THE GREAT PRETENDER (5 page)

Next, Reggie simply told Renee that his moving to Orlando would come at the expense of having to spend the last two weeks of each month in Miami—for Hart-Roman.

Finally, he told Tracy that Hart-Roman was offering him a significant stipend to spend the first two weeks of each month in Orlando as head honcho—an offer he simply couldn’t refuse. She hadn’t liked it at first, but reluctantly agreed.

Roger leased him a luxury corporate apartment just off Osceola Parkway and allowed him a raise in salary to go with it. And that’s when Tracy calmed down; when she saw the increase on the direct deposit pay stub—which was nearly
half
of his actual bonus. She knew nothing of the funds Reginald had automatically sent to an account in Orlando to support Renee and Denise.

Once she got used to the supplementary money, Tracy never complained again. Renee, on the other hand, did nothing but gripe about the situation. Over the years, she’d tried many times to get him to stop traveling back and forth, even for a few months, but of course, she never succeeded.

Since Reginald had conferred with him before making any major decisions over the years, Frank often felt as though
he
were the one living two lives. In fact, he could even say he was partially responsible for Reggie getting himself into this catastrophic mess. But he sure as hell didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it—not the
least
bit guilty. He took pleasure in the fact that Olivia was likely closer to him than to her own father. Too bad Valerie didn’t feel the same way.

Valerie,
Frank thought. Now, she was a piece of work. She was a sly, scheming little girl, and Frank had a feeling that one day she would be big trouble for Reginald and Tracy. He pictured her getting caught shoplifting, or perhaps getting some poor guy charged with statutory rape.
I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already,
thought Frank.

Now, Olivia was the total opposite. She was subtle, but woe was unto the person that pushed her too far. She was a tough cookie, and she pretty much kept to herself. The only thing Frank was certain of about Olivia was that she was head over heels for some idiot named Sean and her relationship with him came before anything else—including family. Frank noticed that the girl was totally oblivious to the goings-on in the household, and she really didn’t seem to care what they did or didn’t do.

And who could blame the poor girl?
thought Frank.
Look how unstable that home’s been for the last ten years
!
It’s no wonder she seeks stability from a man
.
And it certainly didn’t take long for Tracy to find love in all the wrong places. Well, I’m just gonna sit back and enjoy the show, because the curtain is definitely going up
.

Frank reached for the telephone. H
e was finally ready to summon Theresa.

A
lthough he was tired and tempted to pack up and call it a night, Brent Stone continued doing what he was being paid to do.

He’d been tailing the man since five o’clock that evening. It was now ten, and he was still unimpressed with his subject’s activities since landing in Atlanta.

Brent knew this guy’s story. Rich, married chap—had money to burn. In his line of work, he saw it repeatedly, and this one was a textbook case; no more exciting than the rest.

He parked his rental at the end of the block and made his way toward the house he’d seen his subject enter. It was an average-sized residence, nothing to write home about. The neighborhood wasn’t one that Brent would’ve guessed this guy would be visiting. It left much to be desired. Brent wasn’t going to stay long, anyway, only long enough to get a couple pictures, and then he would be on the next flight back to Miami. He wasn’t crazy about flying, despite the fact that his work usually required lots of it.

He wanted to get the goods, compile the final report on this guy, present the information to his client, and return to his easier, less extensive cases. The ones where the poor, unfortunate chaps were of the average, working class and kept their mistresses local. Naturally, they didn’t pay nearly as well as wealthy clients such as this, but Brent preferred them nonetheless.

Later, as his plane raced down the runway, Brent closed his weary eyes, thinking,
S
he can hang him out to dry with these pictures.

Miami, Florida

The following morning,
Brent Stone was prepared to present his findings to his client. After telephoning her with this information, they agreed to meet at his office within the hour.

When she arrived, her presence and her beauty took Brent aback. He had never met her before, since their only contact had been by telephone. She had been forwarding all fees and expenses by messenger. She made all payments by check, drawn on a joint account, which she shared with her husband. Brent didn’t doubt that she was tying a noose around this guy’s neck with his own money.

The woman walked into his office with rigid shoulders, wearing what appeared to be an expensive beige linen suit, high heels, and a broad-rimmed hat. Brent sensed she was deeply disturbed by her husband’s philandering. Unlike many of the wives he worked for, she seemed to be the type that was still emotionally attached to her husband. Usually, by the time they decided to hire a PI, wives had already disconnected themselves emotionally and only wanted leverage to use against their double-crossing husbands. Brent sympathized with them all, but he was cautious not to wear it on his sleeve. He remained aloof and delivered the news—good or bad—in the most professional manner possible. He had learned that it was the only way to survive in this line of business.

They exchanged greetings and made small talk about the indigo décor of his office, while he positioned everything in the file as he would present it to her. Then he began.

