The Reconstruction of Carla Millhouse (10 page)

“Hello, stranger,” she said as they embraced.

Jake judiciously shut the heat off under the cooking pots as they kissed and slow-danced their way into the bedroom.

* * *

An hour-and-a-half later over dinner, Jake and Jessie had a heart-to-heart talk. She had to continuously feel her own pulse to make sure she hadn’t died and gone to heaven.

“Hon,” Jake broke the warm silence. “I know I’ve been a real burden lately. I’m deeply sorry.”

“Half the battle, Jake, is knowing and accepting the problem. It’s a good first step.”

“I wish I could change things,” he replied before tugging at a piece of loose cuticle from his finger.

“Now that you’ve accepted the fact you’re a compulsive gambler, we can build on that and move forward. No more gambling debt again. Promise?”

“No, babe. Sorry I…I can’t promise that.”

Jessie’s fork dropped from her hand and clattered against the plate. She felt as if a blade had just pierced her heart. “Jake, I don’t understand.”

“I…I—”

“What? Tell me!” she begged, her throat closing with a terrible premonition of what he was about to tell her.

“I’ve really done it this time,” he said burying his face in his hands.

“What have you done?” she asked just as the answer came to her. “You’ve not gambled again, have you?”

“Yes. I know I said I wouldn’t, but honey, this was a sure thing.”

“Just like the last time. Damnit, Jake! When will you learn there are no sure things except death and taxes?”

“I know you’re mad and disappointed with me.”

She gave out a rueful laugh. “Disappointed? The word doesn’t cover half of what I’m feeling. I should have known this lovey-dovey evening was too good to be true. What’s the bottom line?”

“Fifteen thou,” he whispered.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Where the hell am I going to get the money to cover that?”

“Aunt Louise—”

“Aunt Louise wants me to kick your sorry ass out. She’s already informed me that she’s not going to give me any more money.”

“They’re going to come after me. I’ve got to get the money.”

“Damn you, Jake!” Jessie cried as hot tears filled her eyes. You should have thought about that before you made the stupid bet,” she said, slamming her palm on the table. “Damn you for all the pain you’ve given me.”

“Jess, if you still have any feeling for me, you’ve gotta help me,” he said, falling on his knees and burying his head on her chest. “Please, darlin’, these guys are serious. They’re gonna kill me if I don’t come up with the money.”

Jessie bit her bottom lip. No, she couldn’t bear that. She still loved the big oaf and always would, no matter what. Her tears flowed as she stroked his face. What the hell was she going to do? And where was she going to find 15 thousand dollars? It could have been a million for all that mattered.

She left Jake in the kitchen searching the want ads and went to bed. No matter what, she still had work the following day.

When she walked into the kitchen the following morning, she found him sleeping on the newspaper. He woke up when the coffee began to drip through the machine.

Jessie turned to look at him. A mixture of amusement and despair brought tears to her eyes. He had half of the employment section imprinted on the right side of his face.

Chapter Fourteen

Carla had weighed herself and discovered she’d only lost a pound in the past week. One stinkin’ pound. Ugh! She knew there’d come a time when the weight stopped coming off easily, but she didn’t expect it to be this hard—especially when birds ate more than her. She’d finally lost 30 pounds but losing the last 10 was killing her.

She’d been practically starving herself for months now and Martin hardly noticed—except for that one night last week when he’d come home unexpectedly early and expected dinner to be ready. Carla was so surprised to see him that it took the edge off her anger at him being so egotistical to think he could just walk in when it suited him and demand dinner.

Luckily, she hadn’t thrown all of her fast food menus out and went rummaging through her junk drawer for the Chinese take-out. While Martin washed up, she placed the order and set the table.

When the food arrived, Carla dug into her tofu and vegetable dish. Martin took a bite out of his barbecued spare rib as he speculatively gazed at her from across the table. “Are you on a diet, Carla?”

She looked up from her plate of steamed vegetables and tofu. Duh! What gave it away? That I’m eating this unappetizing meal while you’re stuffing your face with all the good stuff or that I’ve lost four dress sizes? “Yes.”

He nodded. Then after he swallowed his last bite of General Tso’s Chicken, he patted his flat gut and said, “Maybe I should watch my weight.”

She figured he was fishing for a compliment, but refused to take his bait. Instead, she replied, “Maintaining one’s weight is a healthy thing to do.”

After that night, Martin never alluded to her weight loss again. Now, even though she was in striking distance of her goal, Carla wondered if it was worth it. For all she knew, he was already preparing to divorce her for the bimbo he was seeing. Perhaps she should forget the entire damn thing. However, when she passed the long mirror on her dressing room door and saw how much better she looked, she smiled and slowly ran her hands along her newly chiseled curves. Uh-uh, no way.

* * *

Martin may not have said anything to Carla about her weight-loss, however it did concern him and he discussed it in great detail with Heather.

He’d just made love to Heather and was holding her, casually stroking one of her nipples, as they mellowed in the afterglow of great sex. “Heather…?”

“Hmm.”

“Why would a woman suddenly decide to lose weight?”

Heather turned her face up to look at him. “Are you referring to your wife?”

“Yeah. She’s been on a strict diet and belongs to a gym.”

“She’s obviously having an affair.”

Martin tensed. “How can you assume that?” he asked.

“A woman doesn’t just put herself through hell, exercising and dieting, for nothing.”

“Maybe it’s because she knows about us,” he said.

“Maybe. But then, why hasn’t she confronted you?” Heather asked.

Martin shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe she has no backbone.”

