Polished Slick (Natural Beauty)

by Holley Trent

  “Or…maybe a playroom for kids?” She was fishing and she didn’t care if it was obvious.

  She didn’t consider herself to be a particularly maternal sort, but Nikki had said she hadn’t thought she was either, until she got with Charlie. Her bond with Gabby made her want kids of her own. Trinity thought Nikki would make a fabulous mother. She had the smarts, the flexibility, and the support system.

  Trinity let out a little giggle at the thought of Great Aunt Ginger as a great-great Aunt, loving up a little Jerry clone. It would have to be a boy, of course. All boys. Trinity wouldn’t know what to do with a little girl. Paint her nails? Fluff her hair? At that thought, her fingers moved idly to her own cropped locks. She’d started cutting her hair short in high school. It had been for utility, not fashion. She was hard-pressed to remember what she even looked like with hair.

  A small part of her was a little tired of looking like a boy…probably in the same way Jerry hated being compared to a woman.

  “You look like you’re thinking too hard, pixie,” he said, rolling up the plans as the server returned with a tray bearing their meals.

  She gave the server a smile of thanks and picked up her fork. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”

  “Playroom’s a good idea, I think,” he said with a little smirk. “Probably stash the washer and dryer and such down there, too, so someone can keep up with the unyielding mounds of laundry and keep an eye on the little playing twerps simultaneously.”

  “Yeah.” She flaked her tender salmon with her fork. “Go with your gut, Jerry. You’re the one who has to live there.”

  “But you think it’s okay? A woman would be okay with it?”

  That made her giggle. “I can’t speak for all of womankind, especially since I don’t cook. Notice I didn’t say anything about the kitchen?”

  One of Jerry’s eyebrows twitched. “Anything else you don’t do?”

  “I don’t garden or iron, either.”

  “Hmm,” was all he said before digging into his steak.

  His “hmm” made her stomach drop.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A few days passed before the electric company restored power to the farm, so the staff of N-by-N worked essentially in gray mode. Aside from Juan stopping in to check on delivery information, the folks who could work from home did, and the rest had a bit of a mini vacation. Even Trinity had reluctantly spent a couple of workdays at the beach. So on Friday, with all the staff back in the barn—including Jerry who normally worked from home on Fridays—it felt almost like a reunion.

  Juan hovered near Jerry’s workstation waiting for him to load the company’s new webpage. “So, where you living at, man?”

  Jerry scoffed. “Well, temporarily, I’m at my parents’ house. Kate went on a Caribbean cruise with her garden club, and my father insisted I stay for the time being. It’s a helluva awkward situation. I don’t know how long that’s going to work.”

  He squinted at the ftp program’s error message and pounded his fist on the desktop. “Goddamned spotty internet. Have to start the upload again.” He turned his desk chair around to look at Juan, who by then was leaning against the cubicle wall with his arms crossed. “Anyway, I was hanging out on the back patio doing some coding for the new nail polish stuff, and he just walked right outside with his coffee and newspaper. For a while he didn’t say anything. He just sipped and read his paper. Weird for him because he generally has breakfast standing at the counter. He’s not one for unnecessary leisure. Every now and then I’d look up and catch him staring at me. So, I closed my laptop and asked him what was up. He gave me that ‘oh nothing’ bullshit and I called him on it.”

  “Well, what happened?”

  “It was really odd, Juan. He said something about me looking like my mother when I scrunched up my brow a certain way.”

  Juan scrunched up his own brow. “That’s odd. Your mother or your mother?”

  “That’s the thing—I was going to ask but then Kate called from wherever the fuck she was to ask him what kind of rum cake he wanted, and I used that distraction to sneak away.”

  “He said he’d only met her the one time, right? The woman in Belgium?”

  “Twice. Once when committing the deed, and the second time was picking up the product of the deed. Me.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Neither do I. That’s probably why we’re friends. We’ve got similarly calibrated bullshit detectors. Anyway, I think I’ve got a handle on who she might be. I did some snooping around in Dad’s old travel records and figured out where he stayed when he was in Belgium. He always used the same hotel when he was there, so I figured the woman must live in the area.”

