Young Wives (55 page)

“I’ve got the ring,” Michelle said. She was wearing enough makeup for both of them, Angie thought, and the Chanel-like suit she’d bought, which was tiny. But the part she had to play almost required one of those tiny versions—one where the knit skirt was very short and the jacket clung in all the right places. Two of the brass buttons were actually lined up over her nipples. But Michelle didn’t look cheap and available—she looked expensive and available.

Michelle opened her little purse and took out a small Macy’s bag. “Here we have it,” Michelle said. “An heirloom hot off the jewelry counter. The best cubic zirconium money could buy.” She showed it to Jada. “Does it look too new?” she asked.

“Nah,” Jada said. “Tasteful. Very tasteful. Not too big for those old money people and not too small to be untempting. Just don’t take it out in daylight,” she advised Angie as she handed her the ring. “They shine like crystal then, and don’t fool anybody.”

Jada was wearing the low-cut orange sweater and tight black leather pants they’d bought for the occasion. She’d had her hair done and it was pulled back into a smooth chignon, anchored with what looked like a hundred small braids. She had orange lipstick on and had done something to her eyes, something with a lot of mascara. Whatever it was, she looked great.

“You should dress like that
all
the time,” Angie said.

“I used to,” Jada told her, “but I didn’t think the bank would appreciate it. Of course, at Price Chopper it might make me employee of the week.”

“What shoes are you wearing?” Michelle asked.

“I don’t know. What do you think, girlfriend? The black boots or the stilettos?”

Michelle stopped and regarded her seriously. “Well,
I’m
going with stilettos—real killers—so just for a change, I think maybe the boots. Mr. Wakefield might like a smorgasbord.”

“I don’t want to look like a dyke.”

Angie laughed. “Yes, you do,” she said, and looked at her watch. “The kids are with Michael, we’re looking good, so let’s go. We’ve got to catch the shuttle.”

Michelle sashayed into Reid Wakefield’s office at Andover Putnam. She knew she looked good because the receptionist and four or five secretaries had really given her the once-over. She felt like Cinderella—after the fairy godmother’s makeover. She was much more comfortable in jeans and a white shirt, but she could do this for her friend, and it was almost fun, in a Lana Turner sort of way.

She walked into Angie’s ex-husband’s office and smiled. He stood up and he was
very
tall, and
very
good-looking. He wasn’t her type—she’d always liked small, dark men—but she could recognize this guy’s good looks. His charms were certainly external, but she could see what Angie had found attractive. “Mr. Wakefield,” she said, and extended her hand.

He leaned across the desk, a lot farther than he had to, and took her hand. Unless she was wrong, he also held it just a moment too long. Oh, this boy was trouble, no doubt about it. For a moment Michelle, almost felt sorry for his fiancée, but then she remembered that she was getting exactly what she deserved. “Shall I sit down here?” she asked in her littlest voice.

“No, please, make yourself comfortable on the sofa.” He came from around the desk and sat down in the chair across from her. Not, she noticed, in the more comfortable easy chair beside the sofa, but the one where he could see her better. She crossed her legs to give him something to look at and then glanced toward the open door.

“I think we’re going to need some privacy,” she said, and he jumped up, crossed the office in just a few strides, and was back, the door safely closed.

“Mr. Wakefield,” she said, “I have to confess that I’ve already told you a lie.”

His smile wavered for a moment and one golden eyebrow rose, as if on its own. “Really?” he asked. “What was the lie? And why did you tell it?”

“I gave you a false name. I’m not really Anthea Carstairs. I only did it because I’m married to a very prominent man. I didn’t want that to influence you before I reached you and got a chance to speak with you face-to-face.”

Reid adjusted his own face. “Well, I don’t specialize in matrimonial law, I do contract work mostly, and though I feel I wouldn’t be easily swayed, I—”

Michelle leaned forward and said three words. “Charles Henderson Moyers.”

Now both of Reid’s eyebrows moved together up his forehead. Everybody knew about the Moyers family—the enormous wealth that came down from the long-dead father and the feud among his three sons. Their wealth was matched only by the tragedies they’d experienced. “The reclusive brother?” Reid asked.