“As you know, we began official surveillance on March fifteenth. I’m going to go down the list, reading relative dates of activities and then the corresponding activity. Once I’ve completed that, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have.” Brent paused. “Are you ready?”

The woman quietly cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. Stone. I’m ready.”

Brent slipped on his reading glasses. “Good. Then let’s begin.”

Forty-five minutes
later
, Brent rose and went to the window of his fifth-floor office. He watched the woman exit the building.

She had politely asked several questions and appeared to take the news rather well, but then her eyes had been hidden behind dark sunglasses, which she had never removed. After writing a check to satisfy her final payment, the woman had informed Brent that she may need to retain his services again in the future. Then she had quietly left his office.

Her demeanor had given away nothing, yet Brent sensed that she was wounded. He wished she had removed the sunglasses. Perhaps he would have learned more about her if he could’ve looked into her eyes.

Brent ran his fingers through his blue-black hair. Sighing, he returned to his desk. No client had intrigued him quite like this one, after only one meeting.

Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the rigidness of her shoulders, but something…
something
about her kept her on Brent Stone’s mind long after she had gone.

Her Mercedes cruised
along I-95 as she reached for her gold cigarette case. She swore when she discovered that it was empty. Just when she needed a drag the most, the damn case was empty!

Exiting the interstate prematurely, she drove east to Bal Harbor. After purchasing a package of Virginia Slims and taking the much-needed first drag of her cigarette, she walked along the boulevard, window-shopping the boutiques that she had come to know and love. As she moved along, she was stopped by a number of acquaintances, and she offered polite greetings. By the time she reached a small outdoor café, she was much more relaxed than when she’d left Brent Stone’s office.

He was fucking half the United States!
And he had his whores scattered all over the damn globe! The pictures had come as a shock. To
see
him, actually
see
him, together with so many different women turned her stomach.

She had questioned Stone extensively about the women, and as a result, she had extremely useful information about each and every one of his little sluts—and she intended to make use of every bit of it.

When a waiter came, she ordered a cappuccino and sipped it as she mourned the loss of the last eighteen years of her life. She hadn’t needed any black-and-white pictures to tell her what was going on.
She’d known.
The photos only served as tangible proof of the infidelities, proof that could never be denied, proof that told the truth and nothing but the truth.

Tears came…despite her resolve not to get emotional. Removing her dark shades, she swiped them quickly with a napkin. She actually felt her heart muscles constrict as she sat there under the table’s large yellow umbrella, sipping from her cup.

She needed help. If she was going to go through with her plans, she would have to get some more help. Slipping her cell phone from her silk purse, she placed an important call.

“M
om, guess what? Reggie and I are getting married.” Renee held her breath, waiting for the reaction. She’d called her mother just to give her the news, but they ended up talking for almost an hour before she got the nerve to bring up Reginald.

Seconds passed. She heard nothing. “Mom? You are still there, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m here…And I heard what you said.”

“So?” Renee clutched the cordless phone and got off the kitchen chair, preparing for the argument.

“Honey, what do you want me to say? Congratulations? Well, I’m sorry, but you won’t
ever
hear that from me.” Beatrice Jameson’s tone was cross. “And don’t even think of inviting me to the wedding—if there
is
a wedding.”

“Why not?
What is
so
wrong with Reginald
? We’ve had this discussion many times, and you have yet to tell me
why
you hate him so much! I’m sick of it! It’s time you got over it, Mom!” Renee began pacing back and forth on the tiled kitchen floor. She needed to vent her frustrations.
What kind of wedding day will it be without my mother?

Bea sighed. “Renee, you’re wrong. I don’t hate Reginald. I’m tired of repeating myself.
I just don’t think he can be trusted
.”

“
Why
? Why can’t he be trusted? You won’t even get to know him! You won’t give him a chance. In all the years I’ve been with him, you hardly ever want him around, and it shows. You’re not exactly subtle about your feelings, are you?”

“Well, that’s probably because he’s
hardly
ever
around to begin with,” Bea shot back.

As intended, her point hit home with Renee. It hurt. That was indeed her sore spot—Reginald’s two weeks in Miami. She wandered dejectedly into the living room and sat on the peach-colored loveseat.

“His job takes him away, and you know that.” Renee calmed herself down. She tried another strategy. “Do Denise and I want for anything? Do
you
? Let’s not forget that if it weren’t for my
untrustworthy
man, you wouldn’t be getting your hair and nails done once a week, you wouldn’t be eating food in fine restaurants, and you certainly wouldn’t be driving around town in a brand new Lincoln!”

“How
dare
you throw what you do for me into my face? Don’t. You. Dare. I’ll do without before I allow you to throw your help into my face, Renee!”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Renee knew she
had
gone too far. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again…It’s just that I love this man, and it seems like you hate him. How could I possibly be happy without you at my wedding? What kind of day would that be for me? I mean, to know that you’re alive and well, but you’re not at the wedding…I think it would be one of the worst days of my life instead of one of the happiest.”