Wife Is A 4-Letter Word (14 page)

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Authors: Stephanie Bond

BOOK: Wife Is A 4-Letter Word
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Whatever apology she might have conjured up was cut short by the arrival of a uniformed officer. “Hello,” the cop said, standing over Alan with a tight smile. “Again.”
 
“WELL, look on the bright side,” Pam said as she led the way to the double-parked limo the following morning.
Numb from another night in jail and a head full of contradicting thoughts, Alan gingerly touched his swollen right eye and asked, “And that would be?”
“We didn't have sex last night,” she said brightly.
Which would have been the only redeeming event of the past twenty-four hours, Alan thought miserably.
“And we're leaving today,” she sang, obviously anxious to return home. “I checked us out of the hotel—Twiggy said goodbye. I bought a suitcase and packed your things—they're in the car.”
He stopped and stared at two new dents and the Kaminiskiesque parking job that left only two tires of the pimpmobile on the street, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he opened the back door of the limo and climbed in, banging the door closed behind him.
“You're letting me drive to the airport?” Pam yelled from the driver's seat after she buzzed down the divider panel.
Alan clicked his seat belt into place, pulled the strap tight and laid his head back. “Your definition of driving is a loose interpretation, but I'm too drained to argue.”
“Okay,” she said excitedly, revving the engine. I'm starved—do you mind if we stop and get something to eat on the way? We've got plenty of time before the flight”
“Go for it,” he said, removing his broken glasses so he couldn't witness the driving event.
Of course, he hadn't anticipated she would attempt to take the limo through a drive-through window—they were stuck in a tight curve by a squawking monitor for forty-five minutes. No longer surprised by any stunt she pulled, Alan ordered an ice-cream sandwich to hold against his puffy eye and munched a hamburger in the back seat during the melee. When the scraping sounds became too unbearable, he turned up the TV and watched a rerun of “Laugh-In” until she finally eased the car by the metal posts and the high curbs.
She buzzed down the panel when they were on the expressway again. “We still have over an hour,” she yelled cheerfully. “We'll make it.”
He buzzed up the panel and unwrapped the icecream sandwich.
Five minutes later they were at a dead standstill. She buzzed down the panel. “It's a freaking parking lot out here—the radio says there's a tractor-trailer overturned and we won't move for at least an hour. Don't worry—we'll still make it.” She smiled, then buzzed up the panel.
Alan sighed and picked up the remote control. Then a thought struck him and he buzzed down the panel. “Hey, Kaminski?”
She twisted in her seat. “Yeah?”
“Have you ever gotten naked in a limo?”
Her smile was slow in coming, but broad and mischievous. “No.”
“Want to?”
In answer, she buzzed up the panel. Alan sighed again and laid his head back. “Can't blame a guy for asking,” he muttered. Especially since she'd go back to her stud stable once they returned to Savannah.
Suddenly the door opened and she bounded inside, toppling over him, laughing like a teenager. She straddled him and kissed him hard, then asked, “Do you think an hour is enough time?”
“We'll have to hit the highlights,” he whispered, locking the door.
“What about the lowlights?” she said, pouting.
“In the interest of time,” he murmured, pulling at her waistband, “I'll have to give them a lick and a promise.”
 
