Part 20 (1/2)
Francesca's green eyes widened with astonishment. ”Why wouldn't you believe she was in love with him?”
”Because she didn't act like it,” Emma explained patiently. ”I've never seen any woman, other than Torie, give him such a hard time. Meg doesn't get starry-eyed around him or hang on to his every word. She openly disagrees with him.”
”She's even smarter than I thought.” Francesca plowed a hand through her already unkempt hair. ”He's never had a woman give him trouble. It's the novelty that's attracting him.” She sagged onto the couch. ”I hope she isn't on drugs. It wouldn't surprise me. The drug culture is everywhere in Hollywood.”
”I don't think she's on drugs, Francesca. And we did try to persuade her to leave. Sunny Skipjack doesn't want any compet.i.tion for Ted, and Spence dotes on his daughter. It's getting too messy. We knew Meg didn't have any money, so we offered her a check. Not our finest hour, I a.s.sure you. Anyway, she refused.”
”Of course she refused. Why take your paltry check when she has Ted and his money in her sights?”
”Meg might be a bit more complicated than that.”
”I'm sure she is!” Francesca retorted hotly. ”Her own family has disowned her, and you can't tell me that was done lightly.”
Emma knew she had to proceed carefully. Francesca was an intelligent, rational woman, except when it came to her son and husband. She loved both men ferociously, and she'd fight off armies to protect them, even if neither wanted her protection. ”I know it might be difficult, but if you got to know her ...”
Francesca grabbed a Star Wars Star Wars figure that had been jabbing her in the hip and tossed it aside. ”If anyone-and that includes my husband-thinks I'm going to stand by and watch that woman bewitch my son ...” She blinked. Her shoulders collapsed, and all the energy seemed to seep out of her. ”Why did this have to happen now?” she said softly. figure that had been jabbing her in the hip and tossed it aside. ”If anyone-and that includes my husband-thinks I'm going to stand by and watch that woman bewitch my son ...” She blinked. Her shoulders collapsed, and all the energy seemed to seep out of her. ”Why did this have to happen now?” she said softly.
Emma went over to sit next to her on the couch. ”You're still hoping Lucy will come back, aren't you?”
Francesca rubbed her eyes. From the shadows underneath, it was obvious she hadn't slept well. ”Lucy didn't return to Was.h.i.+ngton after she ran off,” she said.
”No?”
”I've talked to Nealy. We both think this is a positive sign. Being away from home, from her job and her friends, will give her the opportunity to come to a deeper understanding of herself and what she's given up. You saw her with Ted. They loved each other. Love Love each other. And he refuses to talk about her. That tells you something, doesn't it?” each other. And he refuses to talk about her. That tells you something, doesn't it?”
”It's been two months,” Emma said carefully. ”That's an awfully long time.”
Francesca was having none of it. ”I want everything to stop.” She was up off the couch again, pacing. ”Just long enough to give Lucy a chance to change her mind. Can you imagine if she finally returns to Wynette only to discover Ted's having an affair with the woman she considers her best friend? It doesn't bear thinking about.” She spun on Emma, lines of stubborn determination forming around her mouth. ”And I'm not going to let it happen.”
Emma tried again. ”Ted is quite capable of looking after himself. You mustn't-you really mustn't do anything rash.” She gave her friend a worried look, then headed for the kitchen to make tea. As she filled the kettle, she pondered one of Wynette's most frequently recounted legends. According to local lore, Francesca had once flung a pair of four-carat diamonds into a gravel quarry to prove a point about how far she'd go to protect her son.
Meg had better take care.
The day after Meg's encounter with Francesca Beaudine, she received a summons to report to the office. As she drove the drink cart past the pro shop, Ted and Sunny emerged. Sunny wore a short blue-and-yellow harlequin print golf skirt and a sleeveless polo with a diamond quatrefoil pendant nestled in the open neck. She looked well organized, confident, self-disciplined, and perfectly capable of bearing Ted a genius baby in the morning, then heading to the course for a quick nine holes.
Ted's pale blue polo coordinated with hers. They both wore high-tech golf shoes, although he wore a ball cap instead of the yellow clip visor she slipped into her dark hair. Meg couldn't help but think how completely at ease he seemed with this woman who was holding him for ransom in exchange for a golf resort and condo development.
Meg parked the cart and made her way through the club to the office of the a.s.sistant manager. Minutes later, she was leaning across his desk trying not to yell. ”How can you fire me? Two weeks ago, you offered me a promotion to snack shop manager.” A promotion she'd turned down because she didn't want to be stuck inside.
He tugged on his stupid pink necktie. ”You've been running a private business from the drink cart.”
”I told you about it from the beginning. I made a bracelet for your mother!”
”It's against club policy.”
