Good Luck
Page 27
“How dare you,” Owen said again. This time he loomed toward me, as though trying to intimidate me. Drew moved in front of me. He had a good six inches on Owen Forrester, although Owen probably still outweighed Drew by forty pounds. But it seemed to do the trick. Owen took a hasty step back.
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on here. But I won’t have you threatening Lucy,” Drew said, his voice even.
“I don’t need to threaten her. That’s what I have lawyers for,” Owen Forrester snarled. He was flushing too, his skin turning an unhealthy shade of tomato red. He glared at me. “And you’ll be hearing from them.”
Then, taking his wife’s arm, Owen turned and marched off without a backward glance. Cassie, though, turned to look at me one last time. I could see rage twisting her lips and tears shining in her eyes, and I felt a stab of pity for her. If she really believed her son, then of course she thought I was evil incarnate. And if she didn’t totally believe him…well, then, I was the woman who had punctured her fantasy of the perfect little boy who never tells a lie. Either way, if I were her, I’d hate me too.
Adeline Brooks was watching the Forresters leave, as were a number of people sitting at nearby tables who had heard enough to know that something was going on, even if they didn’t know all the details. They stared at us with frank interest, delighted that the party had more to offer than champagne and chateaubriand. Adeline turned and gave her son a level stare.
“Drew,” she said. “I think it would be best if you escorted Lucy home now.”
It was an order, not a request. Drew nodded curtly at his mother. He turned to glance at his sisters, who were staring at us with twin expressions of shock, their eyebrows arched high and their lips rounded into Os. Even dull Todd seemed to have perked up with interest.
“Bye,” I said faintly to them.
“Bye, Lucy. It was nice meeting you,” Delia said brightly.
“Delia,” Josie hissed at her.
“What? I like her.”
But then Josie apparently stomped on Delia’s foot under the table, for Delia let out a loud “Ouch!” and fell silent, glaring rebelliously at her older sister.
I turned to face Drew’s mother. “Mrs. Brooks…I’m so sorry,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.
She nodded once, her face like stone. Clearly, I was not what she had in mind for her son. I could hardly blame her for that.
“Let’s go,” Drew said softly. His hand had dropped from my waist, and I found that I missed its warmth. But he didn’t offer me his hand or even his arm. Instead, he waited for me to walk ahead of him—Is he worried I’ll refuse to go? I wondered—and then followed silently behind me.
I don’t know if it was my imagination, but it seemed as though the room quieted as we exited, every table turning to gawk at me as I walked past. I did my best to lift my head and square my shoulders, but even so, it was impossible not to feel like the banished harlot.
Drew didn’t say anything to me as we stood under the arched portico waiting for the parking attendant to bring around the car. I was glad. I knew Drew was going to have questions, and I would answer them all to the best of my ability, but it wasn‘t a conversation I wanted to have in earshot of the half dozen valets milling around.
Thankfully, Drew waited until we were safely inside his car and rolling back down the long driveway before he spoke.
“Is this one of those Candid Camera shows where you, my mother, and my sisters have teamed up to pull a prank on me? Is Ashton Kutcher going to be waiting for us at the end of the driveway to tell me I’ve been punk’d?” Drew asked. His voice was even and his expression inscrutable, but I could tell he was upset. Of course he was upset. I could hardly blame him for that.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”
“Yes. You should have. But better late than never,” Drew said.
And so I told him all of it. Palm Beach is not a large island, and so I was still explaining—all too aware how inadequate my explanations were—by the time we arrived at Crane Hill. We sat in his car in the gated driveway, the motor running, while I finished. Drew hadn’t spoken a word since we’d left Mar-a-Lago. I found his silence unnerving.
“So that brings us to tonight,” I said. “The party. The Forresters. Your mother.”
Drew smiled wearily and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “You know, you may have just succeeded in keeping my mother from ever again trying to marry me off. I think she’d probably prefer that I just stay single from now on.”
