Capital Wives (6 page)

D
amon Paxton stood by the entrance to Bethany's bathroom, watching as she dotted moisturizer on her face and neck before going through a ritual of massaging her forehead, cheeks and throat.

He didn't know why she found the need to buy and use so many creams and lotions, but he signed the checks payable to her dermatologist because it made her happy. And there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to keep Bethany happy.

When he'd been told that she was in the museum's bathroom throwing up his first thought was Bethany was pregnant—again. At fifty-four he didn't need another child, yet he hadn't taken the necessary steps to make certain he would never father another. When Bethany reassured him she'd eaten something that hadn't agreed with her Damon was finally able to relax. He had his daughters, and he also had a son to carry on the Paxton name.

“Are you certain Mrs. Rodgers can't bring you a cup of tea to settle your stomach?”

Bethany met his gaze in the mirror's reflection. “I'm good.”

She turned to walk out of the bathroom, but Damon blocked her retreat. “Not tonight, Beth.”

Her luminous violet eyes darkened. “What are you talking about?”

His hands went to her shoulders, tightening slightly when she attempted to escape him. “You've spent the past two weeks sleeping in the guest bedroom. It stops tonight.”

“Why tonight, Damon? What makes tonight so different from the others?”

He closed his eyes for several seconds. “When Marisol McDonald told me you were in the bathroom throwing up I thought you were pregnant again.”

“Would that have been so horrible?”

Damon smiled. “No. At least not for you.”

Bethany's pale eyebrows lifted. “And it would be for you?”

“Do you realize how old I am?”

“I know how old you are, Daddy.”

His smile widened. Bethany always called him
Daddy
when talking to their children, but there were times when making love she did call him daddy. “I love my children, but at fifty-four I can't see myself with a newborn.”

“You know I'm on the Pill, so that should alleviate your worry that I'll become pregnant again.”

“I'm not worried, Beth. The only birth control that is guaranteed is sterilization, and if you were to get pregnant again you know I'll be here with you.” With each of her pregnancies, Damon had rearranged his schedule to accompany her to every appointment and test. He'd been her Lamaze coach and sat with her when she'd opted for natural childbirth.

“I know that, Damon.” Taking a step, Bethany buried
her face between his neck and shoulder. “I don't need any more children. We have a son and a daughter, so I'm totally fulfilled.”

Damon's arms came down and he looped them around her waist. “I love you, Beth. I love you more than I could have imagined loving any woman. I've never made it a secret that I married Jean because she was pregnant with Paige. When I look back I realize it was a piss-poor reason to marry, but I wanted to do the right thing.”

Curving her arms under Damon's shoulders, Bethany molded her breasts to his solid chest. “Never apologize for doing the right thing.”

“I know it hasn't been easy for you because everyone believes you broke up my marriage to Jean, but it was over before it had a chance to begin. I'm not one to kiss and tell, but I don't think we made love a dozen times during the time we stayed together.”

Bethany pulled back, staring up at Damon staring back at her. “What did you do?”

“I slept with a lot of women, including you.”

Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “But…but you told me you never cheated on me.”

“And I haven't. From the first time we slept together I've never looked at another woman, because I don't have to.” He ran a hand through her thick hair. “You're everything I want. You're beautiful, smart, sexy and a good mother.”

“I want to be a good wife, too.”

He kissed her nose. “You are a good wife.”

“The wives of your business associates don't think so. They hate me because they blame me for breaking up your marriage.”

“They're not worth talking about.”

“They are,” Bethany insisted. “Not one of them sitting at the table tonight looked at me or uttered a word.”

“They were jealous.”

“They are heifers.”

“I agree,” Damon said, smiling. “They don't have to like you, but the moment I hear that they've said something that's out of line their husbands will pay the price.”

“I don't need you to fight my battles.”

“You don't understand, Beth. It's about taking care of what belongs to me. It's my responsibility to protect you the same way I protect Paige, Abby and Connor.”

Bethany wanted to talk to Damon about Paige, but knew it would end in a row or stalemate. Her meltdown at the fundraiser was the result of Paige sabotaging the chili she'd made for Abigail and Connor. Her children loved her to cook for them, and she did at least five days each week. It was apparent Paige had emptied an inordinate amount of salt into the pot when she wasn't looking. And when she'd questioned the girl about it she'd turned the tables, claiming Bethany wanted to get her in trouble with her father.

