For Your Love (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Martin drove back to the Mercedes showroom conflicted. On the one hand, he was thrilled with the way Carla was looking lately. She reminded him of a moth breaking free of its cocoon and transforming into a beautiful butterfly. When he thought of her, he felt the same stirrings within himself that he’d known when their love was new.

Yet, on the other hand, there was Heather. And even though the conversation they shared earlier scared him, he wasn’t certain that he could let her go. She was too exciting and had slipped into his blood like some hypnotic drug. Carla could never excite him in the same way that Heather could. Having them both made him complete and happy. How could he ever choose between them?

Then, on the other hand, why should he have to? To the best of his knowledge, Carla didn’t know about his affair with Heather. If she had, wouldn’t she already have given him an ultimatum? That gave him wiggle room. And after Heather’s declaration of love for him, it was obvious he owned both their hearts. Why not maintain the status quo and keep both women? Men did it all the time. Take the Italians, for instance, with their
goomahs
or mistresses. Their wives seemed to have accepted them as a fact of life. Why on earth was he even stressing over this?

A sudden insight put everything into perspective. There was a simple way to keep Carla preoccupied and at home while he continued his dalliance with Heather. At the same time, he’d become the most loving husband by giving Carla the one thing she’d always wanted. He’d knock her up. She’d be so preoccupied with the baby she’d hardly miss his absences. Martin’s handsome face brightened as he smiled triumphantly. Now why hadn’t he thought about that before?

* * *

Don, a salesman with deep-pitted skin resulting from teenage acne, passed Martin as he entered the showroom. “The boss was looking for you.”

Martin swallowed hard. He hadn’t wanted to hear this. Had Heather’s fears been true? Was Orson going to can him? Martin managed to say, “Thanks.” He headed straight for the men’s room to make certain there was no telltale lipstick on his face or collar before speaking to Orson.

The face that appeared in the mirror was pale accentuating the blue of his eyes. He dabbed cold water on the beads of sweat that had formed a chain across his forehead. He couldn’t go into the office showing any fear. A shark like Orson would pick up the scent immediately. If he hadn’t spoken to Heather he wouldn’t suspect his boss knew anything about their affair. He had to walk into Orson’s office assuming it was still a secret.

He found Orson sitting behind his massive desk poring over an opened manila file. The older man, dressed in his usual attire consisting of an imported three-piece, handmade suit, motioned for Martin to have a seat. Swallowing hard, Martin dropped into one of the wide, cushioned, Italian, leather chairs in front of the desk.

The office served Orson as one of his sanctuaries away from home with its massive leather couch that opened to a queen-size bed, small refrigerator and fully stocked bar. A 52-inch wide screen TV hugged a paneled wall over a library of DVD movies.

While Orson read, an awkward silence enveloped the room not much different from the disquieting seconds a condemned prisoner experienced before the executioner pulled the switch. Worry hit Martin again alongside the ping-pong of “what-ifs” careening off the insides of his head like a pinball. His innards were reeling and he fought his rising nausea.

Martin was at the brink of collapsing with fear and about to shout at his boss to get it over with—whatever
it
was—when Orson took off his thick-rimmed reading glasses and put them down on the report he’d been reading. He looked up at Martin, whose palms had become so slick with sweat that he had to wipe them on his slacks. Another sharp bolt of fear pierced Martin’s gut. He tried to reassure himself that Orson knew nothing of his fooling around with Heather.

“I’ve been looking all over for you—”

Martin’s breathing became ragged and he had to struggle to keep his voice from rising two octaves. “Had to drive a customer home.”

“You couldn’t find anyone else to do it?” Orson inquired, one of his bushy eyebrows raised.

“Thought it faster to get it done myself,” Martin replied, praying that Orson had no idea how long he’d been gone.

“I see.”

Martin braced himself for what he now envisioned as the
inevitable
. He began to think of the excuse he’d give Carla for his being sacked.

“You don’t look too good, Martin. Are you coming down with the flu?”

“Don’t think so. I have lots of work waiting, though,” he nodded his head in the general direction of his desk. “What did you need to tell me?” Martin wanted to get it over with.

