Nothing But Trouble (24 page)

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Authors: Bettye Griffin

BOOK: Nothing But Trouble
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Micheline got into her clothes. “It was nice, Vic, but I've got to go.”
“Wait; I'll walk you to your car.”
“Not necessary. I parked right outside.”
She wasn't messing around, he thought. Probably just as well. He couldn't go outside naked, and he'd really prefer taking a shower before he went home, so Norell wouldn't pick up the scent of another woman on him. He would come back tomorrow and toss the bed linen in the washer. And he knew where she worked if he wanted to contact her for another go-round in case things stayed bad between him and Norell.
Micheline gave him an impersonal peck on the lips. “Good night, Vic. I enjoyed it.”
He watched her run to the door. He didn't even know Micheline's last name, but one thing he did know: She was a cheating man's dream woman.
Chapter 32
N
orell poured champagne into everyone's glass. “Here's to spending a pleasant evening with my friends,” she said, “old and older.”
Her guests laughed. “Well, I like that!” Lynn Phillips exclaimed.
“I didn't mean you were old, Lynn. I meant that we've known each other since grade school. And of course, I've known Dana and Cécile for about ten years now.”
“I guess now that we're getting close to forty I'm a little sensitive about the word ‘old',” Lynn conceded with a smile. She held up her glass. “One more toast. Here's to reconnecting with old friends. It makes the pain of losing a loved one a little bit easier.”
They all clicked glasses a second time. “And let's drink to Michael and me,” Cécile added. “Not only did we find a new house, but we sold our old one!”
“You did!” Dana exclaimed. “How wonderful. Tell us all about it!”
Cécile first took a moment to fill Lynn in on her housing dilemma, then described her new house. It sounded marvelous. Norell listened and tried to smile. She was glad that Cécile had found a larger place for her growing family, but it only made her own situation appear that much bleaker. She drained the rest of her glass, and the rush of the champagne spread warmth throughout her body. It embraced her like an old friend.
It would get her through the night.
 
 
Vic arrived home just as Norell's guests were leaving. He greeted Lynn cordially and briefly hugged Dana and Cécile, whose pregnancy was really causing her to blow up all over. “Did you girls have fun?” he said to Norell after they all drove off.
“Yes, it was real nice. Cécile and Michael found a new house over in San Jose, nice and big, from what she described. They sold their old one, too, so they'll be moving soon.”
Her voice sounded casual, but Vic watched as she went to the wet bar and poured Smirnoff into a highball glass. The hand that held the bottle shook slightly. He knew then that she was just putting up a front, and now that her friends were gone she'd be drinking herself into a stupor.
Any guilt he'd had about sleeping with Micheline evaporated like a puddle in hundred-degree heat.
 
