“Turns out Kingston was a little short today.”
“He’s a little short every day.”
“On cash. He was a little short on cash.”
Andy or Arnold, whatever his name is, strikes such an image. His well-groomed, sandy-brown hair is so upstanding and proper. His amazingly sincere hazel eyes are dazzling and captivating. And every last inch of him is a mirage. A hauntingly gorgeous oasis I want so badly to be true, but that has evaporated, along with all my dreams that anyone will ever live up to what I hope for.
Kingston must be his spy, his undercover agent in the pathetic surveillance he’s set up. “I don’t imagine Kingston will be much richer when management learns he let a felon into the club.”
I’m walking briskly toward the exit to the foyer when Andy steps forward and stops me with his eyes. Those gentle eyes that belie everything he personifies.
“I’m sorry, Morgan,” he says with a convincing tear. Straight out of the soap-opera playbook. He’ll be taking off his shirt for his close-up any minute now. How did I miss this the first time?
I just stare at him, blinking away my own sudden tears. Partly because I loved this man, but mostly over my own stupidity at having loved a fantasy. I can hear his words, and I know now there is not an authentic one in the whole verbal string. But here’s a question or two I’ll have when I meet my Maker: Why give this guy those eyes? And the ability to talk like that? I know I won’t be the only one with those questions. Heck, I know already I was one of two.
“You should use your powers for good, Andy Mattingly, or whatever you’re calling yourself today. How could you marry two women? How could you possibly think you’d get away with it?”
“I wanted to start fresh. I didn’t target you, Morgan. You weren’t a financial mark like they keep saying. I truly fell for you when I saw you in church that day. I was going to leave the life of crime behind me and—”
“Sing? Which is why you went to Nashville, right? Oh wait, you didn’t actually go to Nashville; you went home to your wife.”
“You said you loved music, and I wanted you to love me, Morgan. I would have learned to play the guitar.”
“Oh brother. Really, you can do better than this.”
“I would have been good for you, Morgan. I would have treated you like the queen you deserved to be.”
“You are positively pathological.” I’m trying to step around him, but he keeps forcing his way into my path.
“I’m starting fresh. Karen has applied for a divorce.” Andy/Arnold bends down and flashes me a small gold ring. “Marry me, Morgan. You married me once; marry me again.”
Out of curiosity I pick up the ring and notice the inscription within: “Karen, my love always, Arnold.”
For some reason, this strikes me as hysterically funny, and I start to laugh uproariously.
“Karen wanted you to have it to show you we have her blessing.”
Oh heavens, was I ever this stupid? “God rescued me that day, Arnold. There is nothing so beautiful as the crisp white linen of a Reno annulment, and I own one and my consummate freedom.” I let out a ragged breath. “I hear divorces are a little trickier, a little harder to come by. Good luck with that.”
I start to walk away, and then turn back. “Although, you may not want to lose Karen so quickly; she must be a saint.” I drop the ring on the floor and it clinks down the glass tile, bouncing several times before stopping in the corner. Arnold dives for the wall, and it occurs to me: Karen has no idea where he is tonight or where her ring is. My heart breaks for her. What did he tell her to get the wedding ring wrenched from her finger?
I turn completely around and face him, unbothered by his presence or his good looks. “Did you tell her you were going to buy her a bigger ring tonight?”
He physically gulps, and I guess we have our answer.
And then, as Andy bends to pick up the ring, reality twists again and I see another man walking down the hallway. He’s wearing a suit. A familiar suit. Once again, I’m face to face with George Gentry and his forest-brown, compellingly beautiful eyes. If the Lord wanted to send me a temptation, George is wrapped and ready to go. Just like a puppy in the pet store at Christmas.
My first thought is shame. Shame that he should see me with Andy as if solid proof that the tabloids have their stories right.
I pull myself together. “Is this suddenly a public health club? Because if it is, I’ve got to tell my father he’s paying way too much in dues. Clearly, they’ll let anyone in here.”
George gives that smirk of a smile and walks towards me. “If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you. I followed you here.”
“Did you give me a chance to come to you?” I look over towards Andy/Arnold. “I can’t even give you points for originality. It seems to be the method of the day, Mr. Gentry. If you were searching for originality, you missed your cue.”
“So I see.”
Andy and George make eye contact, and a flash of recognition flickers in their private, silent communication. I can only imagine what they each see, but my own imagination turns several corners. George says he’s my father’s lawyer, but the fact is he could be Andy’s criminal defense attorney, and I may have walked right into both of their plans.
In any case, Andy rushes out the door.
“Do you always have that effect on people, George?”
“The same way you attract them, Morgan, I repel them. It’s a gift.”
“What are you doing here? I refuse to believe that it’s an accident everyone has found me here tonight when I haven’t been here for two months!”
“Not that you could tell.” He lifts an eyebrow, and I turn away quickly for fear I’ll fall into another smooth talker’s trap. “I followed you from home. I’d gone to meet with your father and saw you pulling out. My car just unwittingly went after you. I just thought tonight was the time. We need to talk.”
“Talk about your private investigator skills? You seem to excel at following me.”
“It was made easy for me, Morgan. I’m not as talented as you might think.”
