Betting on Hope (6 page)

So that was the second thing.

Then he got up and ordered breakfast, and when it came, his eggs had runny whites, even though he’d
specifically
said,
no runny whites
. And they gave him that sourdough toast again. Who could eat that crap? It was enough to make a guy puke. So he’d ordered up a new breakfast, but that took a little while, and in the meantime, his coffee got cold.

So that was the third thing.

When Baby finally showed up, shortly before noon, carrying a half-dozen shopping bags, and with a starstruck bellboy carrying another dozen, Big Julie wasn’t feeling very romantic.

“You have to see what I got!” Baby squealed as she tipped the bellboy, her smile sparkling for Big Julie alone.

“I can see you got plenty,” Big Julie groused.

The bodyguard, glancing up over the stock market quotes, thought of something he needed to do somewhere else and glided out of the room, if a man who was six-four and weighed two-thirty in the buff could be said to glide.

Baby dropped the bags on the sofa and rushed over to Big Julie, throwing her arms around him. “Don’t be mad, honey. I got everything for you. You want me to do you credit, don’t you? And you were sleeping so hard, and I know how much those late nights take out of you. I couldn’t wake you. And I got you a present. I hope you like it!”

Big Julie eyed her with disfavor. “If I’d wanted to wear out my credit cards in Vegas, I could have brought Marilyn.”

And so, of course, that was the fourth thing. Because no self-respecting Baby would let a reminder of the wife back home go unchallenged.

“Marilyn!” Baby shrieked, dropping her arms from around Big Julie’s shoulders and stomping off toward the bedroom with her shopping bags. “That’s what you want? You want
Marilyn?
Well, go ahead and call her! Get her here! You don’t spend time with me, you don’t take me nowhere, we don’t even go down to the casino or out to eat or
nothing
. And I go out to do a little shopping to kill some time while you’re sleeping so you’ll be proud of me, and now you bring
Marilyn
into it?”

Big Julie had spoken in haste. He really hadn’t meant that he would rather have brought Marilyn. Ever since his wife had discovered that Baby accepted very munificent gratuities as well as a clothing and automobile allowance to entertain her husband, which she did regularly and energetically in a condo that he’d bought for her overlooking the ninth green of the Rocky Shores Country Club golf course, there’d been trouble at home. In fact, ever since Marilyn realized that every afternoon when Big Julie went out to the country club to swing his driver he was getting a hole in one, Marilyn had added murder to her daily to-do list. Big Julie’s murder.

Not that the physical side of Big Julie’s marriage hadn’t been stale for some time. It wasn’t Marilyn’s tchotchke collection, her plastic-covered furniture, and her extra-large, frozen-from-Costco pans of lasagna that she served every Sunday at family dinners. It was Marilyn herself. That lasagna had packed on the pounds over the years, and although Big Julie liked a woman with meat, Marilyn had tried to rein herself in with the aid of industrial-strength undergarments. Her corseted figure was so rigid with elastic polymers that once when Big Julie found the courage to give one of her tits a little squeeze, there hadn’t been any give to it at all. It was like squeezing a traffic cone strapped to her chest.

In short, Big Julie quickly realized that he had nothing to gain by alienating Baby’s affections with talk about Marilyn.

“Baby,” he said, his voice placating. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

Baby stopped behind the couch and dropped her shopping bags on the cushions in front of her, planting her fisted hands on her curvaceous hips. Her chin-length, blond, curly hair was tousled, her red lips were parted, and her breasts, those glorious globes of heavenly bliss, strained against the flimsy fabric of her sundress. Suddenly Big Julie didn’t feel quite so oppressed.

“Baby, honey,” he said again. “You know that everything I have is yours. I was just missing you. Come on, now. Give me a kiss.”

He advanced to the sofa, but she backed up, her eyes stormy.