 
Micheline felt fairly confident that none of Vic's semen had spilled out of the condom when it rolled back, but she was anxious to get home and douche just in case. She'd stop at that twenty-four-hour Walgreens and get a medicated douche. Vinegar and water wouldn't be strong enough. She wanted to get something with chemicals in it, something that could kill any runaway sperm.
At the store she noticed a display of early pregnancy tests near the boxes of douche products. She reached out, about to look at the box, but then pulled her hand back. She had no need for early pregnancy detection. All she had to do was douche, and she'd be fine. Her period would come on time, and her life would go on according to her plan.
And if she did well tomorrow with Errol's parents, she might be married by this time next year.
Chapter 33
“
M
ay I help you, Mrs. Trent?” Micheline offered.
“Oh no, dear. It's all on the table. You all come on now and sit down.”
Errol offered Micheline his arm. She took it, and he escorted her to the dining room, where she saw the table had been set for four.
“What a lovely table, Mrs. Trent,” Micheline said as she lowered her hips into the chair Errol pulled out for her. No tablecloth covered the washed oak table; instead, attractive multicolored wood place mats held plates and silverware. Ice water had been poured into goblets, and each setting also included tall iced tea glasses and wineglasses. An arrangement of fresh yellow gladiolas made a lovely centerpiece, and tall vanilla candles in silver holders graced the table as well.
“Oh, thank you, Micheline. That's such a lovely name, by the way. Is it French?”
Micheline wondered if Errol had told his parents all about her, and Mrs. Trent was simply making polite conversation. “Yes. My parents came from Haiti.”
“Ah, Haiti,” Mr. Trent said. He'd been busy grilling steaks and chicken out on the screen-enclosed patio. “I've never been there, but I understand it's a lovely island.”
“I've never been there myself.” Micheline's parents had each gone back at different times to visit family members, but she had no interest in seeing people barely scraping by.
“Really?” Mrs. Trent said. “So you were born in the States, then?”
Micheline picked up on the approval in the older woman's voice. She and Mr. Trent probably had a long list of desired attributes for the future wife of their only son, and being born on a poor, strife-torn Caribbean island probably ranked among the no-nos. “Yes. My family settled in West Palm Beach.”
“What do your parents do?”
She'd been waiting for that one and had her answer all ready. “My father owns a landscaping service. His employees tend to many of the Palm Beach estates. And my mother is a caterer.” Claude Mehu had hired himself out to do landscaping for a long time, but he owned no business. And Catherine, after leaving the hotel and getting a job cleaning offices in the evenings, sold sandwiches and potato salad to the hungry lunch crowd at a nearby factory. They both would be shocked if they could have heard their daughter describe how they earned a living, but Micheline wasn't about to tell the Trents the truth.
One look around was all it took to determine that Errol was no son of a bus driver or mailman who'd made good by becoming a dentist. His parents had an older ranch house, but it sat on the banks of the Ribault River, was impeccably furnished, and the driveway was populated with a Cadillac sedan and a Navigator SUV. She could hardly tell people of this caliber the truth about her family background—that she'd grown up in a rented house a few steps above a shack in Riviera Beach, and that not a single one of her family members had done anything to set the world on fire. Her brothers all labored at average jobs, like selling stamps at the post office or driving for UPS. As for Cécile, putting on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and typing all day hardly qualified as professional work. Maybe you had to know a few special words here and there, but anyone with half a brain should be able to do well in that field.
“Oh, they're entrepreneurs,” Mr. Trent said with a nod of approval. “That's the backbone of the economy, and it can also be a wonderful way to build wealth.”
Micheline pounced on this like a dog on a bone. “Oh, my family have always been strong believers in being their own boss. My sister also owns a business. She provides transcription services for doctors.” So what if Micheline wasn't impressed by Cécile's business venture? If it would help her out with the people she hoped would be her future in-laws, she wouldn't hesitate to use it to her advantage.
“Our family has a long entrepreneurial history,” Mrs. Trent remarked. “My parents owned the African-American funeral home in Crescent City. And my husband's father ran a moving-and-storage service.”
“Were you bitten by the entrepreneurial bug yourself, Micheline?” Mr. Trent asked.
“I'm afraid not. I'm a bilingual paralegal for a law firm downtown.”
“Do you plan on becoming an attorney?” This from Mrs. Trent. Micheline felt like a tennis ball being volleyed back and forth. She wondered if the Trents realized that their questions were being asked in an alternating rhythm.
No, I want to marry your son and have his baby.
“I considered it at one time, yes,” she said, “but I do so enjoy my career. Working full time and going to law school at night would be, if you'll excuse my bluntness, hell.”
“I'm sure it would be.”
“We went the safe route ourselves,” Mr. Trent remarked. “I'm District Counsel for the Small Business Administration, and my wife is a department head at the Internal Revenue Service.”
“But of course Errol is self-employed,” his mother said proudly. “He started his own business from the ground up. It's a huge undertaking, but in the long run it'll be worth it, even if it means waiting years before he can settle down.”
Micheline discreetly lowered her lashes. Her first reaction was to scowl at what she recognized was Mrs. Trent's message to her not to expect marriage from Errol this soon in the game. “I'm sure,” she murmured.
“Have you ever been married, Micheline?” Mr. Trent asked.
“No, I haven't. I'm still looking for my Mr. Right.” Micheline enjoyed the look of shock on Juanita Trent's face.
She thinks I want to marry her precious son? I do, but let her think that I'm not so crazy about him.
“And do you have any children?” Mrs. Trent asked demurely, wiping the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin.
“Mom,” Errol said, his tone indicating she'd gone too far.
“Oh, no,” Micheline said, looking properly taken aback. “I'd never want to have a child unless I was in a happy, secure marriage.” With a man who could support them. She didn't know what she'd do if she ever found herself a single mother. Most of them struggled to get by. Look at Dana Covington. Surely she wouldn't be taking in boarders and working full time in addition to all the hours it took to run a business if her husband had provided for her decently.
She should have known Errol's parents would want to know about that. It was a cinch they wouldn't want him to get involved with anyone who had children, and it wasn't limited to just children out of wedlock. Errol could be forty and dating a thirty-five-year-old divorcée, or even a widow like Dana, but the Trents were certain not to like it if she had kids.
“Mom, Dad,” Errol pleaded. “Do you think we can stop the investigation of Micheline and have a nice, pleasant conversation?”
“Well, we're sorry,” Mrs. Trent said with a touch of indignation. “But you can't blame us for being a little curious. You announce you're bringing a young lady over for dinner and don't tell us anything about her. We don't even know how long you two have been seeing each other.” She smiled at Micheline. “You see, my dear, when my son brings a girl home to meet us, that usually means she's very important to him. So naturally we want to know all about her.”
Errol broke in again. “Mom, please. You're embarrassing me.”
Micheline placed a hand on his forearm. “No need to be embarrassed, Errol. I think you're pretty special, too.” The Trents beamed at her, and she flashed a smile as wide as Broadway.
 