  “And you were able to find her based on that how?”

  Jerry shrugged. “Dad’s had the same secretary for more than thirty years. I asked her sort of nonchalantly how he spent his downtime when he was working over there. She honed in on exactly what I was asking. I guess Dad wasn’t as discreet as he thought. There was apparently a woman who worked at the front desk at the hotel whom he was seen chatting up a lot.”

  “Ah. And you found out her name?

  “It wasn’t that hard. There was a little line on the receipts that listed who handled the transactions. Same woman every single time.”

  “That’s a long time to keep travel receipts.”

  “Right? I figured I’d screw up the courage, look her up, and…just ask.”

  “Hey, do the damn thing. You deserve it. Oh, you gonna finally teach me to surf this weekend?”

  “Are you serious?” Jerry laughed, spun back around to his computer and opened a browser window. He said a short prayer to the Internet god that uploading those image files without actually looking at them wouldn’t screw up the website rendering. He wasn’t in the mood to twiddle with the script, and Ron had supposedly sent files that were the right dimensions, so Jerry decided to just cheat for once.

  “Yeah, man. How hard can it be?”

  “Ha! We’ll have to find you some nice shallow waves, my—whoa.”

  Nikki ran out of her office squealing. “Aren’t they great! I saw the page coming up through the inner office window. I had a sneak peak of them, but that was only on my phone.”

  “Whoa,” Jerry repeated, staring at the screen and watching the animated banner’s slideshow shuffle through images. Most were of the individual nail polishes, and then there were a few of Dom and Cole. There was one of Trinity with a flask, and some of other staff members in candid shots taken in the barn when they were doing color testing. And then there was one of Jerry out of his tuxedo jacket holding up a computer keyboard. That wasn’t what had shocked him. The picture of him appearing to look longingly into Trinity’s eyes during their quiet conversation was the shocker. Jerry’s phone rang as Trinity padded over and stood beside Juan.

  “Natural by Nicolette, this is Jerry.”

  “You asshole!”

  “I’m sorry, who’s this?”

  “It’s Roberta, you jackass.”

  “Umm…hi, Bobby.” How the hell did his old agent catch wind of his activities that quickly? He’d just loaded the site. “What’s shakin’?” He turned his head around to find Trinity staring at the screen slack-jawed.

  “I should be shaking you, you idiot. Guess what I saw.”

  “Um…the new Matthew McConaughey movie?”

  “You always were a joker. I missed that about you. No. One day I was minding my business, running my errands, you know? And I went to see my old friend Ron because I have a couple of new clients out that way. I was in Wilmington for a weekend conference. I wanted to see about him doing some head shots.”

  “And?”

  “And? I walked in on him editing a shit-ton of photos from this cosmetics company, which obviously doesn’t have products on the West Coast yet, because I’d never heard of it until that day. Guess whose goddamned face was his screen?”

  Jerry rolled his eyes. “Whose?”

  “Yours, yo
u jackass.”

  Jerry held the phone back from his ear, covering the mouthpiece with his hand. He looked at Nikki and mouthed, “My former agent.”

  She shrugged and said, “Sorry.”

  He put the phone back to his ear. “It’s not like I’m getting paid, Bobby. I work here. Everyone in the campaign posed for free.”

  “You better have. I saw the shots Ron was compiling for some sort of magazine layout. You got the two most famous female impersonators in the country posing beside you? Are you trying to kill me? Do you know what the value of that shot is?”

  “Uh no. Dom and Cole are our friends, so the cost and value are probably pretty disparate.”

  “I am going to fly out there, wrap my bony fingers around that gorgeous neck of yours, and squeeze it until you develop good common sense. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Jerry! Goddamn you. People are still calling me after all these years to ask if you’re available, and you’re in some fucking Podunk town modeling for free. I oughta…”

  “Bobby I gotta go. I’ll call you. Maybe.” He hung up.