“You were meeting with my father?” I ask. “About what?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Is this a good time?”
“Not really, no. I came here to relax.” I open the sauna door, and he follows me in, briefcase and all. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask.
“Taking a sauna. This is what rich people do at their health clubs. You came to relax. I came to talk to you. This way, we can both accomplish our goals and everybody’s happy.”
He searches the room and then takes a bucket of water and douses the hot rocks, sending a plume of steam billowing towards the cedar ceiling. “No wonder you work out.” He looks back at me. “This is not bad. If you’re going to be in the gym, this is definitely the way to go.” He shakes his head. “It’s not for me though. I don’t like to work out with people. It’s not really a group sport for me. I like to do it in front of the news. Sit-ups calm me down, work off the day’s stress. Good for the blood pressure.”
“You’re going to ruin your suit in here.” I’m just shaking my head, unable to believe he’s sitting on a damp cedar bench in a European suit. He must be crazy, which would explain his following me.
“The suit needs to be pressed anyway. I’m saving on dry cleaning.”
“Are you going to leave, or do I have to call security?”
“By security do you mean Kingston, the little man out front that I paid twenty dollars to get in here? Morgan, you could take him.”
“You only paid twenty dollars? That’s all the security in this place is worth? You could be a serial killer for all Kingston knows!”
“Actually, if you’re going to pick from a line-up of serial killers, I’d think Kingston was more the type.”
“If it will get rid of you, I’m listening. Who are you and what do you want? There are no more sordid details to tell and really, if you’re in the bribing phase, you would have b
een better off to pay Andy for information.”
“I have all the information I need, Morgan. This meeting is for your benefit.”
“You’ve all managed to pick up on every last one of my weaknesses. I think I’ve sold all the papers I’m going to sell. I’ve run my course.”
“I really am a lawyer. Not a writer. You said I was with Time magazine and I just kept quiet. We lawyers learn how to do that in law school. It’s a skill. There’s even a biblical proverb: ‘Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and prove it.’”
I feel the sweat beading on my forehead and George removes the jacket of his suit, hanging it on the hook for the water bucket. I notice he does not refresh the steam rocks.
“What kind of name is George Gentry anyway? You’re sort of young to be a George, aren’t you?”
“I’m the fourth George Gentry.”
“I’m the first Morgan Malliard, and I’m thinking that’s going to be it. Retire the name. I’ve broken the mold.”
“Meaning you don’t want to keep your name when you marry or you don’t want to have children?”
“Both, I think. I’ve already been married, and I’d be a terrible mother. My mother was a terrible mother. I think it’s genetic.”
With a gasp, I cover my mouth with my fingers, realizing for the first time I have let my mother’s secret out to the world.
George doesn’t seem to notice. “And marriage?”
I shrug. “Well, that sort of speaks for itself, doesn’t it? I can’t seem to make it down the aisle with an official eligible husband.”
“Can you hand me that towel there?” George asks and I hand him a hand towel, which he wipes across his brow. “It’s a pity about your wedding. I saw your picture in the paper and you made a beautiful bride. Very Grace Kelly-like.”
“That’s what Lilly was going for,” I say before realizing who I am speaking to. “But the world has seen me as a bride. What’s the point now?”
“To marriage?” he asks. “I’ve heard making your friends wear bad dresses to the wedding is pretty cool. That’s what my sister said, anyway. You get to know which of your friends prefer chicken or beef, who the annoying ones are, who want vegan. And you can seat your in-laws next to relatives you hate.”
He laughs to himself, and it’s utterly charming. I feel myself smile, despite the harsh subject. I tell you, if I ever think marriage again, I’m going to think about a man who can make me laugh. Enough with the over-wrought romance.
I’m in full sweat mode when the door opens and slams us with chilled Arctic air. It’s Kingston, sticking his little shrew nose in before the beady eyes focus into the darkness and lock on me. “Julia is here, Miss Malliard.”
“Thanks,” I say, wanting to reward him with a big piece of cheese.
George is sweating through his white business shirt, and it sticks to his outlined six-pack abs. I tear my eyes away as though I’m looking at the sun, but they dart right back. Lord forgive me. I’ll say he does sit-ups.
“I’ve got a pedicure. If you’ll excuse me.” I stand up but George yanks the door shut and pulls me back down to the wooden bench.
“I came here for a purpose, Morgan, and I can’t leave until I tell you what it is. I’m your father’s lawyer.”
I let out a laugh. “No, my father has been very clear about what he thinks of you, Mr. Gentry, and lawyers in general. I hardly think he’s hired one.”
He grabs my hand and stands in front of me. Although he looks like something out of a Calvin Klein ad, his eyebrows are lowered in severity and his abs are right in front of me, so I turn away. I know better than to put myself in this situation. When I look at George Gentry, I feel my defenses starting to wear thin. I want with everything in me to trust him, but I can’t trust myself. I’ve never been right, and his mystic chocolate eyes hold too much ambiguity to make anyone comfortable. All these men following me? It’s just not right. It’s too convenient, and clearly he knew Andy. They’re probably in this together, vying for the stupid San Francisco socialite who is easily amused.
