How to Score (27 page)

Had she done it on her own, or had Chandler told her to call an agent to avoid a scene like this one? For the first time since their relationship began, she allowed herself to examine a disquieting thought, one that nibbled at the edge of her mind: What if Chandler were lying to her just like he lied to Justine?

“So—are you and Justine staying in separate rooms?”

“Of course.”

On an anniversary trip? A seed of doubt was planted. Arlene knew they had separate bedrooms at home, and Chandler said he no longer slept with his wife—that he was trapped in a loveless marriage, that he stayed with Justine only out of a sense of obligation, that she was emotionally fragile because their only child had died, that his religion prohibited divorce, and that she would never give him one, anyway. It was Arlene he loved, Arlene who was his soul mate, but when it came to Justine, his hands were tied.

And yet, in the back of her mind—way back, because that was where she’d shoved the thought and where she tried to keep it—she’d always wondered if that were really the truth.

When Chandler had come to see her the night before he left for Europe, she’d cried and peppered him with questions. He’d angrily snatched up his jacket and headed for the door.

“Dammit, Arlene—if I want this kind of crap, I can get it at home.” He’d stormed out, leaving her bereft.

She’d broken their unspoken agreement. She was supposed to be his refuge from problems, not a source of new ones. He came to her for pleasure and comfort, with no obligation to reciprocate.

And for all this, she got… what? Not money; she refused to be a kept woman and worked hard for her salary.

Not status; their relationship was a total secret.

Not even time; Chandler could give her only two or three stolen hours a week.

But she loved him, and she thought he loved her, and at the time, that had seemed like enough.

Arlene had thought she would die of loneliness while he was in Europe. When he returned, he was all love and kisses. He’d handed her two presents. The first one was a gorgeous gossamer negligee. She’d put it on, and he’d promptly peeled it off. Afterward, she’d risen from the bed, padded naked across the room, and opened the second present.

It was a bottle of expensive French perfume. She’d dabbed a drop on the inside of her wrists and inhaled. “Oh, it smells divine,” she’d said. “I’ll wear it every day.”

“Better not wear it to the office,” he’d warned. “People might put two and two together.”

It was only after he’d left that it occurred to her that both gifts were things she could wear only for him.

Later, an even more painful realization hit. Justine stopped by the office to get Chandler’s opinion on a guest list, and as she’d unwrapped a bead-eyed dead mink from around her neck, a familiar fragrance had shimmered from her skin. “What wonderful perfume!” gushed the receptionist.

“Thank you,” Justine had said. “Chandler had it blended especially for me in Paris.”

“You gave me a perfume you had made for Justine?” Arlene had raged at Chandler later that night when he’d come to her house.

“I had you in mind when I described the woman it was for,” Chandler had said. “And I was thinking of us. This way, if I come home smelling of your perfume, Justine won’t know that I’ve seen you.”

There were several major flaws with that reasoning, but one cut her to the quick: Justine could wear her perfume anywhere, anytime, and no one would think it was the scent of adultery.

Well, Arlene didn’t have to smell it anymore. She crammed the dress into a trash can.

The basement phone buzzed. Arlene strode to the credenza in the foyer and picked it up. “You have a phone call from Walter Landry on line five,” her assistant said.

Arlene’s pulse quickened. “Thank you.” She drew a steadying breath and punched the button. “Hello, Walter.”

“Hello, yourself.” His deep voice flowed over her like warm water. “I was in the neighborhood and wondered if I could take you to lunch.”

She smiled, and her hand fluttered to her chest. Why, oh, why had she worn this plain brown sweater set today? “Well, I—”

“I really enjoyed your company the other day. Please say yes.”

She started to refuse from force of habit, then stopped herself. There was no reason to say no. And it would be a welcome break in this awful trunk sorting. “Well, then—yes.”

“Great! I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

Walter took her to the Piccadilly Cafeteria.

“I’ve never been here,” Arlene said as he handed her a tray.

“It’s not very fancy, but the food’s good. They serve a lot of vegetables.” He picked up a set of napkin-wrapped flatware and set it on her tray. “I’m afraid I’m not very good about fixing them on my own.”

“Did you and Helen come here?”

“All the time. It was probably our favorite restaurant. Except for special occasions, of course. For birthdays and such, we liked to go to the Brasserie.” He picked up a tray and pack of flatware for himself, then placed his tray beside hers on the metal railing. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

“I don’t really have one.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “Oh. You’re one of those girls who likes to eat around, huh?”

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“It was a joke.” Oh, gee, he hoped she didn’t take offense. “Not a very funny one, I’m afraid.”

“It certainly wasn’t.” Her eyes flashed heat, but her tone was icy.

He’d insulted her. Chagrin filled Walter’s chest as she stiffly filed past the food, ordering vegetable soup and cornbread.

“Will these be together?” the cashier at the end of the cafeteria line asked.

“No,” Arlene said quickly. “Separate checks, please.”

Oh, jeez. He followed her to a table and slid into the booth across from her. “I’m sorry for that crack back there. I didn’t mean anything.”

She leaned across the table, her eyes furious. “Just because I had a gentleman friend doesn’t mean I was promiscuous.”

Walter drew back against the red plaid booth. “I—I never thought that.”

“You certainly seemed to be implying it.”

“No! No.” He ran a hand down his face and leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “That just popped out because it was something I would have said to Helen. She and I always made these stupid little jokes to each other, a lot of them off-color. I’m sorry. That wasn’t any sort of comment about you or your—your lifestyle.” He blew out a sigh. “I’m afraid I just don’t know how to act around a woman.”