  Well, it was the truth. Alonzo had entered the barn, and stood near the reception area looking around for assistance.

  Nikki waddled over with Juan at her heels. He couldn’t resist being privy to first-hand information. That gave Trinity room to squeeze in closer to Jerry. She perched on his armrest, still staring at the screen.

  “Wow, that doesn’t even look like me,” she said softly.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” he asked, wrapping one arm around her waist to keep her from falling off the arm as he rolled closer to the desk.

  She jumped a bit as if startled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I…thought you were…” She sighed. Anyway, I don’t know. That person is, well, badass. She looks like she’s supposed to be with that guy. She looks like she has it all together.”

  Huh? “I have no idea what you’re getting at. I’ll agree she’s pretty hot, though. Trust me, no one’s looking at me in that picture. Except my agent,” he added in a mumble.

  Trinity scoffed and edged off the chair arm. “I can’t go around wearing that much make-up every day. It’s not me.”

  “It’s not the make-up, Trinity.”

  “Then what is it?” She fiddled with the ties of her sweatshirt, refusing to meet his eye contact.

  “Are you serious?” He hoped his incredulity was clear on his face. Where the hell was this self-confidence issue springing from? She hadn’t seemed to have been aware of her appearance before that damned photo shoot, and now she was intermittently displaying an excess of confidence—as evidenced by the footsie they’d played all throughout dinner—or a complete lack of it.

  She didn’t have a chance to answer, because Nikki yelled from up front, “Did you catch that, Jerry?”

  “Catch what?”

  “They found some prints on the bootleg bomb shards. They got a hit in the national fingerprint database.

  He stood, carefully, and hurried up the aisle. “You coming, pixie?” he asked, looking back at Trinity, who was still standing in his cubicle looking lost. She finally responded by shaking her head and moving toward her workbench.

  “No. I’ve got to catch up on work. Got some orders due.”

  Odd.

  “Okay.” A few more steps. “Hey, Trin?”

  “Yeah?” she responded blandly.

  “Are you going to the beach this weekend?”

  “I don’t know. It’s up to Aunt Ginger.” She fondled the end of the broad grosgrain ribbon she’d used as a headband that day.

  It was different. Something new. He liked it.

  “I don’t like going by myself.”

  He nodded and spun back around. Whatever was bugging her, he’d have to ferret it out later.

  When he reached the front, he extended a hand and let the fireman shake it. “So, who is this guy?”

  “Well, I only know what the police told me, since I forwarded the information to them so they can make the arrest. If they can find the guy, that is. He ain’t from around here.”

  “I bet Jerry can find him,” Nikki said glibly.

  “Who is he?” Jerry asked.

  “Well, some guy named Preston Terry. Lives in Reno.”

  “Reno.”

  Nikki nodded sagely. She probably knew exactly what Jerry was getting at. They had a little problem out west.

  “Dropped out of school in tenth grade then got his GED. Was in the Army for about fifteen minutes fifteen years ago, and has been working hourly security jobs and bouncing at nightclubs ever since. Been arrested a few times for using excessive force, but nothing else too major.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yep, he ain’t been back to work, so he may still be around. Police will probably be back in touch with y’all soon, but I just wanted to let you know that much. I know how you are, Nikki. Everyone in town knows how you ran that last gal outta here.”

  Nikki put her hand against her heart and dropped her jaw. “Now Alonzo, you know good and well all I did was talked to her. Besides, I get the sneaking suspicion she’s behind our current string of troubles.”

  “Well, as far as I know we ain’t got nothin’ to tie her to the crime.”

  “Don’t need to.” Jerry shrugged.

  “Come on, now. Nikki, Jerry, I know y’all are quite capable, but if she needs jail time, you need to do this the right way. I’m sure your insurance company would like to have some legitimate arrest records so they have something to attach to the claims.”

