by Kate Merrill
Sure enough, in the glare of the security lamp, she saw Darryl slumped over drunk on the passenger side, while Floyd staggered grinning towards the door. Sweet Jesus, he was coming for her like he done so many times before! She lunged to the foot of the bed and slammed the deadbolt home, just like Darryl showed her. She crawled into a fetal position and pulled the sheet up over her head, and the shrunken apple doll was a lump of bitter coal pressed to her heart.
FIVE
The subject was men…
The wipers on Diana’s new white Crown Victoria struggled with sheets of rain as she made yet another wrong turn. The blur of oncoming traffic was confusing as city traffic sped through the night. All the other drivers seemed to know precisely where they were going, but she was convinced that every street sign in Charlotte had been deliberately designed to leave visitors spinning in a hopeless maze. Back in Pennsylvania, whenever friends tempted her to enter Philadelphia after dark, she had hitched a ride with someone less directionally challenged, so why on earth had she accepted Liz’s invitation tonight?
As her windshield cleared, Diana offered up a prayer of thanks at South End Brewery, her final destination. She pulled into the parking lot without mishap and spotted her friend’s Honda parked near the restaurant door. As she switched all systems off and sank into the blue leather upholstery, she wondered again, why did I come?
Well, her new car, which she’d nicknamed Queen Vic, was part of the reason. It was fully loaded with options she’d never have chosen for herself, but Liz had arranged for her to lease it at a time when Diana was incapable of making decisions. It had been a combination get well and get on with it gesture, one of many reasons she adored Liz.
They had both lost their jobs when Crawford Realty closed, but during the six months they’d worked together, through horrible misadventures, the young woman had become Diana’s dearest friend.
As though summoned by that warm thought, a vision topped by a blaze of red hair appeared in the misty gaslight glow at the brewery entrance. As Liz waved with huge exuberance, Diana scampered through the rain, oblivious to a nagging headache, and embraced the woman.
“Whoa, girlfriend!” Liz extricated herself from the soggy hug. Her jade silk tank top exactly matched her wide eyes. “Love ya back, but I saw you only ten minutes ago.”
True, they had just attended their Broker’s licensing class together, but the harrowing drive had given Diana a fresh appreciation for those she held dear. “Ten minutes on these slippery roads feels like a near-death experience.”
“Tell me about it!” Liz captured her arm and guided her into a cavernous room dominated by a gleaming circular bar. “C’mon, I’ve saved us an awesome table.”
A crowd of young singles had gathered to check out the Tuesday night action. As they jostled through groups of hopeful junior executives and computer programmers, Diana was glad Liz was a take-charge kind of gal, because this was definitely not her scene.
Liz wore tight jeans and platform shoes, and as they slid into their chairs, Diana noticed her green eyes sweeping the male prospects. Since her breakup with Danny, a sweet guy Diana really liked, Liz had become a woman on the prowl.
“Toldyou this place was hot.” Liz signaled for a waitress.
“Do they serve anything besides beer?”
Both Liz and the gum-chewing waitress, clearly a freshman at nearby Queen’s College, snickered at Diana’s question.
“This place is all about beer, Diana. They brew it on location. Relax. I’ll order for both of us…”
Diana could almost feel the yeast and sugar attacking her headache, but she listened without protest as Liz chose artichoke chicken pasta and two Carolina Blonds. Diana eased into the atmosphere, swallowed two aspirins, and determined to be a good sport.
“Lighten up, Diana…” Liz’s eyes ceased roving. “After three hours in that stuffy old classroom, we need to chill. Am I right?”
Diana smiled and toasted with her icy brew. After losing their jobs, Liz and she had teamed up. Instead of going back to work for someone else, they decided to get their Broker’s-In-Charge licenses and start their own company. They enrolled at Central Piedmont Community College, and by August, if they passed the exam, they intended to write their own ticket to success.
“Here’s to us, Diana!” Liz returned the toast. “When we open our office, McCorkle and Rittenhouse, we’ll kick butt!”
“Don’t you mean Rittenhouse and McCorkle?” Diana winked.
“Whatever. More important, how do you like our new teacher, Miles Lawton? What a hunk!”
It never failed. After five minutes of conversation with Liz, the subject was men. “Hunk? That man’s old enough to be your father.”
“So what? Don’t you love his British accent? He sounds just like Sting.”
“Well, he is English.” Obviously they didn’t see eye to eye about Miles Lawton. The man spent a fortune on his wardrobe, laid claim to the wealthiest clients, and said he was only teaching a lowly night school class in order to find talented closers. He always managed to corner Diana in the hallway, offering unsolicited facts about his personal life, stressing that he was divorced and available.
