Magdalene (14 page)

Now you can figure out how to get it.

Mitch hadn’t had so much fun since he’d
taught Mina how to drive on their first date, then when they were
first married and without children, when he’d taken her on cheap
adventures and taught her to be silly with him. Once he’d gotten
her away from Shane, given her the freedom of his name and
validated her fun-loving soul, he’d watched her blossom about as
much as she could.

But she’d never opened up that far. She
hadn’t had the strength to pop open the way he’d hoped she would,
especially after Lisette was born. Mina had been happiest spending
her energy with the children, nesting in their apartment, pinching
pennies until they screamed, keeping hearth and home while Mitch
went to school and worked at menial jobs and tended to church
callings that had demanded everything he’d had.

And, well, Mina loved babies, toddlers,
children, but she hadn’t been altogether thrilled with how one went
about making them. He knew that, although he hadn’t known
why
until she was pregnant with Trevor. But because he
always had other things on his mind, because he was always at work
or at church, sex—or lack thereof—had never been an issue.

Tonight, having stood on Cassandra’s stoop,
captivated by her cool, dark beauty, knowing none of her children
were home, knowing she wanted him, knowing she had no barriers to
keep her from sex whenever, however she wanted it, that she
enjoyed
it and could teach him anything and
everything...

It had immediately become an issue.

Don’t lie to me, boy.

Okay, okay. Not just tonight.

Eight months ago he’d stepped out of his
life for a while and indulged himself on a dance floor, his
favorite teenage pastime, long dormant, one Mina was not physically
capable of sharing with him, one from which he could walk away when
he got too uncomfortable.

Then last month he’d spent a week at
Whittaker House, in the midst of beautiful women, any one of whom
would’ve—

Unable to walk away from the temptation
because his presence was needed
and
he’d needed his family’s
help and that was the fastest way to get it.

He’d spent the last year dealing with this,
being single, suddenly without most of the obligations that had
taken up his time, able to take a second to look around at what the
world had to offer, wanting...something—and not knowing where to
start.

Lisette and Geneviève were married and lived
far away in opposite directions.

Mina was gone.

Trevor would fly the nest soon.

The foundry’s profitability had risen
markedly once Eilis had taken Fen’s place, settling the last of
Mitch’s worries. It had been his own choice not to do business with
Fen, but because OKH was the foundry’s biggest customer, the cost
had been great. With Eilis at the helm, Mitch had no reason to
withhold his products from OKH.

When Cassandra finished detaching Jep
Industries from the Steelworks—critical now that the foundry’s
growth had exploded with the new business—the entire operation
would be permanently settled. Mitch’s officers could run it should
he decide to take a sabbatical or bury himself in his lab with his
alloys, or both.

And surely,
surely
he’d be released
from the bishopric sometime soon...

Wouldn’t he?

Right?!

Soon. Patience. You have a mess to clean up
first.

Two or three, more like.

No, just one.

A world of attractive, available women,
and—

Look, if all you want is companionship,
you got a church full of single women our age. Half of ’em are
virgins and half of
those
have PhDs.

Bryce’s advice.

Look, if all you want is sex, I know a dozen
powerful women who’ll blow your mind without blowing your bank
account. Break free, Elder. Break free!

Sebastian’s.

Mitch had money, power, time, and an
almost-empty nest.

And had spent the last year dazed and
confused.

Until Cassandra St. James had walked into
his office, austere, aggressive, accomplished.

And beautiful. Even—no,
especially
—in
faded, hole-ridden jeans through which he could see thermal
underwear, three sweaters (mismatched), and her beautiful black
hair, sleek and shiny, swinging freely around her shoulders when
she moved. She’d guessed his planned evening activity and layered
accordingly.

He got out of the shower, dried, dressed for
bed, crawled in it, checked the clock.

Three-thirty in the morning.

“Thank you,” he sighed, his eyelids drifting
closed, too tired to pray properly.

You’re welcome.

•

His phone rang.

He groaned at the ringtone, slapping his
hand over his face.

“Mitch,” said Steve without preamble when he
answered, “did you authorize a youth activity today?”

