by Lynn Shurr
Sheets from the yellow tablet balled up on the floor. Two pencils lost their points under the pressure of Rex’s grip. Once, he pulled a miniature Bible from his shirt pocket and copied a verse. Finally, he exhaled loud enough for Joe to hear over the noise of a sports channel.
“You done? Want me to read over it?’
“No, thanks.” Rex took up the pen and a sheet of the fancy paper.
He botched his first attempt and tore it to pieces. Finally, he folded his missive into an envelope. “I think that’s the best I can do. Thank Nell for me, would you?”
“Sure. See you at practice.”
Rex let himself out. Joe turned off the television and went quietly to the bedroom he shared with Nell. She lay on her left side curled around her belly. The second he sat on the edge of the round mattress, she opened her eyes.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Only dozing. I really can’t get comfortable. Is Rex gone?”
“Yeah, he left most of a legal pad on our floor. Didn’t think he’d ever get it right.”
“Really? I want to see.”
For a heavily pregnant woman, Nell got out of bed fairly fast. Belly leading, she went to the table and began laboriously picking up the drafts. “Tricia, my one and only love. Awww. Your eyes are the color of the summer sky. Oooh!”
Joe smoothed out one of the crumpled sheets of paper and read a few lines. “You’d really want to get a letter like this?”
“What woman wouldn’t?”
“I mean I could do this, too, but I show how much I love you every day.”
“So how would you describe my eyes?” Nell fluttered her lashes.
“I don’t know. Sweet as chocolate kisses and the same color, too?”
“Not so good.”
“I’m more a man of action than a guy for words. Shammy is out. Rex is gone. You are awake. Two months of bed rest starts tomorrow. It’s gonna be a long time for both of us. We could take it slow and easy.” Joe smoothed his long-fingered hands over her belly. The babies sent up a flurry of kicks as if their, or maybe Nell’s, heartbeat went up a notch.
“I’d like that, man of action, I truly would.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tricia noticed the envelope stuck in the side of the door as she and Layla returned from the gym. Thanks to her long legs, Layla reached it first and scowled. Tricia saw her own name written on it in a heavy, masculine hand.
“I believe that’s addressed to me. Help yourself to a bottle of water and some fruit.” She plucked the letter from Layla’s grasp.
“I hate fruit unless it is baked in a pie.” The actress flounced over to the turquoise sofa and flopped onto its cushions. Her long, sweaty blonde ponytail hung over the arm.
“As we well know. Suit yourself. I’ll be in my room.”
Heart pounding and not only from the exercise, Tricia closed and locked her door. She knew, simply knew, who had written her name on that envelope. Rex appeared to have accepted her decision after a flurry of phone calls and e-mails. Her father said Rex made an appeal to him, but he’d sided with his daughter. Dad did want to know what went wrong. She put it succinctly—his mother. “Heaven knows your mother put up with a lot from mine,” he’d answered. She supposed he understood.
Opening it carefully, not wanting to mar the envelope, she took out the luxurious paper and read.
Tricia, my one and only love,
You would say that is impossible for me to know until I see other women. I have not and will not. Sometimes, a person can be positive about something without having to test it all the time, like believing in God or believing in us. Yes, you are beautiful with eyes blue as the summer sky, but my love for you goes deeper strengthened by the sacrifices you made for your mother and the concern you have for your family. Even returning to help Layla, not for wealth or success, but because her mother asked it of you speaks of your goodness.
My mother agreed with you, claiming I need not marry a woman just because I lay with her. Do you believe I would feel the same about marriage if Layla had been my first? You can answer that yourself. I have no idea what else Mama said to you. She never lies but sometimes rearranges the truth to her liking. Since I turned thirteen, she thinks I wanted to be a missionary. Mostly, I was homesick for my family and wanted to return to them in Africa instead of living with my hateful grandparents who would not let me study Spanish or bring home a black friend. I do want to help people, but in a secular way. To have you by my side while I accomplish that would be my finest dream. I hate mentioning any of those who would come between us in this letter, but did need to explain.
I turned to the Bible for better words. This is how I feel:
Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.
Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot sweep it away.
If one were to give
all the wealth of one’s house for love,
it would be utterly scorned.
Tricia, I love you. I want to marry you. Please give your consent.
Rex
Tricia opened her phone and called the man whose signature song was Sweet Like This.
****
Layla Devlin still sprawled on the couch in her new spandex workout clothes when the doorbell rang. It woke her from an exercise-induced sleep. Tricia usually bolted to answer, trying to intercept pizza deliveries, drug dealers, and Lee, but this time she wasn’t swift enough. Layla got there first hoping for some forbidden fruit. And there he stood, Rex Worthy in suit and tie carrying an armful of lavender roses.
“Oh, darling boy, for me?”
“No. For Tricia.”
Layla held her arms out at her side to display her wares, a newly toned body. “But, I’ve got my glitter back now. I know I wasn’t at my most appealing last time. We can still…”
“Yeah, I remember the glitter.” A small shudder shook Rex’s broad shoulders. He peered over Layla’s head, his eyes fastened on a vision.