She had to admit the man was attractive, but he was coiled way too tight. He had a wiry, compact build and close-cropped silver hair. His blue eyes were intensely personal behind rimless glasses and peered out from under improbably bushy black eyebrows. His fake upper-crusty British accent was coupled with a high-powered New York attitude. And most disturbing of all--- Miles bore an uncanny resemblance to Diana’s abusive ex-husband, Robert Rittenhouse.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Diana,” Liz continued. “If you aren’t interested, why not shove him my way?”
Diana’s cheeks burned. In fact, Miles had made carefully couched advances. He had offered to hire her on a temporary basis, provide her with a few, badly needed clients. He sensed Diana was desperate for cash. That approach was far more dangerous than simply asking for a date.
“Miles Lawton is not my type,” Diana muttered.
“Who is?” Liz grinned wickedly. “Matthew Troutman?”
Suddenly Diana’s mind drifted back to last Saturday, a bouquet of wild violets, and the feel of Matthew’s warm hands on her cool arms. He had called her this evening just before class, and they made a date to take little Juan McCord fishing. Matthew had cleared the adventure with Juanita, and while Diana did hate the idea of worms on hooks, she finally agreed
She realized Liz had known Matthew since she was a little girl. He used to give her free ice cream when she visited his general store, Trout’s Place, up on River Highway. Indeed, Liz was a huge Matthew fan, so she had been encouraging their relationship for almost a year.
“Make up your mind, Liz. Miles or Matthew? They can’t both be right for me.”
Liz blinked in confusion, trying to compare a pompous Englishman to an unpretentious country shopkeeper. Suddenly she stopped blinking and stared at the entrance to the restaurant, her glass of beer poised midair. “Don’t look now, because Miles just walked through the door, Diana.”
Diana spotted the energetic man, briefcase in hand, intense blue eyes flickering behind rimless glasses, surveying the field like a bird of prey. She groaned aloud.
“And watch out,” Liz said. “He’s heading straight for our table…”
&nb
sp;
SIX
The wrong date…
The morning after clubbing with Liz, Diana took a shower to wash the stench of cigarette smoke from her hair, but the pulsing water didn’t calm her nerves. She dried her short white hair, slathered her body with stress relief moisturizing lotion---as if lavender, chamomile, and yiang-yiang would do any good. Finally, she selected her best silver and turquoise jewelry to accentuate her eyes. She figured she looked okay in her cream silk dress, yet she felt like a teenager on the way to her first prom---with the wrong date.
Later, as she parked her humble Ford amongst the Mercedes, Jaguars, and even a Rolls Royce, at the prestigious Peninsula Club, she realized she’d been out of the dating game way too long. After her divorce, well-meaning friends back in Pennsylvania had tried to hook her up with eligible men, but the results, while not disastrous, were bland at best.
As she strolled up the walkway, through manicured gardens leading to the club, she noticed the heady scent of money. She smelled the golf course and the yacht club, those odors of privilege that once defined her world. Her divorce from Robert had ended all that, but as time passed, an odd thing happened--- the trappings of wealth lost their sweet fragrance and began to stink.
That fact buoyed her confidence. She sensed new grace and purpose in her stride, so that even the sight of Miles Lawton waiting at the door failed to put her off. He was groomed to perfection in a white nautical blazer and pleated navy trousers. From his silver hair to the tassels on his loafers, Miles reeked of money. So much so, that Diana laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” He took possession of her arm. “You look lovely tonight, Diana.”
She found herself picturing Matthew in a tee shirt and old jeans, sitting alone in his gazebo by the lake, sharing his picnic supper with the fish.
“I have a regular table by the window,” Miles explained in his clipped British accent. Waiters parted like the Red Sea as he guided her through the dining room. “Here we are--- the best view of the lake and the golf course.”
“Are you a member?” She attempted to sound duly impressed.
“But of course…” he answered, as if to say isn’t everyone? “And if my Charlotte office continues to prosper, I’ll open a branch up here and move to Lake Norman.”
Miles was off and running, reciting a litany of his real estate coups, while Diana’s mind wandered. His monologue continued through the ordering of drinks and ceased only when a tall young man in a tan, custom-tailored suit approached their table. The man was excessively dark and handsome, like a Hollywood Mafia idol. He stood behind Miles’ chair and winked at her.
“Is Lawton boring you to death?” the stranger asked.
Miles nearly choked on his martini olive. He tangled with the leg of his chair as he jumped to his feet. “Oh, John, I didn’t see you standing there…” He extended his hand. “Jolly glad you could make it. This is Diana Rittenhouse, the lady I was telling you about. Diana, this is our client, John Sorvino.”
“I’m not your client yet.” Sorvino shook Miles’ hand.
Diana recognized his accent immediately. “What part of New Jersey are you from?”
John Sorvino’s smile was dazzlingly white. “Camden. Miles tells me you are from Philly, right across the river?”