”It wasn't last week. What's happened since then?”
He wouldn't meet her eyes. ”I'm sorry, Meg. My hands are tied. This has come down from the top.”
Meg's thoughts raced. She wanted to ask him who was going to tell Spence she'd been fired? Or Ted? And what about the retirees who played every Tuesday morning and liked the way she kept coffee for them on the cart? Or the golfers who noticed that she never screwed up their drink orders?
But she didn't say any of that.
When she got to her car, she saw that someone had tried to rip off her winds.h.i.+eld wipers. The seat covers burned the backs of her thighs as she slid behind the wheel. Thanks to her jewelry sales, she had enough money to get back to L.A., so why did she care about this s.h.i.+tty job?
Because she liked her s.h.i.+tty job, and she liked her church with its s.h.i.+tty, makes.h.i.+ft furnis.h.i.+ngs. And she liked this s.h.i.+tty town with its big problems and weird people. Ted was right because, most of all, she liked being forced to live on her own hard work and wits.
She drove home, took a shower, and pulled on jeans, a white boho top, and her pink canvas platform sandals. Fifteen minutes later, she pa.s.sed through the stone pillars of the Beaudine compound, but she didn't head for Ted's house. Instead she pulled the Rustmobile into the circular drive in front of the sprawling limestone and stucco home where his parents lived.
Dallie answered the door. ”Meg?”
”Is your wife home?”
”She's in her office.” He didn't seem too surprised to see her, and he stepped back to let her in. ”Easiest way to get there is to follow the hallway to the end, go out the door, and cross the courtyard. Big set of arches in the wing on the right.”
”Thanks.”
The house had roughly plastered walls, beamed ceilings, and cool, tile floors. A fountain splashed in the courtyard, and the faint scent of charcoal suggested someone had fired up the grill for dinner. An arched portico shaded Francesca's office. Through the door panes, Meg saw her sitting at her desk, reading gla.s.ses perched on her small nose as she perused the paper in front of her. Meg knocked. Francesca looked up. When she saw who'd come to call, she leaned back in her chair to think it over.
Despite the Oriental rugs on the tile floors, the carved wooden furniture, folk art, and framed photographs, this was a working office with two computers, a flat-screen TV, and bookcases piled with papers, folders, and binders. Francesca finally rose and crossed the floor in rainbow flip-flops. She'd pulled her hair away from her face with a pair of small silver heart barrettes that counterbalanced the more mature half-gla.s.ses. Her fitted T-s.h.i.+rt announced her loyalty to the Texas Aggies, and her denim shorts displayed still-trim legs. But the informal wear hadn't made her give up her diamonds. They sparkled at her earlobes, around a slender wrist, and on her fingers.
She opened the door. ”Yes?”
”I understand why you did it,” Meg said. ”I'm asking you to undoit.”
Francesca pulled off the half-gla.s.ses but didn't budge. Meg had briefly entertained the notion that Sunny had been responsible, but this was an emotional act, not a calculated one. ”I have work to do,” Francesca said.
”Thanks to you, I don't.” She stared down the green icicles shooting from Francesca's eyes. ”I like my job. Embarra.s.sing to admit, since it's hardly a big-time career, but I'm good at it.”
”Interesting, but as I said, I'm busy.”
Meg refused to move. ”Here's the thing. I want my job back. In exchange, I won't rat you out to your son.”
Francesca displayed her first trace of wariness. After a short pause, she stepped aside just far enough to let Meg in. ”You want to deal? All right, let's do that.”
Family photos filled the office. One of the most prominent showed a younger Dallie Beaudine celebrating a tournament win by lifting Francesca off her feet. She hung above him, a lock of her hair tumbling over her cheek, a silver earring brus.h.i.+ng her jaw, her feet bare, and one very feminine red sandal balanced on the top of his golf shoe. There were also photos of Francesca with Dallie's first wife, the actress Holly Grace Jaffe. But most of the pictures were of a young Ted. They showed a skinny, homely boy with oversize gla.s.ses, pants pulled up nearly to his armpits, and a solemn, studious expression as he posed with model rockets, science fair projects, and his father.
”Lucy loved those pictures.” Francesca settled behind her desk.
”I'll bet.” Meg decided on a little shock treatment. ”I got her permission before I slept with your son. And her blessing. She's my best friend. I'd never have done something like that behind her back.”
Francesca hadn't expected that. For a moment, her face seemed to collapse, and then her chin came up.
Meg plunged on. ”I'll spare you any more details about your son's s.e.x life except to say he's safe with me. I have no illusions about marriage, babies, or settling into Wynette forever.”
Francesca scowled, not as relieved by that statement as she should have been. ”Of course you don't. You're a live-for-the-moment person, aren't you?”