RUNNING THROUGH the parking lot of the car-rental return, Pam yelled, “That can't ever happen again.”
“Right,” Alan yelled back. “Never.”
They rushed into the building. Alan forked over an obscene deposit to a pinched-nose man in case his insurance company wouldn't cover the various damages to the limo, then they sprinted through the airport as fast as his stillaching hip would allow. When they dropped into their seats on the plane, he found it unbelievable that only a few days had passed since they'd left Savannah. It seemed like a lifetime ago—not to mention a small fortune ago, he noted wryly.
After takeoff, he donned a set of headphones, not to ignore Pam, but hoping to put some perspective on the week before they reached Savannah. Indeed, the more distant the Fort Myers skyline became, the more painfully clear the answers seemed.
Instead of trying to dissect the roller coaster of emotions she had evoked in him this week, he simply needed to consider the facts: he had been vulnerable, she had been eager to comfort a friend. Besides, even if the circumstances were ideal—which they weren‘t—and even if he had the intention of taking a wife—which he didn't—he couldn't imagine any woman more unsuited to marriage than Pamela Kaminski.
Thankfully, their flight was uneventful—the little mishap when Pam sent an entire overhead bin of luggage pounding down on two passengers didn't even merit an eye twitch on his new scale of relativity. Rankling him further, she seemed oblivious to his brooding, chatting with the flight attendants and somehow managing to paint her toenails during the flight.
It was only when they were landing and he glanced over to see her death grip on the padded arms of her seat that he conceded to himself how extremely fond of her he'd become. Alan reached over to squeeze her hand, and the grateful smile she gave him made his heart lurch crazily. He knew in that moment that even if his eye healed, the tattoo was safely removed, the charges were dropped and his car insurance wasn't canceled, he still might never fully recover from his week with Pamela.
She was her usual cheery self through baggage claim and on their way back to her car, reinforcing Alan's suspicion that, for Pam, the week had simply been a casual romp—the woman had no earth-shattering revelations weighing her down. And despite the trouble that seemed to follow her around, he was going to miss her. Perhaps, he decided, after a few weeks had passed and he had shaken this somber, life-evaluating mood, he'd call her, just to see how she was doing.
He offered to call a cab, but she insisted on driving him home, saying she needed to check on some new home listings in his neighborhood, anyway. On the way, she ran two red lights, but stopped traffic on the bypass to let a mother duck and her ducklings cross.
When she pulled onto the long driveway, Alan stared at his imposing home and realized with a jolt that only one week ago, he had anticipated returning to carry his bride, Jo Montgomery, across the threshold. Now he felt almost giddy with relief at the change in circumstances. He and Jo would have been content, but not entirely happy. She had never looked at him the way she looked at John Sterling. And he owed it to himself to find a woman he could care about that much.
“Are you okay?” Pam'asked, jarring him out of his reverie.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, realizing she was waiting for him to get out. But when he grasped the handle, she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Alan,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he said, his heart thudding against his chest.
“I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“For breaking your glasses and denting the limo and getting the ticket and having you tattooed and blacking your eye and getting you arrested.”
“Twice,” he amended.
“Twice,” she agreed.
Her blue eyes were wide, and her upside-down mouth trembled. She was so beautiful, she was impossible to resist. He inhaled deeply and gave her a wry smile. “Forget it.” Her happy grin was worth every misery he'd experienced over the week.
He opened the door and retrieved the dark suitcase she had purchased and packed for him. When he walked around to the driver's side, his mind racing for something to say, he suddenly remembered the pendant he had bought for her. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, rooting through his gym bag until he came up with the black box. “For you.”
“For me?” she asked quietly, taking her lower lip in her teeth. She slowly lifted the lid and stared at the gold sand castle, then ran her finger over the surface. “It's beautiful,” she whispered, then raised shining eyes. “But why?” .
Because
I want you to remember me, to remember us.
“Because,” he said with a shrug, “I wanted to thank you for keeping me company. It was fun,” he lied. It wasn't fun—it was surprising, disturbing, stimulating, stressful and amazing, but it wasn't fun.
“I love it.”
She pulled the necklace from the box and fastened the clasp around her neck. The pendant disappeared into her cleavage and Alan swallowed hard.
“Thank you, Alan.”
“I'll see you...” His voice trailed off because he didn't want to appear as desperately hopeful as he felt
“Sometime,” she finished for him.
“Right,” he said with a nod.
“Fine,” she said with a nod.
Alan watched as she rolled up the window, backed over several hundred dollars' worth of landscaping and pulled onto the road directly in the path of a luxury car whose owner stood on the brake to avoid a collision. Then, with a fluttery wave and a grind of stripped gears, she was gone.
11
P
AM SLAPPED HER KNEE and laughed uproariously. “That's the best April Fool's gag I've heard today, Dr. Campbell.”
Eleanor Campbell pursed her lips and steepled her fingers together over her desk. “It's no joke, Pamela. You're pregnant.”
Shock, alarm and stark terror washed over her. Her throat closed and her fingers went numb. “H-how is that possible?”
Dr. Campbell smiled. “Do you want layman's terms or the scientific version?”
“Whichever will make it less true,” Pam whispered. “I take my birth control pills faithfully.”
“But if you had read the warning brochure for the antibiotics I prescribed for that ear infection a couple of months ago,” she said sternly, “you would have known the medication can reduce the effectiveness of birth control pills.” She sighed and gave Pam a sad smile. “I take it this is not a happy occasion for you and the father.”
Pam closed her eyes and swallowed. “When did it happen?”
“According to the information you gave me regarding your last cycle, I'd guess on or about Valentine's Day.”
If she didn't open her eyes, she decided, she wouldn't have to face it. Wouldn't have to face the fact that she was living up to the tainted Kaminski name by conceiving an illegitimate child. Wouldn't have to face the fact that life as she knew it was over. Wouldn't have to face the fact that Alan, whom she'd not seen or spoken to since returning to Savannah—and who
hated
kids—was the father of the baby growing inside her.
 
