Angelique Rising (12 page)

             
"Yes I did. No. No, I don't want one. It was my decision. A student at the university. Uncle Mal met her when we were at a restaurant once, ask him. Look, I know you all want to meet her, but I'm going to hold off on that for a few weeks, then I'll introduce you. No, I want to give her a chance to --hi, Mom. No... no dinners, no parties, let's postpone all that for a while. What --oh... Dad. NO SHE'S NOT!"

             
"I think we just got to the is-she-pregnant question," George grinned to Angelique. "Welcome to the family."

*****

              "Let me pour you a drink," Malcolm said to Maureen.

             
"I don't
want
a drink."

             
"Yes you do. And you sure as hell need one."

             
"I'd like one too, Daddy," Tinka asked hopefully. "I mean, it's quite an occasion."

             
They were sitting in Malcolm's study discussing one topic: the news of Wyatt's marriage.

             
"Did she say when he's getting back?" Maureen asked tersely.

             
"No, she said they were at the airport in Vegas with George, about to return. But she also said he doesn't want any family intrusions for a while so I wouldn't recommend you go tearing over there."

             
"A small one?" Tinka asked.

             
Malcolm turned his eyes to his daughter.

             
"You twenty-one yet?"

             
"In a couple of months..."

             
"Then that's when you shall be getting a drink."

             
"I can't believe he did this. To a
singer
. Tinka's age! And he's only known her for
weeks
. That
fucking
Gala." Maureen downed the drink Malcolm handed her and poured herself another.

             
"Stop your pacing and sit down. This isn't anything to get suicidal over."

             
Maureen pulled herself upright. She was five feet nine inches tall and she knew every one of those inches was luscious. Groomed. Coiffed. Blonded. But that girl... that girl had been special, even she had seen that. And so had Wyatt. She'd never get him back now.

             
"What if she doesn't want me working around him? I could lose my
job
, Malcolm. Then all I'd have to do would be the charity bookings at your Center."

             
Malcolm didn't give a rat's ass about Maureen's job at the company, let her go find a real one. He'd wanted
the girl.
And he
really
wanted to know why that half-pint eunuch Ira Silverberg had wanted her so desperately
. Whatever he's paying you, I'll double
. What had that been all about?

             
"I bet she's pregnant," Maureen sneered like a cobra spitting venom.

             
"Well that's how
you
got him," Tinka ventured cocking her head.

             
"I have my doubts Wyatt would be foolish enough to make that same mistake twice," Malcolm observed.

             
Maureen glared at them both but she didn't say anything because it was true, it was exactly how she had gotten Wyatt to marry her.

             
Maureen had been told she "probably" couldn't have children. She had embellished that a bit perhaps, telling Wyatt she absolutely could
not
get pregnant. But there she was all
available
for the oh so busy up and coming young businessman --one succulent accessible package, and voilà-- a miracle! Pregnant! And it wasn't like she hadn't given him an out; she'd told Wyatt if he didn't want to marry her, fine, her stepfather, Malcolm, would help her raise the child. His child. Raised by Malcolm.
That
had gotten a ring onto her finger fast enough. But the doctor's assessment had proven correct, she'd lost the pregnancy and then just as fast (thanks to that monstrous but still lucrative prenuptial agreement Wyatt had insisted upon) Wyatt too. But she hadn't lost the luscious, and she'd hoped... especially as the years passed and no woman took her place. Oh there were plenty of girlfriends, but they came and went,
she
remained. True, he kept her at the company mostly because she was (however tenuously) "family" but still, he kept her.

             
But now, a
wife.

             
Malcolm truly
did not care whether Maureen lost her job at the company for the simple reason that Malcolm did not care what happened to the company itself. Not anymore. He was the eldest, his father was supposed to have brought
him
in, left it all to
him
to manage for the family. But baby Tinka had been suddenly presented to the old man and investigations had been made. His father had found out all about his eldest son's indiscretions, his
private
sexual tastes, and his father had been so revolted he'd totally written Malcolm out of anything further to do with his world. To ease his conscience though, he'd given Malcolm a great deal of money to start his
own
company --far away from him-- and for pure vengeance Malcolm had done precisely that. He'd started an investment company that, owing to Malcolm's sharpness and unconcern for ethics of any kind had done quite well. Now he managed only his own money, very successfully, freeing his time for what he actually enjoyed, his Malcolm Cochran Performance Center (previously named the Malcolm Cochran Center for the Performing Arts, but he'd changed it when he'd put the athletic departments in).

             
As far as Tinka's mother's action --he'd seen to it that woman had paid mightily for what she'd cost him which was the reason Tinka had ended up motherless and he'd married Maureen's mother to raise her, a wife discarded as soon as she was no longer needed. But Maureen had known which side her bread was buttered on and she'd maneuvered superbly to stay with him, which he'd allowed solely because she'd proven herself useful in the discard-her-mother task. So Malcolm had no interest in Maureen's possible employment difficulty, nor the company Wyatt had stolen from him, no, Malcolm had interest in one thing.

