Hidden Hearts (11 page)

She let their passion unravel and said, “Honest?”

“Yes,” Alicia replied before she buried her lips in CC’s neck.

The answer was ambiguous, and if they weren’t groaning and moaning closer to climax she would have grilled her like a cross-examination.

Then a car alarm chirped.

“What’s that?” she asked, suddenly paralyzed.

Alicia kissed her and stroked her breasts, unwilling to lose the moment. “Somebody’s going home, that’s all. They’re not coming over here. They’ll get in their car and drive away. Stay with me,” she commanded and thrust her tongue into CC’s mouth.

It was easy to believe her given the heat between their bodies and their mutual wetness.

“Come with me, baby,” she gasped.

Instead of a car ignition, CC heard the whoosh of the trunk closing and the audible baritone of the driver chatting on his cell phone. She couldn’t make out the conversation, probably because Alicia was sighing heavily, sitting on the edge of climax.

“Now, baby, now,” she cried, and CC had no choice. She was too talented not to obey.

Their orgasms were loud—too loud—and the click of heels approaching echoed in the empty garage.

Alicia flashed a wide grin.
“Gotta go!”

She jumped from the back seat into the front and threw the car in reverse, the tires screeching in protest. CC hunkered down shielding herself with their discarded clothes, realizing Alicia wore only her stockings. As they passed the stunned middle-aged man, he dropped his cell phone when Alicia turned and flashed him.

They sailed out of the garage and down a dark side street. She stopped suddenly and faced CC, who was holding a pair of panties over her breasts. She laughed hysterically, and when CC imagined how it looked, she laughed too and it was another ten minutes before they could stop.

Once they’d dressed under the cover of moonlight, Alicia drove CC back to her car.

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t great,” she said, stroking her hair over her ear.

“Yeah, that was memorable,” she admitted. She took her hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home tonight?”

“I have to go back to work, and I think it’s still too soon. I’m not sure what to do about Nadia. But I loved being with you again,” she whispered against her cheek.

Her voice was like a fabulous dessert and CC wanted more. She cupped her breast and Alicia chuckled.

“Oh, no.
Not here. This is a bit
too
public, but I promise we’ll do it again, okay?”

She nodded and watched her peel away. She climbed into the Honda, instantly disgusted by the torn upholstery and the funny little smell that lingered regardless of how many air fresheners she hung. Alicia had always insisted they take the Mercedes when they went out because the Honda was an embarrassment, and although she agreed, she wished Alicia were more sensitive. Not everyone came from a family with money.

She shifted in her seat. Her bra wasn’t sitting right, her skirt was on crooked and she was rather certain her French bikini underwear was on backward. But she didn’t care. Everything tingled and she had to resist the urge to shed her clothes and drive home naked. Instead, she sat in her car for fifteen minutes and grinned at her ability to toss aside her midwestern sensibilities. Her mother would
die
if she ever knew.

But I liked it. I have to admit it. I liked the risk and I liked having sex in an unusual location
.

But she wasn’t really thinking of the term “having sex.” She was playing with a much dirtier word, one that she normally couldn’t stand to hear people say but nothing else fit for the little rendezvous in the Mercedes.

It was after nine by the time she crossed the threshold of her small condo. It wasn’t anything special, and she’d already decided to move once the lease was up. If Alicia came back, she’d have to convince her since Alicia was the one who’d picked the location, which was close to the Scottsdale nightclub action. And when she’d left with most of the belongings, CC hadn’t bothered to purchase another TV or a proper bed, instead choosing to sleep on a futon mattress on the floor.

She showered and washed away the lovely jasmine scent and threw on a tank top and yoga pants before plopping onto her futon with a Lean Cuisine and her briefcase. She grabbed the Chloe
books Penn had given her and randomly flipped back and forth between pages, studying the structure as well as the artistic talent. Watercolor was difficult for her and she preferred the bolder effect achieved with pen and ink, but she couldn’t imagine the Chloe series in any other medium. It was a perfect choice for the moments when Chloe changed colors to disguise herself.

Ding!
That was ten responses to her personal ad today, but she ignored them for now, far more interested in Viv’s artwork.

She appreciated her approach: illustrate the entire page from corner to corner and insert the dialogue at strategic places. For small children the words were secondary to the artwork and Viv’s detailed animals were enthralling. As a child, she’d been mesmerized by Chloe’s scaly skin and pointy tail.

Once she’d absorbed the artistry she decided to start at the beginning and reread each book. She grabbed
Chloe Goes to the Symphony
and saw it was written only two years ago and dedicated to someone named Siobhan. She looked up the pronunciation and said, “Chevonne,” out loud, which she learned was Irish for Joan.

The story featured a harpist and the theme was to try new things like listening to classical music. She paused for a moment remembering the cottage and the harp music.

She picked up the other book,
Chloe Makes a Friend.
It was nearly forty years old and dedicated to someone named Kiah. Although she was rather certain she’d read this story as a child, she couldn’t recall the plot which described Chloe’s unlikely friendship with a hawk—a predator who was nothing like her. The ending was predictable to an adult: accepting friends who are different.
If life were only this easy.

