“You do?” Felicity said. Her voice snapped with hostility. Rocco thought Mr. Dingwerth noticed it, but just as easily, chose to ignore it. “You know,” Felicity continued, “I wish you had come home sooner, sir. We barely made it in time. One of these days…”
“So they say, dear,” Giles said. “You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep. I know I will. Rocco, could you bring the car around?”
Rocco welcomed the opportunity to excuse himself from the confrontation, but he couldn’t erase the negative vibes between Felicity and Mr. Dingwerth from his mind. In his bewildered, bedraggled state, he reasoned, he could be imagining anything. Probably was. Still, when he guided the Mercedes up to the curb of the hospital, he noticed the pair stood a chilly distance apart, certainly not conducive to a friendly conversation. Something told him it was time to open his eyes and ears.
The ride home proved tense, despite the unanimous fatigue. Few words were exchanged; Mr. Dingwerth occupied the passenger seat, Felicity the back. On the horizon, dawn threatened to break. When they approached the massive front gates emblazoned with the golden-gilt “D’s”, Felicity popped the question. “Mr. Dingwerth, where were you when I called tonight?”
Mr. Dingwerth started at the sudden question—his shoulders and neck jerked backwards, and his eyes had the telltale panicked stare—and Rocco wondered if Felicity had noticed the same thing. No matter. His response revealed all. “Why, I was out searching for Daniel, as Mrs. Dingwerth requested.”
“But, we needed you. Why didn’t you come home?”
“Felicity, I’ve had about enough annoyance tonight, don’t you think? I didn’t come home because I was searching for someone.”
“Did you find them?”
“Why yes, yes I did.”
Felicity folded her calloused hands in her lap for a second, just before she glanced at the massive house. A light frost coated the expansive lawn. “I thought so,” was all she said.
Without a word, Rocco hustled to open the front passenger door.
Leila couldn’t sleep. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes cracked to view the time on the bedside alarm clock. Four thirty. What was bothering her? She punched the limp pillow into a ball and plopped her head into the feathery lump. Lots of things, she decided. First, there was Carlos. Before this trip to Missouri, he never bothered her so much. She should divorce him, but divorce in Venezuela, well, it was messy, it was against her religion, and she considered it, well, incompatible with her social standing. Besides, there was no need. That is, until now. What had changed?
She lay on her back and studied the ceiling fan. She was tempted to light a cigarette, but didn’t. What was wrong with her? Until yesterday, she’d had a cool control over the men in her life, kind of like pieces in a game of chess. What she was feeling now was a confusing mix of detachment, tolerance and passion—yes, passion.
The detachment made her feel grounded. This was her, Leila Bolivar, distant, controlled and controlling. The tolerance, well, she recognized that, and, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like to admit she would tolerate a man like Giles Dingwerth for…what? For money, prestige, pretty perks of the position, she supposed. In some people’s eyes, she supposed, that made her a prostitute—but, not in her own. In her viewpoint, she was simply doing what many women all over the world did every day, including the Junebug. Were those women prostitutes?
She sat up in bed and reached for her cigarettes. She simply had to have one. She blew a puff of smoke into the stuffy air. What bothered her so much?
She didn’t recognize it, and yet, she craved it. The passion blind-sided her. The smoldering desire, the obsession she felt for a man she barely knew, this was not like her. The sleek young man with his dazzling smile had resurrected a side of her that she didn’t know she had. Thinking of him like this, she ached to see him. When? She hadn’t arranged that critical detail before he left. She would do that now.
No matter that it was only 6:04 a.m. Leila would call his cell phone and leave a message, that’s what she would do. Not on the hotel phone, of course. Nothing could ever be traced to Room 1204 that way. Leila stood poised at the narrow window, her cell phone pressed to her ear. She watched a fly scamper across the dusty sill. The gray dawn peeked through the clouds.
Four rings, and she would leave her message. For a moment, she thought she heard footsteps outside her door. But her attention was soon riveted on her pending phone call. What? Who had just answered the phone?
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “Who is this?” the voice screeched.
Leila had not expected this response. Had she dialed the wrong number? No, she didn’t think so. “Daniel Hunter?” she said. “Is he there?”
