Gotcha! (14 page)

Adam’s chest puffed out, he slammed his beer bottle down on the counter, and he bellowed, “No, that’s not what it means. What it means is you take your sorry ass out and get a job, even if it means flipping burgers somewhere. I told you what I would do if you messed with me, and I mean it. I’m tired of paying for everything.”

Darlene clenched her jaw. She thought about the Botox she’d paid for, the breast implants, the liposuction, all with Olivia’s money, and she felt sick to her stomach. “Do whatever the hell you want, Adam, but with no identity, how do you think I’m going to get any kind of job. I tried calling my old boss, and he won’t take my calls. The party is fucking over. What part of this aren’t you getting?”

“The part where you have no money—I’m getting that. So now is when you make a deal with that bitch. Give her the snotty kid; that’s what this is all about. She’ll pay you for her. We’ll take the money and start over someplace. Without your kid. We’re in this mess because of her.”

“Shut up, Adam. If Julie Wyatt was smart enough to pull something like this off, she’s smart enough to know I’ll want to barter, and I’m not giving up Olivia even for you. That’s two thousand bucks a month till she’s eighteen. Do the math, you bastard! Right now, I hate your guts and your kids’ guts. Get the hell out of my house. I mean it.”

Adam laughed, an evil sound. “Whose house, Darlene? This is Olivia’s house, not yours. She’s just two thousand dollars a month to you. I’d like to see you try, and the key word here is
try,
to make me and my kids move out.”

“Yeah,” the son said, “try and make us.” The daughter sneered, then laughed, the same evil sound as her father had made.

Darlene was so full of rage, she couldn’t think straight. She opened the refrigerator and saw there was no more beer. In fact, with the exception of condiments, there was no food at all in the refrigerator, not even cheese. Tomorrow was grocery-shopping day, when they loaded up because Adam got paid every two weeks and tomorrow was the day his paycheck found its way to his bank account. An account the bank said he no longer had. She had thirty-seven cents in her pocket, not even enough to buy a White Castle burger. She slammed the refrigerator door shut and looked in the cabinet. Even the Ramen Noodles were gone, and she always bought a case on grocery-shopping day. Flour, sugar, brown sugar, dry oatmeal; but there was no milk. The cupboard was bare. Jesus. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Once upon a time, the refrigerator was always full, and so was the freezer. The pantry had held enough food for an army, because Larry used her money to buy groceries, and they didn’t have to wait for his clients to pay him. And, back then, there weren’t two extra mouths to feed and support.

Darlene started to pace the kitchen. She looked into the laundry room, where three giant stacks of dirty clothes were piled up. Adam followed her gaze. He shrugged. “We ran out of soap.” She couldn’t remember ever running out of detergent back in the day. Who the hell ran out of detergent?

So now she didn’t even have any clean clothes. Son of a bitch! She whirled around. “Did you do what I said? Did you check your identity, your bank account, Adam?”

Darlene started to cry, the heavy mascara running down her cheeks. She looked like a skinny, ugly raccoon. Adam said so. She hauled off and whacked him, and they went at it, with the two kids getting into it, too. “I’m calling the police,” the daughter shouted. “I’ll have your ass in jail in two minutes. I’ll say you molested me,” she screamed at her father. “And I’ll say you helped him, Darlene!”

Adam reached for the cell phone in the girl’s hand and slammed it down on the tile floor. He stomped on it. The girl attacked him. He shrugged her off his shoulders just as the boy came at him full bore. He stiff-armed the young punk, then banged the kid’s head on the kitchen table. “Now get your shit and get out of this house.
NOW!
”

The two kids looked at their father to see if he meant what he said. Whatever they saw in his eyes, they headed for the door.

“Go on, do what he says; he’s crazy. Go to your mother’s and do not say one word about what goes on in this house. And do not ever come back here. Do you hear me?”

The doorbell rang. Darlene stopped crying long enough to run to the window. “Oh, my God! They’re stealing our cars! Adam, do something!”

Adam flopped down at the table and dropped his head into his hands. “They aren’t stealing our cars, they’re repossessing them. I don’t fucking believe this. That bitch didn’t miss a trick.”

“Do something!” Darlene screamed at the top of her lungs.

“How in the damn hell are we supposed to get to Mom’s house if they take all our cars?” the boy bellowed.

“Try walking,” Adam bellowed in return. Both kids slammed out of the house, every dirty word they knew spewing from their mouths.

