While Eleanor sputtered, Sara shifted an innocent gaze to Jackson, who did his best to stop from smiling.
“I will check on dinner.” As Eleanor passed, she muttered, “The manners of these young people today.”
Whatever! Sara felt as if her back had straightened and lengthened two inches. Once Eleanor left the room, she turned her attention on Jackson.
“Don’t bother grinning at me. You were no help. What happened to ‘I’ll be at your side.’ Yeah, I saw whose side you were on, all right.”
“I love it when you get riled. I knew you could handle my mother.” He came over and dropped on his knees. “Forgiven?”
“Not so easy, buster.” Sara folded her arms over her chest. “Tell me why you lied about coming to see me.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure how you would have reacted. This trip was more of an exploratory venture. Maybe you would’ve sent me on my way.” He slid a hand along her thigh, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.
“Jackson!” his mother exclaimed.
They broke apart like guilty children. The giggles evaporated. Sara slid Jackson’s hand off her lap. He rose to his feet and helped her up from the chair.
“Your father is home. Dinner will be served in five minutes.” His mother’s stern countenance marked her disapproval. She glared at them before exiting the room.
“I guess whatever little points I thought I’d earned went into the negative.” Sara sighed. “I can’t take much more of this, Jackson.” She wanted to leave this big, coldhearted house, get on the plane and go back to her cozy apartment.
Jackson’s response was to kiss her. After the expression of horror that his mother showed, Sara wasn’t looking for a repeat performance. She stepped away and nervously adjusted her clothing.
“Let’s go.” Jackson again led the way to the formal dining room. Sara had only been in the family room and on the deck in the back of the house. The demise of their relationship had been so swift and complete that she’d never gotten familiar with the surroundings.
The dining room screamed money—big money. Waterford crystal vases and candle sconces decorated the dark, wood furnishings. Lace was the material in full use for the curtains and the table. They couldn’t possibly use this room on a daily basis, unless they had several tablecloths for all the inevitable spills. The crisp whiteness added another level of stress as she maneuvered around Eleanor’s barbs.
“Jackson, you will sit here. Sarafina, over there.”
Sara raised an eyebrow, but was wise enough to keep her mouth shut. The men had either end of the table. Jackson’s mother and she faced each other from the sides. If this evening didn’t end in reasonable order, she was going to plot such an act of vengeance that Jackson wouldn’t know what hit him.
They remained standing next to their chairs until his father walked into the room and took his seat first. Sara wouldn’t have had a problem with these oddities if she had agreed to take part in this version of an old English play.
“Jackson has brought Sarafina to meet us, Cecil.” Eleanor’s statement hung in the air.
“Good to meet you, Sarafina. Here on business?” his father asked. He was first to select his portion from the platter as the maid made her way around the table.
Sara chose a couple of slices of thinly sliced roast beef and some roasted potatoes. Once she managed to transport the slippery potatoes onto her plate, she turned her attention to Jackson’s father. “Actually I took a little break from the job to hang out with Jackson for a few days.”
“Oh, so this is a short visit.” Eleanor smiled at her son, all sweetness again.
“It’s a short visit, this time. I’m hoping that I can convince Sara to come back more often and for longer.” Jackson took a sip of wine.
“And I hope that he’ll return more often and for longer visits.” Sara raised her glass in mock salute.
“I’m sure you can take off whenever the mood hits, but Jackson, here, has a lot of responsibility. One day I will retire. And the business will be his.”
“Golden opportunities are around the corner for you, son,” Eleanor remarked.
“Let’s not rush things,” Jackson answered, his focus on the meat he cut. “There may be other opportunities in Chicago. Remember I told you about the broker.”
“Oh, yes, please tell me about it.” His mother gave him her attention.
“Let’s not talk about business at the table. I’m sure Sarafina would rather us talk about something else,” his father interrupted.
“Don’t mind me.” Sara figured she could learn a lot by listening.
His father waved his fork. “How about tomorrow during golf? I’ve put together a great team with the corporate developers for the downtown financial center. Join us. I want to introduce you.”
“What time?” Jackson asked.
“Seven.”
“Um…” Jackson looked at her. Sara didn’t want to make a scene. However, what would she do for the entire morning? Eighteen holes of golf didn’t start and finish in an hour. So far, her man—what a nice thought—was making this visit quite a memorable one.
“Don’t worry about Sarafina, Jackson. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind going with me to my book club meeting.”
“No, that’s okay.” Sara wanted to gag. She needed Asia’s brashness to get out of this muddle.
“Think nothing of it. Well, you men run along and do what you do. We ladies will have our fun.”
Jackson beamed with open relief. “Thanks, Mom. Dad, we’re on.” He winked at Sara, looking pleased with the turn of events.
Jackson drove Sara to the hotel. He’d tried to get her to stay at the house, but she had been adamantly against the idea. From her stony silence, he knew that she didn’t agree with his estimation that the night had been a success. But she underestimated his mother’s generosity. She wouldn’t have invited Sara for the fun of it.
“You’re so tense,” Jackson noted.
