For Money or Love

by Heather Blackmore

  “No disrespect to your sister, but from where I stand, there’s no comparison.” As the song came to a close, TJ stepped back. With her palm, she gestured that Jess should take the lead off the dance floor. TJ needed the space. She hadn’t expected sparks to fly between them and wanted time to process their interaction. Something in the way Jess had been looking at her had changed of late, as if she was mirroring the same thing building within TJ.

  The rest of the evening passed slowly for TJ, during which Jess introduced her to Chad as well as other guests she couldn’t recall. How Jess remembered every person’s name was impressive. Less so was the deference she showed to the men. One such conversation between Chad, a man named Monroe, Monroe’s wife, and Jess, was particularly egregious.

  “I say, Astor, what do you think of our good Senator Grantham? He waffles more than any breakfast,” Monroe asked.

  TJ wasn’t sure she was more galled or amused that Monroe directed the question solely to Chad, altogether sidelining the three women surrounding them. If she’d cared more, gall would have won out. But the corpulent man with the reddened face and his equally bulbous wife seemed so cartoonish as to minimize her vexation. Had Monroe been sporting a hat, TJ could imagine him saying, “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.”

  “His latest stance on gun control is intolerable,” Chad replied.

  “To think he was the NRA’s choice two years ago,” Monroe said.

  “Hardly their fault, is it? Grantham’s done a complete one-eighty on the issue.”

  “Indeed. Woeful independent streak. This voter prefers that his candidates stick to the platform.”

  “I agree. What kind of elected official does that make him?” Chad asked.

  Though the silence was preferable to TJ than listening to them, it was jarring her into action. Was the question rhetorical? Why didn’t Jess join the discussion? Mrs. Monroe’s smile seemed stuck in place, as if she’d been shellacked in acrylic, so TJ surmised the woman wouldn’t be participating. TJ wasn’t sure of proper protocol at such a swanky event, but she wasn’t the type to duck and cover. “The kind that weighs the evidence and makes an informed decision,” she said.

  “By listening to the liberal rhetoric of a Stanford law professor?” Chad asked.

  “By being open-minded to a different conclusion reached by over thirty years of statistics.” The story had lit up the Internet and made headlines in newspapers and cable news networks. TJ was well aware of Senator Grantham’s left turn on the issue.

  “Statistics are manipulated to tell the story the author wants to tell.” Chad’s tone slighted TJ in the way of young people in the grocery checkout queue impatiently waiting for an elderly patron to write a check.

  “Right-to-carry laws are associated with substantially higher rates of aggravated assault, robbery, rape, and murder. ‘More guns, less crime’ is an outdated notion based on incomplete evidence,” TJ said.

  “I agree with Astor. There are no facts; simply an agenda and a set of figures. An individual’s politics will surely alter any relevant information to reach the desired conclusion.”

  No facts? Clearly Mr. Monroe hadn’t made his substantial sums in the field of science. TJ was interested in Jess’s opinion. Turning to her, she asked, “What do you think of Grantham’s about-face?”

  The pitch of Jess’s laugh was unlike anything TJ had heard from her. Was she auditioning for a Legally Blonde sequel?

  “Jess isn’t much for politics, Ms. Blake,” Chad said.

  “Ever the proper lady,” added Mr. Monroe. “You won’t find my Trudy having any part of it.”

  The insult wasn’t lost on TJ. She wasn’t a proper lady by any of this set’s measuring sticks if it meant acquiescing to a man’s stance on an issue by virtue of his being male.

  Jess laid her palm against Chad’s chest. “Let’s avoid such unsavory talk while at my father’s party.”

  “Does attendance preclude thoughtful conversation?” TJ asked.

  Chad seemed to expand under Jess’s touch the way a tampon might, as if to absorb a flood of potential barbs headed her way. He snaked an arm around Jess’s waist. “With the Granthams of the world snubbing the voters who brought them into power, I can’t say I fault the request.”

