Crazy Love (16 page)

As I gaped at the exchange, I felt two arms wrap around my chest.

“They say you can tell what a man’s like in bed by how he leads,” Jenny whispered in my ear from behind. Then she spun me toward her and pulled me onto the dance floor by my lapels.

I tried not to fidget as I watched Sam’s mother throw a girl at him as if he were a wrathful volcano and she a virgin sacrifice. Witnessing his enthusiasm as he kissed the hand of Princess Nosejob caused prickly needles throughout my entire upper body. This sensation was so fierce and unexpected, I wondered if my hair was visibly standing on end. Imagine my astonishment when I realized I was jealous. And we’re not talking just a bit of envy. Oh, no. Neon green jealousy of a magnitude I hadn’t felt since I was in high school.

Sure, I’d been jealous of the kids whose back-to-school clothes weren’t from garage sales or Goodwill. And of those whose parents showed up to teacher’s conferences or remembered to pick them up after school. But I’d only felt that way about a boy once before in my life. And to say that it ended badly was the understatement of the century.

I had just turned 16, and my mom was long gone by then. We’d moved in with my grandparents, and though I went to therapy twice a week, I acted up constantly—not coming home on the weekends, cutting class and taking a bus back to my hometown to hang with my friends. My grandma claims I was simply “high spirited.” I now understand I was craving attention and approval from someone…anyone. And I didn’t have to look far to get it.

I thought Nick was a kindred spirit and mistakenly assumed he was as damaged and screwed up as me. Of course it was all costuming, but by the time I figured that out, I was in a locked ward on a seventy-two-hour hold. I became so infatuated with his shaggy black Goth hair and sullen demeanor that within a month of knowing him, I let him tattoo me and take my virginity. It only took him two clumsy times in the back of his car to knock me up. My grandparents were so disappointed, but his parents were furious. When I insisted on keeping the baby, Mr. Perfect stood right beside me in total agreement. It was all so romantic, like a pierced Romeo and Juliet.

A month later when the cramping and heavy bleeding started, I kind of fell apart. Not everyone was as distraught; Nick’s mother actually jumped up and down and clapped her hands when the doctor told them there was no longer a heartbeat. While his family celebrated outside in the hall, I sat alone in my hospital bed crying for my dead baby. After a quickie D&C, the doctor said I’d “dodged a bullet” and pretty much shoved me out the door. Three days later, Nick dumped me over the phone. He didn’t love me anymore and wasn’t sure he ever did. My friend Ashley called to say he’d started seeing someone else a week after that. After hanging up with her, I locked myself in the bathroom and downed a couple of bottles of pills.

I was startled out of my morose trip down memory lane by Sam’s new friend shouting ‘damn good dog!’ Trip and I exchanged wide-eyed, amused looks, and I was suddenly a lot less concerned about Sam running off with her to Atlantic City.

“Tri-Delts.
Everyone
else has,” Trip whispered. I was so busy trying to stifle a hysterical giggling fit that I was completely caught off guard when Trip’s mother cleared her throat. I spun around to see Sam and Nosejob vanishing onto the dance floor, and Mrs. Beaumont gazing expectantly at us. The statuesque woman swept me with an icy glance, and I instantly felt underdressed. I figured she was in her early fifties, but she wore her age like a champ. Her hair was a youthful shade of light brown, and her elegant poise commanded admiration. I had to beat back the urge to curtsy.

“Well, Trip? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your
friend
?” As she spoke the last word through gritted teeth, she turned to me and surveyed me like a tract of land. Blinking rapidly, she looked as if she hoped I was an optical illusion and I just might vanish if she rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t take the chance of smudging her mascara.

Trip smiled mirthlessly. “Mama, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Annabelle Clarke. Annie, this is my mother, Imogene Moore Beaumont.”