 
When Errol brought her home he made his usual play for her. Usually his kisses struck her as incredibly sensual, but tonight they simply seemed wet and sloppy. Micheline pushed him away. “I'm awfully tired, Errol. Remember, tomorrow's a workday.”
“I know, I know,” he said, his hands grasping her buttocks. “Just give me one more minute of heaven.”
He nuzzled her neck until her heavy sigh stopped him. “Micheline, what's wrong? You've been so quiet ever since we left my parents'. Don't you feel well?”
“I'm just a little tired, that's all.”
“My parents liked you, you know.”
“I liked them, too,” she lied. The Trents had the same effect on her as most people: she was indifferent to them. They mattered only if they interfered with her plans. “But Errol, I'd really like to get ready for work tomorrow and go to bed.”
“All right. I'll go. But I'm going to call you when I get home. I want to make sure you're all right.” He kissed her cheek, then slipped out the door.
Micheline latched it behind him. She knew she'd managed to charm the Trents, and it surprised her that she didn't feel happier about it than she did.
It had been a very stressful weekend for her. She'd had to anticipate Errol's parents' questions and have her answers ready, as well as turn on the charm; and despite her best efforts, that incident with the torn condom Friday night still worried her.
She kept telling herself she had nothing to worry about, that everything seemed to be working just the way she planned. Instead of worrying—an emotion foreign to her—she should be rejoicing.
Micheline thought of the look on Mrs. Trent's face when she stated she was still searching for her Mr. Right. She didn't know if they believed her or saw through her bluff, but she hoped she'd convinced them that she regarded their son as very sweet, but nothing special.
The triumphant feeling didn't last long. By the time she pulled back her bed's top sheet and slid in, the uneasiness had returned. She'd already checked her calendar. Her period wasn't due for another two weeks. In her heart she knew she wouldn't truly relax until she knew for certain.
It would be a very long two weeks.

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