Jackie Collins, page 22
She walked over to her bedroom window and gazed out. The sun blazed
hot and steady-unseasonably so. Downstairs she could hear her mother
calling out, "Lauren! Breakfast is ready."
Soon she would have to sit in the car next to her father as he dropped
her off at school. Delivered and collected. And she knew they checked
with the school secretary every day to make sure she hadn't taken
off.
Listlessly she wandered downstairs, ate the breakfast her mother had
prepared-picking at the food with absolutely no appetite at all -and
collected her books.
Phil Roberts appeared five minutes later. Was it her imagination, or
did the atmosphere between her parents seem tense? They hardly seemed
to talk anymore. She was sure she was responsible. It had to do with
the fact that her father had not concluded the insurance deal with
Benjamin Browning, therefore her mother had not received the social and
financial boost she'd expected, and this had obviously put a strain on
their relationship.
Too bad. It was nothing compared to what she was going through.
"It's hot today," Phil grumbled, struggling into his jacket and
grabbing a slice of toast on his way through the kitchen.
"The weather report says it will be hotter than yesterday," Jane
remarked.
Phil did not look in her direction. He walked into the hall and
examined himself in the mirror, reaching up to pull out a strand of
gray hair. "I'll be home late tonight," he called out, picking up his
briefcase.
Jane did not respond. She slammed dishes into the sink and ran the
water.
On the way to school Lauren decided to open up a conversation.
"Daddy, can we talk?" she began, determined to get through to him.
"Not today, Lauren," he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"I'm not in the mood."
"When will you be in the mood?"
"Stop bothering me.
Her life was breaking into little pieces and all her father could say
was "Stop bothering me." Once she'd felt she could go to him with any
problem, now there was a cold war between them. Didn't he care that he
was driving her away?
When he dropped her off she didn't even bother saying goodbye.
Dawn Kovak lingered near the lockers. She and Dawn were not exactly
close friends, but Dawn greeted her as if they were. "Did you hear
what Nick did to Stock?" Dawn asked.
Lauren was immediately alert. "What?"
Dawn was determined to draw it out. "You mean you haven't heard?"
"No. Are you going to tell me or not?"
Dawn smoothed down her tight skirt. "No need to get edgy."
"I'm not edgy. If you have something to tell me, go ahead."
"Well, from what I hear, Nick knocked Stock on his ass." Dawn couldn't
help giggling.
Lauren waited to hear more. "Are you sure?"
"It happened outside the drugstore. Stock was on his way in with a
couple of guys, and Nick was on his way out. They got into some kinda
beef and Nick creamed him. Funny, huh?"
Even though she was dying to hear all the details Lauren attempted to
stay cool. "Is . . . is Nick all right?"
"To tell you the truth," Dawn replied matter-of-factly, "me and Nick-we
don't see each other anymore.
Lauren nodded. "Oh."
"Look," Dawn said, suddenly sympathetic, "I got the message about how
he feels about you. I wouldn't interfere with that."
Lauren felt tears sting her eyelids. Nobody had spoken to her about
Nick before, there wasn't anyone she could confide in. "My parents
won't allow me to see him," she said miserably. "I don't know what to
do."
Dawn looked suitably concerned. "Yeah, Joey told me. Listen," she
added jauntily, "parents are a pain-maybe they'll change their
minds."
Lauren shook her head. "Not my parents." She paused for a moment. "I
feel so bad about everything. It's my fault Nick got kicked out of
school. I mean, if it wasn't for me . .
"Don't sweat it. He's happy working down at the gas station, beats
school any day. And it's not your fault. Stock's the one that had his
parents do the dirty."
"I know you're right, but sometimes I wake up in the morning and all I
want to do is run away.
Dawn nodded understandingly. "We all get that feeling."
"Really?"
"Sure. It's natural."
A couple of girls rushed past on their way to class. "C'mon, Lauren,
you'll be late," one of them called out.
She hesitated for a moment. "What are you doing for lunch today?"
Dawn was surprised. "Who? Me?"
"I don't see anybody else standing here."
"What I normally do. Hang out. Why? You wanna eat with me?"
"I'd like it if we could talk some more," Lauren said.
Dawn seemed pleased. "So would I."