             
Malcolm's plan for the ultimate acquirement of the girl, Angelique, would have to be carefully redrafted now, his pent up antagonism and rage of years past restrained. He would not be able to leave a loose end like Wyatt in the whole endeavor.

             
"I think it's all very romantic," Tinka sighed. "They looked so
perfect
together when they sang at the Gala and when he kissed her? I'd never seen
anything
like that, half the audience combusted! I wonder if she knows how lucky she is, how
good
he's going to be to her."

             
That got Malcolm thinking. Yes, how
would
he treat her? Some of Malcolm's lessons to Wyatt
had
stuck. Did she know about them? Had he told her? If she only found out after she'd committed a punishable transgression there was a good chance she'd be absconding from that marriage straightaway.

             
It was all such a disappointment.

             
And all of it based on a sexual fantasy Malcolm had had since forever. He wanted to find out what would happen with one girl and
two
men. Simultaneously. He wanted to hear the
scream
. But that of course required another man's participation and he couldn't risk just any man. No, he'd decided it would be Wyatt. Perfect. He'd begun Wyatt's careful grooming vis-à-vis his confidential preferences on the day Wyatt had turned eighteen. A very high quality prostitute young Wyatt had enthusiastically accepted. And more. Then, with his expensive ladies of the evening Malcolm had instructed Wyatt regarding the proper disciplining of a female into obedience. And Wyatt had gone along. But then Malcolm had attempted to segue Wyatt to the next step, the enjoyment of the female after obedience had been achieved and at this Wyatt had blanched. No, at this Wyatt had been horrified. His student had fled. And forever after there had been that judgmental disapproval from Wyatt, the little
snit
. And George? George hadn't even accepted the proffered prostitute on his eighteenth.

             
Malcolm smiled. Maybe he should resume his search for another man to assist him with his fantasy. Maybe he could find one in time so that Angelique could be the other participant in his little reverie. That would be nice, he thought. That would be
very
nice.

*****

              "I have to, Wyatt, I'm under contract," Angelique reproached him.

             
"You are my wife now, you do not have to perform. I'll buy out your contract."

             
"That would still make me a welcher. I don't want that reputation. And besides, it's at the most elite private club in the city --even you are a member!-- it's not like I'll be lounge lizard singing someplace."

             
Wyatt stiffened truculently. They had been living in his home for a short while and this was their first disagreement. Angelique was committed to perform at Malcolm's very exclusive atop-the-Performance-Center-club on Friday night but Wyatt didn't want his new wife singing and shaking her booty for his friends, business associates, competitors, enemies, all of them, to gawk at.

             
"The answer is NO."

             
"I have to Wyatt. It's... all arranged." Wyatt peered at her quizzically knowing she was hiding something and that she was practicing a
look
on him.

             
"What," he said, his features set in hawklike intensity, "is going on?"

             
"I couldn't... stand the idea of me not saying
anything
to your parents when we got back from Vegas. What if that made them hate me? So... I got your Mom's email address off your phone and I sent her the video of us singing that duet at your Gala. And she emailed me back."

             
"And what," he sensed trouble, "did she say?"

             
"She invited me to your birthday party Friday night which you told me nothing about! I told her I couldn't, I was working at the club. But we... worked it out."

             
"And how," he fought to control his temper, "did the two of you do that?"

             
"She's changed her plans. She's going to serve an hors d' oeuvres buffet, not a sit down dinner, at six o'clock, not eight, and then, after--" Angelique took a deep breath and plunged in, "we're all going to the club and you all are gonna watch me perform and after we're having a birthday cake there for you." She said this on one very fast exhaled breath. "Your Mom," she repeated in a final broadside. "Your
Mom
."

             
He had forgotten all about the damn birthday party. And now his mother and his wife had "worked it out" with no consultation with him whatsoever let alone any input.

             
"My whole family," he recapped, letting it sink in, "meeting you for the first time."

             
"Well it's not like they haven't seen me perform before, Wyatt. And I'll tone it down, I'll take out the French prostitute song."

             
"That would be appreciated. Especially if my grandmother comes."

             
She smiled. It really was like the married girls at the Center had been advising her all week. Getting what she wanted was all about
handling
him. Laying stuff on him
at the right time
.

             
"Angelique, you realize who will be there, don't you? Uncle Mal. I didn't get the impression you particularly liked him. And he will undoubtedly bring his stepdaughter, Maureen, who I've told you is my former wife. Are you sure you want to face that? My parents, Malcolm, Maureen, all at the same time? And if Ira Silverberg finds out you're performing at the club, which he will, where do you think he's going to be?"

             
"Okay don't take this as too smaltzy, Wyatt, but sometimes I think I can face anything if you're with me."

             
Now he really sighed. No way he could say no to her after she said something like that and he figured she darn well knew it. He looked at her. She was still smiling.

             
Yup, she knew it.
Pushover.

*****