by Brenda Novak
Problem was, most of the secretarial positions she saw required computer experience. She barely knew how to turn on a computer, let alone run Quickbooks or Excel or Microsoft Word or any of the other programs she saw listed so frequently. Some companies demanded previous experience, as well, and she doubted having changed a million dirty diapers would qualify her.
At last, Jaclyn saw an ad that made her pause:
Wanted: receptionist. Phones, light typing. $9/hr. No benefits.
No benefits? Well, she didn’t have benefits now. Quickly, she did the math. If she worked forty hours per week, she’d make $1,440 a month before taxes. Rent was $850. Her car payment was $350. Car insurance, $100. Health insurance, $340, utilities $180, and the list went on. Even with Terry’s $750 in child support, she’d be in the red before she bought any gas or groceries or clothes for the kids—she still had the credit-card bills she’d rung up while they were married that the court had ordered her to pay.
The pressure of tears began to build behind her eyes again, causing a headache. Dammit! What now? She’d have to go back to waiting tables. She had no choice. She could have augmented what she made as a waitress giving piano lessons, but she didn’t have a piano. Terry had kept her baby grand, along with almost everything else, when they divorced.
The telephone rang, and Jaclyn looked at it with no intention of answering. But then she thought it might be the kids, that they might need her, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Jackie?”
Terry. Jaclyn’s stomach tensed, the way it did whenever she heard her ex-husband’s voice. Their conversations were never very pleasant.
“Is something wrong with the kids?” she asked.
“No. I thought you’d be at work. I was just going to leave a message for you to call me.”
“What for?”
“Alex says you returned the Nikes I bought him when he was here last and got him some cheaper shoes.”
The accusation in Terry’s voice was unmistakable. Jaclyn closed her eyes and shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood to fight about the shoes. She’d just lost her job, and Terry’s biggest concern was making sure Alex had brand-name sneakers.
“I did,” she admitted.
“Why? You had no right to do that.”
“I had every right, Terry. They were sixty dollars, enough to buy shoes for all three children, and you deducted it from my child support this month.”
“That’s what child support is for. To buy clothes and shoes and other things.”
“But it’s not up to you to decide how the money is spent. The kids are living with me most of the time, and we had other priorities.”
“Like?”
Like food and electricity. But Jaclyn wasn’t about to admit that things were quite that dire, even though she suspected Terry already knew. She figured the kids had to reveal in everyday conversation bits and pieces that gave her away, but Terry wasn’t about to make life any easier on her. He wanted her as miserable as possible, and he didn’t seem to care if his children suffered right along with her.
“It’s none of your business how I spend the money,” she said. “I don’t have to account to you. Believe me, it takes every dime and then some to give the kids what they need. It’s not like I’m spending the money on myself.”
“But they don’t have what they need. I don’t want a kid of mine running around in ten-dollar tennis shoes!”
Jaclyn stifled a groan. “That’s great, Terry,” she said. “Then, I have a simple solution. Buy Alex the Nikes and don’t charge me for them. You can buy him whatever you want. Buy him and the girls whole new wardrobes. I won’t stop you, and I won’t take anything back, as long as you don’t deduct it from my child support.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Then you might have the money to get a new dress and a manicure and go on the hunt for another man.”
“It’s a tragedy that you won’t be generous with your kids for fear I’ll benefit in some way. It’s the same thing with the piano issue. You won’t let me have my piano even though, if I had it, I could teach the children to play.”
He chuckled bitterly. “I bought you that piano, and it cost me thousands. If you want it back, you know where to find it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If you don’t like the way things are, you can always change them, Jackie.”
“By coming back?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You sure have a strange way of showing it.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve tried every way. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded, I’ve promised—”
“And drank and philandered and lied…”
“I’m sorry about that, Jackie. How many times do I have to say it? I’m damn sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“For twelve years? What’s changed?”
“I’ve paid my price. You’ve taught me a lesson. That’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it? Now, come home. I want my kids back.”
That’s what he thought the divorce was about? Revenge? Jaclyn could hardly believe it. What about the trust he’d destroyed, the faith, the love, the family ties? If he didn’t understand by now what losing those things had cost them all, he never would.
“You get your kids whenever you want them,” she said. “I’ve never tried to keep them from you.”
There was a long pause. “I want my wife back,” he said softly. “I still love you, Jackie.”
Jaclyn’s stomach hurt so badly she thought she might throw up. “You and your high-priced lawyers have done everything possible to make my life miserable because you love me? That’s not what I call love, Terry. Neither is how you treated me when we were married.”
He cursed, growing angry again. “The lawyers were your idea, dammit. I’m not taking the blame for that. I never wanted the divorce in the first place.”
Wordlessly, Jaclyn shook her head, feeling the dull throb escalate to a sharp, pounding pain. This conversation was certainly par for the day, but she and Terry had been down this road too many times. She thought about hanging up on him, but she had an issue she wanted to discuss, too, and now was as good a time as any.
“What about the decisions we made concerning the kids?” she asked.
“What decisions?”