  Jess winked at TJ. “Words like robbery must be handled delicately in public venues. We wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’re speaking of their investments with us.”

  “Another time, perhaps.” TJ raised her glass to Jess, took a sip, and set it down. “And on that note, I’ll bid you all a good evening.” She nodded to each guest in turn as she said her good-byes, fighting the urge to snap her fingers in front of Mrs. Monroe to see if she was a figure out of Madame Tussauds wax museum.

  As TJ made her way toward the estate’s main entrance, a commanding woman in her mid to late forties stopped her. “Pardon me,” she said as she held out her hand to TJ. “Muriel Manchester. And you are?”

  “TJ Blake.”

  Muriel took TJ’s elbow and steered her away from the entryway. “What happened to that beautiful woman you were dancing with earlier?”

  “Jessica Spaulding?”

  Muriel furrowed a brow. “No. I’m well acquainted with the Spauldings. No, the woman with the chestnut hair.”

  “I’m afraid she was paged. Were you wishing to speak with her, or is there something I can do for you?”

  “Oh, there are many things you can do for me, TJ Blake. But let me start with the basics. Are you and she exclusive?”

  “Are you usually so forward?”

  “Yes. And I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “I imagine your date wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that.”

  “Ah, you noticed us. I take that as a good sign.”

  “Hard to miss the only other same-sex couple here.”

  Muriel laughed, a rich, melodic sound that TJ found welcoming. “Are you suggesting a lack of diversity in these ranks?”

  “It’s a private party. It’s not for me to judge.”

  “Speaking of private parties, I’m having one next Saturday. You’re invited.”

  “How private is this party?”

  Muriel laughed again. “There will be dozens of us, I expect. You’re welcome to bring a guest, of course.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Join me, and we’ll change that. Shall I send the invitation to Magnate?”

  “What makes you think I work there?”

  “Darling, you must be new to the firm. You’re certainly not part of Derrick and Lilith’s social network. As they’re hardly known for their inclusive practices, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Spaulding clan is pulling out the stops to try to get my business by inviting you here.”

  “I don’t know if I should be flattered that you’d think of me as some sort of weapon, insulted that’s the only reason you think I’d be invited, or impressed that you could see through such a scheme, if that’s what it is.”

  “Rule number one: never care what others think. As far as the rest, you’re most definitely a great addition to anyone’s arsenal, I don’t flatter myself to think I’m the only reason you’re here, and feel free to be impressed. It’s been my pleasure to meet you, TJ, and I hope you’ll consider accepting my invitation. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my table.”

  When the energetic wave that was Muriel left, TJ found herself awed. Muriel was straightforward, confident, and sharp. No wonder she was CEO of a major corporation. TJ was surprised to have garnered Muriel’s attention. She’d noticed Muriel and her date during the course of the evening. The date was far younger than Muriel, perhaps TJ’s age, and seemed to have a bit of an edge to her, not unlike TJ. As TJ retrieved her wrap and purse from the designated coat-check area, she wondered whether the invitation was real or whether Muriel had taken her aside to fuel her date’s jealousy or keep afloat the rumor that she was a player.

  She looked out across the expansive curved driveway, admirin
g the organized valets and the automobiles they tended. The driveway was lined with tea-light candles in small paper bags, as was a wooden bridge that rose above a side garden and pond. Small white lights illuminated the surrounding trees as well as the columns and terraces in front of the mansion. TJ couldn’t imagine this being her view each day she left for work.

  A couple waited for a valet to run and fetch their car. TJ’s pumps had already pummeled her feet into white-flag-surrender territory, and the thought occurred to her to ask the couple for a ride to the nearest bus stop, wherever that was. She had arrived in Rebecca’s car, and poor planning had left her standing here, contemplating her options.

  “TJ!” She turned to see Jess descending the stairs toward her. “How are you getting home?” Jess asked as she stopped next to her.

