After Hours Bundle (34 page)

M
ARLY TOLD HERSELF
that she couldn't break up with the governor over the phone. And she didn't have time to drive up to Tallahassee before he arrived. And without his help, she was fresh out of Gulfstreams to commandeer.

So here it was, Thursday at 3:37 p.m. and she'd broken out in a cold sweat waiting for Mike to steer the great white whale of a limo up to the door of After Hours.

“Have some class,” Shirlie told her, snapping her gum. “Don't wait by the door like that. You're the queen.
They
are coming to
you.
”

“I don't want to make a big ruckus in here,” Marly said. “I want to be able to just slip out without anyone noticing.”

“Well, at least step back here with me so you don't look like a dog waiting for its owner outside a grocery store.”

Shirlie had a point. Marly joined her.

“Now, about the governor's package,” Shirl whispered conspiratorially.

Thank God the phone rang just then. “After Hours, may I help you?” She dealt with the caller, making an appointment with Nicky.

Marly prayed for another call, but the stupid phone refused to ring.

“So, give me the goods.” Shirlie fixed her with an avid gaze.

“Uh. You know how when you were little you pulled down your Ken doll's pants because you were curious? Well, it's like that. Nothing there. Nothing at all.” Marly returned her gaze innocently.

“No!”

You have got to be kidding me. She's actually swallowing this?
Marly nodded, keeping her face carefully blank.

“How can he not have a—? You're lying.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Shirlie frowned. “I don't know.” She thought about it. “But how can he not? How is that possible?”

Deadpan, Marly said, “I guess some people are just born without any genitalia. You know, like some babies have only three fingers, or end up a Siamese twin.”

Shirlie's eyes were as big as dinner plates. “I guess
that's
why he's never been married.”

Marly raised her hands, palms up, and shrugged. “I guess so.”

Of course, Mike chose this precise moment to pull the limo up to the curb. She dashed for the door.

“Wow,” mused Shirlie, still trying to get over the shock. “The governor has no…Hey! Wait! Then why are you dating him?”

“Power—haven't you heard it's an aphrodisiac?” Marly waved at her and let the door close. She doubled over laughing, though, and turned to watch the truth dawn on Shirl's face. She felt only a tiny pang of remorse, because it served the receptionist right for being so nosy. If
she
ever brought a boyfriend into After Hours, they were all going to rush the guy with calipers and a tape measure.

 

J
ACK'S MOTHER
was statuesque, elegant and
warm.
Marly couldn't quite absorb this last, unexpected quality, but Mrs. Hammersmith appeared to be quite genuine as she took Marly's hand, covered it with her own, and said, “Aren't you lovely, my dear. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet me.”

She almost gaped at the woman. The wife of a former senator and the mother of the governor was thanking her, Marly Fine, hairdresser, for her time?
What's wrong with this picture?

Moreover, Mrs. H. didn't blink once at her blue toenail polish or her lack of a bra or anything else. Nor did she turn a hair when Jack kissed Marly right there in the parking lot. All she did was ask, “Are you as hungry as I am?”

Marly suddenly realized that beneath all the anxiety, she was starving. So they trooped off to Benito's: Jack in his wing tips, his mother in her Ferragamo sling-backs and Marly in her rubber flip-flops.

“What about Mike?” she asked Jack. “Is he hungry?”

“I asked him, but he's got a sandwich and his scrapbooking. He came armed and dangerous with the glue-stick and everything.” Jack's eyes twinkled.

Marly greeted Benito with a kiss to the cheek and watched, amused, as the little Italian bent low over Mrs. Hammersmith's hand and just about carried Jack in a litter to their table.

Heads turned all over the room, and she was relieved that Benito put them in a private room in the back of the restaurant.

Once they were all seated, Marly buried her face in the menu, even though she knew it by heart. Okay, so the governor's mom was a nice person. But what in the hell did she say to her?

I'm so glad you're not a witch?

Your son and I had tons of fun in the whirlpool tub a few nights ago. Would you like me to share the details?

So, who brainwashed you into being a Republican?

Marly had a feeling that none of these lines would be just right.

Jack began the conversation for her, addressing his mother. “I showed her the cameo, Mom.”

Mrs. Hammersmith's hand stilled for an almost imperceptible moment. Then she continued to empty a packet of sweetener into the iced tea Benito had brought for her personally. She stirred the tea with a long spoon, which she then laid beside her plate. She met his gaze, her eyes more gray than blue. “The cameo,” she murmured. “I'd forgotten all about that.” She took a sip of her tea and then turned to Marly. “I understand now. Jack has had that locket for years, and he was always fascinated by the story behind it. When he was about twelve, he announced that one day he would do the same thing my great-grandfather did.”

Jack smiled at her.

“And now he has—the only difference being that he didn't have to leave the country or learn Italian.” Mrs. Hammersmith seemed to finish evaluating Marly in the course of another glance. “So, cheers! I think my son has made a wise choice.”

Marly started to raise her glass, but then furrowed her brow and set it down on the table again. “Ma'am…excuse me for asking, but…how can you know that? You've only just met me.”

Jack's mother nodded. “Yes. I've known you now for, what, five minutes? And during that time, you've told me far more about yourself than you realize. First, you didn't make anyone come in to get you. You came out to meet us, which was very thoughtful.

“Second, you didn't try to dress any differently than you normally do, correct? Which tells me you're secure in who you are. I like that.

