Billy and I are supposed to be going over our notes and plans for the upcoming home show expo, and I don’t want to waste the day here. Plus, Victoria probably just invited me so she and Trina can make themselves feel better. Poor Lane, no money, no man…
We enter Victoria’s parlor, which is adorned in a 1920s theme, with crown molding, ferns, and antiques. Trina is there, inspecting some photographs. I think her butt got bigger since I saw her last. She turns and feigns surprise and delight in seeing me, and I seethe inwardly.
“Oh, Lane. What a surprise. I was just thinking about you and your incredible disappearing act the other day.” She raises her eyebrows and comes forward to air kiss me too.
Enough with the goddamn air kisses.
“You look…actually, you look amazing,” she says, a shadow of a frown passing over her Botoxified features. She pushes her curly blond hair back with her wedding-ringed hand, flashing me her diamond. I glance down at my left hand, realizing I should probably take my own ring off. The thought fills me with sadness.
“So, tell me. How’s the simple life?” she probes. “I hear you rent a suite. How quaint.”
Oh, God, help me. I shoot Victoria a desperate look.
“Trina, didn’t you say you had a spa appointment today?” Victoria asks.
At least she’s trying.
“No.” Trina feigns innocence, while surveying me with apparent amusement and fascination, like I’m some circus freak. “So, like, do you have a job?” she asks, wide eyed.
She might as well be saying “Do you live on Pluto?” because her tone suggests I do.
“I have my own business, actually.”
Trina’s eyes widen briefly, but she recovers her dignity and gives a little shrug. “Oh, and what kind of business could it be?”
Now I roll my eyes at Victoria, and she stifles a giggle. The martinis have arrived, and not a second too soon, I reach for mine and take a generous sip.
“My, business makes us thirsty, doesn’t it?” Trina says, eyeing my glass.
“What’s your business, Lane?” Victoria asks, showing genuine interest.
“It’s a design consulting firm.”
“Oh? That’s fantastic, Lane.” Victoria seems impressed.
“Thanks,” I say. Trina looks dejected.
“No, it’s fantastic because I totally need this house re-done. From top to bottom. I’m tired of this antique shit. Everything is old, old, old. I want contemporary and sleek. I want everything changed!”
Wow! I beam at Victoria and become animated, telling her about the most coveted designers and what they could do.
Trina sulks, and downs her martini.
“Lane, I trust your judgment. But more importantly, I trust your style. Your home was exquisite, so if you can bring me the best, and I mean the fucking best designer in Vancouver, one who’s going to have all the tongues wagging, I will pay you an incredible bonus.”
Holy shit. “Well, actually, our designers pay our fee—”
Victoria is shaking her head. “They can pay you too, for all I care. God knows you need it. But my offer still stands. You bring me the best, and I’ll thank you royally.”
I cannot believe this. I almost forget why I came here in the first place as I follow Victoria around, taking notes for possible ideas and changes. This project is going to be out-of-this-world massive. And…she’s decided to start right away.
After a while, Trina says something about remembering a spa appointment, and we barely acknowledge her as she leaves in a huff. After we hear the front door slam and see Trina out the window peeling off in her Audi, Victoria grabs my hand and pulls me onto a plush love-seat. “Now, about Micky”—I lean in, barely breathing—“you said he lost the money, went away to find himself, and left you with the kids, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Hmm. Well, I found that strange, because I could have sworn Paul had spoken about Micky recently.” Paul is Victoria’s husband and also a venture capitalist. “I don’t really pay attention to his business shit, but I hear things in passing. And he definitely spoke about Micky and some commercial activity.”
“Oh?” I force myself to take a breath, my eyes wide and palms starting to sweat. My heart is thundering in my chest, I’m self-conscious, thinking Victoria can hear it.
“Anyway. After you left me that message, I spoke to Paul and he was positive Micky has been busy. He said Micky is launching a colossal new resort, complete with golf club, casino, spa, boutiques—you name it.” She shakes her head and gives me a somber look. “He didn’t lose any money, Lane. Paul looked into it. He’s still very active with all his companies; and others can attest to that.”
The air has all but left my lungs.
I grip the side of the love-seat until my hand is white knuckled as I gape at Victoria trying to make sense of this all.
I’ve been played.
I’ve been utterly and completely played!
“Lane, are you okay?”
I continue to stare into Victoria’s face, not really seeing her. This cannot be happening. First, the money was gone, then the divorce papers—and now this!
“Lane, I can see how this could have happened.” She lowers her voice and lays a hand over mine. “This could have happened to any of us wives. We don’t manage the money, how would we ever know?”
I shake my head in disbelief and then lower my face into my hands. Oh God. How could I have been so naïve? I believed every word. Even the repo company coming by—that must have been staged too. I didn’t witness the bank letters or see any proof of money loss. I didn’t see one bloody thing. But now, it makes sense. That’s why he was never in touch—he didn’t care. I was played and then forgotten. Now I recall he asked me to leave everything of value or he would go to jail. All my jewelry, my precious possessions, gone!
And for nothing.
I feel physically sick. My heart is hammering away, and nausea is competing with the knot of nerves writhing in the pit of my stomach.
