He shot her a look. "Like I said, that's none of your biz."
Ugh. True . But she said, "Corinne wants you back."
He shrugged. "Next topic."
Viv sighed. "Okay. After we meet with the band, we have to pick up some crystal swans."
He looked revolted.
"It's a Julia thing. She loves swans. The long, graceful necks."
"We've got plenty of long-necked birds right here in Fredericksburg. She can have live emu at the wedding, for an added touch of elegance."
"I don't think it's quite the same thing."
"By the way, I hear that Uncle Ted's Shrub is quite taken with you." For the first time that morning, J.B. laughed. "I hear that he wants you to lay his eggs."
"Not funny," Viv said.
"Very funny."
She glared at him before finally cracking a smile herself. "His wasn't the usual come-on."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. He was smoother than most."
J.B. grinned. "Hey, well, what can ya do?"
"Sleep alone," she retorted. Ooops. Well, there's a segue of sorts
The grin vanished from his face.
"I want you to know that I didn't take you back to my room to use you for sex." She threw it out there baldly and waited to see what he'd do with it.
"Oh? Why, then?"
"I like you. When you're not being righteous and annoying."
" Righteous ? About what?"
"Your whole marriage-is-a-commitment-blessed-by-God shtick."
"It's not a shtick," he said in a tight voice.
"Philosophy. Whatever."
"No, not whatever. That's how I feel and it's very important to me, Shelton. Your problem is that you hold nothing sacred. Your religion is cynicism. Don't tell me I'm 'righteous' in that worldly, amused tone of voice that tone that says You poor unenlightened provincial ."
She started to speak but he wasn't done.
"If more people worked on their marriages instead of running to the nearest divorce attorney and treating them as disposable, then more kids would have stable homes and society wouldn't be so screwed up."
"You can stop right there, Anglin. Divorce attorneys are not the cause of marriages dissolving! That's just BS. It's the people involved who are the cause. All we do is help clean up the legal and financial and emotional messes involved in the split."
"And you profit from that!" he shot back. "The more divorces, the more cash for you. You profit from the breakdown of the family."
She actually punched him in the shoulder. "I am not the root of all evil! Do you have any idea how many women I've helped to get out of psychologically painfuland even physically painful situations? Do you know that I spend a lot of my free time donating legal aid to a chapter of Displaced Homemakers? I'm in the process right now of establishing a day-care system for my local chapter!"
"Look, I'm not advocating that women stay in abusive marriages. But every marriage goes through rocky times. And I repeat: People should not give up so easily! Marriage involves a commitment, a bond, loyalty. And the loyalty isn't just from man to woman and vice versa. The loyalty I'm talking about is loyalty to we over me . It's called not always being selfish and looking out for Number One."
"Sorry, but that's just counter to human nature," Viv said, barely restraining a snort.
"Yes, it is." J.B. surprised her by agreeing. "That commitment to we requires us to evolve. To rise above self-interest. To love, honor, cherish, and mean it."
"So do you still love, honor and cherish Corinne?"
He took a deep breath. "Yes."
The simple three-letter word had her reeling. She felt sick to her stomach. " Yes ? Then what were you doing with me ?" Her voice rose, in spite of her efforts to keep it calm and measured.
"All I'm saying," J.B. told her, "is that in spite of everything Corinne did to destroy our marriage, she's a human being and not a four-letter word. I won't turn my back on her. Partly because I want her to understand what she threw away."
Viv stared at him, feeling her pulse pound in her ears. The man was still serious about his wedding vows even after a divorce? After his ex had left him flat, taken half his money and had been married to two other men?
When Viv got control of her nausea and it turned to a dull, vague pain, she said quietly, "You're still in love with her."
* * *
Chapter Eighteen
"No." J.B. refuted Viv's statement. "I'm not in love with Corinne."
"But you'll go chase a rat out of her kitchen at one in the morning."
"Yes."
"That just doesn't add up."
"I made a promise once, in a church, in front of God, to take care of her. If she needs help I'm not going to deny her."