“Third, you worried about Mike getting lunch. That was very kind. And you seem to have a warm, cordial relationship with the restaurant owner. I've noticed all of these things, as well as the fact that you don't use your looks. It doesn't occur to you that you could manipulate with your beauty, and you actually downplay it.”

Once again, Marly was reduced to gaping at her.

“All of which informs me that you're a very nice girl and a rare find. Shall I go on?”

“I think you're embarrassing her, Mom.” Jack touched Marly's arm lightly and then brushed his knuckles over her flushed cheek.

“All right. I'll say only one more thing. I also like the fact that you're skeptical about Jack.”

Marly unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “How do you know I'm skeptical?”

Mrs. Hammersmith smiled at her. “You reveal it in the wary way you look at him, as if you can't quite believe he's there and might disappear at any moment.”

Marly couldn't argue with that.

“I like you, young lady. But you two are going to have to make some hard decisions.” She glanced at her son. “Jack, are you running again?”

His mouth tightened. Then he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Things will be complicated. You can handle the media issues in one of two ways. Let me apologize in advance for being blunt, my dears, but either you need to lie low and not be seen in public together until after the election, or Marly is going to need a basic Step ford Wife makeover and a new job—preferably something on the campaign.”

“What?”
The four-letter word didn't even begin to express Marly's shock and distress.

Benito chose this moment to bustle in and ask them for their lunch orders, not seeming to notice the tension in the air.

They ordered salads and pasta, even though Marly had to get back to the salon in about fifteen minutes and probably wouldn't have time to eat hers.

Once he'd gone, she fixed Mrs. Hammersmith with an appalled stare. “Stepford Wife? Did I hear that correctly?”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, while his mother gazed calmly back at her. “Yes, you did. Marly, I once dressed very much like you do now. It's a casual, comfortable look, but it won't do for a political wife.”

“No offense to either of you, but
wife
is a four-letter word to me at the moment, and Jack and I have seen each other, what, four times? I think you might be jumping the gun, here. And what is this about me
quitting my job?
” Her mouth worked.

“Maybe we should order a bottle of wine and just relax and get to know each other,” Jack suggested with a big, white smile. “We can have this discussion some other time.”

“No,” said Marly. “We have opened this can of worms, and I now want to see them all wiggling on the table.”

He winced.

“Jack. I am…obviously attracted to you,” she said, casting an apologetic glance at his mother. “In fact, I'm willing to admit that I could easily fall in love with you, even though you are a Republican.” Was that a tiny snort of amusement from Mrs. H.?

“But I'm not Cinderella, and I don't even want to go to this—this—inaugural ball. I have a business, not a wicked stepmother. And I have business partners, not evil stepsisters. So I'm not interested in being rescued from my life, Prince Charming.”

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Well said.”

Marly turned to Mrs. H. “And I could have sworn you just complimented me on not changing my
look
for you. So what's with the whole makeover suggestion?”

Jack's mother sighed. “I did say there were two different options. You can lie low.”

“Why can't I just be me? What's wrong with my clothes? What's wrong with my job?”

“I like your look, dear. And your job doesn't bother me at all. But if you're in the public spotlight as Jack's girlfriend, fiancée or wife, the media won't be kind to a hairdresser with hippie tendencies. People are cruel.”

“I don't really care what they say.”

“You may not care what they say about
you.
But what about Jack and his goals? The media's attention needs to focus on him and his political platform, not on you and whether they think you're ‘right' for him or not. You need to fade into the background, like most candidates' wives. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.” And in fact, Mrs. Hammersmith did say it in the nicest possible way, without malice of any kind. But her concern was obvious.

Marly took a deep breath. “I met Jack four weeks ago. Twenty-eight days later, you are asking me to go through a reincarnation as a different person?” Her voice rose on the last two words and she turned to him. “I can't believe you'd ask that of me. I'm not a toy, a doll. I'm not a tab that you insert into a slot. I'm a human being!”

He put his hand on hers, but she jerked away. “Marly. I'm not asking you to change. I don't even want you to change.”

“But then understand,” his mother repeated, “that you will have to lie low. You will have to be careful, or you'll be facing a media maelstrom.” She clicked her French-manicured nails against her iced-tea glass, then caught herself and stopped.

God. I guess political wives aren't even allowed to fidget!

Marly pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. “I'm not the right person for you, Jack. I've tried to tell you. I'm not cut out for your kind of life.”

He leaned back, his jaw hardening. “Giving up that easily? I thought maybe you had some feelings for me. And I also thought you had more character, sweetheart.”

She paused, wanting to scream and run out of there. “I don't think this is about character,” she said quietly. “I think this is about you trying to twist me like a pretzel into something I'm not. Or keeping me swept under the rug like an embarrassment or a stain or a dust bunny.”

“You're taking this the wrong way.”

“How else am I supposed to take it?”

“Are you asking me to give up the throne, then, Wallis?” Jack steepled his hands on the tabletop. “Because that's what it amounts to.”

She knew he referred to King Edward the Eighth abdicating the throne for his divorcée love, Wallis Simpson. “Why? Why does it have to be that way? Why can't the governor just date a hairstylist if he wants to? Is that just too lowbrow, too blue-collar, for Jack Hammersmith? Because I refuse to be ashamed of what I do for a living. I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that I am working class. And your average voter isn't sitting on a gigantic trust fund, either. So maybe dating a
peasant
could work in your favor!”