“Lane, I never told you this. But Micky…doesn’t have the best reputation. I mean, you must know.”
I shake my head, at a loss.
“Well, he’s shady when it comes to his business dealings. He…doesn’t keep his promises. Actually, he full out swindles people. He’s made a lot of enemies. I think that’s why he left town.
“So, he has left?” I find my voice, though all this newfound information is swirling in my mind.
“Yes. The new resort’s in, uh…Saint something.”
“Saint what? Saint Bart’s, Saint Martin, Saint Kitts…” I rhyme off islands, while Victoria continues to shake her head. “Saint Thomas, Saint Lucia, Saint—
“Oh, it’s Saint Lucia!”
Wow. I flop back against the sofa cushion, reeling from the blow. I try to grasp and digest this new piece of information. Micky’s been living it up in Saint Lucia while his daughters had secondhand Christmas presents.
Unbelievable.
“He actually played Paul too. Some investment, years back. We lost about two hundred grand. It wasn’t a lot of money, but still. Paul was pissed.
“So, you would say there are a lot of people in this city who dislike Micky?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve known that for years. He’s just too smooth, you know?”
“I do now,” I say in a quiet voice.
Victoria grips my hand with such ferocity I snap my head up, shocked. “Lane, you listen to me. Don’t wallow in this feeling sorry for yourself crap! You couldn’t have known. Half that money is rightfully yours, and you need to go after that bastard. There are a lot of people in this city who would be more than thrilled to see you take him down—him and his outrageously garish resort. I wouldn’t be surprised if he swindles his investors and never goes forward with the plans. It won’t be the first time.” Victoria releases my hand and we collapse into silence, staring wide eyed at each other.
“I should go,” I say, standing. I actually think I might
throw up.
“I understand.” Victoria leads me to the grand foyer, and Gina appears and hands me my coat and bag.
Outside, the rain has started, and I could kick myself for not bringing an umbrella.
“Oh my God. Did you lend your car again?” Victoria asks as I hesitate at the door.
“Um…well…I actually don’t have a car.”
“No, of course not. Because that bastard took that away too. I swear, Lane. If you don’t get even with him, I will!”
I grin and shake my head. Victoria’s a firecracker.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
We ride comfortably in Victoria’s BMW, while the torrential rain hammers down on the pedestrians outside. I’m not an island, and I could never have made it alone. Without people like George, Dad, Liam and Juliet, and now Victoria, I don’t know where we’d be.
“Lane?”
“Yeah?”
“Paul estimates Micky is worth about a hundred million at the very least. And that’s just a conservative calculation; it doesn’t include all of his business valuations and property. So make sure you get a good settlement.”
A hundred million! My mind swirls at the thought.
Victoria follows my directions and we pull up outside George’s house.
“Beautiful home,” Victoria says, squinting through the rain pelting down on her window.
“You should see the ballroom,” I say with a smile.
“Take care of yourself, Lane.”
“You too.” I swing the door open and slide out of the car. “Oh, and Victoria?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Thank you!”
29
“What a snake,” Billy says, his voice thick with disgust. “I just can’t get over this. Who would do that to someone? To their spouse and children? It’s just mind blowing.” Billy leans over to refill our wine glasses, then stands abruptly and faces me, hands on hips. “Do you want to model walk or do karaoke?”
“Neither.”
“Quit being a bitch. You know you’ll feel better.”
“Billy, that’s your kind of thing. You know I can’t sing worth shit, and the whole model walk just doesn’t do it for me. Maybe if I were gay—”
“It’s not about being gay or not. It’s about rising up and feeling amazing. Come on, this is all I did when my dad used me—and look at me now. Totally over it!” Billy waves his hand and flashes me a triumphant grin.
But I’m not convinced. “Still haven’t heard from him?” I ask.
Billy’s exaggerated happiness crumbles, and he collapses into the couch beside me.
“Yeah. I heard from him all right. He wanted more money. He’s a fucking snake too!”
We slip into a miserable silence until Billy stands again and yanks me to my feet. “What’ll it be, Laney?”
“Fine. Let’s do both and get it over with.”
“Okaaay,” Billy says in a sing-song voice as he begins setting up the karaoke set. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it. What song?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I lower myself onto the floor beside the karaoke machine to review the Michael Jackson song titles; Billy is such a fan.
“How about ‘Billy Jean’?” he asks, his eyes lighting up.
“No way,” I say, laughing. “Do you know how sick I am of that song? No offense.”
“I don’t know why you’re so disgruntled about this anyway. We’re talking about fifty million dollars, Lane. You should be celebrating.”
“You know it’s not like that,” I say, feeling overwhelmed.
“I know. I’m just trying to make you feel better.”
“Somehow, the money doesn’t seem to matter.”
“Only, it does. Anyway. Let’s not talk about it now; you can obsess over it later. Ooh, I have the perfect song!” Billy waves a CD in my face.
“What’s that?”
“Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.”