“And do you want to know the ironic thing? Mothers usually love me,” I said, managing a shaky laugh.
“Not my mother,” Drew said ruefully.
“Yeah, I sort of figured. I won’t be expecting a Christmas card from her,” I said. Then, my smile fading, I said, “Please tell her again how sorry I am. I hope I didn’t ruin her party.”
“Are you kidding? Palm Beach socialites would pay to have that sort of scandal break out at their fund-raisers. Everyone will be talking about it for weeks. My mom’s social calendar will be booked through April now,” Drew said. “If it weren’t for the fact that you were there with me, she’d probably throw a party in your honor to thank you.” He grinned and shook his head.
“But I was there with you,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Yes, you were.” Drew’s smile faded.
I forced myself to ask the necessary question. “Where does this leave us?”
Drew let out a long sighing breath. “If you and I continue seeing each other, I’ll basically have to write off any political ambitions I might have,” Drew said. “And that’s something my family wants for me.”
“Is it what you want?”
Drew sighed, and for the first time that night he looked tired, almost haggard. “I don’t want to disappoint them,” he said simply.
“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t angry or even hurt—after all of the lies I had told him, I didn’t have the right to be. But I was saddened. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” Drew said.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m the one who owes you the apology.”
“If I were really the white knight here, I’d be willing to ride into battle for you. I’d tell my mother to mind her own business and tell my dad I wasn’t going to run for office and that, even if it makes them uncomfortable, I’m keeping you in my life,” Drew said. He shook his head and looked almost disgusted with himself. “But I can’t do it. I don’t know why I can’t…I just can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said quickly.
“You shouldn’t have to ask.”
I stared at his profile, at the sharp angle of his nose, the blunt square of his chin. In the weak light pooling out from the wrought-iron house lanterns, his skin had an otherworldly green glow.
“You and I aren’t in love,” I said quietly. “Maybe if we were, you would want to ride into battle for me. And maybe I would ask you to.”
“Maybe,” Drew said. He smiled crookedly. “I’d like to think so, anyway.”
I rested my hand on his for a moment, and he caught up my fingers and gave them a squeeze. I smiled briefly and got out of the car. I watched as Drew waited for the gate to slowly swing open, and then he drove out, turned onto the road, and disappeared into the night.
It was only then that I noticed there was another car parked off to the side next to the Porsche. Between the darkness and my emotional talk with Drew, I hadn’t noticed it earlier when we first drove in. Now I took a closer look. It was a sleek black Mercedes that I’d never seen before.
Apparently we had company.
Twenty
“HELLO?” I CALLED OUT AS I OPENED THE FRONT DOOR. The house was dark, and it was so quiet the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the front foyer sounded as loud as a metronome. I kicked off my rhinestone-studded high heels, which were killing my feet, and padded off to find Hayden.
; I wandered through the house, looking in all the likely places. But there wasn’t anyone in the vast living room, or in the cozier wood-paneled den, or in the kitchen, which smelled of bleach and looked as if it hadn’t been occupied since Marta left earlier in the day.
I heard voices outside on the lanai. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but there were the high lilting notes of Hayden’s voice and a lower male rumble, and then the two mingled together in laughter. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should go out there or if Hayden would want to be alone with her guest. But I was still feeling shaky from my abrupt exit from the charity ball and less abrupt breakup with Drew, and I didn’t want to be alone. Besides, it was probably just Frankie, or one of Hayden’s other friends that I hadn’t yet met, so I didn’t think she’d mind if I joined them. I headed out the back kitchen door, one of several that opened up on the lanai.
They apparently didn’t hear the door open and close, and—thankfully—I didn’t say anything. Because the man with Hayden was definitely not Frankie—and it was pretty clear they wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.
The man reclining back on the teak chaise was older, probably in his mid-fifties, although that estimate could have been off by a decade in either direction, depending on how well he’d aged. He had silver hair that contrasted with his dark eyebrows, a foxlike face with a sharp chin, thin lips, and a narrow nose. He was stark naked.