“Wouldn’t you be? I feel like an insect under a microscope.”
“But all parents do that. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, let me visit with your family.”
Sara couldn’t imagine how he would take the drabness of her parents’ house in comparison to the opulent extravagance of his family home. Plus she’d have to pretend that her family was a cozy unit.
“Can I come up?”
“For a late night booty call? Nope. Better save your strength for your meeting in the morning.”
“Now that’s cruel. I told you that I don’t do well with words.”
Sara slid out of the car and slammed the door shut. “I don’t have that problem. Good night.”
Jackson groaned, but he wasn’t too heartbroken. At least Sara didn’t ask for a change to her flight plans. He knew that his family wouldn’t be overjoyed to see her, but he had to make his case that she was now in his life and would be for however long she’d let him be there.
Playing golf with his father had a purpose, too. His father wasn’t really the type to think about having a father-son bonding moment. Each waking hour was spent strategizing on how to make money, increase his wealth, or get rid of the weakest link. The way his father’s eyes gleamed as he talked about the corporate developers let him know that this was about increasing wealth.
Jackson alternated between staying at his parents’ home and at his house. Since he’d be around them this weekend with Sara, he found it more convenient to stay with his parents.
“Jackson, is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom.” He hoped she didn’t want to talk. He was beat and would have to get up before the sun broke the horizon to head out to their country club’s golf course.
“Join me in my sitting room.”
He slapped his forehead, but headed to her room. She was seated in a small love seat wearing her nightgown and matching slippers. She looked like a pink cotton ball with too much chiffon-type material. He remained standing, although she patted the seat next to her. She didn’t
fool him with the carefully crafted blank innocence.
“You’re angry with me.” She picked off nonexistent lint from her dressing gown. “Please, sit. You’re making my neck hurt looking up at you.”
“I’ve got to get sleep. You know I have to be on my game to play with Dad.”
She sighed. “I do hope we will get a chance to chat, like we used to.”
“Mom, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Really. I didn’t get that impression from Sarafina. The girl sounded pretty sure of herself.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“Don’t say that, Jackson. Must I keep telling you how much your father values you?”
“From his mouth, sometimes it sounds like I’m a piece of depreciating property.”
“Ever since you left and I’ve talked to you, you seem angry. I thought everything in your life was going the way you wanted it.”
“I thought so, too. I was ready to tow the line and become the workaholic that Dad wanted. Sara has always been on my mind, knowing how I’d done her wrong. I couldn’t believe my luck when her sorority sisters sent me an invitation to her birthday party. I saw it as a second chance,” he said.
“In order for you to see something as a second chance, it means that you initially had made a mistake. Nothing about you or your life is a mistake. Your father and I have always seen to it that you had the best.”
“It’s appreciated.” His mother would never understand what a burden they had set on him. “I’m going to bed now.” He leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. Before he walked out, he decided to impart a little caution. “Mom, would you be kind to Sara tomorrow.”
“I take offense to that statement.”
Jackson didn’t add to his advisory. His mother was shrewd enough to know that he was on to her. He headed for his room, ready to fall into bed. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was whether Sara was in bed thinking about him.
Chapter 9
Sara awoke early, dressed and sat on her bed. She wanted to come up with a brilliant excuse why she couldn’t attend the book club meeting with Eleanor. Nothing that sounded genuine came to mind. Canceling the book club invitation would probably have a negative impact.
Jackson also would be disappointed. But then he had idealistic expectations that didn’t jive with reality. And his mother would feel justified that she’d lived up to her low opinion.
That wouldn’t do.
Sara called the Thomas house. Apparently her call was expected. A driver was on his way to pick her up in a matter of minutes.
The black suit had already been used. Two outfits remained. She opted for a strawberry-red-toned skirt suit. From her small jewelry collection, she picked a single-strand pearl necklace and matching pearl stud earrings. Unfortunately she’d have to wear the same black pumps. As she turned and critically examined her image, she was sure that she looked like a character from a 1950s TV series when the TV moms wore heels at home.
Dealing with Eleanor required such a formal approach. She grabbed her pocketbook and headed to the lobby. Luckily, she was staying not far from the family’s house.
Her timing was perfect. As she entered the lobby, the familiar black sedan pulled up in front of the hotel. Sara recognized the driver and waved. Sitting in the back and being chauffeured was a wonderful habit that she could get used to. It sure did beat driving or dealing with public transportation.
With the light traffic, the driver made good time. They pulled up in the driveway. Before he assisted her out of the car, the front door opened.
“No need to come in. If we leave now, we’ll be the first to arrive.” Eleanor entered the car with a lot of fuss. Her pungent perfume filled the passenger compartment of the sedan. “I do like to be the first to arrive.”
The width of the backseat afforded Sara the ability to sit without brushing against Eleanor. No need to pretend they were girlfriends out on a lark.
“Becoming color,” Eleanor complimented. Her eyes examined the entire outfit and she gave an approving grunt after a highly scrutinizing assessment.
“Thank you. Wasn’t sure if it worked for me.”
“Of course it would. Your shade of brown can handle such colors. It’s a risky choice, but in your case, it works.”
