Hostile Makeover (23 page)

“For one thing,” she said as she moved into the bathroom to start packing up her cosmetics, “you don’t want me to work, and I don’t think I can give it up.” She reached past him to get her hair dryer and curling iron. “I need some time to figure things out.”

“But what about the boys?”

Judy refused to be sidetracked. Surely her sons were old enough to survive without her for a few days. “I’ll let them know that I have to be away for a little bit. They’re so busy they’ll probably hardly notice I’m gone.”

“But who’ll take them to their activities? Who’ll keep up the house? Who’ll—”

“My mother will help, and I’m sure Eva will be glad to come in and clean a few more days a week. You’ll be fine.”

“But you can’t just . . . leave us here. Where will you go? What will you do? How will I reach you?”

“I don’t know,” she said as she zipped the makeup case and grasped the handle. “The boys can reach me anytime on my cell phone. I’d rather not hear from you unless it’s an emergency.”

“Judy, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever—”

She turned and raised a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. His look of shock was almost comical.

With a small start of satisfaction, she realized that she now had his complete and undivided attention. “Could you put those suitcases in the car for me, Craig?” she asked in as friendly a tone as she could muster. “They’re a little bit heavier than I’d anticipated.”

Shelley spent most of Friday evening alternately trying not to sleep with Trey and trying to want to.

They began with drinks in “their” spot—a table in a dark corner of the bar at the Ritz, where Shelley consumed two Cosmopolitans and a handful of peanuts while trying to see Trey Davenport in the same light she’d seen him in before he’d hit the floor at the Mendelsohns’.

By the time they reached the end of a wine-infused dinner at Veni Vidi Vici she was starting to realize what an uphill battle she was waging.

She slipped the last spoonful of tiramisu into her mouth and took a final sip of brandy. Trey’s gaze caressed her bare shoulders and lingered on her décolleté before moving up to meet hers.

Shelley tried to lose herself in the blue of his eyes. She stared into his face, with its finely chiseled features, and imagined it positioned over hers. Then she imagined the feel of his lips and the warmth of his breath on her cheek. When that failed to produce the desired . . . desire, she scoured her memory for a picture of the washboard abs and rock-solid thighs, closed her eyes to better remember the weight of his perfectly toned body settling on top of hers.

She could have that body for the night or for the weekend; she could enjoy it for as long as she chose with no major strings attached. All she had to do was get in the mood and let Trey make love to her. Sex now, reassessment later. It had worked for Scarlett O’Hara, it could work for her. She did not have to figure everything out tonight.

And she definitely did not need to keep comparing Trey Davenport to Ross Morgan as if she were playing some sexual version of eenie, meenie, minee, mo in which she could point out which man she preferred without having to face Trey’s disappointment or Ross’s potential amusement. Not for the first time, she wished she were a man and didn’t have to muddy up the sexual waters with the complications of feelings and expectations.

She didn’t need happily ever after, the perfect mate, or some warped version of Hepburn and Tracy, or Doris and Rock. She just needed to get her head around the concept of having sex tonight with Trey Davenport.

“Your place or mine?” Trey’s voice was husky and his eyes were warm. His lips were turned up in humor as he delivered the pickup cliché.

Shelley winced. Even as a joke, the line was pretty uninspiring.
Come on, Trey
, she thought,
help me out here
.

Trying to put herself in the mood, she smiled in the sexiest way she knew how and licked her lips suggestively. She could see in Trey’s eyes that her act was working for him. It wasn’t doing a damned thing for her. “Let’s go to my place,” she said in her breathiest voice. At least that way if the evening ended badly, she’d already be home.

Trey covered her hand with his and called for the check. Five minutes later they were in his car racing toward her condo and she was trying to get pumped for what was about to happen.

Were there cheers for this sort of thing? Focusing exercises? Maybe she needed to find her inner child and threaten to spank it.

In the elevator of her building, Trey pressed her up against the back wall. She could feel his erection through the thin barrier of her dress. His hands snaked behind her, inched her dress up, and cupped her buttocks, which had been left bare by the black satin thong.