After dumping the pot of chili into the garbage, she had Mrs. Rodgers drive the children to a local restaurant for dinner. Paige continued to taunt Bethany when she'd used a tube of her favorite lipstick and wrote the word
chili
on her bathroom mirror.

Bethany was tempted to leave it for Damon to see, but decided ignoring Paige would be more effective than giving her the negative attention she craved. It was when a woman at the table had asked Damon about Paige and he began to sing her praises that Bethany had suddenly felt physically ill. She knew if she hadn't left the table she would've not only embarrassed herself but also Damon. And she knew within a matter of hours the rumors would've been swirling around
D.C. that Mrs. Bethany Damon had had an emotional meltdown at a VIP fundraiser.

And she had Deanna Tyson to thank for rescuing her. Despite her emotional state, Bethany knew she'd found an ally in Deanna when she told her not to give the old cows the satisfaction of seeing her upset. That single sentence had the same impact of being doused with icy-cold water, being shocked by a volt of electricity or slapped violently across the face.

Bethany had continued to give herself a pep talk on the drive back to Falls Church, reminding herself that she had managed to rise above poverty to become a successful actress and journalist. It had taken focus and determination to leave Parkers Corners, a town with fewer than six hundred residents, for Charlottesville, Virginia—a city with a population of more than forty thousand. She'd been called country, white trash, trailer trash and the derogatory honkey. But she had sucked it up and survived to graduate with honors. Most times she attributed the hostility and rejection to envy and jealousy. She had what men wanted and what women didn't have. But most of all she'd had an overabundance of confidence, something she'd lost when she married Damon.

“It feels good to know that someone wants to protect me,” Bethany said after a prolonged silence.

“Not someone, Beth. Me.”

Going on tiptoe, she pressed light kisses at the corner of Damon's mouth. “What do you say we go to bed—together?”

Damon's eyes darkened until all traces of blue disappeared. “I'd like that.”

D
eanna sat at the computer, designing the invitation for her dinner party. She'd wanted engraved invitations, but when she'd called the printer he told her she would have a six-week wait. The problem was she didn't have six but only four weeks. She had to allow for a two-week turnaround for the return of phone calls and/or response cards. Her cell phone buzzed and she tapped the speaker feature when she saw the name on the display.

“Thanks for getting back to me, Esther.”

“What's up, Dee?”

“Do you have time to do thirty invitations for me?”

“How soon do you need them?”

“Two weeks,” she told the calligrapher.

“Done. Just email me everything and I'll have them back to you in a week. I just hired an assistant who does Asian calligraphy, so whenever you want an Asian theme I'll give her the job.”

Deanna removed her reading glasses. “You've just given me an idea.”

“Talk to me, girl.”

She smiled although Esther couldn't see her. “Maybe I'll use an Asian theme for the dinner. I'll buy silk fans for the ladies and splits of champagne with personalized labels with their names in English and Chinese for the men.”

“That's a nice touch, Dee. I'll have Carley do something with red and gold that will look nice. Do you want to see a sample before we complete the job?”

“No. I want to be surprised.”

“Don't you mean shocked?”

“If it's shocked as in good, then so be it.”

“You're my homegirl, Deanna. You know I'll always hook you up, because if it hadn't been for you steering business my way I would've closed up a long time ago.”

“What do they say about it takes a village? If we don't help out one another, then none of us will survive.”

“You do more than help,” Esther said, her voice filling with emotion. “You're always looking out for other folks.”

“Cast your bread upon the water—”

“Don't you dare go to church on me, Deanna Tyson,” Esther warned.

Deanna laughed. Esther's father had been a preacher and she had been required to read the Bible every day. Even at forty she could quote chapter and verse. “When was the last time you went to church?”

“I'm not going to answer that because it might tend to incriminate me. Send me what you want and I'll have it back to you in a week.”

Putting on her glasses, Deanna saved what she'd typed. Then she went online and downloaded the files to Esther. “You know your name is on the list.”

“Can I bring my partner?”

“Of course.”