“
Marilyn,
” she said with contempt. “You told me you were getting a divorce. Let’s go to Vegas, you said. I’ll divorce Marilyn. Six weeks and it’s done, that’s what you said. We’ll get married, Baby. With flowers and a diamond ring. By an
Elvis impersonator.
Anything I want.” Baby looked enraged. “Was that all a lie?”

“Baby, you know it wasn’t. These things just take a little time,” Big Julie said, trying to sound pleading. He didn’t have to try very hard. He was feeling very urgent. Her cheeks were so flushed—her skin was so pink—he knew from enthusiastic experience how rosy those breasts looked when her skin was flushed, how her nipples stood up like sentinels on parade when she got excited, how they bounced when she was on top. If he leaped across the sofa, he could just about reach her.

“Have you even
started
the divorce?” Baby demanded, her voice rising. “Have you even
looked
for a lawyer? Because I’m telling you, Big Julie, if you’re just messing with me—”

Big Julie couldn’t wait any longer. He lunged forward, leaping over the sofa like an Olympic hurdler, unfortunately missing the top bar. His foot caught on the back of the sofa, but momentum carried him onward. As he stumbled over the top, he grasped wildly at Baby, getting a hand on her skirt and falling heavily to the floor as she staggered for balance. The dress tore in his hand, leaving him holding a ragged piece of bright cloth and showing a gaping hole at the waist where the skirt joined the bodice.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Baby shrieked, grabbing the remains of her skirt around her. “You’ve
ruined
my dress! You’re a brute! I’m going to
kill
you! And you are
never
sleeping with me again until I see a marriage license!” She grabbed her shopping bags and stomped into the bedroom, slamming the door.

Still stunned from his fall and clutching the torn piece of Baby’s sundress, Big Julie lay on the floor and watched her go. One thing he knew for sure: no elastic polymers there. Not anywhere. Nothing but bounce, front and rear, on that one.

He heard the bedroom door lock turn.

Silence settled over the suite.

Big Julie lay on the floor, waiting for his breathing to restore to normal. He was fairly comfortable, all things considered. After a second, he heard a phone ring. Then Drake, the bodyguard, stuck his head cautiously around the door.

“It’s your wife,” he said, glancing at the bedroom door. “I think you should take it.”

Big Julie sighed and rolled to his side, struggled to his hands and knees, and finally grabbed the back of the sofa to stand up.

“Not so young any more,” he said as he staggered toward the suite’s den.

Drake wisely ignored this. “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked.

Big Julie tried to get his bearings, shaking his head like a wounded bear. “Coffee?” he said. “Way past that stage. Bloody Mary. And keep ’em coming.”

“Sure thing.” Drake disappeared into the suite’s kitchen and Big Julie went into the den, collapsing on a leather sofa. He glared at the phone with its blinking light.
Marilyn.
What could she want? He’d left her with the checkbook, the family credit cards, the car, everything she could possibly want.

He picked up the phone, punched in the blinking light. “Marilyn?” he said, trying to sound cheerful and not like he’d just got his lights dimmed by leaping over a sofa after his girlfriend. “What’s going on?”

“We need to talk,” Marilyn said, triggering a sudden feeling of dread in Big Julie. “I’ve been feeling terrible ever since you left Passaic, and I know it’s all my fault. When I said I’d kill you, I didn’t mean it, Julie. I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh?” said Big Julie, wary. “That’s nice. I should be home—”

“So I’m on my way,” Marilyn said. “I’m at the airport in Chicago right now, and I’ll be in Vegas around three-thirty. Can you pick me up?”

“Unhg,” Big Julie gasped, feeling that he was taking that walk on the bottom of the ocean after all.

“I want us to be
happy
again,” Marilyn said. “Like we used to be. I’ll see you this afternoon, Julie.”

She hung up.

Drake came into the den with the Bloody Mary.

“Bad news?” he asked, glancing at Big Julie’s face as he set down the glass on a smooth leather coaster.

“Marilyn’s coming.” Big Julie grabbed the glass and took a slug of his drink. “This afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“Damn right, oh. What the hell am I going to do, Drake?”