Viv just stared at him, uncomprehending. "That promise is over . You're not married to her anymore."
"I keep my promises. It's important to me. Your honor is all you've got in this world."
Christ. He sounds like a knight of the Round Table. He's a walking anachronism.
In fact, he's more loyal than a dog. I've discovered the one man on the planet that even I could marry without a prenup .
The thought flashed into her mind without warning.
But typical of life's irony, his doglike loyalty belonged to another woman, not her.
Aloud she said, "You haven't kept your promise to forsake all others. You were just with me. So I guess you're selective about which promises you keep?"
He turned an angry gaze on her. His green eyes had darkened to a more forbidding gray. "Just lay off for a while, okay? Just leave it."
She stared out the window. They were approaching the San Antonio city limits now. It looked like any other city until J.B. drove them into the. historic downtown area, where they parked near the historic Menger Hotel.
They had about forty-five minutes to kill before meeting the band, so J.B. fell into tour guide mode and hauled her first to the Alamo, and then to a little shop of horrors called the Buckhorn Saloon and Museum.
Viv found the Alamo small, pokey and unimpressive, but J.B. shushed her when she said so aloud. "They'll take you out back and hang your Yankee ass from a live oak tree!" he told her. "It's sacrilegious to insult the Alamo in Texas. Ozzy Osbourne once peed on the wall and he's never been allowed back into the city again."
Viv laughed.
"Hey, disrespect for the Alamo is no laughing matter. Every schoolkid in Texas is taught the legend of the Alamo over and over again. I remember even having to reenact the damn battle in fourth grade"
Next he hustled her off to the Buckhorn Saloon on East Houston Street.
As they approached, she looked up to find a long-horn head staring down at her. "Ugh." In fact, there was a longhorn head between every window of the place. To Viv, an animal lover, it might as well have been the Tower of London, with human heads on pikes.
J.B. held the door open for her and Viv walked inside only to come to a standstill. There were dead animals everywhere. Animals with fangs, fur, claws, horns and fins. Animals of every size and species. A huge potbellied bear menaced her from his platform, while a wolf prepared to attack her from another. Countless deer had been beheaded and watched visitors with lifelike eyes.
It was probably a cowboy's or hunter's paradise. As someone who didn't even like zoos because the captivity of the animals depressed her, Vivien felt sick.
"There are over four thousand horns here," said J.B. "Frontiersmen used to come in and barter antlers for drinks. Those were the days before credit cards." He pointed. "See the bar back there?"
She nodded, feeling bile rise in her throat.
"Teddy Roosevelt actually sat there to recruit Rough Riders. Pancho Villa may have planned the Mexican Revolution over liquor at this very bar. A lot of the other furnishings are original, too."
Viv "met" a wolverine, a coyote, a nasty-looking boar (J.B. called it a javelina), a giraffe, and numerous other wild animals that she'd seen only on nature programs.
&n
bsp; "Wanna beer?" J.B. asked. "You gotta like Texas. Can you get a beer in a museum in any other state?"
"No. I don't really want to stay here."
"But this place is chock-full of Texas history."
"I'll buy a book. To me, it's 'chock-full' of horrible death. I'm not kidding, I have to get out of here before I throw up on the floor."
It reminded her of unspeakable pictures she'd seen of greyhounds in Spain, put to death by their owners when they didn't hunt well. Viv turned and booked for the door.
J.B. followed. "Tough Girl, you're not looking so tough right now"
She ignored him and ran to a nearby trash can, retching over it. Thank God nothing came up. She got control of herself.
"Oh, hell, I'm sorry, Vivvie. I thought maybe you'd get a kick out of the place. It's a famous San Antonio landmark."
She looked at him without speaking.
"Kids love it so do most tourists" He rubbed her back. "I'll take you over to the Riverwalk for a bit. I know you'll like that. Everything's alive and well and cheerful."
"You promise?"
"Yeah."
"J.B., I often work with the Animal Legal Defense Fund. I'm not a radicalI don't run around throwing blood or red paint on women's fursbut I do what I can to stop cruelty to animals. Greyhounds may be my personal crusade, but I hate to see any animal mistreated or killed for its skin."
