Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  I snatched up my almost-empty pitcher and twirled across the floor to the bar, straddling the stool on my knees—a rather unladylike pose, but I ran my hand down my backside and smiled knowing that my underwear didn’t show.

  “I’ll have another!” I banged the pitcher.

  “You need to slow it down. We have a limit in this bar.” Phil eyed me.

  “I’m queen of this joint.” I tipped my glass in the air and turned at the sounds of giggling and the use of fun vulgar words. How dare they have so much fun and not invite me. I went over to reprimand them and one of them looped my arm and whirled me into foot-stomping moves that left me dizzy and laughing. I must be drunk, I never dance.

  The next selection started up, and all four of us belted out the lyrics to “We love this bar,” singing and twirling as Mother walked in the door.

  “You’re drunk,” she hissed.

  I escaped her outstretched hand, going the other way. “You want to meet my new friends?”

  Chapter 25

  Mother glared at me and pursed her lips. She looked younger these days in her mid-calf-length tropical dress.

  She doesn’t look happy. I made a sad face. “Hi, Spoonie,” I said loudly.

  Mother closed the distance, her hand pressed to my lower back, and shoved me down the hall to the bathroom.

  “You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” she yelled over the music.

  “At least no one’s ass caught fire.” I wiggled my nose at her.

  She screwed up her eyes. “Throw water on your face and sober up,” she said, and stormed out of the bathroom.

  I waited until the door slammed shut, stuck my head out, and wobbled toward the kitchen, thinking briefly about kicking my heels off. I bent over at the waist, admiring my legs and how good my shoes looked, and decided they needed to stay on.

  Cook told me my family had started to arrive and he’d sent out appetizers. I grabbed a mug, filled it with black coffee, and reached in a drawer, helping myself to aspirin. I hated the idea of surrendering my buzz. I took a sip and threw the rest down the drain.

  “Everyone’s here,” Phil whispered. “You okay? You’re a fun drunk.” She patted my back.

  Phil held my hand all the way back to the bar. I watched as my family converged through the door at the same time, wondering if they’d all arrived on a bus. I wanted to go home.

  Fab glided in the door toward me. Didier hung back talking to Brad. “You look fabulous,” she said.

  I looked at her unflinching. “Are you my very best friend in the whole world, including France?”

  She squinted at me, and put her hand on my shoulder. “You know I am. Why are you drunk?”

  “Creole’s mad at me,” I said softly. “Really mad. I planned to tell him tonight what happened up north but someone beat me to it. He thinks I’m a liar.”

  “We can fix this.” She hugged me. “Look who just walked in the door.”

  Creole scanned the room, finding me, and nodded in my direction. We both met up at the entrance to the deck, staring at one another.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said, still sounding mad.

  No kiss. No hug. This day totally sucked. I walked back to the bar. “When we sit down to dinner, send another pitcher of margaritas,” I told Phil.

  Kevin showed up with a bubbly brunette with a gigantic chest, wearing six-inch stilettos that brought her eye level to him.

  “That’s Darla,” Phil said, and tossed her blond mane in the laughing woman’s direction. “She’s a favorite dancer out at the Gentlemen’s Club.”

  “How do you know this stuff?” I asked in awe. The sheriff and the stripper!

  “There isn’t much I don’t know about what goes on in the Cove, and what I don’t know I can find out in short order, for a price, money-back guarantee. Do your other snitchers offer complete customer service?”

  It shocked me that she sold information. I’d rather work with her than some low-life. “Unless you can clone yourself before you graduate law school, you can’t go anywhere. As for your new service, expect to hear from me or my manager, Mac.”

  Liam put his arms around me and kissed my cheek. “I know I’m fourteen but maybe you could tell Phil I’m twenty,” he said in my ear.

  “Have you lost your mind?” I hugged him back. “You’re going to have to wait for an older woman until you’re eighteen.”

