Borrowing Trouble

by Mae Wood

“I’m not twenty. And the good ol’ fashioned phone works just fine.”

  “Ah ha, so that’s why you were ten minutes late and are full of vim and vigor.”

  “A lady never tells,” I replied with a sly smile, refilling my glass of wine.

  “Well, talk to me about phone sex in five years when he’s on the road for thirty weeks out of fifty-two and you have kids, okay?”

  Okay. That’s a jab that I didn’t see coming. I thought she liked Trip. I thought she was happy for me. I know he’s on the road a lot and it’s kind of like having a part-time boyfriend, but I think it’s going well. Is she seeing something I’m missing or is this mainly about Josh? I didn’t know how to respond, so I punted. “So, table or no?”

  “Seriously, no table. We’re two single women out on the town tonight and I, for one, wouldn’t mind being chatted up by some random man just to remind myself that I have a pulse.” Without waiting for my response, she raised her hand, flagging down Bert for what I hoped was to order food and nothing else.

  ***

  I stumbled into bed a few hours later, my head swimming. Erica veered off into the guestroom for the evening. So this is what our spend the night parties have turned into now that we’re in our mid-thirties? No truth or dare, just a lot of truths. My heart ached for Erica. What’s wrong with Josh? What’s wrong with her? He’s smitten with her. Has been for years. I can’t imagine he’s running around on her, but I guess you never really know about anyone. She’s just miserable and I don’t know how to make it better. My phone buzzed and issued a small chime.

  Did my drunk girl make it home?

  A smile crept across my face at the knowledge Trip was thinking of me, caring for me from far away.

  Yes. Bert took care of us.

  I understand he also got you home.

  Drove us himself.

  Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  I hope you mean that.

  I mean it.

  And with that, still in my jeans and striped tunic from dinner, I rolled over and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I straggled into my office Friday morning, nursing my milky coffee from a stainless travel mug. “Brought your own. That kind of morning, huh?” Jane gently teased.

  I stopped in my tracks and glanced at my watch. Is it ten o’clock already? Nope. Quarter ‘til eight. “You’re here early.”

  “Yeah, I know you’ve got a full day and I was hoping you’d let me leave a little early.”

  Also, Jimmy Brannon’s assistant left a voicemail this morning super early. He wants you for a meeting at four-thirty, so I put it on your calendar. Want me to call back and confirm?”

  “Did the message say what the meeting is about?”

  “No, it didn’t. And I thought your main man was running Branco’s litigation now.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, and Trip’s in Pennsylvania.” My mind boggled as to why Jimmy would want a meeting with me without Trip. I drained my travel mug. “Call Jimmy’s assistant back and tell her that I will be there at four-thirty and John will join us as well. If it’s serious, I might need John for some back up. Track down whomever John is using for an assistant and get it on his calendar.”

  “Got it. Need a refill?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I handed my empty mug to Jane and walked to my office, calling over my shoulder. “And keep ‘em coming.” I sat down at my desk and began drafting the legal papers Branco would have to file before the Priddy case went to trial, knocking back many coffees to fight off the hangover fogging the edges of my brain. Around ten I was interrupted by a knock on my doorframe.

  “Hey,” called Jane, standing with a steaming mug in her hands. “I spoke with Jimmy Brannon’s assistant. She said she didn’t know what the meeting was about, but that he was clear that it was just to be the two of you. John isn’t invited.”

  My eyes widened and my stomach plummeted to my feet.

  It’s personal. I’m being summoned for a personal call. Did I piss off Bitsy? Is he mad about the clothes she bought me yesterday?

  “Fuck,” I swore.

  “Everything okay?”

  “We’ll see. Can you have lunch brought in for me? I don’t care what. Hold my calls and just let me hole up in here until then.”

  “Okie dokie. And I’ve switched you to decaf with this one.” Jane set the new coffee on my desk.

  “What am I going to do without you?”

  “Not sure. But you’re going to find out.”

  I forced down the nerves about the meeting with Jimmy and got to work, hardly pausing to scarf down the sad salad that Jane set in front of me.