  The question surprised her. How did Jess know it was an issue? TJ had been disappointed earlier by Jess’s unwillingness to participate in substantive conversation. Her acquiescence to the political views espoused by the men was unsettling. Did Jess prefer not to share her private views in a public setting, or did she hold no opinions? The latter idea clashed fiercely with TJ’s independent nature. American women had fought too hard for too long to secure suffrage in order to toss it aside as casually as a used paper towel.

  Complicating the matter was the vision of Jess’s hand centered on Chad’s chest. TJ had been so irritated by the discussion between Monroe and Chad that she hadn’t focused on Jess and Chad’s physicality. But now that Jess was beside her, holding her forearm, TJ chafed at the memory. She stared at Jess’s hand and recalled the way it had pressed against Chad in a gently controlling fashion, the opposite gesture one would expect from a submissive girlfriend. Was Jess meek or commanding? Why did she seem to always be acting in diametrically opposed directions?

  TJ wanted to get to know the Jessica Spaulding she’d danced with for several blissful minutes earlier in the evening, the one whose body moved flawlessly in step with hers with so little effort it was like dancing with her own shadow. Only this shadow was corporeal, with Jess filling out the curves of her dress more deliciously than the caramel center of a dark chocolate shell.

  “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll call a cab. Please don’t concern yourself.”

  “Nonsense,” Jess said and headed straight for the lead valet. TJ couldn’t hear the conversation, but the valet took off down the driveway. “One of our drivers will be at your disposal in no time.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of finding my way home.”

  Jess smiled. “You’re perfectly capable of a great many things, one of which is allowing me to thank you for agreeing to come here tonight by procuring a ride for you. We have a service on call to ensure everyone gets home safely, and I say we use it.”

  TJ clenched and unclenched her jaw as she worked through a response. She could really use the lift home but wasn’t comfortable being needy.

  “Is it my help specifically or help in general you find so difficult to accept?” Jess asked.

  TJ let out an exasperated breath. Truth be told, she didn’t know the answer. “I don’t have any way of repaying you for your kindness.”

  “If I expected repayment, it would no longer be kindness,” Jess said reasonably.

  It was a good point, but TJ couldn’t control her discomfort at the idea of accepting. TJ inclined her head toward the entryway. “Isn’t there some conversation you could be in there dodging right now?”

  Jess shifted her focus to the entryway and appeared to scrutinize it. Then she gave TJ a beseeching look that quickly shifted into resignation, almost as if she’d rather be here with TJ but accepted she had other obligations. Obligations that somehow required her to don a feebleminded persona. With a sad smile, she slowly nodded. “Your ride’s here. Good night, TJ.”

  Before Jess had taken ten steps, TJ said, “Wait.”

  Jess paused in the middle of ascending the stairs. But she didn’t turn around and, after a small shake of her head, continued her trek upward. Impulsively, TJ ran after her and stopped her at the top of the stairs with a hand to her upper arm.

  “That came out wrong,” TJ said. It wasn’t her place to judge Jess for putting on a front in company. TJ was one hundred percent convinced Jess was so much more than she let on, and in this moment, the only thing that mattered was to let her know. “What I meant to say is, you’re kind, intelligent, and charming.”

  TJ reached for Jess’s hand. She had no desire to offend Jess by saying something detrimental about Chad or the way Jess handled herself in group conversation. “Please don’t let anyone who can’t see you for all that you are have any say in all that you can be.”

  Emotion swirled in Jess’s eyes at the comment. TJ squeezed Jess’s hand briefly before letting go. “Good night, Jess.” She walked backward for several steps to linger in Jess’s gaze before turning and taking the stairs to the waiting car.

  *

  “What are you still doing up?” TJ said as she locked the apartment door, greeted by the familiar sight of Kara manipulating a game console while focused on the television screen.

  “Taking advantage,” Kara said without glancing up.

  “Appreciate the honesty. I’m glad you’re up. You can help me get out of this thing. Pause it and unzip me.” TJ sat on the couch next to Kara and presented her back.

  As Kara unzipped the dress, she said, “How’d it go?”