  Everyone had drifted out to the deck and taken places around the tables. Drinks were served, and Cook had delivered food to munch on until our main dishes arrived. I slipped into the only vacant chair next to Creole. He put his arm around me and briefly played with the ends of my hair, engrossed in conversation with Didier planning a killer bike ride. I liked riding but the two of them were too competitive and it was no fun struggling to keep up.

  Brad spoke up. “So, Mother, have you been behaving yourself?”

  Would she confess her latest escapade? I doubted it, too many people knew the truth and she’d want Brad to hear a watered-down version. I refilled my glass, and flashed her an “I dare you” look, which she returned with a scowl. Although completely drunk, I managed to hold myself together, resting my hand on my chin.

  “You’ve had enough,” Creole whispered.

  “Why did you come, anyway?” I asked. “So you could sit back and ignore me, or better yet, you needed a sympathetic audience to commiserate, ‘Oh, poor Creole.’”

  “Why don’t you ask about Madison’s behavior?” Mother pouted. “She’s drunk!”

  Every pair of eyes turned on me, some amused, a couple judging; the pros able to keep their thoughts from showing.

  I flew out of my chair, sending it flying backward to the floor. “At least I went to see Brad at The Cottages and told him all about my psycho trip up north. Did you happen to mention that you got arrested?”

  “Arrested,” Brad shouted, crimson with fury.

  Everyone sat quiet and wide-eyed. Kevin checked out the distance between the table and the front door.

  “I was not arrested. If that little sissy hadn’t complained so much about his pants being on fire, they’d never have taken me in for questioning,” Mother yelled, mostly in my direction.

  “Did he die?” Brad demanded.

  “Is it too much to get some family support? It was a horrible ordeal,” Mother sniffed. “You’d think I did it on purpose.”

  Kevin leaned in Spoon’s direction. “What did you do to get your boat boarded?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Spoon said, and glared at him. “Routine inspection.”

  “When I asked you about behaving, I meant the poker room.” Brad looked around. “How many people at this table already know?”

  Creole snorted.

  I whipped around to face Creole. “We Westin women are deceitful, aren’t we Creole? You know that first-hand.”

  “I never said that.”

  “I heard you think it,” I said.

  “Sit down.” He made a grab for my arm.

  “Creole’s right. Sit down,” Mother snapped. “I knew you two getting together was a bad idea. You’re already fighting.”

  “Why not get everything out into the open?” I nudged Liam’s leg. “That way Brad can catch up, he’s always lamenting that no one ever tells him anything,” I said, and stepped up onto his chair and stood on the table. “Do I have everyone’s attention?” I wobbled.

  Brad reached his hand out. “You okay?”

  Creole stood, reaching for me, and I jumped away, knocking silverware to the floor. “You touch me and I’ll kick you.”

  He stopped, let out a short chuckle of surprise, and sat down. I’ll be damned. He’s enjoying me making an ass of myself.

  “Spoonie, do something?” Mother stared at him.

  “Good grief, Mother,” I said as I looked at the two of them. “Spoon, how old are you?” Not waiting for an answer, I said, “You let her give you a baby name?”

  Spoon didn’t contain his enjoyment of the unfolding drama; he sat ba
ck, arms folded across his chest, and winked at me.

  “You see, Mother, I didn’t get a chance to tell Creole what happened to me up north before someone else told him, and now he believes I never planned on telling him. That I broke my word and I’m a-big-fat-liar.”

  Mother’s mouth formed an O.

  “You excessively handsome, loathsome French man—you blabbed first.” I pointed to Didier in case the new guests hadn’t been introduced. “And you,” I said, turning my attention to Fab, “who just promised this afternoon that I was your best friend ever, knew he ratted me out and kept silent. Does he know you stole a motorcycle?”

  “What kind?” Liam asked.

  Julie raised her eyebrows to her hairline and shook her head in disgust.

  “Fab rescued me from the bad guys on a Vespa.” I smiled at her, making a vroom noise.

  “Hey, Kev, I know you don’t like me but I’m happy that you showed up. And thank you for coming, Marla.”

  “Darla,” she mumbled.