We laugh and grab a microphone each. The music starts blaring, and Billy and I start shaking our hips and dancing. Billy virtually transforms into Michael, down to the most subtle mannerisms. He opens his mouth to sing, and his voice is clear and beautiful. I sing backup and dance beside him. Billy has floor-to-ceiling mirrors in his living room just for this purpose. He closes his eyes and continues dancing, the lyrics embedded in his heart. We face each other and sing the chorus in tandem. I twirl, and we continue belting out the lyrics at the top of our lungs. And yes, everything else melts away.
I am lighthearted and carefree. “Ooh!”
Billy snaps the music off. “That ooh wasn’t supposed to be there,” he says, frowning.
“Sorry,” I say. “Anyway, let’s move on. Model walk.”
“First, I want you to sing Madonna.”
“No way, I can’t sing.”
“Actually, you can. Sing “Jump”, the lyrics are perfect for you. You sing, I’ll model walk.”
“Fine.”
A minute later, Madonna’s “Jump” starts blaring, and I pick up my mic. I sing the lyrics as Billy struts, prances, and pivots around his condo. I follow him, head up and back like a board, like I’m on a catwalk. I belt out the chorus, striding behind Billy on our imaginary runway.
Until I notice someone watching us, and shriek in surprise.
John has come over and is observing me with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “You are quite the entertainer, Lane,” he says, a slow smile spreading on his lips.
“I didn’t see you,” I stammer, my cheeks growing hot.
Billy shuts the music off, and I hand back the microphone. “Thanks, Billy, I should go home, though. Juliet has had the girls all day.”
“Okay, honey. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye, John.”
Though I mean to go directly home, I find myself walking south from my bus stop. I have a strong urge to see Liam; and anyway, Juliet already texted me that the girls were sleeping and she’s engrossed in a book. I don’t think half an hour will make a difference. I text Liam, telling him I’m outside, and a moment later he buzzes me in.
Upstairs, his door opens and there he is. I melt all buttery at the sight of him and sink into his embrace, relieved to be safe and in his arms. He nuzzles his head against mine, and then pulls me away to look at me.
“How was your day?” he asks, his eyes locked on mine.
“It was…unexpected.”
“As is your visit an unexpected surprise. Come in, love.”
I follow him inside and peer around, my eyes adjusting to the single candle burning in his living room. “You going Amish on me?” I ask, half joking.
“Not quite. Just some quiet meditation.”
“Aren’t Irish guys supposed to be temperamental and tormented by generations of injustice? Just something I’ve heard…”
“Ah, maybe some. My upbringing was pretty privileged, and I’ve spent a lot of time in Japan. Buddhism appeals to me, and in Japan I learned to meditate.”
“I don’t think I’ve meditated in all my life.”
“I’ll show you how one day. Can I get you a drink, love?”
“No. I should be home by now, actually.” I make no move to leave and instead stare into his dreamy eyes.
“Do you want to talk?” He sinks onto his mat, so I follow suit, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I recount the entire visit with Victoria Hughes, as the light flickers on Liam’s divine face. It’s hard to read his expressions, so I just ramble on.
“Victoria and Billy think I should go after him,” I finish.
Liam is quiet for a few seconds. “And what do you think?” he says, finally.
“I don’t know. I question the whole money thing. I mean, I’m a lot happier now than I ever was with it.”
“But?”
“But… Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I’m living in George’s attic. It’s not exactly a perfect scenario.”
“I don’t think you should strive for perfection. Your life, from the sounds of it�
��before this all happened—must have looked perfect on paper. It was a bit of an illusion though, wasn’t it?”
“I was just going through the motions, really.”
“You have a big decision, Lane.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. What do you think I should do?”
Liam sighs and puts his arm around me and pulls me close, so I rest my head on his shoulder. “I can’t decide for you, love. But I will say this: you’re accomplishing so much on your own—your business is already off the ground, and now all you have to do is soar. Going after your husband and all that that brings might be added negativity you don’t need anymore.”
“I guess.” Suddenly, I feel weary. Liam seems to sense this and stands, gently pulling me to my feet. Then he leans down and kisses me…on the nose! A light little kiss on the nose, I feel like a child. He leads me to the door and we say goodbye.
At home, Juliet and I chat briefly, but I don’t have the energy to recount everything to her too. She gives me a loud goodnight smooch on the cheek and then bounds downstairs to check on George. Juliet has moved in full time and has her own bedroom in one of the former guest rooms. She’s happy as pie to be here, and George is elated to have her.
The girls are sound asleep and— Oh, they’re holding hands. I hover over the bed for a few minutes observing them, watching them breathe, their little chests rising and falling. They’re all I need. Really, what do I need fifty million dollars for?
I wash up and pull on a nightshirt. My diamond ring catches on a loose thread. I pull my hand free and then gaze for a few seconds at my diamond solitaire and wedding band. I slowly twist them both off and let them drop onto a silver tray on my dresser. The noise echoes through the attic as I watch the wedding band spin on its side, around and around, until it comes to a complete halt and topples over with a clatter.
Lifeless.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I brush it away while I regard the now-meaningless rings. One tear, that’s all I’ll allow. I won’t ever pawn the rings, or auction them—unless things ever get absolutely desperate. These rings belong to my girls. They represented the true love their parents shared, or whatever the girls want to think.
Riches & Rags: Things are seldom as they seem. Page 25