Double Trouble (9 page)
“No. Marcia didn’t call you. It would have been fine if she had, but she didn’t. That’s a critical distinction.” He stared at me, as if he could see right through to my heart, and his words softened. “You talk a lot of garbage, Maralys, but if you had known, you would have been there. Thank God the boys have some initiative. Marcia just trusted their welfare to fate, and that’s not nearly good enough for me.”
“You’re going for custody.”
His gaze was withering. “Of course. She’s proven her indifference.”
I withered back. “What’s the difference between the boys waiting an hour for me one time, and them being alone for eighteen hours every single day of the rest of their lives?”
“I have to work!”
“So who’s going to parent?”
To his credit, James seemed to consider the merit of what I said. It was a fair question and he knew it. He stared around his office, as if looking for a target. “I’d never be sure that they were okay if she had custody.”
“Well, you won’t be sure, anyhow. Not if you’re here and they’re somewhere else.” Here I went, defending my sister again. I really had to cut this out. “Besides, it’s hardly fair to hold one act against a person forever.”
“One act?” He almost laughed under his breath. “If you know about the money, then you know about the bills. By that orgy of spending, Marcia cast everything into doubt. One bad break and the house is lost.”
“Shame about the trophies.”
“Shame about the boys,” he snapped. “They need to be with their friends and in familiar surroundings. A divorce is tough on kids and they need every bit of stability they can have. Marcia’s put all of that in doubt. It’s bad enough that she left, but everything hangs on a thread now. I don’t care if I live in a garden shed, but I will not forgive her if those boys are thrown more curveballs than they can handle.”
He was so fierce about it that I believed him. “A garden shed?”
James sighed and rubbed his temples. “They have to stay in their school. They have to have the connections to their friends. They have to have the chance of going to university, if that’s what they want. Whatever changes I have to make personally to ensure their welfare are immaterial.”
“Oh, it can’t be that bad!”
“Not yet,” he said so softly that the hair prickled on the back of my neck.
“What does that mean?”
James was done confiding in me. He stood up and gathered his paperwork, filing the divorce agreement away. His tone, when he spoke, was carefully neutral. “Mind your business for a change, Maralys.”
“But this is my business.” I stood up, needing the advantage of height even if it was just an illusion. “I want to know exactly what you plan to do.”
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, spoiling for a fight and wrecking my fleeting height advantage. The veneer of civility was certainly thin today.
Fact is, I kind of liked him this volatile. At least I knew that he was alive in there.
“Why? Because you’re
curious
?” he demanded, then flung out a hand. “Because this is all some game for you? I assure you that it is not a game for my sons.” His voice rose with every sentence and I was sure Ms. Prim was listening intently at the door.
I would have been.
“This is no game, Maralys! I owe you nothing, do you understand? Nothing! I owe you no explanation at all. If I don’t know your sister anymore, then I certainly don’t need to know you.”
“That’s where you would be wrong,” I insisted calmly. “You’ve got to know by now that one faulty assumption can skew all your results.”
“There is no faulty assumption.”
“Wrong-o.”
“Let me put matters in very simple terms -” he leaned his fists on his desk, intent upon intimidating me. It was classic male body language, but I’m no classic female. I smiled at him, uncowed and unrepentant. “- this is none of your goddamned business. Get out.”
I sighed, a lady of leisure with no intention of leaving. I settled back into my chair and smiled at him. He was seething. “You should at least ask which of your assumptions I’m questioning.”
Again, that brow shot up.
“We may not be blood, James, but we’re family, like it or not.”
James sat down, sighed and shoved one hand through his hair. Presto change-o, he was an overburdened lawyer again, his tone so temperate when he continued that I was startled. “Excuse me. I should not have raised my voice. You are indeed still my sister-in-law, at least until this paperwork goes through.”
He visibly gritted his teeth and his eyes flashed. “Now get out, Maralys, before I do something or say something that I’ll regret.” His brow darkened. “And I say that in the most
familial
of ways.”
I deliberately crossed my legs. “I don’t respond well to threats.”
