The Reconstruction of Carla Millhouse (16 page)

Martin smiled at Carla and quietly said, “Why, not?”

Unable to control her happiness, she grabbed him and nearly smothered his face with kisses.

“Okay, okay!” Martin yelled, his voice filled with laughter.

The noise aroused Blondie who thought it was her cue to join in and jumped on top of them. Two minutes later, Martin put the dog outside and led Carla into the bedroom.

“Now, show me how much you want a baby,” he said.

Her last thought before he pulled her into his arms was that she could finally stop taking the pill.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lynne was crazy about Haywood. She was thrilled that he was doing so well with the title searches. Perhaps he’d found his niche, after all. Basically, all he had needed was to get away from his mother.

The use of clichés drove Lynne crazy and though she, too, was guilty of using them from time to time, she tried to refrain from doing so. However, she discovered one night that she did in fact live in a small world and that what one person did often affected others.

In the afterglow of their lovemaking Lynne was leaning against Haywood’s chest. She loved these tender, intimate moments with him. They were a far cry from the
wham-bam-thank you, ma’am
scenarios she’d experienced with some guys.

“Hon, you’re doing a fantastic job with the title searches,” she casually mentioned.

“Really?” he looked at her with surprise.

“You sound surprised as if you expected to do a lousy job.”

“Nah. It’s not that. I just wanted to please you.” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose.

“You only wanted to please little ole me?” she teased.

“I hated the thought of having to go back to boring detective work again.”

“Boring? I thought it was exciting to be a private investigator like the fictitious Sam Spade.”

“The job I finished was nothing compared to the stuff Sam Spade did.”

“What kind of job was it?” her curiosity now aroused.

“I guess I can talk about it now.”

“I won’t tell. My lips are sealed,” she said making a zipper motion with her hand across her mouth.

“You know the Mercedes Dealership in town?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“The guy who owned it had me follow his wife. He thought she was cheating on him.”

“Was she?”

“If she was, I couldn’t detect it.”

Suddenly, Lynne sat upright.

“What’s the matter?” Haywood asked, concerned.

“It all makes sense now.”

“What does?” He was totally lost and had no idea what she was talking about.

“Remember when we saw Carla and her husband, Martin, in the restaurant?” she asked waiting for him to catch up to her.

“Yes.”

“You thought you’d seen him some place, but couldn’t place him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he works at the dealership.” Lynne said, sweeping hair from his eyes. “You must have seen him when you were there.”

“Yeah. That’s very possible.”

“It makes sense,” Lynne said, kissing the top of his head.

“Say, didn’t you mention that Martin was cheating on Carla?” Haywood asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes. Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Lynne replied grabbing on to his train of thought.

“If I were a betting man, I’d say your friend’s husband is having an affair with his boss’s wife. Or was. I couldn’t find any evidence to prove it”

“Whatever, it’s certainly one helluva coincidence. I guess it’s a small world after all.”

“Are you going to tell Carla?” Haywood asked.

“I don’t think it much matters at this point.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she and Martin are on the verge of getting back together and I don’t want to screw things up for her.”

“They were separated?”

“Only sexually,” she said stretching. Haywood’s groin tightened as her dusky nipples brushed his chest. He ran his hand over the silken skin of her bottom. He adored her ass.

“And she wants him back? I can’t believe she’s happy with him.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno. I just don’t like a guy who cheats on his wife. She can do better.” He nuzzled Lynne’s neck. The smell of
her
always drove him crazy. He could feel his cock stirring.

“You hardly know him, but I do and wholeheartedly agree with you. He treats Carla like crap.”

“The man’s a fool, plain and simple.” Haywood nibbled on her ear as his fingers sought out her damp entrance. He plucked playfully on her clit and inserted two fingers slowly, curving them upward against the wall of her vagina.

Lynne sighed, spreading her legs. “You ever cheat on me, I’ll break both your kneecaps.” As soon as the words left her lips, she was sorry. Had she sounded a little too possessive?

Relief washed over her as Haywood pulled her under him and gently ran his hand down the side of her face. Staring directly into her eyes, he said, “I’d never treat you like crap. Nor would I ever cheat on you. I love you way too much to risk losing you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” As he slid long and hard into her, he punctuated those beautiful words with a kiss that would have knocked her socks off had she been wearing any.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Carla had just sat down to join Martin at the dinner table when his cell phone rang. He grabbed it out of his shirt breast pocket and glanced at the caller ID. The color drained from his face. From the onset of his affair with Heather, one of the cardinal rules was for neither of them to call the other at home. Therefore, if Heather was calling now, something had to be terribly wrong—the kind of wrong he didn’t want to know about. He looked at Carla. “Gotta take this,” was all he said before rushing from the room.

Suspecting the call was from Martin’s bimbo pricked the small bubble of hope that Carla had since the renewal of their relationship. Yet, somehow, she wasn’t surprised. It figured. Just when things were looking good, crappy things always happened. That was why she always took an umbrella to every parade she attended.

She only wished she could be a fly on the den wall and be able to hear, at least, Martin’s side of the conversation. She had to know if he intended to continue his affair or not. In her heart, she’d hoped he’d love her again as completely as he once had.

“Why are you calling me at home?” Martin whispered, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

“I need to see you.”

“Tonight? Can’t you masturbate or something?”

“This isn’t about sex,” Heather said through clenched teeth.

