“OK, so I am going to go out on a limb and say that you have played pool before,” he said.
“I learned from some of Manyunk’s finest,” Isabella said, as she thought about her former finance, Robby Sabatini. They would meet after work and shoot some pool, hang out in her neighborhood or his, and have a lot of fun. That was before she realized that all men, even Robby, were just after one thing, and one thing only, and it wasn’t to play pool.
Her years with Robby had taught her many lessons, and how to play pool was just the half of it. Right now, though, she was benefiting from the patience he had shown her as he taught her how to handle her pool cue. As she sent all the balls, including the black one, into the corner pockets, she put up her hand for a high five. She turned to Max, expecting a buddy salute.
Instead of giving her a high-five, Max took her hand and used his considerable strength to pull her to him. As her body melted into his, she looked up to his face and saw a big smile.
“Isabella, for such a sweet girl, that was a very, very bad thing to do. You swindled me. I think you owe me a kiss to make up for it,” cajoled Max in a seductive voice. And, without giving her much time to think about the ramifications of said kiss, he swooped in, planting a big one on her lips. He held her in a comforting embrace, and kissed her softly.
After they came up for some fresh air, the room was uncomfortably quiet. “How come a good catch like you is still single?” Max just sort of blurted out to diffuse the tension.
“Well, I was engaged, but it didn’t work out,” Isabella explained. “Robby and I had a major disagreement about the meaning of the word…” As Isabella was about to explain what finally broke apart her engagement to the young man that everyone in her life said was made for her, Max’s cell phone buzzed.
He stood up at the sound of the phone, and when he saw it was Charlene, he put it on speaker, thinking that Isabella would want to hear what the bubbly redhead had to say.
“Good, I got you, Max, well, I’m so annoyed that everyone says this marriage is a starter marriage, I mean, I’m all-in, and so is Jimmy, you know. Oh, and don’t even get me started about Grandfather. I’ve been working so hard to get you & Isabella together, you know I’m a born romantic, and, anyway, what a snob! I’m not to even mention that you and Isabella are dating. Can you imagine? Grandmother Camille says that it would make Grandfather apoplectic. By the way, what do you think about party favors, what about truffles…?”
As Charlene droned on about the wedding details, Isabella started to put the pool table back together. She was insulted and hurt by Camille’s snub, and again, felt belittled and invisible. That was when she glanced down at the ground and saw a crumpled up piece of paper that looked like it had fallen out of Max’s pocket.
She was going to respect his privacy and leave it alone, until she saw her name.
The note was in a fancy penmanship and said, “Dear Max: I forgot to tell you the numerical combination to the wall safe. It is 29349; I suggest you put your cash and valuables in there with that Albero woman around. I know her kind, always hanging around. This one may be playing hard to get, but there’s no way she’s as innocent as you say. If she’s anything like her mother, who was a party girl in New York in the 70’s, you need to keep your cash in the safe. I’ve heard from sources that she was after Alistair Ames and his fortune until he caught on. I don’t want you leg-shackled to a loser like my brother is, all because he couldn’t keep his pants up. I know I haven’t always shown you my interest, but I do care about you and have always had your best interest at heart.” It was signed, “Father.”
Max saw Isabella with a crestfallen expression, reading the note that he had formerly crumpled up and put in his pocket. He had every intention of discreetly throwing the note in a lit fireplace, or a nifty shredder, or the bottom of a landfill, which was where it belonged. He never expected it to fall out and cause a problem. His father’s advice was a bunch of garbage! He knew to pay no heed to his father’s warnings; it was a snobbery issue, plain and simple. Now, his father was meddling in his personal life. This had to stop. Max called out, “Wait, Isabella, we need to talk!” But, quickly and quietly, she fled the room in tears.
Once up to her room, she curled up in fetal position on the bed, her cheeks stained with tears. She had to get a grip on her emotions. Panic set in, and then she fumbled for her cellular phone and dialed Jade’s phone number.
“I’m driving back from Philly; we were down at a club for the wrap-up party for the cast, glad to be done with that one. What’s up, Isabella? Jade asked. “Is it Max? Is he still a dunderhead like he was in high school?”
Priscilla sighed, and then said, “He’s a member of the Ivy family. What do you expect? They think they are better than everyone else.”
Isabella described the hostile, negative, slanderous descriptions of her and her mother given to Max from his father as a warning. “Get this, he told Max to put his cash in the safe with an Albero woman around.”
“And did he?” Jade asked.
“I doubt it. I’m sure Max knows what his dad is up to,” said Isabella.
“Isabella, those people are snobs,” Jade said. “It doesn’t mean that Max feels that way. He is smart enough to realize a total lie. Really, making up stories about the dead, it is unconscionable! I am going to turn this car around and head back east! I don’t like you being this upset out there away from home. Didn’t Max say that you could bring guests, anyone at all, down to the shore?”
“Yeah, but he was probably hoping I’d bring my dad. You know, for old times and all.”