Hayden, whom I hadn’t seen a moment before—one of the columns holding up the lanai’s roof had been in the way—stepped forward into view. She was wearing a white G-string bikini. It was little more than three tiny triangles, barely large enough to cover anything. Hayden was swaying from side to side, in what was probably meant to be a seductive dance but looked a little silly from where I was standing, especially considering there wasn’t any music playing. But then Hayden reached back and, with one swift move, untied the bow that was holding up her bikini top. It slid to the ground, and Hayden stepped forward toward the man, climbed onto the chaise, and straddled his body with her long legs. He fondled her breasts, and Hayden leaned forward to take him in her mouth.
I decided it was well past time for me to get the hell out of there.
Thankful that I was in my bare feet and could make a quiet retreat, I hurried back into the kitchen, closing the door silently behind me.
What the hell was going on? I wondered. What is Hayden doing with that guy? I mean, I knew what she was doing, but why was she doing it with him? What had happened with Ian? Had they broken up?
Hayden had joked about finding a rich older man to marry, but that was just it: She’d been joking. Hadn’t she? She wasn’t really that mercenary, was she?
My stomach was grumbling—I’d been kicked out of the fund-raiser before dinner was served—so I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and took my meal upstairs. Since I obviously couldn’t sleep in the pool house, I chose to spend the night in the Blue Room. It had a four-poster bed hung with heavy silk panels and busy navy blue and cream trellis-print wallpaper. I sat at the small, fussy writing table to eat my sandwich and then went into the bathroom to wash off my makeup. After listening at the door to Hayden’s room—I wanted to make sure she and her guest hadn’t moved the festivities inside and upstairs—I let myself in, planning to borrow a pair of pajamas.
I fumbled for a light switch, and once I finally found the one that illuminated the bedside tables, I saw that Harper Lee was there, curled up on Hayden’s pillow. When she saw me, she jumped to her feet, gave her muscular little body a strenuous shake, and bounded over to me, snorting and yawning.
“Hi, girl,” I said, leaning over to pet her. Which was harder than it sounded. My red evening gown was so tight through the bodice that it was hard to breathe, much less bend over.
I saw that Hayden’s laptop, also on the bed, was open and on. When Harper Lee had bounced over to me, she’d jostled the computer enough to switch off its screen saver. I glanced at the screen and saw that Hayden had left her Internet browser open to the eBay Web site. Nosiness overcame me, and I looked closer, wondering what she was bidding on. But then I saw that she wasn’t bidding on anything. Instead, under the handle PalmBeachPrincess, Hayden had two dozen items up for auction. Her Chloé handbag and Badgley Mischka Platinum Label black cocktail dress, both listed as being in like-new condition. A Cartier watch, which I knew had been a college graduation gift from her parents. Then I saw what else she was auctioning off, and my heart gave a lurch. A lemon-yellow Chaiken dress. A pair of dove-gray Christian Louboutin pumps. An Italian cashmere sweater. A white boatneck Escada sundress. All listed as new and never worn. And all of which I had bought for Hayden.
I walked over to her closet and opened the doors. And there were the clothes, all the things I’d purchased for her on our countless shopping trips—all of which she’d let me buy for her; although she’d stopped short of asking for the items, she’d made it clear she wanted them—and all of which still had the price tags attached. How had I failed to notice that she’d never worn any of them?
Then there was the bigger question: Why was she selling all of them? And had she planned on selling the clothes when I bought them for her? Because although it wasn’t stealing—they were hers to do with as she wished—her actions certainly had a strong taint of dishonesty. It reminded me of Sarah Macleod, a woman back in Ocean Falls who had a little boy a year younger than Maisie’s twins. Maisie had befriended Sarah through the vast mommy network in town and had given Sarah a big box of clothing that the twins had outgrown. Maisie later learned from a mutual friend that, rather than keeping the clothes, Sarah had taken them straight to a children’s consignment shop and pocketed the money they’d fetched. Maisie had been infuriated when she found out.