“MR. PARISH?” Alan's secretary's voice echoed over the speakerphone.
Alan left what had become his favorite post, the high-backed chair by the window, to push a button on his desk panel. “Yes?”
“I'm sorry, sir. Tickets to the scholarship social are sold out.”
He cursed under his breath safely out of range of the microphone. “How about the hospital golf benefit?”
“Sold out.”
“The lighthouse-preservation dinner?”
“Gone. The only tickets I could find for this weekend were for the podiatrists' political-action campaign dinner and the bird-watchers' society all-night skate at the roller rink.”
Alan frowned. Feet or feathers-not much of a choice. “Get me two of each,” he said. He dropped into his leather chair, then flipped to Pam's business card in his Rolodex—as if he hadn't memorized it. Hell, he'd dialed it twenty-eight times in the weeks since they'd returned to Savannah, but he'd always hung up before the first ring. Now he had a good excuse.
Well, maybe not good—but reasonable.
He sighed. Okay, it wasn't even reasonable, but he prayed his ploy didn't come across as desperation...even though it was.
After punching in her number, he cleared his voice, fully expecting to have to leave a message on her voice mail, but to his surprise, Pam's voice came on the line. “Hello, this is Pamela. How can I help you?”
“Uh, hi, Pam. This is Alan...Parish.”
A few seconds of silence passed. “Hi, Alan. What's up?”
“Oh, not much,” he said, summoning a nervous laugh. “I just called to wish you a happy April Fool's Day.”
More silence, then, “That's nice.”
He picked up a pen and started doodling on a pad of paper. “So, how have you been?”
“Fine, I guess,” she said. “How's your eye?”
“It healed.”
“And, uh, the other end?”
“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat, “it's a delicate operation—Tm still trying to choose the best doctor.”
“Jo told me the two of you talked things through.”
“That's right.” Not that there were any unresolved issues in his mind. But he knew it had made Jo feel better to explain why she had canceled their wedding.
“She seems really happy being a mom,” Pam said
He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but he kept picturing her nude in the limo. “Yeah, can you imagine taking care of three kids?”
“Um, no, I can't.”
And her breasts—God, he shuddered just thinking about them. “Just the thought sends chills up my spine.”
“I remember your view on kids, Alan.”
Funny, but right now he could legitimately say the most difficult part about having a baby would be sharing his wife—emotionally and physically. Pam was the kind of woman that made a man selfish. Alan shook his head to clear it. Pam, a wife? What was he thinking?
“Alan, are you still there?”
“What? Sure, I'm here.” He cleared his throat. “Say, Pam, are you free this weekend to attend a business function?”
During her few seconds of hesitation, he died a thousand times. “What kind of business function?”
His mind raced—what the devil had Linda said? “Uh, there's a feet convention at the skating rink.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, a political fund-raiser for birds.”
“What?”
Where was his brain? “Forget business—can we have dinner tonight at the River Plaza Hotel?”
“Is something wrong, Alan?”
She obviously thought the idea of them having a date was so far-fetched there had to be some other compelling reason for them to get together. “I need to talk to you...about Jo,” he said, wincing at his choice of subject matter, but it was too late.
“Jo?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, rushing ahead. “I'm having trouble working through some things and I hoped you could help me.”
The silence stretched on.
“Pam?” he urged.
“Sure,” she said softly. “What are friends for?”
His heart jumped for joy. “Really? I mean—” he swallowed “—that's great. Uh, seven o'clock?”
“Seven sounds fine.”
She didn't sound too happy about it, but he didn't care. He just wanted to see her again. Alan's mind raced for another topic to prolong the conversation. “Have you sold the Sheridan house?”
“Not yet—Mrs. Wingate hired a poltergeist-detection team to spend the night there. We're waiting on the results. Listen, Alan, I really need to run.”
“Oh, sure,” he said, fighting to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I'll see you tonight.” He hung up the phone slowly, trying to be optimistic, but he'd heard the distance in her voice. Alan looked down at the pad of paper he'd been doodling on and stopped, then jammed his fingers through his hair and sighed.
He'd drawn the outline of a heart and inside, in slanting letters, he'd written the word
Pam's
 
