Totlandia: Summer (12 page)

A…
what?
So that’s Lorna’s little game,
Bettina fumed.
She wants to take over my club.

Over my dead body.

So that she wouldn’t be tempted to yank out every hair on Lorna’s head—let alone yell “Shut up!” to Lily, who was chanting in her meditation corner—Bettina stood up and began stacking the dinner dishes.

She was saved by the bell. The chime of Lorna and Matt’s front door had none of the gravitas of that of the Crosses’, whose front door rang out like Big Ben.

“Who could that be?” Lorna murmured as she ran to answer it.

“Ah, darling! You’re home after all!” The voice of Lorna’s mother, Hera, elicited a groan from Matt, Bettina, and Eleanor.

Hera, who considered herself a Wiccan midwife and a bohemian, was a particular taste which her in-laws had yet to acquire.

“It’s…so nice to see you again, Mother.” From the wariness in Lorna’s voice, even her daughter was less than happy to see her.

“I’m glad you feel that way, darling, because as it turns out, I’m a free spirit right now—” Hera walked grandly past the front entry and into the dining room. “Ah! You have company—your
other
family, I see.” She did nothing to hide her disappointment.

Matt got up to give her a peck on the cheek. “So happy you could make it, Hera.”

On a broomstick, I presume,
Bettina thought to herself.

“You sweet child! It meant the world to me that you offered your spacious abode to me.”

“Um…what?” Lorna, confused, confronted Matt.

“Didn’t he tell you? Darling Matthew was so concerned about my predicament—”

Eleanor raised a brow. “What ‘predicament’?”

Hera sighed. “Unfortunately, the township of Bolinas saw it necessary to revoke the permit on my beach tent. Its presence seems to bother some of the new townies—Silicon Valley types, unfortunately.” She frowned. “My coven and I rallied until the very end, but it was all in vain.”

Lily unwound herself from a scorpion press. “You have your very own coven? Cool!”

Hera nodded. “I think so, too. Of course, when you’re a Wiccan, it comes with the territory.” She scrutinized the little girl. “You do that very well. I presume it’s not something your mother taught you.” The sarcasm in Hera’s voice was obvious.

Lily shook her head. “I study with Swami Jay.”

Hera slapped her hands together. “Get
out
of here! Why, Jay and I studied together under Swami Dhi.” She sighed. “I must say, it’s a small world. Well, aren’t you a lucky little girl. Jay was certainly the most inspirational of all the acolytes in our ashram.”

Art poked Bettina. “Have you enrolled our daughter in some cockamamie cult?”

Bettina poked him back. “No, of course not!”

But suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Maybe leaving Lily here overnight with Lorna and her nutty mother wasn’t such a great idea after all.

She was just about to say so when the doorbell rang again. “Where in hell are we,” she grumbled, “Grand Central Terminal?”

“Ah! That may be my luncheon escort,” Hera pronounced. Her eyes scanned the table. “Sorry I won’t be able to join you, but a dear old friend is in town, and I promised I’d join him for a bite before he takes the stage tonight.”

“Is he a ballet dancer like me?” Lily asked timidly.

Hera chucked her under her chin. “No, dear, a violinist.”

Eleanor gasped. “Do you mean Silvio Jaffe?”

“Why, yes! I’d love to see him perform but, alas, the symphony is sold out tonight. He’s offered to bring me backstage, but I’d miss every inflection, so why bother?”

If anyone was going to say anything, it would be Eleanor. The others knew it.

“That’s okay,” Hera prattled on. “We’ll make the most of the time we spend together this afternoon. I’m taking him over to Oakland, to a wonderful soul-food restaurant that serves the yummiest fried chicken and waffles.”

Eleanor slipped her napkin over her plate and murmured, “It just so happens that I have an extra symphony ticket. Would you like to accompany me?”

Hera’s eyes opened wide. “Why, that’s very generous of you, Eleanor. Thank you.” She looked sincerely appreciative. “In fact, why don’t you join Silvio and me for lunch?”

Well, if that doesn’t take the cake,
Bettina thought.
In fact, no one will have cake, because I’m taking it with me.

She jabbed Art on the shoulder. “Let’s blow this joint before they start singing
Kumbaya
.”

She had a much better place to be.