  “Oh, I haven’t made any claims, Alonzo,” Nikki said calmly, rubbing her belly like some sort of worry stone. “I don’t plan to if I can help it.”

  “Shit.” He directed his gaze to Jerry. “Look, I’m just here as a courtesy to pass on some info. Y’all keep y’all’s shenanigans under wrap, hear?”

  “You know I’m always discreet, Lon.”

  “Keep on bein’ that way.” Alonzo gave Gramma Stacy a solicitous wink on his way out, and was gone.

  Nikki gave Jerry the Go ahead look.

  He nodded. “Now or after work?”

  She chewed at the inside of her mouth while she thought, staring up at the ceiling. “After work. Need the site finished. But damned if I’m not curious.”

  * * *

  “Look, Mother. You won’t believe this. I just got a web alert. This company updated their website, and this name and picture came up with it.” Ben Thys held his laptop out in his arms while his mother, Clara, finished pegging the wet sheet she was struggling with up onto the clothesline.

  She dried her hands on her utility apron and approached her son with caution.

  “Is this another one of your tricks?” she asked in Dutch, narrowing her eyes at him. “Is it like last time when you tricked me with that photo?”

  He sighed. That had been ages ago. “No, I swear, this picture is real. The site is real.”

  “I’m an old woman. My heart can’t take it.”

  “You’re fifty-two.”

  “Yes, very old, unmarried hag.”

  “Did you stop taking your pills again?”

  “No.”

  “You seem especially pessimistic today.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  He shrugged and closed the laptop lid. “I suppose so. What do you want me to do?”

  “Write the letter like I told you before.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to write it and let me translate it?”

  “No. You write it. I don’t know what to say, but you know how I feel. Perhaps that will be enough.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Trinity dug her feet into the sand, and pulled her floppy hat a little bit further down on her head. She gave her shoulders and arms one more just-in-case spray of sunblock, and settled into her beach chair to read a sweet romance.

  She’d started with something hot, and then decided her lack of an outlet after reading it would only compound her sexual frustration.

&n
bsp; Although Ginger had decided to skip the beach for the weekend to instead head into Raleigh for shopping, Trinity had wanted to get away. Her phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and every time one of her acquaintances asked, “Is that guy you’re with on the website really Jerry Rouse?” she felt her blood pressure spike to stroke-inducing levels.

  “Yes,” she had impatiently answered through her clenched teeth. “It’s Jerry.” And then she’d cut them off with, “We work together and no we are not a couple.”

  And they probably never would be if Jerry were looking for a girl who cooked and decorated and could plot out a pretty garden. If he wanted someone who could run a home, he had the wrong Jordan woman by two generations.

  Trinity’s grandmother Irene held the reigning title of queen of domesticity…and also had ninety out of one hundred-twenty required credits to earn an accountancy degree. She’d gleefully dropped out of school the moment she had a wedding to plan. Trinity had been ashamed to learn of it.

  Then there was Ginger. She was the absolute antithesis of conservative Irene. She had always worked, even when she didn’t have to. “There’s nothing worse than a good mind going to waste,” she’d said.

  Trinity had made the mistake of repeating that line to Irene during one of their quarterly phone calls when she was fifteen.

  Irene had raged, and called Ginger a “socialist whackadoo” which Trinity didn’t understand at the time. All Trinity knew was she didn’t want to be like that. She had a choice. She’d be a Ginger, not an Irene. Perhaps even more Ginger than Ginger was.

  All throughout Trinity’s childhood, a lot of nights their meals had been whatever take-out Ginger picked up on the way home from work. She hired out her housecleaning, and paid a landscaper to cut the grass and refresh her flowerbeds each season. It wasn’t that Ginger didn’t have the inclination to do those things. In fact, she’d proven herself to be a marvelous baker when she had the time. She simply didn’t put domestic chores high on her list of priorities. She felt no guilt about hiring out. With every check she wrote to the cleaning service, she chuckled and called it “economic stimulus.”