PAM SETTLED the phone in its cradle and blinked back hot tears. How ironic that after all these weeks, he had chosen today to call. Today, when she was wrestling with how to break the news to him that he had fathered a child while on a fake honeymoon with his ex-fiancée's best friend.
How could she face him? How could she present him with the news of a child he did not want by a woman he did not want? Wouldn't the Parish family be proud. She could hear the whispers now, see the sneers on her brothers' faces.
She dropped her head into her hands. How could she face Jo? Since Pam's return, her friend had thanked her profusely for offering Alan a comforting hand during a very trying period in his life. Only it would soon become clear that she had offered Alan more than her hand.
How could she face her child? How could she tell her child that he or she was conceived in lust by a father who had just been jilted and by a mother whose dreams were too outlandish to be realized?
And how could she face herself? She had been careless with her heart, and careless with her body. She had known Alan was in love with her best friend. He'd used her to get over the hurt, and she had let him. She had let him on the slimmest hope that the man who represented everything she wanted in a partner—security, integrity, heritage and nobility—would recognize in her what no man had ever seen and fall in love with her.
Perhaps she had loved him ever since he'd hauled her off Mary Jane Cunningham's back in high school. He had taken up for her, but she'd given him a shin-shiner because she didn't know how else to react to someone in his social class. She couldn't very well act as though she
liked
him. Since that day, she had found it easier to make fun of him rather than admit he had something she envied. And when their paths had crossed again as adults, she had simply picked up where she'd left off. Only in the wee hours of the morning when she was alone with her thoughts and fears and dreams had she been honest with herself. Only then had she admitted that Alan was the man she wanted but knew she'd never have, so she'd filled her dance card with has-beens and wannabes and never-would-bes.
Just like Alan had filled his dance card with her in the wake of Jo's rejection.
She shoved her hands into her hair. Now what? Pam wiped her eyes and pulled her address book from a desk drawer. After dialing an Atlanta extension, she sniffed mightily, feeling better just at the anticipation of hearing the voice of a dear old friend. Someone with a little objective distance. Someone she could trust to set her straight. Someone with big, broad, undemanding shoulders.
“Hello?”
“Manny? It's Pamela.”
“Well, hello, baby doll!” He clucked. “You'd better have a good excuse why I haven't heard from you lately.”
She smiled at the laughter in his voice. “Would you settle for a good excuse for calling now?” As much as she tried to maintain control, she could not keep her voice from breaking on the last word.
“What's wrong?” he asked, immediately serious. “Oh, God, it's a man, isn't it?” He sighed dramatically. “The straight ones all seem programmed to seek and destroy.”
“I need to get away for a few days,” she whispered.
I'll alert the pedestrians of Atlanta that you're on your way.”
 
ALAN CHECKED his watch for the twentieth time. Where was she? Pam was only a few minutes late, but after he'd talked to her, the rest of the afternoon had crawled. He was impatient to see her, to talk to her. He drummed on the surface of the hotel bar, feeling ready to come out of his skin with anticipation. The bartender slid a shot of whiskey across the bar and he downed it, hoping it would give him the courage he needed.
He loved her. It sounded ridiculous and she'd probably laugh in his face, but he didn't care. The week in Fort Myers, although admittedly fraught with disaster, had given him a taste of her spice for life, and he had become addicted. Every day since returning home, he had told himself the restlessness would pass, that they had simply been caught up in the romance of a beach fling. But he finally had to admit to himself that he wanted Pamela, that he
needed
Pamela in his life.
And he refused to share her with other men—he wanted a commitment Marriage seemed a bit ludicrous considering he had been standing at the altar with another woman just a few weeks ago. Besides, Pam had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't looking to become anyone's wife. But he hoped she would at least move in with him, a public declaration that they were a couple. Then perhaps someday they would both be ready for marriage...and a family.
Alan stopped and shook his head. He still had to get through tonight—he'd worry about the heavy stuff later. His imminent concern was the risk of her choking from laughing too hard. In his mind he reviewed the Heimlich maneuver, then checked his watch again. She was worth waiting for.
 
AROUND EIGHT O'CLOCK Pam found a parking place a half block from Manny's apartment building. Her back ached and her feet were swollen from the five-hour drive, an omen of the months to come, she knew. She'd cried off her makeup by the time she'd reached Macon, but Manny wouldn't mind. City sounds greeted her when she opened the door and lifted herself out of the car Little Five Points was one of her favorite areas in Atlanta, and ablaze with crimson, pink and white azaleas, it was certainly one of the prettiest this time of year.
She rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs, then grabbed her bag. Although it was only a short walk to Manny's building, followed by a brief flight of stairs, her feet felt as though they were made of concrete by the time she arrived at her friend's apartment. He swung open the door before she'd finished knocking and swept her into a huge hug.
When he set her on her feet, he chucked her lightly under the chin. “Pam, one of these days you simply must begin to age.”
Pam smiled at the tall, fair-haired man she'd met at a club several years ago. They'd hit it off and had maintained contact over the years, visiting at every chance. Manny Oliver was a confirmed homosexual and a world-class good guy. Pam looked at his dancing eyes and sighed. “Manny, if you ever decide to jump ship, I want to be the first to. know.”

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