“We agreed to make the divorce as easy on them as possible. We were going to speak kindly to and about each other. We weren’t going to place blame. We weren’t going to compete with each other for their affection. I’ve done my part, Terry.”
“And you’re saying I haven’t done mine? What exactly are you accusing me of?”
He knew, but he was playing his favorite role—the innocent, persecuted martyr.
“Every time the kids come home, they seem angry with me, as though they blame me for something,” she said.
“And you think it’s my fault that they’d rather we were a family again?”
“Don’t twist this. Alex told me what you’ve been saying about me.”
Silence.
“How can you tell them the divorce was all my fault?” she asked.
“Who should they blame, Jackie? I had nothing to do with it. I can’t believe you want me to be the bad guy.”
“I don’t think either one of us should have to be the bad guy. That’s the whole idea. We’re supposed to support each other, for their sakes. Don’t you understand, Terry? You’re not doing it for me. When you say bad things about me to them, you make them choose between us. That’s hard on a child. And it’s terribly selfish.”
“Well, you should know about that. You’ve ruined all our lives with this divorce. How selfish is that?”
“What?” Jaclyn’s blood pressure nearly went through the roof. “You’re acting as though I was the one who was unfaithful to you!”
“I was never unfaithful to you, Jackie. Not really. I didn’t care about those other women.”
“And that makes it okay to sleep with
them?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for his answer. It wouldn’t make sense to her. It never did. And no amount of arguing would change his mind. He wasn’t going to take any responsibility for the divorce. He’d never had to take responsibility for anything in his life. Why start now?
She hung up and stared at the phone, breathing hard, letting the impotency of her anger drive away her earlier tears.
Come hell or high water, she would not let Terry starve her out. She would find a job, and she would make a success out of her life if it killed her.
Flipping off the stove, she ignored the water that had nearly boiled away to nothing and went back to the paper. She’d check each ad, no matter the column, and she’d apply for everything, whether she was qualified or not. Something had to go her way eventually, didn’t it?
And that was when she saw it—an ad under Real Estate Sales.
Wanted: agent to work out of model homes near Washoe County Golf Course. Must have R.E. license and at least three years’ sales experience. $36,000/year plus commission, full benefits. Call 555-4108.
Thirty-six thousand dollars a year sounded like a fortune to Jaclyn, but the salary wasn’t what caught her interest. Below the ad, in big, fancy script, was the logo of the company that had placed it: Perrini Homes.
THE NEXT DAY, Jaclyn wiped her sweaty palms on a tissue, straightened her linen dress, checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror and climbed out of her Mercury Sable, hoping she looked professional, capable, poised. It was early yet, not quite eight o’clock, but finding Cole Perrini’s development had been easier than she’d thought. Blue-and-white flags heralded the entrance, along with a huge sign that announced five new model homes open to public viewing. The golf course was less than a quarter of a mile away.
Wow, she thought, squinting against the rising sun to better see Cole’s houses. They were big and made mostly of brick. Steeply gabled roofs, dormers with black shutters and lots of white-paned windows gave the development a Georgian grace that was definitely unusual for Nevada, but classy. Very classy.
“You’re certainly not sparing any expense, Cole,” she murmured to herself, noting the expansive yards, recently groomed to perfection with brand-new landscaping and white, split-rail fences. She’d driven around the neighborhood when she’d first entered the development, and knew there were at least fifty homes in varying stages of construction on a maze of streets and cul-de-sacs. She suddenly felt foolish for having asked Cole if he was still driving semis. Evidently he’d come a long way since then.
Her heels clicked on the aggregate walkway that led up to the first home, set apart from the row of models by a fancy stone fence with Oak Ranch Estates by Perrini Homes carved into it. A sign on the house labeled it as the office. Another sign in the window said Closed.
Jaclyn stood on the front stoop, wishing she could turn around and go home. But she wasn’t about to lose her nerve now. Someone would be coming shortly. If Cole could afford to hire a real-estate agent for thirty-six thousand dollars a year, maybe he could afford a secretary to run errands and type and file for far less than that. Then she could learn the business, get a start and she hoped, become a real-estate agent someday. Showing homes was something she thought she might be good at. At least it was a job with a future.
A light glowed inside the house, but for all Jaclyn knew it had been on all night. She tucked a strand of fallen hair into the knot at the back of her head, fidgeted with her purse and watched the street for an approaching car. Then she glanced at her watch. Seven-fifty. Ten minutes more and surely someone would—
The door swung open behind her and a tall, long-legged man in jeans and a clean T-shirt nearly bowled her over on his way out.
“Whoa! Sorry about that!” he said, catching her before she landed in the flower bed. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so early. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Didn’t mean to surprise you.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I’m looking for Cole Perrini. Could you tell me where I might find him?”
He rubbed his brow and frowned. “I think he might have forgotten you. He didn’t mention having an appointment this morning.”
“We don’t have an appointment.”
The newspaper sticking out of the side pocket of her purse caught his attention. “Are you here about the sales position?”
She nodded.