Orson lifted his reading glasses from the folder and pushed the folder aggressively across the desk toward Martin who immediately assumed it was dirt on him and Heather.

“Read it!”

Martin opened the folder and forced his eyes down to the page. It had nothing to do with either him or Heather. Instead he stared down at an artist’s rendition of a building. He was confounded.

“Don’t look so surprised. You knew I was in the market for another dealership.”

Martin’s heart reversed gears and began to slow down as he looked back at Orson who was now smiling like a happy kid. Finding his voice, Martin said, “That’s great, boss. When do you plan for this to happen?”

“Yesterday, of course. I intend for this to be the biggest and best showroom around.”

“Will we be selling other brands in addition to the Mercedes?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well…you did say the
biggest
showroom. It stands to reason you’d want to expand your inventory.”

“That’s why I like you, my boy. You can see the big picture. There’s a great deal of wealthy people living in the area and more are moving in as Ahwatukee is being built up as the new Scottsdale. We’ll be adding other high-end luxury cars like Lexus. Maybe Jaguar, too.”

With most of his vitals working at their normal pace, Martin was now able to think straight. He had read something about Ahwatukee recently in some magazine and knew it was an L-shaped neighborhood of Phoenix. If he remembered correctly, the Ahwatukee Foothills was geographically isolated from the rest of Phoenix due to its relatively few access points and was called the world’s largest cul-de-sac.

Martin began to ask all the pertinent questions that had come to mind and Orson answered them. Their discussion filled the better part of the next half-hour before his boss dropped the next bomb.

“I intend to move my office to the new building. You’ll move into this office and run this showroom from here. I’m having my lawyer draw up a new contract. I think you’ll like the terms.”

Martin was flabbergasted and not at all certain he’d had heard correctly. After a few moments, his brain cut through the shock and finally transmitted the signal to his vocal chords allowing him to speak. “Thank you, Orson.”

“You’ve earned it. Sales have been up.” Orson rose and Martin jumped out of his chair in response like a jack-in-the-box. Extending his hand, Orson said, “I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Martin shook the outstretched hand, earnestly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just continue to do exactly what you’re doing.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Carla was famished by the time she returned from her walk with Blondie. This wasn’t good. She should have had a light snack before she left the house. Having learned the hard way, she knew not to walk around hungry because it led to binging. It was best to eat something now or she’d undoubtedly pay for it later by overeating. As Blondie greedily lapped up the water in her dish, Carla prepared herself a light lunch.

Opening the refrigerator, she grabbed what was left of a head of lettuce, two small tomatoes, a cucumber and a slightly wilted carrot. God, she hated salads. She washed and cut the vegetables, placing them in a bowl. Then she opened a small can of tuna fish and mixed it into the vegetables. Had she mentioned how much she hated salads? She made a fresh pot of coffee, grabbed the newspaper and sat down to eat.

Carla hated the newspaper almost as much as she did salads, lately. She felt that the news was often slanted depending upon the political leanings of the paper. Back in school, she’d learned that good journalism was simply presenting the facts.

So much for truth, she mused. She absentmindedly turned the pages and skimmed the top stories as she forked the salad into her mouth hoping that the articles would distract her taste buds. She stopped eating when she came to an article on page six. It was an update on the impending trial of Concord Industries.

They were being accused of selling defective baby carriages and cribs. The law firm of Boyle, Slotkin, Horton and Cohen had taken the case. The law firm sounded familiar and Carla knew why as she read further. Richard was named as the lead counsel for the defense!

Carla’s pulse kicked into overdrive. She’d been so desolate about not hearing from Richard, worrying that he’d been using work as an excuse for avoiding her.
No wonder he’s been
out of touch
. Suddenly she felt like dancing for joy. She felt a helluva lot better now knowing he hadn’t been in touch because he really was involved with work.

This was just the kind of high-profile case Richard had been hoping for in order to strut his stuff. She knew how much making partner had meant to him and hoped he’d win this case, which would surely put him on track for partnership. It didn’t matter to her that he may be defending a guilty client. She could picture his shimmering green eyes dancing in delight as the “not guilty” verdict was read to the court. Perhaps she should call and congratulate him for getting the case.