"If it's any consolation, most of those animals in the Buckhorn were probably eaten" His voice trailed off as he saw her face.
"Why don't we change the subject?" she suggested.
"Okay."
They walked the few blocks to San Antonio's most popular area: the Paseo del Rio, or Riverwalk. Two and a half miles long, it consisted of stone pathways that followed the river under the bridges and streets of downtown. On either side were umbrella-shaded cafes and shops, bars and historic hotelseven an entire mall area. The water was the deep, mossy green of J.B.'s eyes.
"We'll meet with the band, pick up those stupid crystal swans and then come back over here for lunch, okay? We'll have a margarita and I'll take you over to La Villita, the arts district where the original 'little village' of San Antonio sat. It was built by the Spanish in the 1700s."
She nodded.
"Then we'll make a run over to El Mercado, the outdoor Mexican market."
"Okay. That sounds fun." She looked up at him. "Can you afford to take all this time off work?"
He shrugged. "Work will always be there." His unspoken comment was that she wouldn't be, which touched her.
"If we had more time I'd take you to the old Lone Star Brewery, which now houses the San Antonio Museum of Modern Art." He stopped and caught her chin in his hand, examining her face.
"You feeling better now?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath of fresh air, savoring itso different from the air in Manhattan. She even liked the fetid, musky smell of the river. "Thank you."
He chuckled. "So now I know the two things feared most by the Ball-Busting Bitch. Bridesmaids' dresses and taxidermy."
She grimaced at him.
"Nope," he added. "I forgot one."
Viv looked a question at him.
"Intimacy. I think you'd rather put on a pink, frilly bridesmaid dress and dance with that stuffed bear in the Buckhorn than share your deepest thoughts with any man."
"That is so untrue," she retorted, knowing that it wasn't. "Oh, look at the timewe've got to meet the band."
"Yeah, look at the time," J.B. repeated sardonically. But he let it slide.
The band Julia had chosen had the dubious moniker of Ten Gallons o' Luv. Viv exchanged a meaningful glance with J.B. as they walked into the agreed-upon bar and were met by a man in painted-on black jeans and an acid green cowboy hat.
"Miz Shelton? Mr. Anglin?" Acid Green asked.
"Yes." Viv looked at his hat with undisguised horror.
"Hidey," he said, looking her up and down with blatant appreciation. The man almost smacked his lips. J.B.'s face darkened.
"Excuse me?" Vivien said.
"I'm Boogey, manager of Ten Gallons o' Luv."
"Er, charmed to meet you, Boogey."
J.B. just nodded curtly at him.
"So whut kin I do you for?"
"I am Vivien Shelton and this is J.B. Anglin. We are the attorneys for Julia Spinelli and Roman Sonn-tag, respectively. We're here to look over the contract for your gig on their wedding day."
"Jayzus." Boogey looked taken aback. "That cute li'l blonde sent her lawyers ?"
"Yes," Vivien said evenly. "That cute li'l blonde sure did." He'd known their names but not their professions?
"Well." Boogey scratched at his scraggle-haired chin. "We don't rightly have a contract , you know." He then reached down and adjusted himself with great elegance. He shifted from one boot to the other. "We just have a verbal agreement and she writes a check."
"I'm sorry, but Ms. Spinelli doesn't do business that way." Vivien opened the flap of her leather satchel while J.B. looked on in amusement and said not a word. She removed a sheaf of papers about a quarter-inch thick.
"Now. Boogey. Er, do you possess a surname, Boogey?"
"A what?"
Unbelievable. "A last name."
"Jones."
"Thank you. Mr. Jones, if you'll read this document through completely and initial each page, indi-eating your comprehension of and agreement with the terms, we'd appreciate it."
He stared at the papers as if they were covered in anthrax, and adjusted himself once again. Viv thought about suggesting that he might be more comfortable in pants that were three sizes larger, but decided it wasn't her problem.
"Miz Shelton, I really ain't the person to sign those papers. I just met you to pick up a check from Julie."