Mitch smacked his lips together and looked
at the clock. Nine. He wasn’t due to pick Cassandra up until
twelve-thirty. “No,” he croaked. “On a holiday? I wouldn’t have
authorized anything like that.”

“Greg says you did. Says it was scheduled
before you released him”

And there it was, Greg’s latest divot out of
Mitch’s credibility.

“Oh, I remember now. Yeah, I did and yes, it
was. I forgot to mention it in ward council or put it on the
calendar, so that’s my fault. Let ’em in.”

Steve said nothing for a beat or two. He
wouldn’t countermand him, and he wouldn’t accuse Mitch of lying,
but he knew something was off kilter. “Okay,” he said finally.

“Steve,” Mitch said, “I haven’t heard
anything about Sally all week and I didn’t see her Tuesday. What
happened?”

Steve growled. “Wouldn’t call the police.
Wouldn’t go the hospital. Wouldn’t go a shelter. Dan’s denying it,
but he does have a temper. If Sally weren’t so...”

Nobody ever said it.

If Sally weren’t so stuck on Mitch.

“He’s getting madder and madder.”

“I know,” Mitch said low. “Can’t be helped.
I’m gonna have to talk to him.”

“This is going to implode.”

Yes, it would. “I’m going to send her to
counseling,” he said. “This is at a level I can’t touch, and I will
not
meet with her privately anymore.”

“You better do it soon. Prissy’s seen Greg,
ah...
comforting
...Sally.”

Mitch bit back a groan and could muster
nothing more than a lame, “I see.”

“Okay, boss. Sorry I woke you up.”

“No problem.”

Are you going to give me another calling or
not?

Not.

You motherfucker.

Don’t keep coming to me like a kid who
didn’t get what he wanted the first time, thinking he can wear me
down. Until the stake president gives me a direct order, nothing’s
going to happen.

He will.

It’s been a month and a half, Greg. I see
him in two meetings a week and he hasn’t said a word. So either he
doesn’t feel a need to stick his nose in my business or he thinks I
made a good call.

At least
now
there’s no question
about whether or not you can prove whatever it is you think I
did.

Of course I can. But we both have all the
time in the world for me to do it.

You’re such a hypocrite, Mitch. No wonder a
third of the ward’s pissed at you.

If a third of the ward weren’t angry with
me, I wouldn’t be a decent bishop.

I could do better.

Apparently the Lord doesn’t think so.

Fuck you.

“I hate this job,” Mitch muttered, and tried
to go back to sleep.

But couldn’t.

* * * * *

Gypsies,
Tramps, & Thieves

January 1, 2011

“
YOU WHAT?!
” It wasn’t a screech so
much as a horror-movie scream. “You promised!”

I shrugged, calmly preparing for New Year’s
Day brunch with Mitch. “You’ve made a lot of promises to me you
didn’t keep,” I said.

“This was important to me, Cassie!” Clarissa
yelled from the top of the stairs that led down to my bedroom
suite, otherwise known as The Bordello. It was my safe place. She
wouldn’t deign to set foot in it. “God, you’re a bitch!”

“You say that so often,” I mused as I
dropped my towel and slipped into my favorite black lingerie. “I
wonder what your basis for comparison is.” I sat on my bed and
pulled on thick black tights, then grabbed my thigh-high black
leather boots. Over that, a thick, thigh-length red sweater.

“Oh, you are not serious,” she sneered from
her perch. No, she wouldn’t come down into my subterranean suite,
but she’d make herself comfortable at the top of the stairs.
“Fuck-me boots?
Really
? You’re not twenty-five anymore,
Mother.”

“You,” I murmured as I swept my almost-dry
hair into a loose queue at the back of my neck, “should be so lucky
to look like me when you’re forty-six.”

“Oh, bullshit. At least I have tits.”

“Fake ones. And with your party habits and
tanning schedule, you’ll have to have Botox before I do.” She
gasped. “It’s the smoking that’ll really age you, you know, with
all those little lines around your mouth, which I don’t have. It’s
fortunate all your boyfriends smoke, too. I imagine kissing you is
like licking an ashtray.”

“Oh, right. Fucking hundreds of men for
money is
more
healthy and virtuous than smoking.”