As they exchange hometown pleasantries, Diana noticed that John’s hands were smooth and tanned, with polished, manicured nails and a showy diamond ring on his pinky finger. She decided he was an Italian ghetto kid who had made good. As dinner progresses, she learned he attended the University of Pennsylvania, and then graduated from Wharton Business School.
“John’s credentials are impressive, eh, Diana?” Miles fawned. “And now he’s the CEO of Commercial Finance at Bank of America.”
She studied their prospective client in silence. Last night at the singles bar, she had seen young men who were trying to claw their way to a top position like Sorvino’s. Charlotte was a banking town, and everyone wanted a piece of the golden pie.
“My wife, Brenda, is a Main Line girl, just like you, Diana,” Sorvino said. “She studied Interior Design at Moore College of Art.”
Diana had never been a Main Line girl, nor had she wanted to be one. No doubt Brenda, with her prestigious pedigree, was another prize for Sorvino’s trophy case. Miles and Sorvino deserved one another---the pandering toad and the cocky rooster. She hoped they’d live happily ever after.
“You and Brenda will be great friends.” Sorvino’s dark eyes flickered in her direction. “She gets lonesome for Pennsylvania, you know? She misses the city….”
What did he want from her? Praise? Approval? A playmate for his pampered wife? She sensed Miles had chosen her to be another Main Line trophy for Sorvino, a real estate agent who would do his bidding and stroke his ego. If either man believed this, he had another think coming.
At the same time, she sensed insecurity in John Sorvino. Like many self-made men, perhaps he had been too successful, too soon? If she could peel away his mask, maybe she’d find a real human being?
They finished their meal, and Miles signed the tab. As they exited into the dark summer night, on the way to the Sorvino home, a nasty thought occurred to Diana. She was no better than these men, maybe worse. After all, why she here? She was out of work, her savings dwindling, worrying about the next mortgage payment, and she’d do almost anything to make that worry go away. She was ready to compromise for money. Was she also willing to climb off her sanctimonious high horse?
Absolutely.
SEVEN
The smell of money…
“You’ve been to our house before, Miles.” Sorvino stepped between them in the parking lot. “No need for you to tag along this time.”
“But I’m with Diana…” Miles blustered.
“You came in separate cars, and to be honest, I’d like Diana’s opinion of the value of our property before she hears your input.”
It was the old divide and conquer routine. Diana almost felt sorry as Miles blushed, then spread his hands in resignation. Sorvino’s approach was rude beyond belief, but she got the feeling he was a man who stepped on many toes.
In the end, Miles’ bottle green Jaguar turned right at the country club exit, heading back to Charlotte, while Sorvino’s silver BMW went left, leading Diana deeper into an exclusive neighborhood called The Peninsula.
The neighborhood was a Realtor’s dream, with million dollar mansions sprouting like brick mushrooms all along the lake. The homes extended through golf club communities on either side of Jetton Parkway. Soon the crape myrtles marching up this median would burst into glorious raspberry bloom, but all Diana noticed was the smell of money.
Sorvino curved through a maze of streets with names like Flying Jib, Mainsail,
and Yacht Club Lane. Eventually they pulled into a meticulously landscaped circular driveway at her new client’s pseudo-Tudor home. Sorvino helped her from her car, then hesitated momentarily outside the pretentious façade, allowing Diana to take it all in. “Come meet the family,” he said, once she seemed sufficiently impressed.
The moment they entered the spacious foyer, Diana began taking mental notes, which she then translated to market value. She had run the comps in advance. After pulling up Sorvino’s property from the tax records database, she had compared it to recent sold homes in his neighborhood. In short, she had done her homework in advance, so she had a ballpark asking price in mind. Yet there was no substitute for seeing the property in person.
The foyer opened into a soaring, double-vaulted great room. The open floor plan, tastefully appointed with imported tile and bleached hardwood, was exactly as she had anticipated. Gleaming white archways gave way to the dining room and gourmet kitchen to her right, while an enormous fireplace and media room lead to the master suite and a child’s playroom on her left. A grand staircase circled upward to a balcony and guest rooms, so that the total effect was airy, elegant, and ideal---for at least two large families.
“Well?” Sorvino crossed his arms, a smooth, half-smile curving in his tan face.
“It’s lovely. Priced right, it should move fast.”
He clapped her on the shoulder. “But first I’ll give you the grand tour, so you can come up with a price we both like.”
As she followed from room to room, she heard new age music playing in the distance and expected John Sorvino’s family to appear. Judging from the abundance of expensive toys--- miniature camping gear, a plastic machine gun, and a child-size computer, the couple had at least one kid.
“Is Bank of America transferring you?” she asked.
“No, we’re building bigger and better one block from here. I bought a point lot on the lake, where the Main Channel view is breath taking.” Sorvino seemed irritated as he glanced down a hallway. “Where the hell are you, Brenda?” he called out. “The real estate woman is here. I told youshe was coming.”