  I bent down in Creole’s face. “I’m replacing you.”

  I straightened and stepped back. Liam stood with his hand extended to help me. I looked over my shoulder at Creole and said, “Tomorrow I’m making calls putting out the word that I’m available.

  “Order whatever you want.” I turned up my nose at Creole and walked to the deck doors.

  “You stop right where you are,” Creole growled.

  Everyone sat silent in their chairs, not taking their eyes off the unfolding scene.

  I growled back. Damn, I will miss him.

  He caught me before I got through the doors, and no one said a word.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I shook off his hand.

  Suddenly, he bent and swept his arm under my legs to lift me into his arms and over his shoulder.

  Outraged, I kicked at him, landing my knee in his mid-section. His hand slid under my skirt and pinched hard where my bottom met my leg.

  “Fab,” I screamed. “I’ll forgive you if you bring home leftovers.” I kicked again, this time connecting with his thigh.

  He pinched the other side even harder as he stomped through the middle of the bar.

  “Ow,” I yelled.

  The bar erupted in laughter and applause.

  He practically ran across the driveway, dumped me onto the front seat of his truck, and seat-belted me in. “You try to make a run for it and I will catch you and you’ll be very sorry.”

  He climbed into the driver’s side. “What are you giggling about?”

  “A little game of chase sounds fun.”

  “When I get you home, I’ll chase you around the bed.”

  “You’ll catch me,” I sulked.

  He laughed. “Honey, listen up, I could catch you running down the street but in the bedroom I don’t have to worry about you getting hit by a car.”

  I put my feet on the dashboard. “It shouldn’t take too long to find your replacement.”

  “Not gonna happen. I believe that you’re not a liar or a promise breaker.”

  “Really?”

  “Come over here.” He pulled me closer and gave me a quick kiss. “Yes.”

  * * *

  I woke up but had a hard time opening my eyes, the sunshine streaming through the window made me groan. I clamped them shut and lay perfectly still. I rolled to the side of the bed, pulling myself to a sitting position. I shook my head, hoping the vise-like grip would lessen.

  Creole gave me a look of amusement. “You feeling okay?”

  “Why are you yelling?”

  He picked me up, set me on my feet, and led me to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes. “You’ll be feeling your tequila hangover today.” He pushed me into the shower. Even though I wanted to lie on the floor to keep the room from spinning, Creole was insistent. He stood me in the corner of the shower, face against the cool tile, and bathed me. He finished and helped me out, rubbed on body lotion, and dressed me in one of his T-shirts.

  He led me over to a bar stool and handed me a green drink. “Close your eyes. Don’t smell it, just drink, it will shorten your hangover.”

  I downed the drink, took a couple of short breaths to keep it down, and handed him back the glass—it was truly disgusting. I rested my head on the counter, willing myself not to blow the muck back up.

  I eyed him. “What are you smiling at?”

  He clapped his hands. “I enjoyed your drunken show. I couldn’t believe you drunk yourself into a stupor. When you first sat down, you kicked your foot in a manic fashion and made an assortment of irritated voices, sniffing and growling.” He laughed. “I’m so happy I got to see firsthand, it’s always better than the retelling. You spitfire.”

  He washed the glass and, over his shoulder, said, “Don’t think you’re replacing me either. I’ll put the word out, ‘Stay away.’ The first stupid one to defy me disappears and no one else will ask.”

  “My bottom still hurts,” I whined.

  “I didn’t pinch you that hard. Come over here and show me.” He held out his arms. “I’ll kiss your cheeks and give you something else to think about.”

  I buried my face in his chest. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist; he carried me into the bedroom. He did that a lot and I remarked on the fact.

  “It’s easier to keep track of you that way.” He smiled. “You’ll feel better after a nap. I’m going to keep you in my arms, make sure you don’t go anywhere but to sleep.”

  I didn’t want to admit that the room had begun to spin a little. He lay me on the bed, and I nestled against his chest and fell asleep.