She ended the call, her head filled with ideas now that she'd decided to change from a traditional theme to one with an Asian flare. That meant the menu would also change. There was a restaurant along Woodley Road that served Chinese, Japanese and Thai dishes. Deanna would also order the ubiquitious American hors d'oeuvres and entrées from her favorite caterer and wine and liquors from a wholesale distributor.

The phone buzzed again and she picked it up. “Tyson Planners, Deanna speaking.”

“Hi, Deanna. This is Bethany Paxton. I don't know if you remember me, but I was the hot mess in the bathroom at the museum.”

“I remember you, Bethany. How are you?”

“I'm well. In fact, I'm real good. Thanks to you and your friend—”

“Marisol. Her name is Marisol Rivera-McDonald.”

“Is she married to Bryce McDonald?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought I saw him at your table when I came back from the bathroom. I'm calling because I would like to treat you to lunch or dinner to thank you for helping me to get my head together. And I'd also like your opinion about a party.”

Deanna stared at the calendar she had put up on a board over the desk with her computer. “Are you available today?”

“Do you mean now?”

“No, not right now. How about one-thirty? If that's too late for you because you have to pick up your children—”

“My housekeeper picks up my children,” Bethany interrupted. “One-thirty is fine. Where do you want to meet?”

“Where do you live?”

“Falls Church. Where do you live, Deanna?”

“Alexandria.”

“I love Alexandria. Why don't you pick the restaurant and I'll meet you there at one-thirty. And don't forget it's my treat. Oh—do you think it's possible for Marisol to join us?”

“I don't know. I'll have to call her and see,” Deanna said. She knew Marisol wasn't really into Bethany, but would call and feel her out. “Your number came up on my ID, so I'll call you back after I talk to Marisol and make the reservation.”

“You're a doll, Deanna. I'll wait for your call.”

Deanna wanted to tell Bethany she was the Barbie doll. All made up and coiffed for her Ken. And she had to admit that Damon Paxton was the perfect male counterpart to his wife, with his tanned face, patrician features, tall, slender physique and expertly barbered hair. Although middle-aged, Damon was still an extremely attractive man. And from what Spencer had implied, he was quite the ladies' man.

“Do you have a food preference?” she asked before Bethany hung up.

“I love seafood.”

“How about red meat?”

“I only eat red meat twice a week, so if I eat it today, then I'm good.”

“I'm anemic, so I have to have red meat at least four times a week. There's Morton's of Chicago in downtown D.C. They also serve lobster and grilled fish.”

“It sounds good.”

Deanna hung up and hit speed dial for Marisol. Judging from her slurred response, she figured she had awoken the interior designer. “Do you want me to call you back?”

“No,” Marisol said alertly. “I was watching a movie and had dozed off. What's up?”

She told Marisol about Bethany's call. “She wants you to
come along. I thought Morton's would be a good place to eat.”

“I don't know what it is about this chick, Dee, but something about her is not sitting right with me. Maybe I have some
sangre de la bruja
like
mi abuela,
but I don't know about Bethany Paxton.”

Deanna shuddered when a cold shiver swept over her body. “You know I don't like it when you talk about witch's blood and spells.”

“You don't like it because you know they exist.”

“Can we go back to the subject? Are you coming?”

“Why not? It's not as if I was doing anything but catching up on watching the movies I've missed.”

“Where's Bryce?”

“He's in Denver.”

“What's or should I ask who's there?”

“Some millionaire looking to unseat the incumbent governor. Bryce says the man's delusional if he believes he can defeat that state's most popular governor in more than half a century, but if he wants to pay Bryce the big bucks as a consultant then who is he to tell him he's wrong?”

“Bryce is right.”

“Where are we meeting?” Marisol asked.

“Morton's on Connecticut.”

“Isn't that close to the Mayflower?”

“It's a block from the hotel.”

“I think I'm going to take a taxi and leave my car here. Can you drop me off when we're finished?”

“I can come and pick you up if you want.”

“That's not necessary. What time are we meeting Miss Bethany?”

Deanna rolled her eyes upward. When she'd first met Marisol it had taken her a while to get used to her sarcasm,
but under her friend's tough girl exterior beat a heart of gold. “One-thirty. I'll see you later, chica.”

“¡Adiós!”