“I just feel like I was taken advantage of,” she’d fumed. “I was trying to do a nice thing for her. If I’d wanted to sell those clothes, I would have taken them to the consignment store myself.”
Taken advantage of. Yes. That was exactly what I was feeling. But it wasn’t like I could go talk to Hayden about it now, indisposed as she was. I tried to shake off my shock and, closing the closet door, I went to the dresser to find the pajamas I’d come to borrow. I started with the bottom drawer and worked my way up. The pajamas were in the top drawer, the last drawer I looked in, along with a tangle of bras and satin briefs—and money. Lots of money. Crumpled twenties, tens, and even fifty-dollar bills.
Where did Hayden get all this? I wondered, picking up handfuls of bills and staring at them as though they might hold the answers for me. Had she won it at the casino? And if so, why was she selling her clothes on eBay?
And then suddenly I remembered: How many times had I looked in my wallet recently, sure that I had cash, only to discover that I was completely out? Now that I thought about it, it seemed as if it had been happening quite often. I’d blamed it on the spendthrift habits I’d picked up since moving to Palm Beach, but maybe that had been a denial of sorts. Was it possible? Had Hayden been stealing from me?
I dropped the money as though it were burning my hands. My mouth tasted bitter, and fatigue pressed at my temples. Suddenly I wished I were anywhere but here, in this too-big house, having to sleep in a strange room, while a floor below, my roommate was making love to a man old enough to be her father.
What I wanted—what I wanted more than anything—was to be home. In my home, my little house surrounded by all of my shabby old things, where I could put on my favorite pajamas, which had been worn to the perfect degree of threadbare softness, and curl up on the sofa with my dog and a good book.
As if reading my thoughts, Harper Lee whimpered and looked up at me imploringly. I stared back at her and felt the tears start to well in my eyes.
“I wish we could go home, sweetheart. I wish we could,” I said. “Come on. We’re sleeping up here tonight.”
With Harper Lee at my ankle, I walked out of Hayden’s bedroom and closed the door firmly behind me.
I opened my eyes to squint at the intruder. It was…
“Emma?” I croaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you,” Emma said. “Oh, my God. What did you do to your hair? It looks amazing.”
“What’s going on?” My mind, still groggy, whirred to catch up with what was going on. “Is everything okay?”
“No. Everything is definitely not okay,” Emma said flatly.
I sat bolt upright in bed, staring at her. “Is it Mom? Dad?”
Emma frowned and tossed her hair back. She was, as usual, looking stylish even at this early hour, dressed in an orange sweater and a short white skirt slung low on her hips. Wait, how early was it? I glanced at the clock: 10:08 a.m. Not exactly early, then, but I’d had a hard time falling asleep last night.
“Mom and Dad are fine. Well, they’re still bickering about what to do with the money you gave them, but other than that they’re fine,” Emma said.
“So why exactly are you here? Not that I’m not glad to see you,” I quickly added.
Emma sighed heavily. “It’s the wedding.”
I groaned and collapsed back on the bed. I should have known. In Emma’s narcissistic world, a snag in her wedding plans equaled an emergency.
“Hold on, I have to pee,” I said. I tossed the covers off and headed toward the en suite guest bathroom. Harper Lee, roused by Emma’s entrance, had flopped onto my sister’s lap, rolling over to expose her pink underbelly for Emma to stroke.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Emma was stretched out on the bed, Harper Lee cuddled up beside her. My sister looked critically around at the Blue Room.
“The wallpaper is a bit much, don’t you think?” she asked. “What is it with rich people and ugly wallpaper, anyway?”
“How did you get in here?” I retorted grumpily. I sat at the foot of the bed, facing Emma, and wrapped my arms around my knees.