Her three-name introduction seemed to call for some sort of reverence and I nearly said ‘ooooo’ like I was watching a fireworks display. Thankfully I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, or I’m sure it would have slipped out. I simply smiled and turned to my date. I recognized Trip’s terse body language and expression in his mother’s presence. The tension was almost identical to the way Sam had reacted to Trip the first day I met him.

“Tell me… Annabelle, is it?” his mother began, her face frozen in a frightening pageant smile that didn’t make it past the lower half of her face.

“You can call me Annie,” I responded out of habit. Then I tried on a pageant smile like hers. My face hurt instantly.

“Very well. Annie. Where are you from?” Her drawl was like molasses.

“Minnesota. Well, the Midwest…everywhere, I guess. We moved around a lot.” I neglected to add that our nomadic existence was in response to my mom being banned from one casino after another. How do you get banned from a casino, you might ask? Trust me, it’s possible. But she just picked up and moved closer to another one. ‘Gotta go where the queen of jacks takes you’, she always used to say. Like everything that came out of that woman’s mouth, it was meaningless bullshit.

“How nice,” she replied, and her eyes shifted from me to Trip, then back again. I’d never heard so much sarcasm expertly poured into two little words. When I’d agreed to help Trip get Violet back, I didn’t figure on having to meet his mother or explain anything about my past. I had a feeling that this oversight was an enormous tactical error. I stared at Trip, trying to silently hint to him my need for an escape, but he was too busy glaring over my shoulder to pick up on the signal. I glanced behind me, expecting to see a troll eating a baby. Instead, I saw that a dashing older gentleman had emerged from the crowd below, holding two champagne glasses. He presented one to Mrs. Beaumont, and she took it with what appeared to be her first genuine smile since laying eyes on me.

“Sebastian, this is my oldest son, Trip and his date, Annie. Trip, I’m not sure if you remember your father’s friend, Mr. Wakefield—“

“Oh, we’ve met,” Sebastian interjected with a sly grin, holding out his hand for Trip to shake. He wore a pinky ring that was worth more than my car. Mr. Wakefield’s expression made me want to flinch, but I wasn’t sure where the instinct came from. It was as if he was
daring
Trip to shake his hand. Trip said nothing, and silently refused to acknowledge Sebastian’s outstretched palm. If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure Imogene Moore Beaumont might have dismembered Trip. But Trip was younger and more agile, so the death-stare he gave her in return could have taken her down before she had the chance to wield her machete. When Trip continued to glower at them both, his mother’s expression converted from anger to disbelief.

“Reginald?” She seemed as genuinely shocked by his blatant hostility as I was. Though I’d always known Trip was a nickname, hearing him called Reginald so soon on the heels of “the Samson incident” caused me to let out a nervous cackle. I slapped both my hands over my mouth. It was my turn to get a homicidal glare from Her Royal Highness.

Mr. Wakefield gave Lady Beaumont a pacifying rub on the shoulder. The gesture was innocent, but not the way he executed it. I felt dirty just standing next to them, and I could feel Trip bristle beside me.

“It’s alright, Geenie.” He soothed her, and then turned a playful expression at Trip. “No matter how old they are, it’s startling for children to see their parents dating again.”

Trip’s face turned such an awful shade of purple that I thought he might be allergic to my perfume. He opened and closed his mouth twice before practically dragging me down the ramp away from them. He pulled me into his arms at the edge of the dance floor as the band began to play. I know nothing about formal dancing, but thankfully it was a ballad and all I had to do was sway back and forth in a customary manner.

He had one of my hands in his and the other on my waist, like in an old Bogart movie. I could see that he was still frothing with unexplained anger, and I noticed Violet dancing nearby, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked his hair in a soothing way. I felt his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, and I placed one of my hands on his freshly shaved cheek. He lowered his apprehensive eyes to mine.

“Care to tell me what the hell that was all about?” I was dying of curiosity. But selfish motives aside, he was my friend and it seemed like he needed to vent. Trip pursed his lips with a knitted brow and then blew out a sharp breath.