Drake glanced out the window.
Jump
, his expression seemed to suggest.

“It’s a problem,” he agreed.

“You’re no help,” Big Julie said, fearing what might make his wife happy. The thought of having to get into bed with the flannel-nightgown-wearing, hair-curler-sprouting, face-cream-slathering Marilyn, while the ripe, luscious, soft, yielding, athletic, and best of all, naked Baby lay alone and neglected somewhere else, well, it was enough to weaken a man’s resolve, if you got the drift.

“No,” Drake agreed again. “And you have another problem, sir.”

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Big Julie said. “No more problems today.”

“Well, this is a problem you have to take care of,” Drake said. “You know how trouble comes in threes? I think problem number three is sitting in the living room.”

“Right now? In the living room right now?” Big Julie asked.

Drake nodded.

“Is it a dame?” Big Julie asked. “I am done with dames.”

“It is, ah, a dame,” Drake said.

“And you let her in because—”

“Because, remember? You got a call from Jersey last night. From Marty the Sneak. And he’s calling in his favor from last winter when he helped you with that thing in Atlantic City.”

Big Julie remembered. Remembered it all—last night, the call, Atlantic City, the thing, and Marty the Sneak. He groaned.

“So what does Marty want I should do?”

“He wants you to talk to this nice woman who is sitting in your living room right now, and listen to what she has to say, and if you can, accommodate her. Marty says he thinks you can accommodate her.”

Big Julie sighed. “Is she a looker?”

“She is indeed.”

“Dammit to hell,” Big Julie said. “I have really had it with good-looking women.” And then he went out to the living room to deal with his third problem.

Hope stood up when Big Julie entered the living room. He looked terrible. He was wearing a big, white, terry-cloth robe, he was unshaven, and his hair was a mess. He looked pasty, like he was hung over or tired and hadn’t seen the sun in any of his fifty years. He was holding a Bloody Mary, too.

This’ll be bad,
she thought.

She, on the other hand, had given a lot of thought to her appearance. Hope knew that she didn’t have her mother’s looks, but at least she had half the lucky gene pool. She was tall and blonde, and she was wearing her hair down, so Big Julie probably would like that, and her figure was decent and her features were regular bordering on pleasant. So she had that going for her, but she hadn’t been sure what to wear. She wanted to look businesslike without looking prim. She’d settled on a navy suit with a skirt and high heels and a tight, bright pink camisole that had shrunk in the wash and never been worn again until today.

She hoped that would do the trick.

“Hello, Mr. Saladino,” she said. “I’m Hope McNaughton. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Yeah,” Big Julie said, dropping into a sofa. The bathrobe gapped open over his bulk, and Hope quickly averted her eyes.

We’ve barely been
introduced,
and already I have too much information.

“Siddown, siddown,” Big Julie said irritably, readjusting his robe. “Whaddaya wanna drink?”

“Oh, thank you, nothing,” Hope said as she sat down again. She smiled, focusing on his face. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but Marty said I should explain.”

“Explain what? Drake, get her an orange juice. Or a Snapple. We got some good Snapple—lemonade, peach tea, whatever you want.”

“Um, well, plain iced tea would be good if you have it.”

“Drake, see if we got that. Okay, now explain.”

Drake glided away again.

“I understand that at your poker game a week ago, you played with Derek McNaughton, and you won a ranch from him.”

A smile lit Big Julie’s face.

“I sure did. That guy don’t quit, I gotta give him that. But he didn’t have the cards that night. You know this guy?”

“He’s my father,” Hope said.

“Oh,” Big Julie said. “Bad luck for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Hope paused while Drake brought in her iced tea, and she took a sip while he settled in a chair in the background.

“My family lives on that ranch,” Hope said.

“So what is it you would like me to do?” Big Julie said. “Assuming I can do it, or want to do it, or will do it, which is not certain yet. Because I am guessing that if you know I got the ranch, you know I got a buyer lined up. A company that specializes in destination entertainment.”