James looked as if he’d like to throttle me. “Surprise, surprise.”
I let my smile broaden.
And something changed. The charge in the air took a different tone, one less adversarial but no less electric.
James took a good long look, and I wondered what he saw. I mean, I know what I look like, but I wondered what he saw beyond the surface detail. This was a man who read people for a living and he was known for being particularly perceptive.
And inscrutable. His assessment was lingering, and I couldn’t read a thing in his expression. I got one vibe though—his was a look of the male/female flavor, the kind of look that makes a person want to preen a little.
Did James see my sister, his runaway wife, in me? There was a thought to take the sparkle from the situation. Marcia and I don’t dress the same way and Marcia was carrying a few more pounds than me—all that swish living had its price—but there’s a certain amount of identical twinness that can’t be hidden.
Did he see a potential advantage? Did he know that I agreed with him about Marcia’s choice being irresponsible? Would he expect me to damn my sister in court to help him get custody?
Or did he see a woman who had decided not to grow up? My father’s accusation was still rattling around. I certainly was incongruous in that place, with my bottle red hair, black jeans, black leather boots and jacket. We’re tall, Marcia and I, due to some kind of weird mutation—everyone in our family is short, short, short except us—and people notice us.
James’ gaze lingered on the silver ring on my right thumb, for some reason. I would have expected a glance that hot to land on the blue lace of my bra peeping at the neck of my white tailored shirt.
Did he know about the tattoo on my bum? My imagination went wild then and there and my mouth went dry.
When in doubt, change the subject. “Was it always bad, really?”
James shook his head and spoke with the frustrated tone of a man who had not had any in a long, long time. Gad, something else we had in common. This was getting eerie. “We
must
have done it twice.”
“Jimmy and Johnny.” I laughed under my breath. “They look enough like you that they must be yours. Twice then.”
We stared at each other across his desk and things started to simmer. Johnny was eight, I remembered. Nine years? Even I hadn’t been celibate that long.
“None?” I whispered and he looked pained.
“I’ve worked a lot of hours.”
And spent many hours at the gym. I recalled a prize theory of my pal Lydia that only the chaste can truly be fit. She insists that it’s the unsatisfied urge to mate that drives them—that getting any, any at all, makes us contented and complacent and plump.
Ms. Prim tapped gently on the door. “Mr. Coxwell?”
“Everything is fine, Mrs. McCready,” James said with firm, dismissive authority.
Now, he looked at the bit of blue lace, then met my eyes again. He smiled, not a lewd smile, more of an appreciative male ‘oh Maralys you shouldn’t be so tempting’ kind of a smile.
I felt my face heat.
James’ smile widened, very slowly. It certainly was warm in that office. Have I mentioned that the man has a particularly prize dimple? Oh yes, and elegant, capable hands.
I know enough of lust to recognize its arrival, sirens blaring, crimson feather boas flicking. Lust, I suspect, wears red patent stilettos, that feather boa and not much else. Maybe glossy red lipstick.
Oh yes, I was in trouble with a capital T.
“
Semper ubi sub ubi
,” he murmured, as though I wasn’t supposed to hear it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I bristled, half certain that he was waving his educational pedigree under my nose, mostly to show my lack of one.
“It’s just a bit of Latin.”
“A legal term for what exactly?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, Mr. Coxwell.” Ms. Prim cleared her throat, a little flutter of unwelcome sound, her tone making it clear that she did indeed intend to interrupt. “Mr. Coxwell senior will see you now, sir.”
“Thank you.” James fixed me with a look. “Your cue to leave, I believe.”
“The Latin?”
“Forget about it. It really wasn’t important.”
I folded my arms across my chest, disliking how accustomed he was to calling the shots. “I’m not going anywhere. I want something from you first.”
He leaned back and toyed with a pen, his posture relaxed. “That sounds interesting.” Oh yes, he had another look at that lace.
James flirting. I had some troubles wrapping my mind around the concept, but that’s certainly what he was doing.