  “Thought you might need a little pick me up before your mystery meeting. This one is the real deal,” announced Jane, bearing another cup of milky coffee.

  My head snapped up from behind the stacks of binders and yellow legal pads, covered with highlighting and sticky notes. “Oh, hey, you’re trying to ruin me for all future secretaries?”

  “Something like that. I’ll have your bills to sign on your desk before I leave today. Anything else?”

  I leaned back in my chair and blew the bangs off my forehead with a puff of breath. “Nope. Just don’t know what Jimmy wants.”

  “Well, the only way to find out is to go. Court shoes?”

  I looked down at my leopard print calf hair kitten heels and briefly pondered whether I wanted my kick-ass black leather stilettos for this meeting.

  Is he going to beat me up about something? Why am I being called on the carpet? Did I screw up some advice? Did I draft a non-compete agreement incorrectly and now an employee has stolen all of their customers? No. If that were the case, John or Trip would be involved. It has to be something I did yesterday with Bitsy. I should have refused that dress. It was a lot of money and I bet he’s pissed.

  “Nope,” I definitively replied. “I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of a meeting.”

  “Not going to beat Jimmy senseless so he settles the Priddy lawsuit?”

  “I’ve tried and failed. He’s not going to settle. Says that even if Mr. Priddy’s boss asked him to strip and held his raise, he got his raise and things were made right. We’re going to trial in December. It’d be cheaper to settle this now, but on the upside, I get paid by the hour. You go on and enjoy your weekend.”

  I grabbed my trusty Marc Jacobs satchel from under my desk, making sure my checkbook was inside so I could repay Jimmy, and strode out the door to meet my fate, leaving my new coffee to go to waste on my desk. More caffeine would just make me anxious and I don’t need any more nerves.

  ***

  “Marisa!” A broad smile crept across his face as I entered Jimmy’s office.

  Okay, so I’m not in trouble. Unless he’s trying to sucker me in and then sweep my legs. Wait. This isn’t a courtroom brawl. This is a business meeting. Or a really weird talk with my new boyfriend’s father. Not sure which one yet.

  “Did you tell Trip you were coming over?”

  “No. I figured you knew he is en route back from Pennsylvania and if you wanted him involved you would have picked a time he was available.”

  “Smart girl. Excuse me, smart person. Just smart. And you’re right. Let’s sit down and talk.” Jimmy gestured to his sofa and the pair of wingback chairs where a mere two months ago I’d spilled bourbon on me that Trip had threatened to lick off. Right in front of Jimmy and John. I blushed at the thought of where Trip’s tongue had been since then and shook my head to focus on the present instead of where I anticipated this evening would lead.

  I perched on one of the chairs, crossed my ankles, and smoothed down my black pencil skirt to make it cover as much of my thighs as possible. “If this is about shopping yesterday, let me say that I didn’t ask Bitsy to buy me a dress or the shoes. I feel really badly about it and I told Trip about it and he said not to think twice about it, but I’m going to write you a check.” I knew I was sputtering, but I just wanted this to end. Quickly.


  Jimmy looked at me like I’d sprouted an extra head and I reached into my purse for my checkbook. “Marisa, sweetheart, this isn’t about a dress. I don’t even know what dress you’re talking about, if I’m being honest. This is about your time with Bitsy yesterday.”

  Oh, fuck. What did I do? I dropped the checkbook back into my purse and straightened up.

  “No, this isn’t about you,” he said reassuringly. “This is about my family. Fall can be a really hard time for us and it’s not fair for you to be in this blindly.”

  I tried to stop my head from spinning out of control and focused on my breathing. This isn’t about me. At least he says this isn’t about me, but it is about me in some way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Breathe. Breathe.