“You happy now that you drove the kids out of the house!”

“Yes!” Darlene snarled.

Darlene raised her hand to lash out, but Adam grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. “I want you to shut up right now. Do not say one more word. In fact, get out of my sight immediately. Otherwise, I
will
hurt you.”

Darlene looked up to see Olivia standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

Darlene’s eyes grew wild as Adam started to laugh like a hyena. She went outside, hopped the fence, which wasn’t easy with the tight stovepipe jeans and stilettos, and walked through her neighbor’s garden. She picked a few tomatoes, some small cucumbers, and some pears that were lying on the ground. She pulled out her shirt and dumped the produce onto her shirt. She cursed up a storm when she realized she couldn’t climb the fence with the produce bundled up in her shirt. She walked over to the gate, which locked from the inside, and walked through it and around to her own back door.

Inside, she cut the tomato and cucumber into a bowl, then diced up the pear for her daughter.

Jesus, God Almighty, how had it come to this?

W
hile Julie, Myra, and Annie were sipping wine on the veranda, and Darlene was slowly going off the deep end as she tried to plot and scheme revenge against the mother of her dead husband, Mace Carlisle was watching a legal secretary at the offices of Silverman, Rod-ner, and Weinblatt, the law firm recommended by Oliver Goldfeld to prepare Mace’s will, witness the document, making it officially his last will and testament. Oliver and Mace had made it to the building where the law firm was located on the fifth floor, only fifteen minutes late. The torrential rain pelting the city had made traffic a nightmare and still showed no sign of stopping. Mace heaved a sigh of relief. It was done, finally.

Back outside, Mace looked at Oliver Goldfeld and laughed. “And here we are without an umbrella. What do you want to do, Oliver?”

“No matter what we do, we’re going to get soaked. I say we head over to that bar on the corner and have a drink. I’m not going back to the office, and you said you aren’t, either, so we could consider this a boys’ night out starting now. Or we can split up and go home. I think I could use a drink, though. You look like you could use one yourself.”

“I hired a dog sitter for Lola, so let’s go get that drink. I know you have ten thousand questions you want to ask me, and since we have all night, let’s just get them out of the way.”

“I hope to hell you know what you’re doing, Mace. You always listened to my advice in the past, but this time . . . you’re being deaf, dumb, and blind. What is it with you?”

“I’m sick and tired of taking advice from you, from anyone. I’ve gotten to this stage in my life, and now I’m going to do what I want to do, not what seems right to someone else. You don’t walk in my shoes, Oliver. I do respect your advice, but I just arrived at the Rubicon. And I do thank you for getting me out of that mess with Eileen.”

Oliver held the door to O’Malley’s Bar and Grill. Mace shrugged out of his wet jacket and carried it over his arm. Oliver did the same thing as he led the way to the back of the bar, where tables and booths waited for customers. It was still early, so they had the place almost to themselves. A young waitress dressed in cowgirl boots, tattered Daisy Duke shorts, and an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse handed each man a soft white towel. They both wiped at their hair and faces, then dropped the towels on the plastic tray the waitress was holding.

“We’ll each have a double Scotch on the rocks,” Oliver said as he slid into the booth.

“Coming right up.”

Neither man spoke until their drinks arrived. Oliver held up his squat glass and clinked it against Mace’s. He waited to see if Mace would make a toast, and he did. “To Burns Hardware and buying one of everything!” Mace laughed as he took a healthy slug from the glass.

“You want to explain that, Mace?”

“There’s this hardware store on Main Street in Rosemont. They put Weed Whackers and all kinds of lawn equipment out front. They have a bench for customers to sit on, and on each end of the bench are big tubs of bright red flowers. They have brooms and rakes and all kinds of neat things. Inside, they have power tools and even coffeepots, camping equipment, peat moss, bags of manure. When I go back, I’m going to buy one of everything.

“I even found a house, if you can believe that! I was up all night taking virtual tours on the Net. If I buy it, I’ll be able to walk to Julie’s house, that’s how close it is. Big yard. It’s an old house, needs repairs, but it has a glorious front porch. I like porches. They call them verandas in Rosemont. It has paddle fans in all the rooms and even on the porch. Oh, and the hardware store also sells rocking chairs. I used to sit on them when I took Lola for a walk. On the way back, that is. Right next door, you can buy an ice-cream cone. Lola would get tired, so we’d stop for ice cream. What do you think of that, Oliver?”