All she felt was a faint glimmer of interest. And the certain knowledge that if she had been in this elevator with Ross Morgan, she would be reaching for the emergency stop button right now.

“No!” She tried to push the thought from her mind, but pushed Trey away at the same time.

“What?” Trey looked up, startled. “What’s wrong?”

The elevator door slid open.

“We’re here.” Shelley smoothed her dress down and followed Trey off the elevator. The idea of sleeping with someone, even Trey, when she was so not in the mood made her slightly nauseous. Or maybe she’d just had too much wine?

Faking an orgasm had been bad enough. Having sex with someone she wasn’t sure she wanted to sleep with felt decidedly . . . yucky.

Shelley fumbled the door key out of her purse and fit it in the lock.

Inside, Trey wrapped his arms around her and walked her backward into the foyer, kicking the door closed behind him. He kissed her for what felt like a long time. With their lips still locked, Trey loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. “I thought we’d never get here,” he breathed as he dropped his shirt and tie to the floor and slipped his hands inside the front of her dress.

Shelley shivered, but not from excitement. If she didn’t stop this right now, they were going to end up in bed. And although she didn’t understand her reasons, she simply didn’t want to sleep with Trey tonight. Or possibly ever again.

“Trey, I—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish, but swept her up into his arms and braced her against his bare chest. He was whirling to head for her bedroom when the doorbell rang. The sound of it resonated through the marbled foyer. There was a thud against the front door and then the sound of something landing on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

Trey stopped where he was and disengaged their mouths. “Let’s pretend we didn’t hear that.”

He took a step toward the bedroom.

“Trey, it’s midnight. We can’t just ignore it.”

The bell rang again. Whoever was ringing held their finger down and the echo in the foyer made it feel like they were trapped in the bell tower at the cathedral of Notre Dame.

When the sound subsided a muffled voice reached them through the door. “Shelley? Shelley, it’s me.”

Trey’s smile faded. His shoulders drooped. “I guess we can rule out Jehovah’s Witnesses or Girl Scouts?”

He set her on her feet with obvious reluctance then moved beside her as Shelley straightened her dress and pulled open the front door.

Judy stood in the center of a perfectly matched set of luggage. It was midnight and tears streamed down her face.

“Oh.” Judy took in Trey’s bare chest and Shelley’s disheveled state. She sniffed and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I should have realized. I—”

“Shhh,” Shelley said, stepping forward to draw her sister inside. “It’s OK. Don’t even think about it.”

Without being asked, Trey walked into the hall and started carrying in Judy’s luggage.

“I’m so sorry,” Judy said again as Shelley led her to the couch and helped her to sit down. “I’m really sorry to interrupt.”

Trey brought in the last of the suitcases and closed the front door.

Judy’s sobs filled the living room. “I wouldn’t have come here. But I’ve been driving around for hours and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

chapter
22

T
he sisters watched Trey shrug into his shirt and loop the tie over his shoulders. Shelley hoped her feelings didn’t show on her face; concern for her sister warred with her relief at having been saved by the bell. If she was no longer attracted to Trey she should simply say so, but she couldn’t exactly end their relationship in front of Judy. Nor could she do so without any warning; how could she be about to sleep with him one moment and ready to end things the next?

She looked up into Trey’s disappointed face and sighed. Was she afraid of hurting his feelings or afraid that if she didn’t have Trey as an excuse she’d end up in another supply closet with Ross Morgan?

“Have a good trip to L.A.,” Trey said.

“Thanks.” She stood and went up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Bye.” Judy waved dispiritedly from the living room couch as Shelley walked him into the foyer and locked the door behind him.

Back in the living room, Shelley sank into a club chair. Judy’s luggage was everywhere. “Are you headed out of town?”

Judy shook her head.

“It’s after midnight and you seem to have your entire wardrobe with you,” Shelley observed. “You must be going somewhere.”

A lone tear slid down Judy’s cheek. She shook her head again. “I left Craig. And I didn’t have anywhere to go.” She began to cry quietly. “How pathetic is that?”