Layla turned to see what entranced him. Tricia twirled from her bedroom like that woman who got a baby by Clark Gable—Loretta Young. If she had lived then, Clark would have had an affair with Layla Devlin, but she would not have given birth to the child. The patsy wore a sky blue dress that swirled around her knees and a strand of pearls at her neck. Her hair hung loose and straight over her shoulders, not a hint of frizz in it. She had a glow about her that makeup could not duplicate. Layla hated her more than ever. Tricia ranked right up there with the Billodeaux bitch and Joe Dean.
Rex offered the lavender flowers to the humble PA. “Because they had none in blue to match your eyes.”
“Oh, beautiful.” Trish put them in water and carried them to her room. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned with only a small evening bag in her hand and a light wrap draped over her arm. “Layla, Rex and I are going out to dinner. I made up a plate with a cooked chicken breast and some boiled veggies for you while you napped. All you have to do is it nuke it. Fix a salad if you want, too. Sugar-free Jell-O for dessert.”
“I’m not interested in Jell-O unless it has a shot in it.”
“You are so close to your goal, only ten more pounds. Don’t blow it. Act like a grownup and behave yourself tonight. I’d like an excuse to go home early.”
“Yeah, I’d like that, too.”
“Just say the word.”
Layla remained sullen and silent. The couple left without another word. For a few minutes, wrath consumed the actress. She went to Tricia’s room, removed the flowers from the vase, and stomped them into the carpet. Her eyes lit on the black bag, the one containing all her needs and comforts. She dumped it out on the bed, searched very pocket and crevice, no drugs but aspirin and Midol turned up. About to trash the contents, La
yla stopped in the process of breaking the top off a stick of lipstick and mashing it into the bedspread. Lilac with a bit of sparkle, it belonged to her—as did the phone Tricia confiscated upon her return. She must have taken her own with her, but no matter at all.
With the phone in her own hands again came freedom—to call her supplier, to order as much takeout as she could possibly eat, to contact Lee and set up a good time. She hadn’t been out in weeks. Oh, the power of the little instrument. But no, she wanted to stay gorgeous and clear-headed to plan her revenge—against Tricia and Nell. Layla made a couple of calls. Lee wanted to celebrate her restored fabulousness by doing a duet with her in his act tonight. She could squeeze into her sexiest gowns now. Let the paparazzi photograph her all they wanted. Layla Devlin was back and determined to triumph over her enemies in a big way.
****
Tricia and Rex shared a sumptuous meal of seafood and champagne, but decided on Café du Monde for coffee and dessert. It seemed like their place, the place where they first got to know each other. After that, they strolled along the esplanade on the top of the levee, the famous Moon Walk, Rex leading her away from the street performers wailing out songs on old saxophones and even the plaintive scratch of a dilapidated cello. Music playing in the distance, he selected a bench near a pool of lantern light, got down on his knees with the mighty Mississippi serving as a dark, moonlit backdrop, and offered her a ring.
“There are sapphires a darker blue, but I wanted this one to match your eyes. Please say yes.”
Tricia gazed on a ring chosen with care. The blue did match her eyes. Small diamonds surrounded it. The stone was a good size, but not ostentatious. She realized he had enough confidence in her answer and their future to include a wedding band of alternating diamonds and sapphires, all set in platinum.
Because she didn’t answer, he added, “I bought the rings right after my family left town. Nothing they said changed my mind, but I hope I changed yours with my letter.”
“It did. I’m sorry I wouldn’t give you a chance to explain. You, the ring, all of this seems impossible when you could have a movie star or fulfill yourself as a missionary.”
“What I want is a life with you, Tricia. Nothing else. Say yes.”
“Yes.”
Flashes surrounded them like an attack of lightning bugs. The danged street performers must have phoned in a Rex Worthy sighting to the paparazzi for some additional coin. They’d crept up on the couple in the dark but had the tiny bit of decency to hold off until she accepted—or maybe Rex on his knees simply made a better shot. From out of the night, one rough voice asked, “What’s your name, honey? You the same babe he carried up to the hotel room? You still working for Layla Devlin?”
“Come on, Trish, let’s get out of here.” Rex barged through the photographers taking out a few of them with a straight arm as he might for a Jakarta Jones run.
“Trish, is that short for Patricia or your real name?” a paparazzo who’d received an elbow to the stomach gasped. “I thought you went by Patsy.”
“They never give up,” Tricia told him.
Coming off the steps leading down from the levee, they lucked out on hailing a cab. Rex had them locked in his building before the entourage of photographers caught up. Some might stake out the place all night. Others would troll the Quarter for scandals in the making. In the safety of the apartment and his arms, Tricia said, “We didn’t have time to seal our promise with a kiss.”
“I can think of something better—unless you want to wait until after we get married.”
“When do you think that will be, Rex?” Tricia’s lips curved into a coy smile.
“Um, next week? We could fly to Vegas on Friday and be back in time for Sunday’s game.”
“No, I don’t want a big, fancy wedding, but I want a church and my family and yours to be there. Iowa can be nice in April or May.”
Disappointment showed in every line of his stubbled face. “That long?”