Sara looked out the window. Talking fashion didn’t particularly make her feel better. She suspected that Eleanor knew a lot about fashion and would end up embarrassing her poor attempts at playing a fashionista. Eleanor wore a burnt orange pantsuit with a caramel hued blouse. Although the older woman wore flats, her shoes were stylish and complementary to the outfit, staying in the same color palette.
“Oh, good, we’ve made it in plenty of time.” Eleanor’s attitude perked up upon their arrival at the country club.
“Country club” was an understatement for the beautifully landscaped property. The clubhouse resembled an English country estate, with two floors, several windows and large white columns framing the entryway. Shrubbery pruned to exact detail decorated the lower half of the building.
Inside the gated area, the property buzzed with activity, but not the hectic, vulgar pace of the masses. These patrons with their haughty profiles, designer athletic wear and pinched mannerisms took their sweet time strolling as they discussed the benefits and perks of their wealth.
“Come on, let’s go in.” Eleanor granted her with a wide smile that did nothing to warm Sara’s heart.
“After you.” Sara kept pace next to Eleanor, but the woman’s imperious demeanor managed to make her feel like the hired help.
They entered the restaurant within the country club. After Eleanor gave her name, they were led to a private salon in the rear. From what Sara observed, her choice of clothing was perfect. The patrons seemed to make every occasion a high-fashion event.
As soon as they got close to the room, the door opened. A woman who matched Eleanor in style and attitude glanced at Eleanor, but stared at Sara. The woman seemingly sized her up, with open curiosity before she was dismissed. Then a purely artificially sweetened smile emerged.
“Eleanor, good to see you.” The woman opened her arms, but never stepped forward to actually embrace.
“Hi, Phoebe, I am so delighted to be here.” Eleanor entered the room, alternating waves and hugs with the other women around the table. “I may be the only one to feel this way, but I do look forward to our monthly meetings.”
A murmur of agreement sounded around the room.
Sara stayed out of the way, sensing that she could be rejected by this group for the smallest misstep in social decorum. Attending might not have been such a good idea, considering she hadn’t read the book.
“And who do we have here?” Phoebe asked, turning the attention toward Sara.
Sara didn’t wait for Eleanor. “Sara Lovell.”
No one responded.
“She’s one of Jackson’s friends visiting for a couple days,” Eleanor clarified with enough casualness to send the message that she wasn’t worth remembering.
Discussion in husky whispers moved steadily around the table to each person, like a train with scheduled, intermittent stops. Sara guessed that Eleanor had to provide some type of endorsement before these rich biddies would respond. Sara offered a friendly smile and took the chair that Phoebe indicated. Each neighbor slid her chair over, lengthening the space between them.
“Sara, I’m Phoebe, this month’s hostess. Now that Eleanor is here, we will begin. Ladies, would you please introduce yourselves to Sara.”
The twelve women complied with the request. The names like Victoria, Lacy, Brooke and Brigette didn’t quite make it to her short-term memory.
“Well, actually her name is Sarafina,” Eleanor addressed the group.
“I don’t mind being called Sara.”
A tense standoff began.
“Who would like to give a summary of our book selection?” Phoebe asked, putting an end to the awkward moment.
Sara did her best to look
interested while one of the members provided the description of an autobiography of a Hollywood star from the 1950s. She twisted her wrist to look discreetly at her watch. An hour and a half to go. Her eyes were beginning to cross from the uninteresting story. Then she spied a side table of pastries and muffins, cheese and crackers, and coffee and tea. Good, at least she didn’t have to starve. Sara helped herself without caring whether the group minded that she wasn’t sitting and attentively listening.
An hour later, Phoebe raised her hand. “I think we’ve discussed this book to death. There wasn’t much meat to the subject to hold a discussion for longer than an hour. If no one objects, I suggest we have lunch, at this time.”
Everyone, including Sara, nodded in agreement.
On cue, waiters bustled into the room with several rolling tables of covered platters and equipment to refresh the beverages. The efficiency and attention to details spoke volumes about the caliber of the restaurant.
“Sara, I hope we’re not boring you. Eleanor, why did you make Sara endure this torture?” Gladys winked at Sara.
Eleanor didn’t appreciate the joke. “Since Jackson was busy with his father this morning, I didn’t want Sara to feel neglected.”
“I’m glad you brought her to the meeting.” Gladys, who was seated at the opposite end of the table, leaned forward. She wore a crisp, winter-white blouse that contrasted beautifully with her soft brown complexion. Her hair was prematurely grey, curly and trimmed close to her head. She could have been a model with the fine features that had been expertly made up in bold, brown and gold shades.
Eleanor nodded toward the woman. “Yes, Gladys.”
“I’m glad we have a new face with us, too,” said a woman who was a great deal shorter and dressed in a pastel green shirt and had a small white scarf tied around her neck. Her light complexion didn’t exhibit the same amount of makeup as Gladys’s, or that of the other women, but her features were thin and long. Her dyed honey-blond hair hung past her shoulders, as if she was of mixed heritage.
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