment propelled her out of bed and to the door. She opened if, stuck her bedhead out and sent the old gentleman a Death Stare.

  He blinked. "Mornin', ma'am."

  Beyond speaking, she pulled her head in again and shut the door. She squinted past the menacing polyester garden on the bed to the mocking red numbers on the digital clock radio and moaned. "Six seventeen a.m.!"

  Outside, an evil early bird cheeped in excitement as he went for his worm. And sunshine winked through the heavy mustard curtains.

  Carpe frickin' diem. Would that i
t were possible to seize the day and shove it under the bed until she was ready to face it.

  Viv staggered to the shower and tried to soap herself into something recognizable as human. She slipped on the slick bottom of the tub and made a mental note to tell Julia this was a lawsuit waiting to happen. They needed to put in rubber grips.

  Feeling marginally better, she climbed out, dried off and tried to mentally prepare for facing J.B. this morning.

  I'm here in the interests of your client , she'd sayas long as she got past reception.

  She chose her clothes carefully: black trousers, crisp white blouse, strappy sandals, power-red lipstick. The crisscross Tiffany earrings said Keep out , and her posture would do the rest. She looked like a New Yorker in a position of authority: no bullshit or fools tolerated. She felt like microwaved death.

  Viv grabbed her computer bag, unloaded the heavy laptop from it and slid it under the chair cushion for safekeeping. Then she tottered for the door in search of real coffee, because that weak crap in the packet in the bathroom wasn't going to do the trick of waking her up.

  She walked to the stairs and clutched the banister for balance on the way down. On the first-floor landing, a woman with almost clownish makeup and monstrous silver-and-turquoise earrings smiled at her. "Good mornin'!"

  Viv blinked at her and managed to nod. Everyone was so cheerful in Texas. Really, it was disgusting.

  Well, everyone but J.B.and she supposed he was motivated. But hell, he should get over it. Wasn't no-strings sex every red-blooded man's fantasy? What was wrong with him?

  Part of her wanted to avoid him. She didn't normally go into business meetings knowing what her adversary looked like naked, down to the tiny constellation of freckles right on his

  "Good morning!" sang another Marv's guest, and Viv winced. What kind of gauntlet did you have to run here to get a freakin' cup of coffee?

  This woman wore orange lipstick and brutally frosted hair, and she was so friendly as to be scary.

  "Aah like yore earrings, hon," she said, taking a step closer to peer at them.

  "Thank you," Viv said, taking a step back.

  "Tiffany?"

  Viv hesitated, then nodded.

  "You know, you coulda got knockoffs just over the border in Nuevo Laredo. Good silver, too. A fraction of the price."

  She blinked. It seemed a little snotty to point out that the earrings were platinum and had been a grad-uation gift from her mother. "Oh. Well, I wish I'd known that. Thank you."

  "I bought three necklaces, a bracelet and a couple pairs of earrings the last time I was down there. This set I'm wearing is from that trip." The woman dug inside her pocketbook and came up with a dog-eared card for a store. "Here you go."

  "Um. Thank you." It was nice of her, yet Viv didn't wear earrings the size of satellite dishes or necklaces with links big enough to tow a boat. She accepted the card with a smile, though, and headed for the little alcove where she'd seen a coffee um the day before.

  She stood by the machine and downed two cups, black, in quick succession. Then she took another for the road. She slipped out a rear door so she wouldn't run into Julia yet. She hoped she'd assume Viv was still sleeping.

  Yet another cheerful Texas lady greeted her, and Viv asked her where she could get a cab. Her answer was a blank stare. "We don't really have many of those around here, hon. You're not from here, are you. Where do you need to go?"

  Before she knew it, she was being herded toward the woman's minivan, over her protests that she couldn't impose.

  "J.B.'s office is just a few blocks over, but you don't want to walk there in those shoes."

  Being a New Yorker, Viv had gym shoes shoved into a side pocket of her bag. She pulled them out. "I'll just put these on."

  "Good gravy, hon, no! Forgive me, but they don't go with your outfit at all . Put those away. I'll just drop you off, and he can have someone run you back."

  He's more likely to run me out of town . But Viv got into the passenger seat of the lady's minivan, trying to avoid the raisins, oyster crackers and plastic toys scattered on the floor. Grandchildren, she presumed. She did her best to imagine herself hitching a ride with a total stranger in the City, and failed utterly.

  The lady introduced herself as Glenna Sue and had Viv on J.B. Anglin's doorstep within three minutes. After thanking Glenna Sue and having her heart blessed, she steeled herself to go inside and face Bluebeard.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Before she could touch the handle of the door, it opened and a stunning blonde about Viv's age strolled out, a frown of annoyance marring her golden-peach brow. She had wide hazel eyes that narrowed on Viv briefly, gave her face and body a professional scan and immediately priced her jewelry. A slight lift of the blonde's left brow indicated that her inventory was complete. She nodded in a not-unfriendly way, said "Hi" and brushed past.