“Yes, he is. This is his wife. Who is this?”
His wife? Daniel Hunter’s wife? It must be The Bunny. The fly buzzed in circles around the whirring ceiling fan.
“Who is this?” the voice repeated, louder this time.
“Wrong number,” Leila said. “Very sorry.”
The blades of the fan smashed the fly.
Leila hung up in haste, and took a deep breath. There was no time to contemplate her newfound knowledge. The bedside telephone was ringing—what an annoying brrring it made. She picked up the receiver just to end it. Yet, the annoyance had only just begun.
“Hello?” she said.
“Leila, darling,” Giles said, “when can I see you?”
Bunny lounged in her pink chenille bathrobe, trying to read the front page of the newspaper while she ate. In a way, she hated to distance herself from the marshmallow shapes that floated in her cereal bowl, but…it was really the only way she could stand to read the news. Daddy always advised her to keep up with current affairs. She sighed and tucked one foot under her tanned body. She tried so hard to expand her mind—really.
Yet, in some things, she felt she was light years ahead of her more intellectual friends. Take last night, for example. She knew Danny was lying to her then, just as he fibbed to her this morning before he left the house. Of course he was cheating on her. Did he think she was stupid? One thing bothered her. As much as Bunny hated to admit it, the woman’s voice on the phone this morning didn’t sound like the redhead. She gasped, and set her spoon down besides her half-empty cereal bowl. Could Danny have two girlfriends? Was it possible?
How she wished she could call Mommy. Mommy wouldn’t want to hear anything bad about Danny, though. She always took his side, and Bunny never understood her reasons. That settled it. She would just have to call Daddy. Glancing down at the wilting cereal floating in the blue-grey tinged milk, she sighed and padded over to the white wall phone in her fuzzy pink slippers. She was about to hang up when finally, her father’s secretary picked up the phone.
“Dingwerth Distinctive Designs,” the woman groaned.
“I already know that, silly,” Bunny giggled. “Is Daddy there?”
“Who is this?”
Bunny thrust her firm hip to one side and jabbed one manicured hand into her narrow waist. Who did she think it was? “It’s Bunny! Is Daddy there?”
It was the secretary’s turn to giggle. “Uh, okay. Bunny for Daddy.”
Bunny studied the remains of the soggy Lucky Charms in her cereal bowl, now floating in completely discolored milk. Ever since the marshmallow shapes and colors had changed, Lucky Charms tasted, well, different. If Bunny Dingwerth knew anything well, she knew the shapes and colors of her marshmallow Lucky Charms. When she was a little girl, for example, there had been yellow moons, pink hearts and green four leaf clovers. The milk used to turn pink. That, in Bunny’s opinion, was normal. Finally, she heard a click on the line.
“Giles Dingwerth.”
Again, Bunny giggled. “I already knew that.”
“Bunny? Sweetheart, is something wrong?”
“No, Daddy. Well, really, I don’t know. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Can it wait, honey? I’m trying to meet a deadline right now. Later tonight we could—”
“No, Daddy. I need to know right now.”
“What is that, Bunnykins? Ask me anything. Anything at all. Just ask away. Quickly, please.”
“How can I tell, I mean for sure, if Danny’s cheating on me? What is that noise? Are you alright?”
“Bunny, uh, why don’t you ask your mother? She—”
“Daddy, you know why. Mommy’s in a coma.”
“Oh, right. Right.” There was a pause, then… “I should have remembered that. The truth is, sweetheart, you can’t. Some men are very good at hiding this sort of thing, you know.”
“Well, I know he’s interested in that nuisance reporter with the red hair. Kind of looks like a scarecrow, doesn’t she?”
“What? Well, we’ll put a stop to this, honey. You just leave it all to me. Now, if that’s all—”
“Wait, Daddy. It’s not.”
“You just told me all I need to know.”
“No. I didn’t. A woman called Danny on his cell phone this morning, early. Like, six thirty or something like that.”
“Six thirty?”
“Yes! And after the night he had, too. But, she didn’t sound like the redhead. She sounded Spanish or Mexican, I don’t know which. They’re the same, aren’t they?”