After dropping Lauren off, Phil drove straight to his office. Before
going upstairs he stopped in at the hardware store and picked up the
new kitchen scissors Jane had ordered.
Kitchen scissors, he thought grimly. She's probably going to stab me
to death.
He collected them in the morning because he knew by the time he was
ready to go home the last thing he'd be thinking about was running an
errand for his wife.
Upstairs he unlocked his office door and entered. Eloise, his
secretary, had not yet arrived. The place smelled stuffy and humid.
He threw open the windows and settled behind his desk, thinking that
perhaps he should have allowed Lauren to talk to him in the car. It
wasn't right, this distance between them. If things were different at
home maybe it would be easier for him to communicate with his daughter,
but there was so much tension between him and Jane that he didn't seem
to have the time to deal with anything else.
He considered calling Benjamin Browning. They'd been almost ready to
conclude a business deal when Lauren had broken her engagement; after
that, he'd been unable to reach him.
The hell with it! Picking up the phone he dialed Benjamin's office
before he changed his mind.
A secretary answered, cool and efficient. "Who may I say is
calling?"
"Phil Roberts.
"Just one moment, Mr. Roberts, I'll see if he's available." A count
of ten. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, Mr. Browning is tied up in a
meeting.
May I take a message?"
"Yes, I've called several times. I need to speak to him as soon as
possible. Can he return my call."
"I'll see Mr. Browning receives the message. I'm sure he'll get back
to you.
Yes, I'm sure he will, Phil thought sourly.
Harlan told Aretha Mae he had a sore throat.
"Is it bad?" she asked.
"It feels real bad," Harlan lied.
"Where's your sister?" Her see-all eyes searched the empty trailer.
"She ain't back yet," Harlan said.
Aretha Mae fixed him with a steely stare, daring him to tell a fib.
"Is she comin' back?"
He refused to meet her stare. "I dunno."
Aretha Mae screwed up her face, knowing perfectly well Cyndra wasn't
coming back. She'd known it on Friday when the girl had come to her
with some story about going away for the weekend.
She started to poke around the trailer-all of Cyndra's favorite things
were gone, and Nick's too. So he'd run off as well. She wondered if
she should tell Primo. No. She'd wait and see if he noticed his only
son was missing-it would probably take him weeks-that's how much he
cared.
In a way she didn't mind now that she knew Nick was with Cyndra.
At least he'd keep a watchful eye on her, and maybe the two of them
together could forge a better life for themselves.
"It's okay," she told Harlan. "You can stay home."
He was delighted, he hadn't thought he'd get away with it. Harlan
never told anybody about how bad school was, the names they called
him-"nigger" and "dirt poor" and "stinking bastard." He'd gotten used
to it-he'd even gotten used to defending himself when they beat him
up.
As soon as Aretha Mae left for work he sneaked into her trailer to see
if he could scrounge some food. Primo was in his usual position, fast
asleep with the television blaring. Harlan noticed his mouth was wide
open and he couldn't help wondering if anything ever crawled in.
Stifling a chuckle he crept over to the refrigerator and peered
inside.
He spotted a chicken leg and without considering the consequences
grabbed it and hurriedly slipped out of the trailer before he was
discovered.
Primo heard the door bang shut and woke up. He sat up, scratching his
stomach. Even though it was early it was goddamn hot-he could feel the
sticky sweat trickling down his body.
He got up, went to the door and stepped outside. A skinny mutt growled
at him. He picked up a beer can and hurled it at the mangy animal.
Lately Primo found himself getting resfless. He'd never liked staying
in one place for long. Aretha Mae might be a good woman, but he was
bored. After a while, being with one woman always bored him.
Maybe the time had come to move on-after all, there was a whole country
out there, and plenty of other women who'd be only too happy to take
him in. He was still a fine-looking man. Yeah, finelooking and a
stud. What more could any woman ask?
Continuing to scratch his belly he headed for the outhouse and relieved
himselœ When he emerged he caught Harlan sitting on the steps of his
trailer chewing on a chicken leg. "Whaddaya starin' at, boy?"
Harlan lowered his eyes. "Nothin'."
"Don't give me that nothin' crap. How come ya ain't in school?"
Harlan didn't look up. "I ain't feelin' good," he muttered.
Aretha Mae and her chickens hit kids-they were always getting sick.