If only she wasn’t going there with Art.

Thursday, 23 May

2:16 p.m.

Mary, Life of Pie’s shop manager, pushed open the kitchen’s galley doors. Breathlessly she asked, “How much longer for that apple pie? I’ve got two very hungry customers asking for it, hot out of the oven if possible.”

Jillian looked up from the counter where she was spreading a ball of dough with a rolling pin into a perfect circle and glanced at the oven. “Tell them another eight minutes.”

“Super. Just make sure they come out together. Otherwise, we’ll have a cat fight on our hands.” Mary stuck her thumb in the air, took a deep breath, and dodged back through the door.

Ally looked up from her iPad where she’d been analyzing the store’s sales figures all morning. The way the store had taken off, it felt great to have something to smile about. In a few weeks, she planned on pitching Life of Pie’s prospectus to a few venture capital firms. She was grateful when Caleb offered to take Zoe to the park with Jillian’s twins so that they could discuss business as Jillian made her pies.

“Hey, you’ll never guess which pie was our hottest seller last month,” she teased.

“Sure I can. I make them, remember?” Jillian paused for a moment to think. “Our newest, chocolate cherry apricot.”

“You’re right. And from the look of things out there”—she pointed at the lineup in the shop, which could easily be seen through the kitchen’s two-way mirrored wall—“I’d say this month will be a repeat.”

“Works for me.” Jillian followed her gaze. Suddenly she dropped the rolling pin on the counter. “Oh…my God! Do you know who that is out there?”

Ally squinted through the mirror. “Who in particular…Oh! Now I see her, at the end where the line crosses the threshold of the shop. That’s Victoria, isn’t it?”

Jillian nodded slowly. She tried to pick up the rolling pin, but her hands were shaking. “I’m glad she can’t see us in here. Ha! She must be due any day now. She looks as big as a house. I wonder how Scott feels about that. When I was close to my due date, he treated me as if I had cooties.”

Ally shook her head in disgust. “Just another reason you’re lucky he left you.”

“Speaking of Scott—Ally, I wonder if you could help me with something. He’s been desperate to get his hands on a file I downloaded from his old computer. It contains some sort of financial statements, and I can’t make heads or tails of them.” She frowned. “His attorney is barraging mine almost daily now, threatening me with a search warrant. I really don’t want to cave until I know what the file contains. Who knows, they may give me some leverage in this divorce. Could you have a look at them?”

“Of course. Do you have them at home?”

“They’re in my iCloud account. Hand me your iPad, and I’ll pull them up.”

Ally handed her the tablet. A moment later, they were both eyeing one of the spreadsheets in the file. “This is a client’s portfolio from last year. Quite frankly, Jillian, it’s showing some phenomenal growth, considering the volatility of the stocks that were purchased.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see this column? He has the client in too many stocks in which the average intra-day spread fell over four percent in a fifty-day period.
Hmmm
. The stocks are all in the same fund.”

Jillian frowned. “I’m sorry, but you lost me.”

“Let me put it this way: with this particular fund—something called Treasure Island Mutuals—he’s taken some big risks with his client’s money. Luckily for him, they’ve paid off.”

Ally opened another file. A look of concern crossed her face. She clicked back to the first sheet so that she could look at them, side by side. “Wait…I see why he’s upset. This second spreadsheet is for the same client, and lists the same fund—except for the fact that it is documenting some tremendous losses, as opposed to gains.”

“Let me see that!” Jillian bent over Ally’s shoulder. “So, what exactly does it mean?”

Ally put down the iPad. “It means he’s keeping two sets of books.”

“He can go to jail for that, can’t he?” Jillian smacked the dough on the table with her fist. “Why, that son of a bitch! If I turn him in, my children’s father will be a jailbird! If I don’t, he’s probably got the funds stashed away somewhere, and he gets to cheat some innocent client. Not only that, he and Victoria and their new baby will be set for the rest of their lives. I’ll just bet he did it to impress her.” Furious, she tapped her fingers on the table.

Simultaneously, they looked through the mirror at Victoria. She was now at the front of the line. As she leaned over the bake shop’s counter, she tapped her fingers on the glass and glanced down at her watch.

“My God,” Ally murmured. “Isn’t that a Patek Philippe on her wrist?”