“They’re not at all the same, Bunns.” Again, a pause lapsed. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”
“I said, she sounded, hmmm, okay I’ll say…Spanish, how’s that? Daddy, are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Well, what did she say?”
“I don’t know. I would ask Mommy what to do, but well, she’s in a coma.”
“No, Bunny, no. It’s better you asked me. Especially under the circumstances.”
“You mean Mommy’s coma?”
“No, I mean…yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Bunny, tell me the truth. Have you told anyone else about this phone call-anyone but me?”
“No, Daddy. No one.”
“Good. You just leave it to me. No one else needs to know a thing.”
“O-okay. You won’t hurt Danny, will you?”
“I don’t know,” Giles said.
Brock shook his tousled hair and studied his graying blond locks in the half-length mirror. Lowlights, highlights—so many choices out there, really. He needed dimension, that’s what he needed. After all, he thought, while his tapered fingers combed through his layered cut, these days, he was all about change. Why, he’d dropped nearly eight pounds, he was drinking regular coffee again, listening to the Eagles—can you believe it?—and then, there was his boldest, most adventurous move, his new life with divorcee Angela Hart. He’d even frightened himself with that decision. Even now, he wasn’t sure that he’d done the right thing. He missed Marc dreadfully. There, he admitted it, okay?
He missed the way they used to order Chinese and watch reruns of old I Love Lucy and Gilligan’s Island shows. Angela didn’t want to do that. Angela wanted Brock to style her hair at least once a day, sometimes twice, and reassure her of her amazing, eternal beauty. This, Brock could do. What Brock couldn’t do, he decided, was mean what he said. STRESSED to the MAX—incidentally, the name of his newest hair spray—well, he couldn’t have described the any situation better. One peek at the word “stress” in his mental dictionary revealed Angela’s name in bold letters.
“How’s my favorite gossip junkie?”
A gust of icy air blustered into the salon. Oh jeepers, thought Brock. After the weekend he’d had, he’d completely forgotten. Well, his own personal highlights would have to wait. Penny Brown, first appointment of the day, had just arrived. He spritzed his hair with a burst of hairspray, just before she flopped into his vinyl chair. Though they were alone in the shop, he leaned down and whispered, “It’s been wild, Brown, trust me. And oh, uh, I’m not with Marc anymore.” In the mirror straight ahead, Brock watched Penny’s hazel eyes widen.
“But, why? You were the perfect couple!”
Again, Brock combed through his locks, this time with trembling fingers. His voice remained a hushed whisper. “I’ve changed completely, Brown. I’m with Angela Hart now.”
Penny scowled, and glanced around the empty salon. “Brock, why are we whispering? Anyway, I don’t believe you. It’s your business, but Angela Hart is a scheming shrew, a phony, plastic wannabe, a… Oh, I get it, did she promise you something? It’s money, isn’t it?”
Brock sniffed. “I can’t be bought.”
“Everyone has a price.”
“Not me. I’m simply reinventing myself, Brown.”
“What was so wrong with you before? I liked you, Marc certainly liked you, and gobs of your clients liked you enough to help you build a successful business. I mean, take a look at this place. Why mess with success?”
Brock’s shoulders slumped in weary resignation. He wasn’t sure he could explain his metamorphosis, because in truth, he didn’t understand it himself. “It’s like this. I’m tired.”
“You’re tired? Tired of what?”
Brock’s thin lips curved into a wan half-smile. “I’m tired of the whole struggle. Everyday. People treating me like I’m a freak the second they suspect I’m gay. I’m tired, Brown! I’m tired of trying to convince other people that I want the same things for my life that they want. You bet I’m tired. But, that’s all going to change now. I’ll just be straight, and I won’t have to put up with their attitude.”
“Oh, I get it. You think that you won’t get tired trying to be something you’re not.”
“That was mean.”
“Okay, Brock, it’s your business. Just work your magic on this mane of mine. But, I’ll say it again. I liked you the way you were. And just one more thing. I think you’ll find that life with Angela Hart is going to be nothing but a struggle that makes you nothing but tired.”