Arlene gazed at him a long moment, as if she were taking his measure. In silence, she lifted her bowl of soup off the tray and set it on the table, then looked back up and gave him an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive on the topic.” She moved her cornbread from the tray to the table. “Correction; I
know
I’m sensitive.” Her iced tea sloshed a little as she lifted it. “I never talk about my personal life. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed that I told you about it.”

“Don’t be.”

“Well, I am. And I don’t want you to think that I’m—that I’m… ” Her face colored.

She was pretty when she blushed. It made her seem somehow more accessible. “I think nothing of the sort.” Walter took her tray and fitted it under his, then carried them both to a stack of trays against the wall. “Let’s start over,” he said when he slid back into the booth across from her. “We were talking about restaurants, and you said you didn’t have a favorite. I guess that means you like a lot of different ones.”

“Well… yes. But mainly it means I don’t go out much.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “I never have.”

“Even when you were seeing your… ” Oh, dear heavens. He probably shouldn’t have said that.

Her mouth took on a tight look. “Especially then.”

“Why not?”

“My… gentleman friend was very well known, so we couldn’t be seen together.”

“Oh.” There were a lot of repercussions to this illicit affair thing that he hadn’t considered.

“We did go out of town together occasionally. We went to Dallas twice, and to Vegas once, and one time we went to New York.”

“That had to be nice. How long were you two together?”

“Twenty years.”

His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s longer than some—” He cut himself off abruptly.

“Marriages. I know.” She broke off a piece of cornbread. “You must think I’m awful, carrying on with a married man.”

He lifted his shoulders. “If Helen had been married when I met her, who knows what I would have done?”

She gave him a grateful smile. “What do you miss most about her?”

“Everything.” From waking up to see her face on the pillow beside him to falling asleep curled around her, and all the stuff in between.

“What kind of things did you do together?”

“All the little, normal stuff. We ate breakfast and dinner together every day. We talked and read the paper and worked on the lawn. We ran errands and watched TV and sometimes went out with other couples.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company.”

“I bet Helen didn’t think that.” Arlene’s face looked wistful. “What other sorts of things did you do?”

He searched his mind. “Well, when we were younger, we played in a bowling league.”

“Really? I’ve only been bowling one time, and that was back in high school. What else did you do?”

“Not nearly enough stuff. I always had my nose to the grindstone.” He sighed and let his mind wander back. “When our daughter was young, we were involved in Scouting and school activities. And there were two summers in a row when we rented a cabin at the lake and went boating and waterskiing. And sometimes we went to concerts and movies.”

“I would have loved to have done those things.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, my gentleman friend couldn’t go with me, and I wanted to be at home in case he called.”

This woman had spent her whole life sitting by a phone? “What about after you split?”

“Oh, we didn’t split. He died.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Although he wasn’t. Not a bit. “When was that?”

“Twenty years ago.” She looked down at her bowl of soup. “Back then, I thought I was too old to take up any kind of sport. Funny, isn’t it?” She looked up, her eyes sad, her mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “Now I really am.”

“You’re never too old to have fun. Why don’t I take you bowling?”

Her eyebrows flew up, as if the concept were alarming.

“You’ll love it. We’ll have a blast.”

“Oh, I can’t. I’d look like a fool.”

“So? I haven’t bowled in dozens of years, either. We’ll look foolish together. What do we care what a bunch of strangers think of us?”

She stared at him.

Walter’s heart sank. He probably should have told her she wouldn’t look foolish or have just let the subject drop. He just couldn’t seem to get things right with this woman. “Aw, gee. I’ve gone and offended you again.”

“No! No. It’s just—well, I’ve spent so much time worrying about what other people thought or didn’t think or knew or guessed that my mind didn’t even work that way. I would never think of just going out and not caring about people’s opinions.”

“Well, want to give it a try?”

Her lips twitched into a smile, and the beauty of it made Walter’s mouth go dry.

“Okay.”

Okay? She’d agreed to it! “How about the Saturday after next?”

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she nodded.

“All right. It sounds like fun.”

It did, indeed. For the first time in a long time, Walter actually had something to look forward to.

…
A
nd the first apartment had this big, high ceiling that went up two stories, and then slanted down.”

“Did you like it?” Chase held the phone against his shoulder and rubbed black polish on the toe of a dress shoe as he listened to Horace’s tinny voice.

“Oh, no. That slanted ceiling would make me dizzy. But I felt so pumped up from looking at it that I went and looked at two more apartments.”

“Way to go, Horace!”

“And you know what, Coach? It was kind of fun!”

“That’s great. I’m proud of you, man.” Chase turned the shoe and spread the polish down the side. “Did you like one of them?”

“Yeah. I found a place that’s just perfect. And they’ll let me paint the walls red and everything!”

“That’s terrific. So did you sign a lease?”

“Oh, no!” His voice rose an octave. “I’ve told you—I can’t do that. Mother would go ballistic.”

“So? If you move out, you won’t have to deal with her.”

“But—but I can’t just abandon her! She went through so much to give me life.”

“Let’s think this through logically, Horace. You do realize that every human being is born, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“So every human being has a mother. Do you think that all the people who live on their own are doing something wrong?”

“Well, no.”

Chase rubbed his shoe. “See the disconnect here?”

“Well, yes, but Mother is very sensitive.”

“Lots of people are sensitive. That doesn’t give them the right to control other people’s lives.”

“I just can’t do it yet.”

“But you’d like to?”

“Oh, yeah!”