Except Cyndra. His daughter. Now, she was a real nice-looking girl.
If she wasn't his own flesh and blood he would certainly consider
bedding her down. She needed an experienced older man who could teach
her a thing or two.
"Wanna take a ride?" he asked Harlan.
The boy's eyes widened. Primo had never spoken to him before, let
alone offered him a ride. "Where to?" he asked suspiciously.
"Into town, unless you got a better idea."
"Nope."
"Okay. Hop in."
Primo wondered why he was being so generous allowing the kid to tag
along.
Because there was nothing to do in Bosewell, that's why. It was a
one-horse hicksville town. No decent bar, no dancing girls, no
nothing.
A new thought began nagging inside his head. If he decided to leave
Bosewell, would he have to take Nick with him?
Nah, why should he? The boy was old enough and ugly enough to manage
on his own. Besides, Aretha Mae seemed to have taken a shine to
him-let her have the responsibility for a while.
Not that he was taking off today. Right now he was riding into town
only to stock up on beer and pretzels. He'd leave the following
weekend-right after Aretha Mae came home with her paycheck. There was
nothing to stop him from borrowing it.
He'd leave in the middle of the night, that way he'd be a couple of
hundred miles away before they realized he was gone.
Primo Angelo deserved a life too, and the sweet thing was, if there was
nothing out there for him he could always come back. Aretha Mae would
always be waiting.
Eloise Hanson arrived at Phil Roberts' office at twelve noon exactly.
She worked for him three afternoons a week, typing and filing. Not
that there was much to file lately-business was grim.
Eloise was a small plump woman in her mid-thirties, with pink cheeks, a
scrubbed complexion and gentle brown eyes. Widowed a year
previously-her husband was killed in a freak accident at the canning
plant-she'd needed extra money to support herself and her elderly
mother.
At first the relationship between hetself and Phil Roberts had been
strictly businesslike, but as the months passed they'd formed a &lose
bond that eventually turned into a love affair.
Both of them felt guilty.
Both of them hated the duplicity involved.
Both of them could not keep their hands off each other.
As soon as Eloise walked into the office, fanning herself and murmuring
about the heat, Phil realized that work was over for the day.
He took her hand and led her into his private office. "No work today,"
he said, squeezing her moist palm.
She blushed a little, knowing full well what he had in mind. "But
there's letters to get out."
"Too bad."
She accepted his desire without question and slowly began unbuttoning
her blouse.
Phil went to the outer door and locked it, then pulled the shade down
and hung the CLOSED sign.
He knew Jane suspected the affair was still going on, even though he'd
assured her it was absolutely over. But he couldn't stop. Eloise was
such a caring woman, so giving and kind. Most of all she was a tiger
in bed-a woman without inhibitions. She made Phil feel like a real man
in her arms.
Not that sex with his wife hadn't always been good; over the years
they'd enjoyed a satisfactory relationshisatisfactory bordering on
dull. Eloise was different-she brought out a passion in him he'd
thought was extinguished. Eloise allowed him to relive the excitement
of his youth. After all, he was not even fifty, surely he was allowed
this final fling?
Recently Jane had given him an ultimatum. "Fire her," she'd said, her
tone allowing no argument.
"Why should I?" he'd replied, struggling to maintain control of his
marriage. "She's an excellent secretary. And you know there's nothing
between us anymore.
"I couldn't care less," Jane had replied. "I do not want that bitch
anywhere near you.
Jane never swore. To hear her say "bitch" was quite shocking.
Phil knew that firing Eloise was inevitable, but he kept on delaying
the moment. Eloise was his escape, and without her-what exactly did he
have?
Lauren and Dawn sat on the grass together sharing a tuna fish
sandwich.
"I know you went out with Nick," Lauren said, not anxious for the
details, but unable to stop herself from finding out how serious it had
been.
"It was before he started seeing you," Dawn explained. "As soon as you
came into the picture it was over." She shrugged. "Look, I
understand. I've met plenty of boys like Nick. I'm like a stopgap,
you know? I'm there when they need me and then they move on. He loves
you-he never loved me.
"Can I tell you something?" Lauren said hesitantly.
"Go ahead," Dawn replied, biting into the sandwich.
"It's . . . it's embarrassing."