The kitchen galley doors parted again. Mary, more exasperated than ever, opined, “Seems like we’re out of the chocolate cherry apricot again. Worse yet, it seems like the meanest witch of the west must, quote-unquote, have one for a birthday gathering tomorrow. She swears she can’t do without it.”

Jillian slammed her fist on the counter. “Why, of course. It’s Scott’s birthday.” She stared up at the ceiling.

Ally was afraid to say anything at all.

Finally, Jillian murmured, “Mary, tell her that if she can come back in an hour, she’ll have a fresh-baked pie. She can shop for another watch. There’s a jewelry store down the block.”

Mary chuckled as she disappeared between the doors again.

Jillian leaned under the counter, pulled out her purse, and took out a small box.

It contained a plastic vial which held some pills. Using a mortar and pestle, she ground the pills into powder. After placing dough into a pie pan, she spooned some premixed filling from a large bowl into a smaller one, added the powder, then mixed it again.

Ally gawked at her. “Um…what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Making a pie.”

“What did you put in it?” Ally was almost afraid to ask.

“Pedia-Lax. Amelia has been constipated lately.” As Jillian spooned the filling into the crust, she muttered, “Apricots are a natural diuretic. The pills are my way of making sure the job is done right. So he and a few of our—
his
—closest and dearest friends will have the runs for a few days. No big deal.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s the last gift he’ll get from me. I’m making sure it’s memorable.” Jillian slapped another ball of dough on the counter. With a pinwheel cutter, she shredded it into long strips.

Ally walked over to the counter. She picked up a strip and laid it over the filling.

Jillian followed her lead.

Together, they laid out a lattice of dough on top of the pie.

At one point, their fingers crossed.

Ally patted Jillian’s hand.

The pie came out of the oven golden brown, and smelling of the deep, rich chocolate folded in with its fruit filling.

Wednesday, 12 June

1:04 p.m.

Over the past few weeks, Bettina had stayed away from the soccer field, on purpose.

For one reason: she had no legitimate reason to be there. They both knew it.

But now that she couldn’t keep away any longer, she hated the way Andy played it cool—pretending not to see her there, flirting with the Twosies mothers, who, for the past few weeks, had the smug privilege to refer to him as “our coach.”

To hell with that. He wasn’t
their
anything.

He was all hers.

She’d make sure of that, one way or another.

Bettina waited until the last mother wrangled her tot into his stroller and wheeled him off, hyper yet cranky, for a much-needed afternoon nap.

He waited by his car until she found the nerve to walk over to him. Then he waited patiently while she hemmed and hawed with this excuse and that bullshit reason as to why it was imperative that they come to a meeting of the minds.

He smiled at her slyly. “Why don’t you just come out and say it. You want to
fuck
me.”

He accomplished his goal. That shut her up.

For a moment, anyway. But in time she whispered, “Yes. I want you.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.

She couldn’t believe her ears. “I…beg your pardon?”

“Say it. Or it will never happen.”

That was all she needed to hear. “
I want to fuck you
. There, I said it. Now what?”

He laughed. She didn’t know if she should be ashamed, or happy. All she knew was that he was smiling down at her, flirting with her, desiring her as much as she desired him.

“Now we fuck.” He shrugged. “Among other things. Follow me to my place.”

She shook her head. “My place,” she countered. “You won’t regret it.”

This was more than she could say about her most recent sexual encounter.

Bettina’s first—and, she vowed, her last—excursion into the world of sex clubs was disheartening at best, and repulsive at worst. None of the men in attendance embodied her erotic fantasies. The doms were bombastic bullies to their cowering subs.

On the other hand, the way in which those men who had a taste for either the whip or paddle on their own backsides bent to it so readily took all the fun out of it for her.

“If I’d wanted to wallop a spineless wuss, I could have stayed home with Art,” she groused.

The orgasms of those who chose to participate in the public sex acts and orgies seemed to be hollow imitators of those she’d seen in porn flicks. By comparison, Jade should have won an Academy Award.
Note to self: Ask her for tips.

Alas, that conversation would never happen. If Jade ever suspected that Bettina already knew about her past, any hold PHM&T’s founder had over her would go out the window, along with Brady’s funding of Art’s financial schemes.