  “As much as I love my son, I don’t think he’s talked with you, or will talk with you, so I want to take this time while Bitsy thinks I’m at work and Trip is stuck in a plane to talk with you. And for this, I’m going to need a drink,” he said more to himself than to me, before walking to the wet bar and calling over his shoulder. “Bourbon? I hate to say it, but it’s that or a bottle of champagne I keep on hand for unexpected events. And this a bourbon conversation. I hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s fine with me. A splash of soda if you’ve got it.” I could see the stiffness and discomfort enter Jimmy’s body as he fixed our drinks. Still caught in his own thoughts, he silently passed me a glass.

  “Well, bottoms up.” He clinked his glass to mine, took a swallow, settled back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling. “I realize I may be overstepping here. I don’t know where you and Trip are and I’m not asking. But I know where my wife is and that’s the reason we’re talking. She and Trip mean the world to me.”

  “If you’re going to ask what my intentions are towards your son,” I began, hoping to inject some lightheartedness to the funereal mood that had overcome Jimmy.

  He cut me off with a sigh and looked out the window toward the Mississippi River. “Has he mentioned Caroline?”

  I cocked my head at him. Who the hell is Caroline? An ex-girlfriend? An ex-wife? Was Trip married?

  “I didn’t think he would have. Caroline is our daughter. Trip’s sister. She passed away. This month is twenty-five years.” My body froze and my chest cracked open.

  Oh my God. That’s a bomb. What do I say? I can’t make this better.

  Jimmy’s eyes met mine. “Okay, well, that was the hard part.” He took a long sip, letting the words absorb into both of us before continuing. “Now you know why this is a bourbon conversation. Trip was thirteen when Caroline died. She was fifteen. August she would have turned forty,” Jimmy said wistfully. “My baby girl would have been forty.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jimmy.” My heart hurt, a raw deep hurting. It ached with the pain I couldn’t fathom. Never wanted to fathom. To lose a child. I squeezed my eyes tight and tried to control my breathing. My eyes burned.

  “Better to have loved and lost,” he exhaled, taking another sip. “And now you’re wondering why I’m burdening you with this.”

  “You’re not burdening me, Jimmy. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  “No reason for you to know,” he gruffly responded. “Until now. Over dinner last night Bitsy was glowing. She had such a wonderful time with you. Wanted to know why I’d been hiding you away doing our legal work for so many years. She told me all about taking you shopping ahead of the St. Jude benefit, which brings me around to why you’re here.”

  Oh, he doesn’t want me at the benefit. I’m being gently uninvited. Gotcha. Okay. This I can deal with.

  “It’s not just a fundraiser for us. It’s close to our hearts. Caroline had leukemia and St. Jude did amazing things for her. Did amazing things for us. Does amazing things for children and families across the country, regardless of whether they can pay for treatment. Fifteen or so years ago, Bitsy got her head on straight and decided she wanted to do a fundraiser for St. Jude. Wanted it to be a party of sorts for Caroline. A way to celebrate her in a positive way. It’s important to us, but it’s not something that we’ve ever formally announced as being in honor of Caroline. For everyone else, it’s just another black tie fundraiser.”

  Heavy emotions crashed down over me. The Brannons throw a party every year to raise money for children with cancer at St. Jude? In memory of their daughter? Their daughter, their only daughter, who they lost to cancer? How do they do that? I’d be in pieces. I’m not that strong.

  “You are the most amazing people,” I whispered, grasping one of Jimmy’s hands. Tears began to fall from my eyes. “I’ll keep your secret.” And you’re getting a check later. Just not made out to you.

  “I know you will, Marisa. That’s part of why I told you.”

  “What’s the other part?” I asked gently after Jimmy had spent a few moments looking longingly at a framed picture of a little girl next to a sandcastle displayed on a side table.

  Please don’t cry, Jimmy. You have every right to, but if you cry, I’m going to collapse.

  “This is where yesterday comes in.” With his free hand, Jimmy lifted his glass to his lips and drained it, not taking his eyes off the black and white photo. “This is also where I overstep. And I ask your forgiveness in advance and hope you’ll humor an old man.”

  I squeezed Jimmy’s hand, wordlessly urging him to continue when he was able to find words. “You can break Trip’s heart all you want. Hell, he probably deserves it. But you cannot break Bitsy’s.”