“That man was
not
my father’s friend. He’s a fucking vulture. He’s been out to destroy my family for years,” he seethed, seeming so passionate in his hatred that I wanted to grab a torch and start a lynch mob with him.

“Start talking, Trip.”

His eyes shifted from side to side, and when he seemed satisfied that no one was eavesdropping, he continued. “It’s a long-ass story, Angel. You sure you wanna hear it?”

I was about to demand answers when Violet waltzed by in the arms of a guy who looked like a male model. She smiled up at her date, but when she caught sight of us, she stumbled. Abercrombie and Fitch caught her easily, masking her clumsiness in a dramatic dip. She blushed and gave us a sideways glance. Her date turned, and seemed to recognize Trip. His cover model face twisted in aversion. A dreadful gleam in his dark eyes, he smoothly guided her in our direction. Violet seemed to drag her heels, and I thought she was about to protest, but she snapped her mouth shut when she noticed me watching their approach.

“Well! Look what the cat dragged in!” The man boomed, and I scanned the area to see if we had an audience. Thankfully, it seemed the acoustics of the atrium and the big band’s volume provided plenty of cover. No one even looked in our direction.

“Dash!” Violet snapped, and I watched a silent conversation take place between them in the span of three seconds. From the panicked look on her face, I got the impression that Violet usually won their arguments, but that Dash was feeling a bit uppity this evening. Trip casually pulled me closer, catching my eye. His unspoken message may as well have been in skywriting.

Showtime.

“Dashul. Violet.” Trip managed to sound carefree, and in light of what had just happened with his mother’s date, I was impressed.

Dashul? Were all southern mothers drunk when they named their kids, or just the wealthy ones?

“How’d your mother lure you here tonight? Was it with the promise of an open bar?” Dashul’s impossibly square jaw clenched as he drawled his ugly insult at Trip. Violet yanked out of his arms and covered her mouth with her hand. Trip seemed to take it all in stride, most likely due to spending the last few weeks in Sam’s presence. I, however, was fuming.

“Classy future husband you have there, Violet.” The words slipped from my lips like a bar of soap in a prison shower room.

“And who might this be? Tell me, dahlin’, what hole in the wall did he drag you out of?” he sneered, looking me up and down as if I were a cocktail waitress at a strip club. I nearly punched him in the nose, but just that second I saw him sway slightly on his feet. I found his intoxication ironically comical, so I laughed in his face. His eyes flew wide in unabashed surprise.

“You watch your mouth,” Trip snapped at him. He sounded convincingly offended, and for a minute, I forgot he was acting. I saw the fire behind Violet’s eyes as she looked at him, and the sight of it had me celebrating victory on the inside.

“Relax, Trip. Judging by that mouth, I’m guessing lots of guys talk to her like that. Don’t they, Shug?” His clipped speech had an especially biting edge, and he eyed me in a way that made me offended
for Violet
. I’m terrible about making snap judgments, and I was baffled that Violet would divorce Trip for his drinking and then proceed to hook up with this hot mess. I figured his behavior was pretty out of character, based on Violet’s responses to him and the deer in headlights look she wore.

Trip faced him head on. “I think you owe Annie an apology.”

“I’m so sorry…he’s been doing shots with the boys,” Violet directed at me as she stepped forward, acting as a barrier between us and her man. Dashul appeared perturbed at her graceful attempt to make excuses for him.

“Where’s your sense of humor, Beaumont? Why don’t you go get yourself a drink?” her charming beau chimed in, grabbing Violet’s shoulder and pulling her back. The force of it was hard enough to make her wince. Trip advanced on him grabbing him by both lapels. They were toe to toe. Though Dashul towered over Trip, my gut told me that good old Dash was headed for the E.R.

That’s when Sam appeared. He thrust himself between the two angry men so quickly that I wanted an instant replay.

“Trip, go get Annabelle some punch,” Sam ordered calmly and then faced Violet. His grim eyes fixed her with a resolved stare. “Violet…reconsider your future.”