“But, I didn’t say I wanted to wait any longer to celebrate.” She backed him toward the bedroom working on his tie and buttons along the way. This time, Rex had not come prepared to undress in a hurry. She clawed off his jacket and shirt, worked the T-shirt over his head, the slacks and briefs from his body. His shoes fell down beside the bed, loafers filled with his socks.
“Let me,” he said, reaching for her.
But Tricia had come prepared. “No, I can do it faster.” She whisked the dress with the built-in bra over her head. Beneath it she wore only blue lace panties. Shedding those and kicking off her heels, she pushed Rex back on the bed. Watching her strip had him readied him. She climbed on top. “No missionary position tonight.”
“Was that missionary position last time? I didn’t think it involved your legs wrapped around my backside with your heels kicking me like a bucking bronco.”
“Modified missionary, let’s say.” Straddling his hips, she rubbed along his shaft, closing her eyes and feeling his strength beneath her.
“Wait,” Rex said. Her eyes opened. His arm dangled off the bed and found his suit jacket. He fumbled the ring box from a pocket. “I didn’t have the chance to get this on your finger.” He put the sapphire there now.
“Oh, Rex Worthy. I place the seal of my love over your heart.” She leaned forward and kissed his chest. “And on your arm.” She laid her lips on his remarkable biceps. “And your lips as well.”
When she rose again, she took him deep inside her body and began to move. Her eyes closed again. Rex kept his open. He watched Pretty and Perky bob with her motion, her dark hair form a veil around them, her mouth open as she began to pant. He waited for the signs that she reached climax and held himself back until that moment because he wanted them to do it together in one perfect joining.
****
Tricia refused to stay the night. “I do have an obligation to Layla, and you know what the tabloids will say about you if I leave here at dawn.”
“I don’t care.” Reluctant to let go, Rex held her firmly in his arms.
“Well, I do.”
He did a slow release and watched her dress. Putting on enough clothes to be decent, he waited until the cab came to take her back to her hell of a job. Too bad she wouldn’t consider Vegas next weekend, then all this pretense would be over and done.
New Orleans and its denizens were still wide-awake as the cab passed along its gaudy night time streets. A couple of sleepy paparazzi followed to learn her address, but didn’t harass her any. Letting herself into the apartment, Tricia hoped Layla had gone to bed. The place was dark, and she tiptoed to her room considering if she should wear the ring tomorrow or not, certainly not to workout with Layla, but how she wanted to show Selena. With a flick of the light switch, the devastation of her belongings crashed into view. Well, the contents of her bag could be put back into order, bedspreads were washable, and flowers only temporary delights. She saved one of the least ravaged blooms to dry and put it in the locked drawer of the desk with Rex’s letter and the newspaper clipping of him carrying her. Nothing could ruin this evening, not even finding Layla Devlin gone astray in her absence.
Chapter Thirty
Though Tricia slept lightly expecting a call from the police or a bartender to come pick up her charge, Layla found her way home alone around four a.m. Selena arrived at eight sharp as always and personally rousted her client from bed, rolling Layla from the sheets with strong, black arms. Complaining and using the N word without restraint, the actress struggled into her tight exercise clothes still unwashed from yesterday since Tricia hadn’t done a load of laundry and all the other outfits smelled just as bad. Her PA held out a glass of tomato juice garnished with a celery stick.
“Hair of the dog?” Layla said hopefully.
“You wish. It’s a Virgin Mary. Enjoy the celery.”
“Speaking of virginity, how is Rex? I assume you have taken his by now.”
Trisha held back as long as she could. Taking her hand from behind her b
ack, she showed the ring to Layla. “We’re going to be married in the spring.”
“The hell you are! I’ll do something for Rex so spectacular, he’ll take that ring right off your finger and put it on mine—but I’d want something bigger.” Layla tipped over the tomato juice, making a mess for someone else to clean up.
Tricia let the red puddle spread on the floor like blood at a crime scene. “Rex isn’t into spectacular—though we came pretty close last night. Since Selena is here, why don’t you go ahead and get started. I’ll catch up.”
“I have a headache, the classy kind. Lee and I polished off two bottles of champagne last night, but no drugs, I swear. I went over to his club, and we did a duet on stage together. The paparazzi bulbs were popping all over the place. Then, I was horny, so we got it on at his place,” Layla boasted.
“Plenty of paparazzi to go around,” Trisha commented, not bothering to explain.
“You got lots of alcohol calories to burn off and ten pounds still to lose.” Selena snapped Layla’s greatly reduced backside with a dishtowel. “How about we jog down those stairs?”
“I haven’t had breakfast!”
Tricia tossed her a granola bar. “You poured the rest on the floor. Enjoy.”
Selena hustled Layla out the door, then turned to say, “I’ve had some nasty clients in my day, but this one wins the gold medal in bitchiness. If you weren’t paying me a bundle, I’d be out of here today. But, great ring, great guy. Congrats, Tricia. I hope you two are as happy as Joe and Nell.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about what she called you.”
She didn’t think she could hope for better than what Joe and Nell had. Fewer children certainly, but definitely a family of their own, a home far away from Mrs. Worthy, and if that meant living in Africa, so be it.