  Chapter 26

  When I got home, the smell of coffee led me to the kitchen. I slipped onto a stool at the island, and my favorite brew appeared in front of me. I had a serious case of bed head, my hair sticking out in all directions; my face reddened and bristled from a rash that covered my cheeks. If asked, I’d pass it off as a food allergy and not whisker burn. Make-up sex had been intense and had me thinking an occasional argument would be a good thing.

  “I don’t understand why one of you can’t leave your telephone on,” Fab muttered. “Leftovers in the fridge.”

  “I’ve sworn off Mexican food and margaritas for a while. I hope my drunken spectacle didn’t kill my love for Tequila.” I downed half my coffee. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

  “Didier felt bad about what happened. I haven’t seen you that drunk since that time we got snockered at lunch and went shopping, and you made a loud scene in every store we went into.” She laughed. “Enjoyed the show.”

  “I remember you encouraging my obnoxious behavior during our shopping spree. Don’t tell anyone, I enjoyed purging my soul until I woke up at Creole’s feeling like a steel bar had been rammed into my head.”

  Fab turned. “Is Madeline speaking to you yet? Has she gotten over your drunkcapade?”

  “We’ve exchanged text messages. I need to go tell Mother I love her and she’s the best. She did open the game room. It was supposed to be open to the public, but so far, it’s private parties only. She’s not interested in making waves with the owner right now. We’ll take her out for a two-daughter lunch and some shopping. That should smooth the waters.”

  “You two solve more problems with food and shopping than anybody else I know. I’d never get off so easy.”

  “Do you miss your parents?”

  Fab had a strict upbringing and she rarely spoke of her family. She’d rebelled when she became an adult and they seemed to be unforgiving.

  “Not so much now that I’ve been adopted by your mother. If I went home, I’d be forced to live under their rules and prove myself as an obedient daughter, and then all would be swept under the carpet only for as long as I never defied their authority. My guess is that they’d arrange a marriage to someone suitable––code for having nothing in common with me.”

  “I need something stronger.” I stared at my empty cup. “It has to have caramel and whipped cream, with a pecan rol
l on the side.”

  “Mac called, wants you to come to The Cottages.”

  I looked Fab over before running upstairs; judging by her black ankle pants that I loved, and silk top, I’d have do better than sweat shorts and ninety-nine-cent flip-flops.

  * * *

  “We should’ve taken your car,” I told Fab as she pulled out of The Bakery Café after we chugged down lattes and wolfed down rolls. “I might throw up and don’t want to do it in here. It’s hard to get the smell out and on a hot day it whips up a fresh scent.”

  “I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Fab grimaced. She pulled on one of my curls. “You hair is falling out of the clip and not in a good way.” She studied my hair, looking amused.

  “Two signs the humidity level is wretched: my hair is bushed out and my scalp itches.”

  Fab laughed at me, not an ounce of sympathy on her face. Her long brown hair never frizzed. How unfair is that? And anti-frizz products are full of it.

  “I told Didier that if there is ever a next time that something accidently slips out, we fess up, because you would do that for one of us. I promise you he didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Poor Didier. Is he mad that I outed him in front of people?” I shook my head, feeling my cheeks turn red.

  Fab chuckled. “He feels initiated into the family. He worries you’re mad at him. I told him you’re not a grudge holder.”

  “Creole and I made up, and kept making up, so all’s good. We worked on a couple of trust issues and now we have a new system. I call or text with, ‘I’m fine.’”

  Fab pulled into the driveway of The Cottages and Mac sat in the barbeque area sunning herself. Apparently, she’d been to South Beach—she sported pink boa-feather flip-flops and matching sunglasses. The flashing lights around the lenses made me queasy.

  “It took you long enough.” Mac met us at the office.

  “Just remember who works for whom here,” I said.

  “You’re surly this morning. Still hung over from the royal ream you gave your family?” She looked at me unsympathetically. “This problem needs your expertise, sure as hell not mine.” She put her hands on her hips, sticking her double Ds out. Mac dressed in layers; she pulled her long skirt out of her shorts, ready to go back to work.