Michelle nodded. “The richest. And the oldest,” she said. “But I didn’t mind that. We’ve been married for eleven years, Mr. Wakefield. And they were my best years. When a man is his age, it takes young flesh to move him.” She lowered her eyes, just for a moment, as if it had been hard to say that. Surprisingly, none of it had been hard. Maybe she should have been an actress, Michelle thought, and then looked right back at Reid.

“Well,” the lawyer said, and cleared his throat. “What exactly seems to be the difficulty now?” he asked.

“I signed a pre-nup and agreed that I wouldn’t get a penny if I slept with another man. I’ve never broken my promise, Mr. Wakefield. Do you believe me?”

He nodded slowly as she kept her eyes on him, as if she were a snake and he was a mesmerized bit of prey. This was fun! Playing with this jerk was better than cleaning.

Michelle stuck the tip of her tongue out, just a quarter of an inch, and dampened her lips. She thought that maybe she’d gone too far, it was too much, but when he crossed his leg quickly, as if to hide himself, she decided it had been just the right thing to do.

“Charles wants a divorce,” she said. “He’s found another woman. That’s all right with me, but not on his terms. He’s accusing
me
of adultery and he wants to give me virtually nothing. After more than a decade.”

Reid frowned. “But the man has billions,” he said.

“And I’m innocent,” she pointed out. “But the Moyers are notoriously strange about money. Remember when his daughter was kidnapped about fifteen years or so ago and he wouldn’t pay ransom? They had to send him—gee, I think it was three of Meredith’s fingers. And they came three
different
weeks.
And
she had been a violinist.” Michelle shook her head. “Poor Meredith.” She sighed.

Reid nodded his head. “I remember reading about that,” he told her.

“Well, the Moyers have a way of forgetting their pasts. Meredith was his second wife’s child. I’m his fifth wife. No children. And I think he’s lining up this new one to be his sixth. Can you imagine? Not even divorced, and lining up your next wife?” Michelle asked, but Reid Wakefield III didn’t notice her sarcasm.

“Wasn’t it Fitzgerald who said the rich are different than you and I?” he asked.

Michelle didn’t know who Fitzgerald was, but she smiled. “He was wrong,” she said. “They’re very,
very
different. Anyway, it’s time for another change, and I honestly don’t mind that, but I’ve played by the rules. I need help to make sure he does.” She stared across at him again. She tried to use the look she’d used on Frank when she wanted to go upstairs. Reid nodded.

“Isn’t it very warm in here?” Michelle asked. “Do you mind if I take off my jacket?” He shook his head and she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders, knowing that the little silk T-shirt she was wearing beneath it clung just perfectly. Worth every penny. She took a deep breath and pushed her breasts in his direction.

“To finish up my confession,” she said, “there’s something else I have to be candid about. I
have
slept with other women.” She actually watched the man keep his face still, but he swallowed. It was a big swallow that moved his Adam’s apple like a high-speed elevator, down and up. “I did it at first because
he
wanted me to. Then, about two years ago, I met a woman who…well, she was different. Charles had introduced her and set up the threesome the way he always did, but she was just…” Michelle stopped. She tried to show shame. Then she put her head down, counted to five, and lifted her head again, tossing her hair. “I’m not apologizing to you,” she said. “I’m
not
ashamed.” He nodded. “I’m just telling you this because that is what Charles is using as his leverage, as an example of my so-called adultery. But the fact is, I do love her.”

She leaned across and touched Reid’s knee. She could feel it, hot, through the fabric of his Brooks Brothers trousers. What else was hot in there, she wondered. Michelle made her voice almost break. “I think a woman has to love somebody or a part of her dies.” Oops. That was
really
a Lana Turner line, Michelle thought. But it appeared that Mr. Wakefield had gotten over the shock. She wasn’t sure if it was lust and greed that she saw in his eyes, or a combination of the two. “
I’m
not greedy, Mr. Wakefield,” she told him. “I’d settle for a hundred million. It’s nothing to Charles. Do you think your firm could handle this?” she asked. “Do you think
you
could?”

“Oh, I’m certain that we could.”

She smiled and stood up. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you
so
much. I don’t want to stay here too long. I never know when I’m being followed. That’s why I used a made-up name. But I’m really Katherine. Katherine Moyers.” She extended her hand and this time
she
held
his
with both of her own. “We’ll have to talk about fees,” she said. “I know that this won’t come cheap, but I need to feel that I can trust you completely. That would be worth
any
amount of money.”