“Then what’s so important that can’t wait for tomorrow?”

“I think Orson knows.”

Martin felt winded as if he’d been kicked in the chest. When he tried to speak, he began to sputter and choke.

“Are you okay, Martin?” Carla called from the kitchen. “Do you need some water?”

“I’m fine,” he managed to say, trying to sound as if he were.

“Was that the Goodyear Blimp?” Heather asked.

Martin was way too upset to give Heather an update on Carla’s weight loss. Finally he managed to squeak, “About us?”

“No, my cousin, Gertrude.
Of course, us
.”

“I thought you told me he was clueless.”

“I’m not too sure anymore. Look, I can’t talk now, either. Meet me at the Rendezvous Club in an hour,” she said, naming a small nightclub they sometimes met for Happy Hour.

“I can’t. There’s no rational excuse I can give Carla. It has to be tomorrow,” Martin replied, feeling the food he’d already eaten rising slowly into his throat.

“Okay. Be at the library at 12:30 tomorrow.”

Before he could reply, she’d broken the connection. Martin was already worried about what he’d do after he got canned.

His face was still devoid of all color when he returned to the kitchen. It didn’t go unnoticed by Carla who asked, “Is everything okay, Martin?”

“Yeah—sure. Just an unhappy customer.”

Carla couldn’t help raising her eyebrows at that bold lie, but didn’t say anything. She had no desire to ruin the possibility that the phone call from his bimbo was made out of desperation and he’d just reminded her that they were through, ordering her not to call him anymore. Hopeful that this was the case, she came behind Martin, who had collapsed on the couch, and began to massage his tense shoulders. He pushed her away and went into the bedroom.

Much to her chagrin, he’d remained mum about the phone call. Her curiosity was driving her crazy. She had to know if her fears had any substance. It would be ironic if she lost him at this point, after everything she’d put herself through to get back into shape. Especially now, when she was so close and was about to give him her ultimatum. What good would that do if he didn’t care? She was way too afraid of his answer to ask, and Martin went to bed without saying another word.

Carla sat down on the couch. Blondie got up from her bed and sat down in front of her. Carla patted her head and scratched behind her ears as she thought about her situation. A beat later, the tears that had been gathering in her eyes slowly began to slip down her cheeks.

She couldn’t fool herself any longer. She wasn’t happy with Martin. Not the way things were now. Her parade was being rained on again—big time.

For a fleeting moment her heart clenched as she thought of Richard and his terse voice mails just before Christmas. But she quickly closed that thought down. She felt a surge of anger. How
dare
Martin treat her like this? Well, things were going to change. Soon, when she became the fully reconstructed Carla, Martin was going to fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness and then, she’d have it all.

* * *

Martin had been waiting in the parking lot at the library for nearly fifteen minutes before Heather pulled into the spot next to him. He got out of the car and walked over to her driver side window as she rolled it down.

“What’s going on?” he immediately asked.

“We
can’t
speak here,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the hotel.”

Martin began to protest, but his eyes riveted themselves to her ample cleavage and felt his head bob up and down in agreement. Following her out of the parking lot, Martin was already rationalizing his actions away. He was only human. It wouldn’t be normal for him to turn away such temptation.

The Fairfield Inn on N. Scottsdale Rd. was located in a suburban setting. The rooms were spacious and furnished tastefully with lots of seating and flat screen TVs—not that Martin and Heather even noticed. What they did partake of was the mini bar and king-sized bed. The bathroom shower was large enough for two, which they found useful, as well. What they liked best about the place, aside from its proximity to the showroom, was its privacy.

The minute the hotel room door closed tightly behind them, Martin again asked her why she thought Orson knew about them.

“You should hang up your suit jacket,” Heather said as she slipped out of her short shift and stood in sheer peach-colored silk underthings.

She got on the bed and patted the spot next to her. His eyes riveted to her chest as she arched her back like a lioness stretching. He obeyed without removing his eyes from their target.

As she spoke, she ran her hands down his body before unloosening his tie and slipping it off his neck. “He didn’t say anything specific to me, but I know he knows.”

“How? What are you a mind reader now? Or do you read tea leaves?”

“Stop being so flippant.” She unbuttoned his shirt and started on his belt. “A woman knows her own husband,” she said as she unzipped his slacks and pulled them off like a magician pulling the tablecloth from under dishes. “It’s the subtle things he says and does,” she lightly stroked the inside of his thigh causing him to gasp.

“Really?” That was punctuated with a groan as her hand became more urgent.

“Yeah. And I think he’s plotting to get even.”

“Well…eh…he…didn’t fire me,” he somehow managed to fit in between gasps. She was seriously messing with the oxygen flow to his brain.

“
Yet
. Just wait until you least expect it. Trust me. I know how devious Orson can be.”

“So, what should I do?” Martin asked.

“Love me, Martin, and don’t worry,” she replied, slipping out of her underwear and pulling his off, as well, before covering his lips with her own.

Another groan passed his lips as he rolled on top of her. Things were moving from hot and heavy to steamy head-over-heels sex when she moved out from under him. Now perched on top of him, she began to do what she did best. Every move had been choreographed in her mind. She knew she had to bring Martin to his most vulnerable state in order to put her plan into action. The man could hardly speak, let alone put two coherent thoughts on any other subject when he was in this position.