“Or perhaps, she just doesn’t care. If she hasn’t replaced you yet, she’s on the prowl.”

Martin’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Heather continued. “Women have sexual urges, too. A periodic grease and oil isn’t just for cars.”

Martin’s eyes took on the glint of hard steel. Heather knew he was beginning to comprehend where she was heading with this and plunged the knife in further. “When was the last time you two had sex?”

Martin thought a moment and then sighed. “I can’t remember.”

“She’s going to look elsewhere if you’re not giving it to her. It’s a fact of life.”

“You really think she’s cheating on me?”

“Hey,
you’re
fooling around.” Snapping her fingers, Heather said, “What’s that saying? ‘What’s good for the goose, is good for the gander.’”

“It’s different with men,” Martin grumbled.

“That double-standard is crap and you know it.”

“Maybe I should hire a PI to follow Carla.” Martin sat up.

“I hear Haywood is free,” Heather joked as she playfully poked Martin in the ribs.

Martin guffawed.

Pulling Martin back down, Heather straddled him. “No more talk about Carla.”

* * *

By the following day, the notion that Carla might be engaged in some torrid love affair had moved into Martin’s mind and had taken over, preventing the germination of any other thoughts.

It had all but consumed him to the point of wanting to strangle the truth out of his sleeping wife.

The entire night, he’d lain awake thinking how easily it would have been for Carla to cheat. She was her own boss and worked at home which gave her flexible hours. Great at multitasking, she could have been writing the books in her head as she was being screwed. How
dare
she be unfaithful to him? He seriously had the mind to hire a private investigator and have her tailed to see what she was up to.

* * *

Jessie Thompson had thought of little else but how she was going to get the money to give to Jake’s bookie. The man had called, giving Jake a “friendly” warning, which was anything but friendly. She’d watched her husband’s face drain of all color and his hands shake as he listened. The poor man looked as if his blood had frozen in his veins and he was being given his last rites. The situation was critical enough to warrant her to go to Aunt Louise and beg for help one last time.

That same afternoon, she drove to her aunt’s house, going over in her mind what she’d tell her. Jessie was prepared to grovel at her feet for the money, if she had to. She had little choice and nobody else to turn to. Afraid that her aunt would make herself scarce had she called first, Jessie took the chance of finding her home. If Aunt Louise wasn’t there, she would squat on her doorstep until she returned. She rang the bell.

When Aunt Louise called out, “Who is it?” Jessie felt her knees threaten to buckle in relief and had to brace herself against the door.

“It’s me, Jessie, Aunt Louise,” she said, her voice sounding as if it was being tossed about on the ocean.

It seemed to Jessie that her aunt was taking an inordinately long time to open the door. Was she contemplating not opening the door? What would she do then? It felt like forever when Aunt Louise opened the door at last.

“Let me put up the tea kettle. You look like crap, Jessie,” her aunt said leading her into the kitchen at the back of the spotless, excessively neat and clean bungalow. As usual, like her home, Aunt Louise was immaculately groomed and overdressed in a knee-length pleated skirt and a white silk blouse with long sleeves and formal cuffs. She wore small pearl earrings with a matching strand around her scrawny neck. Jessie couldn’t help wondering how much the pearls were worth. They could probably square Jake with his bookie.

And a wonderful “hello” to you, as well, Aunt Louise, Jessie thought.

The silence in the room was interrupted by the irritating whistle of the kettle. Jessie watched her aunt rise out of her chair noting a fleeting grimace on her face. Her gout must be acting up again. A stubborn woman, Louise refused to let the painful disease prevent her doing what needed to be done.

After the tea bags were extracted and thrown away, Aunt Louise looked directly into Jessie’s eyes and initiated the conversation.

“It ain’t my birthday, so why are you here, Jessie?”

Jessie swallowed hard. Her mouth felt as if she’d filled it with a wad of cotton. A vision of the bookie’s henchmen beating Jake with a baseball bat flashed before her.

“I know you told me you wouldn’t give me any more money, but I have no one else to turn to.”

“What stupid thing has your fool of a husband done now?”

A strand of hope dangled before Jessie. At least she was willing to listen. “He owes fifteen thousand to his bookie.”

Aunt Louise gasped. “And he expects
you
to come up with that kind of money to pay for his stupidity?”

“He’s been looking for a job. It’s not as if he’s not trying.”

Gruffly, her aunt replied, “He’s
trying
, all right.”

“I don’t know what else to do. They’ll kill him,” Jessie said, half-sobbing.

“And tell me why that’s such a bad thing?”

“He’s my husband!”

“He’s the monkey on your back, that’s all—the one that’s gonna kill
you
.”

“Aunt Louise, if you help me this last time, I swear I’ll never come to you again for money,” Jessie pleaded.

Aunt Louise placed her hand on Jessie’s arm. “When your mother died, I promised to look after you for her and I did, for I love you like a daughter. However, you’ve already spent your inheritance. The till, my dear, has run dry.” Then, perhaps as an afterthought, she added, “Ain’t tough love a bitch?”

Jessie grabbed her aunt’s hand fiercely. “No, please don’t say that, Aunt Jessie. Please!” she cried. “I’ve nowhere else to turn!”

However, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Her aunt had a stubborn streak that could not be broken. When she’d made up her mind, the subject was closed. Jessie’s tears half blinded her as she realized there was nothing further to gain there and left. She drove a block before pulling over to the side of the road and crying. In her mind’s eye Jessie saw herself hanging from a fraying rope over a creek filled with jaw-snapping alligators. Their house had no equity left. Whatever savings they had, was all but gone. It seemed so hopeless.