“Well, you need some reinforcements; I’m driving down there. Guess I should go home and pack my bags first, and make a plan on how to get back at those snotty “Poison Ivy” weeds. I’ll be knocking at the door first thing in the morning, and I’m going to make Max carry my bags up those steps. Let those Ivys get a taste of their own medicine! How dare they act all snobby about you and make up lies about your dear mother, Sharon Rose - we’ll just out-snob them and out-maneuver them. What about Marissa? I could drive her there, too, and the two of us will have Max Ivy wishing he never was born with that silver spoon in his mouth!”
“I couldn’t ask her to do that, Marissa needs to rest,” Isabella said.
“Isabella, Marissa is expecting, not incapacitated. We’ll pull up a lawn chair for her the minute we get down there. Oh, and Isabella, be sure to wear the sunscreen, loads of it.”
That evening, Isabella took her dinner out to the beach and went to bed at eight. The insult on herself and her mother, of all people, kept her from having a restful sleep.
Chapter 13 - One-upping the Ivys
“Revenge is best served cold.”
Camille Ivy to her daughter, Julia, and son, Max
The maid’s buzzer sounded at least 20 times, waking a rumpled, sleep-tossed Max from his bed. Harrison had installed the buzzer system at the beach house compound so that his wife’s every need could be taken care of by the household staff, leaving him off the hook. He liked to sleep in, so it was especially useful in the morning. However, the Ivy staff was currently at the Main Line estate. So, Max followed in his father’s footsteps, and paid Cyrus well to take care of menial tasks to free his time for more prurient interests.
“What in the blazes?!” Max muttered, as he hopped out of bed in his boxers. Quickly locating a pair of shorts, he didn’t have time to comb down his sandy colored hair, so it was sticking up in all directions. “Why isn’t anyone getting that buzzer?”
“Where’s Cyrus?” he bellowed from the top of the stairs.
Isabella walked up the winding stairs to face her adversary. “He’s indisposed; he took the morning off to go with Ruth to the market. But, fear not, Ruth has left out a cold breakfast buffet in the sitting room, so nobody is to starve. Well, except for you. You have work to do, no time for dilly-dallying. Now, Max, there are some important people parked on the driveway, and I need you to take care of their bags and make them
comfortable.”
Max was very confused. Isabella, his guest, was ordering him around and treating him like he was her servant.
Just as they both managed to squeeze down the circular steps to the bottom level, he saw the glint in her eyes. She was up to something. Serves me right, he thought to himself, for having a parent as ruthless as Harrison Alexander Ivy.
So, this is Isabella’s type of revenge for his father treating her like dirt. Well, Max thought, I guess I can take it if she can dish it out, she’ll get it out of her system. How bad can it be? What will she have me do next, dig trenches?
Max soon found out how challenging his assignment would be when a harsh honking noise was heard outside, emanating from the driveway. Max was recoiling from the noises, as he headed towards the dining room, where a magnificent spread of pastries, muffins, and bagels awaited, but not for him. The honking continued. And then, he saw that his quiet beachside retreat was being descended on by…a gaggle of giggling garden girls.
Jade walked in and said, “Oh Max, dear, please get off of your lazy, indolent, aristocratic butt and carry some of these bags inside!”
A very pregnant brunette with no visible body fat, but a rounded belly bump swung open the front door. When she saw Max, she demanded, “We are having my baby shower next week and we need time to plan. Can you please take these bags upstairs and leave us alone with the pastries?”
“Yes, Max, aren’t you going to show us to the sitting room?” Jade asked.
Max dutifully directed the ladies to the living room, but he was beginning to realize that he was going to be surrounded by hostile, demanding women on what was supposed to be the most relaxing part of his hiatus. This cold treatment was definitely all because of the letter that his father wrote.
Once there, Marissa plopped down on the big, cushiony sofa, took a sip from her water bottle and started to chat with the ladies. Max went to take the bags upstairs, but first he took a look at just how pregnant this Marissa woman appeared.
Watching Max eying her protruding stomach, Marissa explained, “I know, I know…I’m very, very pregnant. My husband, Sid, is on a business trip, and I didn’t want to be alone. I was so happy to get Isabella’s call, and Sid is thrilled that I’ll be well taken care of. Don’t get me wrong, at first he was worried, he gets so overprotective. But he went online and checked out the closest hospital, Atlantic, and they have an excellent rating. The local EMTs have a good reputation, and, besides, I told him, right on the beach I’ll find most of the obstetricians in the tri-state area getting their tan on. In fact, my favorite doctor from my practice is out on vacation this week. I wouldn’t be surprised if she is out here getting her tan on, too! Oh, I feel like a cow, but I feel great. Doctor says I’ve got to stay hydrated, though!”
“I’ve heard Cyrus is great at martial arts, so I’m hoping he’ll show me a move or two,” Jade commented.
“Ahem!” Max, covered head to toe in luggage, cleared his throat from the hallway. “There seems to be quite a large number of suitcases; is anybody running away from home?”