And I, to my astonishment, was enjoying it. I felt warm right to my toesies. Gave him my coy smile before I could catch myself.
I supposed that it was harmless, especially as I was about to leave for good. I promised myself an extra long workout next time, a special prezzie for my clearly overwrought hormones. “A promise, that’s all.”
“What?”
I leaned on the desk, deal-time. My heart was all a-flutter and I knew I was giving him a prime view of the prime acreage supported by that bra. “My father still gets to see the boys, no matter how nasty things are or get between you and Marcia. Unimpeded access.” I paused and gave him my most challenging glare. “They’re supposed to go fishing on Sunday.”
“I know.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“What kind of person do you think I am?”
“I
know
what kind of person you are.”
“Do tell.”
“You’re the kind of person who uses every situation to his own advantage.” Even as I said it, I realized that I wasn’t quite so sure of that anymore. “You’re a manipulative, clever and experienced lawyer who plays life like a game of chess. You wouldn’t leave this chance to get what you want.”
“I’m flattered that you think I’m so thorough.”
“Well?”
“Well, what? What do you intend to do to break my sons free from my dastardly clutches?” James didn’t smile, which just made me distrust him all over again.
Ever seen a cat, one that hunts, mess with its prey before killing it? It’s a good-natured batting around of the wounded mouse or sparrow, a predator looking for a little amusement before the inevitable end. The victim, of course, doesn’t get the joke, just keeps trying to escape, much to the cat’s amusement.
His watchfulness made me feel a bit like a wounded sparrow, if you must know. I had a definite sense that I was just a pawn in a much greater game and that his flirting—which admittedly came and went—was just another way to get what he wanted in the end.
Ms. Prim rapped again. “Mr. Coxwell?”
“Yes, I’m coming.” James shoved to his feet, interview over. “Fine, Maralys. Sunday is a go. Anything else?”
“What about the long term?”
He sighed and his voice lowered. He held my gaze steadily and I found myself wanting to believe whatever he said. “I’m not going to deny the kids a chance to be with their grandfather, Maralys.” James’ soft tone was very compelling. I believed him, and I’m a tough sell. Or at least I used to think I was. “They’re crazy about your dad and it’s good for them to have one decent grandfather.”
Ouch! Before I could make too much of that, he turned and opened the door. “You’ll excuse me, of course, and see yourself out.”
“Of course.” I indicated the adjoining washroom. “Mind if I use the facilities first?”
James gestured general approval, then left. I had spied a Latin-English dictionary on the shelf and meant to make use of it. At least I would understand his insult.
Thank God I have a good memory. I heard him tell Ms. Prim that both he and Papa Coxwell would be unavailable for a few moments. But I was in the john with the dictionary before you could say boo.
Semper.
Always
.
Ubi.
Where
.
Sub.
Under, beneath
. Ah, like sub-marine and sub-way. Cool.
Ubi, again.
Where
.
Always where under where.
I looked the words up again, but there it was. I said it under my breath and then the light went on.
Always wear underwear.
And the man had been looking at my bra. Now, if I’d imagined that he had a sense of humor, I might have thought that had been a joke.
But James had no sense of humor.
He must have just conjugated the verb wrong. That was vastly encouraging. Maybe he wasn’t so smart after all.
Ha.
I flushed the toilet for show and ran the taps, then replaced the book in his office. As I made to saunter out the door, I couldn’t have missed his father’s greeting.
“What took you so goddamned long?” that man roared, as though James was a bad child. “Do you imagine that I have so little to do that I can idle away the hours, waiting upon you? You have never understood the value of time and the merit of efficient billing.”
James apologized in a way that seemed perfunctory to me.
And that was when I realized why I could hear them so clearly: there were two doors in James’ office in addition to the one leading to the land o’ Ms. Prim. One led to the elegant little half bath. The other apparently led to his father’s office.
As luck would have it, that door was ever so slightly ajar.
Well, well, well.
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Subject
: what’s up with that?
Dear Aunt Mary -
I’m new to the Internet and don’t understand so many things. Why are there so many punctuation marks in emails and posts? What does