I put big gold hoop earrings in my ears.
“You might not like the way I’ve lived my life, Clarissa, but at
least I’ve been smart about it.” Well, when I had the chance to
make my own decisions. I met her eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t give
it away, Clarissa. That’s the point. I vetted my clients carefully,
didn’t budge on the terms of service, protected myself inside and
out, and demanded what I was worth.”

“And then some. Care to spread the wealth
the way you spread your legs?”

“You live in my house, don’t you?”

“Not
your
house. Daddy’s.”

I ignored that. “At least I remember to feed
and water you now and again.”

“I have to go to Daddy for
everything
.”

“Including your tits. If you’re feeling that
deprived, get a job.”

“On my back?”

I shrugged. “Why not? It’s the only thing
you’re qualified to do at this point. When are you graduating
again? Have you taken your LSATs?”

“You’re dressing for someone,” she hissed.
“Setting up shop again? Who’s the lucky john or jane?”

I turned then and said, “You will not refer
to this man as a john, client, customer, trick, fuck, or any other
pejorative. One slightly off-color peep, and I will make sure you
don’t come within three states of Knox Hilliard—or any other law
school in the world. And don’t forget. I can make sure you
never
graduate no matter what you do or how hard you
work.”

Her bluster fled and her mouth hung open,
her body frozen at the distinct threat in my voice.

“His name is Mitch Hollander and you will
speak of him and treat him with the utmost respect. Do I make
myself clear?”

I had never spoken to her like this, never
threatened her with anything. Gordon and I had fucked up our
daughters’ lives irreparably and I accepted that there were
consequences. Clarissa’s contempt was one of them.

But I would
not
allow her to transfer
it to Mitch.

Unfortunately, she found her attitude again.
“What are you going to do? Ruin my entire life the way you did
Grandfather Rivington’s?”

“There are fates worse than working for
minimum wage.” Of course, my ex-father-in-law didn’t think so,
which was why I’d chosen that one.

She curled her lip at me, but the doorbell
rang and she hopped up to answer it. She’d probably try to sink her
claws into Mitch directly, but he could take care of himself.
Perhaps between the two of us, Clarissa could be muzzled.

What a peculiar idea.

She was remarkably well behaved, however, as
she stood holding the door open, shivering, saying—pleading,
“Really, won’t you come in? It’s
freezing
.”

“Thank you, no. I’ll wait here.”

Ah, he’d confused her.

Scrambled her brains.

“Mitch,” I said, slipping out, brushing
against Clarissa as I passed. “This is my number two, Clarissa
Rivington. Clarissa, Mitch Hollander.”

He inclined his head. “Nice to meet you,
Miss Rivington.”

Clarissa stood, still stunned. “Uh, you
too,” she murmured, unable to do anything else when confronted with
a man so obviously a proper gentleman.

Mitch glanced at me, then at Clarissa. Held
her stare, eyebrow raised, until she blushed—
blushed!
—and
closed the door with a respectful nod. He said nothing as he helped
me into my red-and-black plaid wool jacket, a tad shorter than my
sweater.

“That was...” He paused. “Tense.”

“We just had a little come-to-Jesus
meeting.”

“Ah.”

“I’ve never seen her roll over and present
her tummy like that. How’d you do it?”

He chuckled. “It’s my Bishop Hollander
stare. You deal with twenty-odd hormonally ratcheted teenage girls
of varying temperaments and backgrounds every week, you get good at
the silent smackdown.”

“What about the boys?”

“Not silent.”

I chuckled. “I— Actually, I don’t think
anybody’s ever done that to her.” I could hear the wonder in my own
voice.

He shrugged. “Part of my job.” He turned me,
stepped back, looked me up and down. His mouth twitched. “Very
nice.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

“I’m not giving you the satisfaction of
telling you what I’m thinking right now.”

I swept his overcoat open to check for the
evidence in his khakis. “Ha! You just did.” He shook his head in
helpless amusement and I laughed in wicked delight.

We descended the stairs and set off, heading
toward Park Avenue and our New Year’s Day brunch. He was careful to
walk on the outside of the sidewalk, holding my hand, entwining his
gloved fingers with mine. I leaned against him as we strolled in
warm, companionable silence for a couple of blocks.