“These black bags are for Isabella; please place them gently in her room,” said Marissa. Looking back at the girls, she said, “The extra bags are full of summer clothes that I have outgrown,” as she looked down at her stomach and winced.
Jade said, “I was stunned when you told me about how old-fashioned your husband is. I can’t believe he is saying that a new mother shouldn’t wear sexy clothes.”
“Yeah, he wants me to dress more conservatively, now that I’m going to be a mom, but I don’t blame him, it is his culture. He comes from a very traditional background. He wants me to have a whole new wardrobe,” explained Marissa. “I’m not going to turn down a chance to shop, but, these sundresses and other stuff are so cute, they shouldn’t go to waste.”
Jade opened up a bag, and a revealing chemise came out. Everything just sort of stopped for an embarrassing minute or two, when nobody dared to say anything.
Jade broke the tension by stating the obvious. “Marissa, how far along did you say you are? Eight months? I was looking at your belly, and you’ve dropped! It won’t be long now.”
Marissa rubbed her belly and said, “I’ve got a month, and my sister and mother went a whole two weeks past their due dates with their children. Don’t worry; I’m not going to break the water on your sofa or anything.”
Good, thought Max, then there will be no actual water involved with this baby shower.
“I’ll go get the guest rooms ready,” Max said, staring at Marissa’s protruding bump. Max, who is used to being around giggling girls because of the cheerleaders, said, “I will take my breakfast upstairs, you enjoy this beautiful room and your baby shower planning,” and he went to brood over what had changed in the dynamic with Isabella.
After breakfast, Max walked past his sister’s room, where her friends were looking at different MOB dresses, giving their opinions.
“I was thinking, a summer wedding, we’d go for something like Town & Country meets Cosmo, a little class, a little glamour, lots of bling…but, no, she wants,” and all the other cheerleaders repeated in unison, “simple, classic, and expensive!”
Max stopped and said, “Ah, is this the refrain about the plain and simple?”
“Yes, so plain, not even a little fluff piece thrown in to please her mama. She wants a plain white cake, costing what, the gross national product of some third-world country? And black and white photos, no color, and a band without any vocals, she wants a quartet, or was it an octet or a sextet…Just all plain, all simple, classic, and all very,” she said, before the girls chimed in with her, “expensive.”
Max had enough of the MOB sobfest and enough of Isabella’s unexpected coldness this morning. He was going to take a shower and figure out how to get the fun back in this shore house. It was going to take more than a gaggle of gals and bad weather moving in to ruin his hiatus.
That evening, Max invited anyone left at the beach house to join him at the Yacht Club for a sunset dinner. Most of them would be leaving the next day, with only Max, Isabella, and Cyrus staying until Tuesday to prepare the house for the hurricane that was expected to pound the Jersey Shore on Wednesday.
Max wore a button-down Oxford shirt, khaki pants, and loafers; a kind of uniform for those sorts of clubs. He put on his suit jacket when he got to the entrance to the dining room, and instructed the hostess to ready his table for some of his favorite people.
Isabella, who was running late, came walking into the club. At the sight of her, a big smile crept across Max’s face. The summer dress she wore was feminine and provocative, and a bit on the dangerous side if their relationship was strictly business, strictly platonic.
As the sun set over the bayside view, there was a lull in the conversation.
“Isabella, what about you?” inquired Ruth’s mother, an artist and one of the most curious of the group. “Did I hear that you were engaged before? What happened, if I may ask?”
“Yes, do tell,” giggled Julia.
Isabella felt like these cheerleaders were “level jumping” on their friendship. They were asking a deeply personal question, and they had just met. She pondered answering this personal question about a past failed relationship.
“I’m not really going to share all of the details, since that is sort of private,” Isabella said, pausing to see if the ladies would get the hint that they were being intrusive.
Marissa, who wanted to save her friend from having to share the details, tried to be diplomatic, “Let’s just say they had a difference of opinion about what Isabella meant when she said she was waiting for a ring on her finger.”
Jade cut into the conversation, “I was away at college at the time, but I heard the scoop. Girlfriend here is very, uh, old-fashioned about the proper time to do things, if you get my drift.”
“Didn’t he just about take an engagement ring off of his grandmother’s finger and plop it on yours and expect to get a present?” Mariss
a said in a quiet tone while looking at Max, realizing that there are males present.
She realized that Isabella was not getting into the spirit of the conversation and looked a bit abashed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Isabella, I thought that you just couldn’t find the words…” Marissa apologized to her friend.
“Yeah,” said Isabella, “it is hard to talk about.” She took a deep breath, and decided to just get everything out there so that the conversation could move forward to another topic, hopefully something less intrusive and personal.
“We had a disagreement about the ring. I am traditional, and I told him I was waiting for a ring on my finger. I meant a wedding ring, though. I wasn’t talking about an engagement ring, especially one that he filched off of his grandmother.”
The girls all groaned and said things like, “What a loser,” and “You’re better off without him.” Even Cyrus was mumbling reassuring comments like this.
Prune, Plant, or Plunder? Page 7