  “I survived.” TJ strode to her bedroom and changed into a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. She grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and parked next to her sister. Kara was playing a violent first-person-shooter game that had a number of weapons at the character’s disposal.

  It made her recall the earlier conversation about guns, and her thoughts returned to Jess. She’d spent the entire car ride home thinking about her. Why did Jess mill about the party as if she were as hollow as a cheap chocolate Easter bunny? By refusing to engage the men in any meaningful conversation, Jess’s feebleminded persona rendered her the equivalent of a piece of jewelry on Chad’s arm. TJ much preferred the company of the woman who challenged her to think things through. Not for the first time, TJ wondered if there were two Jessica Spauldings, identical twins who got their kicks by weaving in and out of each other’s lives to see if anyone noticed.

  TJ watched as the character on screen suddenly left the safety of his hiding place and ran into the middle of a zombie-infested room, firing in every direction and taking numerous hits. His life force quickly dwindled to zero and he died, whereupon he was summarily eaten by ravaging zombies. Bloodletting ensued.

  Kara set the console on the coffee table.

  TJ blinked and turned to Kara. “What’s up? You rarely die.”

  “You’ve sat here for twenty minutes letting me play the only video game you never let me play. I put it in before you got home to see how long it would take before you noticed. I guessed ninety seconds, tops. You tell me what’s up.” She crossed her arms as if to say she could wait all night. “Or should I say, who?”

  TJ brought her knees to her chest. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Dimwitted heiress?” Kara asked.

  “She’s not dimwitted!” TJ snapped, as if looking for a fight.

  Kara grinned.

  Bolting off the couch, TJ ran a hand through her hair and began to pace. “Kare, she’s so smart. You should hear her in her element. But God, when others are around, she acts like an imbecile.”

  “Maybe she’s shy.”

  “She’s not shy!” TJ exclaimed. “Hello. You’ve met,” she said sarcastically. TJ stilled and pinched the bridge of her nose. For as much as the topic fueled her fire, TJ didn’t want to lash out at Kara. “Sorry. I wish there was a way I could call her out on her pretense, but she’d simply brush aside my attempts to get her to admit anything.”

  “Why the need for her to admit it?” Kara asked reasonably. “What if she’s happy?”

  “That’s like assuming an Arc
tic tern would be satisfied living in someone’s backyard.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Seabird that migrates something like fifty thousand miles a year.”

  “Maybe it’s a nice backyard.”

  A sharp retort died on TJ’s lips. Indeed, Jess did live in a nice backyard—a multi-million-dollar one, to be exact. Perhaps Kara was right. Maybe the luxury of the confinement trumped the fact that it was confining. From behind the couch, TJ leaned over and hugged her. “It’s an amazing backyard, to be sure. Thanks for your wise counsel as ever, Dr. Blake. Good night. And turn off that terrible game, please.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jess was surprised by Kara’s text inviting her to join TJ and her at the classic-car show. Kara instructed Jess to text once she parked so they could come out to meet her at the entrance. Having thought of nothing but TJ for the last twelve hours, Jess concluded that a lighthearted day outside, yucking it up with the Blake sisters, might be just the trick to pull her from her more serious musings.

  She was experiencing all the telltale signs of infatuation: jealousy of Muriel and Dr. Stanfield, irritation with Chad and everything he represented, longing to spend time alone with TJ. The realization she could never act on her blossoming feelings, the knowledge TJ could never be interested in her once she discovered how truly shallow she was, had put Jess in a somber mood. A frivolous day walking among tricked-out automobiles might give her a reprieve from her self-flagellation.

  The parking lot at the fairgrounds was enormous, reminding Jess of the football games she had attended during college. Impeccably maintained classic cars and trucks lined the rows closest to the ticket booth. People sat in folded chairs under umbrellas or stood talking to one another nearby. Their expressions emanated the same satisfaction and pride she’d seen on Dillon’s face countless times as he worked on one of his “babies.”