  “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Bitsy.”

  He waved me off and withdrew his hand from mine. “I know you wouldn’t. Not intentionally and that’s not what I’m worried about. You know I’m quite fond of you. And Trip is as well.” I blushed. “While I’m telling secrets, I might as well tell you this. I’m not going to ask what’s going on with you two, but I have a pretty good idea. He took you to the cabin on St. George. He didn’t take you to his house?”

  “He has a house there, too?”

  “Yes. Bitsy and I had three houses built there years ago. Our little compound of sorts. Caroline was in remission. Branco was doing well. We had visions of holidays with our children, and one day, their children, with us on St. George. So, yes, he has a house. Not the house we built for him though. That was flattened a few hurricanes ago, but the cabin — that was where the kids grew up. It was where I grew up. That cabin is home and if he likes you enough to take you there rather than to try to impress you with his house, then you very well may break his heart. But like I said, he very well may deserve it. Back to Bitsy, she’s probably read too much into that.”

  “Jimmy, I don’t know what to say.”

  “And if I knew what you should do, I’d tell you that. All I can do is ask you, beg you, to be gentle with her. Especially with the benefit coming up. She pours so much of herself in to it.”

  “Trip told me not to say no to her about anything having to do with the benefit, which is why I’ve gone along with the dress and shoes.”

  “He’s smart. That’s probably the best way for him to handle her, but I don’t know if that’s the way you should handle her. That’s something you two will have to work out yourselves. I’m sorry that you’re having to deal with this. Dealing with my son is work enough.”

  “He is not work.” I straightened back up in my chair.

  Jimmy cocked an eyebrow at me and I saw the gears shift in his head. “Well, you’re right. He’s not purely work for you anymore, is he? Now getting around to the dressing down you know you deserve. I signed that waiver because my son asked me to. Don’t make me regret it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Is that it? Is he going to admonish me more?

  “Good.” He nodded at me. “Now the workweek is over and I’m going home to my favorite Brannon. I expect that you’re doing the same.” Jimmy stood and I followed suit. “Truly, Marisa, it’s good to have you around as more than our lawyer.”

  My eyes flew open when I found myself caught in Jimmy’s embrace, which I re
turned. He just told me his daughter died, it’s okay to break Trip’s heart but don’t dare make his wife sad, and that he’s got his eye on me for any screw ups? This is too much. I need some space to think. A friendly firm pat on my back brought the hug to a conclusion.

  “Walk out with me? You can give me an update on that sexual harassment trial with the stripping allegations that we’ve got in December on our way down.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I curled up into a ball on Trip’s massive white leather sofa with a glass of Oregon pinot gris in one hand and my iPhone in the other, my fingers lingering over the call button to Mom.

  Too much pain. So much love. I can’t imagine that. No wonder Bitsy liked the shopping and lunch. To have a little girl time. But how hard that must have been on her. To be doing that with me when she didn’t get to do that with her own daughter.

  What really floors me is to have a freaking benefit each year to honor Caroline. Talk about smiling through the pain. I looked it up and last year they raised nearly four-hundred-thousand for St. Jude. That is so much money. To be able to host an event like that, grieving on the inside, while asking people to write checks to support other children with cancer? I’d be a heap on the floor. How does she do that?

  “Mom,” I croaked.

  “My darling angel! Are you okay?” Mom’s voice was full of concern and anxiety.

  “I’m fine mom. Hale and hearty.” The lump in my throat burned, preventing me from swallowing down the tears anymore. I sobbed into the phone.

  “Marisa, what is wrong?”

  I swept the back of my hand across my dripping nose and pushed forward. “Mom, I love you. And I love Dad. You are wonderful parents. We’re so lucky.”

  “Okay, now you’re really scaring me, sweetie.”

  “No, no. Really, I’m good. Just sad.”

  “Did you and Trip stop seeing each other?”

  “No. I’m at his house now. He’s on his way back from a work trip and we’re having dinner when he gets here.” I’m freaking my mom out. I need to get a grip. Breathe. I got myself under control and stopped my tears.