“Well, you’re free to wait inside, if you want. Cole lives here. Kinda convenient, since he works all the time, you know? But the phone rang just as I was leaving, and once Cole gets on a call, he can stay on it for hours. You might want to try the number in the ad and set an appointment. I think Rick’s doing the interviewing.”
“Thanks, but I’m sort of an old friend of Cole’s. I was hoping I could talk to him.”
Mild surprise lit his features. “Oh, yeah? I’m Cole’s brother, Chad.” He stuck out a big hand, one with plenty of calluses and scars, and Jaclyn took it, feeling heartened by his friendly welcome.
“I’m Jaclyn.” She didn’t offer a surname, and he didn’t ask for one.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“You sure look like your brother,” she said, noting his wide shoulders, muscular arms and narrow hips. Chad didn’t have a cleft in his chin, but he had the same raw masculinity as Cole, plus a couple of dimples that made him appear more fun-loving, if not more reckless.
“He’s only half as good-lookin’ as me,” he teased, holding the door open for her. “Go on in and make yourself comfortable. Rick’ll be here shortly, so even if you don’t see Cole right away, you’ll get to talk to someone soon.”
He dipped his head in final greeting and strode off, leaving Jaclyn to search her brain for some kind of memory of him as the door banged shut. Cole had lots of brothers, she wasn’t sure how many—four? five?—but they were all younger, and a high school girl didn’t take particular notice of grade-school-aged boys. She couldn’t place Chad and doubted she’d recognize any of the others, either.
Slipping into one of two modern chairs facing an expensive-looking desk, Jaclyn felt her tension start to mount again in the silence and willed herself to relax.
No sooner had she taken a deep breath than Cole came rushing down the hall from the back, holding what looked like a set of plans and wearing nothing but a towel around his hips.
“Chad! Wait!” he hollered. His hair was wet, like the rest of him, and dripping on the carpet, but he seemed to care only about catching his brother. Flinging the door open wide, he called after Chad again, but Jaclyn knew he’d missed his intended target when he cursed and pulled it shut again.
Then he saw her.
“Jackie?” His voice revealed his surprise.
Jaclyn jumped hastily to her feet, bumping her knee on the corner of the desk in the process but purposely swallowing the accompanying grunt of pain. “Hi, Cole,” she managed to say, staring at all six feet two inches of nearly naked male. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to catch you in the shower.”
She tried to keep her eyes on his face, but it was impossible to avoid noting the lean, muscular build that started with bare feet and long legs and ended with an expansive chest sparingly covered in dark swirls of hair and a set of impressive shoulders. It was the thought, however, of what was hidden by the towel that rattled her the most. She hadn’t seen a man this close to naked in over a year—and a year suddenly seemed like a very long time.
He looked down as though only now realizing that he wasn’t fully clothed. But he must have considered himself modest enough, because he certainly didn’t run for cover. “What are you doing here?” he asked, instead.
Jaclyn forced herself to stand tall and brave a smile. She didn’t want him to know how difficult this was for her, how badly coming to him hurt her pride. “I just thought…well…” She indicated the paper she’d brought. “I saw your ad and thought I’d come over and…”
“Apply?” He frowned, his gaze traveling over her blue linen sheath dress and conservative shoes—an expensive outfit sh
e’d bought while she was still married—before returning to her face. “You’re a real-estate agent?”
Jaclyn swallowed hard, using every ounce of determination she possessed to keep her smile firmly in place. “Not exactly. I don’t have my license…yet. I just thought maybe you could use a good secretary or something. You know, someone to run errands for you, do some typing—” her voice started to fade away, and she cleared her throat so she could finish strong “—answer phones, anything like that. I’m a hard worker and a fast learner,” she added quickly.
“I’m sure you are, but…” He let his breath go in a soft hiss and ran a hand through his wet hair, shoving it back off his forehead. “What about your other job, at Joanna’s?”
The story of her firing, and his part in it, hovered on the tip of Jaclyn’s tongue. But the memory of his fifty-dollar tip stopped her from telling it. If Cole had pitied her yesterday, what would he feel today, when he found out she’d lost even that sorry job?
“Well, Joanna’s is just a stop-gap, really,” she heard herself saying. “A way to bring in some extra money and get out of the house.” She laughed, praying he’d buy into her little charade, because she couldn’t face the knowing in his eyes if he didn’t.
“I may keep it, for weekends,” she went on, “but I need something more…challenging. There’re lots of interesting jobs in the paper, though.” She patted it as if to convince him. “So if you don’t have anything, it’s no problem, really. I just thought I’d ask.”
“I’d love to hire you, Jackie,” he said, “but I’m not sure what I’d have you do. Except for a sales agent, I’m pretty well staffed here.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Of course you are.” Disappointment slashed through Jaclyn so strongly that it was a physical pain in her chest. Once the idea of becoming a real-estate agent had taken root inside her, it had bloomed quickly, seeming like the perfect answer to all her problems and raising her hopes higher than she had a right to let them go.
She should have known better. She’d been a fool to come.