"Julia."
"Right. Her. If you're talkin' legal papers, you need the lead vocalist."
Such a good sign that the band's manager refused to vouch by his signature that they'd show up. Viv didn't like this at all. "And the lead vocalist's name is ?"
"Dizzy."
"Dizzy," she repeated. Who named these guys ? "Oh-kaaaay. Where might we find this Dizzy?"
"He don't get up until after two."
Viv sighed. "Mr. Jones, I thought we had an appointment to get this done today."
"All I knows, I came here to get a check because Miz Spinelli said she'd be down here anyway, and she wanted to meet" He broke off, realizing that he was about to screw up.
"She wanted to meet the band in person. Yes. That would indicate that someone told her the band would be here today, would it not?"
Boogey looked at her with an "Oh, shit" expression.
"We've driven here from forty minutes away. So would you consider waking up Dizzy? So he can come over here and sign this?"
He pursed his lips. "Not a real good idea."
Viv stared at him with growing wrath.
"He can be violent when woken." Boogie eased off his acid green hat and ran his fingers through hair that was not well-acquainted with shampoo.
She took in the ridiculous ridge left around his head from the band of the hat, the visible red capillaries in his eyes and the black under his fingernails. Also a nice touch was the black T-shirt he wore with the ripped-off sleeves. His tattoos didn't bother her, but the image of a bound, grossly endowed, nude woman on the T-shirt did.
Viv exchanged another glance with J.B., who shook his head. "Mr. Jones, we don't have a lot of time to waste. This wedding is in less than two weeks. Now, either you call this Dizzy person right away or the deal is off."
"I'm tellin' you, this is not a good idea." But at her steely glare, he walked as best he could in the ridiculously tight jeans to the phone, set it on speaker, and dialed a number. It rang and rang and rang.
Jones hung up and repeated the process twice.
Finally a voice snarled a string of words having to do with violators of mothers, crude body parts and impossible physical acts.
Viv's brows rose.
"Hold up a minute, Diz! I got two fancy lawyers here about the Spinelli-Sonntag gig. Wantin' you to sign some contract."
The voice told him exactly what to do with the Spinelli-Sonntag wedding, the lawyers and the contract. It added that Jones was, himself, a stupid violator of mothers and had a voracious taste for male sexual organs.
"Diz, I kind of forgot to mention that you're on speakerphone."
A resounding silence followedthen a single, breathless stream of obscenities followed by a dial tone.
J.B. began to laugh heartily while Viv packed her document back into her satchel.
"I think we've reached a perfect understanding," she said crisply to Boogie, who wore a sickly grinr "Ten Gallons o' Luv will not be playing the Spinelli-Sonntag wedding."
"Julia's going to kill us," Viv said to J.B. over mar-garitas at Casa Rio. It was the oldest, and arguably the best, restaurant on the Riverwalk, and they sat outside under an umbrella. "But what other choice did we really have?"
"None. She doesn't want those guys, no matter how much she liked their tape. She never saw them live, did she?"
Viv shook her head. "I don't think so. When would she have had the time?" She took a large, soothing mouthful of potent 'rita and let it slide deliciously down her throat. As usual, the heat had wilted her, flattened her hair and sucked most of her energy dry. The drink was refreshing, and she wanted about a gallon more.
"How did she choose these jackasses, anyway?"
"A cousin of one of them did her eyebrows."
"Huh?" J.B. looked at her over the rim of his 'rita glass. "What exactly do you women do to an eyebrow?"
"Lots of things. Shape it, arch it, tint it" His puzzled expression made her laugh. "Never mind."
J.B. ordered something called flautas and a chile relleno to follow their ceviche. Viv dug into the fresh, spicy salsa with an oversized tortilla chip and relaxed against the cushion of her chair. Below them, a barge packed full of tourists went by, while a guide on a microphone narrated colorful details of San Antonio history.
J.B.'s boot knocked against the cardboard box full of little crystal swans they'd picked up nearby.
"Be careful," Viv told him.
First Dance - [Bridesmaid's Chronicles 03] Page 17