  Viv, still getting used to this Texan business of greeting complete strangers, just blinked.

  J.B.'s office was very pleasant inside, without being oppressive and stuffy like so many law firms. The walls were lined with wall-to-wall bookcases, blond instead of the usual dark cherry or mahogany. Furniture was also blond and Scandinavian in design, upholstered in tasteful fabrics of mostly blues and greens. Legal reference books took up most of the shelf space, but along the very top level a collection of beautiful modern glass paperweights caught the Texas sun.

  A handsome older woman sat at the reception desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "Corinne," she murmured, "I'm sorry but he really can't be disturbed right now."

  She had ash-blond hair that came close to matching the furniture, and she reminded Vivien strongly of someone. When she looked up, Viv faltered; the woman had the same wide green eyes as J.B. He just didn't have the habit of wearing mascara or grooming his eyebrows.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you weremay I help you?" the receptionist asked, with a welcoming smile.

  "Yes." Viv walked forward, channeling Marlene Dietrich, and extended her hand. "I'm Vivien Shel-ton, of Klein, Schmidt and Belker. I'm here from Manhattan for a brief time."

  The woman took off her reading glasses and her smile widened a bit. "Ah. The cheesecake girl, I presume?"

  Viv opened her mouth and then closed it again. Finally she said with a tight smile of her own, "That's me."

  "This is a small town. Word gets around, hon."

  "Right. Well." Viv really didn't want to think about the implications of this. How much detail was she acquainted with? "I credit J.B. with saving my life. It's a good thing he was there."

  "Yes, I'm very proud of him. I'm his mom." The wattage of her smile got just a little too bright.

  Viv paused. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. An-glin," she said, without a blusheven though she was now sure Mom knew last night's conversation word for word, and was highly intrigued. Great . She took a deep breath.

  "Well. Though I don't have an appointment, I wondered if Mr. AnglinJ.B.was available to discuss some business pertaining to one of his clients."

  Mom's smile brightened another twenty watts, and Viv could practically see her ears prick under the ash-blond helmet.

  "If you'll have a seat, Ms. Shelton, I'll be happy to check."

  Viv wondered what had happened to He can't be disturbed , but shrugged.

  Mrs. Anglin pressed a button on the intercom system. "John Bryan? Are you free to see Ms. Shelton for a few minutes?"

  No response. The door to his office opened after what seemed an interminable pause, and J.B. stood there, leaning his rangy body against the jamb. He appraised Vivien coolly while she stared right back.

  "Miz Shelton. To what do I owe this honor?"

  "You owe the honor to Roman Sonntag. May I come in?"

  "Well, sure, honeyas long as you're already slummin' it."

  His mother looked from one of them to the other. "I'll hold your calls," she said.

  He nodded. "Thank you."

  Viv s
miled tightly and walked into his office with her head held high.

  He nudged the door shut with his boot. The man dressed for the office as if it were a country and western bar: snug denim, the same boots of the day before, and his white, buttoned-down shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows.

  Inside the room, a scent of lemon oil mingled with the essence of new wood. The bookcases extended around the entire well-lit room, supporting hundreds ot leather-bound volumes. A modern oil painting stood on a blond wood easel near the window. His desk, a work of art in itself, was in the center of the floor. It looked like a piece by Henry Moore, if the English sculptor had designed furniture. Smooth, abstract, rounded pieces of polished wood supported a massive slab of thick, beveled glass. Anglin's tan leather office chair rolled up to it on one side, and two visitor's chairs sat on the other side.

  He did not invite her to sit down, but she did anyway.

  "Well, make yourself comfortable, Vivvie."

  "Please don't call me that. Viv is fine. Vivvie is not." To soften that a little, she said, "I like your office."

  "I'm so glad you approve. I renovated it myself."

  "You did?" She gestured to the shelves, the beautiful six-inch moldings. "All of this?"

  He nodded. "Yep. Sad to say, some of us do have to learn manual labor."

  "Look, J.B., I don't appreciate the whole rich-bitch angle."

  "I didn't appreciate it, either."

  "You think my background had anything to do with what happened between us in New York?"

  "Yeah. I think you went slummin' with a cowboy and then, once your itch got scratched, you sent me on my way."

  "You're wrong."

  "You know what? It's water under the bridge." He strode toward her and leaned on the desk, looking down so that she felt dwarfed. "Why are you here in my office? What's this about Roman?"

  '"I want to talk with you about something related to the wedding," she said, getting up so that he didn't have such a height advantage. In spite of her heels, she still had to tilt her chin up to look at him.