“It’s worth a try, because I’m already worn out. You know what else? Maybe there’s another side to me, you know?”
Penny settled into the vinyl chair and closed her eyes. “You don’t need one, Brock.”
“We’ll see, Brown. We’ll see.”
Ten
“This cereal tastes funny.” Bunny scrunched up her perky nose and stared across the breakfast table, where Dan slouched in hung over silence. A mug of lukewarm hot chocolate sat before him, untouched. Even in his weakened condition, however, he knew he was required to say something. It didn’t really matter what; he knew that, too.
“Bunny, of course it tastes funny. Lucky Charms do that.” Dan covered his pallid face with his hand. It was almost painful to watch a grown woman poke at a cereal bowl brimming with blue marshmallow moons and pink hearts, not to mention soggy green leprechaun hats. Had they discussed this ritual before the memorable mega wedding? Dan couldn’t remember now. He didn’t think so. How could he have known it would be The Thing that drove him to distraction every single morning?
Now, she dangled a spoonful of limp oat cereal and blue tinged milk beneath his congested nose. Thank God for small favors. “Here,” she said, “you taste this.”
“No, Bunny. I can’t even look at food this morning.”
“Well, it’s your own fault.” Bunny shoved the mess into her own mouth and swallowed, wincing. A dribble of violet-blue milk dribbled down her chin. “Daddy searched and searched for you last night, you know. Which reminds me, where were you yesterday afternoon?”
Dan coughed. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I was at work. Where else would I be?”
Bunny flung her empty spoon across the table. “Liar! Daddy told me you weren’t at work. Besides, I already knew it. Penny and Candy saw you at the club yesterday afternoon, talking on your cell phone.” Her green eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You were with that redheaded reporter, weren’t you?”
Dan raised his head. “What? That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
“You’re such a liar. Don’t you think I know something’s going on?”
“You’re crazy!”
“Am
I? Let this crazy woman remind you of one thing, Danny Hunter. All of this,” she said, gesturing to the sumptuous surroundings, “belongs to us because of me. Me and my Daddy. We let you have some because you make us happy. Remember that, ’kay?”
Dan got up and sighed. He had a tornado spinning in his head right now. Of one thing he was absolutely certain. He had to get out of this marriage, one way or another. But how? Divorce? He guessed it was looming on his horizon. He would lose everything. The Dingwerths would ruin him and everything he’d ever worked for unless, unless…
His weary gaze lingered on the half eaten bowl of Lucky Charms. Slowly, the seed burrowed itself deep in his drowsy brain. Maybe, just maybe, he was onto something.
Funny tasting, huh?
Leila wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Here she was, rushing to get to her 9 a.m. photo shoot, and she couldn’t think straight. There had been a time when she’d thought her arrangement with Giles was perfect, at least for her present needs. Maybe even future wants, who knew? In a flash, she reminded herself. She’d felt exactly the same way about Carlos in the beginning, hadn’t she? Where had those ardent feelings gone? The buried memories refreshed, it was hard to apply her eyeshadow. Damn Carlos. With all these distractions, she couldn’t even stand to look herself in the mirror.
One thing was certain. She had to have Dan Hunter in her life. The question was, what to do about Giles Dingwerth? Until Dan, she hadn’t really thought about doing anything about him, but now…well, he was becoming more demanding, more controlling, and way too restrictive of her personal time. And that meant less time with Dan.
Like that phone call just now. She supposed that was when she realized she resented Giles’ impositions. Still, there were the extras he provided. She admired the new sapphire ring on her right ring finger, her latest Giles Gift. It glistened, like Leila herself, even in the dim lights of the hotel room. She glanced at the sidewalk beneath her room.
Just as she had suspected, Rocco parked at the curb in the Mercedes, waiting for her. She would think more about her dilemma on the way to work. One thing was certain. With the three lovers—Carlos, Giles and Dan—in her life, one would simply have to go. Still, she would have to carefully consider the implications of her next move. With Carlos, she enjoyed security and respectability, Giles provided luxurious wealth, and with Dan, she had unearthed a passion she hadn’t imagined she could feel for any man—until Daniel Hunter.
Crazy for You Page 7