“I don’t know what to think, Mace. It’s not like you made this decision overnight. You were there for two months. But are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure, Oliver. I did not make this decision lightly. I want to have a life. I want to be happy.
At least, for the time I have left.
I’m not getting any younger, and neither are you. I smelled the roses, and I liked the way they smelled.”

“I understand all that, Mace. But you left everything in your will to Julie Wyatt. She’ll be a billionaire many times over if you pass on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Mace pondered the question, the way he always pondered a question. “I think so. Maybe. Hell, I don’t really know. I’m not exactly
in
love with her. Yet. But I feel something I think is love. Whatever it is, I definitely like the feeling. No, I never slept with her, but I did kiss her the day I left. And then she kissed me back. I felt . . . corny as this may sound to you, Oliver, I think she is my destiny. There is something definitely there; she felt it, too. If nothing comes of it, I’ll have the most beautiful friendship in the world, and I can handle that. She’s special in so many ways. She’s forthright, she’s honest to the bone, she cares about so many things, and she’s had tragedy in her life that neither one of us can imagine. She loves animals, and her dogs in particular. People just love her. I never met her children, but I feel like I already know them because of the way she talks about them. She’s a wonderful mother. She reminds me in some ways of my own mother. I hope she thinks of me the way I think of her. And, boy, can she cook. She said she would dedicate her cookbook to me since I approved all the recipes.”

“Sounds to me like you’re in love. That’s not a bad thing, Mace. In fact, it’s a good thing. I just wish you wouldn’t jump into things so quickly. Leaving your estate to someone you just met . . . I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around that.”

“Think about it, Oliver. Who else would I leave it to? You have your own fortune. I made you rich. If you want a slice of it, say the word, and it’s yours. You certainly don’t need my money. I have no heirs. I made sure all my charities are taken care of. I pensioned off my old housekeeper and my driver. They’ll never have to worry about their advancing years. The foundations you set up will remain intact. Julie has a heart and a soul. She’ll know what to do with it. But if my gut is right, she won’t want to accept it. I know the lady, Oliver.”

Oliver finished his drink and held up his empty glass, so the waitress would bring fresh drinks. “No thanks. Leaving me money would just give me tax problems. But thanks, anyway. Well, if things go south, you can always make a new will.”

“That’s not going to happen, Oliver. I’m going to miss you, old man.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Oliver mumbled. “When are you going back?”

“This weekend, if I can tie up all my loose ends. Don’t look so shocked. Maybe my move will give you some incentive to get out and smell the roses. I’ll fix up a bedroom for you in my new house. You can come as often as you want. I’ll even give you your own key.”

Oliver stared across the table at his old friend, his best friend, and suddenly wanted to cry his eyes out. “That’s one of the nicest things you ever said to me, Mace.”

“See, Oliver, that’s our problem. Julie says people never say the things that are in their hearts, they just assume the other person knows what they’re thinking and feeling. She says people are quick to criticize and don’t take the time to compliment people when they do something nice, and she’s right. You can’t take anything for granted. You have to be out in front even if it means you wear your heart on your sleeve. I learned so much from that lady in two months, I could write a book. I might even do that someday.”

“Okay, okay, but what are you going to do when you buy up one of everything at Burns Hardware? What are you going to do with all the hours in the day?”

“I’m going to fix my house. It’s officially a fixer-upper. I’m going to join everything in town. I want to put down roots and belong. It’s important to me, Oliver, that I belong. I can’t explain it any better than that. I might stick my nose into the local politics. I plan to make friends, get to know my neighbors. I’m going to volunteer at the SPCA. I plan to get another dog or two, so Lola has companions. I’m going to ask Julie to teach me how to cook, so I can survive on my own without having to eat out all the time. There won’t be enough hours in the day to do all I want to do.”

“I think I might be just a little bit jealous,” Oliver said.

Mace leaned across the table. “Oliver, they have sidewalks in town with humongous shade trees. All the stores have benches outside and the garden club hangs flowering baskets from the streetlights and there are tubs and barrels full of flowers all along the town square. They have parades, and Santa comes to the square on Thanksgiving. They have a YMCA, and all the kids go there for everything under the sun; potluck dinners, town barbecues, and picnics to raise money. Julie said she and her kids always enter the sack race. I want that, Oliver. Oh, you’re going to love this. They have a daily newspaper, and they have paperboys and -girls who deliver the papers on their bicycles. Small-town America, just the way it was when we were growing up.”