No more pathetic than not being able to tell a guy you didn’t want to go out with him anymore. Certainly no more pathetic than almost sleeping with that guy in order not to have to tell him yet.

“You left Craig?”

“Well, I’m not sure I
left
him, left him. I just had to get away for a while.” She sniffed again. “Everything’s such a mess.”

Shelley watched her sister struggle for control. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Judy shook her head and swiped at her cheek.

“All right, but I don’t ever want to hear you say you don’t have anywhere to go. I’m your sister. You always have a place to go.”

Judy sniffed. “Really?”

“Umm-hmm.” Shelley wasn’t sure which thing alarmed her more—the fact that her sister had left her husband and brought what looked like all her worldly possessions with her, or the way she seemed to be clinging so tightly to every word Shelley uttered. “It’s late and you look dead on your feet. We can talk in the morning.”

Judy yawned and blinked. “I definitely need to go to bed.” She looked at the suitcases surrounding her.

“Come on.” Shelley stood and helped Judy do the same. “Just bring your overnight case. We’ll deal with the rest of it tomorrow.”

Slipping an arm around Judy’s shoulder, Shelley led her to the guest room, then pulled down the covers and plumped the pillows while her sister went into the adjoining bathroom to brush her teeth and change into a nightgown.

Struck by the odd rightness of it, she tucked her sister into bed and drew the covers up over her. “Good night, Jude. Sleep tight.”

Turning off the bedside lamp, she tiptoed toward the bedroom door. By the time she reached it and turned to pull it closed behind her, the sound of Judy’s even breathing already filled the room.

Shelley awoke at nine
A.M.
to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Pulling on her bathrobe, she followed the scent through the living room, which was already devoid of luggage, and into the kitchen, which was full of wonderful smells. “Oh, my God, is that what I think it is?”

“Yep.” The skin under Judy’s eyes was dark and shadowed, but she appeared showered and dressed and completely made-up. She wore black hip-hugger capris and a clingy black-and-white-striped T-shirt. Except for the dark circles, she didn’t look like an almost-forty-year-old woman who’d left her husband. “All I could find was bread, milk, and eggs, so I made French toast.”

“Great.”

The kitchen counters had been wiped clean and two places were set at the kitchen table. Shelley didn’t know where Judy had found the bottle of syrup that was already sitting in the center of the table, and she didn’t care. They were having French toast and coffee and she didn’t have to get dressed to get it.

“Sit down, I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.” Without waiting for a reply, Judy poured coffee into a mug, added half a Splenda, and gave it a quick stir.

Before Shelley could protest, the coffee was sitting in front of her, that wonderful aroma wafting up to tickle her nostrils. “Thank you.”

Judy flipped the French toast onto their plates and carried them back to the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” Shelley lifted the coffee to her lips and sipped gratefully. “But I really appreciate you doing this.” Commanding herself not to salivate, she took her first bite, which was heavenly. The second bite was even better.

“It’s nothing. If you’d had cheese or veggies I could have made you an omelet. Craig loves feta, tomato, and onion in his—he calls it My Big Fat Greek Wedding Omelet.” Her voice faltered and she jumped up to flip something on the stove.

“Well, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

Judy returned to the table, her eyes suspiciously moist.

“But I’m very glad that you did,” Shelley hastened to add. “I hope your family realizes how lucky they are to have you taking care of them.”

Judy stabbed at her French toast, but Shelley noticed she didn’t actually eat any of it. She shook her head sadly.

“Sometimes I feel like the hired help, except, of course, I’m grossly underpaid. I drop things off and pick them up, I cook, I carpool. And what do I get when I want to do a little something for myself?”

Shelley waited.

“I get kicked in the teeth.”

Shelley took a long pull on her coffee and waited some more—a technique that always seemed to work for Howard Mellnick.

“I work out, I stay in shape, I read up on parenting techniques. I try to give my children quality parenting time, even though they hardly want to be with me anymore. But does anyone notice me? No. All they notice is when I’m not there, or not prepared, or God forbid, want to do something of my own.”