He nodded. “I know that you can,” he said. “I just have to make sure that
you
know that you can.”

“Well, time will tell.” She took her hands away. There definitely was a current between them. Some men were so easy, it was ridiculous, Michelle thought. She picked up her jacket and then turned to him again. “May I ask you for a very big favor?” she murmured.

“Of course.” He nodded.

“I would like you to meet Jenette,” she told him. “I mean, eventually she would probably have to testify. And I would just like her opinion of you. I have no family. I have no one else to trust about a decision like this.”

“It’s no problem,” he said.

“
Everything
is a problem when you’re Mrs. Charles Henderson Moyers,” she said with a sigh. “I’m staying at the Four Seasons, but you can’t come there. Do you know a bar where we could meet you, just briefly, when you finish work? Someplace quiet where we won’t be seen by anyone from my crowd.”

“Of course,” he said, and Michelle saw he didn’t have a moment of hesitation. He was excited by the idea! He gave her an address, and then he walked her all the way to the elevator, pressed the button for her, and helped her in it. “See you at six,” he said.

And she nodded as the doors closed. When she got off the elevator, she went immediately to the pay phone near the restroom and left a message for Jada on Angie’s home answering machine.

Angie sat quietly, trying not to show any nerves at all. She’d arrived early so she wouldn’t have to reveal all of herself to Lisa at one time. Her face looked plain, and her dress did, too. She didn’t need Lisa to see her weight and totally gloat.

Angie had made reservations at a Commonwealth Avenue bistro for the same time that Jada should be meeting up with Samuel Dumfries. Timing was everything. When Lisa finally came in, late as usual, and as tall and thin and blond as ever, Angie watched her look around the room, and, at first, pass over her. Well, she didn’t look like the old Angie, and she didn’t feel like her, either. She raised her hand and Lisa made a smile—even across the room Angie could see she wasn’t genuinely smiling, she made one on her face—then came toward the corner table.

While Lisa, usually graceful, fumbled with the chair and her hello, her purse, and her coat, Angie felt how very pleasant it was not to have anything to feel guilty about. She didn’t even feel stupid anymore. Anyone you trust, any friend or confidant, always has the option of betrayal. With the grace of detachment, Angie could observe the woman she considered so thoughtless. Lisa managed to finally settle herself, then glance at her, only to avert her eyes and pick up the menu. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “You look great.”

Two lies in a single breath! Angie actually almost smiled. “I feel great,” she said honestly, and thought of her child, the secret she was carrying.

“Really?” Lisa inquired, and for a moment sounded surprised. Then she recovered. “Well, that’s great,” she said. “You’ve found another job?” she asked.

Angie wondered if her “friend” was really interested, thinking about alimony, or just being competitive. “Yeah,” Angie said. “I’m doing a different kind of work.”

“That’s great,” Lisa said.

How many “greats” had that been in less than three minutes? Angie wondered. It was grating on her, so she smiled and said, “And I got a dog. A Great Dane.”

“Great!” Lisa said again, and Angie couldn’t help it—she laughed, but picked up her own menu to hide her face.

“Should we order?” Lisa said. “I’m just starving.”

Angie knew what that meant. Lisa would order a salad with no dressing, and a piece of fish broiled without butter or oil. That was as hungry as Lisa ever got—for food, at least.

The waiter arrived and asked for their orders. They asked for a bottle of Pellegrino, along with the mango chicken and asparagus that Angie wanted, and—big surprise—the salad and fish for Lisa. Angie wondered what Lisa ate when she wasn’t starving. She also wondered how she could have made a best friend of this woman. How had her judgment and taste been so clouded? But wasn’t there a time when they
had
liked each other, or had Lisa been acting all the time? Did Lisa eat at home? Angie wondered if Lisa brought Ben & Jerry’s to bed after sex with Reid, the way she used to.

“I told Reid that I’d be out late tonight,” Lisa said, as if the name had floated between them. “I mean, I don’t know what your schedule is, but I have plenty of time.”

“Great,” Angie told her, using the word on purpose. As if she wanted to spend more time than necessary with this woman. But timing was important. There was work being done by her friends while she sat here with her enemy.