“Okay, okay, you sold me. You want to order something to eat, or are we just going to keep on drinking?”

“Let’s do both. We can talk about your retirement next, unless you plan on hanging around in the hopes that someone will make you a judge of something or other. Then you and Marion can have his-and-hers monogrammed bath towels if you ever decide to take the plunge.”

Oliver laughed. “Suddenly, you’re an authority on everything. It doesn’t work that way. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I retired. The law is my life.”

“That’s just wrong, Oliver. No one thing should be one’s life. It should be
part of
your life. You’ve been consumed with the law. It’s time to kick back a little. I’m going to worry about you when I leave. Tell me you’ll at least think about winding down a little.”

Oliver stared at his friend and knew he was right. He couldn’t ever remember Mace looking as happy and contented as he did right that minute, and it had nothing to do with the two double Scotches he’d consumed.

Dinner progressed with tenderloins, baked potatoes, and garden salads. The conversation drifted to Oliver’s clients and where and how he’d transfer them to other attorneys in the firm if he did retire.

“I’d keep you, Mace, and maybe three others, and that would be it. I could give up my office, hire a paralegal on a part-time basis, and wing it from home. Then, I suppose I’d play squash a couple of afternoons a week, spend mornings at the club, get a dog like you did, and walk it four or five times a day. Explain to Marion it’s time to commit or move on. All sounds kind of deadly to me. I just don’t see hardware stores on my horizon.”

Mace leaned back in the booth and looked his best friend in the eye. “First of all, you jackass, you have to
want
to do it. You have to find your own path. And then you actually have to
step
onto the path. I don’t even think you’re in love with Marion. She’s a convenience and a sexual partner. Where is all that going? What are your long-range plans, hopes, desires? If you don’t reach for the brass ring, it’s going to be too late for you.”

“Now, why does that sound so ominous? You’re sounding more and more like the kiss of death tonight.”

Mace shrugged. “When you go home tonight, go into your study and sit down in that special chair you had made for yourself and think. When we were young, we used to have all kinds of hopes and dreams. We got so caught up in that money thing, we lost sight of what we wanted, and we lost part of ourselves. You know I’m right, Oliver.”

“And all of this insight came to you because you met some woman named Julie Wyatt, who was nice to you, has had tragedy in her life, and is a good cook who was plugging along on the Food Network—until you decided to make her a very rich woman whose show is going to end up on Oprah, thanks to you. And because of that, she is not going to write that cookbook she was going to dedicate to you. Is that about right?”

“You know what, Oliver? Kiss my ass, okay? Do whatever the hell you want. I’m leaving at the end of the week, and when I get to where I’m going, that brass ring is going to be in my hand. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you . . . you . . . curmudgeon. And you can pay for dinner!” Mace said, reaching for his wet jacket and putting it on.

“Hey, hold on! I’m sorry, Mace. I’ll do what you say. That’s a promise. I don’t guarantee you’ll like the results, but I will do it.” One look at Mace’s grim face told Oliver his best friend wasn’t buying his line of bullshit. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m happy for you, and at the same time, I’m jealous that you have the guts to do what you’re doing. And, you’re right, I’d love to meet someone like your Julie Wyatt. There, now are you happy? One more thing. Where the hell do you get off calling me a curmudgeon?”

In spite of himself, Mace laughed. He held out his hand and pulled Oliver up and out of the booth. “Leave a nice tip for that waitress; she could use some decent clothes.”

Outside, it was still drizzling rain, but it was a warm rain. “You want to walk, Mace? I think we both had a little too much to drink. Do you want to stay the night at my place, since it isn’t that far?”

“No, I have to get home to Lola. She’s waiting for me.”

“Yeah, right, Lola. Maybe I’ll get a cat; you don’t have to walk cats.”

“Let’s walk, at least part of the way.” Mace linked his arm with Oliver’s as they started down the street.

“Watch that stuff, or people will think we’re gay,” Oliver mumbled.

“What’s wrong with that? I have a lot of gay people working for me. Nice people, too.”

“So do I. I just meant . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

“Just shut up, Oliver, and pay attention to where you’re walking. You want to sing our old frat song? Julie says it makes the time go faster.”