She’d had a strong interest in art when she was in school, but it was foolish to think she’d ever make a living at it. Although her art teacher had told her she was a natural, her parents had convinced her otherwise.

“Honey, if you’re going to spend all that money on college, you need to make it back,” they’d said repeatedly during her years in high school. “Find a career.”

By the time she was a senior her fear of failure and her unwillingness to disappoint them had suffocated her passion. One afternoon she’d carried all of her art supplies to the basement and put them in a corner. Then she’d gone upstairs and cried for an hour. Whenever she thought of drawing, a pang of regret tapped her on the shoulder and the memory of the trek to the basement sent her into a funk.

Ding!

She finished her dinner and stood and stretched. She still tingled all the way to her core. Was it Alicia’s superb skill, or was it the thrill of being in a public place and knowing they might get caught? She laughed out loud when she remembered holding the underwear up as a shield. Her cheeks were warm and she knew she was blushing, but she realized she didn’t feel lonely. That hadn’t happened in a while.

 This time her phone rang but the number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“So have you thought about what I said today?” Penn asked.

She put her hand on a hip. “What happened to, ‘Hi, how are you CC? This is Penn.’
Didn’t
your mother teach you any manners?”

Penn gave a sigh of exasperation. “I’m sorry, but there’s not a lot of time here. After you left I tried to get Viv to open up and talk about the past but she wouldn’t even though she could lose her place. I wanted you to know that you may be her only hope. She’ll hate me if I go public with this and I’m just being honest with you. Can’t you do anything?”

She raked a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to do without jeopardizing my job. He’s my client and I’m sworn—”

“You don’t need to lecture me, CC. I passed ethics class.”

She glowered. “Then why are you calling me?”

“Because I thought you cared.”

She disconnected and CC stared at the phone.

Ding!

She rolled her eyes. She had no interest in reading the replies, but as she glanced around the bare walls of the empty apartment her finger automatically hit the view button and she scrolled through her latest round of prospects. Only two replies of the six were grammatically correct and free of craziness. She saved those into a folder and saw that she had seven actual prospects if she ever chose to respond.

It almost made the thought of facing her briefcase bearable.
She unloaded her files onto the pub table and fired up her computer.
She needed to complete the request for the handwriting analysis despite Viv’s insistence that it was real, and Blanca would expect the rewritten report first thing in the morning. She groaned. She hated writing.

Then why did I become a lawyer?

Her mother’s voice answered the question as it had a million times before.
“Because you like money, dear.
You like nice things and you don’t want to risk your future.”

She skimmed through the Rubenstein file for the fiftieth time wondering if there was some clue as to why Viv’s father had signed away the land. And why had the Rubensteins held on to the note for so long?

She imagined Viv losing the house, the place where she created Chloe. Then she thought of Penn, so strong and definitely smart.
And those dimples.
She covered her face with her hands and willed away the tingling feeling shooting through her body.

Penn had said, “I choose.”

How could she choose to help Viv without getting fired?

She reread Seth Rubenstein’s bio. He and his brother were heirs to a chain of family-style restaurants called Della’s, named after the Rubenstein matriarch, Jacob’s wife. Seth had inherited the family business after Jacob passed the previous year. Despite the challenging economy Della’s quarterly reports showed a steady profit margin for a company worth millions. Only after the family had perused Jacob’s personal files did they come across the note from Chet Battle, Viv’s father, to Jacob. Seth Rubenstein had put the pieces together and realized he was entitled to the enclave.

She tapped her pen on the table. Why? Why hadn’t Jacob Rubenstein claimed the property back in the fifties? He could have forced Lois Battle and her children out of the farmhouse decades ago.

“Why, Jacob?” she asked out loud. “What were you
hiding?”

April, 1954

“Hey,” a voice whispered.

I nearly fell off the window seat, too lost in my sketching to hear Kiah shimmying up the vines for her nightly visit. Mama never heard her when she was smoking out on the sun porch because Kiah was quite athletic and the trellis lined the backside of the house, away from the other bedrooms.

“Is that Mr. Rubenstein out there with her?” Kiah asked, crawling through the window. “He was just at our place.”

“Uh-huh. He stopped by to see Mama after he visited with your daddy.
Did the same thing last week, too.”

Laughter floated up from the sun porch and Kiah said, “They sure sound like they’re having a good time. I don’t think I’ve ever heard your mama laugh.”

It was true. Mama rarely laughed and it was usually at something stupid I’d done that didn’t cause danger, doctor bills or embarrassment to her. Just the week before I’d managed to get my head caught between the banister spindles and she’d left me there for an hour, laughing every time she passed by.

It was odd hearing her speak in an unfamiliar way. Her voice was usually hard and bitter like a cold wind, but with him she sounded like a song on the radio.

“What does your daddy think about Mr. Rubenstein sitting on the back porch with his wife?”

I could tell that she didn’t think Pops would approve, but I didn’t think he’d care. Lately he was gone in the evenings, spending time with people from the nursery after work. We ate dinner without him and then Mama sat outside for hours. I never knew when he came home but it was after I’d gone to bed.

“Why’s he always late?” Will had complained one night at dinner. I knew he wasn’t happy that Pops wasn’t around much.