“What do you want?” I snap, pulling my hand away.
“As you know, I followed you and your friends that day to the spa. I had to know if you were as . . . naïve as they said in the papers.”
“And you found out I was.”
He puts his forefinger to my lips, and I feel the heat from his body. It has nothing to do with the rising temperatures in the sauna, and I just can’t stand myself right now. My desire to believe every man is Prince Charming is beyond infuriating.
“There’s no easy way to say this, Morgan, so I’m just going to blurt it out. Your father is being investigated for tax evasion. I have a feeling we’ll be hearing the indictments within the week.”
For a moment I don’t even think I’ve heard him correctly, and I shake the moisture from my ear. “What did you say?”
“Your father. An indictment.”
“You’re not a lawyer. There’s client privilege. You wouldn’t tell me that if you were my father’s lawyer.” I grin, satisfied that I’m not as naïve as he thinks I am.
“I’m your lawyer, too, Morgan. Your father has you as a business partner. A legal partnership. The insurance and most business accounts are in your name. You’re younger. You get lower base prices on the insurance rates and other benefits. Is any of this ringing a bell?”
I’m shocked into silence again. I breathe slowly, deliberately, and think back to all the paperwork I’ve signed over the years. Hundreds of documents, maybe even thousands. I have lived my entire life trusting people to take care of me. Every day there was something new to sign, and I never read a word of it. I just trusted my father, like I trusted every other con man in my life. Suddenly marrying Andy doesn’t feel quite so stupid as I try to deal with the notion that perhaps my father used me.
“Are you saying that I personally am being investigated for tax evasion?”
“And fraud, yes, Morgan.”
I bury my forehead in my hands, burrowing into oblivion, wishing I could disappear. Then I look up again. “You’re my lawyer?” Leave it to my dad to find the one lawyer in town who looks like a Calvin Klein billboard.
“If you retain me, yes. Your father has already done so, but you’re well within your rights to retain your own counsel if you wish. He preferred you weren’t told, and there’s no legal need until the indictments come down. But we’ve had warning, and I thought it only fair to you if I’m going to represent you. You should have the warning.”
“Are you any good?” I look at him in his sopping-wet shirt. As a GQ model, I’d hire him in a second, but a lawyer is a completely different story. I may be naïve, but something tells me a lawyer might be in my best interest. I can’t help but wonder if Daddy’s new love interest has anything to do with the word indictment.
George looks at me directly, eyes showing no sign of retreat. “I’m good.”
“Will I be poor?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Will I be like those horrible Enron men who stole from middle America?”
“I promise you won’t. That’s not what’s at stake here.”
“Will I go to jail?”
“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t.”
“You’re hired, Mr. Gentry.”
He looks at me for a beat, then slowly nods as if to himself. Suddenly he’s all business as he opens the sauna door again. “I’ll be in touch,” he says as he swings his jacket over his shoulder and carries his moist briefcase down the hallway.
I watch him walk away and think this is the first time I’ve had a legitimate worry in my lifetime. Maybe the desire to get in touch with reality was God-breathed. George suddenly turns back and faces me. He opens his mouth to speak, but shakes his head as though thinking better of it and turns again.
“George?”
He turns back towards me, and I watch as he drops his briefcase, and moves towards me slowly, but deliberately. I ca
n think of nothing else as his muscular frame approaches, and I feel myself swallow the lump in my throat. He stands before me, and I watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be your lawyer,” he says as his face comes towards mine . . . and I feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek as he stops the motion. I hear him exhale as he pulls away and I release my own puckered lips. He never touched me and I swallow my disappointment. “I’m sorry, Morgan. It won’t happen again.”
It didn’t happen now! I think to myself. He walks away from me down the tile hallway, and I think about my luck. It’s just my way to find a man with potential who legally can’t get involved with me. Worse yet, I will be paying him for the privilege.
I feel completely betrayed as I watch George disappear from view. If what he says is possible, it means my father used me, and his buying me an expensive, albeit hot, lawyer is not going to work this time. Declaring my independence from the cell block will be too late.
Julia is there to meet me as I walk the hallway, and I notice she’s handing a baby to Kingston and giving him directions.
Understanding what my unnatural desire for a pedicure at nine p.m. has wrought, I start to jog towards her. “Julia, did you come in just for me?”
“It’s not a problem, Morgan. We need the money. Diapers don’t grow on trees, you know. Robby is usually home by now, but he’s working overtime tonight.”
Julia’s precious baby girl is wearing a pink velvet sleeper and has a matching pacifier clipped to the little suit. She sleeps pleasantly.
“May I hold her a moment? I’ve never held a baby that small.” I realize that isn’t exactly invoking confidence in the mother, but she nods and hands me her bundle of joy.
“This is Shelby. She’s five weeks old.” Shelby is basically bald, but has a tuft of soft downy hair at the crown of her head. Her lips are tiny, red, and heart-shaped, and she’s making a sucking gesture though there’s nothing in her mouth. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever witnessed. As I hold her to my chest, I feel her warmth and my complete contentment and I wonder if I ever felt such peace.
“Is she always this easy?”
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