* * *

Heather was a woman on a mission. She knew exactly who she wanted to punch Orson’s one-way ticket into the next world. All she had to do was contact “Big” Phil. He’d lived with her and her mother for nearly a year. Heather remembered him vividly. A mountain of a man with thick wavy hair and small, deep set dark eyes, he was definitely not the kind of man a person would want to encounter in a dark alley. He may have been a scary presence, but he had been very sweet to Heather. Against her mother’s wishes, he’d often give his “baby girl” candy. Though Phil might not have been overly bright, he was a highly paid, sought after hit man. If anyone could get rid of Orson without getting caught, it was Phil.

All Heather had to do was find him.

* * *

When Jessie got home from work, she found Jake in the kitchen nursing his left hand, which was swathed in a bandage. Her face immediately lost its color. “What happened to your hand, Jake?”

“I brought the money to the bookie, but he wasn’t happy with the amount.”

“That was the most advance I could get on my salary. I wish I made a bigger salary, Jake, but I don’t,” Jessie said, the tears slipping from her eyes.

“He pulled out one of my finger nails. He said this was just a taste of things to come. Jessie, what are we going to do?”

“What do you want me to say, Jake? I can’t just wave a magic wand and make it all go away.” She emphasized her words with the sweep of her arm. Her tears streamed down her face and he went to her, laying his head in her lap. She stroked his head for a moment or two. When he lifted his head to face her again, his eyes were wet.

“There’s a way to end this,” he said in an eerily soft voice.

Jessie immediately picked up on his sudden change in demeanor. Prickling sensations slowly spidered down her spine. She feared what he might say.

“I’ll rob a bank—maybe somewhere out of town. If I succeed, I’ll have the money to pay those scumbags off. If I fail, I’ll be dead from gunshot wounds or sent to jail. Either way, I’ll be out of their reach.”

Jessie looked at him speechless for a few beats before she managed to speak. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Totally sane—”

“But a hundred percent irrational.”

“Why?”

“You’re kidding, right?” It was the most asinine thing he’d ever said. But looking at his set jaw and the steely glint in his eyes, she knew he’d meant every word he’d said. “Too many variables you can’t count for.”

“Such as what?” he challenged.

“What if there’s not enough money in the place when you try to rob it? Or some innocent bystander—like a kid—gets hurt?”

She saw his jaw working as he considered what she’d said and hoped he’d drop his irrational plan of action. He’d already gotten up and was pacing the room. Finally, raking his good hand through his shaggy, blue-black hair, he turned to face her.

“Call it whatever you want, but until someone else comes up with a better plan, I’m going through with it.”

Then the answer came to her like an epiphany. It had been there within reach all the time.

She’d been way too upset to see it. The fact that it hadn’t occurred to her before this moment was unbelievable. Having been an independent person most of her life, it took this episode with Jake to force her to seek help from someone other than a family member. She’d never called in a favor she’d done for a friend before and what she intended to do would be a first. Love had the power to make a person do strange and crazy things. And she was getting a taste of it firsthand.

In a soft voice, not much more than a whisper, but with eyes as bright as a full moon filled with renewed hope, Jessie said, “No, Jake. My deck of cards isn’t depleted. There’s still one ace I haven’t played yet. However, in the meantime you should hide out in a motel.”

The feeling of hope was contagious and Jake caught it. She grabbed his arm and squeezed. They would both come out of this unscathed. There would be new beginnings. No more lying. No more deceit. All this terribleness would become history.

Jake looked searchingly into her eyes. She realized she hadn’t told him her idea yet, her mind too busy factoring in projected results. She smiled and swept the dark lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “I can borrow the money from Heather Hemmings. She owes me big time.”

“Will she have that much?” he asked out of concern and not wanting to burst her bubble of newfound joy.

“If not, she’ll know how to get it.”

The shroud of hopelessness that had covered the room just moments before lifted for good this time as they stood and moved into each other’s arms. The last thought on Jessie’s mind before Jake’s mouth claimed hers was that timing was everything. There’d be no problem approaching Heather about the money. All she needed was the right time to speak to her alone. For the first time in a very long while, her shoulders felt lighter.